Summary: Sometimes you -- both of you -- just need a wakeup call. Sean and Viggo come to terms with their relationship in New Zealand, with the unwitting help of one Karl Urban.

Rated: NC-17

Categories: Actor RPS Pairing: None

Warnings: None

Challenges:

Series: None

Chapters: 3 Completed: Yes

Word count: 20189 Read: 4094

Published: 29 Jan 2013 Updated: 29 Jan 2013

Sean closed the door behind him and slammed Viggo against the wood. Their lips crashed together, tongues darting out, sliding against each other. His hand tangled into short blond hair, still a little sticky from wig-glue, and pressed his body hard against Viggo’s. He could feel the bones of Viggo’s pelvis like this, their bodies so close together. Viggo exhaled, and Sean dragged in the breath, feeling the heat settle in his own lungs.

Moria had been a difficult shoot for all of them. All of them had spent nights knee-deep in cold waters fighting something that they couldn’t really see, going through the same motions over and over again while only the cameras changed positions. It was part of the job and Sean loved his job, but the adrenaline faded slowly from his body and he needed to take off the tension. He could feel it in Viggo as well, the muscles beneath his body stiff and Viggo’s cock even harder, a burn against his thigh.

They broke apart almost simultaneously. Sean leaned an arm against the door, breathing hard. Viggo smelled of sweat and dirty water and leather, the remnants of Aragorn that remained even after the actor had shed the Ranger along with his costumes.

“I need a shower,” Viggo said, his pants breaking up the words into almost nonsensical syllables. But they had always spoken to each other like this, their own broken language, and Sean tipped his head back. Eyes darkened by desire and need stared by at him, grey-blue only noticeable this close, a bare rim over the darkened pupils.

“I need to fuck you,” Sean said. His hand clawed at Viggo’s shoulder, pulling him close. Viggo’s hands cupped his jaw, pulling him close and they kissed again. Their kisses were violent things and they were barely careful enough to make sure their lips didn’t break. The makeup artists were good at their jobs, but there were just some things that neither of them wanted discovered.

Viggo’s hair was falling into his face. He dragged a hand over it. “Both then,” he said, and he strode off to the bathroom.

Their clothes fell off as they half-walked, half-stumbled, exhaustion and arousal making every step unstable. The shower in Viggo’s house was barely large enough to hold the two of them, but Sean didn’t particularly care. He shoved Viggo against the glass wall, turning on the shower head, and they both groaned as hot water cascaded over their heads, as their cocks touched.

“You need me to wash yer back?” Sean asked. His fingers danced down Viggo’s back, counting his ribs without keeping numbers in mind, his thumb rubbing against the curve just above Viggo’s arse, fingers dipping into the cleft.

Viggo barked a laugh, a strange, high-pitched thing, and he rocked his hips forward, his cock sliding up Sean’s stomach. “Later,” he said. He pressed himself even harder against the wall before he turned around, giving Sean a full view of his back, his arse, his long legs that tapered down to slim ankles.

Sean was no artist, not like Viggo was, but only a blind man would not realise that the body in front of him was stunningly beautiful.

“Fuck me first. You said you wanted to, didn’t you?”

“Aye,” Sean breathed. “So I did.”

Sean wasn’t sure when Viggo started keeping lube in the bathroom along with the nightstand, but he was damn grateful for it right now. He would have used the shower gel if there wasn’t lube available, and he would rather not; both of them still had work to do tomorrow, after all. Sean chased all thoughts of work away as he stepped closer. Two fingers shoved inside Viggo, curling immediately, and Sean found himself growing almost impossibly harder when Viggo cried out sharply, throwing his hips backwards, fucking himself on Sean’s fingers.

Viggo was so responsive, every single time. He held nothing back, his voice reverberating around the bathroom, buffeting against Sean’s ears, and Sean gritted his teeth and pushed three fingers inside, stretching Viggo as quickly as he could. Viggo’s hands were braced against glass- hand, for the other one was reaching back, grabbing Sean by the neck and kissing him against, messily while water ran down their faces into their mouths.

“Are you waiting for the hot water to run out before you fuck me, Sean?” Viggo growled. His teeth nipped the side of Sean’s mouth, a rough scrape that had Sean rutting himself against the curve of Viggo’s arse. “Come on already.”

“Don’t you need to ride a horse tomorrow?”

Viggo blinked water out of his eyes. “When did you become that considerate?”

