He had never been here. Ariadna had given him her address a long time ago, but he had never once been to this place. They kept their work and their personal lives separate, because Viggo was fond of her—and he was with Sean.
That wasn’t a problem any longer.
He dropped his single duffel bag onto the ground, leaning on the pillar at the side as he rang the doorbell. Her house was more of an estate, really, with gates and fences surrounding the grounds. It reminded him of his house in Idaho. Viggo squeezed his eyes shut; he’d rather not think about that right now.
“Hello? Who is this?”
“Ariadna,” he breathed out the name in a soft breath, not even trying to hide the exhaustion that was wound all over his body. “Sorry, I know I’ve never—I just—”
“Christ, you sound like shit,” despite the words, there was no humour in Ariadna’s tone, but Viggo smiled anyway. It was probably a pathetic thing, and he was so glad that she couldn’t see it right now.
“Come on in.”
The gates swung open, and Viggo picked up his bag and walked through the front gardens. It was a beautiful place, with trees that he was sure that Sean would want a few cuttings of to try out in his London backyard. His breathing hitched and he almost tripped over himself trying to shove that thought out of his head, and he was so wretchedly glad when she saw her at the door. He raised a hand in a half-hearted wave as she jogged down the steps towards him.
She was beautiful, as she always was. Even as Maria, sickened with syphilis, she was beautiful, and Viggo caught her in his arms, the bag falling with a thump to the floor, and held onto her like she was the last lifeline he had left in the world.
That wasn’t very far from the truth.
“Te ves como mierda,” she murmured under her breath, stroking her fingers through his hair. Viggo almost sagged at the sound of Spanish, something so different and so apart from everything he had with Sean, and he wrapped his arms around her, holding her tight. She felt different, too. Shorter, almost short enough for him to tuck her head under his chin, with long hair that he could bury his hand into and not see it.
“I’m damn glad to see you,” he replied in the same language. Slowly, he pulled away, looking at her for a long moment. “How’s David?”
“Gone,” she said, and her smile was tremulous. “I’m keeping the house, though.”
He closed his eyes and knew that even though she told him otherwise, this might just be his fault. But Viggo was selfish, terribly selfish, and he couldn’t help but lean forward, pressing their lips together. Ariadna stilled for a single heartbeat before she surged forward, her hands clutching at his shoulders as she returned the kiss hard, tilting her head to the side as she nipped at his lips.
It was wrong, completely wrong, because it was unfair to her that Viggo was not thinking about her. He was only thinking about how different she was, how strange this kiss was compared to what he had gotten used to for the past decade. The wave of relief he felt shook him—here, there was no possible reminder of Sean—and he kissed her back hard, his hands spreading out on her waist, pressing her body to his own as he opened his mouth.
“I thought you said you were taken,” she said a few moments later, her head lying on his shoulder, nuzzling the skin of his neck. “That’s why you keep pushing me away.”
Viggo squeezed his eyes shut, his breath shaking as it made its way out of his lungs.
“He—” he shook his head, pulling away from her. His hand cupped her jaw, and the smoothness of her cheek nearly tore his heart apart again. But he didn’t pull away, instead stroking his thumb along her cheekbone.
“I changed my mind.”
***
Christmas Day 2010, Madrid
Viggo stared at the phone. He held it to his ear again, but there was only a dial tone before everything went blank, and he slammed the button to hang it up.
It’s over.
No, no it couldn’t be. Viggo knew that he had made many mistakes in his life and he had always learned from them, but he had always held the belief that what he had with Sean was the one thing that was right, that was completely perfect. They had fought their way so hard towards each other and had gone through so much in ten years by each other’s sides. It couldn’t be over. There had to be some sort of mistake, because Viggo had had break ups before. They were always preceded by the dimming of the fire inside him, the shift in the way he looked at that person, in the realisation that he no longer found them beautiful, in one way or another.
But the very thought of Sean still took his breath away. He meant every word that he had said in that one phone conversation, a few months and a lifetime ago. He missed Sean with an ache inside him every single time he couldn’t see him out of the corner of his eyes.
He had just been busy; they had both been busy.
Viggo reached for the phone again and pressed Sean’s number. It was on the first speed dial, but he typed in the whole number anyway. He didn’t even know why.
“What?”
Sean sounded hoarse, tired, and Viggo was already closing his eyes, curling into himself as much as could while still standing.
