FIC: Tender Loving Care
Oct. 30th, 2011 04:09 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
splixTitle: Tender Loving Care
Author: Alex
Fandom: VigBean AU
Rating: R.
Disclaimer: I sit upon a throne of lies.
Summary: Sean takes care of Viggo.
Warnings: A Hallowe'en fic.
Notes: Unbetaed.
Even before Viggo opened his eyes, he was conscious of a throbbing in his temples and behind his eyes. A flickering light danced in front of his closed eyelids; he winced and rolled over, settling into the soft pillow, curling up more tightly beneath the silk sheets and duvet.
Nice. It wouldn’t have even occurred to Viggo to buy silk sheets. He might tease Sean about his love of comfort and luxury, but it was a piece of cake to get used to stuff like this. He opened his eyes and looked at the play of firelight against the soft ginger-colored walls, soft penumbras flitting back and forth as if they were alive. Another luxury: a wood fire in a house that had central heating, fitted at tremendous expense. Well, it felt nice, and Sean worked his ass off. Sean was anything but lazy.
Viggo sat up with a groan and threw the bedclothes back. His head was killing him. That Scotch might have been seventy years old, but it might as well have been butane from the way he felt. Didn’t help that he’d been sick all week. Sean had opened his home
(and his arms and legs)
to Viggo, and Viggo had repaid the favor by coming down with some stupid flu. Poor Sean.
Viggo swung his legs out from the bed and got a head-rush. He steadied himself and planted one foot, then the other, onto the soft carpet beside the bed. He climbed off the bed and clung to the post for a minute. He was still dizzy, and his headache had intensified.
He shivered. He might have been bare-ass naked, but how could he be cold when the room was warm and there was a fire going to boot? He went to pull the duvet off the bed and saw a robe draped across the chest at the foot of the bed.
Thoughtful. Viggo smiled and slipped the robe on. It was a crimson and umber paisley, lined with what felt like cashmere. There was a pair of embroidered velvet slippers beside the chest, but he ignored them and left the room, feeling more than a little wobbly.
The hall was dark and he couldn’t remember where the light switches were, so he groped his way through the corridor until he found the balustrade. One faint light burned at the bottom of the stairs, and he heard Sean’s voice.
“No, cancel it altogether, please.” It was Sean’s Actor voice: plummy, dulcet, brimming with charm. “Oh, what a pity. Well, can you leave the return open? No, I’m not sure when. Of course I’ll take care of the fee. I see. Right, then. Thank you so much. Goodbye.”
Viggo paused for breath at the bottom of the stairs. He felt like shit. He shouldn’t have gotten up, but he’d been slugging around in Sean’s bed for the better part of a week, and half the time they hadn’t even been fucking. It was a disgrace. He trudged into the library. Another fire burned in the grate, casting the room’s only light onto the book-lined walls. Sean was there, fully dressed, sitting at his desk and looking slightly annoyed, but when Viggo appeared at the door he glanced up, smiling. “My God, it’s alive.”
“Hey.” Viggo dropped into the first available chair. “I must be getting old.”
“Why do you say that?” Sean got up and moved to Viggo’s chair, sitting on the arm. He tilted Viggo’s chin up and kissed him lingeringly. Viggo yielded, leaning back and wrapping an arm around Sean’s neck. A pleasant swoony sensation passed through his body – not quite horny, but close. He moved back, breathing hard.
“Jesus, even kissing takes everything out of me. What I was going to say is that I never get sick, and when I do –“ Sean smiled, and Viggo flapped a hand at him. “Oh, shut up. When I do, I bounce right back. This time –“ He shook his head.
“You’ve been busy, Viggo. Bloody press junkets take a lot out of you. Up at six, down at two, fourteen interviews, two crap meals, and a premiere in between – it’s bollocks, I know.” He stroked Viggo’s cheek.
“Mm. Your hand is nice and warm. Keep it there, I’m freezing.”
“I’ve got a better place for it.” Sean slipped his hand between Viggo’s thighs. “I see you found the dressing gown. I left slippers for you, too.”
“Yeah, I saw them.”
“No wonder you’re cold.” Sean’s hand stayed demurely between Viggo’s legs, not moving upward.
“I feel like a jerk, passing out like that. I guess it was the whiskey.”
