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Penetration by dee
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"I'm not going to fuck you, Karl."

That's what he remembers, trying for the third time to tie his tie in the hotel suite. Windsor knot; does he go over or under here? It's all a hopeless tangle, and he pulls it apart again. Wonders whether he should try again or just tie it simply, the way he learned way back in school. Straightens the ends around his shoulders and remembers Viggo's voice.

("I'm not going to fuck you, Karl."

Though the words went through him like lightning, he forced himself to simply sigh quietly, and wait. Easier if he had a cigarette to take a drag of, but he had a beer, raised the bottle to his mouth to take a swig. Made a space before he said: "Why not?" Damn, still sounded plaintive.

"Because if I fuck you..." Viggo paused for thought, and Karl let himself think too; yes, if he fucked me...

"Penetration is a claim," Viggo declared. "And I don't want to claim you." Karl knew Viggo was looking at him, but he kept staring straight ahead, sitting as they were on Karl's back steps, looking out into the night. More beer. At the corner of his eye, Viggo shook his head. "I don't want to be claimed. I just want... Karl, look at me."

He looked. Looked at Viggo looking at him so intensely, and he thought the world could just have ended and he wouldn't have noticed.

"I just want to enjoy.")

Karl yanks the tangle of the tie loose again, glares at it in the mirror. The simple way, then. Much easier. Can almost do this one with his eyes closed.

He's straightening the end result, tucking the shorter bit in behind the longer bit, when the phone rings. He's standing right next to it; that's the only reason he gets it on the second ring.

"Hey."

"I'm a little late."

Whoop, there it is. That voice, and Karl turns away from the mirror so he doesn't have to see the look on his own face. "Hey Viggo. You are?" He glances at his watch.

("Pick you up at six?" Viggo said over the phone.

"What is this, a date?" Karl laughed.

"Absolutely. I thought dinner and a movie. Well, a movie, at least."

"OK, but you should know I don't french kiss on the first date, and I have to be home by eleven."

"Oh come on," Viggo wheedled, playing along. "We can't have any fun before eleven."

"My father has a shotgun and he knows where you live.")

It's a quarter past six. "I hadn't even noticed," Karl admits. "Too busy wrestling with my accessories."

"Getting your shoes to match your purse?"

Laughing feels so good. Laughing with him feels so good. "So you're here? Come up for a drink."

"Come down for a drink," Viggo counters. "This limo has enough liquor to float the Navy."

Newline's paying; might as well get some Dutch courage for the ordeal ahead. "I'll be right down."

Viggo's standing by the limo out the front of the hotel. Door open, and his head bowed, looking at his camera. He's barefoot, and Karl wonders if he's going to get away with attending the premiere like that. He looks up as Karl approaches and he's...

"Jesus, mate, you're a scruffy sod!"

...gorgeous.

Catch him in a hug, arms around each other and laughing. Viggo tugs at his hair, long at his neck, and says: "Look who's talking."

"No way." Step back, hands on shoulders, look him up and down. "No way," Karl repeats. "You far out-shine me in the scruff stakes."

"Years of practice," Viggo says with a smug smile, and raises a hand to Karl's face for a moment, just palm against his cheek, high, cupping over his ear. Karl thinks maybe he can hear the ocean.

Viggo stands back to let Karl in the limo first. He clambers in, slides across. Has to move Viggo's carefully-placed shoes and socks as he does so. That answers that question, then. "Anyway," Viggo notes, climbing in after him, "the young ones will be sleek and dandy enough for all of us."

"So we're there to lower the tone?"

Viggo grins at him. "Exactly."

("Oh, get a room!" Orlando shouted, throwing a cushion at them from across the room. "You're lowering the tone of the neighbourhood."

Karl hadn't heard him come in. Not surprising, he could barely hear anything over the thundering of his blood in his veins, rushing under Viggo's tongue sliding up the side of his throat. Forced his eyes open, looking out over Viggo's bent head to the grinning git in the doorway. Gave him two fingers.

Viggo didn't even pause, just licked up. Scraped his teeth down. Made Karl gasp.

