Sean closed the door behind him and slammed Viggo against the wood. Their lips crashed together, tongues darting out, sliding against each other. His hand tangled into short blond hair, still a little sticky from wig-glue, and pressed his body hard against Viggo’s. He could feel the bones of Viggo’s pelvis like this, their bodies so close together. Viggo exhaled, and Sean dragged in the breath, feeling the heat settle in his own lungs.

Moria had been a difficult shoot for all of them. All of them had spent nights knee-deep in cold waters fighting something that they couldn’t really see, going through the same motions over and over again while only the cameras changed positions. It was part of the job and Sean loved his job, but the adrenaline faded slowly from his body and he needed to take off the tension. He could feel it in Viggo as well, the muscles beneath his body stiff and Viggo’s cock even harder, a burn against his thigh.

They broke apart almost simultaneously. Sean leaned an arm against the door, breathing hard. Viggo smelled of sweat and dirty water and leather, the remnants of Aragorn that remained even after the actor had shed the Ranger along with his costumes.

“I need a shower,” Viggo said, his pants breaking up the words into almost nonsensical syllables. But they had always spoken to each other like this, their own broken language, and Sean tipped his head back. Eyes darkened by desire and need stared by at him, grey-blue only noticeable this close, a bare rim over the darkened pupils.

“I need to fuck you,” Sean said. His hand clawed at Viggo’s shoulder, pulling him close. Viggo’s hands cupped his jaw, pulling him close and they kissed again. Their kisses were violent things and they were barely careful enough to make sure their lips didn’t break. The makeup artists were good at their jobs, but there were just some things that neither of them wanted discovered.

Viggo’s hair was falling into his face. He dragged a hand over it. “Both then,” he said, and he strode off to the bathroom.

Their clothes fell off as they half-walked, half-stumbled, exhaustion and arousal making every step unstable. The shower in Viggo’s house was barely large enough to hold the two of them, but Sean didn’t particularly care. He shoved Viggo against the glass wall, turning on the shower head, and they both groaned as hot water cascaded over their heads, as their cocks touched.

“You need me to wash yer back?” Sean asked. His fingers danced down Viggo’s back, counting his ribs without keeping numbers in mind, his thumb rubbing against the curve just above Viggo’s arse, fingers dipping into the cleft.

Viggo barked a laugh, a strange, high-pitched thing, and he rocked his hips forward, his cock sliding up Sean’s stomach. “Later,” he said. He pressed himself even harder against the wall before he turned around, giving Sean a full view of his back, his arse, his long legs that tapered down to slim ankles.

Sean was no artist, not like Viggo was, but only a blind man would not realise that the body in front of him was stunningly beautiful.

“Fuck me first. You said you wanted to, didn’t you?”

“Aye,” Sean breathed. “So I did.”

Sean wasn’t sure when Viggo started keeping lube in the bathroom along with the nightstand, but he was damn grateful for it right now. He would have used the shower gel if there wasn’t lube available, and he would rather not; both of them still had work to do tomorrow, after all. Sean chased all thoughts of work away as he stepped closer. Two fingers shoved inside Viggo, curling immediately, and Sean found himself growing almost impossibly harder when Viggo cried out sharply, throwing his hips backwards, fucking himself on Sean’s fingers.

Viggo was so responsive, every single time. He held nothing back, his voice reverberating around the bathroom, buffeting against Sean’s ears, and Sean gritted his teeth and pushed three fingers inside, stretching Viggo as quickly as he could. Viggo’s hands were braced against glass- hand, for the other one was reaching back, grabbing Sean by the neck and kissing him against, messily while water ran down their faces into their mouths.

“Are you waiting for the hot water to run out before you fuck me, Sean?” Viggo growled. His teeth nipped the side of Sean’s mouth, a rough scrape that had Sean rutting himself against the curve of Viggo’s arse. “Come on already.”

“Don’t you need to ride a horse tomorrow?”

Viggo blinked water out of his eyes. “When did you become that considerate?”

“I don’t need PJ to take it out on me arse,” Sean countered. To shut Viggo up, he twisted his fingers inside again, finding Viggo’s prostate with unerring accuracy. Viggo groaned low in his throat, thrusting his hips backward, wanting more like the greedy bastard he always was. Not that Sean was complaining.

He pulled his fingers out and guided himself inside, pushing past the initial resistance until the head of his cock was enveloped in slick heat. Sean moaned, burying his face into Viggo’s shoulder before he shoved himself forward, slamming inside entirely. Viggo’s cry surrounded him as surely as his heat closed around his cock, squeezing him hard enough that all the breath he had left was knocked out of his lungs.

“Christ, Vig, why are you always so damn tight?”

“I can give you -- ah -- a scientific explanation, if you’d like,” Viggo panted out.

Sean laughed. He couldn’t help it; the words were so absurd that he was left laughing into Viggo’s neck, his teeth nipping the skin over and over again. His hand slid against skin, nails combing down the heavy hair on Viggo’s chest and finding his nipple, flicking against it.

“If you can think of a scientific explanation right now, I ain’t doing things right.”

Viggo laughed, and Sean felt more than heard the sound. His heartbeat was getting louder and louder, the roar of the water around them drowned out. His hands moved down, curling around Viggo’s cock, and he smirked against wet skin when he felt his friend jerk in his arms, a full-body shudder that had him shoving forward, slamming all the way inside.

It shouldn’t be familiar, what they were doing. Viggo’s hips fitted right in his hand, his skin rough from the constant scrapes they got into. He was tight and hot, responding to Sean’s every thrust, every move, and it was a damn good idea that Sean didn’t pull away the first time that Viggo had kissed him behind the trailers right after they shot the scene in Lothlorien. He pulled Viggo’s head back, kissed him hard as he felt him come, clamping around his cock, and he drew in Viggo’s shout with his next breath.

Sean knew when he had a good thing going, and this was good, damn good. He growled under his breath as he shoved inside again, coming hard enough that his vision was suddenly blinded by multi-coloured spots.

They breathed together underneath the shower’s spray.

“Water’s getting cold,” Sean said.

Viggo chuckled. He shifted his elbow, shutting off the shower before he turned around. “Still offering to wash my back?”

Sean couldn’t help but laugh. At the back of his mind, he realised that Viggo was gorgeous like this, his entire body slick with water, blond hair darkened and plastered to his face, softening the sharp edges that made him look so unique. He raised a hand and brushed away a strand that was hanging right on top of Viggo’s nose. He laughed again when Viggo crossed his eyes to try to follow his hand.

“Only if you do mine.”

They washed each other off as quickly as they could. New Zealand’s weather was odd, and Sean could not get used to the idea of a cold June. London was always humid at this time, and though it always rained there was still the sun. Instead, in Wellington now the weather was cold and there was the threat of snow. In a few weeks, they would start filming the scenes in Caradhas. Sean sometimes wondered how Viggo could be used to it, but then he would remember that Viggo had grown up under the Southern Cross in a land where June was always characterised by chilly winters, and feel just a little bit silly.

They stepped out of the bathroom together. Sean stared at his own clothes that littered the doorway of Viggo’s bedroom.

“I should drive back to me hotel,” he said, rubbing his face.

Viggo snorted. He wordlessly walked towards his closet, and tossed Sean a t-shirt and a pair of ratty sweatpants. “You’re going to end up sleeping behind the wheel, and I’d rather not explain to PJ how you ended up getting into an accident on the way back from my house.”

Sean grabbed the t-shirt that had landed on his head and pulled it on. It was some kind of luck that they were the same size; it made staying over each other places so much easier.

“What did you do with me clothes that I left behind the last time?” He asked idly as he stepped into the pants.

“They’re probably somewhere in my laundry,” Viggo said. He flopped down onto the bed naked, flailing his limbs all over the sheets. Sean took a moment to admire the shape of his lily-white arse now that he wasn’t distracted by the need to relieve tension. “You know where the guest room is. Shoo.”

“What,” Sean raised an eyebrow. “Yer not inviting me to sleep here?”

“You snore in your sleep,” Viggo said, his words muffled by the comforter. “I don’t want to accidentally suffocate you with a pillow.”

“I don’t snore,” Sean protested automatically, but he was already heading towards the door. He paused. “Hey, early call tomorrow right?”

Viggo rolled over on the bed. “Yeah. It’s your turn to make breakfast, by the way.”

“It’s yer house.”

“You know where everything is.”

“Did you even restock your fridge?”

“Couple of days back. I even got gravy and fries for your disgusting chip butty.”

Sean snorted, turning around fully and leaning against the door. “If yer going to bitch ‘bout me cooking, then you make breakfast.”

“Nah. Just make sure you have mate, okay?”

“Do you have tea?” Sean countered.

Viggo sat up, giving him an incredulous look, “’Course I do. You bitch whenever I don’t have any. Besides, I do drink tea, you know.”

“Only when you don’t have yer disgusting grass clippings,” Sean said. He utterly ruined his remark with another yawn, and he rubbed his eyes.

“Go to sleep,” Viggo waved a hand at him before he dropped down back on the bed. “I’ll dig out your clothes from wherever they ended up tomorrow, by the way.”

“Nah, don’t bother,” Sean replied. He stepped out of the room, not bothering to close the door behind him. Viggo didn’t sleep with the door closed; he knew that much. “It ain’t as if I won’t be coming back here anyway.”

***

“Let me bum one off you.”

Sean turned to look at Orlando. The young man was practically twitching in Viggo’s chair, next to Sean’s. Sean snorted quietly to himself, taking a long drag of his cigarette even as he pulled out his pack, opening the top and held it out.

Orlando took a cigarette and the lighter that Sean gave him as well, lighting up his fag and taking a deep drag of it.

“I don’t know where you get so much energy,” Sean said idly. “Looking at you tires me out.”

“That’s because you’re an old man.” The power of Orlando’s retort was substantially reduced by his inability to talk around the cigarette in his mouth. “Anyway, have you heard?”

“Heard what?”

“The peoples are Rohan are arriving today.”

Sean’s eyebrow shot up. “Though you all ain’t filming Edoras until much later.”

“Nah,” Orlando waved a hand. Sean barely dodged the burning butt of the cigarette. “They’re here to discuss with PJ and meet with each other to talk about characterisation decisions. And to start rehearsals. You know, the stuff we usually do before the cameras start running?”

Sean smacked Orlando gently on the back of his head for his cheek.

“Is me brother coming along as well?”

“Your brother?” Orlando blinked. He shrugged. “Oh, Faramir? I don’t know, actually. Probably not. His scenes are even later than the Rohans, and he’s mostly having them with ‘Lij, Astin and Andy. He probably doesn’t need to come over just yet.”

“In case your Southern head is too full o’ fluff to notice, he’s playing me brother, and we’re filming out of chronological order,” Sean remarked dryly.

“I don’t know, you have to ask PJ about that. Why did you ask?”

Sean shrugged, “I feel kind of bad for making him have to copy me, that’s all.” He waved a hand, “In any case, do these Rohans have names?”

“Jesus, you don’t read any of the memos that PJ sends out, do you?” Orlando grinned at him, dodging Sean’s hand barely in time. “Miranda Otto, Karl Urban, Bernard Hill...”

“Bernard Hill? PJ got Bernard Hill?” Sean gave a low whistle. He stubbed his cigarette out and leaned forward, knowing that he looked ridiculous, grinning that wide. “Christ, mate, that’s amazing.”

Orlando blinked again. “Should I know him?”

Sean stared. “He’s in Blackstuff, kid.” Wait, of course Orlando wouldn’t know that; he wasn’t even born when the first show was aired. Granted, Sean was only in his early twenties then, but Hill had played one of the most iconic Northern blokes at the time. He licked his lips, and tried another tack, “He was in fucking Titanic.”

He couldn’t keep the incredulity out of his voice, much less the wonder. He’d had the chance to meet Ian and Christopher during the film, but Bernard Hill was from Manchester. Another Northern bloke-- alright, Ian was from the North as well, but Sean was far too much in awe of him to ever see him as just a bloke from the North. Hill, though...

“I didn’t watch Titanic,” Orlando was saying, and Sean tried to focus on the conversation.
“I would’ve thought you’d know of Karl.”

