Viggo dragged himself into his small cottage, still dripping wet and half in Aragorn's clothing. The Helm's Deep shoot was in full swing, and he hadn't seen the sun for more than an hour in nearly a month. Add to that Sean's departure, and he was *not* a happy camper.
It didn't help that the shoot had screwed with his head as it was--he wasn't usually nocturnal, but night shoots were now a fact of life. So he came home just after dawn, woke up at midday (or later, depending), and went back for more darkness and water and...
Damn, he was brooding again. That was the thing he missed most about Sean--that ability to chivvy Viggo out of his brooding. That, and his ability to let Boromir go when the cameras were off--and his ability to help Viggo shed Aragon's skin at the same time.
It had been a particularly grueling night -- far too many takes of far too many fights. Even with padding, Viggo felt bruised right to the bone. Feeling far too much cold and rain and unhappiness, punch-drunk and running on ten hours of sleep in the last two days, Viggo threw caution to the wind and put it all down on paper.
Dear Sean,
I'll probably never send this, so I have no problem admitting that, god, I miss you. Orlando's nice enough, but he's so *young*... I miss your ability to just sit, you know, being quiet and yet completely *there* all at the same time.
It's getting harder and harder to let Aragorn go without you--if I were in his shoes, I'd be spending time I didn't have grieving for you. As it is, I just walk around in a fog (of course, that could be the Helm's Deep shoot and lack of sleep, too).
How long until you're back, Sean? How long until I have an anchor again? I'm drifting, and I don't like it...
In confusion,
Viggo
The same impulse that made him write the letter made him slip it into an envelope, address it--but he stopped short of putting a stamp on it, that would be too tempting. He slid it under a few other papers on his makeup table and headed back to his flat for a few precious days of rest.
***********
Feeling much clearer-headed, and a little silly about his outburst to Sean on paper, even if he was the only one to see it, Viggo slipped into his makeup trailer, and began to root around on the table for the letter, intending to tuck it into a drawer somewhere and forget about it. When Orlando arrived, he'd looked through the piles twice, with no sign of the letter.
"Hey, Elf, you haven't seen a letter here, have you?"
Orlando's eyes widened. "You mean the one to Sean? I figured you'd forgotten to post it--so I took care of it for you. Was that OK?"
Viggo flinched, sighed, and dropped his head into his hands. Of all the worst...
"Vig?" Now the kid sounded *really* nervous.
"It's fine, Orli. You haven't done anything wrong."
"You sure?"
Viggo pasted on a grin that he in no wise felt, and ruffled the boy's silly mohawk. "Yeah, I'm sure. I'm just a girl sometimes, that's all." Which remark had the effect of Orli telling him exactly *how* he was a girl sometimes--but he forgot about the letter, and asked no more questions.
And now all Viggo could do was wait.
************
Two weeks later, his email chimed.
To: stillnotking@gondor.co.nz
From: stillsharpe@btinternet.co.uk
Viggo,
Dammit, I wish I was there. But I can be there by email. And yes, I know the romantic in you would prefer handwritten letters--but then you'd have to decipher my handwriting. And yours is bad enough. Besides, I'm only gone for six months, Vig--postal service being what it is, that's what, two letters? This way, if you need me, I'm only ten hours and a screen away.
Write me back, dammit.
Sean
Viggo wasn't sure whether to be deliriously happy that Sean hadn't thought him a stupid idiot, or terrified by the fact that he was joking about it. He settled for happily terrified, and opened up a new message.
To: stillsharpe@btinternet.co.uk
From: stillnotking@gondor.co.nz
Sean,
I'm not sure what more to say other than thank you. Yeah, I'd like it better if you were here, but email will have to suffice. So thank you, Sean.
Honestly, I don't care what you write, so long as it's something. Well, maybe not about the Blades. Otherwise, though, whatever you want to tell me, I'll happily hear. So long as I can make silly and snarky comments.
