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[FIC] RPF: grazed knees [3/3]
Part I
Part II
Part III
The Jezebels - Mace Spray
The Civil War - Poison and Wine
Ariadna was especially beautiful in the morning.
She was leaning on the door of the room he had taken for his studio, dressed only in a thin flannel shift that covered her wrists. Viggo looked at her, finally turning away from the large canvas that he had been staring at ever since the sun had risen this morning, and he reached out an arm for her. Her hand tangled with his as she took the three steps forward, and she leaned in and gently kissed his hair.
“You haven’t slept,” she said, her own voice thick with the fog of the newly-awaken, the Spanish words slurred from her usually impeccable Madrid accent.
Viggo shook his head, closing his eyes for a long moment, “Couldn’t.”
She shifted until she was standing beside him, looking at what he had been staring at—what he was still staring at. Her fingers reached out, almost touching the edge of the canvas- and Viggo couldn’t help himself. He grabbed onto them, tugging her back almost too harshly, then let out a breath and gentled the motion with a soft kiss on her fingertips.
He had to close his eyes to avoid the pity of her gaze.
“You still love him,” she murmured in English, and her tone was the exact one Sigmund Freud had used on Sabina Spielrein, once upon a time. His breath shuddered out of his lungs and he forced his eyes open to meet hers.
“No, I don’t. How can I, when he doesn’t seem to give a fuck about me?”
Ariadna only smiled softly in reply. Her hands splayed out over his jaw, touching him with only her fingertips. “It’s always possible to love someone who does not seem to want you at all, my love,” she said, and there was that pain in her eyes again; a hurt that he was aware of these past five months and change, a hurt that he was aware he had caused. “You know that perfectly well, Viggo.”
He pulled away from her grasp to walk towards the window, staring mindlessly out to the backyard. Viggo had never been one for gardening—it had always seemed too much like trying to restrain what should never be kept behind neat, trim lines—but he had learned the names of the plants she had anyway. He knew that he could say that he learned them all for the sake of it, but he knew that his heart was a traitorous thing, and it still had hope that one day he be able to would show Sean these plants, and Sean would give him that soft, sweet little smile that Viggo had long associated with his garden.
“It’s a fool’s errand to even try.”
“I know,” Ariadna replied. She turned his head towards her and placed a kiss on his cheek, friendly and perfunctory. “That’s why I’m not going to keep trying. I think I deserve better than a man whose heart belongs elsewhere, no matter how quickly a single glance of you makes my own beat.”
“Ariadna—”
She placed a finger on his lips, silencing his protest. “You will always be my friend, Viggo, and you will always have a place here, in my home and in my heart.” Her hand closed into a fist that she placed over her chest. “But you need to look for yours as well.”
“I wasn’t talking about you,” he protested. Even as he spoke, he knew that it was useless.
Ariadna indulged him anyway. “I know, but what you said is true in most cases. Not yours, however.”
Viggo laughed a little, rubbing his hand over his lip and nose. He paused midway through the motion and let his hand drop back to his side. “How do I always end up with optimists?”
“Your heart is an optimist,” Ariadna shot back lightly. She chuckled quietly, dragging a hand through her hair. “But listen to me, Viggo. You’re an extraordinary man, and after five months I cannot imagine not ever having fallen for you. Why would anyone who had loved you for ten years not love you any longer?”
“Exene stopped,” he said, cursing himself inwardly for the easy way that he destroyed the very hope that he wanted to grab onto with both hands. There was nothing more that he wanted to believe in than that Sean loved him, but he knew better. Wasn’t Sean the one who broke it off, who fucked someone else?
Ariadna gave him a wry look, as if she knew exactly what he was thinking about. Knowing her, she probably did; every single word. “If David and I are ever capable of reaching even half of what you have with Exene even now, I will be extremely thankful. Most exes aren’t capable of still going on vacations together with the child they share, you know.”
Viggo let out a hard exhale. He couldn’t help the small, upward quirk of his lips. “You’re determined to cheer me up.”
“No,” Ariadna corrected him. “I’m determined to make you go for what you really want, because being the second best gets really tiring after a while.”
His smile failed immediately at those words, and he reached out a hand, gently stroking her hair. “I’ve sorry; I’ve been unfair to you.”
“I knew what I was getting into. Even that first day, when you stumbled through my door, there was nothing in your eyes except a reflection of him.” She turned her head and kissed his palm. “I’m too old for illusions, but I let you in anyway.”
There was nothing else Viggo could say. He could only close his eyes, leaning in and kissed her forehead.
“Thank you.”
***
Sean Bean was a fucking coward.
Near half a year wasted looking for an excuse; near half a year wasted because he didn’t have the courage to pick up the damn phone and ask if Viggo would ever want to see him again. Then again, maybe that wasn’t his fault entirely—it wasn’t as if Viggo had reached out a hand either. But then again, would Sean have taken that hand if it was offered? Viggo had disappointed him for so many times that he wondered why he would try, why he would set himself up for another possible disappointment.
Sean was thinking in circles, thinking in the same damn circles that he had been thinking in since the March when the promotions ended. At least he had work to distract him; Sean had always scoffed at the actors who seemed to jump into other people’s heads in order to avoid their own, but nowadays he was reduced to just scoffing at himself. It was so much easier to just be someone else for a while.
For first time he wished that he was more like Viggo, that the character he played lingered with him after work every day. But Sean wasn’t a man like that; he couldn’t run away forever, and after Age of Heroes was over he was left with himself again, looking in the mirror and not liking what he saw looking back.
That man was a liar and a half, and Sean was tired of being him. He pulled the car into the parking lot nearest to where the film crew was. Out of the corner of his eye, he could already see the boy nearly vibrating in spot as he waited. Sean almost smiled as he climbed out of the car, turning his head and smiling.
“Hey, Garrett.”
“Sean!” Garrett ran over, stopping barely a few steps in front of Sean, neatly intruding into his personal space. “It’s so cool that you’ve found time to come. I haven’t seen you in ages! God, you knew me when I still had trouble growing facial hair!”
Sean laughed, and it was a genuine sound. He swung an arm around Garrett’s shoulders, “So ya gonna keep that prickly ‘air on yer face fer this shoot?”
“Just a little bit.”
Months of waiting and looking for an excuse. On the Road gave him the perfect excuse in the form of Garrett Hedlund. It didn’t matter that he had something like half a scene with that kid in Troy, because Hedlund remembered him and invited him to the set the moment he had breathed that he had an interest. Sean wondered when he had become so purely mercenary; when he started making use of other people for his own means. He knew that he should feel guiltier over it, but he didn’t.
Funny how being away from Viggo exposed the worst parts of him. Maybe he should blame that on the man too. Sean chuckled at the thought.
“So who else is on the set?”
“Well, pretty much everyone,” Garrett answered immediately, completely oblivious to the sudden turn of Sean’s thoughts. “Kristen Stewart, Kirsten Dunst, Sam Riley… I don’t suppose you know any of them?”
“Nah,” Sean said. He tipped his head to the side and waited.
“Oh, yeah, and Viggo just arrived this morning! Viggo Mortensen; he plays Old Bull Lee—you know, William Burroughs? Man, I’m scared shitless just by the thought of him here. I’ve been looking up every possible philosophical movement that’s been attached to the Beat generation, just in case, I don’t know, he brings it up during conversation or something.”
Sean looked at the kid for a moment. Slowly, his lips curved upwards and he threw his head back and laughed. Fucking odd, really fucking odd, to talk to someone who knew Viggo and him both but didn’t know about the two of them, didn’t know the wreck they had both made of their relationship. He chuckled loud and long, slapping Garrett hard on the back, hard enough to make the boy stumble, before he shook his head.
“He won’t, cross me ‘eart,” he said, still laughing under his breath. “I can promise ya that.”
“You know him?” Garrett’s mouth was little bit open as he stared. Then he shook his head hard. “What kind of question is that? Of course you do, from Lord of the Rings, right?”
“Yeah,” Sean said, and he hoped Garrett did not notice the strange distance in his smile.
“He’s an old friend of mine.”
*
Viggo turned, halfway into a word with Walter. Immediately, his head cocked to the side as he tried to catch hold of that elusive voice in the wind—a very familiar laugh and one that he missed as greatly as he missed having heartbeats that signified something other than that he was still alive. Walter gave him a strange look, but Viggo ignored him, his eyes slipping fully shut as he tried to find that voice.
Nothing. Of course there was nothing. Damn, he thought he had stopped hallucinating Sean’s presence since March. He rubbed at his eyes.
“You alright there?” Walter asked him, and there was a quiet caution in his voice.
“Yeah,” Viggo said, coughing and clearing his throat when he realised how very rough his voice was. “Yeah, I’m fine. Just thought I heard something.” He tried frantically to recall their previous topic of conversation. They had been talking about Old Bull Lee… something about his sexuality, which was entirely uninteresting. Viggo would rather talk about—
“I wonder if Bull Lee- Burroughs- if he had ever heard voices like that, in the wind. He’s described writing Naked Lunch as something almost like an out-of-body experience, writing without thinking, just typing out the words without going through the filter of his consciousness. Obviously there must be some lucidity in him because he’s still capable of understanding the meaning of words; he’s not writing gibberish like Lewis Carroll when he wrote Jabberwocky—though that’s a completely different kind of gibberish, not the use of the word as understood conventionally—but returning to Burroughs, I wonder what he thinks about the Greek concept of muses, of authors as conduits instead creators, helpless at the fingertips of immortal beings with great powers who whisper in their ears.” He scratched at his jaw, took a breath, and ignored Kristen’s uncomprehending stare right beside him and Walter’s suddenly-intense eyes. “I wonder if he would believe that the drugs are in fact the muse that whispers in his ears and he only writes that down, or if the drugs become like a…. well, a q-tip I guess, something to clean out your ears so that you can listen to people better.”
“I don’t think he’s ever thought about drugs and the muses in the same sentence like ya just did. He calls ‘is drugs ‘junk’, yeah? ‘The ideal product’ fer sellin’. Ya can’t sell muses or creativity, can ya?”
That was Sean’s voice.
Viggo stopped talking immediately, his hand closing at his side. Like Orpheus, he so badly wanted to turn around to check if Sean was really there; yet like Orpheus, he was terribly afraid that if he did, Sean would disappear, condemned back into the underworld because of Viggo’s foolishness.
“I don’t know,” he shrugged without turning around, his hand starting to curl into a fist. Of all the places to choose, why had Sean chosen somewhere so public?
(He knew the answer already—because Sean was a coward, because Viggo was a coward as well, and both of them needed being in public to delay the inevitable confrontation.)
“There’s plenty of artists who swear that sleep deprivation or drugs help them to create better.”
Sean snorted, “Ain’t it you who said that art’s just a matter o’ payin’ attention? If ya need somethin’ ta make ya see somethin’ in a way that allows ya ta make art, ya ain’t payin’ close enough attention in the first place.”
Viggo took a deep breath and turned around. Near a lamppost on the street just inches away from Viggo, Sean stood, his hands shoved into his pockets, his head cocked slightly to the side. He was half-smiling and, Viggo noticed, his fingers were curled inside his pockets, the tips digging hard into his thighs.
“And what do you know about art, Ranuccio?”
Sean arched an eyebrow, perfectly British in his expression, “Of all the fuckin’ movies, couldn’t ya ‘ave picked another one, Master Chief?”
They looked at each other. Out of the corner of his eyes, he could see his new castmates looking from him to Sean then back again, utter confusion written on their features. He ignored them, his eyes fixed upon Sean—noticing the slight pallor to his cheeks, the dark circles laid below his eyelids, and the lines writ even deeper into his skin. Sean looked worse than the last time Viggo had seen him, and Viggo knew that he had aged, too.
He knew he shouldn’t, but he smiled. A small laugh escaped him before it exploded into full-blown giggles, and he shoved a hand into his mouth but it was too late, laughter spilled out of him and he was bent over, howling without knowing why. He wasn’t alone, because he could hear Sean’s deep, rumbling chuckles alongside him, and they had somehow managed to stumble towards each other, their hands closing around each other’s shoulders, and Viggo was leaning on Sean and Sean was leaning back as they tried to stifle their mildly hysterical laughter, but neither of them could.
Sean felt so warm against him, skin against skin, and it was so goddamn wonderful that Viggo felt his eyes burn.
Viggo was damn glad that he had a reputation for being just a little bit off his trolley, because he couldn’t at all explain what the hell was happening right at the moment. He only knew that he was laughing with Sean, something he hadn’t done for over a year, and it felt so good. Like coming home.
“What- what are you doing here?” he gasped out when he gained some modicum of control over himself.
Sean slapped him hard on the back before he pulled away, dragging Garrett Hedlund over. The boy blinked owlishly at Viggo and alright, it was probably imagination, but the kid looked terrified for the briefest of moments before he smiled.
“Viggo,” Sean declared, deepening his voice as much as possible. “I would like to introduce you to my friend Garrett Hedlund. He plays Dean Moriarty in this movie, ain’t that grand? I came over ta visit ‘im”
Like hell you did, Viggo thought, and he was surprised that his own mental tone was fond instead of angry like he thought it would be. He took Garrett’s hand and shook it solemnly.
“Such a kindly man, Mister Sean Bean is,” he said in an exaggerated stage whisper. “To introduce me to my own castmate.”
“Nah,” Sean said, and he was back to leaning on the lamppost. “I just like it when yer payin’ attention ta me.”
Viggo looked at him. There was a solemn undertone to Sean’s words that he didn’t quite understand but he knew, instinctively, that they had to discuss it, sooner or later. But not now, not now in front of so many people who didn’t deserve to know the full extent of their relationship. Viggo looked at Sean for a long moment, his lips parting to ask—
“Hey, Vig,” Sean said, and his words were so abrupt that Viggo’s own teeth clacked closed, nearly biting off the tip of his tongue. “Ya want ta go fer a drink later?”
