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[FIC] RPF: blue sunlight, in Istanbul | envidia
... So I'm posting my prompt fics from this post. (Psst, if you want to prompt me still, it's open!) I'm trying to not spam your f-lists, though, so a lot of them will be collapsed in one post. (They are all kind of tiny anyway, fff.)
envidia
Characters/Pairing: Sean Bean/Viggo Mortensen
Rating: PG
Words: ~300
Disclaimer: Didn’t happen, just the product of my imagination.
Summary: Sean wants Viggo to shut off the music. Written for![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
j_flattermann’s prompt.
"For fuck's sake, Vig," Sean yelled through the studio door. "Yer fuckin' music's givin' me a fuckin' headache!"
A Spanish opera singer screamed on, undisturbed, behind the door. She hit a particularly high note, and Sean squeezed his eyes shut, squinting at the nearby window to see if the glass was threatening to break. It didn't; a shame, really, because if the glass broke outside, then maybe Viggo would realise that Sean was trying to get his attention.
"VIGGO!" Sean roared through the door, kicking it hard. "SHUT OFF THAT FUCKIN' RACKET!"
He raised his foot to kick against the wood again when it pulled open. But it was too late, and Sean's toes connected with Viggo's shin. The paintbrush in Viggo's hand went flying, smacking hard against the side of his own face and leaving a fetching streak of blue- but Sean ignored that, storming over to the stereo and pulling out the plug with the vengeance of a man forced to listen to harpies screeching.
"Hey! What the hell was that for?"
Viggo's eyelid was blue and Sean had an odd moment of vertigo when he was reminded of the eyeshadow he wore as Tracie, but he shook his head. "I shouted through the fuckin' door plenty fer ya ta turn the damn volume down already."
Viggo blinked at him. He bent over and picked up the paintbrush, and Sean took a moment to admire the tight ass revealed by the very thin, very paint-splattered jeans he was wearing.
"Sean," Viggo heaved a sigh, the name dragged out as if it took all of his energy to speak. "You realise that this is your house, right?"
"Course I do. 's why I want ya ta keep the fuckin' volume down."
"No," came the reply. Viggo dragged his hand through his hair, smearing more blue paint everywhere. "What I mean was - I didn't lock the door.
"You could've just opened it and turned down the volume at any time."
End
note: the title of the fic comes from Viggo saying that one of his favourite songs is Envidia, taken from this interview. Somewhere in the middle.
blue sunlight, in Istanbul
Characters/Pairing: Sean Bean/Viggo Mortensen
Rating: PG
Words: ~500
Disclaimer: Didn’t happen, just the product of my imagination.
Summary: “Every single city had a different-coloured sun.” Written fornoalinnea’s prompt. A sequel to grazed knees.
Every single city had a different-coloured sun. Viggo knew that the thought was ludicrous to many - the sun's light fell the same way throughout the Earth after all - but he had saw it himself. In Istanbul the sunlight was the lightest of blues, only noticeable if he half-closed his eyes. The air, the colours of the city- all of it changed the light.
It had been a month since New Orleans. Thirty-four days. Viggo would count the hours if he get out of bed, but he preferred staying here; here, right next to Sean as he slept, tracing the deep wrinkles that had set themselves into his eyes without Viggo's notice, without his permission. Sean had aged, caused by the hurt that Viggo caused, and Viggo wondered when he would be able to forgive himself for that.
(He wondered if he could try forgive Sean for sleeping with someone else; for sharing the sights of him in the delirium of pleasure that only Viggo should be able to give him. He wondered when he would address it and speak of it, instead of trying to forget. The thought festered within him, and he knew he should say it, tell Sean rather than try to claim him every single moment he could, with hands and lips and tongue and skin.
He wondered if Sean already knew his reasons, and that was why he didn't ask.
They should speak of it. Unspoken resentments had already broken the two of them once, and Viggo wouldn't let it happen again. No matter how much he feared that he would lose Sean because of it. He had already lost him once, and he knew that he wouldn't be able to live without him. Not when Sean was carved into his heart and mind and his very soul.)
But not today. Not today. Viggo reached out and stroked his hand through Sean's hair. It was short and brown, so different from the blond that it had been when they had first met. Viggo's own hair was grey; a testament to the years they had spent with each other.)