Boy, we *are* married, aren't we? How was your day, honey? *snicker*
Exhaustedly,
Viggo
**************
They fell into a pattern, regular emails almost every day. It was almost as if Sean had never left--they shared bits of their day, Viggo commented on the crazy things he and the rest of the cast were made to do, Sean shared a recipe he'd made the night before that had turned out particularly well... and of course there were the occasional letters of complaint and groaning from both of them that, had they been together, would have been shared with a good beer. But sometimes, Viggo couldn't help himself... and those emails were the ones that he loved sending.
************
To: stillsharpe@btinternet.co.uk
From: stillnotking@gondor.co.nz
Sean,
You asked about my dreams. They're mostly hard to remember once I wake up, full of odd bits that I know made sense while dreaming, but are completely nonsensical in the light of day (purple elephants on stilts, a blue British police box that appears and disappears, rowing upstream only to find waterfalls... you know, that sort of thing). But every once in a while, I get a good one, one I hate waking up from.
I had one of those last night. You and I were on the Lorien set, and we'd just finished the scene where Boromir talks about the sons of Gondor returning (and yes, before you say anything, it was us, Viggo and Sean, in costume, not Aragorn and Boromir, and I knew because PJ called "cut!"). PJ didn't need us to stick around (yet more proof it was a dream... *grin*), so we wandered off into the forest.
At a particularly nice tree, I pushed you against it (good smooth bark... yeah, I know, even in a dream I'm worried about splinters, shut up...), and we were suddenly naked (shut *up*, Bean, it's my dream and we can be naked if I want...). And then I proceeded to cover every inch of you with my tongue...yes, including and *especially* that inch. I had you face-first against the tree, you with your fist in your mouth to keep the sound down as I licked you open, then proceeded to fuck you with my tongue until three fingers went in easily. And then I fucked you, good and proper, against the tree, until I came deep inside you, and you came all over the tree. Which I then proceeded to lick clean.
Needless to say, I had to do laundry this morning.
Satedly,
Viggo
************
Viggo was surprised not to get an email back from Sean--he was usually prompt about replying, especially so to *those* sorts of emails. But it wasn't until nearly a day later that Sean's response came, and it was rather unexpected.
To: stillnotking@gondor.co.nz
From: stillsharpe@btinternet.co.uk
You *bastard*.
The lack of header, of anything other than those two words convinced Viggo that something was *very* wrong. Not that Sean hadn't called him a bastard before, but this had none of the teasing tone he'd used in the past. Sean was well and truly pissed off, and Viggo had no idea why. He couldn't even think of what to write, so he didn't, hoping against hope he hadn't screwed things up irreparably.
A day later, an explanation arrived.
To: stillnotking@gondor.co.nz
From: stillsharpe@btinternet.co.uk
Viggo,
I'm sorry about the last message, but... well, I'm in the process of a messy divorce with my *third* wife, and you go and send me something like *that*. I'm not blaming you--the whole mess is entirely my fault--but dammit, you *had* to remind me of one of the accusations Abby threw at me, that I loved my co-stars more than her. I didn't feel like it was a good time to remind her that she'd *been* one of my co-stars. But she threw your name around, and said some pretty unflattering things, which I won't repeat.
I can't help if I'm a romantic (more so than you, though sometimes I wonder...), but I do wonder if I'll ever make a relationship work. Three marriages, three divorces, and I still feel like I need more. Maybe I'm cursed to be never married for longer than a year, though. I dunno.
I'm glad you're there on the other end of this--I'm not sure I could talk about this with any of my mates. Would you think me a big girl's blouse if I said I could really use a hug right about now?
Sean
************
Viggo was glad he'd read Sean's message after a full night's sleep, and after remembering what he was going through--there were a few unflattering things in there about him as well, even though he knew Sean didn't mean them. But he couldn't leave Sean hanging.
To: stillsharpe@btinternet.co.uk
From: stillnotking@gondor.co.nz
Sean,
You're not a big girl's blouse--everyone needs a hug now and then. And I pride myself on giving a great hug.
