They were drunk. At least, Sean knew he was, and he laughed out loud at nothing in particular before he swung his arm back and swallowed another shot of whiskey. The liquor burned down his throat, and he grinned as he leaned on the bar. It was Christmas Eve and filming had literally just wrapped; they all had reason to drink and celebrate.
“I’m proposing!” Nikolaj was saying, one arm in the air.
“Aww, that is so sweet. Who to?” Peter’s drawling voice interrupted him, and Nikolaj snorted, reaching out and lightly smacking the other actor on the back of his head.
“I’m not proposing-proposing. I’m proposing an idea.”
“Oh, this is going to be good,” Lena said, and she grinned behind her beer. Sean squinted at her; somehow, she seemed far less drunk than most of them. Or maybe just less drunk than he was. He put down his shot glass and picked up another one, swigging that too before wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.
“Now just get on wi’ it!” he shouted.
“I’m trying, I’m trying, jeez.” Nikolaj shook his head. “I’m saying, our sweet Emilia here needs to get to know what the acting world’s really like. What kind of depravities we all get up to.” He waggled his eyebrows at the girl, and Emilia shrieked in laughter. “What I’m proposing is that one of our illustrious female cast members here give her a long smooch, just for starters.”
There was a silence. Lena’s hand paused halfway to lifting her glass to her mouth. Everyone stared at Nikolaj for a long moment, then, as one, their gazes moved to Emilia, who was blushing deeply.
“You just want to watch girls kiss,” Michelle broke the silence.
Jason threw his head back and roared with laughter. “I agree with the proposal!” He paused, then drank a deep gulp of his beer. “I’ve kissed plenty of men during my time.”
“You have?” Emilia practically yelped.
“We’re actors, sweetheart,” Sean leaned forward, his Northern English accent deepening as he caught her gaze and grinned at her. “It’s a ‘azard of the job. Ya got ta get use ta the idea of kissin’ girls.”
“So…” Lena swung an arm over Sean’s shoulder. “You’ve gotten used to the idea of kissing men, Sean?”
Sean’s smile froze on his face for a long moment. His mouth was suddenly dry and he swallowed, trying to find words that weren’t: Oh, yeah, for the last ten, eleven years I’ve been kissing the same damn man every single time I can lay my hands on him. I’ve got plenty of practice. Not as much as I like or I should, but I’ve got plenty.
“Caravaggio, man. Caravaggio.” Kit slurred, lifting his head from the table where he had been half-passed out. “First movie after Sharpe I saw Sean in, and he was kissin’ a dude there alrigh’.”
“Ask a question about Sean’s filmography, get an answer from Kit. First words he’s said in at least an hour, at that,” Peter drawled, reaching over to ruffle the younger actor’s hair. Kit blushed and opened his mouth to defend himself, but Nikolaj cleared his throat loudly, banging his hand on the table.
“Er-hum! Can I have everyone’s attention brought back to my extremely important proposal? We’re talking about Emilia’s education here!”
Lena snorted, reaching out and smacking him hard on the back of his neck. “I’ll kiss her,” she declared. “But before we girls become wank material for you boys, you give me something to keep our nights warm, yeah?” She turned to Emilia and winked at her. “Be a dear and kiss Sean for me, Nikolaj?”
“Oh, so we are finally doing something about the sexual tension during that scene in King’s Landing,” Michelle murmured, sotto voce. She was grinning hard behind her glass.
Sean blinked. He had an idea that his name had been mentioned a few times and he just got himself into something uncomfortable. Lifting his eyes, he blinked when he saw Nikolaj right in front of him. He frowned, turning his head back to the conversation before—and he burst out laughing.
“Sure, why not,” he drawled, reaching out with his hand. “C’mere, ya. Let’s give Lena somethin’ ta write ‘ome ‘bout.”
“How can I resist such an invitation?”