“Ten years, Sean,” he said, soft and quiet. “Ten years, and you’re telling me that it’s over through the fucking phone because you’ve fucked someone else? I think I deserve more than that.”
“Deserve, ya say?” Sean laughed, and the bitterness in his voice cut into Viggo’s heart, twisted him all around, and he didn’t even know where it came from. “Fuckin’ rich, ya tellin’ me what ya think ya deserve.”
Viggo felt silent. By his side, he could feel his nails cutting into his own skin, his hand was clenched so tight. “What do you mean, Sean?” It took some effort to keep his voice calm.
Sean laughed again, a horrible barking sound. “If I need ta tell ya ‘bout it, then it’s a good thing we’re already over.”
“We are not over.” Viggo inhaled sharply before he let out the breath hard, air cutting the insides of his own throat. “Do you really want to throw away ten years just like that? Do you really want to throw away what we have just like that?”
“Ain’t much of ten years,” Sean said, and Viggo could almost feel his heart break in two at those words. Not the words alone, but the sheer resignation of Sean’s voice, as if he had come to this conclusion a long time ago and only deigned to tell Viggo about now. “Ain’t much of an ‘us’.”
Viggo’s hand tightened on the phone, “That’s what you really think?”
“Ain’t what I think, Vig. Just the truth,” Sean laughed again. “There ain’t much left ‘ere between us except fer some words, and words ‘aveta end sometimes. Yer the poet. Ya know that better than me.”
Viggo walked to the wall and slammed his fist into it. He was suddenly so angry, so incredibly pissed off, and he was glad that Sean was across the ocean, that it was only his voice here, because Viggo would have beaten the shit out of him if he saw him right now.
“I thought you were happy,” he said instead, his voice perfectly level and calm. He could hear Sean’s breath hitch; could practically see his entire body stilling under the effect of Viggo’s rage.
“But maybe you’re right, Sean. Maybe I’m just the fucking idiot who keeps thinking and thinking about you all the fucking time, not even looking elsewhere. I don’t know why I bother, because you’re having fun, aren’t you? You’re the one going out and doing all of your castmates, isn’t it? How many of them have you fucked, Sean? How many of them have you spread your legs for while I wasn’t there? How many of them have screamed your name and left marks down your back—”
“Shut up!” Sean was roaring, so loudly the words rang in Viggo’s ear. “Shut up, shut the fuck up, shut the fuck up, ya got no fuckin’ idea what ‘bout anythin’, ‘bout anyone—”
“Oh, I think I have some ‘fucking idea’ alright,” Viggo hissed. “What did you say his name is, Sean? Nikolaj? I think I know him, Sean. I think he’s married. Must be fun, huh? Does he call you by his wife’s name when he comes?”
“Well I ain’t gotta find anyone else ta fuck if ya bother ta—”
“Don’t you dare blame this on me!” Viggo sprang to his feet, shouting down the phone so loudly that he could hear his own voice echoing back to him. Somehow his hand ached, and he realised that he had been punching it over and over at the wall, and the knuckles were looking like they would be bruised tomorrow. He closed his eyes and fell to his side, shoulder leaning on the damn thing as he held his hand hard to his chest.
“I’m not the one who says that it’s over.”
“Yeah, you do that,” Sean said, and Viggo heard him take a shaky inhale. “Just blame me, yeah? Easier ta. I’m the one with the three divorces, failed husband fer three times. We ‘ad ten years. Ya managed to tolerate Sean-fucking-Bean fer longer than any of the women he ‘ad put a fuckin’ ring on. Congratulate yerself. ‘ave a fuckin’ beer. Too bad there ain’t divorce papers ta send or any money to be got from me, eh?”
“Is that what you think I want?” Viggo laughed, and he knew, deep inside himself, that he was laughing in the exact same way Sean was in the beginning of the phone call. A dark, horrible thing, less of a laugh than just a sound to try to release the pain he felt. “Money? Bragging rights? Jesus Christ, Sean, you don’t know me at all, do you?”
“Thought I did. Was wrong ‘bout it. Should get used ta being wrong ‘bout everythin’, shouldn’t I?” Viggo could hear the snap of a lighter. He wanted so badly to hold onto his anger, but he couldn’t. He would only be hurt, torn apart from inside out.
From here, he could see outside his window.
