Slashababy 2004 Stories

  FANFICTION: This story depicts real-life public figures engaged in completely fictional, false and untrue activities. It never happened, it never will happen. This story is a work of fantasy and satire which in no way professes to express the truth about the life, thoughts, feelings, desires, opinions, beliefs, activities or sexual orientation of any person mentioned herein.

Subject to Change

for enchanteresse
by inbetweens

Rating: NC-17
Pairing: Sean/Viggo
Disclaimer: These characters are not my own. The described events are entirely fictional.
Summary: Two minutes into the video, he figures it out. Viggo is the Devil. For Enchanteresse

"Yeah," Viggo groans softly.

Sean glances at him -- but only for a second. Back to the screen, back to the ladies with the tits bouncing all over and the red, wet lips, and that's much better. Perfectly comfortable.

But then Viggo does this thing with his breath and it's all downhill again. Breasts, Sean reminds himself very firmly. Porn moans. The porn moans not coming from the man on the sofa.

He presses down against his jeans and feels very hot suddenly. Viggo's sitting there rubbing himself as if nothing is out of sorts, as if he can't taste the discomfort in the air.

Sean pulls his hands away and just takes a few deep breaths. Nothing odd about this at all. Just a couple of blokes sitting around drunk and goofing off. Viggo is just the kind of bloke that you can sit around and watch porn with.

That, Sean decides, is the gist of it. Mates can do that kind of thing, and Viggo just happens to be very comfortable with everything. This sort of thing happens when everyone's getting bored and no one has the energy to actually go get laid. Porn is good. Porn is well within the boundaries of Acceptable Male Bonding.

Watching Viggo whack off would cross the line into Unacceptable and he's always been respectful of the Rules. So he doesn't watch.

That doesn't shut out the noises. He's listening for the girls on the screen and the funky bass line, but all he can seem to hear is Viggo's shallow breaths, irregular and anxious. Can't be healthy for a bloke to make so much noise with someone else around. Sean takes another deep breath and listens to that instead. In. Out. Good.

There's a soft moan and he grips his cock, rubbing firmly, barely remembering to fight the warmth back, that this is not right, that he has to -- Has to do something about it, anyway.

He glances over at Viggo. Viggo's eyes are on the screen and his lip is hidden beneath a row of teeth and his hand and his cock, his cock --

Sean excuses himself softly and Viggo doesn't look up, just shuts his eyes and bites down, lip white beneath the pressure.

In the quiet safety of the WC, Sean finishes quickly, digging his own teeth into his lips and imagining. He leans against the wall and thinks about how screwed he is.


The Rules have certain exceptions, of course. Sean's been studying The Rules for most of his life. While he seems to be remarkably good at misplacing The Rules Concerning the Purchasing of Christmas Gifts, he's quite familiar with the Rules of Manly Touching and Bonding.

He's beginning to suspect, however, that he's forgotten one particular rule over the years.

RULES OF MANLY TOUCHING AND BONDING NO. SEVENTEEN: It is acceptable to engage in mutual not-so-platonic touching and bonding with a bloke when:
a) both involved parties are in drama school,
b) no women are within fifty miles of both blokes and it has been a Very Long Time,
c) no fuckable women are within fifty miles of both bloke and it has been a Very Long Time,
d) the aforementioned bloke is playing James Bond and is therefore irresistible to all, or
e) both blokes are drunk enough that they can pretend to not remember it in the morning.

Under no circumstances is it acceptable to get off on another bloke getting off (unless he is fucking a woman at the time, see Rules of Porn no. 7) or to watch another bloke getting off (see above).

Sean lies in bed and tries to think back to the exceptions, which were mostly unremarkable. He can only remember two of their faces. The rest look eerily like Viggo in his mind's eye.

He thinks back to the horny teenage years, when porn was rare and was always watched in groups. He doesn't remember watching anyone else, just gaping at the sight -- a woman, a real woman stretching out like that and smiling at them. He never looked around. The girl was always more than enough.

And that's how it should be. That's what The Rules say and who would he be to question them?

He shuts his eyes and opens them when he recognizes the face there.