When Nikolaj smiled, he smiled with all of his body, turning it towards Sean. There were crinkles at the side of his eyes, and Sean’s finger found them unerringly, stroking down the lines. Such a strong jaw, such high cheekbones; the features reminded him so strikingly of someone else that his breath caught, and Sean tilted his head as Nikolaj’s lips landed on his.
His hands moved before he knew it. He was sliding a hand into Nikolaj’s hair, another around his neck, pulling him in against him, their bodies plastering together as Sean parted his lips and bit Nikolai’s lower one, urging his mouth open. Nikolaj obliged, his exhale hot on the roof of Sean’s mouth, and Sean pressed his advantage, licking the teeth, his tongue sliding against Nikolaj’s.
The bar was suddenly silent around them, but Sean wasn’t paying attention any longer. His hands slid downwards, curling around Nikolaj’s shoulders, and somewhere in his alcohol-hazed brain he recognised that they were too broad, they didn’t fit his hands the way they should.
“Hvem tænker du på, Sean?” Nikolaj murmured, the words half-muffled against Sean’s lips. Sean knew that language—Danish. He gripped Nikolaj even tighter, feeling the kiss being returned as Nikolaj slowly, slowly started to push him towards the bar counter, pressing him against the marble with his whole body.
Christ. Sean moaned low in his throat.
“Guys?” Peter’s voice. Always the sensible one. Sean barely registered it, unable to think past Nikolaj’s mouth, Nikolaj’s heat, his crotch pressed against Sean’s. “Guys, I think that’s enough.”
Enough. Right. Enough. Sean’s hand slid forward, splaying out on Nikolaj’s chest. He pushed him a little, just enough to force Nikolaj to take a single step back, breaking the kiss.
Sean stared at him. He realised that he’d had to tilt his head up, because Nikolai was a couple of inches taller. His breath was coming short and fast in his throat, and he knew that his lips were swollen and wet and obscene. He licked them, and watched as Nikolaj swallowed, his Adam’s apple bobbing.
“That,” Kit said. “That was not the kiss in Caravaggio.”
“Would be,” Sean said, and he licked his lips again when his voice failed him. He tried again, “Would be pretty bad form if I ain’t learned anythin’ in the past twenty, thirty years, aye?”
His eyes never left Nikolaj’s. They stared at each other for a long moment before Nikolaj tipped his head slightly to the side, motioning towards the door. Sean squeezed his eyes shut. He knew what he was getting into; knew that this was the point of no return. But at the same time, he had reached that point long ago, and why should he restrain himself for some… for some man who didn’t even pay any attention to him anyway?
Sean opened his eyes, caught Nikolaj’s gaze. He nodded.
“Right,” Lena said, but her voice seemed so far away. Sean barely gathered the strength to tear his eyes away from Nikolaj to look at Lena again. She was grinning at Emilia, who was still staring blankly in his direction. She jerked, turning to Lena when she felt the older woman’s hand on her chin.
“I think it’s our turn.”
*
Sean didn’t know how they’d found a cab, or how; didn’t know how Nikolaj managed small talk with the driver on the way here. He was only aware of his own hands at his thighs, nails digging into his skin, each tiny spike of pain reminding him of whom he wasn’t supposed to think about.
When they stumbled into Nikolaj’s borrowed apartment in Belfast, Sean turned around and slammed him against the door. He locked it before he cupped that strong jaw between his two hands, kissing him hard and feeling Nikolaj return the kiss just as fiercely, his teeth scraping Sean’s lips, Sean’s chin. It was good; he preferred it that way. There was no gentleness, just need and the intensity of Nikolaj’s entire attention on him.
Just like it should be.
“Hvem er du tænker på?” Nikolaj asked again, and Sean pulled away, looking at him for a long moment. He pressed two fingers on Nikolaj’s lips, silencing him.
”Don’t talk.”
Nikolaj gave him a small smile, darting his tongue out to lick the tip of Sean’s finger. Sean’s breath caught, and he reached out, hands bunching into Nikolaj’s collar as he pulled him forward into another kiss, their feet slowly finding their way to the bedroom.
