Pickle Juice

by Vivianedesblanc and Nienor

Viggo sighed, clutching three bags of groceries, two of which were showing sure signs of succumbing to gravity-- or maybe that gang of boys in the subway had mashed something and it was dripping, wetting the bottom of the bag. In any case, he estimated he had about 47 seconds before disaster struck.

He trotted up the steps, counting down in the back of his mind. Forty, thirty-nine... he'd woken up alone again this morning; it seemed Sean was an early riser-- thirty-three, thirty-two... and while he was less hopeless than he'd been yesterday morning, it still discon-- twenty-six, twenty-five-- disconcerted him.

Twenty. Nineteen, eight-- there it was, he could hear it as he reached his floor. Sean's voice, and it rippled through him on a flood of relief that he didn't want to admit to. Sixteen. Fifteen. And someone else, someone fema-- Mrs. Perkins. Old Mrs. Perkins; he could make her out very clearly. Seven. Six. And Sean was saying something about-- about ORAL SEX?

His count failed; approximately five seconds later as he stood there, stunned, the slow avalanche began. He ignored it, fruit and vegetables piled at his feet, a box of crackers clutched forlornly in his fist.

"Well, I've done it with lots of girls, of course." Coy, confidential. "But that was my first time with a man."

"It tastes awful, doesn't it, dear."

"It's not fizzy pop."

"If you make him eat a vegetarian diet, it won't be so bad. My Hank was a carnivore; I used to tell him. All steakie, no nookie!"

"He was nice about it. He apologized afterwards. I don't think he knew..." Sean's voice dropped, conspiratorial, and Viggo had to strain to hear. "That he was my first."

"He's such a nice boy. Did you know, he helped me when I locked myself out in the hall? Used a credit card and got my lock to open right up."

"That sounds like him." Pride in her voice, like he was her kid or something-- her GAY kid, whose boyfriend was telling everything in front of God and everyone, right out in the hall! Viggo stared at an apricot that had rolled nearly to the corner. It mocked him fuzzily.

"Well, anyway, I'm sorry about the noise. But that's why I was so loud-- it was my first time. He made it good, though. Damn good. I thought I could taste his come on the back of my tongue."

"Oh, you hush and don't worry about it." She giggled like a schoolgirl, and Viggo felt himself blush from the tips of his toenails all the way to the roots of his hair. "To tell you the truth, I haven't had such a good time as I did listening to you ever since Hank quit being able. You know."

"That's too bad." Genuine sympathy, though Viggo didn't know if it were for her or for Hank that Sean meant it.

"Do the two of you like...?" he lost her voice as the elevator creaked and started rattling its way up the shaft; cursing, he started gathering his tomatoes and rhubarb and stuffing them into the one remaining intact bag. Luckily, nothing had shattered when he dropped it, even if the produce was a little bruised.

If he didn't get his ass down that hall in about ten seconds, Sean would start telling her about--

"I didn't even *know* you could lick someone *there!*" Sean's voice rose over the creak of the elevator, and Viggo abandoned the shambles, unsure whether he was bolting forward to interrupt or backwards to disappear down the staircase forever.

"Sean!" Viggo's feet had led him forward after all. "I dropped the groceries; can you help me pick them up and get them in the house?"

Mrs. Perkins beamed at him mischievously. "Such a nice boy... you be good to Sean, you hear? And no more of that screaming-- at least not after nine."

"Yes, ma'am," Viggo managed to mumble, crimson.

"And remember. Pre-soak protein stains."

Viggo sincerely attempted to melt right through the floor and vanish, but he had not yet mastered matter transference, and the merciful ability eluded him as she reached to tweak his cheek and waddled down the hallway, chuckling to herself.

Sean looked at him mildly, smiling. He wore a pair of shorts and flipflops, a ragged white tee-shirt, and had a bandana in his pocket. He sat cross-legged in the door Viggo very clearly remembered having locked when he left to go to his class.

As Viggo stared at him, Sean tugged the bandana free and mopped sweat off his forehead. "I turned off the AC so I could fan the door open while I changed this. That lock was a piece of shite, you know. Anyone could jimmy it with a credit card."

