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This is for [personal profile] noalinnea because Orlando is being particularly charming today and I have stuff to make up. (It's not my fault! Orlando is Sean's responsibility and he is in Italy, the bastard) <3

‘Viggo,’ Eric says as he walks into his bathroom, ‘I just realized something horrible.’

Viggo emerges from the tub, his hair plastered to his face and his green swimming goggles. He spits out water.


Eric tilts his head, previous pain momentarily forgotten.

‘Why do you do that? Every time, Viggo. Ew.’

Viggo submerges again, and Eric isn’t stupid, when Viggo reappears, he already has Viggo’s bathrobe raised in front of him to catch the water spat at him.

‘What, this?’ Viggo asks once Eric lowered his terry-cloth shield again. ‘I don’t see your problem. It’s not like that time in the Pacific when you swallowed ten gallons of fish pee.’

‘I don’t like you very much, you know,’ Eric remarks matter-of-factly as he shudders, though that is more due to the fact that he nearly drowned that one time in the Pacific, not that the water he inadvertently inhaled must have contained fish excrement.

‘Did you come in here to inform me that you take offense in me drinking my own bathwater?’ Viggo asks.

Eric pulls a face.

‘Now you’re drinking it, too? I thought you were just trying to do an impression of a Roman water fountain.’

‘Why would I?’

‘Because you’re you?’

Viggo shrugs, the water ripples slightly.

‘Fair point,’ he concedes and wipes his wet hair out of his face before he leans back against the tub, looking up at Eric. ‘What’s vexing you, mate?’

Eric carelessly drops the robe into the sink and sits down on the toilet lid.

‘So, I was thinking about our trip and -,’ he starts, but temporarily doesn’t get any further because a huge megawatt grin appears on Viggo’s face at the mere mentioning in response.

‘I love you,’ Eric says, and honestly, it’s not really fair that sometimes that feeling punches him in the face like it was Mohamed Ali, dancing away cackling while Eric goes down and goes down hard.

‘Eric?’ Viggo says after a moment. ‘You were thinking about our trip and... What?’

‘What?’ Eric starts, picking himself off from the metaphorical floor of his feelings (or whatever, he isn’t good with metaphors). ‘Oh, right, yes, so I was thinking about Greece -’

‘And it’s gonna be spectacular,’ Viggo interrupts him (of course he does). Water splashes over the rim of the tub with his enthusiasm. ‘The monasteries of Meteora alone, this is going to be unbelievably amazing. I’ve always wanted to see them.’

‘I know.’

‘I can’t believe we’ve never been there before.’

‘Well, there was this one time when we wanted to go over Easter,’ Eric reminds him, ‘and you decided you’d rather spend the Easter holidays on the can with the runs.’

‘And you wonder why I spit water at you.’

‘I don’t, really,’ Eric says wistfully. ‘God, that was a horrible week. I felt so bad for you.’

‘I felt bad for me as well,’ Viggo says. ‘So we at least got that in common. But anyway, you were saying about our glorious trip to Greece?’

‘I realized that we’re flying over there. And that that means we won’t be taking the Falcon.’

He makes sure to put enough despair into his voice for Viggo to at least try to hide his amusement. He fails miserably, of course, but at least he tries.

‘Yeah, it won’t fit into our hand luggage, that’s right.’

Eric leans back and by that accidentally flushes the toilet by leaning against the button. He lets out a dramatic sigh parallel to the sound of water cascading down.

Viggo makes a sound of commiseration before disappearing again. His knees stick out of the surface in the middle. When he reappears, he doesn’t spit at Eric again. Instead he pushes his swimming goggles up into his hair.



‘When you booked our flight?’


‘Remember I booked the hotels for the first couple of nights?’

‘Yeah. Still not sure that that artsy hotel in Athens was such a great choice, mate. The murals will give us nightmares.’

Viggo laughs.

‘Maybe so. But think about what brilliant entries that’ll give us for our dream journals.’

Eric snorts and this time he uses his shoulder blade to deliberately press the flush. Viggo grins in response but then dims it down a bit again.

‘So, you booked the flight and I booked the hotel,’ he summed up. ‘Which of us booked us a car?’

Eric’s eyes widen comically.


Viggo shrugs, feigning nonchalance.

‘We could just buy a donkey,’ he says casually and cackles when Eric is out of the bathroom and on his way to his laptop to load Europcar in 0.2 seconds.
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