“I don’t need PJ to take it out on me arse,” Sean countered. To shut Viggo up, he twisted his fingers inside again, finding Viggo’s prostate with unerring accuracy. Viggo groaned low in his throat, thrusting his hips backward, wanting more like the greedy bastard he always was. Not that Sean was complaining.

He pulled his fingers out and guided himself inside, pushing past the initial resistance until the head of his cock was enveloped in slick heat. Sean moaned, burying his face into Viggo’s shoulder before he shoved himself forward, slamming inside entirely. Viggo’s cry surrounded him as surely as his heat closed around his cock, squeezing him hard enough that all the breath he had left was knocked out of his lungs.

“Christ, Vig, why are you always so damn tight?”

“I can give you -- ah -- a scientific explanation, if you’d like,” Viggo panted out.

Sean laughed. He couldn’t help it; the words were so absurd that he was left laughing into Viggo’s neck, his teeth nipping the skin over and over again. His hand slid against skin, nails combing down the heavy hair on Viggo’s chest and finding his nipple, flicking against it.

“If you can think of a scientific explanation right now, I ain’t doing things right.”

Viggo laughed, and Sean felt more than heard the sound. His heartbeat was getting louder and louder, the roar of the water around them drowned out. His hands moved down, curling around Viggo’s cock, and he smirked against wet skin when he felt his friend jerk in his arms, a full-body shudder that had him shoving forward, slamming all the way inside.

It shouldn’t be familiar, what they were doing. Viggo’s hips fitted right in his hand, his skin rough from the constant scrapes they got into. He was tight and hot, responding to Sean’s every thrust, every move, and it was a damn good idea that Sean didn’t pull away the first time that Viggo had kissed him behind the trailers right after they shot the scene in Lothlorien. He pulled Viggo’s head back, kissed him hard as he felt him come, clamping around his cock, and he drew in Viggo’s shout with his next breath.

Sean knew when he had a good thing going, and this was good, damn good. He growled under his breath as he shoved inside again, coming hard enough that his vision was suddenly blinded by multi-coloured spots.

They breathed together underneath the shower’s spray.

“Water’s getting cold,” Sean said.

Viggo chuckled. He shifted his elbow, shutting off the shower before he turned around. “Still offering to wash my back?”

Sean couldn’t help but laugh. At the back of his mind, he realised that Viggo was gorgeous like this, his entire body slick with water, blond hair darkened and plastered to his face, softening the sharp edges that made him look so unique. He raised a hand and brushed away a strand that was hanging right on top of Viggo’s nose. He laughed again when Viggo crossed his eyes to try to follow his hand.

“Only if you do mine.”

They washed each other off as quickly as they could. New Zealand’s weather was odd, and Sean could not get used to the idea of a cold June. London was always humid at this time, and though it always rained there was still the sun. Instead, in Wellington now the weather was cold and there was the threat of snow. In a few weeks, they would start filming the scenes in Caradhas. Sean sometimes wondered how Viggo could be used to it, but then he would remember that Viggo had grown up under the Southern Cross in a land where June was always characterised by chilly winters, and feel just a little bit silly.

They stepped out of the bathroom together. Sean stared at his own clothes that littered the doorway of Viggo’s bedroom.

“I should drive back to me hotel,” he said, rubbing his face.

Viggo snorted. He wordlessly walked towards his closet, and tossed Sean a t-shirt and a pair of ratty sweatpants. “You’re going to end up sleeping behind the wheel, and I’d rather not explain to PJ how you ended up getting into an accident on the way back from my house.”

Sean grabbed the t-shirt that had landed on his head and pulled it on. It was some kind of luck that they were the same size; it made staying over each other places so much easier.

“What did you do with me clothes that I left behind the last time?” He asked idly as he stepped into the pants.

“They’re probably somewhere in my laundry,” Viggo said. He flopped down onto the bed naked, flailing his limbs all over the sheets. Sean took a moment to admire the shape of his lily-white arse now that he wasn’t distracted by the need to relieve tension. “You know where the guest room is. Shoo.”

“What,” Sean raised an eyebrow. “Yer not inviting me to sleep here?”

“You snore in your sleep,” Viggo said, his words muffled by the comforter. “I don’t want to accidentally suffocate you with a pillow.”

“I don’t snore,” Sean protested automatically, but he was already heading towards the door. He paused. “Hey, early call tomorrow right?”

Viggo rolled over on the bed. “Yeah. It’s your turn to make breakfast, by the way.”

“It’s yer house.”

“You know where everything is.”