It was snowing. A goddamn white Christmas. Viggo placed his injured hand over his eyes, and he refused to sob; refused to give Sean the satisfaction of hearing him cry; refused to show him that the images of Sean on clean white sheets, moaning as someone else fucked him and made him cry out like Viggo did, time after time, was enough to drive him to violence.
“You have a fucking good way of sending someone a Christmas present. But you know what? I’ll accept it. It’s over, Sean. It’s fucking over. You happy now?”
He hurled the phone so hard at the wall that it bounced back, the back splitting open as it skittered across the floor. It was probably ruined, but Viggo didn’t care—he picked out that phone with Sean. He didn’t want to look at it or touch it—not now, not ever again.
In fact—
Viggo stood up and picked up the phone. He turned it around and around before he walked it towards the table. He smacked the glass front of it against the edge, just once. A small crack formed. Viggo pressed a finger against it as he smiled slightly, then he did it again, smacking the phone over and over and over on the edge of the table until he could hear the glass splintering, feel the pieces litter against his feet, but he didn’t stop until the piece of metal completely bent into half, destroyed beyond any possible repair.
Maybe he should tape it on a canvas, call it ‘broken heart: a modern representation’. Put it up on exhibition to be sold. Viggo laughed to himself at the thought, the sound sharp and hysterical, piercing through the air. The glass was cutting into his feet. Good.
Like this, he wouldn’t have to imagine Sean, his head thrown back, pupils blown wide and dark, his lips red and swollen from biting as he spread his legs to be fucked into the mattress by Nikolaj, or by anyone else who wasn’t him.
Like this, he could tell himself that the image meant nothing to him.
***
February 2011, London
The house was empty.
But Sean had gotten used to that, hadn’t he? It had been over a month since he had returned to the empty house and the big, empty bed. Not that it was much different, with Viggo away most of the time. He was used to it.
Now he was just sitting in the living room on the couch, two packs of cigarettes lying open next to him and an ashtray on the table, with the script of Age of Heroes in front of him as he read through it over and over while he smoked. Life went on, work went on, and there was nothing wrong in Sean’s life whatsoever. He had his mates here, like always, and he went out almost every night to the pub. The fridge was full of beer; there wasn’t a need for him to keep food there because there was no one who bothered to cook in this house. Sean had thrown out most of it when he came back.
Viggo was usually the one who cooked.
He lifted his head when he heard a key in the door. Immediately he stood up, stubbing out the cigarette. He had heard the car pulling up in the driveway a couple of minutes ago, but had thought nothing of it. Probably the neighbours; wasn’t like he was expecting or wanting anyone to visit him right now.
Fuck. He had never gotten his key back, had he? Well, it looked like he was going to.
Viggo had grown thin, Sean thought, watching as Viggo stilled completely at the sight of him. Viggo had a couple of big bags on his arm, folded, and he glanced at Sean for a couple of seconds before staring at the stairs.
Fucking typical.
“I’m just here to pick up my things.”
Of course he was. Sean snorted, waving an arm towards the house. He dropped back to the couch, lighting up another cigarette.
“Feel free. Ya know what’s yers in ‘ere.”
“Yeah,” Viggo said, and Sean deliberately didn’t turn to look at him. There wasn’t a point. Never mind that he hadn’t seen Viggo for over ten months now; never mind that he hadn’t heard his voice since Christmas last year. There wasn’t a fucking point.
He heard Viggo walk up the stairs to his room—to the untouched spare room. It wasn’t locked—he never bothered to lock it—and Sean tried his best to ignore the sound of footsteps and shifting things as he turned back to his script and his smokes. After he had finished the second pack, he looked at the cigarette stub he had snuffed out when Viggo first came in. There was still half of it left, and Sean picked it up and went to the kitchen, looking for a scissors and cutting off the burnt part on the sink. He then lit it up again, leaning on the counter.
Viggo was coming down the stairs. There had been a time when Sean would be glad of that sound, but now he felt nothing.
When he next looked up, Viggo was leaning on the doorframe, looking at Sean. There wasn’t much of a difference to him whether Viggo was in front of him or not.