“Yeah,” he heard himself saying before he could think about it or regret it (the two were almost synonymous, nowadays). “Yeah, that’d be nice.”
*
There wasn’t any filming to be done for Viggo; the day was just an introduction between him and his new castmates. Sean had left after the first few minutes, and Viggo had surprised himself once again by the sheer ache he felt when he saw the man’s back disappear behind the new-built and new-repaired houses and streets of New Orleans. He thought he had gotten used to the idea of Sean disappearing from him long ago. Apparently not.
Maybe Ariadna was right that Sean loved him still. Or maybe Viggo should just try to find out if she was. It was only fair—after all, Sean had taken the first step and came here, hadn’t he?
They had decided on the bar near the bed-and-breakfast that Viggo had found himself in. The producers had offered to set him up in a hotel, but Viggo decided that Burroughs probably didn’t have the money to afford a proper hotel and probably stowed himself in one of the many little places like these. That and Viggo liked the idea that he was supporting the local economy instead of big hotel chains in New Orleans; that in return for the city so generously lending the movie its environs, Viggo would try to encourage its people and get to know them.
He kept his mind on the city as he waited for Sean at the bar. Years ago, he had waited for Sean in a bar like this, called the Green Parrot, all the way on the other side of the world. New Zealand seemed like a dream—a place where he and Sean first found each other, and Viggo first understood the ache of missing someone for a few hours; when he first recognised a certain light in Sean’s eyes that said, Hey, I haven’t seen you in a few hours, I’ve missed you.
Maybe they had simply taken each other for granted through the past years.
Viggo took a long drag of his cigarette. One good thing about New Orleans was that the bars themselves, as long as they weren’t attached to a restaurant, allowed for smoking indoors. Viggo was already building up a small pile in his ashtray while his single beer was left untouched. He waved down the bartender and ordered another two packs of his usual brand and left them by his elbow.
Maybe it would have been a better idea to invite Sean up to his room- no. That would be a terrible idea. Viggo rubbed at his jaw, wishing that he had something other than cigarettes to occupy himself.
Then Sean breezed in through the door and dropped down into the seat opposite him before Viggo could even take a breath.
“I was outside,” Sean said, his words quick and overly casual. “Just outside. Saw ya when ya came in ‘round fifteen, twenty minutes ago. Spent that time tryin’ ta convince meself ta not run away wi’ me tail between me legs and ta just come in.”
He laughed, turning his head away and slipping a cigarette out of his pocket. Viggo moved on automatic, his mind whirling over Sean’s words but his fingers remembered motions ten years familiar, reaching forward and cupping his hand around the cigarette, snapping on the lighter. Sean glanced at him over the flickering flame before he leaned in, taking a deep breath. The smoke curled around his face. Viggo’s fingers ached to pick up a camera, because Sean was absolutely beautiful in that moment. Just like that: perfectly normal, perfectly common, just another man in a bar smoking, and he was gorgeous beyond words.
It had been so long since Viggo had wanted to pick up a camera. His hands almost trembled at the want of it, but he pushed it away.
Not now; not now.
“In June-” Viggo started hoarsely. He cleared his throat and rubbed at his nose and lips. “In June, a good friend of mine told me that I’ve been using her rather badly, because I promised her half a heart when, in fact, I haven’t got a single damn piece left to give.”
“That friend in Madrid?” Sean said, and he turned away to exhale out smoke, and Viggo could not see his face.
“Barcelona,” he replied. He answered the unasked question: “But Spain, yes.”
“Wise girl, that,” Sean continued, and there was a caution in his voice that made Viggo’s hands shake slightly. He clamped down on the filter of his cigarette and took a long drag.
“I reckon so too.” He paused, and he knew that he was sabotaging himself, sabotaging them, but he couldn’t help it. Sean refused to look at him, and Viggo in turn refused to feel guilty for trying to find comfort in someone else’s arms when Sean was the one who walked away.
“How’s Nikolaj these days?”
Sean let out his smoke in a long, slow stream, his shrug carefully careless. “I don’t know. I ‘aven’t talked ta ‘im since March.”
“I think,” Viggo said before he could think on it and swallow the words back. “I think we should have this conversation somewhere else.”
There was a silence as Sean avoided his eyes, gaze roaming all over the table before he found the ashtray and stubbed out his cigarette in it.
“Aye.” His eyes flickered upwards. “Ya got a place? A’ouse?”
“A room, sort of,” he smiled, half-depreciatingly. “In a bed and breakfast. The couple that owns it are pretty friendly…”
Sean snorted. “I’ve got a ‘otel room,” he offered.
Viggo was sick of hotel rooms; sick of anonymity, sick of perfectly polished manners, sick of being called ‘Mister Mortensen’ and being treated like a King while subtly being looked at in askance thanks to his lack of shoes. But he knew that they would get no peace at his place, and the anonymity was a blessing. He knew for a fact that he was going to shout; his voice was already storing itself in his throat, ready to burst.
So he closed his eyes and took the last drag of his cigarette, nodding. He stood up.
“Let’s go.”
*
Sean didn’t much care about the brand that was emblazoned on the hotel room’s entrance or pretty much anything in the room. It was anonymous and the people knew better than to ask questions, and that was all he cared about. Case in point: the porter barely gave him a glance when he brought Viggo up to his room.
He slammed his keycard into the lock, the movement violent to hide the shaking of his hands.
Then he opened the door and let Viggo in.
“Nice place. Plenty anonymous, isn’t it? Plenty of people who tend to your every need without wanting to know the reason behind them.” Viggo said, his tone acidly casual. So that was how it was then. He should have known better.
Sean looked at him, shrugging before he tossed his keycard and wallet towards the shoe rack. “Yeah, it’s fuckin’ nice. Better than—” he looked at Viggo again before he laughed, no humour in the sound this time. “Never mind. Never fuckin’ mind.”
Viggo moved fast; he had always been fast, and he was grabbing Sean by the shoulders, slamming him onto the nearest wall before Sean even realised what he was doing. “Oh no, you don’t get to avoid answering my question like that. You came here to see me, didn’t you?”
“I came ‘ere fer Garrett.”
“Bullshit. You were just using him as an excuse.”
“That’s fuckin’ rich, comin’ from ya,” Sean shot back, his teeth gritting together and his breath coming in a sharp hiss. “That’s fuckin’ rich, given that ya probably ‘ave a doctorate in usin’ people.”
Viggo’s eyes widened, “What does this have to do with Ariadna?”
His grip had loosened on Sean, and Sean took the chance to shove him off. “Ariadna. Fuck, Vig, if that’s where yer thoughts are goin’, we ain’t got anythin’ ta say ta each other.”
“No,” Viggo insisted, and he was in Sean’s personal space again. Their hips touched; despite Sean’s anger, despite his constant reminders to himself that he no longer wanted this man, he could hear his breath catching. He tried to lean back further but there was nowhere to go, for there was only an unyielding wall behind him. “What the hell are you talking about?”
“It must feel good, ain’t it?” he said, eyes fixed on the wall right opposite Viggo’s left shoulder. “Feel damn good, every single time ya tell me ya miss me, ya love me, and I believe it with all me ‘eart. ‘Cause I do, every single fuckin’ time. Then I feel like a fuckin’ idiot, ‘cause then ya’d say that ya got somethin’ else on, somethin’ else more important than me ta spend yer fuckin’ time on, and I ain’t mean nothin’ ta ya despite all ya said. Ya probably were laughin’ at me all the damn time, yeah?”
Viggo gasped, the air cold against Sean’s collarbone, and Sean took a sharp, vicious thrill in that reaction.
“I thought we said that we’re not going to try to interfere with each other’s careers.”
“Aye,” Sean shrugged as much as he could in that position. “I said that, aye. Seems like I’m just the one impeding yer career all the time. All yer projects, all yer movies and art—all that comes first, aye? I just come dead last, that’s all.” He opened his eyes, wrestled his arms from Viggo’s grasp and grabbed onto Viggo’s shirt front himself.
When he spoke, his voice was soft, and it was damn weak of him, but he couldn’t keep the hurt from his words, “When’s the last time ya ‘ave looked at me properly, Vig?”
Viggo only shoved him back again, his voice a hard growl, “Who is the one who refuses to go public about our relationship, huh? I would come with you to your premieres if you’d only ask, but no, you prefer Nikolaj’s company, don’t you? Does he look at you the way I do, Sean? Does he pay you attention? Does the whole cast know that you’re fucking, because that’s obviously what you want?”
A mistake; a goddamn mistake to try to open his heart, to say what was hurting him, because it was just making himself vulnerable, leaving ground for Viggo to attack and tear up with his words. Sean swallowed back the hurt and refused to let it escape to his eyes or voice again. He put anger in its place, and his growl was entirely real.
“Must be nice ta bring Ariadna out. No one questionin’ ya, aye? No one spoilin’ yer career, wonderin’ if yer gay. Ya can bring ‘er ta that old couple who keeps yer room in this place and show ‘er off, say she’s yer girl. Must be nice, eh? Why ain’t she wi’ ya, Viggo? She got tired of bein’ second place ta everythin’ else already?”
“Yeah,” Viggo said, and Sean wanted so much to punch the stupid, ironic little smile out of his face. “She’s not a stupid girl, you see, and she’s sick of me seeing you every single time I’m with her, and I was with her for a pretty long time.”
He let go of Sean suddenly, stumbling backwards to lean on the shoe cabinet. His hands tugged at the hem of his own t-shirt, over and over, stretching the fabric even as he continued, “You know how seriously I take my work. We get paid an obscene amount of money to be overgrown children playing pretend, Sean; you know I want to do the best job I can. You know that from the first time you met me.”
Bastard. Goddamn fucking bastard. Just like that, Sean’s anger deflated, and he was left clamouring with his hands, trying to catch it again. He couldn’t. He was only so goddamn exhausted; of fighting with Viggo, of seeing Viggo out of the corner of his eyes with every step he took; of fighting with him even when he wasn’t; of waking up and still not getting used to the cold bed, no matter how long a time they had been spending apart.
Most of all, he was fucking tired of not being good enough.
“I’ve always—” Viggo spoke again, and Sean lifted his head. But Viggo didn’t meet his eyes, instead staring at the wall, and wasn’t that just the perfect representation of their relationship? “I’ve always seen you. There’s so much of my poetry and art that’s of you. I didn’t bring my camera out with me today, Sean. There’s no use. I don’t see anything that’s worth photographing anymore. All I notice is that I can’t see you.”
“Nice,” the bitterness spilled out of Sean even before he could stop them, but the damning thing was—he meant it. “Ya always ‘ave words, all these rich, gorgeous things, but they ain’t never mean anythin’ ta ya. Ya just say them.”
He took a long ragged breath, “I’m sorry that I ain’t good enough, Viggo. I’m so fuckin’ sorry I can’t keep me promises ta not interfere. I’m fuckin’ petty. I get so goddamn jealous of yer canvas, yer acting jobs, and I wonder when I got so fuckin’ ugly that ya don’t want ta look at me anymore.”
He swept his hands down on his jeans, ignoring that he was trembling all over and his chest burned so badly that he nearly thought he was having a heart attack. But it was a familiar hurt by now, and Sean ignored it the best he could, turning towards the door. It was a stupid mistake to come. He should just take these ten years of his life as wasted; there was no happy ending to be found here, funny how he wasn’t used to that even though this was the fourth time.
His hand was on the doorknob when he heard Viggo’s voice.
“I’m sorry.”
Viggo’s arms were around his waist and his forehead on Sean’s shoulder. Sean followed the hand on his cheek, turning him around. There was a mouth on his own, a soft sweet kiss, and Sean knew he shouldn’t, that he should get out of here because anything else would just tear another chunk out of his heart and he had none more to spare.
But he didn’t want to. His hands were already burying themselves into Viggo’s hair.
“I’m looking at you,” Viggo murmured against his mouth. Sean opened his eyes when the kiss broke and found blue eyes fixing onto his own. Viggo’s hand traced the curve of his cheek.
“I’m looking at you,” Viggo repeated. “I’m not going to turn away. God, Sean, I’m so fucking sorry, I’m so goddamn fucking sorry.” His head tilted, teeth scraping the side of Sean’s neck. “I didn’t—”
“Shut the fuck up,” Sean said, and though he wanted to growl the words out, he could not find the energy to do so. He was tired of words, of everything that Viggo had ever said because he never once made good with them. “You keep talkin’, and I’ll leave ya ‘ere.”
“Don’t- fuck, alright,” Viggo took a shaky breath. “No more statements. Just questions. I think I deserve those, at least.”
Viggo’s hands slid down Sean’s arms, raising first one wrist then another and pinning them on the wood of the door. His teeth scraped against his throat again. “Did you let Nikolaj do this to you, Sean?” He flicked his tongue out at the spot just beneath Sean’s ear, and Sean couldn’t help but let out a small gasp at the sensation. “Does he know how fucking sensitive you are right here?” His hand slid up Sean’s shirt, thumb scraping the strip of skin right underneath his last rib, and Sean’s hips thrust upwards minutely.
Damn him. Damn this man.
“Why would ya care?” the words were hissed out. Not in anger, but in arousal, for Viggo’s nails were now perilously close to his hardening cock. “Though ya’d already forgotten all that. Thought ya’d never noticed.”
Viggo didn’t say a word. He only kept his gaze on Sean even as he slid down elegantly to his knees. His fingers curled into Sean’s waistband, tugging it down to expose the curve of his hipbones—and he leaned in and pressed his teeth right at the joint, biting down. Sean cried out involuntarily, his hips jerking forward, his cock growing to full hardness in his boxers and staining them wet.