When Nikolaj pushed him down onto the bed, his hand hot on Sean’s thigh, Sean looked at him. He fixed his gaze on the strong jaw as Nikolaj bent down and unbuckled his trousers with his teeth alone; focused on his dark, blue eyes as Nikolaj pressed two fingers inside him.
He tried to believe that he wasn’t thinking of anyone else at all.
***
April 2010, London
“… Each of them would have wished, like his father, to have all the women to himself…” Viggo’s head was bent over his copy of a book, another two of them wide open beside him as he read out loud and his pen tapped an impatient rhythm beside him. “Technically, it’s possible to analyse Freud himself through what he has written; he practically invites it with his account of his dream of Irma’s injection… But the problem is that writing is a controlled medium and it doesn’t tell much about his body language…”
Sean leaned on the doorway to the study, frowning slightly. Viggo flipped a few more pages before he lifted his head slightly and finally spotted Sean.
“Hey!” He stood up, dropping his pen upon the book to mark his place before he went over and wrapped his arms around Sean. “Why are you up again? Going for a leak?”
Hopeless. Completely hopeless.
Sean looked at him for a long moment before he sighed, reaching out and stroking a hand through the rat’s nest that Viggo called his hair. “It’s already mornin’, ya wanker,” he said, his breaking halfway to allow a yawn through. “Ya’ve left me alone the whole damn night.”
Viggo blinked. He turned his head and laid a kiss onto Sean’s palm before he pulled away, walking towards the blinds. Pulling them up, he stared out at the morning sun that was already halfway up the sky, and whistled one long, low tone.
“Damn. I’ve lost all track of time.”
“Ya keep doin’ that lately,” Sean said, and he almost managed to keep the bitterness out of his voice.
Viggo moved towards him immediately, leaning up and pressing a soft kiss on his temple. “I’m sorry. Let me make it up for you today?”
“Nah,” Sean replied. “We can do that in a couple o’ weeks, yeah? When we get ta France—a beautiful place, just fer the two o’ us.”
They had been planning for this vacation for years; going to Limousin, to the Land of a Thousand Lakes. They would have gone there last year, but Viggo’s mother had fallen ill, and they hadn’t. They would have gone the year before that too, but their schedules didn’t allow them to spend that much time with each other. This year… this year, they had found some time; Viggo’s filming didn’t start for at least six weeks, and Sean’s in a couple of months.
This year, they would be able to go. They should be able to.
But Viggo was frowning and pulling away, his arms wrapping around himself.
“I don’t think I can,” he said. Sean closed his eyes, and wondered why he wasn’t surprised.
“Freud’s a pretty big undertaking for me. He’s a real person, completely unlike any of the other characters I’ve ever played. I don’t think I fully understand him, and I don’t think I can understand him until I get to Vienna. There’s his old house there, and I want to see it. I need to see it.” He lifted his eyes and gave Sean a lopsided smile, “Want to go with me? We can postpone Limousin till next year.”
Sean reached out, his hand curving over Viggo’s jaw. Viggo leaned into the touch, his eyes half-lidding, and he pressed a kiss on Sean’s palm.
“Don’t think so,” Sean said, and this time, he managed to keep the harshness out of his voice entirely. It was for this reason that he loved Viggo, he reminded himself. It was because of his dedication and focus; because of the way he threw himself entirely into whatever he was doing at the time, believing in it in its entirety and holding nothing back.
But he couldn’t help but wonder what made him so much less that Viggo seemed to judge everything else to be more worthy of his attentions. Sean had looked at himself in the mirror plenty of times and he noticed that he had aged. But everyone did that. No matter how much he wanted to, he couldn’t stop or reverse time to remain pretty for the sake of keeping Viggo’s attention.
He chuckled to himself.
“I’ll just distract ya. Besides, I’ve got me own preparations ta do as well. Might ‘ave ta get ta Belfast early ta see the Winterfell set and all, since Ned rules over the place and it defines ‘im so.”