“You can throw away the big stuff. The easels, whatever. I took whatever I needed,” Viggo raised the two full bags in his hands. Sean looked at them; looked at Viggo closely, and he might be smoking, but only a completely deadened man would not notice the perfume still lingering in the air. Only a blind man would lipstick prints on his collar, the too-slim handprints at the hems of his shirt. Looked like someone’s proprietary. Sean didn’t blame them—he was, and he only hoped that it would go better for them than it did for him.
(No. No, he didn’t. But he could pretend that he did.)
He only chuckled, “Looks like ya ain’t taken long ta find someone else, eh?” He waved a hand towards Viggo. “Poet, photographer, publisher, and actor; probably got people linin’ fer a taste of ya.”
Viggo stilled completely. Deliberately, he placed the bags on the ground, crossing his arms and ankles as he looked at Sean.
“I didn’t realise that you’re the only one who can fuck someone else,” he said, every word slow, his eyes like burning coals upon Sean’s skin. “Especially now. We’re over, aren’t we, Sean?”
“I ain’t stoppin’ ya,” Sean said, shrugging. He took a slow inhale of his cancer stick, his eyes not leaving Viggo’s. “But who is it, Vig? Ya want ta tell me who’s pickin’ up Sean Bean’s leftovers?”
Viggo moved faster than he could see, one hand grabbing Sean by the upper arms and pressing him hard against the counter. His fingers plucked the cigarette from Sean’s hand and he took a drag from it, and the move was so familiar from all the times they had shared smokes together that Sean suddenly couldn’t breathe.
Then Viggo blew smoke at his face, and his smile was so unlike all the other smiles that Sean had ever received from this man.
“Her name is Ariadna Gil,” Viggo said, very softly. Without turning away, he flicked the cigarette over to the sink “She’s Spanish and I’m living at her place right now. A nice, big house; it’s a beautiful place, really. I think you might remember her from Alatriste and Appaloosa.” His hand came up, bunching the cloth around Sean’s neck, almost hard enough to cut off his air.
“See, Sean? You’re not the only one who knows how to fuck a castmate.”
Sean saw red. He shoved Viggo away hard, and before he could stop himself, he punched him across the jaw. Viggo didn’t even bother looking at him before he laughed again, his hand rubbing the spot where Sean’s fist had landed.
“You’ve always had the best solutions to problems, Sean: violence, or sex.” He straightened up and looked Sean straight in the eye. “Talking is too good for the great Sean Bean, isn’t it?”
Sean opened his mouth, but he couldn’t get a single word out before Viggo backhanded him across the face. His teeth cut into his lip from the blow but Sean didn’t even notice, already taking a step forward and grabbing onto Viggo’s head, holding tight before he shoved his knee into his ribs. He knew that he was proving Viggo right, but he couldn’t help himself. He just wanted Viggo to shut up, just to shut up. He didn’t want to hear a single word from him, not when he knew they were not and would never be what he wanted to hear.
Viggo only laughed breathlessly, a sound that made the red deepen even further behind Sean’s eyes. But Viggo was punching him hard on the sternum, driving all the air out of his lungs, and he grabbed Sean’s head and smacked it hard enough on the counter to make him see stars.
“I hate you,” Viggo said. There was a note in his voice that Sean didn’t want to listen to; something that matched the gentling of Viggo’s hand in his hair. “I fucking hate you, you bastard.”
Sean nearly tore his hair out by their roots as he shoved himself backwards, away from Viggo’s grasp. He didn’t look up, didn’t look at the bastard before he smack his head hard into his throat. At the same moment, he droved him back until he could see Viggo’s feet stumbling.
“Get out,” he hissed, still staring at the floor. “Get the fuck out of me ‘ouse . I don’t want ta see yer fuckin’ face.”
He heard Viggo take in a breath; could see his hands slowly curling into fists by his side. “Good,” Viggo snarled. “I don’t want to see you either.”
A breath, two. Sean waited until Viggo was retreating. Then he looked up, his eyes boring into the wall right beside Viggo’s head.
“I want me stuff back,” Sean said, and he kept his voice as steady as he could, his knuckles turning white, stark against the black marble counter. “Ya know me address, so pack up all me stuff from Idaho and send it over ‘ere.”
Viggo was silent for a long moment. “Fine,” he finally said, and then he was picking up his bags and slamming the door on his way out. The echo of the sound resounded around the house.
Only when it had stopped completely and he heard the car move out of the driveway would Sean let himself fall to his knees. The fridge was right there. He opened the door and took out a can of beer, opening it and drinking deeply. He finished that can in record time, crushed it, and tossed it in the direction of the sink. Then he took another one.