“Who the hell is Karl?”

“Karl Urban. You know, from Xena? Walks around most of the time half-naked dressed only in wings?”

“Uh,” Sean scratched his head. “Nope. I ain’t know him.” He shook his head. “Christ, Orlando, I can’t believe you don’t know fucking Bernard Hill.”

“And I can’t believe you don’t know Karl Urban,” Orlando shot back. He tossed his finished cigarette on the ground and stomped on it. He stood up, making to leave. Sean grabbed him by the sleeve.

“Wait,” he said. “When are they coming over?”

“No idea, but you’d probably see them in the mess tent during lunch.” Orlando grinned slightly. “I’d be there.”

“Why, to see your half-naked Cupid?”

“’Course!” Orlando crowed, utterly shameless. He paused, cocking his head to the side, and his grin widened. “That and to see you behave like a fanboy towards this Bernard Hill bloke.”

“I ain’t going to behave like a fanboy,” Sean protested, but he knew the words were false the moment they were out of his mouth.

“Right,” Orlando drawled out the word. “And I didn’t behave like a fanboy the first time I met you. Of course.”

“I don’t know,” Sean said. He turned away, standing up and brushing down Boromir’s breeches with exaggerated casualness. “You didn’t throw yer underwear at me.”

“Nah, I’d leave that for Vig to do,” Orlando grinned. He smacked Sean hard on the back. “I’d see you later, or PJ will be sending orcs after me.”

Sean was left standing there, mouth opened in an aborted retort. What the hell was that last comment about? Granted, there were plenty of underwear-tossing between him and Vig, but Sean had always thought it was entirely mutual.

And how would Orlando know about it anyway?

*

“Mind if I sit here?”

Sean looked up. He was trying to eat as politely as possible. Bernard Hill was just standing a few feet away. He hadn’t found the guts to approach the older man yet, and he was rather hoping that the sandwich he was eating would help.

The man standing in front of him was tall and broad-shouldered, with a wide, friendly face and dark eyes. Sean shrugged, waving a hand in front of him.

“I’m Karl Urban,” the stranger said. “I play Eomer-- or well, I will be playing Eomer, since my scenes won’t start filming for the next couple of months...”

Sean swallowed his huge bite of the sandwich. “Ah,” he said, wiping at the side of his mouth with a napkin. “Yer Orlando’s Cupid.”

Karl blinked, cocking his head to the side. “Orlando-- oh, you mean the guy with the Mohawk?”

“That’s the one,” Sean confirmed.

Karl laughed, rubbing the back of his head sheepishly. “Christ. I played Julius Caesar on Xena, you know, but everyone just remembers the terrible blond wig.”

“Nah, it’s the naked chest, according to Orlando,” Sean grinned. “But I thought you played Cupid?”

“It’s a New Zealand production,” Karl replied, shrugging. “The acting community’s pretty small -- I know basically every actor from here, I’m not even kidding about that -- and with a big cast there’s usually some people who play two or more characters.”

Sean whistled lowly under his breath. “Impressive.” He paused, then laughed. “Shite, where are me manners? I’m Sean Bean, by the way. I play Boromir.”

“I know,” Karl blurted out. “Uh, I mean,” he rubbed the back of his head again. “I watched GoldenEye.”

Sean wasn’t particularly surprised. When people recognised him nowadays, it was either Richard Sharpe or Alec Trevelyan. Not that he minded; he grinned at Karl. “So you remember me strawberries,” he joked, deliberately drawing the last word out. He really couldn’t count how many times people had wanted him to say that word since GoldenEye came out.

Karl blushed. Sean watched, fascinated, as red flooded the tanned skin, from neck upwards to the very tip of Karl’s ears. He took the last bite of his sandwich and decided to test a theory. Darting out his tongue, Sean slowly licked at the tips of his own fingers, his eyes lowered and watching Karl squirm on his seat. He took the thumb between his teeth and bit it slowly before he pulled away and grabbed a towel to clean his hands properly.

Sean wasn’t an idiot by any stretch; he knew perfectly well when someone wanted him. There were people who thought his disagreement with the sex symbol label meant that he was oblivious; far from it, really, because Sean knew that he had always been attractive. He just disagreed with the idea that he was deliberately causing the impression. Sometimes he wondered if that was what Abby thought. Sean tossed the thoughts of her out of his head immediately; it wasn’t worth thinking about.

In any case, when near-complete strangers gave him such intense reactions just for saying a single word, Sean figured he had the right to arrogance entirely.

Speaking of... Sean grinned to himself as he stood up. He walked across the long bench and dropped a hand on Karl’s shoulder.

“I’m going to talk to Bernard for a bit,” he said. He deliberately lowered his voice.

“Come find me later in me trailer, if you still want to talk.”

Oh yes, he definitely had enough confidence to talk to Bernard now.

*

Sean was still peeling off Boromir’s many, many layers when he heard a knock on the door of the Cuntebago. There was no chance it was Orlando or Viggo -- either of them would just barge in immediately, because this was their trailer as well. For a moment, Sean couldn’t think of who it might be before he remembered that he had invited Karl to come to find him.

Maybe he was growing senile. Sean shook his head, chuckling at himself as he pulled the door open.

Karl had his hand raised mid-knock, the other one shoved into the pocket of his jeans. He had nice legs, Sean noticed, and his lips curved into a smile.

“Nice place,” Karl said as he stepped in. His eyes turned immediately to Viggo’s mirror and the photographs that decorated the sides. Sean only grinned when Karl walked towards it, almost entranced, his hands reaching out and touching the edges where the mirrored surface was barely visible.

“Woah. Did you..?”

“Nah,” Sean said, coming up behind him. His hands were shoved into his pockets. “Viggo did that. We share the trailer with Orlando.”

“Viggo... Viggo Mortensen, right? The guy who plays Aragorn?”

“Yeah,” Sean blinked, cocking his head to the side. “You haven’t met him?”

“I’ve only met you, Orlando, and the hobbits.” He looked at Sean through the mirror. “And my other Rohirrim, of course.”

“That’s odd,” Sean said. “Usually Viggo’s the first one that people meets. He’s a friendly one, that he is.”

“Well, I’ll be here for at least a week,” Karl tipped his head back. This close, Sean realised that he was taller by at least a couple of inches. For a moment, he thought it odd, trying to reconcile this broad-shouldered man with the shy, blushing one he had met barely a few hours ago.

“I’ll probably meet him sometime.”

“Mm,” Sean hummed. He was already distracted from the conversation. Karl was wearing a plain black t-shirt, obviously rather well-worn. It stretched over his chest, showing the outlines of his pectorals. Sean reached out almost instinctively, fingertips brushing against the edge of a shoulder.

“You’ve been working out?”

“Yeah,” Karl replied, and Sean couldn’t help the grin that spread over his face when he heard the hitch in that voice. “Been preparing for the battle scenes, you know? You should see my legs; I’ve been riding quite a bit.”

Now that just sounded like an invitation. Sean lifted his eyes and took in the full, parted lips. His tongue darted out, licking the edges of his own mouth, and Karl’s gaze as he followed the motions were like sparks of fire against his skin. Sean had spent most of the day rehearsing in full costume, and there was still that tinge of adrenaline in his blood that Viggo wasn’t here to help alleviate.

“Tell me if I’m reading you wrong,” he said. He stepped forward, sliding a hand into Karl’s hair and slamming their mouths together, kissing him hard. For a moment, it was as if his entire world had been thrown out of equilibrium, because his body told him that this was wrong. The hair was the wrong shade, somehow. Sean frowned, but Karl opened his mouth at the moment and he shoved those thoughts to the side.

Something went clattering to the floor as he backed Karl towards the makeup table. He could feel heat against his hip, Karl’s erection making itself known and he grinned into the kiss. Breaking it, he turned his head, he nipped at the skin of the jaw while his hand slid down to cup Karl’s cock through his jeans.

“I’d take that as a no, then,” Sean breathed.

“You had me at ‘strawberries’,” Karl’s laughter broke into a moan as he thrust up against Sean’s hand. His fingers clutched at Sean’s shoulders, then his arms, before they slid all the way down to hook against the waistband of Boromir’s breeches. “How can I say no after a display like that?”

“Yer just here for me voice then.”

Karl’s knee was pressing against his cock now, and Sean’s teeth scraped against tanned skin, watching it turn red, even as he wrapped his fingers around Karl’s cock and stroked him hard. It was always such a damn thrill to feel the visceral reaction of arousal on his hand. Whether it was a woman’s wetness or a man’s hard cock, it had never really mattered to him. Abby once told him that he didn’t have the damn ability to keep it in his pants. Sean had always wondered why the hell he would even try to. It was part of why she even gave him the time of the day in the first place.

“Am I losing your attention?”

Sean wondered how the hell Karl could still find the thought process to snipe at him, and he realised suddenly that he knew nothing about this man. Nothing except that he looked really good with a blush and his cock felt marvellous in Sean’s hand. And a too-smart mouth, apparently.

“Well,” Sean hissed out a breath between his teeth. He rocked his hips forward again, pointedly. “If yer start picking up the slack...”

“You call this slack?” Karl would laugh again, but Sean twisted his fingers on his cock and the chuckle turned into a moan. Sean tossed his head back, hissing out his breath when he felt Karl’s hand slip inside his pants and finally -- goddamn finally -- wrap around his cock.

Their conversations were reduced to grunts and groans and moans, to the motions of their bodies as they rocked against each other. It was something entirely visceral, raw enough to wipe all of Sean’s thoughts out, and his teeth grazed black cloth before he bit down. Not nearly hard enough to leave a bruise, but with enough strength to use as a grip while he thrust up hard into Karl’s hand. He squeezed the cock trapped within his fingers tightly, his motions rough, and Sean grinned at the sound of Karl’s surprised grunt and the heat that spread itself around his hand.

Sean groaned, dropping his head back and shuddering as he came. A part of him that was still irritatingly coherent told him that it didn’t feel nearly as good as it was with Viggo, but Sean chased that thought out of his head quickly enough that it didn’t spoil the afterglow.

“You always greet people like this?” Karl panted against his neck.

Sean pulled away. He grabbed a few of the wet wipes at the side of the makeup table, handing one over to Karl as he started to clean his hand.

“Only those who blushed prettily at strawberries,” he replied, raising an eyebrow. How could he resist teasing when Karl still blushed so prettily even when he had Sean’s come all over his hand?

“You must have plenty of sex with your adoring fans then.”

“Nah,” Sean wiped off his fingers. “You fuck one and the rest will all want a piece of you. My stamina’s good, but it ain’t that good.” He gave Karl another wide grin, showing that he really wasn’t that much of a bastard.

Karl shrugged, “Good thing that my wife isn’t as big of a fan as I am, then.”

Sean froze for a long moment. “Yer wife?”

“Yeah.” Karl looked up, and he shot Sean a brief smile that took up all of his face. God, the man was attractive. “Don’t worry, I have a free pass with men as long as I tell her about it afterwards.”

“Hah,” Sean said. “That’s nice.”

He couldn’t help but think of Abby again. Abby gave no such passes and Sean didn’t expect her to give any. She wasn’t the type, really. He still remembered her family’s subtle distaste whenever he would speak in his Northern accent. Sometimes he wondered why he married a girl who went to a public school; it always seemed as if they would both be much happier with their own kind. At least with Mel it never seemed as if they were speaking two different languages.

“You don’t mind, do you?”

“Mind what?” Sean blurted, jarred out of his thoughts.

“That I tell her about this?”

“Nah,” he shrugged. He would continue, but the trailer’s lock suddenly turned, and the door opened.

Viggo stepped into the trailer, half-dressed as Aragorn with leather tunic and jeans, his blond hair sticky with wig glue and sweat. He blinked at the sight of Sean and Karl before he tipped his head back and took a deep breath.

The trailer smelled like sex. Like sweat and come, mixed together. There was no mistaking what had just happened. Viggo’s eyes narrowed and Sean couldn’t help but feel just slightly worried. It was silly, really; what they had was nothing but an arrangement of convenience. Two good friends who happened to train and act together frequently and would just take off the edge that adrenaline and constant physical fighting brought.

Beside him, he could feel Karl tense.