Sean shifted in his sleep, a soft breath escaping from his lips. He licked them, unconscious still, and Viggo watched as the dull pink turned into a soft red under the early morning night. He should wake soon; filming would start n two hours, and Viggo wanted nothing more than to claim him again, in the morning. Claim him until Sean ached from inside out, unable to forget Viggo even when he turned into Paul Winstone.
He pressed his lips against Sean's. Gently, barely enough weight to disturb his breath.
Green eyes opened slowly, and Sean shifted in the bed. He yawned, reaching out and sliding his hand into Viggo's hair, pulling him down. They inhaled each other's morning breath, a familiarity that changed laughing disgust into another, stronger joy.
"Mornin'," Sean said, his voice thickened by his accent and sleep.
Viggo smiled, and he stroked Sean's cheek, sliding down to his neck, feeling his pulse beat against his fingers.
"It's a beautiful day."
End
envidia
Characters/Pairing: Sean Bean/Viggo Mortensen
Rating: PG
Words: ~300
Disclaimer: Didn’t happen, just the product of my imagination.
Summary: Sean wants Viggo to shut off the music. Written for
j_flattermann’s prompt."For fuck's sake, Vig," Sean yelled through the studio door. "Yer fuckin' music's givin' me a fuckin' headache!"
A Spanish opera singer screamed on, undisturbed, behind the door. She hit a particularly high note, and Sean squeezed his eyes shut, squinting at the nearby window to see if the glass was threatening to break. It didn't; a shame, really, because if the glass broke outside, then maybe Viggo would realise that Sean was trying to get his attention.
"VIGGO!" Sean roared through the door, kicking it hard. "SHUT OFF THAT FUCKIN' RACKET!"
He raised his foot to kick against the wood again when it pulled open. But it was too late, and Sean's toes connected with Viggo's shin. The paintbrush in Viggo's hand went flying, smacking hard against the side of his own face and leaving a fetching streak of blue- but Sean ignored that, storming over to the stereo and pulling out the plug with the vengeance of a man forced to listen to harpies screeching.
"Hey! What the hell was that for?"
Viggo's eyelid was blue and Sean had an odd moment of vertigo when he was reminded of the eyeshadow he wore as Tracie, but he shook his head. "I shouted through the fuckin' door plenty fer ya ta turn the damn volume down already."
Viggo blinked at him. He bent over and picked up the paintbrush, and Sean took a moment to admire the tight ass revealed by the very thin, very paint-splattered jeans he was wearing.
"Sean," Viggo heaved a sigh, the name dragged out as if it took all of his energy to speak. "You realise that this is your house, right?"
"Course I do. 's why I want ya ta keep the fuckin' volume down."
"No," came the reply. Viggo dragged his hand through his hair, smearing more blue paint everywhere. "What I mean was - I didn't lock the door.
"You could've just opened it and turned down the volume at any time."
End
note: the title of the fic comes from Viggo saying that one of his favourite songs is Envidia, taken from this interview. Somewhere in the middle.
blue sunlight, in Istanbul
Characters/Pairing: Sean Bean/Viggo Mortensen
Rating: PG
Words: ~500
Disclaimer: Didn’t happen, just the product of my imagination.
Summary: “Every single city had a different-coloured sun.” Written for
noalinnea’s prompt. A sequel to grazed knees.Every single city had a different-coloured sun. Viggo knew that the thought was ludicrous to many - the sun's light fell the same way throughout the Earth after all - but he had saw it himself. In Istanbul the sunlight was the lightest of blues, only noticeable if he half-closed his eyes. The air, the colours of the city- all of it changed the light.
It had been a month since New Orleans. Thirty-four days. Viggo would count the hours if he get out of bed, but he preferred staying here; here, right next to Sean as he slept, tracing the deep wrinkles that had set themselves into his eyes without Viggo's notice, without his permission. Sean had aged, caused by the hurt that Viggo caused, and Viggo wondered when he would be able to forgive himself for that.
(He wondered if he could try forgive Sean for sleeping with someone else; for sharing the sights of him in the delirium of pleasure that only Viggo should be able to give him. He wondered when he would address it and speak of it, instead of trying to forget. The thought festered within him, and he knew he should say it, tell Sean rather than try to claim him every single moment he could, with hands and lips and tongue and skin.
He wondered if Sean already knew his reasons, and that was why he didn't ask.
They should speak of it. Unspoken resentments had already broken the two of them once, and Viggo wouldn't let it happen again. No matter how much he feared that he would lose Sean because of it. He had already lost him once, and he knew that he wouldn't be able to live without him. Not when Sean was carved into his heart and mind and his very soul.)