He might as well stay here. There weren’t much out there for him anyway.
***
March 2011, Los Angeles
Promotions were always a pesky thing. Nikolaj knew that they were necessary, of course, because that was when people saw actors out of character, and it helped to prevent them from attaching the actor too much to a character. That and it helped the actors get to know the fans, get their names out there so that they would have other jobs when this current gig was over. It was probably a cynical way of looking at things, but Nikolaj had always been a realist. An actor had to be, in this profession; the Hollywood dream was only for people who weren’t actually involved in the business.
Though, it helped that he actually liked the people he was working with this time. Sometimes it was a damn pain in the ass to have to do promotions with people he already disliked. This cast, though, they knew how to have fun, how to throw a party, and Nikolaj couldn’t help grinning as he leaned on the wall, watching. He wanted a cigarette, but they were in Los Angeles and there were those pesky laws; he didn’t want to be thrown out of the bar.
“Nikolaj?”
He blinked at the voice, turning around to see Emilia look at him with huge eyes. Immediately he reached forward, swinging an arm around her and holding her close. His other hand ruffled through her long hair, mussing it up even further, and she smacked at his arm and laughed. God, but she was a pretty girl.
“I’m not here to be molested, you know,” she said wryly, her voice almost muffled against his clothes.
“Yeah?” he tipped his head, looking down at her. “What are you here for, then?”
“It’s kind of stupid- okay, it’s really stupid and I can’t believe that I’m saying this, but do you think that I’m pretty?”
Nikolaj blinked. He stared at her, but she wasn’t looking at him. It was easy enough to follow her gaze.
Off to the other side of the bar, Sean had found another admirer. She was tall, blond, with cheekbones to kill for, and he was handing her a beer. Without letting the girl’s hand touch the glass, he snatched it up and brought it to his lips, and even from here Nikolaj could perfectly envision his flirtatious smile and the way his tongue darted out to taste her skin. It wasn’t just that he had personal experience of that smile and tongue; Sean had been doing this with every single new country and hotel that they had been to.
He ruffled Emilia’s hair again.
“You’re not pretty,” he told her seriously, his gaze heavy on her. He only let a few seconds lapse before he smiled widely. “You’re a fucking stunning woman, Emilia, and if I’m not married you should worry about your virtue.”
Emilia gave him an open-mouthed look before her eyes darted back to Sean.
“He doesn’t seem to think so,” she said. Then she sighed heavily, rubbed at her own eyes. “I mean, I’ve seen him flirt with Lena, Michelle, you…every single female crew member and even a few of the male ones… Except for me. God, Nikolaj, I swear he even flirts with Richard.”
“Everyone flirts with Richard,” Nikolaj countered mildly. “His pale Scottish complexion is too much to pass up.”
The girl punched him hard on the arm. “I’m being serious here. Is there something wrong with me?”
“You’ve ever seen Sean flirting with Sophie?”
“God, no!” Emilia wrinkled her nose, and Nikolaj found it so cute that he had to flick it. “She’s like, fifteen. And she plays his daughter.”
“And you are just one year older than Sean’s daughter, sweetheart,” Nikolaj tilted her face up so that she could look at him. She was tiny and beautiful and it was a damn shame that Jaime Lannister never had a single scene with the last heir of the Dragon King. Or maybe it was a good thing, because she was tempting. He wondered how Jason dealt with it. He shook his head a little to dislodge those thoughts; that wasn’t the point.
“He’s fallen low, but he’s not fallen that low yet.”
“You mean that he’ll have to be desperate before he tries to pick me up?” She bit her lip, turning her head away slightly.
“No,” Nikolaj said. At the opposite corner, Sean’s laughter rang out, loud enough to echo. Nikolaj watched him as he placed a kiss on his latest conquest’s cheek, and wondered wryly if he should tell the man that he should stop trying to pick up people who reminded him of the one he was really looking for.
Really, ‘Viggo’ wasn’t a common name, and it was easy enough to Google it. This whole thing was going to turn him completely off sleeping with his castmates. A damn shame; they were all so attractive.
“I’m saying that he’s being a complete slut right now because there’s something wrong with him, not with you,” he said dryly. “But what’s wrong with him right now isn’t so bad that he would sleep with someone his daughter’s age, no matter how gorgeous you are.” He paused, giving her a wry grin.