“I’m really sorry,” Viggo looked at him, his hands cupping Sean’s jaw, thumbs stroking his cheekbones. “I know we’ve been both looking forward to this, but it’s not just the script’s vision I’d be betraying if I do a bad job with this. It’s—”
“I know,” Sean interrupted him. It took some effort to keep his other words back: Have you ever thought that you might just be betraying me? Betraying what we have every single time you decided that your job is more important than us? But he swallowed them back, because it was irrational and unfair and he knew this about Viggo even before he had fallen for him.
“Do a good job wi’ it, yeah? I’m expectin’ ta see rave reviews of yer performance, like always.”
Viggo snorted, “I’ll just be happy with my being happy with how I did.” He paused, and his eyes were bright and sincere when he spoke again.
“I’ll miss you.”
Sean smacked him gently on the back of his head, and Viggo gave a soft oof under his breath. He was grinning, and Sean couldn’t help but smile.
“Ya think I won’t? Just make sure that it’s worth it.”
***
Early August 2010, Belfast, Ireland
A few years ago, Sean had Molly teach him how to change his ringtone for a specific person. His daughter had teased him to hell and back about it, but Sean had remembered, and even when he had changed phone models, he had kept that particular ringtone for Viggo’s several numbers.
It was a ringtone that his castmates had become pretty familiar with during the past couple of weeks, so Sean didn’t even bother to excuse himself before he dug his phone out of Ned Stark’s pouch and wondered away to the back of the trailers to answer it.
“You know,” Peter said, thumbing through his very battered copy of A Game of Thrones for the umpteenth time. “I’m pretty sure Sean has a girlfriend or something.”
“According to the tabloids, he’s been single for eight years,” Kit said, and everyone stared at him for a moment. It had taken only a couple of days for them to realise that Kit was the biggest Sean Bean fanboy on the entire set. Considering that Isaac’s mother was amongst them, that was quite a feat.
“Tabloids don’t actually know anything,” Emilia said dryly. Kit only shrugged.
“If he had a girlfriend, I think he’d have told me about it, at least,” Michelle cocked her head, levelling a curious stare at Peter. “I mean, considering the scenes that we have to play together. A warning would be nice, especially if I’ve got to prepare for a jealous girlfriend confronting me about it.”
“Or he’d have brought her here,” Kit contributed. “Your wife’s here.”
Peter snorted quietly, placing his bookmark into the book and closing it. “I’m just saying that it’s a possibility. I’ve never seen him not pick up the phone when it’s that ringtone. I’ve got a special ringtone for my wife.”
“Maybe it’s his agent,” Michelle said, turning her head away as she lit up a cigarette.
Nikolaj burst out laughing. “Look at us,” he said, his Danish accent creeping into his words now that he wasn’t in front of the cameras as Jaime Lannister. “Gossiping like a bunch of fishwives about our colleague. It’s like the actors’ version of water cooler talk.”
“Well,” Emilia shrugged, and she took Michelle’s proffered cigarette and inhaled it. She coughed immediately, and Michelle took the cigarette away before she could drop it. “Christ, why do you smoke menthols?”
“So my mouth stinks less,” Michelle replied wryly. “You were saying?”
“I was saying that Sean doesn’t ever talk about himself and he’s pretty much the most well-known of us,” she gave Kit a teasing smile. “It’s not surprising that we’re gossiping about him.”
“You think he’d ever tell us anything?” Kit asked, and Peter wondered wryly how the boy was able to turn out such a good performance for Jon Snow when he couldn’t even keep the soft wistfulness out of his voice.
“Probably not,” Nikolaj shrugged. “Especially if you keep fanboying over him like that.
“I don’t—”
“Oh, you do,” Peter grinned, and Nikolaj reached over and ruffled Kit’s hair for him. Kit yelped, batting at his hand. “Don’t worry, it’s kind of cute.”
