Work Text:
Sean scrubbed a hand across his face, stretched until he heard an audible pop from somewhere down his spine. He pulled off his glasses, let them fall against his chest, closed his eyes and flopped back against the sofa. It would all be worth it in the end, he knew that. Viggo's initial idea of 100% spontaneity -- simply get off the plane, pick a direction and go; no plans, no reservations -- would never work, and considering the relish with which Viggo'd filled their home with the results of hours upon hours of research and scraps of New Zealand trivia Sean suspected Viggo had only been half joking anyway. They were happy to travel on a very loose and easy schedule, the number of stops and length of stay determined by nothing more than whim and sudden inspiration. But there were many things they each wanted to see and do, and neither wanted to show up only to find a venue was closed or tickets took months to obtain. So for weeks they'd been surrounded by atlases and road maps, every available surface covered with guide books, brochures, and pages printed from countless Web sites. And as much as he wanted them to plan, it was starting to feel slightly tedious.
Gentle fingers threaded into a loose fist through his hair, pulling his head further back. He opened his eyes to Viggo's smiling face, a mixture of warmth and loopiness that always made Sean think of home, of the rightness in his world. He scooched over to make room on the couch; grinned when Viggo crowded him, as always. A slight shift and Sean pressed even closer, slowly closed his eyes and listened to the slight-nasal tenor of Viggo's voice as he talked about glaciers and steaming mud pools. Sean let himself drift across the words, into the heat from Viggo's body. And when lips pressed against the side of his mouth he sighed, content and at ease, and turned his face toward the welcoming warmth.