“I’m pretty bad at comforting people.”
“That’s obvious,” she teased, and Nikolaj heaved a sigh of relief when he saw the small smile on her lips.
They watched Sean together for a moment before she cocked her head, looking up at Nikolaj again. “I’m not saying that I agree with you that he’s being a slut, but what is wrong with him?”
Nikolaj shrugged, “My best guess is that he’s trying to spite someone, but who it is or about what…” He placed a finger to her lips, “That, my radiant Emilia, is not my story to tell.”
He turned towards Sean again, watching their main character twirl the girl in his arms, laughing again. Nikolaj wondered how much he had had drank that night.
Damn, he would have to do something about that guilt that was plaguing him, wouldn’t he?
*
Sean had never been particularly claustrophobic. He hated planes, yeah, but it was less of the enclosed space than the fact that it was several thousand feet off the damn ground. But he just couldn’t help but feel closed in, in the bar, with so many people there, so he went out.
Nikolaj was outside too, smoking, and Sean dropped down next to him on the curb and lit up his own.
“Hey,” Nikolaj acknowledged him.
It was stupid, but Sean couldn’t help but flinch at the greeting. Stupid, because it had been months since he had spoken to Viggo, but that was how Viggo had always started whenever they spoke to each other on the phone, or even when they saw each other again after a long separation. He looked at Nikolaj for a moment before he grunted noncommittally, taking a drag of his cigarette.
“You going to bring that girl back?”
Sean shrugged, “Don’t know yet.”
“She seems plenty willing. I was just wondering if we need to go back a little bit later, so that you can…” he waved a hand.
“Probably,” Sean lifted a shoulder again. There was a moment of silence before he sighed. “Sorry fer that. Shoulda gotten a private suite of me own, huh?”
“I’m not speaking for the others, but I don’t mind,” Nikolaj’s smile was brief as he let his cigarette drop to the ground, rubbing it out with a booted toe. “It’s a little less awkward than you fucking Lena.”
Sean flinched again, and didn’t reply. He could feel Nikolaj’s gaze on him, somehow reminding him of that Christmas Day, but he only ducked his head down and puffed some more on his cigarette. He didn’t even know why they were having a conversation. Nikolaj was a castmate, yeah, and maybe Sean would even call him a friend, but he didn’t like talking to him nowadays.
“Are you going to stay in America after this?”
“Wot?” Sean jerked his head up, eyes automatically narrowing.
Nikolaj met his glare evenly, “I asked if you’re going to stay in America after this.” He waved a hand, “The promotions, I mean.”
“Ain’t no reason ta stay,” Sean said. He meant to stop that, he really did, but the words tumbled out of him before he could stop there. “Ain’t no reason ta see that bastard. He’s got a new girl already, hasn’t ‘e? She’s fuckin’ pretty and ‘e’s known ‘er fer six years now. Maybe she’s been wantin’ ‘im fer that long too. I ain’t care. I ain’t give a shit ‘bout that.” He twisted the cigarette in his hand until it broke, scattering raw tobacco everywhere and he looked down, stamping on the embers viciously, wishing that it was Viggo’s face that he was trampling on. “She can ‘ave ‘im fer all that I care about.”
He barked a laugh. “Funny fuckin’ bastard he is. All that talk ‘bout ‘us’ this, ‘us’ that, and ‘e’s the one that finds someone the very fuckin’ moment I did ‘im the favour of endin’ ‘is damn bullshit.” His hands shook, but they were still steady enough for him to light another cigarette. He wished Nikolaj would say something, wished even that he would kiss him and they could go back to the hotel room and fuck so he could forget about all of this. Maybe he should go back inside and bring the girl back; she was willing enough.
“She speaks Spanish, ya know?” He took a long drag and nearly choked on the smoke with his next chuckle, dark and bitter with no humour in it at all. “I tried ta learn, but I ain’t good wi’ other languages like ‘e is. I ain’t even like ya, wi’ the ability ta make movies in more than one language.” His eyes flickered to Nikolaj. “I ain’t ever spoken anythin’ other than English, but that ain’t enough fer ‘im, is it? Ain’t fuckin’ good enough.”