But not today. Not today. Viggo reached out and stroked his hand through Sean's hair. It was short and brown, so different from the blond that it had been when they had first met. Viggo's own hair was grey; a testament to the years they had spent with each other.)
Sean shifted in his sleep, a soft breath escaping from his lips. He licked them, unconscious still, and Viggo watched as the dull pink turned into a soft red under the early morning night. He should wake soon; filming would start n two hours, and Viggo wanted nothing more than to claim him again, in the morning. Claim him until Sean ached from inside out, unable to forget Viggo even when he turned into Paul Winstone.
He pressed his lips against Sean's. Gently, barely enough weight to disturb his breath.
Green eyes opened slowly, and Sean shifted in the bed. He yawned, reaching out and sliding his hand into Viggo's hair, pulling him down. They inhaled each other's morning breath, a familiarity that changed laughing disgust into another, stronger joy.
"Mornin'," Sean said, his voice thickened by his accent and sleep.
Viggo smiled, and he stroked Sean's cheek, sliding down to his neck, feeling his pulse beat against his fingers.
"It's a beautiful day."
End
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And the gentle hurt/love in the first one. 'It is your house...' SO Vigs didn't/wouldn't lock the door!!! That is SOOO important. And yet Sean was still keeping that 'space' somehow, not to intrude...oh lordy. Such little errors than can almost kill with hurt. And Vigs waiting for him to just open the door and switch off the diva.
Oh YUMMY such a lot of hidden extras in this piece.
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(It's okay, I'm even later in replying, oops. Thank you!)
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Keep me going all day!
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First of all, may I just say that it's quite brilliant how clear this is, language wise? It has a precision to it that Viggo's voice, his thoughts were lacking in Grazed Knees and the contrast here (as well as the brightness of the morning as the perfect background metaphor), that Viggo is thinking clearly again, like, that is brilliant .
They should speak of it. Unspoken resentments had already broken the two of them once, and Viggo wouldn't let it happen again. No matter how much he feared that he would lose Sean because of it. - Something I hadn't put into words in my head until I read this: How brilliant is it, storytelling wise, that the problem they have is that Viggo says too much and Sean doesn't say enough?... It sounds stupid, the way I write it, and it makes me look like a dork for not having picked up on that stark contrast before, but it is how it is :).
As for why you sent me here ;): This feels better. Actually, I think it should absolutely be part of the story. Maybe my problem (if you want to call it that) with "happy endings" (and that's what theirs was, an ending of the story and a happy one, you know what I mean) always makes me want to ask: "So, and what happened after the curtain fell, eh?"
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Also, I feel the exact opposite about happy endings, actually. Usually I just go 'well they figured something out, especially if the ending is written well enough that it seems logical that they do and that it's not obvious that they'll get very quickly bored of each other (see: your Paint!verse again 8D). That's actually kind of hard to do to actually make me believe in that happy ending instead of going 'eh, whatever', because it's hard to keep a pair of characters interesting enough to not bore me (and that's the only way I can believe they will not bore each other), while making them to be happy and healthy enough for there to be a happily ever after.
Thank you for submitting to my bullying, lovely. <3!
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I think that's a very realistic portray of how it really is. The thing is, I think I don't really write like that (except for shorter slice of life things that are really just a snapshot, trying to capture a mood, you know), because in stories I like closure. It's, I think, the exact opposite of how life usually is - especially when you're writing about couples because even if you are completely happy with how YOU are and will stay like that forever, it's not definitive that someone else will like that for all eternity as well - and in fiction I like to have the ending fixed, so to speak. I think that's why Paint worked so well for me, because I wrote the ending (or one of them - whether it's happily ever after after 14 or 35 years doesn't matter, does it?) first and then the rest. It's not about realism for me in that regard, but more about 'here, have a possibility how everything might work out in the end', you know?
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Also I love that you said that it's 'a possibility' - that it isn't definite. Because that's what makes everything fun, the missing other possibilities that we might fill in ourselves.
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Totally. And like we discussed before, that is reflected in the pairing as well - just like imo Orlibean is more prone to (or easier to write at least) lighthearted humour, Vigbean definitely invites to write these hm, harsher, edgier versions of reality, if that makes sense? Which is why I am so very amazed by your style because that's how I think this pairing really (and solely, to be honest) works in my eyes.