But Viggo was grinning suddenly, one of those wide, manic grin that caught Sean’s attention the very first time they had met. “You going to introduce me, Sean?”

“Aye,” Sean said. He jerked a thumb at Karl. “Karl Urban, playing Eomer.” And to Viggo: “Viggo Mortensen, Aragorn.”

“Hey,” Viggo waved a hand. It was odd for him to not already be jumping forward and grabbing Karl’s hand or throwing him to the floor in a rugbytackle. But Viggo was only standing here, hands now shoved into his jeans and giving Karl a wide smile that Sean could tell wasn’t entirely sincere. “Am I disturbing something?”

“Nah,” Sean shrugged. “We’re done. You two want to go out for a drink?”

“I’m all shagged out,” Viggo shrugged. No you’re not, Sean instinctively thought, and he grinned to himself and barely managed to keep those words in his throat. “I’m going back to sleep. You go ahead.”

“I’m meeting Miranda for dinner,” Karl smiled apologetically. Sean tilted his head at the tension he could see in the other man. He thought he dealt with that already. “She plays- well, she plays my sister, Eowyn.”

“I know, I met her,” Viggo said. “I’ll see you tomorrow, then.”

“Sure,” Sean shrugged. He didn’t know what had gotten into either of them, and he wasn’t particularly interested in finding out. Grabbing his jacket, he headed out of the trailer.

If they weren’t going to go drinking, he was going back to his hotel. Maybe he could get some reading done tonight.

Sean loved his job. He loved acting. He loved Tolkien. It was a dream come true to take this job and he had almost gotten into an accident when he first heard the news. He even loved this country that had the most beautiful sunsets that made his hands ache for watercolours, and landscapes that had him reaching for charcoals that he hadn’t touched for years.

Sean loved his job. He loved acting. He loved Tolkien. It was a dream come true to take this job and he had almost gotten into an accident when he first heard the news. He even loved this country that had the most beautiful sunsets that made his hands ache for watercolours, and landscapes that had him reaching for charcoals that he hadn’t touched for years.

Sean loved his job. He loved acting. He loved Tolkien. It was a dream come true to take this job and he had almost gotten into an accident when he first heard the news. He even loved this country that had the most beautiful sunsets that made his hands ache for watercolours, and landscapes that had him reaching for charcoals that he hadn’t touched for years.

He fucking hated these mountains.

Sean growled underneath his breath as he watched everyone else pile into the helicopters. There was still more than a week (or more, if PJ was unhappy) left of the Caradhas scenes to shoot. He wasn’t complaining about the mountains exactly -- they were perfect for the descriptions that Tolkien had written for Caradhas -- but he was usually irritated at the end of the day. He had snow stuck in places that snow was never supposed to go, his limbs ached from the cold... and there was still a long way down for him to walk before he could get to the ski lift. Then he would have to drive back to his hotel. No matter what time they finished shooting, it would be dark before he reached it.

Of course, all of his problems would be solved if he took the helicopter. But Sean was would be damned if he was going to endure sitting in a tiny round box while the skies shuddered around him due to the turbulence. He sighed and slung Boromir’s shield behind his back. The only good thing about this was that Boromir’s uneasiness came to him easier than ever. Sean had never been the kind of actor who felt exactly as how his character felt, but he couldn’t deny that this made doing his job easier either.

“Sean, wait.”

He blinked, turning around. Viggo was standing behind him, thumbs hooked over Aragorn’s belt. The wind of the departing helicopter made his wig fly all over his face, making him look more like the dishevelled Ranger more than ever.

“I thought yer going with the rest,” Sean shouted back. The helicopter was loud; another reason to not take it.

Viggo jogged over to him. “What?” He had to yell to make himself heard, his hand shoving his hair backwards.

Sean waited until the helicopter had moved off the cliff before he repeated himself. Viggo shrugged, “I figured that I’ll keep you company as you walk down.”

“Alright,” Sean said. They hadn’t spoken for some time. He couldn’t help but think that all of his current irritations were hidden blessings, because Boromir’s disquiet about Aragorn was almost exactly what Sean felt towards Viggo as well.

They walked in silence for a long while. Sean couldn’t help but feel agitated, as if there were ants crawling up and down his skin. He couldn’t figure out Viggo’s heavy silence, and he wondered why the other man would bother taking the long road with him down when he wasn’t going to talk. Then he realised how strange the thought was, because he and Viggo had spent long hours without a single word spoken to each other, whether smoking, drinking, watching football or making art together. They were used to each other’s quiet, and Sean realised with a start that this was the first time that he was discomfited that Viggo wasn’t saying anything.

Damnit, he should have known that having sex with a castmate was a bad idea. It never led to anything good -- just look at his marriage with Abby for example. No, Sean corrected himself. No, he wouldn’t give Evie up for anything in the world. But there was no chance he would ever marry Viggo, so he always thought it understood that what they had between them was just an arrangement for the sake of convenience.

Now Viggo had him thinking in circles. Sean couldn’t help but grit his teeth and shove Boromir’s shield further up his shoulders. Feeling so off-centred was enough to piss anyone off, he reckoned.

“Have you spoken to Karl lately?”

Sean was so caught up in his thoughts that it took a few seconds for him to realise that Viggo was talking. He blinked, turning.

“What?” He rubbed the back of his head. “Nah, I haven’t. Have you?”

“No,” Viggo said quietly. His thumbs were still hooked in Aragorn’s belt. If he was wearing jeans, Sean knew that his hands would be shoved into the pockets. “I thought you would be.”

“Why?” Sean looked back to the road. The cliff was coming up; they would have to climb down soon. Maybe Viggo would shut up then.

“You were the one fucking him, weren’t you?”

Sean frowned. Viggo’s question sounded calm, almost too casual, and it made him hiss. The cold turned his breath into a fog, and he used that as an excuse to not look at the other man. “I didn’t realise that fucking someone means I’m now his keeper.”

“No, I guess not.”

They fell silent again, but only for a few seconds before Sean whirled around. He stormed over to Viggo, boots crunching on snow.

“Look,” Sean said, frustration creeping into his voice. “You want to tell me what the hell yer getting at?”

Viggo’s eyes were blue, coloured by the clear skies over head. He looked at Sean for a long moment, the silence stretching between them until Sean wanted to reach out and shake him. But he shrugged before Sean could say a word, shoulders far too tense for the movement to seem smooth in any way.

“Nothing,” Viggo said, voice soft. “I’m not getting at anything.”

Sean threw up his hands. “Christ,” he blurted out. “Could you behave any more like a whiny woman? You sound worse than me wife.”

“Right, of course, I almost forgot,” Viggo shot back, acidic. Sean froze at the sudden venom in his voice, and he could feel his own anger rise, burning in his chest, choking in his throat.

“How’s the divorce going, Sean?”

Sean stared at him, all the words drained out of him. His hands shook at his sides. He took a long deep breath before his fingers darted forward, fisting Aragorn’s tunic as he dragged him forward.

“Go. Fuck. Yourself.”

Poison dripping off every perfectly enunciated Received Pronunciation word. He let go of Viggo’s tunic and pushed himself backwards. Sean stormed off towards the side of the cliff, grabbing onto the safety harness and strapping it around his waist. He didn’t turn to look if Viggo was doing the same.

Viggo could jump down the damn cliff for all he cared right now.

***

Sean stared out of the window of the cottage. The road was ridiculous, slamming hard against the windows until he couldn’t even see his own reflection in the glass. He smacked his fist against the grill hard before stepping back, sighing.

“Staring at the rain isn’t going to make it stop raining, you know.”

“We won’t be stuck in the damned rain if you didn’t insist on going shopping every single fucking mile we took, Orlando,” Sean said pleasantly.

Orlando snorted, lifting his shoulders up in a shrug. “People need presents for Christmas, Sean.”

“Yeah? And how many of those are wet now, much less trapped in the car?”

He waved a hand. “It’s just the bags that are wet. Jesus, Sean, you’ve become as crotchety as an eighty-year-old woman ever since Viggo left to film Edoras with Karl, Bernard and the rest.”

Sean snorted, but he couldn’t help his shoulders tensing up. “Shooting schedule interrupted me conversation with Bernard, that’s all.”

“I thought Bernard’s talking more to Viggo than to you because you get all tongue-tied when you speak to him,” Orlando said. He stretched out on the couch with all the fearlessness of youth, completely oblivious to the narrowing of Sean’s eyes.

“Yeah? Who told you that?”

“Karl did.”

“You’ve been talking to Karl lately?”

Orlando shrugged. “He’s a nice bloke. And unlike some people, I don’t get all tongue-tied when talking to someone I saw on telly before.”

“Ian,” Sean drawled the name out, and he grinned to himself when Orlando blushed slightly, turning his head away.

“He’s a legend, Sean. That’s totally different.”

“If you say so,” Sean said. He dropped down to the armchair.

Orlando shifted on the couch, finally sitting up. He looked at his hands for a minute, thinking. When he looked up, Sean was instantly suspicious. Who wouldn’t be, when the kid was grinning like he was the cat who had just eaten the cream?

“Hey, you want to know what Karl told me?”

“What, he’d declared his love for you already?” Sean raised an eyebrow.

“Besides that,” Orlando waved a hand. He posed slightly in his seat. “I mean, who wouldn’t, you know what I mean? I’m a handsome fucker, that I am.”

Sean just stared at him. Orlando laughed, rubbing a hand through his shaved head, fingers dragging through the short Mohawk.

“Nah, it’s about Viggo.”

I don’t want to know anything about Viggo, Sean meant to say. Instead, he blurted, “What ‘bout Viggo?”

“Karl said he’s been sleeping with one of the bearded women of Edoras,” Orlando leaned forward, elbows on his knees, the perfect image of someone completely happy to share a bit of gossip about a mutual friend.

Sean’s breath froze in his throat. He closed his eyes and let the air go, hissing through his teeth.

“What?”

“Yeah, Karl told me. He says that it’s weird, because well, if he’s sleeping with Miranda, then that’s no surprise. If he’s sleeping with one of the male extras, that’s no surprise either. But he’s sleeping with one of the bearded ladies, and well, you know, that’s a bit odd.”

Sean looked down on his hands, mildly surprised to find them clenched so hard that his nails were biting into flesh. “Thought you’re more open-minded than that, kid,” he said, and applauding his self-control at sounding so mild.

But Orlando looked up suddenly nonetheless, his eyes narrowing on Sean. “It’s just a bit funny-weird, that’s all.”

“Viggo can sleep with whoever he wants,” Sean said. He sounded perfectly reasonable, he thought. He was even defending Viggo here.

Orlando didn’t say a word. He only continued to look at Sean, head slightly cocked to the side. The silence stretched out between them, broken up periodically by the sound of thunder and rain outside the cottage. Sean met his gaze for a long moment before he twitched just once.

“What?”

“Nothing, really,” Orlando said, but his carefree tone had turned thoughtful. “It’s just that you just reminded me of my ex-girlfriend.”

“What?” Sean repeated.

“Jemma, you know? I’ve talked your ear off about her more than once.” Orlando shrugged. “One time I met her and won’t stop jabbering about this amazing woman I saw on stage and how brilliant she is at acting. And she starts getting all stiff on me like you just did.”

Sean let out an explosive sigh. He shoved himself upwards to stand, striding over to look out of the window.

“Yer full of shit,” he told the glass. He wasn’t entirely sure if the words were aimed towards Orlando, or himself.

“Er, Sean?” Orlando sounded confused. Sometimes Sean was annoyed at the kid. He couldn’t help but be so, really, because he had almost twenty years on Orlando and he was long past the period in his life when he believed that he was immortal and the world revolved around him. He liked Orlando, he really did, but the boy could annoy the shit out of him by being all of twenty-two years ago.

But now, Orlando’s obliviousness was entirely too useful. Sean sighed again, watching as the window fogged up from his breath.

“Nothing,” he said, staring out into the rain.

He could understand if he was angry, because Viggo was being a hypocrite, sleeping with someone else when he had given Sean the cold shoulder for doing the same. But he wasn’t. Sean knew what rage felt like; knew the way it twisted his stomach into knots and made his blood rush in his veins and his vision to sharpen and his hands to clench into a fist he had to be careful not to throw. He would prefer anger to this strange emotion in his chest. It was a cold knife slicing through his lungs, making breathing utterly impossible.