Sean didn’t hear any of that—and a good thing too, because if he had been aware of his castmates talking about him, he would have been too shy to continue speaking with them—because he had found himself behind a trailer.
“Hey,” he said.
“Hey, you.”
He couldn’t help but smile at Viggo’s voice in his ear. It had been over a week since they had spoken to each other, and Sean had missed him. Maybe it was a little pathetic, because they had been together for over ten years, but Sean couldn’t help missing Viggo whenever they were apart. But he only cleared his throat and leaned a little harder against the trailer, pressing the phone between his ear and shoulder as if it could breach the distance between them.
“How’s filmin’?”
“We’d just finished,” Viggo replied, and Sean could hear the background noises of people moving and talking. “It was a pretty good shoot, though I feel a little silly.”
“Yeah? Why?”
“You know I’ve been worried about getting Freud right, yeah? I went to Vienna and did all of my research, but when I arrived and I met David again it’s as if—well, I realised that I had a template for him right in front of me in the form of my director.”
Sean swallowed, “So ya cancelled our vacation fer nothin’?”
“Well,” Viggo paused, and that was why Sean loved him, wasn’t it? That he actually took a question like that seriously. “I wouldn’t say it was for nothing. It helped me understand Freud so much more, whether it’s about his personality or what he read or how he thought. Just looking at David wouldn’t have helped me with that.” He paused for a moment.
“Hey, Sean? You alright?”
Sliding down to sit on the ground, Sean closed his eyes and rubbed at them. “Yeah,” he lied. “Just tired, ‘s all. Been some time since I’ve ‘ad ta wake up so early fer makeup.”
Viggo chuckled, “I know what you mean. It takes me forever before I look like Freud, given that I don’t look anything like him.”
“Mm. Hey, Vig?”
“Yeah?”
“Ya still comin’ over ta Malta ta visit?” Sean opened his eyes, reaching out to pluck at the grass near his feet. Something for his hands to do. He swallowed, and even before Viggo answered, he already knew what he’d say. He still hoped though. Like a fucking fool, doing the same thing over and over and hoping for a different result.
“I was meaning to talk to you about that,” Viggo said. The casual note in his voice was gone, and he sounded serious now. “Do you remember the Spanish play I’ve talked to you about? Purgatorio?”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah, uh,” Viggo swallowed audibly. “Apparently they’ve finally found a theatre that might fund for it to go ahead, but the backers want to meet me first. There are only two characters, so I’m half of the entire cast, you know? If they agree, then rehearsals will go ahead immediately. Ariadna’s already in Madrid with them.”
“Well, she lives in Madrid, doesn’t she?” Sean snapped out. Then he sighed, hunching inward even further. “Sorry, sorry. That ain’t fair ta ya. Ya’d been lookin’ forward ta this fer a real long time.”
“Yeah,” Viggo said, his voice growing even quieter. “It’s been in talks for so long, and it’s a really good story that I want a part in.”
“I know,” Sean replied, and he ripped up a few blades of grass. God, did he know. His hand curled around the blades, his fingers digging into the plant so hard that he could feel his nails press into flesh. “I’ll miss ya durin’ Christmas, though.”
“I don’t think it’ll take that long,” Viggo laughed quietly. His fingers were tapping on the table. “It’s just a couple of meetings. I’m hoping to finish it by October and fly over to see you.”
Sean chuckled quietly, “Don’t make promises ya can’t keep, yeah? Ya don’t know ‘ow long it might run, and if it goes well, yer startin’ rehearsal immediately.”
“I know.” Viggo said, and Sean could practically see him rubbing the back of his neck. “But we’ll find time, yeah? Spend Christmas together, and maybe with your girls and Henry too.”
“Would be the best fuckin’ thing ta ‘appen ta me the whole year,” Sean said, completely honestly. He let out a gust of breath, rubbing his hand over his lips.
“I miss ya, Vig.”