“Did he, Sean?”
“It ain’t just ‘im I fucked,” Sean snarled. “Ya called me a slut, didn’t ya?”
“Mm,” Viggo said, and wasn’t it so fucking grand, that now Viggo decided to listen to him and not talk at all? But Viggo’s mouth was moving, tongue flat on his zipper and- fuck, fuck, Sean shouldn’t have looked down. The sight of Viggo’s pink tongue and white teeth against the silver of the metal made his heart skip a beat. He loved this; he always loved this, how Viggo took off his jeans with his mouth alone, tonguing the button until it slipped past the hole.
“You told me once that I shouldn’t make promises I can’t keep, Sean,” Viggo said, his words as clear as his eyes as he looked up. Sean started at his own words mirrored back to him. “So I’ll make one I’m keeping: I’ll bring you to bed, and I’ll fuck you and mark every single inch of your skin, until my touch has burned out every single other person whom you have ever fucked, and you’ll never want them again."
Viggo took his hand and slipped the fingers into his mouth, drawing it between his teeth, tongue tracing the tiny whorls. Sean stared, transfixed, as Viggo’s entire attention fixated on him, on his hand, and nothing else. His traitorous heart skipped a beat, and his hand betrayed him by shoving down his jeans until they pooled at his ankles.
“Keep it then,” he said hoarsely.
Viggo rocked backwards, standing up. He leaned forward, his hand cupping the back of Sean’s neck as he kissed him, tasting of sweat and salt and Viggo and Sean was such a fucking weak man, such a pathetic creature, because he could feel hope filling him, and wasn’t that the worst thing in the world?
They got to the bedroom somehow. Sean didn’t remember any of it. He only knew of Viggo’s eyes, Viggo’s hands, Viggo’s lips, Viggo’s entire focus upon him. The back of his knees hit the bed and he fell onto it, and Viggo’s mouth closed over his collarbone, nipping the thin skin above the bone. There, just there- and he bit down and Sean jerked under his hands like a marionette, moaning.
He didn’t even realise Viggo remembered all of these spots. It had been so long since they had touched that sometimes Sean wondered if he had hallucinated all those times when they had sex. But there was no dreamy quality to this. It was all too sharp to be real; every single shot of pleasure as Viggo used the exact right amount of pressure on the exact right spot was like lightning through his veins.
“Vig, Viggo, please, fuck- just-” he gasped loudly, arching his back as Viggo slipped a finger inside him, the angle perfect on entry to stroke his prostate. Like this, just like this, a slow draw backwards and a staccato-quick slam inside, it was so good that Sean could come just from this. He could come from any touch that Viggo had given him throughout this night.
Viggo hadn’t said a single word since his promise. Sean could only hear his breathing, getting louder and louder; could only feel the evidence of his want in his cock, trailing lines up and down Sean’s thighs; could feel Viggo’s gaze on him all the while, raking over every inch of his skin and never once leaving him.
God. Sean lifted his leg when Viggo curled his hand underneath his calf. Then Viggo turned his head, biting the back of Sean’s knee as he stroked him from the inside. Sean jerked, crying out, and he knew he was going to have to go with turtlenecks and jeans tomorrow or else he would look like he was mauled by a wild animal, but he didn’t care.
“Fuck me, ya goddamn bastard,” Sean gasped out. He sat up suddenly, pulling his leg from Viggo’s grasp, swallowing a moan as his movements made Viggo’s fingers shift inside him. He cupped Viggo’s face with both hands, slamming their mouths together. “Kiss my legs and ankles later. Fuck me now.”
“And your feet,” Viggo murmured. Sean barked a laugh, ready to demand again, but Viggo had a hand on his chest, shoving him down on the bed. Then his fingers pulled out of Sean and he was leaning over him, his hand slamming down on the mattress right beside his head.
Sean kissed him to pre-empt any words, but Viggo didn’t even try. He only returned the kiss, their lips and tongues sliding against each other. Sean lifted his lips, Viggo folded Sean’s legs back, and the first thrust had the both of them crying out sharply. The kiss broke from sheer necessity, but their lips still brushed as Viggo pulled out and slammed into him, over and over, hard enough to shake the bed and send Sean sliding upwards towards the headboard.
“Goin’ ta try to fuck every single one o’ them out of me, Viggo?” Sean couldn’t help the taunt. “Ya really think ya can?”
A hand came down to tilt Sean’s forehead back, exposing his throat before Viggo pressed in and stopped there- his eyes almost violently blue as he looked at Sean. His breathing was coming so fast and so loud he sounded like a freight train, and their every exhale touched.
“Mine,” Viggo said simply. He leaned down and bit Sean hard on the spot right beneath his chin. “Mine.”
“Look at me,” Sean growled, pulling at Viggo’s hair to force him to turn his eyes up. “Look at me.”
Viggo’s head remained bowed as he pulled back out, but with his next thrust he opened his eyes, catching and holding Sean’s gaze. Sean was close, so close, and Viggo loosened Sean’s hand from where it was wrapped around a bar on the headboard. He brought it to his mouth and licked the palm before he curled it around Sean’s cock, laying his own hand right on top. Their fingers twined before Viggo started stroking. Fast, rough, with plenty of twists on the head- exactly how Sean liked it.
Sean threw his head back and arched his back, his legs trembling as he came hard with a loud, incoherent roar. Even drowned in orgasm, he could feel Viggo’s gaze on him, as unrelenting in his attentions as his strokes as he fucked Sean through orgasm, his thrusts shallow and uneven now. It only took a few more seconds before Sean’s name was breathed into the air and Viggo came inside him. Right then, Sean felt a small spark of pleasure right at his Achilles’ tendon, and the rasp of a tongue.
Christ.
Sean let out a shaky breath as he fell back on the bed. His skin was oversensitive and his muscles were still trembling, but Viggo was keeping his promise, mouthing and biting and licking every single inch of Sean’s thighs and calves and ankles and his goddamn feet, toe by toe by arch.
“Don’t leave in the morning,” Viggo murmured, lapping against the protruding bone of Sean’s ankle.
Sean snorted, trying to hide the surge of warmth he felt at the request, “It’s me damn ‘otel room, ya bastard. I ain’t goin’ anywhere.” He paused. “We ain’t done yet, ya know that?”
“Yeah,” Viggo said, licking a long line from his heel to the arch of his foot. His fingers drew continuous circles around Sean’s calf. “I’m not going anywhere either.”
“Good,” Sean breathed, and he was so goddamn stupid because he could feel the weight of three years of disappointment lift off of him. But Viggo was warm against his skin, his hand stroking Sean’s side, so strongly present as if he had never left at all.
He couldn’t help but give in to the call of sleep.
*
Sean woke up to the smell of coffee, bacon and eggs, and cigarette smoke. He cracked an eye open, immediately blinking when he realised that there was no piercing light that seared through him. The blinds were closed; odd, that.
He squinted, rubbing at his eyes and yawning as he sat up. Immediately, he realised there was a paper takeout box and a thermos full of coffee on top of the nightstand. Viggo’s back was against the thing, a cigarette burning in his hand.
“Ya ain’t supposed ta smoke in the ‘otel room,” Sean drawled quietly.
Viggo jerked a little. He dropped the burning stub, then caught it again midair. He glared at it before he stood up, opening the balcony and tossing it out towards the back gardens.
“Ain’t supposed ta do that either,” Sean said, and his lips twitched quietly. Viggo had never been one for hotel rules, but usually he obeyed the ones that said that he wasn’t allowed to accidentally set trees and grass on fire.
“They should hire you for landscaping,” Viggo jerked his thumb towards the balcony. “The garden looks boring out there; no soul in it at all.”
“’otels ain’t a place fer people ta find souls in,” Sean shrugged. He stood up, completely unself-conscious about his nakedness, and paused. He was moving on automatic, going towards Viggo to claim his usual morning kiss, but so many months apart had put rust onto the gears of easy habits, and Sean didn’t know if a kiss would even be welcome.
Instead, he turned and picked up the thermos of coffee, sipping it. “Don’t ya ‘ave work?”
Viggo looked down at his hands, then back up. He shoved his thumbs into the waistband of his jeans, hunching his shoulders as he gave Sean a small, uncertain smile. “I made a few calls just now. I told Walter I’m not dropping in today since we’re still not shooting my scenes—I’ve already faxed him my ideas for Bull Lee—and I told my agent to cancel my next couple of engagements. I haven’t signed contracts for either of them. So after this week of filming, I’m… free for the foreseeable future, barring having to drop in at Perceval once in a while.”
Sean stared. Viggo rubbed at his nose, then his lip. That, Sean thought wryly, was his gesture, and Viggo had gone and stolen it.
“I’ve- uh- I’ve booked tickets for us to go to Limousin. It’s for next week—when I’m done with On the Road by then—and I know it’s fucking presumptuous and maybe even too damn soon but I’ve wasted too much time and too much words, and—”
“Ya fuckin’ bastard,” Sean breathed, interrupting him.
Viggo started, lifting his eyes. Though he tried to keep his body language nonchalant, Sean had over a decade of experience, and he could read the tension written in every line of that body, he could see the nervousness in the slight tic of the jaw and the fists shoved into his pockets.
“Ya fuckin’ bastard,” Sean repeated, though his tone had softened. “Ya think I ‘ave the time ta spend traipsin’ ‘round France wi’ ya at any time yer free?” He paused, then chuckled. “And ’ere I thought I could finally give up on ya. Thought I can stop hopin’, or waitin’ like some sailor’s wife on the cliffs. Then ya do somethin’ like this.”
Viggo strode forward. His forehead leaned against Sean’s, his hand cupping the back of Sean’s neck.
“So?”
“I can’t come ta France wi’ ya,” he whispered. “But I ‘ave an all-expense paid working vacation ‘round Europe comin’ up. It’s called Missing. Ya want ta come wi’ me?”
“Anywhere,” Viggo breathed. His lips ghosted against Sean’s, and he slanted his head, his gaze never leaving Sean’s. “I’ll go anywhere with you. I’m not so stupid to let you go again.”
Yeah, Sean thought as they kissed. Yeah, they still had plenty to talk about, because this couldn’t last. Viggo would be bored stiff following Sean around after a few months.
But for now- now, they were okay. They were okay, and Viggo’s hand was warm on his skin, his shoulders fitting perfectly beneath Sean’s hands.
Maybe it’s fucking stupid of him, but Sean had always been an optimist.
End
Part II
Part III
The Jezebels - Mace Spray
The Civil War - Poison and Wine
June 2011, Barcelona
Ariadna was especially beautiful in the morning.
She was leaning on the door of the room he had taken for his studio, dressed only in a thin flannel shift that covered her wrists. Viggo looked at her, finally turning away from the large canvas that he had been staring at ever since the sun had risen this morning, and he reached out an arm for her. Her hand tangled with his as she took the three steps forward, and she leaned in and gently kissed his hair.
“You haven’t slept,” she said, her own voice thick with the fog of the newly-awaken, the Spanish words slurred from her usually impeccable Madrid accent.
Viggo shook his head, closing his eyes for a long moment, “Couldn’t.”
She shifted until she was standing beside him, looking at what he had been staring at—what he was still staring at. Her fingers reached out, almost touching the edge of the canvas- and Viggo couldn’t help himself. He grabbed onto them, tugging her back almost too harshly, then let out a breath and gentled the motion with a soft kiss on her fingertips.
He had to close his eyes to avoid the pity of her gaze.
“You still love him,” she murmured in English, and her tone was the exact one Sigmund Freud had used on Sabina Spielrein, once upon a time. His breath shuddered out of his lungs and he forced his eyes open to meet hers.
“No, I don’t. How can I, when he doesn’t seem to give a fuck about me?”
Ariadna only smiled softly in reply. Her hands splayed out over his jaw, touching him with only her fingertips. “It’s always possible to love someone who does not seem to want you at all, my love,” she said, and there was that pain in her eyes again; a hurt that he was aware of these past five months and change, a hurt that he was aware he had caused. “You know that perfectly well, Viggo.”
He pulled away from her grasp to walk towards the window, staring mindlessly out to the backyard. Viggo had never been one for gardening—it had always seemed too much like trying to restrain what should never be kept behind neat, trim lines—but he had learned the names of the plants she had anyway. He knew that he could say that he learned them all for the sake of it, but he knew that his heart was a traitorous thing, and it still had hope that one day he be able to would show Sean these plants, and Sean would give him that soft, sweet little smile that Viggo had long associated with his garden.
“It’s a fool’s errand to even try.”
“I know,” Ariadna replied. She turned his head towards her and placed a kiss on his cheek, friendly and perfunctory. “That’s why I’m not going to keep trying. I think I deserve better than a man whose heart belongs elsewhere, no matter how quickly a single glance of you makes my own beat.”
“Ariadna—”
She placed a finger on his lips, silencing his protest. “You will always be my friend, Viggo, and you will always have a place here, in my home and in my heart.” Her hand closed into a fist that she placed over her chest. “But you need to look for yours as well.”
“I wasn’t talking about you,” he protested. Even as he spoke, he knew that it was useless.
Ariadna indulged him anyway. “I know, but what you said is true in most cases. Not yours, however.”
Viggo laughed a little, rubbing his hand over his lip and nose. He paused midway through the motion and let his hand drop back to his side. “How do I always end up with optimists?”
“Your heart is an optimist,” Ariadna shot back lightly. She chuckled quietly, dragging a hand through her hair. “But listen to me, Viggo. You’re an extraordinary man, and after five months I cannot imagine not ever having fallen for you. Why would anyone who had loved you for ten years not love you any longer?”
