"Oh Jesus!" Viggo groans, glaring at the television. "They fucking gave you that inning on a plate!" He continues to frown at the screen as the disappointed Mets walk off the field at the end of the sixth.
"This was probably a mistake, right?" he says to Firme, who, quite sensibly given that it's four in the morning, is curled up and dozing on the sofa. Viggo shakes his head, but can't help smiling; the puppy has proved remarkably adaptable and Viggo is pretty sure he's going to settle into Viggo's somewhat rambling life rather well.
Rambling life indeed, Viggo thinks as he refills his gourd. Every time he thinks he's going to step back from acting in order to concentrate on painting or writing or making music, a project so perfect that he has to take it drops into his lap and suddenly, as it is now, his life becomes booked for another year and then some.
"You're going to be quite the international dog of mystery," he says, petting Firme lightly. "First Rome, then London, the States, Berlin...you'll like London. Kinda dreary at times, but there's this nice big park near...."
The commercials end and Viggo's voice trails off as he settles his attention back on the television. He knows that almost everyone thinks he's eccentric for not having a TV at his own place, but the fact is that he finds it hard to concentrate on anything else if there's a television in the room. He's trained himself to ignore most ads--although one with unusual cinematography will still catch his attention--but when the actual programming is on, he's lost, even if it's a crappy sitcom or a horribly boring awards show.
For the seventh and eighth innings, Viggo finds himself wishing he could just tune the game out the way most people would. He's not so petty that he can't admire the job Jeff Suppan is doing pitching for the Cardinals, but it's fucking frustrating watching the Mets' hitters go down so easily.
Of course if the seventh and eighth innings are nothing compared to the ninth, and Viggo's knuckles go tight on his gourd as he leans forward. It's strange, sitting here in a hotel room in Rome with the pale light of pre-dawn outside and feeling that, if he just tries hard enough, he can will Beltrán to hit the ball.
Sadly, he can't, and he watches as a strike is called and the Cardinals spill out onto the field at the eerily silent Shea Stadium. "Well," Viggo says, turning the TV off. "That's being a Mets fan."
He leans his head against the back of the sofa and takes several deep breaths. There's no telling himself that it's only a game, and as he tries to deal with disappointment and a weird empty feeling, he once more doubts the wisdom of staying up all night to watch it. There's no way he'll sleep now and he thinks there's some event or thing he needs to be seen at this evening. It's going to be a long damn day.
Something nudges his side and he looks down to see Firme looking up at him, his big dark eyes seeming to brim over with understanding. "Do you feel my pain?" Viggo asks, laughing a little. Trust a puppy's mindless earnestness to bring him out of his funk.
"Can you forgive Papa for being old and morose?" he asks, scritching behind one of Firme's ears. Firme nuzzles into Viggo's hand and Viggo nods. "Dunno if that's forgiveness or not, but it's good enough...." He's interrupted by someone knocking on the door, and Firme leaps off the sofa and bounds over to the door, barking excitedly.
"It's probably someone looking for a different room," Viggo warns Firme. "So hush."
Firme barks again, this time turning around in circles for emphasis. More to shut the dog up than because he expects anyone he knows to be at the door, Viggo hurries to answer the door.
"Well, hullo there, and aren't you just the best lad ever, hmmm?" While Viggo watches, a bemused expression on his face, Sean goes down on one knee in the doorway and pets Firme enthusiastically. "Look at the size of you...you're going to be a big one, aren't you just?" Firme wriggles happily and looks up at Sean adoringly.
"You going to say anything to me?" Viggo asks, trying to sound petulant, no easy feat while grinning as broadly as he is.
"Do you hear something?" Sean asks Firme. He moves a little, letting the door close behind him, but he remains on the floor. "I think your Da is getting jealous. And well he should; you're such a handsome boy." Firme squirms into Sean's lap and Sean finally looks up at Viggo.
"Can't get up now," he says, with a snicker. "I'm puppy-paralyzed. Sorry."
For a moment, Viggo stares down at Sean, once more marveling at how present Sean always is. While there are many times that Viggo knows that he himself can go quiet and fade into the background, taking on the role of observer, even at his most silent, Sean is always vital and impossible to ignore.
"What?" Sean says, his voice more serious.
"Just...you," Viggo says, going to the floor and settling down next to Sean. He leans in for a kiss, which he gets for a moment or two before Firme decides that this means that licking is appropriate and applies his tongue to Viggo's cheek.
"Now that's just rude," Sean says sternly, giving Firme a look. "I'm licking him now, you have to wait your turn." He shakes his head. "He's fucking adorable; bet he's got you twisted around his paw, yeah?"
"I am utterly infatuated," Viggo admits, reaching down to pet Firme. His fingers move over the short fur to meet Sean's. "Puppy-whipped."
"Well we can't have that," Sean says. "I've learned to share, and if I can learn, then he ought to have no problem." He leans in and kisses Viggo, and this time, with their hands on him, Firme is content enough to leave them to it.
Pulling back after a long moment, Sean gives Viggo a look. "What're you doing up, and drinking maté, at this hour? Do you have a thing this morning?" Before Viggo can answer, Sean shakes his head. "Right, your team was playing in the finals. Did I interrupt the game?"
"We lost," Viggo says, and while it's a hell of a lot easier to face the loss with Sean here, he still feels a little twinge.
"Oh crap, I'm sorry," Sean says. "That's shit, and on your birthday too."
"They had great defense--Perez was fantastic--but their offence stunk. They couldn't hit the ball when they needed to." Viggo knows that, while the nuances of baseball continue to escape Sean, any sports fan would understand what he just said. "Came down to the wire too; we had a chance up to the very last minute of the game."
"Isn't that just the way of it?" Sean says, gripping Viggo's shoulder. "Christ, you're tense. Come on, lemme take you to bed, get you relaxed."
"It's a hell of a lot better with you here," Viggo says. "I was feeling sorry for myself and that's never the right way to spend a birthday."
"I've got something you can feel right here," Sean says, moving Viggo's hand from the dog to Sean's lap. It's such a cheesy line that Viggo laughs long and hard, and Firme squirms, obviously wanting to be in on the moment.
"Happy Birthday to me," Viggo murmurs much later. Firme's in the suite's living room, happily playing with a chew toy, and Sean's dozing next to Viggo, his body still warm and slightly sweaty. Viggo himself is in much the same state as Sean, his mind drowsy and his body boneless after being fucked into the mattress.
Sean mumbles something that might be "happy birthday" and reaches out to pull Viggo closer, and really, spring training and next year's season isn't that far away, so yeah, Viggo thinks as he settles against Sean, life is really pretty good.
Summary: Staying up all night to watch an important baseball game on your birthday may not be a good idea for a die-hard Mets fan.
Rated: PG-13
Categories: Actor RPS Pairing: Sean/Viggo
Warnings: NoneChallenges:
Series: NoneChapters: 1 Completed: Yes
Word count: 1360 Read: 704
Published: 16 Aug 2009 Updated: 16 Aug 2009