Next time he opened his eyes, Orlando was long gone, and on the TV New Zealand had just got another wicket. Karl tried to care, but couldn't. There were more pressing matters.)

Karl makes the drinks as Viggo drags his bare toes delightedly across the plush carpet of the limo. "Haven't you had enough time to play?" Karl asks, looking up from pouring vermouth.

"There's never enough time," Viggo remarks, and Karl agrees with him. "What are you making us?"

"Martinis," Karl admits, stirring. "It seemed highly appropriate." He passes one glass to Viggo, rolls his voice around his molars in his best Connery impersonation. "My dear Miss Moneypenny."

Viggo laughs, clinks their glasses together. "Here's to bonds."

"Cheers," Karl agrees, and takes a mouthful.

(They stood in costume, far too hot under the sun for leather armour and long hair. Karl squinted, felt like Eomer, thought that the great warrior of Rohan wouldn't stand about arguing over the fine nuances of things like this, he'd just do it. A man of action.

"But it's not like that," Viggo said.

"We're looking for something different," PJ agreed, looked between the two of them. "Something less overt."

Eomer just wanted to get on with it. "They're the same," Karl stated, and eyes fixed on him, one considering and the other deep, thoughtful, unknown. He blinked. "They're the same," he repeated. "They recognise themselves in the other."

Viggo nodded slowly. "They have a bond.")

Viggo's talking about this and that; his horse in Idaho and international politics and plans for Christmas. Karl talks back; the gleeful innocence of the Kiwi press junket and terrorist scares and newfound stardom.

"I feel like I'm at right angles to the whole thing."

"Good or bad?"

"Good and bad."

"Well that's life, isn't it?"

Viggo shows him a photo on his little digital camera; it's him, coming out of the foyer of the hotel. There's bustle all around him but he was striding straight towards him, suited and stern.

"I don't like it," Viggo notes.

"Oh?"

He takes the camera back, looks at it a moment before hitting something. There's a beep, and he looks up. "You look like anyone else. Nothing special at all. It's not you."

"Sometimes I am just like anyone else."

Viggo shakes his head, picks up his drink again. "No, you're not."

(Karl joined him in the shower, pushed him out of the spray and back against the white tiles. Viggo hissed at the cold contact and Karl swallowed it, hand curled around his neck as he kissed him. Slick tongues and wet bodies.

Karl moved to break the kiss, to slide down Viggo's body. But he was stopped, Viggo's hands on his upper arms, gripping tight, so he settled for second-best; wrapped his hand around Viggo's cock instead of his lips, instead of his tongue. Viggo released his arm, returned the favour. He preferred it like this, Karl knew. Preferred a mutual handjob so he could kiss Karl, kiss him so thoroughly, tilting his head back and pressed tongue to tongue. Lowered his head to lick water off Karl's chest as Karl arched backwards, closed his eyes against the shower spray that still got in his gasp-opened mouth.

"You're amazing," Viggo whispered against his shoulder, into his ear, again and again, voice hoarse and Karl called his name when he came.

Viggo shuddered against him, and they were both warm and sticky, water sluicing them slowly clean. Karl sagged, and Viggo murmured, lips pressed next to Karl's eye: "Amazing."

"I bet you say that to all the boys." Light and teasing. The water beat against his back.

But Viggo was serious. "No," he said. "Just you.")

They're almost there, fans lining the streets outside tinted windows. Almost there.

"So what's the plan for tonight?" Karl asks, stretches.

"Bit of this, bit of that," Viggo answers, straightening from tying his laces.

"Hmm," Karl hums, squints out the window. "Bit of me?"

He's said it, and now there's nothing to do but look at Viggo, look at him looking back and match him gaze for gaze. Because he's always been like Viggo, so much alike, so comfortable, and he's seeped into his bones. Karl smiles. "There are many forms of penetration," he notes. Not all of them physical.

Viggo's smiling as well. "Many forms of claims," he comments lightly.

Karl nods.

Viggo tilts his head consideringly. "And what are your plans for the evening?"

Karl shrugs. "I just want to enjoy."

The car stops. They've arrived.