Sean diddled the latch on the shiny new knob Viggo suddenly realized he was installing; it looked formidable compared to the rattletrap array he was used to. There was a latch plate above it, too, for a separate deadbolt lock.

"I borrowed the super's cordless drill," Sean confided. "He was just happy he didn't have to install this himself."

Viggo blinked at him, still dealing with mortification and startlement-- and his perverse and inexplicable pleasure at seeing Sean sitting there.

"I'm surprised no one's broken in before, this being New York and all," Sean continued blithely, sorting out the various brass screws on the floor.

"There are lots of other people with better stuff than mine to steal," Viggo said automatically. He was still trying to compartmentalize in his brain Sean talking about blowjobs with an eighty-year old lady and him becoming Viggo's personal handyman.

"True," Sean allowed. "But they don't know that do they? This," he gestured at the half-installed lock, "is for safety reasons, like."

"Er, right." He remembered the groceries melting on the landing a floor down. "Well, uh, I'll get the groceries then."

"You need help?" Sean started to stand up and Viggo waved him back down hastily.

"No, no, I can get them."

"All right," Sean replied agreeably. "This is almost done, anyway. You gonna cook for me tonight?" He gave Viggo a sly look.

"I think I can manage something." Viggo was already walking backwards, turning around mid-step and trotting back downstairs. "Why is nothing in my life normal?" he wondered aloud as he gathered up the bags. "This is what I get for wanting to be an artist. Weirdness." He took the stairs two at a time, juggling the torn bags. "I could have been an accountant, wore suits every day and had complete normalcy. 'Course, I wouldn't be getting to screw guys either..."

"Are you talking to yourself?" Sean was staring at him, the drill hanging loosely from his fingers.

"Yeah." What the hell, Sean WAS weirdness; stood to reason he'd be able to deal with it too.

Sean gave him an uncertain look and shrugged. He gathered up the leftover parts and climbed to his feet. With an exaggerated gesture of courtesy, he motioned for Viggo to go in before him.

Still clutching the shreds of the bags, Viggo all but staggered in. A sharp pinch on his ass startled a yelp out of him and the groceries crashed to the floor for the second time that day, this time to the distinctive tune of glass shattering.

"Oops," Sean said, not sounding particularly concerned. Viggo glared at him before squatting down-- again-- to retrieve the bags.

"That's our dinner you're trying to destroy," Viggo tried to sound irritated and made it about a quarter of the way. It was hard to be upset in the face of Sean's simply being there. Waking up that morning, this time with no coffee or breakfast to greet him, had been mildly depressing. A peek inside the bag revealed a shattered jar of pickles. "See what you made me do? They'd even survived the subway."

"You seem to have a lot of trouble with pickles," Sean commented, reaching over Viggo's shoulder to filch an apricot. "These ones and those assassin ones training in your refrigerator; I hear they got offered a role in some cheesy new martial arts film."

Viggo snatched the apricot away before Sean could bite it. "Don't eat that, it was on the floor!"

"So are you for that matter. Does that mean I can't eat you?" Sean voice was suddenly much closer as he crouched down behind Viggo. "That's a lovely position for you, you know."

"Sean," he protested weakly. There were frozen veggies buried in the wads of paper and pickle juice on the floor, dammit. Sean was mouthing the back of his neck, nuzzling softly.

"It's past five-thirty, you know," Sean murmured, sucking the lobe of Viggo's ear into his mouth to nibble at it. "We've only got a little more than three hours left to make a bit of noise."

"Exactly how did that subject come up, anyway?" Viggo tried to turn around, but Sean wrapped both arms around his waist, pulling him back until his ass was pressed snugly against Sean's crotch.

"You know, you talk too much." Viggo's indignant response was cut off by Sean's hand covering his mouth, pulling back gently until his head was resting on Sean's shoulder. "Much better," Sean purred, biting and licking at the newly exposed skin.

Viggo groaned softly, all the blood in his body rushing towards his groin, barely leaving him with the sense to mumble, "Sean. Sean-- the door's still open."