“You think I don’t?” Viggo said, and Sean barely resisted retorting that it was Viggo who kept postponing their meetings; postponing spending time together, just the two of them, completely away from work. He bit his lip, hard.
“I miss your voice next to me. Miss your breath, your heat. I miss turning around and knowing that you’ll be there, somewhere near me. I miss being able to take only a few steps and hold you in my arms. I miss being able to kiss you whenever I like. I miss kissing you so much, Sean, that sometimes my mouth feels like lead because I can’t taste you on it anymore.”
Sean curled up into himself, biting down on his fingers to try to stifle the sob that were forcing itself past his throat. “Vig…”
Viggo took a long, shuddering breath, “Most of all, I miss waking up with you and seeing you in the morning. I miss seeing the way that your eyes open when you are barely conscious, and the way you smile when you see me there.”
“Come ta me,” Sean gasped out, trying to keep his voice low because he knew he was still in public. “Come ta me, or ‘ell, let me go ta ya. Please, Viggo. I miss ya.”
“I want to come to you right now. You know that. But I can’t. I can’t. You know I can’t,” Viggo’s voice broke.
Sean closed his eyes at those words, dropping his head down until his forehead rested on his knees.
You say you can’t, but how much of that is truth, and how much of that is simply because you don’t want to?
He clutched the phone even tighter and took a shaking breath, and tried to lighten his voice, “We’ll find time. Just don’t make me wait too long, yeah?”
“Yeah,” Viggo’s voice was soft, and Sean could see him behind his eyelids, curled into himself and he wanted so badly to reach out and hold him tightly.
“Yeah.”
***
Christmas Day 2010, Malta
Mornings in Malta was always far too bright even in the depths of winter. Sean was looking out of the window, one hand pulling open the curtains. He didn’t have anything on; it wasn’t as if Nikolaj hadn’t seen everything that there was to see last night anyway. The insides of Sean’s thighs were still sticky, and Sean thought that he should feel happier about that. Wasn’t that what was normal to feel? The pleasure of the conquest?
He only felt sick to his stomach.
Turning away from the window, he picked up his abandoned slacks and slipped his hand into the pockets. He took out his pack and lit a cigarette, watching as the white smoke curled upwards into the ceiling lamp before he dropped back down onto the bed, wincing a little as the impact jarred a few overworked muscles.
“Those will kill you one day, you know?”
Nikolaj was sitting up at the head of the bed, as naked as he was last night. The sun’s light caressed his tanned skin as he leaned forward, elbows on his knees as he looked at Sean.
Sean snorted quietly, “Least of me vices, these.” He paused, then looked at Nikolaj for a long moment.
“What were ya sayin’ last night? That phrase in Danish.”
Nikolaj chuckled, a rumbling sound low in his throat. He leaned forward, crawling across the bedsheets before he plucked the cigarette out of Sean’s hand and took a deep drag of it.
“I was asking who you were thinking about,” he gave Sean a lopsided smile. He reached over and placed the cigarette back between Sean’s lips.
Sean pulled it out, turning away. “Ain’t any of yer business.”
“I spent last night fucking you while you imagined me as someone else, I’d say that it’s something of my business,” Nikolaj drawled quietly, his eyes narrowing at Sean. There was a tense moment before he shrugged, “Fuck it, you don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to. Just tell me this: this going to be the only time?”
“If it keeps goin’ on, wouldn’t yer wife somethin’ ta say ‘bout it?”
Nikolaj threw his head back and laughed, “God, no. I have a free pass with men. Not with women, though. A pity, that, because Lena is hot.”
Sean saluted him with the cigarette, “I ain’t lookin’, so I’ll take yer word fer it.”
“You haven’t been looking at anyone except me last night. I’d be flattered, but I think it’s less of who I am or what I did than who I remind you off.”
“Thought ya ain’t goin’ ta ask,” Sean snapped out. Then he paused, sighing quietly as he rubbed a hand over his own face. “Fuck.”