There are a few things, though, that I think we need to get straight (ha!). You're making a relationship work, right now--what the hell do you think this is? (Although, I do have to admit that it took a few blows after that email.) Yeah, it's email, not in person, but we tell each other the good and bad things about our lives, we share stuff, hell, before you left we were practically in each others' pockets all the time. And we seem to be doing just fine.
There's nothing wrong with being a romantic, either. And I can't exactly speak for successful marriages--Christine and I are still friends, but we should have known we'd be better friends than husband and wife. Of course, if we hadn't married, I wouldn't have Henry--and that would be a tragedy. You love your daughters, don't you? They're the good things that came out of your marriages (and I can't believe you didn't love Debra, Mel, and Abby--you wouldn't have married them if you didn't).
Dammit, this would be so much easier in person. Actually, on second thought, maybe it wouldn't be. I'm strung out from this damn Helm's Deep shoot, and I'm probably taking things a bit more to heart than I really should. We'd probably end up sniping at each other, storming out, and sulking for the rest of the day. Though I'm sure the make-up sex would be spectacular.
If you need "more", Sean, I'm offering. As much as I can give you, it's yours.
Viggo
************
No reply in a few hours became no reply in a day, then two days. Just when Viggo was worrying that he'd offered exactly the right thing at exactly the wrong time, his email chimed.
To: stillnotking@gondor.co.nz
From: stillsharpe@btinternet.co.uk
Viggo,
Sorry, sorry, sorry... well, I'm now divorced, again. I... shite, Vig, you're good at throwing bombshells at me when I'm in no position to appreciate them, aren't you?
You're probably thinking you scared me off, aren't you? Takes more than that, mate. If your cooking hasn't done it, almost nothing will.
Yeah, I know, I'm avoiding the question with humor. You're surprised? At this point, I think...no, I *know* you know me better than my exes did when we were married.
*deep breath* You're gonna hate me for this, but I... I need some time to think about this. You wouldn't think that a man who's been married three times would be scared of commitment, but you'd be wrong. I'm terrified. Mostly for your sake--I've seen what commitment did to my previous relationships, and I *don't* want to lose you as a friend, which I think I would if things go wrong.
Fuck, now I *really* sound like a girl. Vig, I promise, I'll give you your answer in a few days. Just... know that whatever happens, I'm still your friend.
Sean
************
Viggo knew Sean well enough to know that pushing him would have no effect whatsoever, other than pissing him off--and really, he *didn't* want to do that. So he waited, in between night shoots and rain and sunrise walks on the beach that only made him feel more alone than ever.
A week after Sean's last email, Viggo found himself with a rare day (and therefore night) off from the shoot, and was lying in bed, trying to convince himself it was worth getting up and going about his day. He'd just about drifted off again when there was a sharp knock against his front door.
"What the hell?" he muttered, dragging himself out of bed and pulling on sweats. It couldn't be anyone from the cast or crew--they knew he had the day off--so it had to be something serious. Blinking to clear his eyes and mind of sleep-fog, he opened the door.
And had to blink again, then again, to make sure he wasn't still dreaming. "Sean?"
"Hi, Viggo." Sean looked almost as bad as Viggo was sure he did, bloodshot eyes and tired smile, three-day stubble starting to crawl up his cheeks.
"What... why are you here?"
"Can I come in? I'd rather not do this on your doorstep."
Viggo shook his head to settle his obviously addled brain. "Uh... yeah, of course. Can I get you something?"
Sean smiled crookedly. "Tea would be great--I haven't had anything to eat in a while--I'm too tired to eat," he added, as Viggo opened his mouth to offer something more nourishing, "but I think I could manage some tea."
"Tea it is, then." Viggo retreated into the kitchen, hearing Sean's sigh as he sank down onto the couch. His mind was still processing everything, and he felt even more fuzzy-headed than he had when he'd first woken up. If Sean had come all the way here, especially given his phobia around flying... well, it wasn't usually in Viggo's nature to think of the worst case, but he thought he could grant himself an exception just this once.