“Exene stopped,” he said, cursing himself inwardly for the easy way that he destroyed the very hope that he wanted to grab onto with both hands. There was nothing more that he wanted to believe in than that Sean loved him, but he knew better. Wasn’t Sean the one who broke it off, who fucked someone else?
Ariadna gave him a wry look, as if she knew exactly what he was thinking about. Knowing her, she probably did; every single word. “If David and I are ever capable of reaching even half of what you have with Exene even now, I will be extremely thankful. Most exes aren’t capable of still going on vacations together with the child they share, you know.”
Viggo let out a hard exhale. He couldn’t help the small, upward quirk of his lips. “You’re determined to cheer me up.”
“No,” Ariadna corrected him. “I’m determined to make you go for what you really want, because being the second best gets really tiring after a while.”
His smile failed immediately at those words, and he reached out a hand, gently stroking her hair. “I’ve sorry; I’ve been unfair to you.”
“I knew what I was getting into. Even that first day, when you stumbled through my door, there was nothing in your eyes except a reflection of him.” She turned her head and kissed his palm. “I’m too old for illusions, but I let you in anyway.”
There was nothing else Viggo could say. He could only close his eyes, leaning in and kissed her forehead.
“Thank you.”
***
August 2011, New Orleans
Sean Bean was a fucking coward.
Near half a year wasted looking for an excuse; near half a year wasted because he didn’t have the courage to pick up the damn phone and ask if Viggo would ever want to see him again. Then again, maybe that wasn’t his fault entirely—it wasn’t as if Viggo had reached out a hand either. But then again, would Sean have taken that hand if it was offered? Viggo had disappointed him for so many times that he wondered why he would try, why he would set himself up for another possible disappointment.
Sean was thinking in circles, thinking in the same damn circles that he had been thinking in since the March when the promotions ended. At least he had work to distract him; Sean had always scoffed at the actors who seemed to jump into other people’s heads in order to avoid their own, but nowadays he was reduced to just scoffing at himself. It was so much easier to just be someone else for a while.
For first time he wished that he was more like Viggo, that the character he played lingered with him after work every day. But Sean wasn’t a man like that; he couldn’t run away forever, and after Age of Heroes was over he was left with himself again, looking in the mirror and not liking what he saw looking back.
That man was a liar and a half, and Sean was tired of being him. He pulled the car into the parking lot nearest to where the film crew was. Out of the corner of his eye, he could already see the boy nearly vibrating in spot as he waited. Sean almost smiled as he climbed out of the car, turning his head and smiling.
“Hey, Garrett.”
“Sean!” Garrett ran over, stopping barely a few steps in front of Sean, neatly intruding into his personal space. “It’s so cool that you’ve found time to come. I haven’t seen you in ages! God, you knew me when I still had trouble growing facial hair!”
Sean laughed, and it was a genuine sound. He swung an arm around Garrett’s shoulders, “So ya gonna keep that prickly ‘air on yer face fer this shoot?”
“Just a little bit.”
Months of waiting and looking for an excuse. On the Road gave him the perfect excuse in the form of Garrett Hedlund. It didn’t matter that he had something like half a scene with that kid in Troy, because Hedlund remembered him and invited him to the set the moment he had breathed that he had an interest. Sean wondered when he had become so purely mercenary; when he started making use of other people for his own means. He knew that he should feel guiltier over it, but he didn’t.
Funny how being away from Viggo exposed the worst parts of him. Maybe he should blame that on the man too. Sean chuckled at the thought.
“So who else is on the set?”
“Well, pretty much everyone,” Garrett answered immediately, completely oblivious to the sudden turn of Sean’s thoughts. “Kristen Stewart, Kirsten Dunst, Sam Riley… I don’t suppose you know any of them?”
“Nah,” Sean said. He tipped his head to the side and waited.
“Oh, yeah, and Viggo just arrived this morning! Viggo Mortensen; he plays Old Bull Lee—you know, William Burroughs? Man, I’m scared shitless just by the thought of him here. I’ve been looking up every possible philosophical movement that’s been attached to the Beat generation, just in case, I don’t know, he brings it up during conversation or something.”
Sean looked at the kid for a moment. Slowly, his lips curved upwards and he threw his head back and laughed. Fucking odd, really fucking odd, to talk to someone who knew Viggo and him both but didn’t know about the two of them, didn’t know the wreck they had both made of their relationship. He chuckled loud and long, slapping Garrett hard on the back, hard enough to make the boy stumble, before he shook his head.
“He won’t, cross me ‘eart,” he said, still laughing under his breath. “I can promise ya that.”
“You know him?” Garrett’s mouth was little bit open as he stared. Then he shook his head hard. “What kind of question is that? Of course you do, from Lord of the Rings, right?”
“Yeah,” Sean said, and he hoped Garrett did not notice the strange distance in his smile.
“He’s an old friend of mine.”
*
Viggo turned, halfway into a word with Walter. Immediately, his head cocked to the side as he tried to catch hold of that elusive voice in the wind—a very familiar laugh and one that he missed as greatly as he missed having heartbeats that signified something other than that he was still alive. Walter gave him a strange look, but Viggo ignored him, his eyes slipping fully shut as he tried to find that voice.
Nothing. Of course there was nothing. Damn, he thought he had stopped hallucinating Sean’s presence since March. He rubbed at his eyes.
“You alright there?” Walter asked him, and there was a quiet caution in his voice.
“Yeah,” Viggo said, coughing and clearing his throat when he realised how very rough his voice was. “Yeah, I’m fine. Just thought I heard something.” He tried frantically to recall their previous topic of conversation. They had been talking about Old Bull Lee… something about his sexuality, which was entirely uninteresting. Viggo would rather talk about—
“I wonder if Bull Lee- Burroughs- if he had ever heard voices like that, in the wind. He’s described writing Naked Lunch as something almost like an out-of-body experience, writing without thinking, just typing out the words without going through the filter of his consciousness. Obviously there must be some lucidity in him because he’s still capable of understanding the meaning of words; he’s not writing gibberish like Lewis Carroll when he wrote Jabberwocky—though that’s a completely different kind of gibberish, not the use of the word as understood conventionally—but returning to Burroughs, I wonder what he thinks about the Greek concept of muses, of authors as conduits instead creators, helpless at the fingertips of immortal beings with great powers who whisper in their ears.” He scratched at his jaw, took a breath, and ignored Kristen’s uncomprehending stare right beside him and Walter’s suddenly-intense eyes. “I wonder if he would believe that the drugs are in fact the muse that whispers in his ears and he only writes that down, or if the drugs become like a…. well, a q-tip I guess, something to clean out your ears so that you can listen to people better.”
“I don’t think he’s ever thought about drugs and the muses in the same sentence like ya just did. He calls ‘is drugs ‘junk’, yeah? ‘The ideal product’ fer sellin’. Ya can’t sell muses or creativity, can ya?”
That was Sean’s voice.
Viggo stopped talking immediately, his hand closing at his side. Like Orpheus, he so badly wanted to turn around to check if Sean was really there; yet like Orpheus, he was terribly afraid that if he did, Sean would disappear, condemned back into the underworld because of Viggo’s foolishness.
“I don’t know,” he shrugged without turning around, his hand starting to curl into a fist. Of all the places to choose, why had Sean chosen somewhere so public?
(He knew the answer already—because Sean was a coward, because Viggo was a coward as well, and both of them needed being in public to delay the inevitable confrontation.)
“There’s plenty of artists who swear that sleep deprivation or drugs help them to create better.”
Sean snorted, “Ain’t it you who said that art’s just a matter o’ payin’ attention? If ya need somethin’ ta make ya see somethin’ in a way that allows ya ta make art, ya ain’t payin’ close enough attention in the first place.”
Viggo took a deep breath and turned around. Near a lamppost on the street just inches away from Viggo, Sean stood, his hands shoved into his pockets, his head cocked slightly to the side. He was half-smiling and, Viggo noticed, his fingers were curled inside his pockets, the tips digging hard into his thighs.
“And what do you know about art, Ranuccio?”
Sean arched an eyebrow, perfectly British in his expression, “Of all the fuckin’ movies, couldn’t ya ‘ave picked another one, Master Chief?”
They looked at each other. Out of the corner of his eyes, he could see his new castmates looking from him to Sean then back again, utter confusion written on their features. He ignored them, his eyes fixed upon Sean—noticing the slight pallor to his cheeks, the dark circles laid below his eyelids, and the lines writ even deeper into his skin. Sean looked worse than the last time Viggo had seen him, and Viggo knew that he had aged, too.
He knew he shouldn’t, but he smiled. A small laugh escaped him before it exploded into full-blown giggles, and he shoved a hand into his mouth but it was too late, laughter spilled out of him and he was bent over, howling without knowing why. He wasn’t alone, because he could hear Sean’s deep, rumbling chuckles alongside him, and they had somehow managed to stumble towards each other, their hands closing around each other’s shoulders, and Viggo was leaning on Sean and Sean was leaning back as they tried to stifle their mildly hysterical laughter, but neither of them could.
Sean felt so warm against him, skin against skin, and it was so goddamn wonderful that Viggo felt his eyes burn.
Viggo was damn glad that he had a reputation for being just a little bit off his trolley, because he couldn’t at all explain what the hell was happening right at the moment. He only knew that he was laughing with Sean, something he hadn’t done for over a year, and it felt so good. Like coming home.
“What- what are you doing here?” he gasped out when he gained some modicum of control over himself.
Sean slapped him hard on the back before he pulled away, dragging Garrett Hedlund over. The boy blinked owlishly at Viggo and alright, it was probably imagination, but the kid looked terrified for the briefest of moments before he smiled.
“Viggo,” Sean declared, deepening his voice as much as possible. “I would like to introduce you to my friend Garrett Hedlund. He plays Dean Moriarty in this movie, ain’t that grand? I came over ta visit ‘im”
Like hell you did, Viggo thought, and he was surprised that his own mental tone was fond instead of angry like he thought it would be. He took Garrett’s hand and shook it solemnly.
“Such a kindly man, Mister Sean Bean is,” he said in an exaggerated stage whisper. “To introduce me to my own castmate.”
“Nah,” Sean said, and he was back to leaning on the lamppost. “I just like it when yer payin’ attention ta me.”
Viggo looked at him. There was a solemn undertone to Sean’s words that he didn’t quite understand but he knew, instinctively, that they had to discuss it, sooner or later. But not now, not now in front of so many people who didn’t deserve to know the full extent of their relationship. Viggo looked at Sean for a long moment, his lips parting to ask—
“Hey, Vig,” Sean said, and his words were so abrupt that Viggo’s own teeth clacked closed, nearly biting off the tip of his tongue. “Ya want ta go fer a drink later?”
“Yeah,” he heard himself saying before he could think about it or regret it (the two were almost synonymous, nowadays). “Yeah, that’d be nice.”
*
There wasn’t any filming to be done for Viggo; the day was just an introduction between him and his new castmates. Sean had left after the first few minutes, and Viggo had surprised himself once again by the sheer ache he felt when he saw the man’s back disappear behind the new-built and new-repaired houses and streets of New Orleans. He thought he had gotten used to the idea of Sean disappearing from him long ago. Apparently not.
Maybe Ariadna was right that Sean loved him still. Or maybe Viggo should just try to find out if she was. It was only fair—after all, Sean had taken the first step and came here, hadn’t he?
They had decided on the bar near the bed-and-breakfast that Viggo had found himself in. The producers had offered to set him up in a hotel, but Viggo decided that Burroughs probably didn’t have the money to afford a proper hotel and probably stowed himself in one of the many little places like these. That and Viggo liked the idea that he was supporting the local economy instead of big hotel chains in New Orleans; that in return for the city so generously lending the movie its environs, Viggo would try to encourage its people and get to know them.
He kept his mind on the city as he waited for Sean at the bar. Years ago, he had waited for Sean in a bar like this, called the Green Parrot, all the way on the other side of the world. New Zealand seemed like a dream—a place where he and Sean first found each other, and Viggo first understood the ache of missing someone for a few hours; when he first recognised a certain light in Sean’s eyes that said, Hey, I haven’t seen you in a few hours, I’ve missed you.
Maybe they had simply taken each other for granted through the past years.
Viggo took a long drag of his cigarette. One good thing about New Orleans was that the bars themselves, as long as they weren’t attached to a restaurant, allowed for smoking indoors. Viggo was already building up a small pile in his ashtray while his single beer was left untouched. He waved down the bartender and ordered another two packs of his usual brand and left them by his elbow.
Maybe it would have been a better idea to invite Sean up to his room- no. That would be a terrible idea. Viggo rubbed at his jaw, wishing that he had something other than cigarettes to occupy himself.
Then Sean breezed in through the door and dropped down into the seat opposite him before Viggo could even take a breath.
“I was outside,” Sean said, his words quick and overly casual. “Just outside. Saw ya when ya came in ‘round fifteen, twenty minutes ago. Spent that time tryin’ ta convince meself ta not run away wi’ me tail between me legs and ta just come in.”
He laughed, turning his head away and slipping a cigarette out of his pocket. Viggo moved on automatic, his mind whirling over Sean’s words but his fingers remembered motions ten years familiar, reaching forward and cupping his hand around the cigarette, snapping on the lighter. Sean glanced at him over the flickering flame before he leaned in, taking a deep breath. The smoke curled around his face. Viggo’s fingers ached to pick up a camera, because Sean was absolutely beautiful in that moment. Just like that: perfectly normal, perfectly common, just another man in a bar smoking, and he was gorgeous beyond words.
It had been so long since Viggo had wanted to pick up a camera. His hands almost trembled at the want of it, but he pushed it away.
Not now; not now.