Nikolaj looked as if he was going to say something else, but then the phone rang. It was Sean’s phone, just a quiet piano number, and Sean swore under his breath. He didn’t want to answer it; not with Nikolaj standing right there. But the music carried on, moving on to the lyrics themselves.
The leaves were long, the grass was green—
Sean stood up and picked up the phone.
“Hey,” he said, and he hated how tired and drained he sounded. He didn’t open his eyes.
“It’s already past midnight over there, isn’t it?” Viggo said, and he sounded rushed. “God, I’m so sorry, Sean. I told myself that I was going to call you exactly at midnight, because it’s Christmas and I know we couldn’t find the time to spend Christmas together—”
“Stop it.”
“Sean?”
“Fuckin’ just- stop it, alrigh’?” Sean let out a breath as steadily as he could, gripping the phone tight. He was almost hyper-aware of Nikolaj’s presence right in the room.”Stop it. I ain’t waitin’ up fer ya or anythin’.”
“I know you weren’t,” Viggo said, sounding confused and subdued. “I just thought—”
“Nah, Viggo,” Sean laughed, a sharp, bitter sound. “Ya always thought, ‘aven’t ya? Always just thinkin’, never doin’ anythin’.”
“Sean—”
“Listen,” he said, and he couldn’t stop the rush of words. “I ain’t waitin’ up fer ya, because ya know ‘ow I’m spendin’ me Christmas? I’m in me room righ’ now, with Nikolaj, because he fucked me inta the mattress last night, and I’m goin’ ta spend the whole fuckin’ mornin’ lettin’ ‘im do it all over again, ya ‘ear me?”
Viggo was completely silent on the other line.
“Ya told me ya missed me,” Sean said, feeling so viciously vindicated that he finally got Viggo to shut up for once. “Ya told me in so many pretty words that I near fuckin’ cried on the set because yer words are so damn beautiful. But they are just words, yeah? Yer always good wi’ ‘em. But I ain’t, Vig, so I’m goin’ ta keep this simple.”
He took a deep breath. Ten years; it was longer than any of his marriages, longer than anything he had ever had. Behind his still-closed eyelids he could see Viggo as he always looked in the sun that shone through the trees, bright-eyed with a brilliant grin, so gorgeous that it made his heart ache. Sean’s heart was hurting now, twisting in his chest and he could barely breathe.
“It’s over.”
Sean didn’t wait for Viggo to reply. He peeled the phone away from his ear and threw it at the wall. It crashed, splitting open, the battery ripping itself out through the force of the impact. He stared at it, feeling the fist around his heart clench even tighter. Slowly, he let out a breath. Pushed himself off the bed and picked up the pieces of the phone, one by one, and slotted them back in.
“I can still do that,” Nikolaj said, and the Danish hint in his accent made Sean’s hands stop in their fussings over the phone. “I can still fuck you, if that’s what you want.”
He could, Sean thought. He could fuck Viggo out of him, fuck away every trace of him on Sean’s skin. But it wouldn’t help, because Viggo’s marks were more than skin-deep, so deep that even a few months of not seeing him hadn’t erased any of them at all.
Sean closed the back of the phone. He turned it around and switched it on, dropping it onto the nightstand like nothing had happened. He picked up his trousers, shaking them out and stepping into them.
“I want,” he enunciated each syllable carefully, “you to get out.”
Nikolaj looked at him, but Sean was long past caring as he his clothes back on. His fingers trembled on the fly of his jeans, so he dropped them, pulling the sweater over his head. He could tell that Nikolaj was dressing as well, but he ignored him in favour of moving towards the bathroom to clean his teeth.
The door closed. Sean was alone.
Summary: You can’t press an ‘off’ switch on a love you’ve held for ten years, no matter how much you might want to.
Rated: NC-17
Categories: Actor RPS Pairing: Sean/Viggo
Warnings: NoneChallenges:
Series: NoneChapters: 3 Completed: Yes
Word count: 19844 Read: 3577
Published: 23 Aug 2012 Updated: 23 Aug 2012