“Did you even restock your fridge?”

“Couple of days back. I even got gravy and fries for your disgusting chip butty.”

Sean snorted, turning around fully and leaning against the door. “If yer going to bitch ‘bout me cooking, then you make breakfast.”

“Nah. Just make sure you have mate, okay?”

“Do you have tea?” Sean countered.

Viggo sat up, giving him an incredulous look, “’Course I do. You bitch whenever I don’t have any. Besides, I do drink tea, you know.”

“Only when you don’t have yer disgusting grass clippings,” Sean said. He utterly ruined his remark with another yawn, and he rubbed his eyes.

“Go to sleep,” Viggo waved a hand at him before he dropped down back on the bed. “I’ll dig out your clothes from wherever they ended up tomorrow, by the way.”

“Nah, don’t bother,” Sean replied. He stepped out of the room, not bothering to close the door behind him. Viggo didn’t sleep with the door closed; he knew that much. “It ain’t as if I won’t be coming back here anyway.”

***

“Let me bum one off you.”

Sean turned to look at Orlando. The young man was practically twitching in Viggo’s chair, next to Sean’s. Sean snorted quietly to himself, taking a long drag of his cigarette even as he pulled out his pack, opening the top and held it out.

Orlando took a cigarette and the lighter that Sean gave him as well, lighting up his fag and taking a deep drag of it.

“I don’t know where you get so much energy,” Sean said idly. “Looking at you tires me out.”

“That’s because you’re an old man.” The power of Orlando’s retort was substantially reduced by his inability to talk around the cigarette in his mouth. “Anyway, have you heard?”

“Heard what?”

“The peoples are Rohan are arriving today.”

Sean’s eyebrow shot up. “Though you all ain’t filming Edoras until much later.”

“Nah,” Orlando waved a hand. Sean barely dodged the burning butt of the cigarette. “They’re here to discuss with PJ and meet with each other to talk about characterisation decisions. And to start rehearsals. You know, the stuff we usually do before the cameras start running?”

Sean smacked Orlando gently on the back of his head for his cheek.

“Is me brother coming along as well?”

“Your brother?” Orlando blinked. He shrugged. “Oh, Faramir? I don’t know, actually. Probably not. His scenes are even later than the Rohans, and he’s mostly having them with ‘Lij, Astin and Andy. He probably doesn’t need to come over just yet.”

“In case your Southern head is too full o’ fluff to notice, he’s playing me brother, and we’re filming out of chronological order,” Sean remarked dryly.

“I don’t know, you have to ask PJ about that. Why did you ask?”

Sean shrugged, “I feel kind of bad for making him have to copy me, that’s all.” He waved a hand, “In any case, do these Rohans have names?”

“Jesus, you don’t read any of the memos that PJ sends out, do you?” Orlando grinned at him, dodging Sean’s hand barely in time. “Miranda Otto, Karl Urban, Bernard Hill...”

“Bernard Hill? PJ got Bernard Hill?” Sean gave a low whistle. He stubbed his cigarette out and leaned forward, knowing that he looked ridiculous, grinning that wide. “Christ, mate, that’s amazing.”

Orlando blinked again. “Should I know him?”

Sean stared. “He’s in Blackstuff, kid.” Wait, of course Orlando wouldn’t know that; he wasn’t even born when the first show was aired. Granted, Sean was only in his early twenties then, but Hill had played one of the most iconic Northern blokes at the time. He licked his lips, and tried another tack, “He was in fucking Titanic.”

He couldn’t keep the incredulity out of his voice, much less the wonder. He’d had the chance to meet Ian and Christopher during the film, but Bernard Hill was from Manchester. Another Northern bloke-- alright, Ian was from the North as well, but Sean was far too much in awe of him to ever see him as just a bloke from the North. Hill, though...

“I didn’t watch Titanic,” Orlando was saying, and Sean tried to focus on the conversation.
“I would’ve thought you’d know of Karl.”

“Who the hell is Karl?”

“Karl Urban. You know, from Xena? Walks around most of the time half-naked dressed only in wings?”

“Uh,” Sean scratched his head. “Nope. I ain’t know him.” He shook his head. “Christ, Orlando, I can’t believe you don’t know fucking Bernard Hill.”

“And I can’t believe you don’t know Karl Urban,” Orlando shot back. He tossed his finished cigarette on the ground and stomped on it. He stood up, making to leave. Sean grabbed him by the sleeve.

“Wait,” he said. “When are they coming over?”