Surely he's forgotten some of the exceptions. Must be some kind of footnote in The Rulebook for Viggo.


He probably needs to get laid but he doesn't want a relationship, or worse, some one-night stand. He likes being here among a bunch of blokes and doesn't want a break from that.

He doesn't want to get into something with Viggo, not just because he's a man but because he's Viggo. He's the one that rags on Orlando when the kid needs to be brought down, and helps Sean hunt down a decent beer on this damned island, and rides with Sean when he needs a little more practice. He's funny and wicked and fucking weird sometimes, staying out in the woods communing with the trees one night and starting a game of football the next. He's Sean best mate in a few thousand miles, probably even his best mate overall. This business with the awkward porn viewing and the erotic breathing has to stop.

It's not as if any of this mess is Sean's doing. Sean had just wanted a bit of quality time with Jena Jameson.

So he'd pulled out an old favorite, popped it in, and got so caught up that he hadn't heard the door open. Next thing he knew, Viggo had vaulted the sofa and landed next to him, talking about her breasts verses some girl that used to pose for him and man, Jena was so hot, it's so hard to talk a girl into bending like that. Sean had been drinking a bit and hadn't minded talking about tits at all.

Then Viggo had just whipped it out like nothing was wrong with it, like there wasn't anything sexual about that at all, and just ignored Sean for a little while.

The next morning, Sean maintained that he was too sloshed to remember which part was hot: the porn or Viggo taking care of some tension.

He's straight, everyone knows that. He has enough bloody ex-wives to prove that, and enough ex-girls-on-the-side to chase away any residual doubts. He hasn't gotten laid in a while, but he hadn't really wanted to for a long time. It was just nice to be one of the guys all the time. He still doesn't want to fuck anyone, he thinks. Maybe. Fuck it.

Sexuality isn't the main issue, though. He's comfortable with being attracted to something beautiful. He appreciates the male body. He knows that Viggo is attractive, even exceptional. And there's nothing wrong with admiring another man's beauty.

It's just not right to want to invade his body, to lick the line of hair that peeks from beneath his trousers, to feel those muscles tightening beneath his tongue. And it's especially not right to perv on a man when he's just enjoying a group activity, for God's sake.

And to just act like it was normal -- that's the worst part. That's what makes him horrified and hot and makes him squirm against the cushions. (Well, that's mostly what's responsible for the hot squirming. Maybe.)

It had to be some kind of weird mistake on Viggo's part. Viggo has a twisted sense of humor, but surely he's not this sick. Surely he wouldn't make Sean so uncomfortable if he knew what it did to him. Surely he wouldn't just throw out the rules so brazenly if he understood things as Sean did. That would cure the entire problem.

Must be a regional variation, Sean finally decides. Fucking artists never follow any rules, anyway.


Orlando's eyes widen and he laughs. "Oh, yeah. All the time, man."

"Really?" Sean's whole body loosens in relief. "And no one was, you know, uncomfortable about it?" He should probably be asking an American, but like hell he would go to Hugo or Lij about this. Besides, he's rather enjoying the confirmation.

Orlando shakes his head, laughing again. "Not at all, not that I knew of. I mean, you get a few guys in a room late at night, porn's bound to come up, you know? Nothing weird about that at all. And there's, you know. Only one natural thing to do with porn, right?"

"Yeah." Sean grins. "And nothing ever, well. Got out of hand?"

There's the laugh again, and now Orlando's face is reddening. "Well, I guess you could say things got out of hand sometimes. I mean, you have two guys going at it on the screen and, you know."

Well. That's not exactly what he'd expected. "Erm. So it would be kind of. You know."

"Oh!" Orlando blushes. "Oh, you meant with straight blokes, didn't you?"

"No, no, that's fine," Sean assures him quickly.

"No, sorry, I totally wasn't even thinking like that. I mean, well." He frowns. "I guess straight blokes wouldn't do that, huh?"

"I guess they wouldn't." Sean stands, smiling as widely as he can. "Thanks for dealing with the weird questions. I was arguing about this yesterday with, uh. Thanks." He gets out of the room as quickly as possible and tries not to think about the implications.