Sean removed his hand and brushed back Viggo’s hair, his face somber. “You scared the life out of me. I had the doctor come right away.” He got up from the chair. “Stay there,” he commanded. “Don’t bloody move.” He slipped out of the library without a sound.
Viggo sat back, pleasantly tired, his body aching. Despite the fact that he felt like hell, it was nice to be taken care of, to have someone else make the decisions, to be the authority. Sean did it well. Some actors were like turtles on their backs the minute they were away from their army of assistants and publicists and agents; for Sean, being on his own was a relief. Viggo wasn’t sorry about that, either. They’d had the entire house to themselves for a week, with only the housekeeping staff tiptoeing around in the daytime. He glanced at the filmy white curtains. The last of the daylight filtered through a layer of grey and deep gold clouds, and the street lights were just coming on. Only a few cars rolled past, quietly and at a sensibly sedate pace, befitting this part of London with its plush houses and tree-lined streets.
Sean came back with a tray that he set down on a leather ottoman near Viggo’s knees. He picked up a large white pottery mug and handed it to Viggo. “Oxtail soup from the Ivy. Be a good lad and drink it all.”
“I’m not hungry.” Viggo frowned querulously at the soup. “Why does my ass hurt?”
Sean lifted a brow and grinned.
“Not like that. It aches. Like…oh, come on. You know what I mean.” Viggo picked up a starched napkin from the tray and smacked Sean with it.
“The doctor gave you a B12 shot in the arse, which is why it aches. And he left these.” Sean picked up a little glass bottle and shook it.
“I never heard him at all,” Viggo marveled. “I was out like a light, I guess. What’s in the bottle?”
“Iron.”
Viggo took the bottle. “You kidding me? Geriatric blood supplements?”
“Three a day, until they’re gone,” Sean informed him. He pressed the soup on Viggo. “Wash them down with this.”
Viggo’s stomach did an unhappy flip-flop. “I don’t know if I can.”
“Try, for me,” Sean cajoled him softly. He put the mug to Viggo’s lips. “Just a sip, love. Come on.”
“Is this how you got your girls to take their medicine?”
“I’m very persuasive.”
Viggo took a mouthful of the soup, which turned out to be delicious. He downed one of the pills with another swallow, and finished half the mug at a draught. Leaning back, he smiled at Sean. “Thanks for taking care of me.”
“It’s my pleasure.” Sean put the mug on the tray, sat on the ottoman, and drew Viggo’s feet onto his lap. He started to massage them, his long, powerful fingers pressing against the soles, sending pleasurable little shocks down Viggo’s spine. “Vig, listen. I’ve canceled your flight to Spain. I don’t think you’re ready to fly yet.”
Viggo hesitated. He did feel like shit; on the other hand, he’d promised to be back soon. But being with Sean felt so damn good. Every time they were together, Viggo realized how much he’d missed the feel of Sean’s mouth, his chin scraping against Viggo’s belly, between his thighs, his hands pushing at the insides of Viggo’s knees, urging his legs apart….
“Vig? You there?”
“Yeah.” Viggo grinned. “Was thinking about you, in fact. Sorry.”
“You don’t mind?”
He made his decision. “No, it’s okay. I’ll just give her a call. You know where my phone is?”
“It’s dead, I’m afraid. I sent her a text.” Sean applied more pressure to Viggo’s feet.
“Oh.” Viggo paused, discomfited, then shrugged. “Okay. Thanks. Your hands are cold now. No, that feels good – don’t stop. I can put up with the cold.”
Sean set Viggo’s feet on the floor. “I was thinking of another way to warm up.”
Viggo was feeling slightly dizzy again. “Oh. Okay.” He tilted a grin at Sean. “Hopefully I won’t pass out on you tonight.”
“If you start to feel woozy, tell me, and I’ll stop.”
“No. I like being fucked into unconsciousness.” Viggo heaved himself up from the chair. His head still swam, but the pressure behind his eyeballs was gone. He swayed a little, and then moved toward the door. His knees buckled. “Whoa!”
Sean caught him before he fell, and braced him with an arm around Viggo’s waist. “Careful. I’ve got you.”
The dizziness was back. “Shit. Thought I was getting better.” He leaned against Sean and struggled for breath. “Hang on a second.” Slowly, he began to walk. “You don’t think I should go to the hospital, do you?”