“Uh, okay,” Orlando said. “What do you want for dinner?”

Finding out that he was behaving like Orlando’s teenage girlfriend had to be the last insult, but he still couldn’t muster up the damn anger. Not at Viggo, not at Orlando, not even at himself -- which was strange, because it was always so damn easy to be angry at himself. He just felt cold and thin, like the rain had seeped into his skin and replaced his blood.

Sean rubbed his mouth slightly before he turned. “You get it for yerself,” he said, shoving his hands inside the pockets of his jeans.

“I ain’t hungry.”

Somehow he would have to figure out what the hell was wrong with him and to get rid of it before he saw Viggo again.

***

“Can I sit here?”

Viggo looked up, cigarette burning in his hand. Karl was still in Eomer’s clothes and wig, blond hair tied into a bright purple scrunchie and draped over his shoulder. He had in his hand a cupcake topped with icing the same colour as his hair tie. Viggo’s lips twitched.

“Sure,” he waved a hand.

“Bernard told everyone that purple is my colour of the day or something. He has one too, but he assigned himself a really nice blue, so I think he’s just fucking with me.” Karl touched his hair slightly. “Anyway, he told me to give you this.”

The cupcake in his hand was topped with bright, pumpkin orange. Viggo took it and took a big bite.

“It’s a few months and a couple of continents too far from Halloween,” he chewed. “Doesn’t taste too bad, though.”

Karl made an indistinct sound from beneath the pile of purple icing. Viggo blinked, cocking his head.

“What?”

“I said, I’m glad Aragorn isn’t pissed at Eomer anymore.”

Viggo froze. He looked away, his hand dropping to his side. “Sorry,” he said. The skies were fascinating at this time of the day, the barest streaks of pink and orange running across the blue, cut occasionally by clouds. He wished he had a camera in his hand; it would work as an excuse as well as any.

But Viggo wasn’t that much of a coward. He took a deep breath, turning to catch Karl’s gaze with his own.

“I really am sorry. It wasn’t very professional of me.”

Karl looked at him for a long time, chewing on his cupcake. Viggo resisted the urge to fidget. Karl finished the cupcake, his eyes still fixed on Viggo, and he licked his fingers.

“Orlando told me something interesting this morning,” he said.

Viggo blinked. “Orlando? Isn’t he coming over here?”

“He’s travelling with Sean,” Karl said, and he placed an almost comically exaggerated emphasis on Sean’s name. “They are stuck in the middle of nowhere because of a bunch of landslides.”

“Is Sean alright?” the words burst out of Viggo without his permission, and he bit his lip immediately. He tasted sugar and food colouring, and he licked the corner of his mouth for want of something to do.

“Yeah, they’re both fine. That’s not the interesting thing Orlando told me.”

“You’re obviously dying to tell me,” Viggo tried for a light tone. It wasn’t very successful, and his mind was running in damn circles about what had happened to Sean. He had heard reports about the landslides, but he figured that Sean had flown home since the last time they spoke. Boromir had no real business in Edoras, really, so he had no idea that he was even heading here.

God, Sean was coming over here. Viggo felt his hand moving to his ear and he resolutely started to shred the cupcake wrapper, staring at it in an effort to not look at Karl. It was an effort to not think about Karl as he looked that night, face flushed and wide-eyed over Sean’s shoulder.

It was a good thing that Eomer wasn’t the type of person to blush, really. If he was, things would be even more awkward than it already was.

“Orlando says that Sean is behaving like his ex-girlfriend,” Karl was saying. Viggo forced himself to pay attention again. It took a moment for the words to sink in.

“What?”

“He told Sean about your thing with one of the bearded ladies,” Karl grinned.

“Her name is Isabelle,” Viggo corrected absent-mindedly.

“Right,” Karl said. “So I don’t think you have anything to worry about.”

“I was worried about something?” Viggo was tugging on his earlobe again. He dropped his hand back to the side.

Karl smiled, “I saw your face when you came into the trailer, you know.”

“Sorry,” Viggo said automatically. He didn’t even know what he was apologising for, but it was good enough as conversation filler, since Karl seemed to be expecting him to say something. Viggo couldn’t decide what his reaction was supposed to be, that Sean was coming to the Edoras set knowing that Viggo had slept with someone else.

If Sean started ragging him on it, Viggo didn’t know if he could stop himself from hitting him. Not when he had saw him with his hands smelling of Karl’s come. Viggo was aware that Sean wasn’t the only one who was acting like Orlando’s teenage ex-girlfriend.

“It should be me apologising,” Karl shrugged. Viggo blinked at him. “Honestly, the two of you confuse the hell out of me. I don’t actually know what is going on, and I’d rather not presume, but I’d also rather that you’re not pissed off at me.”

“I’m not,” Viggo said automatically. That much he was clear about. He wasn’t angry at Karl, not really. Why would he, when Karl wouldn’t have known about what was happening between Viggo and Sean, or even that there was a ‘Viggo and Sean’ at all? Viggo didn’t even know how to classify what he had with Sean, so how would Karl know?

There was a part of himself that was very much relieved he was still capable of reason.

“I’m not actually pissed at anything, actually,” Viggo said. He shrugged again, turning out to look at the sky. The sunset was rapidly approaching. “I’m sorry for making things awkward between us,” he heard himself saying. “It won’t be a problem anymore, I promise.”

“I’ll take you at your word for that,” Karl said, but his voice sounded like it came from a distance away. Viggo gave him a flickering smile before he stood up, moving towards his trailer to get his camera.

He would deal with Sean when he came over. Not right now. Right now, he had a sky to chase.

***

Viggo felt the breath knocked out of his chest as Sean slammed him against the door. His face was so close to his own, and Viggo’s lips drew back into a snarl. He growled, fingers curling into the shoulders of Sean’s shirt, nearly tearing the fabric apart.

“Is this how you always try to solve problems, Sean?” Viggo could barely recognise his own voice. He sounded savage, rough, the usual rasp turned into a snarl. “By thinking with your cock? You’ve never realise that doing that is exactly the problem, do you?”

“No,” Sean was right in his face, his green eyes flashing gold as he stared hard into Viggo’s. “It ain’t me fucking Karl that’s the problem, Vig. It’s you.”

The rage Viggo felt was so intense that he surprised even himself, but his hands and feet were already moving, shoving Sean off of him. He didn’t want to admire the colour of Sean’s eyes; didn’t want to feel his body tingle at the feel of his hard body against his own. He shoved a leg between Sean’s, pushing him back until they stood in the middle of Sean’s hotel room.

“Me,” Viggo said. “The problem is me.” He barked a laugh, and there was no humour in the sound at all. “And Saint Sean has no faults whatsoever, aye?”

“Oh, aye,” Sean said, and his grip on Viggo’s elbow was so tight that it was going to leave bruises. “I know me faults alright, but I ain’t the one behaving worse than me ex-wife ‘bout having some fun with a friend when we are supposed to be mates.”

“It must hurt, doesn’t it, Sean?” Viggo hissed back. “That I wasn’t there to comfort you when you get a call from that ex-wife of yours. That I wasn’t there as a convenient body to fuck so you can forget what a failure you are at relationships.”

Sean flinched, and Viggo knew the shot had hit home. He had always been good with words; better at controlling them to make himself likeable. Somewhere deep within him, he realised he had gone too far, but his anger was bubbling too hot to even think about that.

“It’s always like that with you, ain’t it?” The bitterness in Sean’s voice was sharp enough to cut. “Always making out like yer the one being used when you enjoyed what we did plenty.”

“I don’t deny that,” Viggo didn’t know where the words were coming from. “You called me a mate, but how many others in the cast have you fucked, Sean? How many others have known the taste of Sean Bean’s come?”

Sean shoved at him, hard enough to make Viggo stumble. His back slammed against the wall, and it trembled even more from the force of Sean’s fist. “You want to say what you really mean? You keep talking in circles, Vig, but it’s a shite way of hiding.”

“You called me your mate, Sean,” Viggo said, and he hated how his voice had gone soft. Steeling it, he hid the hurt away. Like hell he was going to give Sean more ammunition to hurt him with. “Is that what we are?”

There was a flicker of confusion in Sean’s eyes, and he licked his lips.

“What are we, Viggo?”

Viggo didn’t have an answer, didn’t even know if there was a right answer to give. He suddenly felt tired, so tired of fighting with this man who was his friend, whom he had spent countless mornings and afternoons and nights together. He was tired of fighting, tired of running, tired of seeing shades of green on grass and in the skies and only being able to think of Sean. He was tired of remembering the sight of both of their hands stained with charcoals or with paints, the sound of their laughter reverberating around his house. He was tired of only seeing the shade of Sean’s dark blond hair whenever he looked out into the rain.

Viggo was damn tired of being afraid. He should do something about it.

His body moved before he did, surging forward, hands burying themselves in Sean’s hair as he crashed their lips together. Sean jerk against him, a large hand splaying out over his shoulder, slowly closing into a fist around Viggo’s shirt, pulling him closer instead of pushing him away. Sean’s tongue was in Viggo’s mouth, claiming it, stroking every corner until Viggo moaned and leaned further towards him. His body trembled, but he wasn’t the only one -- Sean pushed him harder, shoved him against the wall, his feet unsteady.

“What are we doing,” Sean murmured, and his voice was choked in Viggo’s throat. Less of a question, more of a plea.

I don’t know, Viggo thought. There wasn’t an answer he could find: not for what they needed, much less what they wanted. He only knew he could be addicted to the taste of Sean’s mouth. He could spend his entire life like this, just like this, kissing Sean over and over, never once tiring of Sean’s taste, Sean’s heat.

That was an answer in itself, but Viggo didn’t want it. Maybe it was cowardice, but Viggo was far too good with words, and he knew that this was self-preservation.

“I want to fuck you,” he said instead. Sean’s tongue sliding against his own as he pulled back, and he shivered again. He felt Sean nod more than he saw it; felt the heat of Sean’s cock against his thigh.

“Here,” Sean breathed. He pulled away from Viggo. Hands slapped against the wall, legs parted. Viggo’s breath slammed out of his lungs at the sight of Sean’s hair falling in front of his eyes. Gold and green against tan, and Sean’s smile trembled at the edges as he looked back to Viggo.

“Don’t bother with lube.”

“I don’t want to hurt you,” Viggo protested, but his hands were disobeying him again. He was pulling off Sean’s belt, leather and metal thud-thudding on the ground. His body splayed itself out over Sean’s, fingers finding small nipples, tweaking them. Images flashed in his head, of fucking Sean hard until he screamed; until his legs and hips and throat and ass all carried marks of Viggo, until there was no way that he could forget about him.

Sean turned him into a savage. He stripped Viggo raw, left him open, and Viggo could only drag his head back by his hair and shove two fingers into Sean’s mouth. The violence terrified him, aroused him, but he couldn’t stop himself, couldn’t help thrusting his hips forward, his still-clothed cock sliding up Sean’s jean-clad ass. Over and over as Sean sucked on his fingers, bit on the tips and made him bleed on the inside.

Viggo knew there was an answer, somewhere, but he had stopped caring somehow. Instead his hand was shoving Sean’s pants down to his ankles, his feet kicking Sean’s apart. Sean’s spit made his fingers gleam and Viggo licked at the tip, grey eyes holding onto green. Sean opened his mouth as if to speak, but Viggo pulled his head back and kissed him hard. He felt Sean moan against his lips, a trembling thing as Viggo shoved those fingers inside, less stretching than trying to pry Sean apart physically. Like Sean could pry him apart just by breathing.

His body didn’t feel like his own and he felt entirely out of his control. His head spun. Sean was saying something, the arch of his neck shivering from the force of his voice. But Viggo wasn’t listening any longer. Instead he threw himself forward, shoving Sean against the wall even as his teeth bit down on the thin, vulnerable skin of Sean’s throat.

“Come on, Viggo,” Sean said, drawling out Viggo’s name. A hand grabbed Viggo’s collar from the back, twisting the cloth until Viggo choked slightly, rearing back. Sean’s eyes burned on his.