“In June-” Viggo started hoarsely. He cleared his throat and rubbed at his nose and lips. “In June, a good friend of mine told me that I’ve been using her rather badly, because I promised her half a heart when, in fact, I haven’t got a single damn piece left to give.”
“That friend in Madrid?” Sean said, and he turned away to exhale out smoke, and Viggo could not see his face.
“Barcelona,” he replied. He answered the unasked question: “But Spain, yes.”
“Wise girl, that,” Sean continued, and there was a caution in his voice that made Viggo’s hands shake slightly. He clamped down on the filter of his cigarette and took a long drag.
“I reckon so too.” He paused, and he knew that he was sabotaging himself, sabotaging them, but he couldn’t help it. Sean refused to look at him, and Viggo in turn refused to feel guilty for trying to find comfort in someone else’s arms when Sean was the one who walked away.
“How’s Nikolaj these days?”
Sean let out his smoke in a long, slow stream, his shrug carefully careless. “I don’t know. I ‘aven’t talked ta ‘im since March.”
“I think,” Viggo said before he could think on it and swallow the words back. “I think we should have this conversation somewhere else.”
There was a silence as Sean avoided his eyes, gaze roaming all over the table before he found the ashtray and stubbed out his cigarette in it.
“Aye.” His eyes flickered upwards. “Ya got a place? A’ouse?”
“A room, sort of,” he smiled, half-depreciatingly. “In a bed and breakfast. The couple that owns it are pretty friendly…”
Sean snorted. “I’ve got a ‘otel room,” he offered.
Viggo was sick of hotel rooms; sick of anonymity, sick of perfectly polished manners, sick of being called ‘Mister Mortensen’ and being treated like a King while subtly being looked at in askance thanks to his lack of shoes. But he knew that they would get no peace at his place, and the anonymity was a blessing. He knew for a fact that he was going to shout; his voice was already storing itself in his throat, ready to burst.
So he closed his eyes and took the last drag of his cigarette, nodding. He stood up.
“Let’s go.”
*
Sean didn’t much care about the brand that was emblazoned on the hotel room’s entrance or pretty much anything in the room. It was anonymous and the people knew better than to ask questions, and that was all he cared about. Case in point: the porter barely gave him a glance when he brought Viggo up to his room.
He slammed his keycard into the lock, the movement violent to hide the shaking of his hands.
Then he opened the door and let Viggo in.
“Nice place. Plenty anonymous, isn’t it? Plenty of people who tend to your every need without wanting to know the reason behind them.” Viggo said, his tone acidly casual. So that was how it was then. He should have known better.
Sean looked at him, shrugging before he tossed his keycard and wallet towards the shoe rack. “Yeah, it’s fuckin’ nice. Better than—” he looked at Viggo again before he laughed, no humour in the sound this time. “Never mind. Never fuckin’ mind.”
Viggo moved fast; he had always been fast, and he was grabbing Sean by the shoulders, slamming him onto the nearest wall before Sean even realised what he was doing. “Oh no, you don’t get to avoid answering my question like that. You came here to see me, didn’t you?”
“I came ‘ere fer Garrett.”
“Bullshit. You were just using him as an excuse.”
“That’s fuckin’ rich, comin’ from ya,” Sean shot back, his teeth gritting together and his breath coming in a sharp hiss. “That’s fuckin’ rich, given that ya probably ‘ave a doctorate in usin’ people.”
Viggo’s eyes widened, “What does this have to do with Ariadna?”
His grip had loosened on Sean, and Sean took the chance to shove him off. “Ariadna. Fuck, Vig, if that’s where yer thoughts are goin’, we ain’t got anythin’ ta say ta each other.”
“No,” Viggo insisted, and he was in Sean’s personal space again. Their hips touched; despite Sean’s anger, despite his constant reminders to himself that he no longer wanted this man, he could hear his breath catching. He tried to lean back further but there was nowhere to go, for there was only an unyielding wall behind him. “What the hell are you talking about?”
“It must feel good, ain’t it?” he said, eyes fixed on the wall right opposite Viggo’s left shoulder. “Feel damn good, every single time ya tell me ya miss me, ya love me, and I believe it with all me ‘eart. ‘Cause I do, every single fuckin’ time. Then I feel like a fuckin’ idiot, ‘cause then ya’d say that ya got somethin’ else on, somethin’ else more important than me ta spend yer fuckin’ time on, and I ain’t mean nothin’ ta ya despite all ya said. Ya probably were laughin’ at me all the damn time, yeah?”
Viggo gasped, the air cold against Sean’s collarbone, and Sean took a sharp, vicious thrill in that reaction.
“I thought we said that we’re not going to try to interfere with each other’s careers.”
“Aye,” Sean shrugged as much as he could in that position. “I said that, aye. Seems like I’m just the one impeding yer career all the time. All yer projects, all yer movies and art—all that comes first, aye? I just come dead last, that’s all.” He opened his eyes, wrestled his arms from Viggo’s grasp and grabbed onto Viggo’s shirt front himself.
When he spoke, his voice was soft, and it was damn weak of him, but he couldn’t keep the hurt from his words, “When’s the last time ya ‘ave looked at me properly, Vig?”
Viggo only shoved him back again, his voice a hard growl, “Who is the one who refuses to go public about our relationship, huh? I would come with you to your premieres if you’d only ask, but no, you prefer Nikolaj’s company, don’t you? Does he look at you the way I do, Sean? Does he pay you attention? Does the whole cast know that you’re fucking, because that’s obviously what you want?”
A mistake; a goddamn mistake to try to open his heart, to say what was hurting him, because it was just making himself vulnerable, leaving ground for Viggo to attack and tear up with his words. Sean swallowed back the hurt and refused to let it escape to his eyes or voice again. He put anger in its place, and his growl was entirely real.
“Must be nice ta bring Ariadna out. No one questionin’ ya, aye? No one spoilin’ yer career, wonderin’ if yer gay. Ya can bring ‘er ta that old couple who keeps yer room in this place and show ‘er off, say she’s yer girl. Must be nice, eh? Why ain’t she wi’ ya, Viggo? She got tired of bein’ second place ta everythin’ else already?”
“Yeah,” Viggo said, and Sean wanted so much to punch the stupid, ironic little smile out of his face. “She’s not a stupid girl, you see, and she’s sick of me seeing you every single time I’m with her, and I was with her for a pretty long time.”
He let go of Sean suddenly, stumbling backwards to lean on the shoe cabinet. His hands tugged at the hem of his own t-shirt, over and over, stretching the fabric even as he continued, “You know how seriously I take my work. We get paid an obscene amount of money to be overgrown children playing pretend, Sean; you know I want to do the best job I can. You know that from the first time you met me.”
Bastard. Goddamn fucking bastard. Just like that, Sean’s anger deflated, and he was left clamouring with his hands, trying to catch it again. He couldn’t. He was only so goddamn exhausted; of fighting with Viggo, of seeing Viggo out of the corner of his eyes with every step he took; of fighting with him even when he wasn’t; of waking up and still not getting used to the cold bed, no matter how long a time they had been spending apart.
Most of all, he was fucking tired of not being good enough.
“I’ve always—” Viggo spoke again, and Sean lifted his head. But Viggo didn’t meet his eyes, instead staring at the wall, and wasn’t that just the perfect representation of their relationship? “I’ve always seen you. There’s so much of my poetry and art that’s of you. I didn’t bring my camera out with me today, Sean. There’s no use. I don’t see anything that’s worth photographing anymore. All I notice is that I can’t see you.”
“Nice,” the bitterness spilled out of Sean even before he could stop them, but the damning thing was—he meant it. “Ya always ‘ave words, all these rich, gorgeous things, but they ain’t never mean anythin’ ta ya. Ya just say them.”
He took a long ragged breath, “I’m sorry that I ain’t good enough, Viggo. I’m so fuckin’ sorry I can’t keep me promises ta not interfere. I’m fuckin’ petty. I get so goddamn jealous of yer canvas, yer acting jobs, and I wonder when I got so fuckin’ ugly that ya don’t want ta look at me anymore.”
He swept his hands down on his jeans, ignoring that he was trembling all over and his chest burned so badly that he nearly thought he was having a heart attack. But it was a familiar hurt by now, and Sean ignored it the best he could, turning towards the door. It was a stupid mistake to come. He should just take these ten years of his life as wasted; there was no happy ending to be found here, funny how he wasn’t used to that even though this was the fourth time.
His hand was on the doorknob when he heard Viggo’s voice.
“I’m sorry.”
Viggo’s arms were around his waist and his forehead on Sean’s shoulder. Sean followed the hand on his cheek, turning him around. There was a mouth on his own, a soft sweet kiss, and Sean knew he shouldn’t, that he should get out of here because anything else would just tear another chunk out of his heart and he had none more to spare.
But he didn’t want to. His hands were already burying themselves into Viggo’s hair.
“I’m looking at you,” Viggo murmured against his mouth. Sean opened his eyes when the kiss broke and found blue eyes fixing onto his own. Viggo’s hand traced the curve of his cheek.
“I’m looking at you,” Viggo repeated. “I’m not going to turn away. God, Sean, I’m so fucking sorry, I’m so goddamn fucking sorry.” His head tilted, teeth scraping the side of Sean’s neck. “I didn’t—”
“Shut the fuck up,” Sean said, and though he wanted to growl the words out, he could not find the energy to do so. He was tired of words, of everything that Viggo had ever said because he never once made good with them. “You keep talkin’, and I’ll leave ya ‘ere.”
“Don’t- fuck, alright,” Viggo took a shaky breath. “No more statements. Just questions. I think I deserve those, at least.”
Viggo’s hands slid down Sean’s arms, raising first one wrist then another and pinning them on the wood of the door. His teeth scraped against his throat again. “Did you let Nikolaj do this to you, Sean?” He flicked his tongue out at the spot just beneath Sean’s ear, and Sean couldn’t help but let out a small gasp at the sensation. “Does he know how fucking sensitive you are right here?” His hand slid up Sean’s shirt, thumb scraping the strip of skin right underneath his last rib, and Sean’s hips thrust upwards minutely.
Damn him. Damn this man.
“Why would ya care?” the words were hissed out. Not in anger, but in arousal, for Viggo’s nails were now perilously close to his hardening cock. “Though ya’d already forgotten all that. Thought ya’d never noticed.”
Viggo didn’t say a word. He only kept his gaze on Sean even as he slid down elegantly to his knees. His fingers curled into Sean’s waistband, tugging it down to expose the curve of his hipbones—and he leaned in and pressed his teeth right at the joint, biting down. Sean cried out involuntarily, his hips jerking forward, his cock growing to full hardness in his boxers and staining them wet.
“Did he, Sean?”
“It ain’t just ‘im I fucked,” Sean snarled. “Ya called me a slut, didn’t ya?”
“Mm,” Viggo said, and wasn’t it so fucking grand, that now Viggo decided to listen to him and not talk at all? But Viggo’s mouth was moving, tongue flat on his zipper and- fuck, fuck, Sean shouldn’t have looked down. The sight of Viggo’s pink tongue and white teeth against the silver of the metal made his heart skip a beat. He loved this; he always loved this, how Viggo took off his jeans with his mouth alone, tonguing the button until it slipped past the hole.
“You told me once that I shouldn’t make promises I can’t keep, Sean,” Viggo said, his words as clear as his eyes as he looked up. Sean started at his own words mirrored back to him. “So I’ll make one I’m keeping: I’ll bring you to bed, and I’ll fuck you and mark every single inch of your skin, until my touch has burned out every single other person whom you have ever fucked, and you’ll never want them again."
Viggo took his hand and slipped the fingers into his mouth, drawing it between his teeth, tongue tracing the tiny whorls. Sean stared, transfixed, as Viggo’s entire attention fixated on him, on his hand, and nothing else. His traitorous heart skipped a beat, and his hand betrayed him by shoving down his jeans until they pooled at his ankles.
“Keep it then,” he said hoarsely.
Viggo rocked backwards, standing up. He leaned forward, his hand cupping the back of Sean’s neck as he kissed him, tasting of sweat and salt and Viggo and Sean was such a fucking weak man, such a pathetic creature, because he could feel hope filling him, and wasn’t that the worst thing in the world?
They got to the bedroom somehow. Sean didn’t remember any of it. He only knew of Viggo’s eyes, Viggo’s hands, Viggo’s lips, Viggo’s entire focus upon him. The back of his knees hit the bed and he fell onto it, and Viggo’s mouth closed over his collarbone, nipping the thin skin above the bone. There, just there- and he bit down and Sean jerked under his hands like a marionette, moaning.
He didn’t even realise Viggo remembered all of these spots. It had been so long since they had touched that sometimes Sean wondered if he had hallucinated all those times when they had sex. But there was no dreamy quality to this. It was all too sharp to be real; every single shot of pleasure as Viggo used the exact right amount of pressure on the exact right spot was like lightning through his veins.
“Vig, Viggo, please, fuck- just-” he gasped loudly, arching his back as Viggo slipped a finger inside him, the angle perfect on entry to stroke his prostate. Like this, just like this, a slow draw backwards and a staccato-quick slam inside, it was so good that Sean could come just from this. He could come from any touch that Viggo had given him throughout this night.
Viggo hadn’t said a single word since his promise. Sean could only hear his breathing, getting louder and louder; could only feel the evidence of his want in his cock, trailing lines up and down Sean’s thighs; could feel Viggo’s gaze on him all the while, raking over every inch of his skin and never once leaving him.
God. Sean lifted his leg when Viggo curled his hand underneath his calf. Then Viggo turned his head, biting the back of Sean’s knee as he stroked him from the inside. Sean jerked, crying out, and he knew he was going to have to go with turtlenecks and jeans tomorrow or else he would look like he was mauled by a wild animal, but he didn’t care.
