Sean told himself he didn't know why he did it, but he knew there were two reasons he stepped in front of the man who'd drawn his arm back to punch the other. The first was the fact that he liked a fight, loved the stinging impact of knuckles against jaw, stomach, the hollow slap of fist against ribs, knowing he had the best of the brawl before it even started. That sweet rush was most of the reason his fingers were a mélange of old scars and new red lattices, and the source of most of the money that bought his bike, his beautiful Vincent, the one he'd drive off on with the dazed young man pressed up against his back, as soon as the punches stopped coming. And that young man was the second reason. The one he didn't really want to think about, though he couldn't stop, committed as he was to young man's cause.
'Hey, Red. Come on, I'll buy you a drink.' The taller man reached out, made a grab for the younger's arse. 'Fuck off.' He stepped adroitly out of reach, would have kept walking if someone else hadn't snatched his arms behind his back.
And when the taller man pinched Red's chin, held him steady for the blow he took too long to deliver, Sean had put his still-unlit cigarette behind his ear and punched the tall man squarely in the mouth. He felt the cut of teeth across his knuckles, smiled because that meant that the other guy's teeth were probably going to be more than a little loose for a while. The guy holding Red shoved him out of the way and landed a solid shot to Sean's ribs before taking a cartilage-crunching fist to the nose. While he was bent over, Sean returned the shot to the ribs, half wishing he'd fall down, try something stupid, give him an excuse to kick him. The tall man finally stood, got a broken nose of his own for the trouble, and Sean stepped back, looked carefully at Red, and nodded at his bike.
"Come on, Red."
"Viggo."
"What?"
"My name. Viggo. It's Danish."
Sean held out his bleeding right hand. "Sean." The look in the blue eyes reminded Sean of the first reason he'd stepped in, the breath before impact, when there was no pain, just the delicious promise of it. "Get on, I'll take you home."
Viggo didn't hesitate, just slung his leg over the black leather seat and gripped the back of it to steady himself. Sean watched him over his shoulder for a moment, then squeezed the throttle hard. The motorcycle leapt forward, and Viggo curled one arm around Sean's waist to stay on the bike.
Blood still seeped from Sean's knuckles, and he wanted a cigarette. The one he'd put behind his ear was gone, too, knocked loose in the fight, and he couldn't smoke while he rode. He hoped Viggo's place was nearby. Viggo. The arm slung around his waist tightened as they took another corner just a touch faster than necessary. Another arm wrapped around him and the warm torso inched closer. Sean smiled and pushed the bike harder.
Before he could see how closely Viggo would mould his body to Sean's own, given the proper acceleration, Viggo's soft voice was hot against his ear.
"The brick one, on the end of the block."
Sean slowed the bike, let it idle by the curb while Viggo disentangled himself. Sean was about to go around the corner to have his smoke; the poor kid was probably more than a little spooked by being within moments of being beaten by a couple of toughs, only to be 'rescued' by another one. One whose best intentions were going to get the better of him if he wasn't careful. "Watch yourself, mate," Sean said as he lifted a booted foot back to the chrome rests. Viggo's hand on his stopped him from pulling away.
"Come in. Let me put something on these." He ghosted a fingertip over one of the deeper cuts.
Sean shook his head. "I doubt your ma wants me blood on any of her towels."
Viggo gave him a disgusted look. "Pretty tough to do since my mother's in the States. Where she's been since I moved out four years ago. When I was eighteen." He pointed at the handlebar. "You're bleeding on your bike."
Sean wiped away the dark smear on the chrome, then Viggo's fingers closed around his wrist. "Come on."
Sean finally found his tongue. "Get the fuck out - you're older than me?" He laughed, cut the engine, and swung his leg over the seat. Before taking another step, though, he took the pack of Woodbines from his pocket and lit one, inhaling deeply. "Fuck, that's good," he breathed around the smoke. After a few drags, he held it out to Viggo, fully expecting him to wave it away. Instead, Viggo took it with a look of gratitude, and the glowing tip lit up his face in the dying light. When he passed it back, Sean immediately put the cigarette to his lips, imagining he could taste that mouth on the paper, knowing it was a queer thing to imagine, but wishing all the same. He stubbed out the butt and flicked it at the rubbish bin, turned, and followed Viggo into a building and up a narrow staircase to the third floor. He tried to watch where he was going and not the smooth lines of Viggo's back. Pretty fucking poof of me, Sean thought, but didn't avert his eyes. He knew he tended more toward the boys than the girls, and he wasn't much bothered by it. The boys didn't tend to mind the rough fucks, the hardness of his hands, the snap of teeth. And he'd yet to find a bloke who'd had a problem with his choice of sexual partners and kept all of his teeth. So he let his eyes rove lower to the shapely arse in tight jeans in front of him. Sean hoped Viggo was interested in more than washing up; he'd hate to have to go and try to charm a fuck out of David tonight. That kid was too much work. Viggo stopped abruptly, and Sean was glad he'd been paying such close attention to his arse; hate to rescue the bloke and then bruise him up by shoving him into a door. Accidentally.
"Here we are. I'd offer you a beer, but I'm out. Was headed to get some earlier." He shrugged, face apologetic.
"Your hair isn't red." Sean realized what he'd just said and threw himself into a chair by the table.