"So?" Sean bit the tendon in his neck, growling low in his throat.

Viggo had to struggle to think why it mattered; Sean's tongue was fluttering against the skin his teeth held firmly.

"So somebody might-- oh God!" Sean slid his hand down the front of Viggo's jeans.

"All right," Sean laughed wickedly in his ear. "I'll shut the door, if you insist, but you'd better have those groceries put away by the time I get back, or I'm going to put you belly-down on the table and fuck you right in the middle of them."

Viggo started to hustle, struggling to avoid the shredded pickle jar and salvage as much as he could of the rest-- the paper boxes were okay, just a little damp on the outside, and most of the fruit and things had been protected in their plastic bags; some of the eggs were a loss, but that was okay as long as he got them in the fridge and used them tomorrow--

Sean's low, throaty chuckle interrupted him, and he looked over his shoulder; Sean's eyes were hot, fixed right on his ass, and Sean's thumb eased the waistband of his jeans, letting his erection shift to one side of the seam.

Viggo's throat suddenly dried and he couldn't find the motivation to give a damn about the rest of the sodden pickle bag; he snatched it and dumped the whole thing in the trash, rinsing his hands at the tap and toweling them-- he had nearly managed to hang the towel neatly from the refrigerator door when Sean's heavy body crushed him against the counter.

"You took too long," Sean accused softly. "I'm lonesome."

"Oh, yeah?" It was hard to find coherent words with Sean's dick snugged against his ass, their jeans catching and rasping together. "I was a bit lonesome this morning," he dared, wondering if maybe he'd pushed it too hard but he couldn't help it. Every time Sean vanished he wondered if that would be the last time he saw him and his nerves were starting to ache from the pogo stick ride.

"Were you?" Sean voice was low and amused in his ear and he ground his hips against Viggo's ass. Viggo's cock was just level with the counter and their combined weight leaning against it was starting to hit the wrong side of painful. "I did a bit of shopping," Sean added, nuzzling against Viggo's ear.

"Shopping," Viggo grunted, pushing back as hard as he could against Sean's weight and readjusting himself a bit more comfortably.

"Yep. You know, I could fuck you right here. Would you like that?" Sean rocked his hips suggestively and Viggo's cock leapt in response. The idea had some appeal, well, a ton of appeal, just lean over the counter with their pants tangled around their ankles and Sean sliding in smoothly. He could almost hear those hitched little sounds Sean made when he was loving it, low and harsh, almost more vibration than sound.

Tempting as dark chocolate, but Viggo wasn't feeling that forgiving and the memory of Mrs. Perkins wrinkled face and knowing grin were just a bit too fresh yet in his mind.

"Have a bit of a kitchen fetish, don't you," he asked archly, squirming back against the hard ridge of Sean's erection and listened to his sharp inhalation smugly.

"Is it my fault you always--" The piercing ring of the telephone interrupted him and he felt Sean sigh pitifully. "Better answer it. Might be about your job, yeah?"

Viggo wasn't particularly fond of telephones during regular hours, much less when he was two minutes away from getting bent over a counter, and he reluctantly eased away from Sean, thinking grim thoughts of tossing the plastic menace off the fire escape.

"Hello?" he managed to make his tone somewhat cordial and the warm flush of his arousal vaporized at the voice on the other end. "Mom?"

"Yes, of course it's your mother! You were expecting someone else?"

"Um, no, of course not, Mama," Viggo cleared his throat. "I was just thinking of calling you. No, no, I swear I was, Mama, I just..." He held the phone a bit away from his ear as swarm of betrayed maternal emotions verbally attacked him. Raking a hand through his hair, he tried to find something properly soothing to say and when he glanced up nervously, he found Sean standing in the kitchen doorway, shaking with silent laughter. He glared at him before turning away, resting his elbows on the back of the sofa as the overseas rant continued.

"Did you not get the job? Is that why you didn't call me? This is how I raised you, then, too ashamed to call your own mother."