“Fuck me, ya goddamn bastard,” Sean gasped out. He sat up suddenly, pulling his leg from Viggo’s grasp, swallowing a moan as his movements made Viggo’s fingers shift inside him. He cupped Viggo’s face with both hands, slamming their mouths together. “Kiss my legs and ankles later. Fuck me now.”
“And your feet,” Viggo murmured. Sean barked a laugh, ready to demand again, but Viggo had a hand on his chest, shoving him down on the bed. Then his fingers pulled out of Sean and he was leaning over him, his hand slamming down on the mattress right beside his head.
Sean kissed him to pre-empt any words, but Viggo didn’t even try. He only returned the kiss, their lips and tongues sliding against each other. Sean lifted his lips, Viggo folded Sean’s legs back, and the first thrust had the both of them crying out sharply. The kiss broke from sheer necessity, but their lips still brushed as Viggo pulled out and slammed into him, over and over, hard enough to shake the bed and send Sean sliding upwards towards the headboard.
“Goin’ ta try to fuck every single one o’ them out of me, Viggo?” Sean couldn’t help the taunt. “Ya really think ya can?”
A hand came down to tilt Sean’s forehead back, exposing his throat before Viggo pressed in and stopped there- his eyes almost violently blue as he looked at Sean. His breathing was coming so fast and so loud he sounded like a freight train, and their every exhale touched.
“Mine,” Viggo said simply. He leaned down and bit Sean hard on the spot right beneath his chin. “Mine.”
“Look at me,” Sean growled, pulling at Viggo’s hair to force him to turn his eyes up. “Look at me.”
Viggo’s head remained bowed as he pulled back out, but with his next thrust he opened his eyes, catching and holding Sean’s gaze. Sean was close, so close, and Viggo loosened Sean’s hand from where it was wrapped around a bar on the headboard. He brought it to his mouth and licked the palm before he curled it around Sean’s cock, laying his own hand right on top. Their fingers twined before Viggo started stroking. Fast, rough, with plenty of twists on the head- exactly how Sean liked it.
Sean threw his head back and arched his back, his legs trembling as he came hard with a loud, incoherent roar. Even drowned in orgasm, he could feel Viggo’s gaze on him, as unrelenting in his attentions as his strokes as he fucked Sean through orgasm, his thrusts shallow and uneven now. It only took a few more seconds before Sean’s name was breathed into the air and Viggo came inside him. Right then, Sean felt a small spark of pleasure right at his Achilles’ tendon, and the rasp of a tongue.
Christ.
Sean let out a shaky breath as he fell back on the bed. His skin was oversensitive and his muscles were still trembling, but Viggo was keeping his promise, mouthing and biting and licking every single inch of Sean’s thighs and calves and ankles and his goddamn feet, toe by toe by arch.
“Don’t leave in the morning,” Viggo murmured, lapping against the protruding bone of Sean’s ankle.
Sean snorted, trying to hide the surge of warmth he felt at the request, “It’s me damn ‘otel room, ya bastard. I ain’t goin’ anywhere.” He paused. “We ain’t done yet, ya know that?”
“Yeah,” Viggo said, licking a long line from his heel to the arch of his foot. His fingers drew continuous circles around Sean’s calf. “I’m not going anywhere either.”
“Good,” Sean breathed, and he was so goddamn stupid because he could feel the weight of three years of disappointment lift off of him. But Viggo was warm against his skin, his hand stroking Sean’s side, so strongly present as if he had never left at all.
He couldn’t help but give in to the call of sleep.
*
Sean woke up to the smell of coffee, bacon and eggs, and cigarette smoke. He cracked an eye open, immediately blinking when he realised that there was no piercing light that seared through him. The blinds were closed; odd, that.
He squinted, rubbing at his eyes and yawning as he sat up. Immediately, he realised there was a paper takeout box and a thermos full of coffee on top of the nightstand. Viggo’s back was against the thing, a cigarette burning in his hand.
“Ya ain’t supposed ta smoke in the ‘otel room,” Sean drawled quietly.
Viggo jerked a little. He dropped the burning stub, then caught it again midair. He glared at it before he stood up, opening the balcony and tossing it out towards the back gardens.
“Ain’t supposed ta do that either,” Sean said, and his lips twitched quietly. Viggo had never been one for hotel rules, but usually he obeyed the ones that said that he wasn’t allowed to accidentally set trees and grass on fire.
“They should hire you for landscaping,” Viggo jerked his thumb towards the balcony. “The garden looks boring out there; no soul in it at all.”
“’otels ain’t a place fer people ta find souls in,” Sean shrugged. He stood up, completely unself-conscious about his nakedness, and paused. He was moving on automatic, going towards Viggo to claim his usual morning kiss, but so many months apart had put rust onto the gears of easy habits, and Sean didn’t know if a kiss would even be welcome.
Instead, he turned and picked up the thermos of coffee, sipping it. “Don’t ya ‘ave work?”
Viggo looked down at his hands, then back up. He shoved his thumbs into the waistband of his jeans, hunching his shoulders as he gave Sean a small, uncertain smile. “I made a few calls just now. I told Walter I’m not dropping in today since we’re still not shooting my scenes—I’ve already faxed him my ideas for Bull Lee—and I told my agent to cancel my next couple of engagements. I haven’t signed contracts for either of them. So after this week of filming, I’m… free for the foreseeable future, barring having to drop in at Perceval once in a while.”
Sean stared. Viggo rubbed at his nose, then his lip. That, Sean thought wryly, was his gesture, and Viggo had gone and stolen it.
“I’ve- uh- I’ve booked tickets for us to go to Limousin. It’s for next week—when I’m done with On the Road by then—and I know it’s fucking presumptuous and maybe even too damn soon but I’ve wasted too much time and too much words, and—”
“Ya fuckin’ bastard,” Sean breathed, interrupting him.
Viggo started, lifting his eyes. Though he tried to keep his body language nonchalant, Sean had over a decade of experience, and he could read the tension written in every line of that body, he could see the nervousness in the slight tic of the jaw and the fists shoved into his pockets.
“Ya fuckin’ bastard,” Sean repeated, though his tone had softened. “Ya think I ‘ave the time ta spend traipsin’ ‘round France wi’ ya at any time yer free?” He paused, then chuckled. “And ’ere I thought I could finally give up on ya. Thought I can stop hopin’, or waitin’ like some sailor’s wife on the cliffs. Then ya do somethin’ like this.”
Viggo strode forward. His forehead leaned against Sean’s, his hand cupping the back of Sean’s neck.
“So?”
“I can’t come ta France wi’ ya,” he whispered. “But I ‘ave an all-expense paid working vacation ‘round Europe comin’ up. It’s called Missing. Ya want ta come wi’ me?”
“Anywhere,” Viggo breathed. His lips ghosted against Sean’s, and he slanted his head, his gaze never leaving Sean’s. “I’ll go anywhere with you. I’m not so stupid to let you go again.”
Yeah, Sean thought as they kissed. Yeah, they still had plenty to talk about, because this couldn’t last. Viggo would be bored stiff following Sean around after a few months.
But for now- now, they were okay. They were okay, and Viggo’s hand was warm on his skin, his shoulders fitting perfectly beneath Sean’s hands.
Maybe it’s fucking stupid of him, but Sean had always been an optimist.
End
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goodness they got themselves sorted, more or less...and your Sean will come to realise, perhaps with
a measure of amazement, that his lover will be able to enjoy those months for the simple reason that
now he has a reason to take up a camera or a brush again. Touching and human.
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What's the line? That you don't know what you have until you lost it? I think Viggo's learning that lesson rather sharply. :3
Thank you so much, Alex! ♥
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I just wasn't very sure if I did justice to the emotions that the situation needed to convey, that's all. Thank you so much! ♥
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"What fools we mortals be..."
This is blissful: pain soothed, hearts burnt and broken but still living, throbbing, giving.
So much, and so many little phrases and pictures here... so much of - everything.
Thank you for the evidence, the reality of the pain, for the hopes that rise in us all.....
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♥!
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jump into other people’s heads in order to avoid their own, but nowadays he was reduced to just scoffing at himself. It was so much easier to just be someone else for a while.
You write them as I dream them. And it is all true, I swear it is!!!! (yes, I know you out there who tell me it's all slash stories and is NOT real...hahahah tell that to this writer!)
And anyway, it's all their fault, for being such expressive private men with the abilities of subtle eyes to tell us - their real stories...
Thanks darling Evo.... You are a damned genius.
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STOP MAKING ME BLUSH DAMNIT but thank you. Seriously. ♥!
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No seriously, you DO write so 'close' to what we can almost see in pics. and movies that somehow it could be 'real', rather than the pretty unlikely and not all that wildly exciting chance ot actually coming face to face with , say , The Bean. I think after all we put them through, it might be a right old let down!!! Tho I must say, Viggo matched up well. Fell in love with him all over again... and so... what we write COULD be him.. not so sure about the others.
LOve your writing, I dunno. you are a damn genius - I can smell the cigarettes and armpits when you write! (IS that a compliment or is it!!??) teehee.
Bless you love, and oh boy are we HAPPY to have you writing for us... and so prolifically.
And your other characters. I truly admire and respect and even LIKE Ariadna now!
Stupid me... but why can't I dream? it's all I have left. HEARTS to you... and I keep hitting Ctrl and whatever and I STILL don't get a heart up!!!
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Dream all you like, really! But it's a little bit odd for me to think that what I wrote is real, because it comes from my head and there are so many different scenarios for them, you know? (I don't even know if I'm making sense.)
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It sounds a bit sick looking at it 'coldly' as if I were a sicko in the head undergoing therapy or something, because I live only on dreams and believe seriously that Bean is alive and living with you - hahah or something. But all my life I've had this compartment in my head that keeps 'them out there in the words' real in me. Since I was small, I had REAL people live in my head... I could open a sort of door and walk in and start 'playing my game'. and it was MY reality... escaping from - that world I was hiding from. So not to ever confuse the fagsmoking potbellied slob that we see pics of ... buying lampposts on a hot day... with YOUR/OUR/MY Bean and Viggo... nah.. that is really OTT. Can't be doing with that... tho they are 'real' the way you write them.
But it's all the little extras you add in, somehow, that fill the persons out so fully. Don't know what it is to put my finger on, but yours are the most solid of all characters. Solid as I could bunch my fist and thump it hard on an arm! Ruby draws the most marvellous Boromir for me, he's the same as your Bean. thumpable! teehee.
And Ariadna... I've thought about her a lot beyond your writing her, and hoped she was happy, but I fear I resonate with your woman who has had only .. an empty space where a heart should be.. And somehow I felt so sorry - somehow.. how stupid we can care about people we know not.
I know Govi thinks I'm potty... and 'live' the Bean too much. But he is ONLY a beautiful picture in a beautiful golden frame.... and on the blank walls of life is where I choose to hang it.
Bless you, you brilliant clever girl, we so admire your skills. You really knock us sideways and we are truly so very grateful, I think I speak for everyone really!
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Many, many thx for sharing.
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Ah, thank God there is a glimpse of hope, a second chance! I bet both of them will be much more cautious now after that nasty split.
Great story, dear evo.
I'm still shaking thou, from this tour de force you were putting us and the boys through.
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It probably makes me sound evil, but it gives me such a thrill to hear that you were still shaking afterwards. I wasn't entirely sure about the emotional power behind the words in this one, and hearing your reaction is really reassuring. Thank you, lovely. ♥!
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I just read all of this in one go, so am commenting once for all three parts.
I am as always astonished by the strength and accompishment of your writing. This break up and the aftermath were so skilfully documented and so hard to read. I really feared that this time the boys were not going to get a happy ending. Even at the end, the joy is not unalloyed, because Sean believes that things can't last without Viggo becoming bored, but there is so much hope there, that it felt okay.
This is a story which I know I will return to over and over again.
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How do you manage to put something into such a beautiful summary when I wrote it and I just flutter my hands in that vague direction when I'm trying to talk about it? I am a giant romantic sop, so I always try to give them a way to be happy in the end, but - as evil as it sounds - it's really gratifying to hear that you fear that they won't find a way to fix it.
Thank you so, so much for commenting, mooms. ♥!
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I was glad you got our boys back together again, really am. Thank you for this beautiful fic!
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The first part with Viggo and Ariadna is brilliant- I love the contrast between his complete paralysis and her desire to move- move on. It's heart breaking to see him basically in the same place that we have left him, the time might have taken away the acuteness of the pain, but only to make it chronic, and it's still there, raw and very visible to Ariadna. My heart hurts for her, desillusioned, but she is so incredibly beautiful in her absolute strength and her resolution to end things with Viggo. I love her level of reflection and her understanding for Viggo, I love that she manages to allow herself to try and hope, and then the grace with which she accepts the failure, and that she doesn't get angry at Viggo but accepts his behaviour for something that he can't change. And cares enough to try and make him see what he doesn't see and coax him into daring to believe the one thing that he desperately wants to believe- that Sean does still love him.
I think what fascinates me the most is that she manages not to ask what she is going to get out of it, that she takes him into her arms and offers support and knows that she doesn't stand a chance and still tries, and that this attempt only makes her more beautiful and not for a second she appears stupid or weak or desperate. She makes a very conscious choice and is able to bear all of the consequence with her head held up high. You manages to make her the shining winner in a situation that usually one cannot exit as a winner.
And Viggo in this scene... of course it is incredibly unfair to Ariadna, to try and give her a heart that is not free for giving away, and his eyes that forever only see Sean must be so painful to behold, but then at the same time you manage to make us believe that he cares for her, deeply, as deeply as the situation allows- there is so much tenderness in his touches and glances, from the very first sentence: Ariadna was especially beautiful in the morning. You make me believe that there might have been so much between them if only Sean wasn't hogging all the place and somehow that cushions the blow. Viggo has tried as well, on a different level, and there are feelings for her and these ring very true, and make it possible to excuse his thoughtlessness towards her that derives from sheer desperation and maybe therefore is even easier to excuse.