He was still frowning when the kettle boiled; the ritual of tea-making, usually so soothing, only served to remind him of Sean's presence in his living room. He slid two cups onto a tray and grabbed a package of cookies (Hobnobs, Sean's favorite, he noted), took a deep breath, set his shoulders, and walked into the living room.
Sean's brow furrowed. "Viggo, you look like you're going to your own execution. Sit," he said, patting the couch next to him. "I'm not here to deliver bad news, I promise."
Viggo's shoulders loosened a little, but not all the way. "Why are you here, Sean? Why now? It's been a week..." and he knew sounded needy and hurt, but dammit, he *was*, and it couldn't be helped.
"Oh Vig..." Sean's voice was a comfort, as was the warm arm around his shoulders. "I'm sorry--I had to arrange things, and I've been traveling for nearly three days. I just..." he sighed and raked his free hand through his hair. "Right, you deserve a better explanation than that, though I can't promise it'll be completely coherent." He took a gulp of the tea he held in his free hand; the hand on Viggo's back started rubbing in small, soothing circles. "Your email scared the shite out of me, first time I read it. I'm surprised I was as coherent and clear as I was in my reply. But then... well, I realized that what I really wanted was someone to talk to all this about, and you were it--except I couldn't talk to you."
"Sean... I don't..." Viggo stammered.
Sean put down his tea and pressed two fingers against Viggo's lips, silencing him gently. "Let me finish this, Vig... if I stop I'm not sure I'll finish." Viggo nodded, and Sean went on. "It was really all up to Lorna. She'd had a fight with her best friend a day or two later, and came home crying about it. But after we talked, she realized that she needed her best friend more than she needed whatever they'd fought about, and once they got back together, things smoothed out. And I realized that I needed you more than I needed my own pride and solitude. So if your offer's still open--the answer's yes."
Sean finished dropped his head, not wanting to see Viggo's reaction, staring down into his tea mug and watching the milk swirl in patterns. It took Viggo only a moment to realize it was up to him, but a moment was all he needed. He slipped a hand under Sean's chin and tipped his face up so Sean's eyes met his.
"The offer's still open, Sean. For as long as you'll have me, and anything I can give you, I will. You still want it?"
Sean smiled. "Didn't think I'd be saying this again so soon, but," and here he grinned widely, "I do."
Viggo chuckled. "You know, it *would* be us to have a completely nonsensical proposal style, wouldn't it?" Then he sobered. "I can't promise much, Sean... you know I'm moody and mercurial. But I'm a better person with you."
Sean laced his hand with Viggo's. "And I'm a right bastard when I want to be, so I think we're well-suited. I know you, Vig, and you know me. We'll do fine."
"So now that we've exchanged vows," and here Viggo winked, "should we skip to the wedding night?"
Sean's laugh was a tired version of his usual full-throated guffaw. "I don't think I could just now... but give me a good eight hours of sleep, and I'll make a proper Ranger of you yet, my King."
"Well, no time like the present," Viggo grinned, offering Sean his hand and leading him to the bedroom.
******************
Viggo woke slowly, conscious of a warm body pressed against his, an arm curled around his middle, and warm breath against the back of his neck. For a moment, he wasn't sure he wasn't dreaming... until Sean's sleep-muffled voice sighed his name against his neck, and Sean curled a little tighter against him.
It'd be an uphill battle, but battles were always easier with friends by your side. Or on your side, or your stomach, or your back...
Viggo grinned. He'd better get back to sleep--after all, he'd need all the stamina he could get for the wedding night.
As he was drifting off, he realized they'd been engaging in a thoroughly Victorian epistolary romance. And of course, there was only one good ending for Victorian romances. His voice a bare mumble, even knowing Sean wouldn't wake, he summed them up in four timeless words:
"Reader, I married him."
Summary: Relationships are sometimes easier by email... but sometimes not.
Rated: R
Categories: Actor RPS Pairing: Sean/Viggo
Warnings: NoneChallenges:
Series: NoneChapters: 1 Completed: Yes
Word count: 3193 Read: 729
Published: 20 Aug 2009 Updated: 20 Aug 2009