“Fuck me already.”

He let go and Viggo grabbed his wrist, slamming it flat against the wall. Leaning in, he lowered his voice into a barely audible rasp.

“You asked.”

His hand closed around Sean’s hip, holding him still. Spitting into his hand, he stroked himself once. Pressed inside, slowly, inch by inch. Sean growled, trying to thrust his hips back, but Viggo only tightened his grip. He held him steady before he thrust hard, filling Sean as much as he could with one rough stroke. Sean threw his head back and roared, the sound so loud that it made Viggo’s bones rock inside him. Viggo grinned to himself, pulling back and slamming back in, and Sean’s hands slapped hard against the wall as he tried to keep his face from smashing into it.

“Hard enough?” he panted out.

Laughter. Sean tilted his head back, narrowed eyes on Viggo. There was pain in the creased edges, but Sean’s grin was large and infectious.

“Not nearly,” he said, and he rocked his entire body back, his spine curving as it fitted against Viggo’s chest. Snarling at the taunt, Viggo wrapped his arm around Sean’s waist as he pulled him away from the wall, took him off balance even as he thrust into him, again and again. Sean was trembling in his arms, his breath coming fast and shallow, his neck on Viggo’s shoulder-- but his fingers carved their marks on Viggo’s thighs, steadying himself. Urging Viggo to go faster, harder.

“Come on, Vig, fuck me like you mean it.”

“God,” Viggo snarled. “I should have known you wouldn’t know how to shut up.”

“Yeah? I thought you love me voice,” Sean countered. Viggo immediately decided that he wasn’t fucking Sean hard enough if he was still capable of being coherent. He buried his hand in Sean’s hair again, dragging his head back, and kissing him hard. Fingers clenched hard around Sean’s hips, grip tight enough to bruise. There was no real finesse, no real technique, only an animalistic in-out. But they had done this too many times and Viggo’s body had already shifted, finding the angle that had his cock scraping against Sean’s prostate with every single shove inside.

Sean was speechless now, reduced to grunts and moans and gasps as he leaned on his arms against the wall. Viggo took a vicious, triumphant joy in the sight of him, and he batted Sean’s hand away when it tried to creep down to his own cock. Instead, he wrapped his fingers around the head of Sean’s cock, his next thrust throwing Sean forward. Sean gasped again, clawing at the wall with his fingers, but that was all Viggo saw because he was biting down on Sean’s shoulder, eyes closed as he thrust again and again, feeling his orgasm approaching as he fucked Sean as if he was nothing more than a doll for him to use to get off.

It might do Sean some good to have a taste of his own medicine, Viggo thought suddenly. His eyes snapped open, and he grabbed onto that thought even as he felt his orgasm crash down onto him. His groan scraped the side of throat on its way up. He buried himself deep inside Sean’s body. Sean was frantic, rutting into his hand, and Viggo smiled to himself as he twisted the head of Sean’s cock, a nail flicker underneath the hood-- and Sean was coming with a low, dark roar, almost loud enough to cause the walls to shake and the decorative prints hanging on the walls to fall.

Viggo knew what he wanted now. He knew it from the easy way his body slumped against Sean’s, his arm sneaking forward to wrap around Sean’s body. Funny how he had always fitted so nicely with Sean, whether side by side or one behind the other. Viggo wasn’t particularly amused, or even surprised at all.

He closed his eyes and pushed himself away, pulling out. He heard Sean hiss, but Viggo only stumbled until he was leaning on the wall beside him. His hand was covered with Sean’s come, and he lifted it to his mouth, licking up the salty bitterness almost absent-mindedly.

“Vig.”

Viggo blinked, trying to focus. Sean was still leaning against the wall, grimacing slightly, but his eyes were clear as they fixed on Viggo’s.

“Are we good?”

Were they? Orlando mentioned that Sean was acted jealous about Isabelle, but that wasn’t a guarantee of anything. Orlando might have misinterpreted it, and Viggo had long known that possessiveness proved nothing in the long run anyway. He let out a soft, trembling breath.

“Yeah,” he said. “Yeah, we’re good.”

Sean would be leaving soon, Viggo remembered. Maybe if he ignored his latest revelation, it would hide itself away and he wouldn’t have to think of it again.

(Of course, he knew emotions didn’t work like that. But trying in this direction was far more harmless than trying in any other way.)
He fucking hated these mountains.

Sean growled underneath his breath as he watched everyone else pile into the helicopters. There was still more than a week (or more, if PJ was unhappy) left of the Caradhas scenes to shoot. He wasn’t complaining about the mountains exactly -- they were perfect for the descriptions that Tolkien had written for Caradhas -- but he was usually irritated at the end of the day. He had snow stuck in places that snow was never supposed to go, his limbs ached from the cold... and there was still a long way down for him to walk before he could get to the ski lift. Then he would have to drive back to his hotel. No matter what time they finished shooting, it would be dark before he reached it.

Of course, all of his problems would be solved if he took the helicopter. But Sean was would be damned if he was going to endure sitting in a tiny round box while the skies shuddered around him due to the turbulence. He sighed and slung Boromir’s shield behind his back. The only good thing about this was that Boromir’s uneasiness came to him easier than ever. Sean had never been the kind of actor who felt exactly as how his character felt, but he couldn’t deny that this made doing his job easier either.

“Sean, wait.”

He blinked, turning around. Viggo was standing behind him, thumbs hooked over Aragorn’s belt. The wind of the departing helicopter made his wig fly all over his face, making him look more like the dishevelled Ranger more than ever.

“I thought yer going with the rest,” Sean shouted back. The helicopter was loud; another reason to not take it.

Viggo jogged over to him. “What?” He had to yell to make himself heard, his hand shoving his hair backwards.

Sean waited until the helicopter had moved off the cliff before he repeated himself. Viggo shrugged, “I figured that I’ll keep you company as you walk down.”

“Alright,” Sean said. They hadn’t spoken for some time. He couldn’t help but think that all of his current irritations were hidden blessings, because Boromir’s disquiet about Aragorn was almost exactly what Sean felt towards Viggo as well.

They walked in silence for a long while. Sean couldn’t help but feel agitated, as if there were ants crawling up and down his skin. He couldn’t figure out Viggo’s heavy silence, and he wondered why the other man would bother taking the long road with him down when he wasn’t going to talk. Then he realised how strange the thought was, because he and Viggo had spent long hours without a single word spoken to each other, whether smoking, drinking, watching football or making art together. They were used to each other’s quiet, and Sean realised with a start that this was the first time that he was discomfited that Viggo wasn’t saying anything.

Damnit, he should have known that having sex with a castmate was a bad idea. It never led to anything good -- just look at his marriage with Abby for example. No, Sean corrected himself. No, he wouldn’t give Evie up for anything in the world. But there was no chance he would ever marry Viggo, so he always thought it understood that what they had between them was just an arrangement for the sake of convenience.

Now Viggo had him thinking in circles. Sean couldn’t help but grit his teeth and shove Boromir’s shield further up his shoulders. Feeling so off-centred was enough to piss anyone off, he reckoned.

“Have you spoken to Karl lately?”

Sean was so caught up in his thoughts that it took a few seconds for him to realise that Viggo was talking. He blinked, turning.

“What?” He rubbed the back of his head. “Nah, I haven’t. Have you?”

“No,” Viggo said quietly. His thumbs were still hooked in Aragorn’s belt. If he was wearing jeans, Sean knew that his hands would be shoved into the pockets. “I thought you would be.”

“Why?” Sean looked back to the road. The cliff was coming up; they would have to climb down soon. Maybe Viggo would shut up then.

“You were the one fucking him, weren’t you?”

Sean frowned. Viggo’s question sounded calm, almost too casual, and it made him hiss. The cold turned his breath into a fog, and he used that as an excuse to not look at the other man. “I didn’t realise that fucking someone means I’m now his keeper.”

“No, I guess not.”

They fell silent again, but only for a few seconds before Sean whirled around. He stormed over to Viggo, boots crunching on snow.

“Look,” Sean said, frustration creeping into his voice. “You want to tell me what the hell yer getting at?”

Viggo’s eyes were blue, coloured by the clear skies over head. He looked at Sean for a long moment, the silence stretching between them until Sean wanted to reach out and shake him. But he shrugged before Sean could say a word, shoulders far too tense for the movement to seem smooth in any way.

“Nothing,” Viggo said, voice soft. “I’m not getting at anything.”

Sean threw up his hands. “Christ,” he blurted out. “Could you behave any more like a whiny woman? You sound worse than me wife.”

“Right, of course, I almost forgot,” Viggo shot back, acidic. Sean froze at the sudden venom in his voice, and he could feel his own anger rise, burning in his chest, choking in his throat.

“How’s the divorce going, Sean?”

Sean stared at him, all the words drained out of him. His hands shook at his sides. He took a long deep breath before his fingers darted forward, fisting Aragorn’s tunic as he dragged him forward.

“Go. Fuck. Yourself.”

Poison dripping off every perfectly enunciated Received Pronunciation word. He let go of Viggo’s tunic and pushed himself backwards. Sean stormed off towards the side of the cliff, grabbing onto the safety harness and strapping it around his waist. He didn’t turn to look if Viggo was doing the same.

Viggo could jump down the damn cliff for all he cared right now.

***

Sean stared out of the window of the cottage. The road was ridiculous, slamming hard against the windows until he couldn’t even see his own reflection in the glass. He smacked his fist against the grill hard before stepping back, sighing.

“Staring at the rain isn’t going to make it stop raining, you know.”

“We won’t be stuck in the damned rain if you didn’t insist on going shopping every single fucking mile we took, Orlando,” Sean said pleasantly.

Orlando snorted, lifting his shoulders up in a shrug. “People need presents for Christmas, Sean.”

“Yeah? And how many of those are wet now, much less trapped in the car?”

He waved a hand. “It’s just the bags that are wet. Jesus, Sean, you’ve become as crotchety as an eighty-year-old woman ever since Viggo left to film Edoras with Karl, Bernard and the rest.”

Sean snorted, but he couldn’t help his shoulders tensing up. “Shooting schedule interrupted me conversation with Bernard, that’s all.”

“I thought Bernard’s talking more to Viggo than to you because you get all tongue-tied when you speak to him,” Orlando said. He stretched out on the couch with all the fearlessness of youth, completely oblivious to the narrowing of Sean’s eyes.

“Yeah? Who told you that?”

“Karl did.”

“You’ve been talking to Karl lately?”

Orlando shrugged. “He’s a nice bloke. And unlike some people, I don’t get all tongue-tied when talking to someone I saw on telly before.”

“Ian,” Sean drawled the name out, and he grinned to himself when Orlando blushed slightly, turning his head away.

“He’s a legend, Sean. That’s totally different.”

“If you say so,” Sean said. He dropped down to the armchair.

Orlando shifted on the couch, finally sitting up. He looked at his hands for a minute, thinking. When he looked up, Sean was instantly suspicious. Who wouldn’t be, when the kid was grinning like he was the cat who had just eaten the cream?

“Hey, you want to know what Karl told me?”

“What, he’d declared his love for you already?” Sean raised an eyebrow.

“Besides that,” Orlando waved a hand. He posed slightly in his seat. “I mean, who wouldn’t, you know what I mean? I’m a handsome fucker, that I am.”

Sean just stared at him. Orlando laughed, rubbing a hand through his shaved head, fingers dragging through the short Mohawk.

“Nah, it’s about Viggo.”

I don’t want to know anything about Viggo, Sean meant to say. Instead, he blurted, “What ‘bout Viggo?”

“Karl said he’s been sleeping with one of the bearded women of Edoras,” Orlando leaned forward, elbows on his knees, the perfect image of someone completely happy to share a bit of gossip about a mutual friend.

Sean’s breath froze in his throat. He closed his eyes and let the air go, hissing through his teeth.

“What?”

“Yeah, Karl told me. He says that it’s weird, because well, if he’s sleeping with Miranda, then that’s no surprise. If he’s sleeping with one of the male extras, that’s no surprise either. But he’s sleeping with one of the bearded ladies, and well, you know, that’s a bit odd.”

