evocates: (Misc: Masked like a lover)
• just another dreamer • ([personal profile] evocates) wrote2013-05-21 07:04 pm

[FIC] RPF: the sun I found / Finding Portable Cliffs

Two fics I wrote a long time ago for prompts. I think it was in March? I'm very late to posting them.

And yes I am still struggling with that Vigbean I said I was working on a bazillion years ago. /sobs.

the sun I found

Characters/Pairings: Sean Bean/Viggo Mortensen
Rating: PG
Words: ~540
Disclaimer: Didn’t happen, just the product of my imagination.
Summary: Viggo tries to name his new book. For [livejournal.com profile] noalinnea for the prompt “birth”.

“It's like choosing a name for a baby, you know?” Viggo said, his hand stroking over paper, over and over. “I can't just... pick something. I made this for both of us.”

Sean, draped on the opposite couch with his reading glasses perched on his nose, stared at Viggo across the coffee table. He deliberately swung his legs up, heels going thunk against polished wood. “You're giving yourself an aneurysm over this for no good reason,” he drawled. “Use a metaphor, a poetic-sounding description, or even an adjective.” He waved a hand. “Something like that.”

Viggo blinked, “Why?”

“Well, that's what you've been using for the ones you've got, aye?”

“But this is special,” Viggo protested immediately. “This is not just mine but yours as well, something that we made together.” He looked back down at the blank page as if he believed that words would pop out of it, fully-formed and absolutely perfect, if he stared hard enough. But Viggo knew the caprices of inspiration well enough, and he stopped after a minute of eyeballing paper, cocking his head at Sean.

“Why don't you suggest something?”

“Me?” Sean blinked at him. He (finally!) closed the book he was reading, leaning forward and taking Viggo's hands into his own. “Vig, I don't title anything.”

“Yes, yes, composer of the masterpiece da-da-da di da-di,” Viggo lifted Sean's hand, pressing a soft kiss against the back. “Try for me?”

“Don't mock that title. It's plenty descriptive - you know what I'm talking 'bout when I say it, aye?” Sean tried to frown, but his eyes were dancing. “Look, what's the metaphor you keep overusing when describing me?”

“It's not overused if it's entirely appropriate,” Viggo denied. His knee smacked a little too hard against the table top, but he ignored the shot of pain to slide fingers into Sean's hair. “I called you my sun.”

“In case you haven't noticed because of your old, failing eyes, Vig, me hair's brown nowadays,” Sean shot back tartly. He grinned up to Viggo. “Why not call it 'photographing the sun' or something like that? Plenty descriptive, and it's even a little clever.”

Viggo didn't answer. He froze for a long moment, his lips parted and eyes wide as he stared at Sean. Sean blinked, reaching up and poking Viggo gently on the nose. “Earth to Vig?”

The sun I found,” Viggo whispered. His hands slipped down, thumbs grazing Sean's cheekbones downwards, following the lines of his face until they curve over the collarbones and he gripped tight to those strong arms. “That's perfect.”

“I didn't say anything near that pretty,” Sean said, only half protesting. He turned his head and pressed a soft kiss against Viggo's wrist. “But that sounds like a good title, aye.”

Not even listening by not, Viggo clambered over the coffee table fully. He could hear pens and pencils falling onto the hardwood floor, but his attention was fully fixed on Sean's mouth, Sean's eyes, and he kissed him hard, tasting the sun he found and breathing in his heat.

“Shouldn't you write down the title before you forget it?” Sean murmured, words half-muffled and mangled by Viggo's tongue.

“Nah,” Viggo said, laughing. “You can remember it for me.”


Finding Portable Cliffs

Characters/Pairings: Sean Bean/Orlando Bloom
Rating: PG
Words: ~550
Disclaimer: Didn’t happen, just the product of my imagination.
Summary: Sean’s flight was delayed and Orlando is complaining. A dialogue-only fic written for [livejournal.com profile] afra_schatz’s prompt, “How many times? If you promise something, you gotta follow through, you arse.”

I'm never trusting you again.

What? It's not me fault!

It's totally your fault.

I'm really glad you think so highly of me, Lan. Of course I can control London's weather. I asked for a storm so the plane is stuck, of course I did.

You promised! When you promise something, you gotta follow through, you arse.

Your arse is not important enough to swim through the Atlantic for.

Aww, you'll do that for me?

I just said I won't.

You're too sweet, Sean! You'll swim the Atlantic for me! Should I go find a cliff or a lighthouse and wave a handkerchief so you can find your way?

You're mad. Completely out of your tree.

Maybe I should find a tree instead. Do you think American coasts have trees?

They have coconut ones.

I'll climb one of those if you'd swim for me.

I hope that if you do, you'll fall on your arse and break it.

Stop being mean to my arse. It's your arse too.

We're not sharing arses, Lan.

See, you're destroying the romance again. I was trying to make this phone call romantic and you're spoiling everything.

Sharing arses isn't hygenic. It's crazy. Like you.

You don't seem to complain when you're using that arse for your own nefarious purposes.

For your information, I only use your arse when you beg for it. When you mewl like a kitten for me cock, in fact. And speaking of me cock, it'll freeze if I swim across the Atlantic. You sure you want that?

Nah, your hot-blooded desire for me will make sure that your cock remains intact.

Only me cock?

Well, that's the most important part of you, isn't it?

And you say I'm not romantic.

There's plenty of romance in the appreciation of a good cock, you plebe.

Please tell me you're not having this conversation in public.

I'm having it in the middle of a crowded airport, seated next to two little old ladies who are now looking at me like I killed that poodle they have. It'll be a mercy to kill that poodle. It's wearing ribbons.

Why do poodles wear ribbons in your imagination?

I'm insulted. You don't believe me. I'm really in an airport, you know.

Only the very young or very stupid will believe you. I'm neither.

I don't know, there was that time...

Oh look, me plane's here.

No it's not.

Yes it is really here.

No it's not. You're just stopping me so I don't regale your embarrassing stories to the little old ladies and her poodle.

Lan, do you want me in LA, or do you want to continue to feed your imagination?

I can do both. I'm a good multitasker.

Multitask with your hand inside your pants for the next few hours, aye?

You say the sweetest things. Now get your arse on the plane so I can ogle it without looking at tabloids.

I thought we're sharing your arse?

We can share two arses between us, Sean, don't be so closed-minded.

One day I will teach you the difference between open-mindedness and insanity. One day.

Six of one, half a dozen of another. Methinks the lady protest too much.

Hey, Lan?


Wave a handkerchief for me when I land, alright?

I'll even bring a portable cliff.


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