"I got the job," he interrupted loudly, "That's why I didn't call you; I was bu--" The word ended on a yelp that he covered desperately with a cough as teeth sank gently into the back of his denim-covered thigh, and he had time to regret turning his back to Sean before his mother began again, this time filled with questions about the job.

"I..." Viggo bit his tongue, breathing deeply through his nose as Sean started biting a path up the back of his thigh. His hands caught Viggo's hips before he could squirm away, pinning him to the sofa as Sean nuzzled into the seat of his pants. He dug his nails into the worn nap of the sofa, feeling the warmth of Sean's breath through his jeans as he buried his face into Viggo's ass, trying and mostly failing to bite at the taut skin beneath the denim but the vibrating scrape of his teeth was fucking unbelievable, and Jesus, trust Sean to start getting adventurous at the worst possible moment.

His mother's voice rose through the static-filled connection, anger melting into concern, and Viggo tried to scrape together enough brain cells to answer her.

"No, I'm f--ine!" His voice cracked as Sean managed to get a hand in front of him and started working down his zipper. "I'm fine, Mama, I'm just a little tired. Can I call you back a little later?"

"Oh, you never call me! What, are the phones broken over there?"

"Mother...."

"All right, darling. Get a little rest and you can tell me all about your job later." A hint of a warning in her voice and Viggo babbled out some agreement and hung up the phone.

"You asshole! I was talking to my mother!" It was possible Sean wouldn't have chuckled like he did if Viggo hadn't been arching into his hand, warm fingers sliding through the fly of his pants to circle his cock, jerking lazily.

"How was I supposed to know that?" Sean's voice buzzed through his jeans and Viggo shivered again, pushing back against his face and wishing he'd had the sense to drop his pants earlier. Of course, Sean's boldness might not have lasted through a naked ass as well as it did through jeans, so maybe better that he hadn't. "I couldn't even understand what you were saying. Aren't you a Yank?"

"I was born here," Viggo answered as tartly as he could and lost most of his breath as Sean slithered to his feet and pressed him full weight into the sofa, grinding his dick against Viggo's ass.

"God, that feels good," Sean groaned, biting softly at the crook of Viggo's neck and shoulder. His fingers turned brutal on Viggo's hips as he arched back deliberately, dragging his ass down the ridge of Sean's cock and his breath stuttered on his next words. "I wanna fuck you. Right here. Can I?"

"You're asking me?"

"You don't like me to ask? All right, then."

And Jesus, there wasn't much to say to that, was there, Sean nearly yanking his jeans down over his thighs and sliding a warm finger into the cleft of his ass, touching the small dry hole between his cheeks with a marked lack of gentleness. He was still a little sore from his lubeless screwing a few days ago and he hissed as that finger started pressing inward. "Sean..." he started, protesting weakly and yeah, he'd sort of offered, but still...

"It's all right," Sean soothed, pressing a nipping little kiss against his ear. "I have it covered." A plastic sounding pop, and he realized Sean must've seen the small KY box in the paper pharmacy bag while he'd been deserted in the kitchen.

A blossom of cold, right against his asshole and Viggo yowled. "Shit! You're supposed to warm it in your hand first!"

"Sorry," Sean said, not sounding it. "I'm innocent of the ways of gay sex, remember? Is it my fault you're not corrupting me properly?"

"You don't need any help," Viggo gasped, closing his eyes and trying to relax as cool, slick fingers started working their way inside him.

Sean chuckled against his shoulder. "How could I, with you as my inspiration?" He twisted his fingers, proving just what a quick study he was, and Viggo groaned, shaking.

Sean *was* good; he kept working, opening Viggo patiently even though his cock burned a hard, urgent line against Viggo's hip.

"Enough," Viggo finally grumbled, trying to hide how pleased he felt about Sean's gentleness. "Sometime before I'm sixty."

"All right," Sean agreed, slipping his fingers out. "I'd better hurry, because you'll be sixty-nine tonight."

Viggo's cock jerked happily at the thought even as Sean pressed firmly into him, and the surge of arousal carried him easily over the moment of discomfort.