I'm going to split this into several comments, I'm afraid I'll get mixed up in the process and lose everything I have typed...
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I love Sean's self dissection in the beginning, the thoughts about how it's temporarily a blessing to be able to shrug out of your skin and become someone else, as well it's a curse because your own skin should be what you call home.
And then the focus turning to Viggo who only has changed the continent but is still where Ariadna left him, who is still missing Sean like a madman, that short description says it all:
to catch hold of that elusive voice in the wind—a very familiar laugh and one that he missed as greatly as he missed having heartbeats that signified something other than that he was still alive
He is still in that functional mode, working, trying to get on with his life but underneath the surface he too, is still turning around in circles, just like Sean is.
It's fantastic to see Sean work up the courage to finally approach him, and the choice of words and place speak so clearly of his confusion as well as of his determination. He seems to partly be afraid of what will happen and to need the protection of a place as public as this, maybe as well to ensure that he remains in control over his own feelings, and on the other hand something seems to have loosened inside of him on seeing Viggo, there is so much intimate knowledge in this words, he instantly is able to remind Viggo of all the have had in a very unobtrusive manner, probably subconsciously but it is a very touching moment, the two of them inevitably gravitating towards each other, and Viggo discovering the fondness of his inner voice.
At the same time it is so clear that this apparently harmless encounter is only the top of the iceberg, Viggo reluctant to turn around, his fingers curling into a fist, Sean's nails digging into his thigh and this sentence: "Nah,” Sean said, and he was back to leaning on the lamppost. “I just like it when yer payin’ attention ta me.”
This is far from over, in all the positive as well as negative aspects.
Will be back later with more :)
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They both manage to stay in control, more or less, but as soon as the door closes behind them it makes you wish to have remained on the other side (loved the ambiguous opening btw: Then he opened the door and let Viggo in. Into the room and back into his life). It is so very painful from the very beginning, both completely overwhelmed by the situation and the pain frighteningly acute after all this time.
The fact that Viggo's thoughts immediately turn towards Ariadna when Sean says he is good at using people shows so brilliantly their different concepts of what has happened- it made me feel so sorry for Viggo, he has not had the slightest chance to understand what has caused Sean to snap and leash out, at Christmas, Sean so suddenly pushing him away with all his force without offering him any coherent explanation and yet expecting him to understand. He has gone such a long time without answers, searching the ruins of their collapsed relationship for cues that now he demands answers, desperately needs answers, needs to understand and if it's the last thing he will ever do. And in the background there is the little, tiny spark of hope that he has carried with him from Spain into the bar and now into the hotel room, the hope that there still is something left of what has been. And when Sean confesses how stupid he feels because he is hoping every single time you know he is hoping, too, against all odds. But it's not the moment to even try and go down that path because there is so much there that needs to be dealt with, and now we catch a glimpse of very deep running issues- going public out the relationship, views on private and professional life and, again, Ariadna and Nikolaj, forever looming the shadows, not the origin of their problems, clearly not their remedy, a symptom of a relationship neglected during a crucial period.
There are so many changes of tempo and direction and atmosphere in this scene, all of them masterly installed, and all of them making your breath catch and causing you to want to be able to READ FASTER! :)
There is no coherence there, just a ton of different feelings dumped onto the floor. They know each other so well that they know exactly where to strike to inflict maximal hurt and it's heartbreaking to witness Viggo stumble backwards under the weight of Sean's accusation- that his work always comes first because this pursuit of perfection is something that is essential to Viggo's being and supposedly nothing to be changed easily or without paying a steep price. And Sean's reaction at his own words is heartbreaking, the realization that he loves that part of Viggo although it is what hurts him so much. I love the contrast there, between how clear Sean's presence in his life and his heart is, speaking out of every piece of art, one of the most fundamental parts of his life, and Sean's blindness in that respect, he cannot see what is so clearly visible for Viggo. His pain is so overwhelming then, the trembling of his body and his heart aching and then Viggo comprehending and reaching out to catch him just in time.
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I think what fascinates me about this the most is how he manages to complete concentrate on Sean, how he is able to accept and understand his feelings without having to talk about his own pain and how he immediately sets out to reassure, to prove just how much Sean means to him, to prove that he knows and sees and cares and to show him how beautiful he is in his eyes. And to replace all the lingering traces of strange bodies entwined with Sean's with a complete new set of memories. Oh my, and they are so incredibly hot together, all these images... they are all so powerful but what stuck with me the longest is Sean's demand Look at me! He has been depraved of Viggo's attention for such a long time and looked up into so many different pairs of eyes during the past months, it is as if he needs to make sure that this indeed is what's real.
Then, finally (what a journey!) the morning after. This made me so happy, to be finally allowed to hope with them after all those agonizing months. Not right away, Sean hesitates and you wonder if they indeed have found back a way to each other already, and then Viggo's offer, the offer of all of his time, heart and attention, and Sean relenting, and Viggo's houlders fitting so perfectly into his hands. And this last sentence. Perfect. I'm an optimist as well :)
Thank you a million times for this, this is the most inspiring fic I have read in a very very very long time and I love it from the first line to the very last and am absolutely going to safe this offline somewhere :) *hugs*
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Maybe I'm just a nerdy literature student, but the most gratifying thing for me as a writer is for someone to notice all the little details I put in and to be able to fill in so many details yourself. It's just making me so happy I'm rolling around like a penguin and rereading these comments over and over again. sfgsfdg
Seriously, your enthusiasm and your comments make the effort of writing it really, really worth it. Thank you so much, Noa. ♥!!!!
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Oh, and I forgot to say that I love the comparison of Sean and a sailor's wife :D Oh, and Orpheus, obviously, how couldn't one.
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Can I just say that I love that we get NIKOLAJ’S pov for Sean’s diversion fucks but Viggo’s for Viggo’s? Makes so much sense because I am pretty sure that Sean isn’t even kidding himself, at best he’s not thinking at all (because like I said, he would, otherwise, come to the inevitable conclusion) whereas Viggo is SO.GOOD at lying to the world that he believes it all himself as well. Not that she isn’t pretty, because she is, but that’s beside the point, right?
“No, I don’t. How can I, when he doesn’t seem to give a fuck about me?”
Yeah, right, Viggo. – Also, I can’t help but notice the parallelism of this scene to the first with Sean, the one where he stayed up all night as well. I like this, that his possible heartbreak is “just another thing” he can immerse himself in completely, just like one of his roles (and I don’t even mean that in a derogatory way; he really DOES immerse himself in his roles; not that this helps Sean any)
He knew that he could say that he learned them all for the sake of it, but he knew that his heart was a traitorous thing, and it still had hope that one day he be able to would show Sean these plants, and Sean would give him that soft, sweet little smile that Viggo had long associated with his garden.
Ah, lookit! Honesty! Hi there. (All kidding aside, my heart is breaking for him. Make it stop.)
“Your heart is an optimist,” Ariadna shot back lightly.
I kinda fell in love with her just there.
There was nothing more that he wanted to believe in than that Sean loved him, but he knew better. Wasn’t Sean the one who broke it off, who fucked someone else?
Love the sentence structure in this.
Sean Bean was a fucking coward.
Hi there, Sean. Have I recently told you that I love you and your bluntness? Because I do. A lot.
It was so much easier to just be someone else for a while.
I love that, and I believe that about his approach to acting. And I also think that – despite what he says in the following paragraph – he IS better at Viggo at it, because he can control it more, you know?
That man was a liar and a half, and Sean was tired of being him.
I LOVE YOU, SEAN. Ahem.
“You know him?” Garrett’s mouth was little bit open as he stared. Then he shook his head hard. “What kind of question is that? Of course you do, from Lord of the Rings, right?”
Okay, aside from my undying love for Sean and his laughter, I also love your voice for Garrett there. Such a darling.
That was Sean’s voice.
I love the contrast of this HUGE complex monologue of Viggo’s and this simple, all-destroying observation. Loved the Orpheus bit as well btw.
(He knew the answer already—because Sean was a coward, because Viggo was a coward as well, and both of them needed being in public to delay the inevitable confrontation.)
Oh, look at that. Viggo being judgmental AND honest with himself. Who are you, and what have you done with Viggo?
“Ain’t it you who said that art’s just a matter o’ payin’ attention? If ya need somethin’ ta make ya see somethin’ in a way that allows ya ta make art, ya ain’t payin’ close enough attention in the first place.”
Actually, I love this entire conversation. Because aside from it being about the obvious film thing, it is about Viggo and it is about Sean, and it is about them (which are three different things entirely) and also it makes them appear so damn smart and eloquent and isn’t that just the sexiest thing.
“And what do you know about art, Ranuccio?”Sean arched an eyebrow, perfectly British in his expression, “Of all the fuckin’ movies, couldn’t ya ‘ave picked another one, Master Chief?”
Love this teasing, albeit still hiding behind roles.
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You know, it's absolutely fascinating that you phrase it that way, because I think it's the other way around. That Viggo fools himself first, to the point that he believes so strongly and deeply in his own lies that it comes out as sincerely to the world.
I kinda fell in love with her just there.
I love Ariadna in this 'verse so much. And Garrett. And Nikolaj. And I'm just so pleased I'm making other people like them because they are fun, fun, FUN to write.
this HUGE complex monologue of Viggo’s and this simple, all-destroying observation.
HAHA omg that monologue was me closing my eyes and letting Viggo ramble on and on and on until Sean kicked him in the shin by saying it's his turn. I know this makes me sound schizophrenic but I swear I'm normal.
Who are you, and what have you done with Viggo?
Maybe he's learning? :3?
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It's the chicken/egg thing, isn't it? because I believe what you said to be true but I also think that something that may start out as a "conscious" lie to the world can develop, unnoticed, into this lie to himself. Probably with Viggo, poor thing, it's both :)
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I LOVE this. I just don’t have words but man, how do I love this.
“Nah,” Sean said, and he was back to leaning on the lamppost. “I just like it when yer payin’ attention ta me.”
Excuse me while I am busy drawing hearts around this (okay, my comments get less and less eloquent, maybe I should EAT something now but I can’t because my dinner burned on the stove because I was reading this. I will STARVE because of you. Just fyi.)
Viggo decided that Burroughs probably didn’t have the money to afford a proper hotel and probably stowed himself in one of the many little places like these. That and Viggo liked the idea that he was supporting the local economy instead of big hotel chains in New Orleans;
Ah, Viggo, you hippy. (Also? I am not happy about this, Mr. Mortensen. In fact, you’re scaring me a little because that sounds just a liiiiittle bit too much like that guy who gets immersed in his roles so much to not notice the love of his life slipping away. Just saying.)
Hey, I haven’t seen you in a few hours, I’ve missed you.
<3
Maybe they had simply taken each other for granted through the past years.
Yeah. No. Is that really it. THEY had done that? I mean, I’m not saying that ultimately it isn’t true. But shouldn’t that first and foremost be “I have taken him for granted” (whatever follows, even if it is “and he me”) but like this, it still feels like hiding himself behind something. Even if it’s just “them”…
Maybe it would have been a better idea to invite Sean up to his room- no. That would be a terrible idea. Viggo rubbed at his jaw, wishing that he had something other than cigarettes to occupy himself.
Love the stream-of-consciousness thing there.
Then Sean breezed in through the door and dropped down into the seat opposite him before Viggo could even take a breath.
LOVE that :). And aw, Sean. So brave.
his mind whirling over Sean’s words but his fingers remembered motions ten years familiar, reaching forward and cupping his hand around the cigarette, snapping on the lighter.
God, Viggo, you beautiful fucked up thing, you.
“In June-” Viggo started hoarsely. He cleared his throat and rubbed at his nose and lips. “In June, a good friend of mine told me that I’ve been using her rather badly, because I promised her half a heart when, in fact, I haven’t got a single damn piece left to give.”
I love how different this is to Sean’s revelation. Sean’s again is rawer, just like his entrance. And while I am proud of Viggo to be this honest, in comparison to Sean’s words this feels more formed, thought out, like a story (a true one, mind you, but still something… shaped, you know?)
“Wise girl, that,” Sean continued, and there was a caution in his voice
I LOVE THAT MAN. Seriously, you write him so amazingly well, I don’t even know what to say anymore. If Viggo doesn’t want him, I’ll take him and make him say perfect things to me all day.
“How’s Nikolaj these days?”
You’re a bit of an arse, Viggo. Just saying :).
Viggo was sick of hotel rooms; sick of anonymity, sick of perfectly polished manners, sick of being called ‘Mister Mortensen’ and being treated like a King while subtly being looked at in askance thanks to his lack of shoes. But he knew that they would get no peace at his place, and the anonymity was a blessing.
Love this. Aside from the obvious reasons, but how much of the advantage of the homefield is in there as well? And I am pretty sure SEAN likes hotels… (I love how that’s exactly the case in Sean’s first paragraph right after)
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WAIT I CAN'T TELL IF YOU'RE BEING SERIOUS ABOUT THIS and I know I asked you this already but did you eat???? Please eat. :| Even if it's like, cereal or something, omg. Don't make me fly there and feed you!
it still feels like hiding himself behind something
He is, actually. The thing is that Viggo just doesn't see it. He doesn't realise that he's been neglecting Sean for a hell of a long time (and Sean didn't help because he didn't ever tell Viggo that as well). He's still hiding there behind 'them' because he can't admit to himself just yet that this was his fault.
but still something… shaped, you know?