Sean looked down on his hands, mildly surprised to find them clenched so hard that his nails were biting into flesh. “Thought you’re more open-minded than that, kid,” he said, and applauding his self-control at sounding so mild.

But Orlando looked up suddenly nonetheless, his eyes narrowing on Sean. “It’s just a bit funny-weird, that’s all.”

“Viggo can sleep with whoever he wants,” Sean said. He sounded perfectly reasonable, he thought. He was even defending Viggo here.

Orlando didn’t say a word. He only continued to look at Sean, head slightly cocked to the side. The silence stretched out between them, broken up periodically by the sound of thunder and rain outside the cottage. Sean met his gaze for a long moment before he twitched just once.

“What?”

“Nothing, really,” Orlando said, but his carefree tone had turned thoughtful. “It’s just that you just reminded me of my ex-girlfriend.”

“What?” Sean repeated.

“Jemma, you know? I’ve talked your ear off about her more than once.” Orlando shrugged. “One time I met her and won’t stop jabbering about this amazing woman I saw on stage and how brilliant she is at acting. And she starts getting all stiff on me like you just did.”

Sean let out an explosive sigh. He shoved himself upwards to stand, striding over to look out of the window.

“Yer full of shit,” he told the glass. He wasn’t entirely sure if the words were aimed towards Orlando, or himself.

“Er, Sean?” Orlando sounded confused. Sometimes Sean was annoyed at the kid. He couldn’t help but be so, really, because he had almost twenty years on Orlando and he was long past the period in his life when he believed that he was immortal and the world revolved around him. He liked Orlando, he really did, but the boy could annoy the shit out of him by being all of twenty-two years ago.

But now, Orlando’s obliviousness was entirely too useful. Sean sighed again, watching as the window fogged up from his breath.

“Nothing,” he said, staring out into the rain.

He could understand if he was angry, because Viggo was being a hypocrite, sleeping with someone else when he had given Sean the cold shoulder for doing the same. But he wasn’t. Sean knew what rage felt like; knew the way it twisted his stomach into knots and made his blood rush in his veins and his vision to sharpen and his hands to clench into a fist he had to be careful not to throw. He would prefer anger to this strange emotion in his chest. It was a cold knife slicing through his lungs, making breathing utterly impossible.

“Uh, okay,” Orlando said. “What do you want for dinner?”

Finding out that he was behaving like Orlando’s teenage girlfriend had to be the last insult, but he still couldn’t muster up the damn anger. Not at Viggo, not at Orlando, not even at himself -- which was strange, because it was always so damn easy to be angry at himself. He just felt cold and thin, like the rain had seeped into his skin and replaced his blood.

Sean rubbed his mouth slightly before he turned. “You get it for yerself,” he said, shoving his hands inside the pockets of his jeans.

“I ain’t hungry.”

Somehow he would have to figure out what the hell was wrong with him and to get rid of it before he saw Viggo again.

***

“Can I sit here?”

Viggo looked up, cigarette burning in his hand. Karl was still in Eomer’s clothes and wig, blond hair tied into a bright purple scrunchie and draped over his shoulder. He had in his hand a cupcake topped with icing the same colour as his hair tie. Viggo’s lips twitched.

“Sure,” he waved a hand.

“Bernard told everyone that purple is my colour of the day or something. He has one too, but he assigned himself a really nice blue, so I think he’s just fucking with me.” Karl touched his hair slightly. “Anyway, he told me to give you this.”

The cupcake in his hand was topped with bright, pumpkin orange. Viggo took it and took a big bite.

“It’s a few months and a couple of continents too far from Halloween,” he chewed. “Doesn’t taste too bad, though.”

Karl made an indistinct sound from beneath the pile of purple icing. Viggo blinked, cocking his head.

“What?”

“I said, I’m glad Aragorn isn’t pissed at Eomer anymore.”

Viggo froze. He looked away, his hand dropping to his side. “Sorry,” he said. The skies were fascinating at this time of the day, the barest streaks of pink and orange running across the blue, cut occasionally by clouds. He wished he had a camera in his hand; it would work as an excuse as well as any.

But Viggo wasn’t that much of a coward. He took a deep breath, turning to catch Karl’s gaze with his own.

“I really am sorry. It wasn’t very professional of me.”

Karl looked at him for a long time, chewing on his cupcake. Viggo resisted the urge to fidget. Karl finished the cupcake, his eyes still fixed on Viggo, and he licked his fingers.

“Orlando told me something interesting this morning,” he said.

Viggo blinked. “Orlando? Isn’t he coming over here?”

“He’s travelling with Sean,” Karl said, and he placed an almost comically exaggerated emphasis on Sean’s name. “They are stuck in the middle of nowhere because of a bunch of landslides.”

“Is Sean alright?” the words burst out of Viggo without his permission, and he bit his lip immediately. He tasted sugar and food colouring, and he licked the corner of his mouth for want of something to do.

“Yeah, they’re both fine. That’s not the interesting thing Orlando told me.”

“You’re obviously dying to tell me,” Viggo tried for a light tone. It wasn’t very successful, and his mind was running in damn circles about what had happened to Sean. He had heard reports about the landslides, but he figured that Sean had flown home since the last time they spoke. Boromir had no real business in Edoras, really, so he had no idea that he was even heading here.

God, Sean was coming over here. Viggo felt his hand moving to his ear and he resolutely started to shred the cupcake wrapper, staring at it in an effort to not look at Karl. It was an effort to not think about Karl as he looked that night, face flushed and wide-eyed over Sean’s shoulder.

It was a good thing that Eomer wasn’t the type of person to blush, really. If he was, things would be even more awkward than it already was.

“Orlando says that Sean is behaving like his ex-girlfriend,” Karl was saying. Viggo forced himself to pay attention again. It took a moment for the words to sink in.

“What?”

“He told Sean about your thing with one of the bearded ladies,” Karl grinned.

“Her name is Isabelle,” Viggo corrected absent-mindedly.

“Right,” Karl said. “So I don’t think you have anything to worry about.”

“I was worried about something?” Viggo was tugging on his earlobe again. He dropped his hand back to the side.

Karl smiled, “I saw your face when you came into the trailer, you know.”

“Sorry,” Viggo said automatically. He didn’t even know what he was apologising for, but it was good enough as conversation filler, since Karl seemed to be expecting him to say something. Viggo couldn’t decide what his reaction was supposed to be, that Sean was coming to the Edoras set knowing that Viggo had slept with someone else.

If Sean started ragging him on it, Viggo didn’t know if he could stop himself from hitting him. Not when he had saw him with his hands smelling of Karl’s come. Viggo was aware that Sean wasn’t the only one who was acting like Orlando’s teenage ex-girlfriend.

“It should be me apologising,” Karl shrugged. Viggo blinked at him. “Honestly, the two of you confuse the hell out of me. I don’t actually know what is going on, and I’d rather not presume, but I’d also rather that you’re not pissed off at me.”

“I’m not,” Viggo said automatically. That much he was clear about. He wasn’t angry at Karl, not really. Why would he, when Karl wouldn’t have known about what was happening between Viggo and Sean, or even that there was a ‘Viggo and Sean’ at all? Viggo didn’t even know how to classify what he had with Sean, so how would Karl know?

There was a part of himself that was very much relieved he was still capable of reason.

“I’m not actually pissed at anything, actually,” Viggo said. He shrugged again, turning out to look at the sky. The sunset was rapidly approaching. “I’m sorry for making things awkward between us,” he heard himself saying. “It won’t be a problem anymore, I promise.”

“I’ll take you at your word for that,” Karl said, but his voice sounded like it came from a distance away. Viggo gave him a flickering smile before he stood up, moving towards his trailer to get his camera.

He would deal with Sean when he came over. Not right now. Right now, he had a sky to chase.

***

Viggo felt the breath knocked out of his chest as Sean slammed him against the door. His face was so close to his own, and Viggo’s lips drew back into a snarl. He growled, fingers curling into the shoulders of Sean’s shirt, nearly tearing the fabric apart.

“Is this how you always try to solve problems, Sean?” Viggo could barely recognise his own voice. He sounded savage, rough, the usual rasp turned into a snarl. “By thinking with your cock? You’ve never realise that doing that is exactly the problem, do you?”

“No,” Sean was right in his face, his green eyes flashing gold as he stared hard into Viggo’s. “It ain’t me fucking Karl that’s the problem, Vig. It’s you.”

The rage Viggo felt was so intense that he surprised even himself, but his hands and feet were already moving, shoving Sean off of him. He didn’t want to admire the colour of Sean’s eyes; didn’t want to feel his body tingle at the feel of his hard body against his own. He shoved a leg between Sean’s, pushing him back until they stood in the middle of Sean’s hotel room.

“Me,” Viggo said. “The problem is me.” He barked a laugh, and there was no humour in the sound at all. “And Saint Sean has no faults whatsoever, aye?”

“Oh, aye,” Sean said, and his grip on Viggo’s elbow was so tight that it was going to leave bruises. “I know me faults alright, but I ain’t the one behaving worse than me ex-wife ‘bout having some fun with a friend when we are supposed to be mates.”

“It must hurt, doesn’t it, Sean?” Viggo hissed back. “That I wasn’t there to comfort you when you get a call from that ex-wife of yours. That I wasn’t there as a convenient body to fuck so you can forget what a failure you are at relationships.”

Sean flinched, and Viggo knew the shot had hit home. He had always been good with words; better at controlling them to make himself likeable. Somewhere deep within him, he realised he had gone too far, but his anger was bubbling too hot to even think about that.

“It’s always like that with you, ain’t it?” The bitterness in Sean’s voice was sharp enough to cut. “Always making out like yer the one being used when you enjoyed what we did plenty.”

“I don’t deny that,” Viggo didn’t know where the words were coming from. “You called me a mate, but how many others in the cast have you fucked, Sean? How many others have known the taste of Sean Bean’s come?”

Sean shoved at him, hard enough to make Viggo stumble. His back slammed against the wall, and it trembled even more from the force of Sean’s fist. “You want to say what you really mean? You keep talking in circles, Vig, but it’s a shite way of hiding.”

“You called me your mate, Sean,” Viggo said, and he hated how his voice had gone soft. Steeling it, he hid the hurt away. Like hell he was going to give Sean more ammunition to hurt him with. “Is that what we are?”

There was a flicker of confusion in Sean’s eyes, and he licked his lips.

“What are we, Viggo?”

Viggo didn’t have an answer, didn’t even know if there was a right answer to give. He suddenly felt tired, so tired of fighting with this man who was his friend, whom he had spent countless mornings and afternoons and nights together. He was tired of fighting, tired of running, tired of seeing shades of green on grass and in the skies and only being able to think of Sean. He was tired of remembering the sight of both of their hands stained with charcoals or with paints, the sound of their laughter reverberating around his house. He was tired of only seeing the shade of Sean’s dark blond hair whenever he looked out into the rain.

Viggo was damn tired of being afraid. He should do something about it.

His body moved before he did, surging forward, hands burying themselves in Sean’s hair as he crashed their lips together. Sean jerk against him, a large hand splaying out over his shoulder, slowly closing into a fist around Viggo’s shirt, pulling him closer instead of pushing him away. Sean’s tongue was in Viggo’s mouth, claiming it, stroking every corner until Viggo moaned and leaned further towards him. His body trembled, but he wasn’t the only one -- Sean pushed him harder, shoved him against the wall, his feet unsteady.

“What are we doing,” Sean murmured, and his voice was choked in Viggo’s throat. Less of a question, more of a plea.

I don’t know, Viggo thought. There wasn’t an answer he could find: not for what they needed, much less what they wanted. He only knew he could be addicted to the taste of Sean’s mouth. He could spend his entire life like this, just like this, kissing Sean over and over, never once tiring of Sean’s taste, Sean’s heat.

That was an answer in itself, but Viggo didn’t want it. Maybe it was cowardice, but Viggo was far too good with words, and he knew that this was self-preservation.

“I want to fuck you,” he said instead. Sean’s tongue sliding against his own as he pulled back, and he shivered again. He felt Sean nod more than he saw it; felt the heat of Sean’s cock against his thigh.