Sean's strong hands caught his shoulders and pushed him forward; Viggo groaned and let himself be moved until he was bent over the back of the sofa, clinging to a throw pillow with both hands, Sean's cock filling him up. "Just right," Sean purred, and pulled his hips back. "Just like that."

Viggo whimpered; the angle was incredible, forcing Sean's cock hard against his prostate. "Please...." he croaked, all thoughts of his mother forgotten. "Again."

Slick and perfect, Sean glided in and out, a long sweet agony of pleasure. "That way?"

"Yes!" Viggo choked. "Don't stop!"

"Just want to be sure." Maddening, Sean pulled back and held still, then pushed in. "Mmmmmmmmm, I could do this all day."

"Move!" Viggo heard the plea in his own voice, and didn't give a damn. "Please. Move!"

"You're certain." Mischief and heat in Sean's voice. "Because I could just stay here like this and feel the way you're clenching, trying to fuck yourself on me. I like it very much, in fact."

Viggo squeezed as hard as he could, writhing with frustration. "Goddammit, Sean!"

"Maybe I'll move a little," Sean relented. "If you promise not to buy any more pickles."

"I-- ah!" Viggo groaned. "I like-- pickles. Fuck!"

"Promise!" Sean chided, holding perfectly still.

"You fucking bastard. If you don't move, I'm going to--"

"Yes?"

"Move!"

A slow, liquid glide rewarded him-- and then Sean stopped again, as patient and implacable as the tide. "You were saying?"

Viggo scratched the couch in frustration. "No more goddamned fucking pickles, now fuck me, for the love of--"

Before he could finish the words, Sean rammed him so hard that Viggo's vision grayed into sparkles, and he heard a shrill, keening cry that he vaguely knew had to be himself; Sean's cock reamed him hard, hammering at his prostate, no more restraint or teasing to it, and Viggo sank his fingers into the couch, struggling to hang on, struggling to breathe.

It hurt, it was so fucking good, it hurt so fucking good. Viggo's hamstrings quivered and he sank his teeth into the pillow, trying to smother the cries that welled from him.

"No," Sean chided him, a little breathless, and yanked it away. "Want to... hear you. Come on. Let me hear you." He moved his feet behind Viggo, and the angle changed, and Viggo cursed, his voice breaking; the man was hung like a fucking bull, that was what, and how hadn't he noticed that fucking piece of information before this?!

He growled at Sean, struggling, but Sean's hand came down on the back of his neck, and held him against the couch, its worn cover pressing against his cheek; Viggo felt its dampness and realized that it came from him-- he was sweating like a workman on a tar roof in July; Sean was splitting him in two like a goddamned watermelon; he was sizzling and burning up and drying up and evaporating; he was fucking *nailed,* that's what he was-- "Jesus, Sean, Christ, fuck me!" Sobbing and babbling and whimpering, as though he had never known shame, Viggo struggled to spread his legs wider.

"Jesus!" Sean choked out, his voice breaking and Viggo nearly screamed as Sean rammed in even harder, and Christ, this was the most incredible thing he'd ever felt, the hard edge of the couch frame digging into his hips and rubbing the skin raw, and it felt like Sean was trying to shove his whole body inside him, and Viggo wouldn't care if he did. So fucking good and he thought he was tasting blood, biting his lips and trying not to scream the building down.

"No, no, no, you don't." He felt Sean's fingers on his mouth, soothing his bruised lip and he tried to bite them, only just missing as Sean snatched his hand back. "I want to hear you," Sean crooned and Viggo moaned aloud when he slowed again, moving smoothly, the head of his cock rubbing just the right way inside him to make him squirm.

"You're an asshole," Viggo groaned, trying to hunch backwards with no leverage at all. Sean's hands were keeping him perfectly still and balanced just right over the back of the sofa.

"Yeah, but I'm the one fucking yours. C'mon, now, it's early enough." Short, stilted thrusts had him cursing softly but Viggo yowled at the single deep one, coring him hard for just a second before Sean slowed again. "That's it," Sean murmured. "God, I love hearing you do that. Again, do it again."