He locks the door, shuts the blinds, and keeps the lights off. He hasn't seen Viggo all day and feels that maybe he should do something well within the boundaries of The Rules before going out to test his sexuality again.

So it's time for Jena to work her magic. He pushes the tape into the VCR and sits back.

He hadn't rewound it since last night, when Viggo was -- No. He's going to think about Jena. Lovely Jena with her thick red lips and perfect legs tucked behind her head. She's on her back, squirming and cooing as what's-his-name fucks her slowly. She rocks on her ass, pushing up against him. He reaches down, feels her up, and presses a hand to her face. She sucks on his fingers. Bites down.

There had been faint marks on Viggo's lips when Sean had come into the room, gentle indentations in the soft skin. He'd heard Sean enter and had looked up with a smile, lower lip still red and hinting at swollen.

Sean's eyes are closed and he's been blocking out the moans and bad techno. His cock is twitching at the memory and Jena isn't doing a bloody thing.

Well shit.

He turns off the VCR, puts on the most dry news report he can find, and still has to leave the room to take a cold shower.


Viggo's waiting for him the next night, hunched on the steps to the trailer, t-shirt pulled tight over his back.

"Viggo," Sean greets him, stopping a few feet away.

He looks up with a grin and pats the paper bag at his feet. "I brought over some Guinness. Figured after sword training, you could use a little."

"Right, right." Sword training is no match for the sheer awkwardness of this moment. Pure scotch would have been a better choice. Of course, Viggo seems immune to all forms of awkwardness and tension. Artist, Sean reminds himself, and straightens his backbone. "Come on in, then. Thanks."

Viggo keeps still as Sean passes, just grins up at him. Sean unlocks the door slowly. "You're not hungry, are you? Not much in here but a few crisps."

Viggo, who is still just sitting on the porch steps, has to turn his head to answer. "Not too hungry."

Sean feels like his whole body is blushing. "Not too hungry?" He turns the knob and finds himself unable to move.

Viggo smirks wickedly as he rises. "Don't worry," he assures Sean. "I'm not in the mood for human flesh tonight." He hands Sean the bag, sinks his teeth into Sean's shoulder, chuckles, and walks calmly through the door.

Sean's not quite sure whether he should save time and pounce him now or run very far, very fast. In the end, he stands dumbly in the doorway until Viggo threatens to eat all the crisps by himself.


Two minutes into the video, he figures it out. Viggo is the Devil.

It would explain how he always has porn and alcohol. It would also explain how he seems to have nude photos of everyone in the world, the way he seems to be growling no matter what he's saying, and why he carries a fucking sword everywhere. Most importantly, it would explain the sex. Viggo oozes sex in ways that no man should ooze sex (Rules of Demeanor, no. 2). His walk is sex and his eyes are sex and that way he catches his breath, oh.

It would explain the temptation, the way that he draws Sean from all the lesser sins and toward him, only him. It would explain why Sean has totally disregarded Porn Etiquette (no. 5) and has been watching Viggo since the moment the two porn stars decided to get in the hot tub.

He looks away to down the rest of his beer. He sets the bottle down and tries to interest himself in the bare flesh on the television. The light, the bright skin of the girl's breasts, stings his eyes.

He turns his head and focuses on the band of skin between Viggo's shirt and the band of his jeans. Skin, not just lights on a pane of glass. Skin with its own texture and taste, skin he could run his tongue along, and its proximity is hotter than anything that could be recorded and sold in the back of shady Kiwi gas stations.

His throat feels tight and hot, from shame or fear or arousal or a combination. It's not as if he's never been attracted to a man before, but that was always circumstantial. It was just right at the time, and no one so much as thought about it before or afterward. And it was never a mate. Never the kind of man he played rugby with or the kind of man he worked with every day. The Rules, he reminds himself, forbid even thinking about this kind of thing.

It's not as if this isn't masculine. It's an appreciation of masculinity. He wants to touch Viggo's skin and hold Viggo's cock -- He reaches for his beer again. The bottle is empty.

He wants Viggo. He can't deny that any longer. It's a natural kind of thing to happen, and there's nothing wrong with it in theory. Never did anyone any harm.