“Here,” Sean breathed. He pulled away from Viggo. Hands slapped against the wall, legs parted. Viggo’s breath slammed out of his lungs at the sight of Sean’s hair falling in front of his eyes. Gold and green against tan, and Sean’s smile trembled at the edges as he looked back to Viggo.

“Don’t bother with lube.”

“I don’t want to hurt you,” Viggo protested, but his hands were disobeying him again. He was pulling off Sean’s belt, leather and metal thud-thudding on the ground. His body splayed itself out over Sean’s, fingers finding small nipples, tweaking them. Images flashed in his head, of fucking Sean hard until he screamed; until his legs and hips and throat and ass all carried marks of Viggo, until there was no way that he could forget about him.

Sean turned him into a savage. He stripped Viggo raw, left him open, and Viggo could only drag his head back by his hair and shove two fingers into Sean’s mouth. The violence terrified him, aroused him, but he couldn’t stop himself, couldn’t help thrusting his hips forward, his still-clothed cock sliding up Sean’s jean-clad ass. Over and over as Sean sucked on his fingers, bit on the tips and made him bleed on the inside.

Viggo knew there was an answer, somewhere, but he had stopped caring somehow. Instead his hand was shoving Sean’s pants down to his ankles, his feet kicking Sean’s apart. Sean’s spit made his fingers gleam and Viggo licked at the tip, grey eyes holding onto green. Sean opened his mouth as if to speak, but Viggo pulled his head back and kissed him hard. He felt Sean moan against his lips, a trembling thing as Viggo shoved those fingers inside, less stretching than trying to pry Sean apart physically. Like Sean could pry him apart just by breathing.

His body didn’t feel like his own and he felt entirely out of his control. His head spun. Sean was saying something, the arch of his neck shivering from the force of his voice. But Viggo wasn’t listening any longer. Instead he threw himself forward, shoving Sean against the wall even as his teeth bit down on the thin, vulnerable skin of Sean’s throat.

“Come on, Viggo,” Sean said, drawling out Viggo’s name. A hand grabbed Viggo’s collar from the back, twisting the cloth until Viggo choked slightly, rearing back. Sean’s eyes burned on his.

“Fuck me already.”

He let go and Viggo grabbed his wrist, slamming it flat against the wall. Leaning in, he lowered his voice into a barely audible rasp.

“You asked.”

His hand closed around Sean’s hip, holding him still. Spitting into his hand, he stroked himself once. Pressed inside, slowly, inch by inch. Sean growled, trying to thrust his hips back, but Viggo only tightened his grip. He held him steady before he thrust hard, filling Sean as much as he could with one rough stroke. Sean threw his head back and roared, the sound so loud that it made Viggo’s bones rock inside him. Viggo grinned to himself, pulling back and slamming back in, and Sean’s hands slapped hard against the wall as he tried to keep his face from smashing into it.

“Hard enough?” he panted out.

Laughter. Sean tilted his head back, narrowed eyes on Viggo. There was pain in the creased edges, but Sean’s grin was large and infectious.

“Not nearly,” he said, and he rocked his entire body back, his spine curving as it fitted against Viggo’s chest. Snarling at the taunt, Viggo wrapped his arm around Sean’s waist as he pulled him away from the wall, took him off balance even as he thrust into him, again and again. Sean was trembling in his arms, his breath coming fast and shallow, his neck on Viggo’s shoulder-- but his fingers carved their marks on Viggo’s thighs, steadying himself. Urging Viggo to go faster, harder.

“Come on, Vig, fuck me like you mean it.”

“God,” Viggo snarled. “I should have known you wouldn’t know how to shut up.”

“Yeah? I thought you love me voice,” Sean countered. Viggo immediately decided that he wasn’t fucking Sean hard enough if he was still capable of being coherent. He buried his hand in Sean’s hair again, dragging his head back, and kissing him hard. Fingers clenched hard around Sean’s hips, grip tight enough to bruise. There was no real finesse, no real technique, only an animalistic in-out. But they had done this too many times and Viggo’s body had already shifted, finding the angle that had his cock scraping against Sean’s prostate with every single shove inside.

Sean was speechless now, reduced to grunts and moans and gasps as he leaned on his arms against the wall. Viggo took a vicious, triumphant joy in the sight of him, and he batted Sean’s hand away when it tried to creep down to his own cock. Instead, he wrapped his fingers around the head of Sean’s cock, his next thrust throwing Sean forward. Sean gasped again, clawing at the wall with his fingers, but that was all Viggo saw because he was biting down on Sean’s shoulder, eyes closed as he thrust again and again, feeling his orgasm approaching as he fucked Sean as if he was nothing more than a doll for him to use to get off.

It might do Sean some good to have a taste of his own medicine, Viggo thought suddenly. His eyes snapped open, and he grabbed onto that thought even as he felt his orgasm crash down onto him. His groan scraped the side of throat on its way up. He buried himself deep inside Sean’s body. Sean was frantic, rutting into his hand, and Viggo smiled to himself as he twisted the head of Sean’s cock, a nail flicker underneath the hood-- and Sean was coming with a low, dark roar, almost loud enough to cause the walls to shake and the decorative prints hanging on the walls to fall.

Viggo knew what he wanted now. He knew it from the easy way his body slumped against Sean’s, his arm sneaking forward to wrap around Sean’s body. Funny how he had always fitted so nicely with Sean, whether side by side or one behind the other. Viggo wasn’t particularly amused, or even surprised at all.

He closed his eyes and pushed himself away, pulling out. He heard Sean hiss, but Viggo only stumbled until he was leaning on the wall beside him. His hand was covered with Sean’s come, and he lifted it to his mouth, licking up the salty bitterness almost absent-mindedly.

“Vig.”

Viggo blinked, trying to focus. Sean was still leaning against the wall, grimacing slightly, but his eyes were clear as they fixed on Viggo’s.

“Are we good?”

Were they? Orlando mentioned that Sean was acted jealous about Isabelle, but that wasn’t a guarantee of anything. Orlando might have misinterpreted it, and Viggo had long known that possessiveness proved nothing in the long run anyway. He let out a soft, trembling breath.

“Yeah,” he said. “Yeah, we’re good.”

Sean would be leaving soon, Viggo remembered. Maybe if he ignored his latest revelation, it would hide itself away and he wouldn’t have to think of it again.

(Of course, he knew emotions didn’t work like that. But trying in this direction was far more harmless than trying in any other way.)

Abby called him every week while in New Zealand. Sean remembered the fights they seemed to be unable to stop themselves from having, but what he remembered most was that Abby would always try to start the conversation about something Evie had done that week. Evie could laugh. She was starting to learn to crawl. She could babble. Sometimes there were troubles as well, such as the week when Abby had called in the middle of New Zealand’s night, crying that their daughter had colic and she didn’t know what to do. Sean would have walked back to London if he could then, but he could only stay up the night reassuring Abby that the baby would be fine, that she had a strong Northern constitution from her father. He spent the next morning stumbling around the Council set, drinking cups after cups of tea, trying desperately to stay awake. Practically the whole cast was irritated with him by the end of the day, but Sean didn’t regret doing it. That night, Viggo had driven him back to his rented house, and they had crashed on the bed together, just sleeping.

She had grown so big while he had been gone. She didn’t even recognise him, and she had sniffled and nearly burst into tears when he held her. Sean closed his eyes and leaned his head against the doorway. He had watched from the lobby while Abby’s car had disappeared around the corner. She lived in the London house and in the few weeks Sean was in England, he lived in a hotel room.

Abby had still wanted him to be Evie’s father, and Sean was so thankful for that kindness that he would give her everything she wanted. She was a decent woman, Abby was, because she didn’t even want the house. Sean knew that the failure of this marriage was his fault. Like it was his fault that things had fallen apart with Mel; like it was his fault that it didn’t work out with Debra. Like it was his fault that Viggo had--

Christ, he wasn’t going to be so pathetic as to degenerate to that level of self-pity. Sean took a deep breath and turned around, walking back to the lifts. He had made promises and Boromir was still needed in Lothlorien. No matter how much he wanted to stay here with his daughters, he knew he couldn’t. There were three promises that he had already broken, and he would be damned if he added another one to it.

His phone rang just as he stepped into the lift. The door closed and the car started moving before he had the chance to stop it, and the reception cut off immediately. Sean blinked, pulling out his mobile and staring at the caller ID. He couldn’t tell who it was, but he knew New Zealand’s country code; had memorised it from the few times Viggo had called him while they were separated by oceans and continents. He shrugged to himself. It was probably someone from New Line, telling him about his flight details for the umpteenth time.

But the mobile shrilled again when he stepped out of the lift. Sean stabbed the button to pick it up, shoving the phone between his head and shoulder as he wriggled out his keycard.

“Sean Bean.”

“I’ve been trying to call you for ages! Well, okay, not ages, but really just a couple of seconds but you scared the shit out of me by hanging up like, seconds after you picked up. Why the hell did you hang up?”

Orlando. Not New Line executives, then. Sean blinked.

“Slow down, for Christ’s sake,” he said automatically. The door opened and he stepped inside. “I got into a lift. What happened?”

“You... uh... is it okay for you to come back like, right now?”

“No,” Sean frowned. Evie still loomed in his head. “I’ve still got a bunch of things to take care of.”

“This is pretty important,” Orlando said.

Sean sighed. The young man was hedging, and he wasn’t doing it very well. “Not unless you give me a damn good reason,” he replied.

“Viggonearlydrowned,” Orlando said, all in one breath.

“What?”

“Viggo nearly drowned,” Orlando repeated, barely slow enough to be audible. “We’re, uh, we’re filming the scene where Aragorn floats down the Anduin, right? It’s supposed to be one of the stunties, but Viggo insisted on doing the scene himself for some weird reason. I don’t understand that crazy bastard. But anyway, the current was crazy strong and the river is cold because New Zealand has fucked up seasons, and he got pulled under.”

“What?” Sean said again. It seemed to be the only word in his vocabulary at the moment.

“I don’t know, man! I really don’t!”

“When the hell did this happen?” Sean was surprised that the words could force themselves out of his throat. He could barely breathe. Viggo had nearly killed himself for some unknown reason. He realised that his hand was clenched around the doorknob, and he slowly released it.

“They shot the scene two days ago. Look, Sean, I- he- he’s being all weird, man. I mean, Viggo is usually weird by human standards but now he’s weird by Viggo standards because he’s being all quiet and shit. He’s not talking to anyone and he doesn’t want to come out with us. He tells PJ that he’s fine and his Aragorn is as good as ever, but... I’m off my head with worry and PJ keeps trying to get him to take shorter days but you know he’s not going to accept that.”

There were small marks on his palm. Sean stared at them, flexing his hand for the sake of something to do.

“What am I supposed to do?”

“No one can get through to him, Sean,” Orlando said, and his panic seemed to have faded, replaced by a much more worrying current of seriousness. Orlando was rarely serious except when it came to work. “No one who’s here anyway. Karl told me that Bernard tried but Viggo brushed him off. Christ, Sean, the set’s like a damn graveyard the past couple of days. Viggo’s not pulling pranks, he’s not tackling people, he’s not making stupid jokes... He’s not even going randomly fishing! He’s just doing his scenes and then going to the stables with the horses.”

“Maybe he just likes the horses because they don’t ask him constantly if he’s feeling okay,” Sean suggested, but the words rang hollow even as he said them.

“Sean,” Orlando said, and he sounded terrified. “Can you- can you come back early? Please? I’m begging you here.”

There were still three weeks more; three weeks he was going to spend with Evie and Lorna and Molly, and to finalise the divorce with Abby. Sean closed his eyes.

The last time he saw Viggo was at the airport. Viggo was grinning then, slapping Sean on the back and telling him to not get too soft and fat while he was at home. Viggo’s body was warm as they hugged. The night before, Viggo had come over, helping Sean pack and watching him silently fret about what was going to happen when he reached home. If his oldest girls would be angry with him; if Evie would know his face; if he could still save his marriage with Abby. Viggo had watched him pace for half an hour before he tossed out half of Sean’s nicely-folded clothes to find the charcoals and paints that Sean bought in New Zealand, shoving them into his hands. Sean went through half of Viggo’s sketchpad that night, drawing without knowing what he was trying to capture, the pencils breaking underneath his hands with the abuse he dealt them. But Viggo had only taken the stubs, sharpened them, and placed them next to Sean so he could use them again.