"Ohhhhhhhhh," Viggo couldn't help it, something in Sean's voice, his words, going straight to his cock, and he couldn't help the sounds he was making now, too-loud and more than a little desperate. But Sean was responding to it, thrusting harder and faster with each little grunt or cry until he was pounding in, lifting Viggo on his tiptoes and he tried to hold on to anything, bracing his hands as best he could against the sofa cushions while Sean slammed into him.

"Oh, my fucking God!" Above him and Viggo writhed desperately, and he couldn't even jerk himself off, had to prop himself up before Sean fucked him over the sofa.

"Don't you dare come without me, you bastard, don't you...ah!!" Viggo did scream then, a harsh, strangled sound as Sean's hand fumbled beneath him and found his cock, squeezing almost brutally and his overwrought nerves had had enough, lava burning in his balls as he finally came, spurting over Sean's hand and the back of the couch.

Viggo sagged over the back of the couch limply, barely managing a wince as Sean pushed in one last time, choking out a mangled sound of pleasure and the warm flood inside him was nearly soothing. More so than the very soggy sofa beneath him and Viggo tried dizzily to remember what Mrs. Perkins had said about protein stains.

Oh, well. It was an old sofa anyway.

"Jesus, Viggo." Sean's voice was startlingly unsteady and Viggo slowly started to realize Sean was trembling against him almost violently. With a groan, Viggo managed to wiggle back until his feet were more firmly on the ground, though his watery legs seemed indifferent about supporting him. Sean let him turn around before he buried his face against Viggo's neck, inhaling deeply.

"Are you all right?" Viggo asked softly, wryly amused that he was the one asking since he had a feeling he wouldn't be sitting properly for a week.

"Yeah," Sean breathed against his skin. "That was just bloody incredible." His hands were roaming lightly over Viggo's back and when they brushed the back of the sofa Viggo felt him make a face. "Bloody messy, too. Couldn't aim it at the floor, could you."

"I wasn't the one aiming it, now was I."

"True," Sean allowed. "Better add that to my handbook of all things gay. To avoid upholstery stains, point the cock towards the floor. Oh, before I forget." Sean pulled back, stepping out of the shorts that were puddled around his ankles before stooping to pick them up. As weary as he was, Viggo's cock still twitched weakly at the sight of Sean bent over. Jesus, what an ass.

Sean stood back up with the shorts in hand, searching through the pockets, mumbling beneath his breath "There we are," he exclaimed, and he held a small ring of jangling silver keys in front of Viggo's nose. "It's your new keys. Thought you might like them."

Somewhat bemused, Viggo took them and set them on the side table by the sofa where he'd see them later. "Thank you. It's very generous of you to give me keys to my apartment," he said dryly.

"That's me." Sean said cheerfully, hands on his hips as if he wasn't stark naked and already eyeing Viggo appreciatively. "Generous all the way. And don't whine, you needed a new lock. This is New York! You have to be careful. Never know who might end up in here." He flapped a hand impatiently at Viggo as he stepped into his shorts again without bother to snag his boxers from the floor. "Now, didn't you say something about making me dinner?"

"I can make spaghetti. Do you like spaghetti?" Viggo asked hopefully and his face fell when Sean looked disgusted. "It's spaghetti or hamburgers, then. Or Chinese leftovers."

"Bloody hell, I never fall in with the right people," Sean grumbled. "I'll make dinner then. Go take a shower before I change my mind." Still bare-chested, he wandered into the kitchen, only to poke his head out again a moment later. "Oh, and scrub off the sofa, yeah?"

"Exactly how am I supposed to do that?"

"You could ask Mrs. Perkins." Sean's laughter echoed in the bathroom. "I'm sure she knows it needs it!"

Viggo glared after him gloomily. The bastard was probably right. "I'll get you for this," he threatened, but a grin was starting to tug at his mouth even as he rummaged for a towel.

"I certainly hope so," Sean called from the kitchen and Viggo shook his head, shaking with helpless laughter.

He was doomed, but hell, it wasn't such a bad way to go.

-finis-

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