“No idea, but you’d probably see them in the mess tent during lunch.” Orlando grinned slightly. “I’d be there.”

“Why, to see your half-naked Cupid?”

“’Course!” Orlando crowed, utterly shameless. He paused, cocking his head to the side, and his grin widened. “That and to see you behave like a fanboy towards this Bernard Hill bloke.”

“I ain’t going to behave like a fanboy,” Sean protested, but he knew the words were false the moment they were out of his mouth.

“Right,” Orlando drawled out the word. “And I didn’t behave like a fanboy the first time I met you. Of course.”

“I don’t know,” Sean said. He turned away, standing up and brushing down Boromir’s breeches with exaggerated casualness. “You didn’t throw yer underwear at me.”

“Nah, I’d leave that for Vig to do,” Orlando grinned. He smacked Sean hard on the back. “I’d see you later, or PJ will be sending orcs after me.”

Sean was left standing there, mouth opened in an aborted retort. What the hell was that last comment about? Granted, there were plenty of underwear-tossing between him and Vig, but Sean had always thought it was entirely mutual.

And how would Orlando know about it anyway?

*

“Mind if I sit here?”

Sean looked up. He was trying to eat as politely as possible. Bernard Hill was just standing a few feet away. He hadn’t found the guts to approach the older man yet, and he was rather hoping that the sandwich he was eating would help.

The man standing in front of him was tall and broad-shouldered, with a wide, friendly face and dark eyes. Sean shrugged, waving a hand in front of him.

“I’m Karl Urban,” the stranger said. “I play Eomer-- or well, I will be playing Eomer, since my scenes won’t start filming for the next couple of months...”

Sean swallowed his huge bite of the sandwich. “Ah,” he said, wiping at the side of his mouth with a napkin. “Yer Orlando’s Cupid.”

Karl blinked, cocking his head to the side. “Orlando-- oh, you mean the guy with the Mohawk?”

“That’s the one,” Sean confirmed.

Karl laughed, rubbing the back of his head sheepishly. “Christ. I played Julius Caesar on Xena, you know, but everyone just remembers the terrible blond wig.”

“Nah, it’s the naked chest, according to Orlando,” Sean grinned. “But I thought you played Cupid?”

“It’s a New Zealand production,” Karl replied, shrugging. “The acting community’s pretty small -- I know basically every actor from here, I’m not even kidding about that -- and with a big cast there’s usually some people who play two or more characters.”

Sean whistled lowly under his breath. “Impressive.” He paused, then laughed. “Shite, where are me manners? I’m Sean Bean, by the way. I play Boromir.”

“I know,” Karl blurted out. “Uh, I mean,” he rubbed the back of his head again. “I watched GoldenEye.”

Sean wasn’t particularly surprised. When people recognised him nowadays, it was either Richard Sharpe or Alec Trevelyan. Not that he minded; he grinned at Karl. “So you remember me strawberries,” he joked, deliberately drawing the last word out. He really couldn’t count how many times people had wanted him to say that word since GoldenEye came out.

Karl blushed. Sean watched, fascinated, as red flooded the tanned skin, from neck upwards to the very tip of Karl’s ears. He took the last bite of his sandwich and decided to test a theory. Darting out his tongue, Sean slowly licked at the tips of his own fingers, his eyes lowered and watching Karl squirm on his seat. He took the thumb between his teeth and bit it slowly before he pulled away and grabbed a towel to clean his hands properly.

Sean wasn’t an idiot by any stretch; he knew perfectly well when someone wanted him. There were people who thought his disagreement with the sex symbol label meant that he was oblivious; far from it, really, because Sean knew that he had always been attractive. He just disagreed with the idea that he was deliberately causing the impression. Sometimes he wondered if that was what Abby thought. Sean tossed the thoughts of her out of his head immediately; it wasn’t worth thinking about.

In any case, when near-complete strangers gave him such intense reactions just for saying a single word, Sean figured he had the right to arrogance entirely.

Speaking of... Sean grinned to himself as he stood up. He walked across the long bench and dropped a hand on Karl’s shoulder.

“I’m going to talk to Bernard for a bit,” he said. He deliberately lowered his voice.

“Come find me later in me trailer, if you still want to talk.”

Oh yes, he definitely had enough confidence to talk to Bernard now.

*

Sean was still peeling off Boromir’s many, many layers when he heard a knock on the door of the Cuntebago. There was no chance it was Orlando or Viggo -- either of them would just barge in immediately, because this was their trailer as well. For a moment, Sean couldn’t think of who it might be before he remembered that he had invited Karl to come to find him.

