On reflection, it was probably a good thing that Sean had interrupted him just as he'd begun cataloguing the taste of quiet.
Viggo'd never asked, and Sean hadn't volunteered, but Viggo imagined Sean's girls had been whisked away en masse for some perfectly English Christmas, right down to the sticky pudding. Sean may be crap at marriage, but his expertise at divorce had brought his ex-wives together in such a way that Evie was intimately connected with her older sisters; something Viggo was sure Sean was secretly pleased about, whatever head- and heartaches the rest had wrought.
"Hey. You packed yet?" Practical as ever, Sean headed straight for the meat of the matter.
"Not yet. The sitter doesn't show for another day." Viggo glanced at the calendar, a palimpsest of dates cancelled, rescheduled, cancelled and rescheduled again. "Another two days. You know that."
Viggo could almost hear the shrug that undoubtedly accompanied Sean's next words. "No harm in being prepared. 'Sides, your plans have changed a wee bit. Shifted, like."
"Shifted?" Viggo sighed heavily, the prospect of not even getting to see Sean looming large in his mind's eye. He'd have to toss the plum pudding he'd been planning to bring; he couldn't stand the taste of those goddamn things.
"Mmhmm. Dave called. He's back in the land of the Kiwis, and he's holed up with Harry. They've invited us out."
Viggo zeroed in and clung to the us. "And we're going?" There was no real need to ask; he could hear the determination in Sean's voice, enough of a prompt to shake out Viggo's mental luggage, set him to repacking his imagined list of needs. Summer rather than winter; the holidays half a world away from Sean's girls. Obviously someone had let Sean know Santa's plans did not include filling his stocking.
Once the camera was safely back in his hands, Viggo made a point of capturing the scene, agent turning away from the lense, carry-on contents scattered haphazardly across the table, all lit from above by harsh flourescents, washing out colour and comfort, making the scene stand out in stark relief. Satisfied, he shouldered his badly repacked carry-on and shook free of the bonds of the little jumped-up general.
After a short search, Viggo found Sean safely and predictably ensconced in the First Class lounge, working his way through a whiskey sour, no doubt a fortification against the flight ahead.
"Almost thought I was going alone," Sean grumbled at the sight of him, the lip of Sean's glass coming to rest against his bottom lip. A short swallow and grimace later, he waved at a waitress, gestured between himself and Viggo, holding up two fingers. After receiving a confirmation nod, he turned his attention back to Viggo. "What kept you?"
"Security," Viggo shrugged. "What else?"
Viggo sank gratefully into the backseat. The smile that played around the corner of Sean's lips as he slumped against Viggo's side betrayed Sean's own pleasure at being on solid ground again, only a few steps away from being safely ensconced in Harry's house.
Dave and Harry did most of the talking during the ride, neither really expecting anything from their weary guests, both being more than familiar with the aftereffects of travel. Once they arrived at their destination, Dave waved Viggo and Sean away from their luggage, admonishing them to let the bellhop get their bags.
As Harry shuffled them off, Viggo caught sight of Dave hoisting Sean's carry-on, whistling to himself. Viggo smiled. Maybe the holiday ahead held more promise than he'd originally anticipated.
"It's no secret you two are fucking," Harry chuckled as he ushered them into the bedroom Viggo and Sean would share, "so we figured you'd appreciate a little help in that regard." He gestured at a disturbingly large and even more disturbingly pink-wrapped basket set prominently in the middle of the bed. "Sometimes it's hard to remember where all the bits go after a while apart, hey?" He winked at the both of them, eliciting a soft laugh from Sean. "Get yourselves cleaned up, have a shower, a nap--" Harry's eyebrows wiggled suggestively, "--and we'll catch up over dinner, all right?"
The door closed quietly behind him.
Sean fished around in his pocket, coming up with ten pence. "Queen's head or lion's arse?" He flicked his thumb, the coin spinning in the air as it ascended.
"Hmm? Tails." Viggo chose automatically, still taking in the room, all warm tones and wood, so radically different from when he'd visited last. Obviously Harry'd been spending some time on renovations, and they were certainly paying off.
Even without looking, the sound of skin slapping against skin followed by a chuckle would've told Viggo he'd lost. "At least leave me some water."
"We'll see," Sean grinned, "My bits might need a good deal of scrubbing."
The thought made him groan and shift, his own cock responding favourably to the image, just as it had most of the conversation as the evening had wended its way towards dark. Maybe it was too much of Harry's best wine, maybe it was the comfort of being among friends, but they'd soon turned to talk of the holidays and from there missed opportunities and barely-veiled innuendos. Sean had even groused at the lack of snow, only to be gently reminded by Dave that he was in the Southern Hemisphere.
"It'd be easy enough to get you your icy chill, though." Dave's eyes sparkled with mischief, and Viggo couldn't help but notice a matching glitter in Harry's own.
Sean didn't even bother to cover his guffaw. "With something in your posh gift basket, I suppose? Because your weather's sure not going to do the job. Five flavours of lube," he ticked the contents off on his fingers, "a variety pack of condoms, and a pair of fuzzy pink handcuffs? Amateur hour. 'Course, I did see some warming lotion in there, but that's not going to do the trick either."
Harry cocked an eyebrow as he smiled over the rim of his glass. "I imagine that wasn't exactly what Dave had in mind."
Viggo, always eager to see Sean trussed up, was happy to oblige. Once in place around unresisting wrists, the short chain between the fuzzy cuffs had proved an excellent handhold, keeping Sean's arms above his head, which rested comfortably in Viggo's lap.