But he's going to restrain himself. He has to. It's not a question of sexuality, it's about Viggo being his mate and Sean respecting the boundaries of that relationship.

Then Viggo makes that noise again: the throaty, stifled moan. The sound of desire begging to be let loose.

Sean very firmly informs The Rules that they should go inspect their own assholes, and leans over to lick Viggo's throat, which is nice and rough against his tongue.

Viggo makes that glorious noise again and parts his lips, gasping with a shudder. He opens his eyes and pulls Sean against him. "Finally," Sean thinks he hears.

Then they're kissing, tongue and teeth and no lies about what they both want. Sean takes a handful of Viggo's hair and holds him still, kissing him deeply. He tastes like Guinness and like... Like a man, and that's so good right now.

Viggo finds Sean's crotch and works it slowly, his hand pushing into the layers of cloth and arousal. Sean pulls away from Viggo's mouth and gasps, leaning his forehead against Viggo's chest. Viggo murmurs something, something that buzzes sweetly against Sean's forehead and pulses through his cock. Viggo fumbles around and pushes Sean roughly to his feet. Sean shuts his eyes as Viggo jerks his pants down to his knees, and steps out of them and back toward Viggo's warm hands. They close around him, and oh. Sean's lips part and he can't even voice it. Oh.

He gathers enough sense to respond to Viggo's kiss once more and moves in time with Viggo's hand. Sean fumbles for a zipper, finds it. It's strange to do this from the other side, and the disorientation is exciting, delicious.

There's nothing beneath them but skin, which is pretty fucking presumptuous and extremely fucking convenient. Sean pushes them out of the way and slides his thumb in circles over the head of Viggo's cock. It's slippery and sticky and thicker than Sean's own, foreign to the touch. It draws the breath quick and raspy from Viggo's throat. Sean moves his hand down, takes hold of it -- thick and hot and needing against his palm -- and Viggo pushes him down, onto his back.

Viggo settles slowly against him, guiding Sean's hand aside, and brings their hips together. Their cocks bump clumsily together, hot and pulsing. Viggo leans down, pushing against him, and there's a wonderful friction between them, hot and almost painful between their bodies.

Sean rocks his hips with Viggo's and rubs against him, gasping as heat spreads through his body, up his spine and down his thighs. He parts his legs and reaches down, wrapping his fingers firmly around Viggo. Viggo groans and jerks into his hand in response, and the rhythm goes somewhere beyond either's control. All Sean is aware of is heat and gasping and Viggo's teeth against the meat of his shoulder. Then he's coming, his whole body jerking and burning with the sensation of it, drinking in the sound of Viggo's moans against his own skin. Yes, he thinks, yes, Viggo must be the Devil.

Viggo slips out of Sean's wet fingers, nearly sits aright, and collapses onto Sean's legs. Sean lies still, resisting the urge to wipe his hand off on the rented sofa. Fuck, they're a mess.

His breathing slows and as the pounding in his ears softens, he becomes aware of the crescendo of screams coming from the telly. God, they didn't even last as long as the porn stars.

"Hey," Viggo starts, shifting against Sean's skin.

"Yeah?" But it's too late. Viggo has found the remote and has turned the porn very firmly off. The room is silence.

That awkward feeling climbs up Sean's spine once more. The air is thick with stillness and uncertainty and a handbook of very miffed Rules.

Then Viggo begins to laugh, voice low and contented.

After a few moments, Sean joins in, resting his hand on Viggo's shoulder.



The Rules are subject to change at any time.

The Rules are subject to change and/or complete abandonment at any time.

Author's note: I have been blessed with a lack of girl cooties and am sometimes allowed to know the secrets of manly bonding. All of my male friends swear that there is nothing homosexual about watching porn with a bunch of other guys. They're 50/50 on whether or not jerking off while watching porn with a bunch of guys has homosexual insinuations. All agree that engaging in sexual activities with another man while porn is on the television could be seen as at least a little homosexual, and at least one of the males questioned felt the need to clarify, "But whatever blows your skirt up is your own business, you know?"


Slashababy 2004 Stories