There was a picture that Viggo showed him, on the way to the airport. It was Sean himself, leaning over a sketchpad. He strode over to the closet, yanking the doors open before he took out his bag, finding the folded piece of paper. There were creases on the corners now, from the many times he’d looked at it.

They talked about when he would come back to New Zealand. Viggo promised to pick him up from the airport, and tell him about all the stupid things he had gotten up to, the more ridiculous pranks and jokes Dom and Billy had pulled, the new ways that Orlando had found to try to kill himself, and the myriad swear words that Ian knew.

Sean sat down hard on the bed.

“Sean? You still there?”

“Viggo nearly died,” Sean said. The sound of the words vibrated around him, turning what seemed like a sick joke into reality.

“That’s what I’ve been trying to tell you,” Orlando said quietly.

God, he hoped the girls would forgive him. He hoped Abby would understand.

“I’m coming back,” he said.

But somehow, even if they didn’t, Sean knew that he would go to Viggo anyway.

***

Viggo pulled the car into his driveway. He closed his eyes, leaning his head against the steering wheel, counting heartbeats. After five, he stepped out of the car, locking the door behind him. And he blinked.

The lights in the house were switched on. That was odd. Viggo hoped, vaguely, that it wasn’t a robber, because he really couldn’t be bothered to try to stop anyone from stealing his things. Had he locked the door before he left the house? He couldn’t really remember, though he probably had. He sighed quietly, moving up the porch steps and unlocking the door.

He stopped. His lips parted, but no words came out.

“You gave me a key to yer house the last time,” Sean said quietly. He was sitting on his usual armchair, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees. “I figured I’ll just drop in.”

Viggo swallowed. He raised his eyes and rubbed at them, but he didn’t bother to pinch himself. His body hurt enough to tell him that he was still awake.

“What are you doing here?”

Sean stood up. He walked over and tugged at Viggo’s jacket. The cloth slipped off, and Sean’s hands were on the hem of his shirt, pulling it over his head as well. Callused fingers ran along his shoulder blades, and Viggo flinched slightly as they pressed against the dark bruises.

“Why didn’t you go to the doctors?”

“You haven’t answered my question,” Viggo whispered. The situation felt surreal. Wasn’t Sean supposed to be in England?

“Orlando told me what happened,” Sean said, his voice so close and quiet that Viggo could feel his breath ghosting his ear. “I had to come back.”

“What about--”

“Now you answer my question,” Sean said. He nudged Viggo over to the couch, and Viggo sank into it, feeling Sean’s arm wrap around his bruised shoulders.

“I don’t want to,” he said. It was the only answer he could give, because he didn’t have any other.

Sean snorted, but he didn’t push him away when Viggo dropped his head on his shoulder. He was warm, Viggo realised, and the chill that sank into his lungs and bones from the river started to unravel, just like that.

“Yer an arse,” Sean informed him. “Worrying everyone like that.”

“Sorry,” Viggo said automatically. His eyes closed. This was good, and he felt better than he had for the past four days. “Was everyone really that worried?”

“Aye.”

They sat in silence for a long time. Sean’s fingers stroked the curve of Viggo’s shoulder.

“How are the girls?” Viggo asked. He wanted to ask Sean for the real reason why he decided to come back, but somehow he knew that Sean would tell him eventually.

“Good,” Sean said. “Lorna’s doing great in school; she’s so clever, Vig. Molly’s taking drama classes, not ‘cause Mel wanted her ta, but because she asked. Evie’s grown so big, and she’s learning to crawl. They’re good.”

“Are they--”

“I told them someone important to me nearly killed himself because of his own stupidity. They know I’ll come back.”

There was a soft note of insecurity in Sean’s voice that had Viggo raising his head. He opened his eyes, turning to look at Sean again. His beard had grown longer than Boromir’s should be, and Viggo grazed the rough strands with his fingertips.

“I have terrible timing, haven’t I?”

Sean chuckled. His head slipped into Viggo’s hair. “Aye, you do.”

It felt good to laugh again, Viggo realised. Sean’s eyes were so green this close, and Viggo’s lashes lowered as Sean leaned in. They kissed slowly, gently, their mouths moving together, simply tasting each other. They had never kissed like this. Their kisses were always something desperate, needy, both of them needing release. It had always been only a prelude to sex.

Their foreheads touched. Sean’s hand teased with the small hairs at the nape of Viggo’s head, and his shifted slightly until his lips brushed Viggo’s temple.

“I came back ‘cause you needed me,” Sean murmured. “I can’t stay away, not when I know you needed me here. Can’t even worry properly ‘bout the plane crashing, ‘cause I was too worried that ‘bout you.”

Viggo’s hands reached out. He tugged at Sean’s sweater, and they pulled away from each other just long enough for Sean to pull the damn thing off his head. He needed bare skin, now, and he wrapped his arms around Sean’s chest, feeling his heart beat steadily against his own.

“The water was cold,” he said, and the words tumbled out of him. “It was so cold and the current was so strong. I tried to pull myself to the surface but it was no use, my arms were all numb.” He stroked his fingertips down Sean’s back, counting the ribs he could barely feel through the layers of skin and muscles. “I was underwater and everything was so dark. I couldn’t see the sky. It was so odd; I could always see the sky. Even if the stars and clouds changed, even in cities where the fog covered most of it, I could always see the sky. I couldn’t, while underwater, and I thought--”

He stopped. Sean didn’t urge him, only stroked his hair slowly like he was a child, pressing soft kisses into his hair. Viggo took a deep breath and buried his face into Sean’s neck. Sean always smelled wonderful. Even now, when he smelled of airplanes and airports and sweat, Viggo couldn’t help but draw it into his lungs, his breath shuddering.

“I thought this must be what death feels like,” Viggo said, his voice half-muffled against Sean’s neck. “Cold and dark. It was terrifying, because, because death is so close, Sean. It’s always so damn close and I can’t stop it. Even if I take care of myself, I will still die eventually, and there’s still so much for me to do. So much that I want to see and experience and I can’t--” He took a shuddering breath, pulling away. His arms wrapped around himself, trying to hold Sean’s warmth in his heart and keep it there.

Sean’s fingers touched his chin, lifting his head up. Viggo felt the slightest twinge of annoyance, because he wasn’t one of Sean’s girls or wives, but it faded when Sean kissed him again.

“I ain’t ever thought much ‘bout the future,” Sean said. “Me, I’m a selfish bastard. I only think ‘bout the now, ‘bout living while I can. None of us get to live forever, Vig, no matter what the vampire novels Lorna likes to read say.” Viggo burbled a laugh, pulling Sean into his arms again. He felt Sean smile against his cheek.

“You ain’t dead, Vig,” Sean continued. “If I have me way, you won’t be dead for a damn long time.”

Viggo felt his breath stop in his throat, tensing up. But Sean only continued to stroke his hair, pulling away slightly to look Viggo in the eyes.

“Won’t you get sick and tired of me after a while?” Viggo tried to make light of it, but he knew the joke had fallen flat on its face.

“Aye,” Sean said. He was so close that their breaths touched. “But it won’t stop me trying.”

I love you, Viggo thought desperately. I love you. I love you so damn much that I might go insane with how much I love you.

“You made me break so many of my promises to myself, you bastard,” he said instead. It should be a non-sequitor, but Sean only laughed, green eyes sparkling as he rubbed his thumb over Viggo’s cheek.

“Aye, and so did you,” Sean said. “But I thought- those promises ain’t important, not as important as this one.”

They looked at each other. Viggo ducked his head, laughing quietly.

“I have to tell you I can’t consummate anything tonight,” he said dryly. “The bruises aren’t just on my back.”

Sean gently cuffed him on the jaw, leaning over and kissing Viggo lightly on his nose.

“Even if you wanted to, I wouldn’t let you. You need a bath and sleep, and I’m going to make sure you get both.”

“When did you become my mother?” Viggo arched an eyebrow.

“Part of me promise,” Sean shot back. He stood up, and Viggo’s body protested the disappearance of his warmth immediately. But Sean held out his hands, and Viggo let himself be pulled upwards. There was still a part of him that refused to believe that this wasn’t a dream, but Viggo could ignore it easily.

Then again, it could have been the ache of his bruises talking.

“My call tomorrow is at five,” Viggo said.

“Fuck that,” Sean declared. “I’m calling Peter and telling him yer taking the day off tomorrow. If you keep going, yer going to break bones or turn yer skin permanently black and blue.”

“I can work,” Viggo protested.

Sean looked at him. He nodded sharply, and Viggo started to smile before Sean slapped him lightly on the back. The sudden pressure on the bruises made Viggo stumble, and he practically fell on his face before Sean grabbed him by the arm and pulled him close.

“You’ve been taking care of me all the time,” Sean said quietly, murmuring into Viggo’s hair. “Let me do it this time, aye?”

“Alright,” Viggo said, finally letting the smile come.

“Alright.”

***

“Christ, just look at them.” Karl said disgustedly, chewing on his sandwich with vigour.

Orlando blinked. He leaned back against the tree and watched as Viggo screamed a war cry, running across half the set to tackle Sean to the ground in one of his famous rugbytackles. But he didn’t do this for anyone else: he grabbed Sean by the waist and rolled him all over the ground, taking every opportunity to feel him up. Sean yelled, but he wasn’t making much of an effort to pull away, instead locking his legs around Viggo’s waist and rolling him over, sliding fingers into Aragorn’s clothes to initiate a tickle fight.

They were behaving like teenagers rutting in public. Orlando felt mildly ill.

“Well, at least they’re not moping or pissed at each other anymore,” he said. Hey, no one could call him a pessimist.

“You know,” Karl said. He paused, and Orlando looked over to watch him peel a strand of his blond wig out of his sandwich. Karl shrugged and took another bite of the thing. There was a bit of tuna mayo stuck to the hair, and Orlando stared at it, fascinated, as it slowly slid off and dropped onto the floor.

“You know,” Karl repeated. “I signed up to play Eomer in the greatest movie to be ever made in my home country, not to be part of some bizarre love story between Aragorn and Boromir.”

Orlando laughed, slinging an arm over Karl’s shoulders. “Oh come on, sourpuss. One day you’ll tell their future children and grandchildren that Viggo and Sean would never he gotten together without you. It can be the best achievement of your life.”

Karl stared at him. “There are so many problems with that sentence that I don’t even know where to begin,” he finally said. “You do know that they’re two middle-aged men and men can’t have kids together, right? I’m not giving you the Talk. You can go to Fran and Peter for that.”

“Ew,” Orlando said, damn eloquently if he didn’t say so himself.

In front of them, Sean and Viggo had finally stopped trying to feel each other up on the forest floor. Now they were patting each other down, brushing grass and leaves from each other’s costumes. There were stains on the clothes that Costumes would scream at them for, but Orlando was distracted from the thought. He was pretty sure that cleaning had never involved so much ass-caressing as he was witnessing.

“Ew,” he said again.

“Don’t worry, Orlando,” Karl said, though he had a mouthful of sandwich and it sounded more like dunryrrrlanoo. Orlando prided himself on deciphering food-speech due to too much time spent with Karl, Dom and Billy, all of whom had no table manners whatsoever.

Karl flicked breadcrumbs off Eomer’s breeches, and he grinned. “I’m sure one day you’ll find your own gay one true love and you’ll be molesting him on set in no time.”

Orlando opened his mouth. Closed it. In the mean time, Karl stood up and started running.

“You piece of shit!” Orlando yelled. He shoved himself off his feet, giving chase. “I’ll get you for that!”

Karl’s laughter floated back to him. He tucked his head down and half-leaped, half-flailed onto Karl, knocking him onto the ground and tickling him hard. In the distance, he could hear Viggo and Sean whooping, but it barely registered because making Karl cry uncle was his main priority right now.

Peter Jackson stared at his handpicked cast and sighed to himself, wondering why he chose a bunch of madmen to portray characters with such gravitas. At least they were happy, he told himself.

At least they were happy.