“No. You’ll be fine in a few days, Vig, I promise. These things have to run their course. You’re just exhausted, that’s all.”
“That’s publicist code for ‘needs rehab,’” Viggo grumbled, clutching the banister.
“Not in your case,” Sean laughed. He kept an arm round Viggo’s waist and all but hauled him up the stairs.
“Wow. Have you been working out? You should have tried a nice fireman’s carry.”
“Next time.” Sean moved into the darkness of the corridor and half-carried Viggo back to the bedroom. He helped him into bed and began to take off his own clothes.
Viggo watched appreciatively for a few seconds, then turned on the light beside the bed. He caught a glimpse of his hand and forearm and recoiled. He was ungodly pale, the blue veins standing out in stark relief against his white skin.
Shut the light off.
“Okay.” If that was what his arm looked like, he didn’t want to see the rest of his body. He turned out the light, then frowned. “Sean?”
“Yes?” Sean’s head poked out of his dressing room.
“Never mind.” Viggo leaned back against the pillows for a moment. Something itched at the back of his brain. He frowned, then opened the drawer of the bedside table. His shaving kit sat inside. He fumbled until he found the little portable light-up mirror, and then flipped it open. “Jesus Christ!”
“What’s wrong?”
“I look like chalk,” Viggo said. “Why didn’t you tell me I looked so bad?” He scrutinized Sean as he came out of the dressing room. The fire sent golden ripples of light up and down Sean’s naked body, but even so, he looked pale too. “I’m not getting you sick too, am I?”
“Don’t be daft.” Sean threw aside the bedcovers and untied the belt of Viggo’s robe. “Let’s get this off you.” Gently but firmly, he took the mirror and closed it, putting it back into the kit bag.
Viggo shivered. “Get in bed, you’re freezing cold.”
Sean smiled. “In a moment.” He unwrapped the robe from Viggo’s body and stared down at him in silence. Finally he said. “I’ve missed you, Vig.”
“I’ve missed you too. Wish I could see you more often. Sorry this trip was kind of a dud.”
“You can make it up to me.” Sean rubbed his cold hand over Viggo’s instep.
“I hope so.” Viggo looked into Sean’s eyes. Like Sean’s skin, they seemed paler than before and full of a strange light. “You look great. Better than ever.”
Touch yourself.
“Oka –“ Viggo stopped. “What did you say?”
“I said touch yourself.” Sean moved his hand up to Viggo’s calf.
“Your hand’s cold,” Viggo complained.
“It won’t be for long.” Sean bent and kissed Viggo’s belly. “Don’t worry. I just need a little…stimulation.” Touch yourself.
Viggo’s hand drifted to his cock. He curled his finger round it and stroked lazily. “You can have anything you want, far as I’m concerned.”
An expression of pain crossed Sean’s face. “Viggo, I’m sorry.”
“Huh? For what?” His cock was starting to get hard; he didn’t want to stop, even though he was dog-tired. “What’s the matter?” It came out slurred: whassamarr?
“I – something’s happened to me, Vig. I can’t – I can’t seem to help myself. I’m sorry.” He stared down at Viggo’s cock. “Does that feel good?”
“Yeah.” He gazed into Sean’s eyes. So green, with that pale light behind them.
“Just a taste,” Sean whispered. He climbed onto the bed and dropped to his knees, spreading Viggo’s legs apart. “I’m so sorry, Viggo. I can’t take it all at once. I can’t do that to you. I’m sorry I’m causing you such…distress.”
Viggo frowned. Sean’s head was between his knees, his lips kissing up the length of Viggo’s thigh. “Sean…what are you….”
“I’m trying not to hurt you.” Sean’s lips moved against Viggo’s skin. I’m sorry, Viggo. I tried to mark you where no one could see, but it doesn’t matter now.
“I don’t know what the hell you’re talking about, Sean. You’ve been taking care of me.” Groggily, Viggo took his hand from his hard cock and raised himself to his elbows. His vision swam, but not so much that he couldn’t see Sean’s open mouth, sharp with unnaturally long canine teeth, inching closer and closer to a pair of jagged puncture marks on his inner thigh. “Sean?”
Shh. Be still, and I promise I’ll take care of you, Vig. Forever.
End.
Inspired by this photomanip by![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
stormatdusk.