Maybe he was growing senile. Sean shook his head, chuckling at himself as he pulled the door open.

Karl had his hand raised mid-knock, the other one shoved into the pocket of his jeans. He had nice legs, Sean noticed, and his lips curved into a smile.

“Nice place,” Karl said as he stepped in. His eyes turned immediately to Viggo’s mirror and the photographs that decorated the sides. Sean only grinned when Karl walked towards it, almost entranced, his hands reaching out and touching the edges where the mirrored surface was barely visible.

“Woah. Did you..?”

“Nah,” Sean said, coming up behind him. His hands were shoved into his pockets. “Viggo did that. We share the trailer with Orlando.”

“Viggo... Viggo Mortensen, right? The guy who plays Aragorn?”

“Yeah,” Sean blinked, cocking his head to the side. “You haven’t met him?”

“I’ve only met you, Orlando, and the hobbits.” He looked at Sean through the mirror. “And my other Rohirrim, of course.”

“That’s odd,” Sean said. “Usually Viggo’s the first one that people meets. He’s a friendly one, that he is.”

“Well, I’ll be here for at least a week,” Karl tipped his head back. This close, Sean realised that he was taller by at least a couple of inches. For a moment, he thought it odd, trying to reconcile this broad-shouldered man with the shy, blushing one he had met barely a few hours ago.

“I’ll probably meet him sometime.”

“Mm,” Sean hummed. He was already distracted from the conversation. Karl was wearing a plain black t-shirt, obviously rather well-worn. It stretched over his chest, showing the outlines of his pectorals. Sean reached out almost instinctively, fingertips brushing against the edge of a shoulder.

“You’ve been working out?”

“Yeah,” Karl replied, and Sean couldn’t help the grin that spread over his face when he heard the hitch in that voice. “Been preparing for the battle scenes, you know? You should see my legs; I’ve been riding quite a bit.”

Now that just sounded like an invitation. Sean lifted his eyes and took in the full, parted lips. His tongue darted out, licking the edges of his own mouth, and Karl’s gaze as he followed the motions were like sparks of fire against his skin. Sean had spent most of the day rehearsing in full costume, and there was still that tinge of adrenaline in his blood that Viggo wasn’t here to help alleviate.

“Tell me if I’m reading you wrong,” he said. He stepped forward, sliding a hand into Karl’s hair and slamming their mouths together, kissing him hard. For a moment, it was as if his entire world had been thrown out of equilibrium, because his body told him that this was wrong. The hair was the wrong shade, somehow. Sean frowned, but Karl opened his mouth at the moment and he shoved those thoughts to the side.

Something went clattering to the floor as he backed Karl towards the makeup table. He could feel heat against his hip, Karl’s erection making itself known and he grinned into the kiss. Breaking it, he turned his head, he nipped at the skin of the jaw while his hand slid down to cup Karl’s cock through his jeans.

“I’d take that as a no, then,” Sean breathed.

“You had me at ‘strawberries’,” Karl’s laughter broke into a moan as he thrust up against Sean’s hand. His fingers clutched at Sean’s shoulders, then his arms, before they slid all the way down to hook against the waistband of Boromir’s breeches. “How can I say no after a display like that?”

“Yer just here for me voice then.”

Karl’s knee was pressing against his cock now, and Sean’s teeth scraped against tanned skin, watching it turn red, even as he wrapped his fingers around Karl’s cock and stroked him hard. It was always such a damn thrill to feel the visceral reaction of arousal on his hand. Whether it was a woman’s wetness or a man’s hard cock, it had never really mattered to him. Abby once told him that he didn’t have the damn ability to keep it in his pants. Sean had always wondered why the hell he would even try to. It was part of why she even gave him the time of the day in the first place.

“Am I losing your attention?”

Sean wondered how the hell Karl could still find the thought process to snipe at him, and he realised suddenly that he knew nothing about this man. Nothing except that he looked really good with a blush and his cock felt marvellous in Sean’s hand. And a too-smart mouth, apparently.

“Well,” Sean hissed out a breath between his teeth. He rocked his hips forward again, pointedly. “If yer start picking up the slack...”

“You call this slack?” Karl would laugh again, but Sean twisted his fingers on his cock and the chuckle turned into a moan. Sean tossed his head back, hissing out his breath when he felt Karl’s hand slip inside his pants and finally -- goddamn finally -- wrap around his cock.

