I've loved him since I met him.A true mate from the first moment Pete brought him on set. The hobbits and Orlando had already met him and I was one of the last. I recall thinking that while he was so quiet and solid he had just enough of a light in his eye to tell you he’d be trouble.
And trouble he was and trouble he is. Trouble of the very best kind. The kind that looks to have led ye astray until you realize that it’s led to right where ye were meant to be. To right where ye needed to be all along.
I saw in him a madness to which we should all aspire. Over the years it has stayed the same. Perhaps gotten stronger still. He has no limitations on his passions or interests and this makes him almost as limitless in his energy. The only thing he remains consistently afraid of is running out of time, of not seeing and doing enough before he has to leave. Because he grabs onto it all with such enormous want, my heart breaks not only for me when I think of him gone, but for him and the things he won’t be able to see.
While still in New Zealand, we moved from mates to lovers quickly. Especially quickly given that I’d never been with a man before. Not even a kiss or a grope. I’d never really thought about it one way or the other. I just knew that women had made themselves available to me and I’d liked the softness and roundness of them, loved thrusting and sinking into the welcome of their bodies. I thought that was what fucking or making love or sex was.
And so the first time Viggo kissed me it was almost as though I’d never been kissed before. Each sensation new and exquisitely balanced on a knife’s edge of I should go back versus I only want to fall forward.
It happened – we turned that corner – in an instant. There was no warning and it should have been jarring but instead, it made so much sense. I saw the sharp light of decisiveness in his eyes and then he was against me. In no way was this that first kiss you share when you’re unsure. He was staking a claim and there was nothing gentle or tentative about him in that moment.
I’d never before felt a kiss as such a forceful contact. This was an aggressive and needful part of sex as opposed to a gentle precursor. Heat, wetness, breaths and touch, hardness and grasping fingers working in tandem with the thrust of hips…all in a strobe of sensations that hit me at once and left me - me!– shaking.
I’d never before felt the scrape of beard or the flat press of a chest as strong as my own pinning me. Viggo’s lips were firm and unyielding and he thrust his tongue into my mouth, holding my head steadily between his rough and calloused hands, shoving his knee between my legs and pushing between.
And it was all an experience so utterly new and entirely erotic and perfect that it couldn’t be compared to anything before. From then on, it wasn’t about wanting a man or a woman. It was about wanting Viggo.
Everything about him – then and now – adds a layer of color to my days. We talk and argue and do everything and nothing together. I love to sit and read with my feet in his lap while he works out a new poem in a book balanced on my ankles. Sometimes he tickles my feet with the bottom of his pen or stops to rub them until I purr like a fucking cat – but best of all is when he slides a hand up to cup and squeeze before our clothes are off and we’re rolling onto the floor together.
He can’t garden or clean worth a damn and he leaves a fucking tornado of papers and books wherever he goes. But to change that would be to change him and that would be the death of me. Whenever he is away, I look around the house at all of his shite suddenly gone still and I laugh to know that when he comes back, he’ll have new things to add to it all.
Once, in the very beginning of our relationship, I woke in my bed, the smell of him still around me and on me and as I came out of that comfortable haze, I felt a near panic as I realized I was alone.
At the fear that he might have gone.
I turned, the sheets bunching around me, and saw him looking back at me over his shoulder. He was smiling at me and holding out a hand to invite me to join him where he sat in a soft circle of just born light as it crept in over the sill. His smile was certain and I knew in that moment that he loved me and that he knew it, too. And his face told me that it made him happy to love me. And I held my breath at the wonder of that, not wanting the moment to pass.
I dropped back down against the pillow, my heartbeat returning to normal, realizing what had happened -- that there was an inevitability to our togetherness that we’d gone beyond. I watched him there in that fair light and saw his planes and curves highlighted, saw the fine hairs on his arms and chest turn golden and watched him tilt his face up to greet the warmth. He smirked at me as he realized I wasn’t leaving the warmth of the bed and then the humor gave way to concern and a quiet “Sean?” as he saw the redness of my eyes.
He wrapped himself around me, his chest to my back, one leg crossed protectively over my hip. He dug his chin into my neck and quietly asked if I was alright and I nodded, needing a moment before I spoke. The tears were completely unexpected but I knew them at once for what they were.
They were tears that came from being overwhelmed by the perfection of sheer and simple beauty.
When my girls had been born – each of them -- I’d cried from complete and utter love and wonder and their unique beauty. But it was mixed, too, with relief and a bit of fear and the immediate instinct to protect and provide.
It was different in this moment. I was reacting only to the unexpected simplicity of beauty and I’d never felt that before. Nothing was needed of me. This was purely a gift. I’d watched the soft light play cross his naked form, saw his smile and his welcome, awakened to the joy of a face full of effortless honesty. I felt the nearness of him, the warmth of the dawning light, the depth of my feelings and the exquisite soreness of a body well loved.
These were gifts that I’d never asked for; ones that I’d never even known could exist until I saw perfection in the gentle light of that morning.
I turned to lay my head upon his chest, feeling the hair against my cheek as I listened to his heartbeat and felt his hand caress my scalp. In some way he understood and kissed my head and told me to sleep and from then on he slept with me always and that place became ours and not just mine.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
We made a mistake long ago. His was to leave and mine was to let him. It never lessened our love. In many ways, it made what we have again more precious, but those were days when every breath hurt and the weight of every memory and feeling threatened to pull me under. I’ve never fully understood why he panicked – but panic I do understand – and I had sensed it coming.
He gave in to it and then felt he had no choice but to leave. I let him go without a word in argument. Anyone with experience of such a betrayal will understand that there is no feeling between rage and wretchedness. Rational thought and discussion is not possible around the pain.
When he came back, he was frightened and not at all sure I would – or should – have him again. And by then, I couldn’t understand how he couldn’t see the inevitability of us. That it could be no other way.
He held to me as I took him and I felt his bites and kisses along with his tears. It was a hard fuck and none too loving and yet also at the same time so completely filled with love that every stroke of ecstasy hurt me. Too many feelings of love and pain were focused in one dominating act that was a wrenching bastardization of homecoming.
After, he lay still for a long while. His eyes were closed but he was awake. I could see from the set of his mouth and the way he swallowed that he was fighting tears. I wanted him to open his eyes and see mine.
“Viggo,” I said, regretting how roughly I’d treated him. I touched his cheek. “Did I hurt ye?”
He shook his head gently and I leaned in to lay my cheek against his, knowing that he would feel the wetness of my face.
“I want ye to come home,” I whispered. “Please.”
He turned to kiss my cheek and rub away my tears and nod into the curve of my neck, tearfully telling me he was sorry and that he loved me. We left the apologies there – we made them and then we left them – and when we made love again and then ever after, no matter how rough or how soft and gentle, it was always making love.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
He doesn’t realize I’m here yet. It’s late – early – and he’s left our bed to chase a thought as he often does. I watch him now and seeing him in the quiet stillness of silver moonlight reminds me of that long ago morning of soft sunlight. We are both different and yet the same and our love is deeper and more full with meaning and shared experiences these years later. Yet to see him alone like this – a new wet canvas on the easel and him naked and silent as he watches something beyond the window – makes my heart ache even still with that same awe of the simplicity of beauty and the gift that it is.
Summary: A companion piece to blue-green (not a sequel or prequel; meant as an almost independent story)
Rated: R
Categories: Actor RPS Pairing: Sean/Viggo
Warnings: NoneChallenges:
Series: NoneChapters: 1 Completed: Yes
Word count: 1811 Read: 605
Published: 16 Aug 2009 Updated: 16 Aug 2009