Author: Alex
Fandom: VigBean AU
Rating: R.
Disclaimer: I sit upon a throne of lies.
Summary: Sean takes care of Viggo.
Warnings: A Hallowe'en fic.
Notes: Unbetaed.
Even before Viggo opened his eyes, he was conscious of a throbbing in his temples and behind his eyes. A flickering light danced in front of his closed eyelids; he winced and rolled over, settling into the soft pillow, curling up more tightly beneath the silk sheets and duvet.
Nice. It wouldn’t have even occurred to Viggo to buy silk sheets. He might tease Sean about his love of comfort and luxury, but it was a piece of cake to get used to stuff like this. He opened his eyes and looked at the play of firelight against the soft ginger-colored walls, soft penumbras flitting back and forth as if they were alive. Another luxury: a wood fire in a house that had central heating, fitted at tremendous expense. Well, it felt nice, and Sean worked his ass off. Sean was anything but lazy.
Viggo sat up with a groan and threw the bedclothes back. His head was killing him. That Scotch might have been seventy years old, but it might as well have been butane from the way he felt. Didn’t help that he’d been sick all week. Sean had opened his home
(and his arms and legs)
to Viggo, and Viggo had repaid the favor by coming down with some stupid flu. Poor Sean.
Viggo swung his legs out from the bed and got a head-rush. He steadied himself and planted one foot, then the other, onto the soft carpet beside the bed. He climbed off the bed and clung to the post for a minute. He was still dizzy, and his headache had intensified.
He shivered. He might have been bare-ass naked, but how could he be cold when the room was warm and there was a fire going to boot? He went to pull the duvet off the bed and saw a robe draped across the chest at the foot of the bed.
Thoughtful. Viggo smiled and slipped the robe on. It was a crimson and umber paisley, lined with what felt like cashmere. There was a pair of embroidered velvet slippers beside the chest, but he ignored them and left the room, feeling more than a little wobbly.
The hall was dark and he couldn’t remember where the light switches were, so he groped his way through the corridor until he found the balustrade. One faint light burned at the bottom of the stairs, and he heard Sean’s voice.
“No, cancel it altogether, please.” It was Sean’s Actor voice: plummy, dulcet, brimming with charm. “Oh, what a pity. Well, can you leave the return open? No, I’m not sure when. Of course I’ll take care of the fee. I see. Right, then. Thank you so much. Goodbye.”
Viggo paused for breath at the bottom of the stairs. He felt like shit. He shouldn’t have gotten up, but he’d been slugging around in Sean’s bed for the better part of a week, and half the time they hadn’t even been fucking. It was a disgrace. He trudged into the library. Another fire burned in the grate, casting the room’s only light onto the book-lined walls. Sean was there, fully dressed, sitting at his desk and looking slightly annoyed, but when Viggo appeared at the door he glanced up, smiling. “My God, it’s alive.”
“Hey.” Viggo dropped into the first available chair. “I must be getting old.”
“Why do you say that?” Sean got up and moved to Viggo’s chair, sitting on the arm. He tilted Viggo’s chin up and kissed him lingeringly. Viggo yielded, leaning back and wrapping an arm around Sean’s neck. A pleasant swoony sensation passed through his body – not quite horny, but close. He moved back, breathing hard.
“Jesus, even kissing takes everything out of me. What I was going to say is that I never get sick, and when I do –“ Sean smiled, and Viggo flapped a hand at him. “Oh, shut up. When I do, I bounce right back. This time –“ He shook his head.
“You’ve been busy, Viggo. Bloody press junkets take a lot out of you. Up at six, down at two, fourteen interviews, two crap meals, and a premiere in between – it’s bollocks, I know.” He stroked Viggo’s cheek.
“Mm. Your hand is nice and warm. Keep it there, I’m freezing.”
“I’ve got a better place for it.” Sean slipped his hand between Viggo’s thighs. “I see you found the dressing gown. I left slippers for you, too.”
“Yeah, I saw them.”
“No wonder you’re cold.” Sean’s hand stayed demurely between Viggo’s legs, not moving upward.
“I feel like a jerk, passing out like that. I guess it was the whiskey.”