His gaze was hostile when it turned to Nikolaj, but the anger wasn’t turned towards the other man. Not towards this man, at any rate. “The fuck didja ask that fer?”
Nikolaj only smiled, a small knowing expression that Sean hated immediately. “There are brochures for New Orleans and Idaho all over the suite, Sean, and I’m pretty sure they’re yours.”
Sean gritted his teeth so hard that he bit through the filter of his cigarette, and he spat it out and threw the thing down in disgust. No use trying to smoke anyway; it wasn’t calming him. “Fuckin’ busybody ya are.”
“Maybe,” Nikolaj said. He wiped his hands on his trousers before slapping a hand on Sean’s shoulder. “Or maybe I’m just sick of you looking at everyone and seeing the person that they’re not.”
“What do ya mean?” The words came out as a growl.
“I notice that you have a type, Sean, whether male or female. They all have changeable grey eyes and beautiful cheekbones. I might not have met Viggo Mortensen,” Sean couldn’t help the flinch at the name being spoken out loud, even though he had just been talking about the man less than a minute ago, “but the internet has plenty of pictures of him.”
“It ain’t any of yer fuckin’ business.”
“It is when you fucked me because I remind you of him, or because I don’t remind you of him, whichever it was.” Nikolaj leaned in, and his voice was almost poisonous as it caressed Sean’s ear.
“Hvem tænker du på, Sean?”
Before Sean could sock him—and wouldn’t that be a laugh, trying to explain why Nikolaj had a black eye in the middle of the promotions circuit—he was already dancing away, squeezing Sean’s shoulder lightly.
“Or maybe, just maybe, I want you to stop being the stereotypical Hollywood slut that everyone were so glad you weren’t.”
Sean could punch him, he really could, but he knew that the person he really wanted to punch himself. Or Viggo, but Viggo was several oceans away, wasn’t he? Like he always was. Instead, he only rubbed a hand over his eyes, avoiding Nikolaj’s near-burning gaze.
“Just say what yer ‘ere ta say.”
“You’re the one who started ranting about him when I asked a simple question,” Nikolaj pointed out, flat and matter-of-fact. “Look, I consider you a friend, alright? I wouldn’t be saying this otherwise; wouldn’t have fucked you either. Hell, I wouldn’t have fucked you if I’ve known that you were actually attached.”
Sean winced again. Ten years; ten years and no one other than their families, the Fellowship, and some of their closest friends had known. Wasn’t that absolutely fantastic? He locked his hands together, turning his eyes up to finally look at Nikolaj. But Nikolaj had his hands stuffed in his pockets and he was staring at the ground.
“Fix it, Sean,” he said quietly. He finally turned, reaching out and cupping Sean’s jaw with a gentleness that was crueller than any harsh grip he could have used. “Go to him. See him. Resolve this before you tear yourself apart.”
“I ain’t,” Sean denied it, but he knew the words were a weak lie even before they escaped his lips.
Nikolaj didn’t call him out on it, only moved his hand until he was stroking Sean’s hair, leaning in and pressing a gentle kiss on his forehead. In that moment, just that one moment, the move was so familiar that Sean could almost close his eyes and pretend that it was Viggo doing this. But Nikolaj’s hand was too large, his face was entirely the wrong shape, and his voice wasn’t Viggo’s.
“I know I’ll probably not see you again on this show because George likes killing off the decent characters, but the next time I see you, I want you to be able to smile without looking like you’re dying inside, yeah? I’m a selfish bastard; it makes me guilty, thinking that I did that to you.”
Sean laughed, a broken and brittle sound.
“Like he’d still want me.” Funny, how that worked. Sean was the one who had cut ties, but he was also the pathetic sod who was still looking into the mirror and wondered what was so inadequate about himself that Viggo just up and decided that he wasn’t worth looking at anymore.
“Ten years, wasn’t it?” Nikolaj smiled against his skin. “I don’t know him, Sean, but I don’t think you’d stay with him for ten years if he doesn’t love you back as desperately as you do him. I’m almost jealous.”
With that parting shot, he pulled away, standing up. He gave Sean a small smile before he went back inside the bar.
Sean watched him go before he stood up himself and hailed a cab. He didn’t know what he was going to do, but the brochures were a start. His hand closed around his phone and he wondered if his agent would know where Viggo was.
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: 3583
Published: 23 Aug 2012 Updated: 23 Aug 2012