Their conversations were reduced to grunts and groans and moans, to the motions of their bodies as they rocked against each other. It was something entirely visceral, raw enough to wipe all of Sean’s thoughts out, and his teeth grazed black cloth before he bit down. Not nearly hard enough to leave a bruise, but with enough strength to use as a grip while he thrust up hard into Karl’s hand. He squeezed the cock trapped within his fingers tightly, his motions rough, and Sean grinned at the sound of Karl’s surprised grunt and the heat that spread itself around his hand.

Sean groaned, dropping his head back and shuddering as he came. A part of him that was still irritatingly coherent told him that it didn’t feel nearly as good as it was with Viggo, but Sean chased that thought out of his head quickly enough that it didn’t spoil the afterglow.

“You always greet people like this?” Karl panted against his neck.

Sean pulled away. He grabbed a few of the wet wipes at the side of the makeup table, handing one over to Karl as he started to clean his hand.

“Only those who blushed prettily at strawberries,” he replied, raising an eyebrow. How could he resist teasing when Karl still blushed so prettily even when he had Sean’s come all over his hand?

“You must have plenty of sex with your adoring fans then.”

“Nah,” Sean wiped off his fingers. “You fuck one and the rest will all want a piece of you. My stamina’s good, but it ain’t that good.” He gave Karl another wide grin, showing that he really wasn’t that much of a bastard.

Karl shrugged, “Good thing that my wife isn’t as big of a fan as I am, then.”

Sean froze for a long moment. “Yer wife?”

“Yeah.” Karl looked up, and he shot Sean a brief smile that took up all of his face. God, the man was attractive. “Don’t worry, I have a free pass with men as long as I tell her about it afterwards.”

“Hah,” Sean said. “That’s nice.”

He couldn’t help but think of Abby again. Abby gave no such passes and Sean didn’t expect her to give any. She wasn’t the type, really. He still remembered her family’s subtle distaste whenever he would speak in his Northern accent. Sometimes he wondered why he married a girl who went to a public school; it always seemed as if they would both be much happier with their own kind. At least with Mel it never seemed as if they were speaking two different languages.

“You don’t mind, do you?”

“Mind what?” Sean blurted, jarred out of his thoughts.

“That I tell her about this?”

“Nah,” he shrugged. He would continue, but the trailer’s lock suddenly turned, and the door opened.

Viggo stepped into the trailer, half-dressed as Aragorn with leather tunic and jeans, his blond hair sticky with wig glue and sweat. He blinked at the sight of Sean and Karl before he tipped his head back and took a deep breath.

The trailer smelled like sex. Like sweat and come, mixed together. There was no mistaking what had just happened. Viggo’s eyes narrowed and Sean couldn’t help but feel just slightly worried. It was silly, really; what they had was nothing but an arrangement of convenience. Two good friends who happened to train and act together frequently and would just take off the edge that adrenaline and constant physical fighting brought.

Beside him, he could feel Karl tense.

But Viggo was grinning suddenly, one of those wide, manic grin that caught Sean’s attention the very first time they had met. “You going to introduce me, Sean?”

“Aye,” Sean said. He jerked a thumb at Karl. “Karl Urban, playing Eomer.” And to Viggo: “Viggo Mortensen, Aragorn.”

“Hey,” Viggo waved a hand. It was odd for him to not already be jumping forward and grabbing Karl’s hand or throwing him to the floor in a rugbytackle. But Viggo was only standing here, hands now shoved into his jeans and giving Karl a wide smile that Sean could tell wasn’t entirely sincere. “Am I disturbing something?”

“Nah,” Sean shrugged. “We’re done. You two want to go out for a drink?”

“I’m all shagged out,” Viggo shrugged. No you’re not, Sean instinctively thought, and he grinned to himself and barely managed to keep those words in his throat. “I’m going back to sleep. You go ahead.”

“I’m meeting Miranda for dinner,” Karl smiled apologetically. Sean tilted his head at the tension he could see in the other man. He thought he dealt with that already. “She plays- well, she plays my sister, Eowyn.”

“I know, I met her,” Viggo said. “I’ll see you tomorrow, then.”

“Sure,” Sean shrugged. He didn’t know what had gotten into either of them, and he wasn’t particularly interested in finding out. Grabbing his jacket, he headed out of the trailer.

If they weren’t going to go drinking, he was going back to his hotel. Maybe he could get some reading done tonight.