Sean removed his hand and brushed back Viggo’s hair, his face somber. “You scared the life out of me. I had the doctor come right away.” He got up from the chair. “Stay there,” he commanded. “Don’t bloody move.” He slipped out of the library without a sound.
Viggo sat back, pleasantly tired, his body aching. Despite the fact that he felt like hell, it was nice to be taken care of, to have someone else make the decisions, to be the authority. Sean did it well. Some actors were like turtles on their backs the minute they were away from their army of assistants and publicists and agents; for Sean, being on his own was a relief. Viggo wasn’t sorry about that, either. They’d had the entire house to themselves for a week, with only the housekeeping staff tiptoeing around in the daytime. He glanced at the filmy white curtains. The last of the daylight filtered through a layer of grey and deep gold clouds, and the street lights were just coming on. Only a few cars rolled past, quietly and at a sensibly sedate pace, befitting this part of London with its plush houses and tree-lined streets.
Sean came back with a tray that he set down on a leather ottoman near Viggo’s knees. He picked up a large white pottery mug and handed it to Viggo. “Oxtail soup from the Ivy. Be a good lad and drink it all.”
“I’m not hungry.” Viggo frowned querulously at the soup. “Why does my ass hurt?”
Sean lifted a brow and grinned.
“Not like that. It aches. Like…oh, come on. You know what I mean.” Viggo picked up a starched napkin from the tray and smacked Sean with it.
“The doctor gave you a B12 shot in the arse, which is why it aches. And he left these.” Sean picked up a little glass bottle and shook it.
“I never heard him at all,” Viggo marveled. “I was out like a light, I guess. What’s in the bottle?”
“Iron.”
Viggo took the bottle. “You kidding me? Geriatric blood supplements?”
“Three a day, until they’re gone,” Sean informed him. He pressed the soup on Viggo. “Wash them down with this.”
Viggo’s stomach did an unhappy flip-flop. “I don’t know if I can.”
“Try, for me,” Sean cajoled him softly. He put the mug to Viggo’s lips. “Just a sip, love. Come on.”
“Is this how you got your girls to take their medicine?”
“I’m very persuasive.”
Viggo took a mouthful of the soup, which turned out to be delicious. He downed one of the pills with another swallow, and finished half the mug at a draught. Leaning back, he smiled at Sean. “Thanks for taking care of me.”
“It’s my pleasure.” Sean put the mug on the tray, sat on the ottoman, and drew Viggo’s feet onto his lap. He started to massage them, his long, powerful fingers pressing against the soles, sending pleasurable little shocks down Viggo’s spine. “Vig, listen. I’ve canceled your flight to Spain. I don’t think you’re ready to fly yet.”
Viggo hesitated. He did feel like shit; on the other hand, he’d promised to be back soon. But being with Sean felt so damn good. Every time they were together, Viggo realized how much he’d missed the feel of Sean’s mouth, his chin scraping against Viggo’s belly, between his thighs, his hands pushing at the insides of Viggo’s knees, urging his legs apart….
“Vig? You there?”
“Yeah.” Viggo grinned. “Was thinking about you, in fact. Sorry.”
“You don’t mind?”
He made his decision. “No, it’s okay. I’ll just give her a call. You know where my phone is?”
“It’s dead, I’m afraid. I sent her a text.” Sean applied more pressure to Viggo’s feet.
“Oh.” Viggo paused, discomfited, then shrugged. “Okay. Thanks. Your hands are cold now. No, that feels good – don’t stop. I can put up with the cold.”
Sean set Viggo’s feet on the floor. “I was thinking of another way to warm up.”
Viggo was feeling slightly dizzy again. “Oh. Okay.” He tilted a grin at Sean. “Hopefully I won’t pass out on you tonight.”
“If you start to feel woozy, tell me, and I’ll stop.”
“No. I like being fucked into unconsciousness.” Viggo heaved himself up from the chair. His head still swam, but the pressure behind his eyeballs was gone. He swayed a little, and then moved toward the door. His knees buckled. “Whoa!”
Sean caught him before he fell, and braced him with an arm around Viggo’s waist. “Careful. I’ve got you.”
The dizziness was back. “Shit. Thought I was getting better.” He leaned against Sean and struggled for breath. “Hang on a second.” Slowly, he began to walk. “You don’t think I should go to the hospital, do you?”
“No. You’ll be fine in a few days, Vig, I promise. These things have to run their course. You’re just exhausted, that’s all.”