YES EXACTLY. Exactly. The funny thing I noticed in the interviews about how Viggo and Sean talk: Sean has the habit of just getting straight to the point. Like in his story of the helicopter, he just said he's on a helicopter and he bruised Orlando's knee. That's it. Whereas when Viggo tells stories, they are fully fleshed out narratives: beginning-middle-end. Like the story he told Letterman about the duck? He starts off with how old he was, what his father does, and then he gets to the story. It's so long and rambly and full of extraneous details while Sean just gets straight to the point. /rolls around in more glee
Also yes, Viggo is an arse. (And awww, if Sean ever has problems with Viggo again, I would totally give him to you. :3)
The 'advantage homefield' thing actually fascinates me again because I've never actually thought that might be a part of it. That they went to Sean's place, so it's like playing on your rival's lane with their fans all around them. /football analogy. Hah. /ponders
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Two words. Pot. Kettle.
“Feel damn good, every single time ya tell me ya miss me, ya love me, and I believe it with all me ‘eart. ‘Cause I do, every single fuckin’ time.
I love this. The present tense is maybe my favourite thing about it, but it’s hard to tell because just ACK, SEAN.
Viggo gasped, the air cold against Sean’s collarbone, and Sean took a sharp, vicious thrill in that reaction.
Love that, too.
“I thought we said that we’re not going to try to interfere with each other’s careers.”
Idiot.
Sean swallowed back the hurt and refused to let it escape to his eyes or voice again. He put anger in its place, and his growl was entirely real.
Love how you phrased that. Or, rather, Sean. I love how SMART he is.
Most of all, he was fucking tired of not being good enough.
And isn’t that just it. God, the hurt.
“Nice,” the bitterness spilled out of Sean even before he could stop them, but the damning thing was—he meant it. “Ya always ‘ave words, all these rich, gorgeous things, but they ain’t never mean anythin’ ta ya. Ya just say them.”
And right now, this is really all there is to believe. Because it’s just the same thing all over again, isn’t it?
He took a long ragged breath, “I’m sorry that I ain’t good enough, Viggo. I’m so fuckin’ sorry I can’t keep me promises ta not interfere. I’m fuckin’ petty. I get so goddamn jealous of yer canvas, yer acting jobs, and I wonder when I got so fuckin’ ugly that ya don’t want ta look at me anymore.”
Oh God. I am honestly crying right now. I’m not kidding you. Damn you. And damn Viggo. But mostly you.
Damn him. Damn this man.
And yeah, I can’t help but agree with him. Because yeah, Sean told him to shut up (and isn’t that just OVERDUE) but this, isn’t this worse? Because that’s just as manipulative, if not more so.
“So I’ll make one I’m keeping: I’ll bring you to bed, and I’ll fuck you and mark every single inch of your skin, until my touch has burned out every single other person whom you have ever fucked, and you’ll never want them again."
Hm. I might have to get back to you on this one. For now? Hm. I don’t know.
“Kiss my legs and ankles later. Fuck me now.”
In the middle of a sex scene that I am still not sure I am entirely comfortable with, Sean of course chooses to remind me why he is awesome. :D Love him.
“Mine,” Viggo said simply. He leaned down and bit Sean hard on the spot right beneath his chin. “Mine.”
“Look at me,” Sean growled, pulling at Viggo’s hair to force him to turn his eyes up. “Look at me.”
Still not really comfortable with this, but this exchange is pretty neat. Because again, Viggo’s words (well, word) feels just that bit clichéd to me, no matter how much I honestly BELIEVE that he means it and not just right now. And Sean’s response, again, is the real thing, the angry, desperate but also self-assured (and not fucked up dependent, God, how glad I am about that) thing. I pretty much love that.
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I’m picking this sentence out because it’s my favourite of all the awesome things being said in this exchange. Again, how smart and eloquent and HEALTHY is this Sean? I adore that. Also, I can’t help but feel reminded of his easy-going “I know how to make pleasant (and I honestly mean that) chitchat to avoid awkwardness” thing from the very first scene. Hm.
had put rust onto the gears of easy habits
Love that metaphor.
Sean stared. Viggo rubbed at his nose, then his lip. That, Sean thought wryly, was his gesture, and Viggo had gone and stolen it.
I should maybe be focusing on the plot or something but all I can do is sit here and be in love with Sean. Well.
“I can’t come ta France wi’ ya,” he whispered. “But I ‘ave an all-expense paid working vacation ‘round Europe comin’ up. It’s called Missing. Ya want ta come wi’ me?”
“Anywhere,” Viggo breathed. His lips ghosted against Sean’s, and he slanted his head, his gaze never leaving Sean’s. “I’ll go anywhere with you. I’m not so stupid to let you go again.”
Hm again. I suppose this is as comfortable as I can get with this. Sean not being head over heels dropping everything for Viggo here, but being real (well, rather like Viggo at the start) and Viggo still saying I take it. But still.
Yeah, they still had plenty to talk about, because this couldn’t last. But for now- now, they were okay…Maybe it’s fucking stupid of him, but Sean had always been an optimist.
And I believe that, because he has proven it to us over and over again. And I am happy for him, for them, for the moment certainly. But really? What HAS changed? And coming back to that (perfectly executed and fucking hot btw) sex scene, I am still not happy with that. Because that doesn’t solve a fucking thing. Of course they want each other, of course they are good together like that, but no one ever doubted that. Being perfectly in sync when fucking doesn’t mean you work together when you’re not in bed, and I can’t help but think that all they (or rather Viggo) did was divert. It’s nothing that is BAD necessarily, because we know Sean will be alright, and Viggo, too, even if this thing fucks itself up again. I just can’t help thinking that it will, inevitably, eventually. – Not that this is a bad thing, that’s just life…
ACK. I TOLD you I shouldn’t read your stuff when I have RL work piling up. All I will be able to do for the next couple of days is brood about this. DAMN YOU AND YOUR PERFECT WRITING!
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(And now I should REALLY eat something.)
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Ahaha omg we have such clashing views on relationships we like (which is fun!), because I think this is the kind of relationship I love writing about. I'm kind of pessimistic and though your Paint!AU makes me sigh all over the place over how gorgeous Sean and Orlando's relationship is, I'm not envious and I don't want to have something like that because I think it's impossible. They are both "I" people, in your own words, and what makes them work for me is that they fell in love with each other despite it and they have to shove each other out of their comfort zones and find spaces they can cohabit together, and they piss each other off and fight and hurt each other but they are equals and they can both take what each other give. It's less of a constant competition than the two of them will never get bored of each other. And that's the fun part of it. 8D (And well, it also means I won't ever be bored of them, which is even better.)
Also, awwww, you and your praise. /HUGS YOU TIGHT. No don't accost people with this fic though. That's not very noce. >_>
But dsfdgsfgfs just I can't believe I bullied you into reading this and you gave me more than ten comments (@_@) on the whole thing. Holy shit, man.
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Sean told him to shut up (and isn’t that just OVERDUE) but this, isn’t this worse? Because that’s just as manipulative, if not more so.
... Viggo's not coming across very well here, is he?
Viggo’s words (well, word) feels just that bit clichéd to me, no matter how much I honestly BELIEVE that he means it and not just right now. And Sean’s response, again, is the real thing, the angry, desperate but also self-assured (and not fucked up dependent, God, how glad I am about that) thing
God no, I don't want dependency for this one, because I believe that they need to be independent people in order to even have that kind of crazy love affair with each other in the first place. But it just strikes me that Viggo's very prone to cliches in this, or that his responses just don't seem to be absolutely genuine to you, and I'm wondering if I'm fucking up with the characterisation because this is focused on Sean despite on the switching POVs, or if it's just how I see him. Hah. I'll come back to this later.
What HAS changed? And coming back to that (perfectly executed and fucking hot btw) sex scene, I am still not happy with that. Because that doesn’t solve a fucking thing... Not that this is a bad thing, that’s just life…
AWWW I'm just happy that you like the sex scene despite your ambivalence towards it. /hugs. No, I think that's entirely deliberate on my part, that it's not a happily ever after, more of a 'and they try not to be as stupid this second time'. Because it's not going to be this easy. All they've proven isn't that their problems are solved, or even how they have hurt each other, much less whether or not they are willing to change themseves for the sake of this relationship. They just know that they still love each other in a way that makes both of them utterly miserable when they're apart. Being with each other don't make them perfectly happy, but they are happier together than apart, I think.
What I find most absolutely frigging amazing about responses to this fic is that Sean seems entirely forgiven for cheating on Viggo. That was the catalyst of the fic - the fact that he slept with Nikolaj - and you're telling me how you love him without condemnation at all. I'm just sitting here with my chin in my hands being utterly fascinated about why, actually. Because I think that people take Sean's side so easily here and they don't forgive Vigo very well, and I don't know why. Gimme your opinion. 8D
But first you need to finish your RL work. I mean it seriously. And then you come back and tell me all you've brooded about 8D!!!!!
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But it just strikes me that Viggo's very prone to cliches in this, or that his responses just don't seem to be absolutely genuine to you, and I'm wondering if I'm fucking up with the characterisation because this is focused on Sean despite on the switching POVs, or if it's just how I see him
I've been thinking about something similar yesterday evening as well. I think it's because their initial fight was about things being promised but not owned up to, and Sean made it very clear throughout the story, that he doesn't trust words (or at least Viggo's words) any more. I've also been thinking that the fight you wrote - which was truly stunningly BRILLIANT in way of writing - was in fact so convincing, so powerful and TRUE, that it's almost impossible to go from there, i.e. make Sean (or maybe it's just me) believe in anything that is said (stress on the SAID) ever again. - So between not being allowed to talk and sex (to me) always being a bit too convenient a way out, what IS Viggo to do to make me believe this? And let me say again, I don't doubt Viggo is 100% serious about this and that he believes it himself and WANTS to be different etc. But he's been so good at lying to himself, or rather at not seeing, how am I (how is Sean, how is Viggo) to know that this isn't just another layer? A bit like my Sean in "Beds belonging to nobody" really, you know what I mean?
What I find most absolutely frigging amazing about responses to this fic is that Sean seems entirely forgiven for cheating on Viggo.
Pfft. What is sex, in the grand scheme of things? I can't speak for other commenters but for myself I can say that I don't really have a problem with fucking someone else while being in a relationship. I've had boyfriends doing that "to" me while I was with them, I have no problem sleeping with married men if they don't, and the sole reason why _I_ probably would fuck two people at the same time is because I have the suspicion that not everyone thinks about this like I do and simply, I can deal without the shouting matches, you know?
Thinking about it, it strikes me odd that _Viggo_ forgives him because it doesn't seem to fit his character (or how I see him) entirely. But when I reacted (or, rather, didn't react :)) to Sean's cheating I wasn't thinking about that, I suppose, I was just transfering my own "eh, whatever" attitude on this.
Consequently, the catalyst for me never was fucking Nikolaj. It was that Viggo didn't notice how Sean was feeling and that Sean didn't TELL Viggo for various reasons. And that's probably why I'm not sure what to think of their future because I'm not sure whether either of the two things has really changed or can really change. I said a lot of things about why I have trouble believing this from Viggo's side, but it also works for Sean. Like Sean said (even if it was in anger): He's feeling PETTY because he thinks he needs Viggo more than vice versa. In the afterglow he might not, yeah, but the feeling is still there (not the bit about "needing more" but the bit about pettiness).
All in all, can I just say that this is absolutely brilliant? You said (in this comment or in another one I don't recall) that you're wondering whether you characterised Viggo sufficiently (or something along those lines :)) but damn, you did a good job. I think he's perfectly clear in my head, and the reason why I'm siding with Sean isn't because I don't think the Viggo characterisation is in any way lacking or inconsistent, it's totally not. It's because it's SEAN :).
(And now, I WILL eat something. God, I need someone to feed me. Honestly.)
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Oh yes, entirely. I think part of it is that I personally have no idea how they can completely fix this. I can only end it at an ambiguous note of the two of them taking a single step, really, because there's just so many problems inherent in the two of them that's just not particularly good for long-lasting, happily ever after relationships. I like to think that they managed to fix it (that's how roadside and, to a lesser extent, blue sunlight exists), but that's entirely up to the reader about the how because I don't know.
Consequently, the catalyst for me never was fucking Nikolaj. It was that Viggo didn't notice how Sean was feeling and that Sean didn't TELL Viggo for various reasons.
8DDDDD Okay, that is a brilliant thought as well, that fucking Nikolaj is more of an effect than the cause which, I think, is definitely hinted in the fic itself. /rolls around. The thing is, I've tried to make it both their faults in this fic, that it's not just Viggo fucking up because man do I hate fics in which it's only one person's fault and that person has to do everything in order to win the other person back (there are too many 'person' in that sentence...). For me, partly why Sean didn't actually tell Viggo why he's so pissed until the big fight is because he's kind of passive-aggressive in his own way, mostly for reasons of pride. I'm just slightly worried that I'm over-representing Sean's side to this, but eee, I'm glad the Viggo-characterisation definitely works for you! /CLINGS
(DID YOU EAT WHAT WAS ON YOUR STOVE???)
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You totally pulled that off, which imo is quite amazing because I usually AM on Sean's side, and then on top of that we only get to HEAR Sean's side up to this point and I was still going all "wait, WHAT?" when he exploded all over Viggo. So, there's definitely feeling for Viggo there and, like I said, it's not his FAULT, I'm not blaming him for anything - I think that's the worst part because if there was blame, if there was something really done WRONG, then one could pay the price and move on. But as it is, they are who they are and that (and I can't stress this enough) is perfectly FINE, and yet they end up in this mess.
... The more I think about it, the more I am convinced that there definitely won't be a happily ever after ever...
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YES THIS IS ME BULLYING YOU TO READ MORE OF MY STUFF. They are still in the same universe, basically. 8D?
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