"No, it's not." Viggo's voice was calm, amused, almost, and he didn't look away from the water he was pouring into a basin, face framed by a fringe of not-red, more roan, strawberry blond, maybe, hair, and took some towels from a cupboard before turning back to Sean. He put the basin on the table and picked up Sean's right hand. The first two knuckles were covered in dried blood, and Viggo patted the dark stain with the wet cloth, not rubbing and pulling the edges of the wound, but softening the burgundy smears until the lightly tanned skin was clean. Sean tried to focus on the faint sting of the cotton fibers against the cut instead of the warmth of Viggo's other hand cradling his. "What brought you to Yorkshire?" Sean asked, needing to fill the silence since he couldn't light a cigarette one-handed and didn't want to ask Viggo to do it for him.
"Started in London. Just ended up here. The landscape interests me. Photographer." He waved a hand at the far side of the room, where two cameras lay on a shelf and several stacks of photos spilled from shelf to shelf to floor. Viggo wrapped a cloth around Sean's hand, tying it carefully, securely, but not tightly. "Makes for interesting photographs, the mines and steel mills against the hills."
"You like the scenery? That's something I've never heard before about Sheffield."
"I didn't say I liked it. I said it was interesting. But the scenery's getting better." He looked up through tawny lashes, another unreadable look.
Sean felt his face warm in a way he hadn't felt in years. He thought he'd stopped blushing. Was he reading more into that than Viggo meant? Until now, Viggo hadn't shown anything besides a sort of aloof gratefulness. Sean decided the warmth in his cheeks and the gentle twisting in his stomach was simply because he was always horny after a fight, and Viggo was a good-looking bloke. Very good-looking. The warmth increased. He shifted in his seat and tried to think of something else to say, something that could get him out the door and bending David over the nearest horizontal surface.
Viggo moved as he was wracking his brain, reaching out and taking the cigarettes from Sean's shirt pocket. The backs of his fingers dragged against Sean's chest, and it wasn't until Viggo had lit one and exhaled the first puff of smoke that he asked. "May I?"
"If you light me one."
"My hands are busy." To emphasize, he smoothed the cloth over Sean's other hand, holding the cool water against hot skin. He took a long drag, though, leaned across the table, and pressed his lips to Sean's, exhaling the smoke into Sean's mouth. He pulled away before Sean could turn the bare press of lips to lips into a real kiss.
Viggo transferred the cigarette back to his mouth and picked up Sean's left hand. The blood came off of the knuckles more easily because none of it was his own. "You keep this one for body shots, huh? Let the dominant one take the real beating?" A slight raising of an eyebrow.
"Yeah. Ribs are a lot more forgiving a target than someone's jaw. Teeth. Harder bone." Sean shifted again, rolled his shoulders back, trying to dispel the tightness.
Viggo pressed lightly against the spaces between Sean's knuckles, drawing his fingers along the back of Sean's hand, following the thin bones back to his wrist. "Doesn't seem like you've broken anything in your hands." Viggo put the cloth down and smoked thoughtfully for a minute, looking through or at Sean's torso. Sean couldn't tell.
"There's a spot of blood there. Did you get one in the ribs yourself?"
Sean looked down at the smear. "I don't think so. That's probably just from me own hands." That look was back on Viggo's face. Sean levered himself up from the table, suddenly desperate to get out and find David. Viggo's strange coolness unnerved him, unnerved and aroused him, and he wanted to leave before he was the one grabbing Viggo's arse and being told to fuck off. He'd hate to have to punch himself. "Well, thanks, mate, for the cleanup."
Viggo's hand on his stomach stayed him. "There's still this. I don't want to send you out bruised on my behalf."
"A little late for that." Sean couldn't turn his gaze from the ink-spattered fingers splayed across his stomach.
"Just let me make sure nothing's broken." Viggo's fingers grasped the edge of Sean's shirt and tugged it up with his left hand while his right traced the curve of each rib firmly. Sean held his breath and raised his arms, clasped his wrists behind his had. He had gotten socked once, just below his right pectoral, and the probing fingers against the tender flesh forced out a shuddered breath.
"Thought so," Viggo said, mostly to himself. He took the cloth, wet it again, and spun it around a few times before holding it against Sean's chest. The air-chilled wetness made his nipples harder, and Sean tried to focus on the cold and not Viggo's warm hand holding him steady, above his hip, his thumb fitting into the slight hollow of muscle and bone. After a few minutes, Viggo took the cloth away and smoothed Sean's shirt back down with movements that seemed less than efficient.
"Right as rain." Sean picked up his cigarettes and lit one, albeit awkwardly, with his bandaged right. "I guess I'll be seeing you." He took a step to the door, thinking maybe he'd bypass David and just have himself a good wank in the first likely alley. Certainly dark enough now.
Viggo let him get as far as the door before speaking. "Actually, I'm still in the mood for a beer, and I'd like to buy you one, if you're interested." Viggo picked up his jacked and joined Sean at the door, impossibly close but not touching. "I'd also like to buy you a new pack, since I keep smoking yours." He reached for the Woodbines, but Sean caught the hand and used it to pull Viggo closer. He fitted his lips over Viggo's and returned the smoke, this time chasing it with the barest flicker of his tongue as Viggo inhaled his breath. Viggo didn't respond in kind, but he didn't pull away, either. Sean let Viggo go, watching him closely. When Viggo held his gaze, expectantly, waiting for an answer, Sean nodded, smiling unguardedly for the first time since he'd pulled Viggo up behind him on the bike.
Summary: 1950's, Sheffield, Sean steps in when some blokes try to rough up Viggo.
Rated: NC-17
Categories: Actor RPS Pairing: None
Warnings: AUChallenges:
Series: Shotgunning and a Vincent Black LightningChapters: 3 Completed: Yes
Word count: 6161 Read: 3066
Published: 16 Aug 2009 Updated: 16 Aug 2009