“That’s publicist code for ‘needs rehab,’” Viggo grumbled, clutching the banister.
“Not in your case,” Sean laughed. He kept an arm round Viggo’s waist and all but hauled him up the stairs.
“Wow. Have you been working out? You should have tried a nice fireman’s carry.”
“Next time.” Sean moved into the darkness of the corridor and half-carried Viggo back to the bedroom. He helped him into bed and began to take off his own clothes.
Viggo watched appreciatively for a few seconds, then turned on the light beside the bed. He caught a glimpse of his hand and forearm and recoiled. He was ungodly pale, the blue veins standing out in stark relief against his white skin.
Shut the light off.
“Okay.” If that was what his arm looked like, he didn’t want to see the rest of his body. He turned out the light, then frowned. “Sean?”
“Yes?” Sean’s head poked out of his dressing room.
“Never mind.” Viggo leaned back against the pillows for a moment. Something itched at the back of his brain. He frowned, then opened the drawer of the bedside table. His shaving kit sat inside. He fumbled until he found the little portable light-up mirror, and then flipped it open. “Jesus Christ!”
“What’s wrong?”
“I look like chalk,” Viggo said. “Why didn’t you tell me I looked so bad?” He scrutinized Sean as he came out of the dressing room. The fire sent golden ripples of light up and down Sean’s naked body, but even so, he looked pale too. “I’m not getting you sick too, am I?”
“Don’t be daft.” Sean threw aside the bedcovers and untied the belt of Viggo’s robe. “Let’s get this off you.” Gently but firmly, he took the mirror and closed it, putting it back into the kit bag.
Viggo shivered. “Get in bed, you’re freezing cold.”
Sean smiled. “In a moment.” He unwrapped the robe from Viggo’s body and stared down at him in silence. Finally he said. “I’ve missed you, Vig.”
“I’ve missed you too. Wish I could see you more often. Sorry this trip was kind of a dud.”
“You can make it up to me.” Sean rubbed his cold hand over Viggo’s instep.
“I hope so.” Viggo looked into Sean’s eyes. Like Sean’s skin, they seemed paler than before and full of a strange light. “You look great. Better than ever.”
Touch yourself.
“Oka –“ Viggo stopped. “What did you say?”
“I said touch yourself.” Sean moved his hand up to Viggo’s calf.
“Your hand’s cold,” Viggo complained.
“It won’t be for long.” Sean bent and kissed Viggo’s belly. “Don’t worry. I just need a little…stimulation.” Touch yourself.
Viggo’s hand drifted to his cock. He curled his finger round it and stroked lazily. “You can have anything you want, far as I’m concerned.”
An expression of pain crossed Sean’s face. “Viggo, I’m sorry.”
“Huh? For what?” His cock was starting to get hard; he didn’t want to stop, even though he was dog-tired. “What’s the matter?” It came out slurred: whassamarr?
“I – something’s happened to me, Vig. I can’t – I can’t seem to help myself. I’m sorry.” He stared down at Viggo’s cock. “Does that feel good?”
“Yeah.” He gazed into Sean’s eyes. So green, with that pale light behind them.
“Just a taste,” Sean whispered. He climbed onto the bed and dropped to his knees, spreading Viggo’s legs apart. “I’m so sorry, Viggo. I can’t take it all at once. I can’t do that to you. I’m sorry I’m causing you such…distress.”
Viggo frowned. Sean’s head was between his knees, his lips kissing up the length of Viggo’s thigh. “Sean…what are you….”
“I’m trying not to hurt you.” Sean’s lips moved against Viggo’s skin. I’m sorry, Viggo. I tried to mark you where no one could see, but it doesn’t matter now.
“I don’t know what the hell you’re talking about, Sean. You’ve been taking care of me.” Groggily, Viggo took his hand from his hard cock and raised himself to his elbows. His vision swam, but not so much that he couldn’t see Sean’s open mouth, sharp with unnaturally long canine teeth, inching closer and closer to a pair of jagged puncture marks on his inner thigh. “Sean?”
Shh. Be still, and I promise I’ll take care of you, Vig. Forever.
End.
Inspired by this photomanip by
stormatdusk.
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
no subject
Date: 2011-10-31 02:45 pm (UTC)