Harry traced Sean's biceps with the cube, droplets running in rivulets down Sean's arms, outlining each muscle, making Viggo's mouth water. Harry leaned over, whispered something into Sean's ear, a soft rumble of sound that shot straight to Viggo's cock, the words themselves pitched so low as to be lost to everyone except Sean, but powerful enough to make him gasp, his hips jerking, eyes closing as his head tipped backward.
Dave's breath was warm against Viggo's cheek. "Nice. Really nice. I can see why you started fucking him," a sharp nip to his earlobe to stress the point left Viggo moaning, "But then, you're nice too." Dave slid his arm across Viggo's chest, fingers seeking out and plucking at his nipples, making Viggo wince. Moments later Dave's tongue soothed each hurt, sucking lightly, gently teasing each nipple to a peak. Viggo found himself torn between watching Sean, cataloguing both goosebumps and groans as Harry retrieved another cube from the bowl on the nightstand, and losing himself in the sensations of Dave's mouth on his skin.
Feeling won out over sight, and Viggo tilted his head back, let it rest against the headboard. He could hear Sean's moans over Harry's murmured encouragements, a welcome narration that illustrated the shifting and arching that caused Sean's hair to brush against Viggo's thighs. The tickle was a pleasant counterpoint to the slow burn coursing through his body, sensitizing each inch of his skin.
A sharp pinch brought Viggo out of his fugue, back to the situation at hand. He blinked and looked down just in time to watch Dave affix a second clover clamp to his still-naked nipple. He cried out as the spring snapped closed, swallowing back a groan a beat later as Dave tugged on the chain connecting both clamps together.
"Like that, do you? I can't imagine Sean's not used them on you before."
Viggo shook his head; they'd played with clothespins and tweezer clamps, and Viggo had enjoyed them both, but they hadn't yet graduated to what Sean jokingly referred to as "the harder stuff." The sting was enough to make Viggo's eyes water; the keen edge of pain made his body sing. It was all he could do to arch his back, moaning, groping blindly for Dave's cock, wrapping his fingers around it, squeezing tightly until he heard an answering hiss.
"Christ. You do like that. Just like Harry." Dave laughed, soft and low. "Good thing we've got you in our clutches for a couple days. It'll be entertaining to see exactly how much like Harry you are."
As if on cue, Harry looked up, locking eyes with Dave. "I want to be inside him." His voice was raw, filled with need, his eyes reflecting what his voice and body displayed, cock curving up from between his legs, one hand curled around the shaft. It was a look Viggo would have known in the dark, having seen it in the mirror almost as often as he'd seen it on Sean's face while he kneeled in front of Viggo, begging without words for permission.
Dave chuckled and nodded, his tone fully-fond as he murmured, "Of course. Didn't I say you could?" He reached out, caressed Harry's cheek, grinning widely as Harry pressed grateful lips to his palm. "...As long as it's okay with our guests?"
Viggo blinked. He glanced down, noting the flush, the parted lips, the way Sean's hips rose and fell erratically. A brush of callused fingers against forehead coaxed Sean's eyes open, and Viggo smiled at the desperation he saw in them. "Well?"
Sean shivered lightly as he nodded, the tip of his tongue slipping out between his lips before disappearing again.
That was all Harry seemed to require, as a beat later he was fumbling for one of the various flavours of lube he and Dave had so helpfully supplied, and a few moments after that he turned his attention to preparing Sean, opening him up. It didn't take long before Sean was making urgent noises in the back of his throat, moving closer and closer to begging for what he didn't yet have.
Viggo felt rather than saw Harry press into Sean; Dave had taken the opportunity to twine his fingers in Viggo's hair, pulling him forward into a bruising kiss peppered with small bites. His free hand found its way into Viggo's lap, blunt nails scraping over his shaft, eliciting a heavy shudder.
"Tighter," Dave breathed, and Viggo obliged, fingers closing more firmly around Dave's cock, squeezing rather than stroking.
Each of Harry's thrusts rocked Sean back into Viggo's lap, making his hair brush against Viggo's cock, a gentle slither and slide that made his skin prickle. Abruptly, a vision flashed through his mind: the glide of hair coaxing out his orgasm, his come falling, painting Sean's cheek, neck and chest. He groaned deeply, his cock jerking against Dave's hand.
Dave leaned across Viggo, groping for something on the nightstand, momentarily revealing Sean to view. "Debauched" was the only word to describe him, skin flushed, wrists straining against his restraints, lips moving in soundless, blasphemous prayer. Exertion had bowled Harry over, folded forward as he was, the effort of rutting drawing grunts from deep in his chest as he nibbled at Sean's shoulder.
The two were a sight to behold; one Viggo made a mental note to recreate--both in his mind's eye and in the flesh--over and over in the next handful of days.
Something glittered in the corner of his eye, and he turned toward it; Dave held a small knife, edge catching the light, echoing the sharp grin on his face. "Harry's also fond of the odd taste of something a little sharper." He pressed the flat of the blade to Viggo's shoulder. "I wonder if you will be too. After all, what's Christmas without a little red to go with the white, hmm?"
Any response Viggo might have made was drowned out by Sean's screams as he came, hips bucking, Harry cursing his own way to completion.
And as the edge scratched against his skin, as Dave drew the first drop of his blood, Viggo shuddered, swallowed thickly, tasting copper on his lips. He could hear Dave whispering promises of blowjobs, fucking and voices hoarse with screaming, and distantly, fuzzily, he reflected that the holiday was shaping up rather nicely after all.
After all, what's Christmas without visions of daisy-chains dancing in one's head?