Summary: Someone is watching Sean, and it’s not Viggo.

Rated: NC-17

Categories: Actor RPS Pairing: Sean/Viggo

Warnings: None

Challenges:

Series: None

Chapters: 3 Completed: Yes

Word count: 19599 Read: 4568

Published: 02 Feb 2013 Updated: 02 Feb 2013

“I’m starting to think that there’s a conspiracy amongst luggage makers,” Viggo started. He had his phone wedged between his neck and shoulder.

“Who the hell is this?” a voice growled. Viggo blinked, dropping his clothes into his luggage before he took hold of his phone and looked at it. He didn’t misdial; it was Sean’s number, showing up clearly on the screen.

“Sean?” he asked, tentative and a little confused. “It’s me. Viggo.”

“Vig. Christ,” Sean said, and he gave a heavy sigh. “Give me a heart attack, will you?”

Viggo sat down on the bed. The packing could wait. A few minutes ago he was laughing at himself for calling Sean when he would see him in three days, or even less, but now he was rather sure that calling his lover was a good decision to make. Sean sounded like he was panting.

“Sorry,” he said. “What happened?”

“Someone broke in.”

“What?!”

“Weirdest thing in the world,” Sean muttered, and Viggo shoved his phone closer to his ear to hear him properly. “They just broke into me house and they didn’t take anything valuable. Well, except me watch…”

“Someone broke into your house?” Viggo knew he sounded stupid, repeating after Sean like that, but he couldn’t help it. Sean’s house was his haven just as much as Viggo’s ranch was his, and for someone to have broken in… He looked down, surprised at the sight of the clenched fist resting on his thigh.

“Yeah,” Sean said. His breath trembled, barely, and Viggo wished he had decided to travel a few days earlier so he could be right next to him right now.

“What did they take?”

“Me watch,” Sean said. “Jacket, some other clothes… A photo album, and uh…” Viggo could hear him licking his lips. “The laundry hamper.”

Viggo blinked. “Say that again?”

“Someone took me laundry, Vig,” Sean said.

“Why would they--”

“I don’t know!” Sean exclaimed so loudly that Viggo’s ear rang from the sound. “The police haven’t got the slightest clue who might’ve broken in. It’s fucking--”

“Weird. Yeah, I know,” Viggo rubbed his face. He held the phone away and took a long, deep breath. He was getting freaked out about this and he was an entire continent away. Viggo looked around himself, at his own bedroom in the ranch, and he wondered how he would feel if he came into his refuge realising that someone he didn’t know had broken in and had looked through his things.

His eyes landed on a few albums he kept at the side of his bed. Drawing a hand through his hair, Viggo inhaled and pressed the phone back into his ear.

“Vig, you still there?”

“Yeah,” he said. His eyes narrowed. “You said they took one of your albums? Is it--”

“It’s one of yours, yeah,” Sean sighed, and Viggo’s heart sank. “Not one of those with the dirty pictures, though,” Sean continued in a rush. “Those I keep in me safe.”

“You keep my albums in a safe?”

Sean laughed quietly, and the sound reassured Viggo even though his hand was still clenched by his side. “Aye,” he said. “Me girls come here pretty often, you know. I don’t want ‘em to see what their old dad is up to in his free time.”

“You’re not old,” Viggo countered. It wasn’t the point, but it was easier to fall back into old banter and arguments than to linger on the strange break-in that he couldn’t do anything about right now.

“You tell that to me bones when it rains," Sean retorted. In the background, Viggo could hear the soft sound of porcelain clinking against porcelain. It was just like Sean to start drinking tea when he was freaked, and he sobered immediately when he realised just how unnerved Sean was.

“Look,” he said. “I’m coming over in a couple of days. If the police haven’t found the culprits by then, I’ll definitely help you figure out what’s happening.”

“Aye,” Sean sighed. “What time is your flight again?”

“You probably have a better idea than me,” Viggo chuckled. He stood up, going over to his wallet and finding the piece of paper where he wrote down all the flight details. “I’ll be landing at 2pm in Heathrow. I’ll be done with baggage and such in half an hour, I hope.”

“Nah,” Sean chuckled. “You’ll be landing at five. Think you copied down your flight information wrong, Vig. Either that, or you forwarded me the wrong email.”

Viggo blinked down at the piece of paper.

“I have absolutely no idea,” he admitted. “I might have written it down wrong....”

“Two looks plenty like five if you’re distracted,” Sean teased.

Viggo laughed. He walked back onto the bed and shoved his luggage to the ground, flopping on his back and feeling the cool sheets against his skin. “I’ll trust whatever you say,” he drawled. “You’ll be the one waiting for me, after all.”

“Should I wear an apron and be barefoot?”

The mental image flashed across Viggo’s mind, and he barked a sharp laugh, completely taken aback. “Nah, I don’t think pink is your colour.”

“Who says I’m going to wear pink?” Sean said, indignant. “There’s plenty of black aprons, you know.”

“But what’s the point of an apron if it doesn’t have frills on it?” Viggo countered.

There was a long silence before Sean started laughing, and Viggo smiled, curling into himself on the bed as he let the sound wash over him.

“You’re a sick, sick man.”

“Hey, you brought up the apron first.”

“But I didn’t mention frills,” Sean shot back.

“Anyway,” Viggo said, smoothly changing the subject, “if anyone is going to be barefoot, it’ll be me.”

“Don’t forget your shoes again, oy.”

“Is it called forgetting if I deliberately don’t wear them?”

“Nah,” Sean said, and he laughed again. “That’s called being an arse. And security might think you’re a terrorist.”

Viggo raised his eyebrow, feeling slightly ridiculous for doing so because he knew Sean couldn’t see it. “Would they, really?”

“Do you want to test your luck?” Sean, however, had no problems communicating his incredulity through his voice alone. Viggo laughed again. He reached further up the bed and grabbed a pillow, shoving it underneath his head.

“Not really. They might stop me from seeing you.”

“We wouldn’t want that, aye?” Sean murmured. Viggo could hear the water being turned on, and cup and saucer being washed. He shifted a little bit on the bed.

“Hey,” he said softly.

“Mm?”

“Call me if anything else happens, alright? It’s probably nothing and the police will probably have found the culprit by the time I get there, but call me anyway.”

“Worrywart,” Sean teased. “Aren’t I supposed to be the worrier here?”

“We can take turns,” Viggo pointed out.

Sean laughed, but it was a short chuckle, sounding more forced than anything. “Yeah,” he said. “I’ll call you if anything happens.”

***

“Vig! Viggo, over here!”

Viggo looked up from where he was trying to fight against the wheels of his luggage. He would normally just bring a single duffel bag, but this time he brought with him his easel and canvasses and paints. Perhaps he could have bought some of them in Britain, but there were colours he found in Denmark that he couldn’t find elsewhere. He blinked at the sight of Sean, but before he could even raise a hand to wave he found himself being bowled over by arms wrapping around him.

“Sean,” he whispered, his face burying into Sean’s neck. He knew they should be more careful because there might be paparazzi around, but he didn’t give the thought more than a second’s worth. Sean was trembling.

“Hey,” he said, pulling away slightly to look into Sean’s eyes. “Hey, are you alright?”

“I was going to pick you with me car,” Sean said, and he pulled away, one hand rubbing the back of his neck. “But then some bastards stole it.”

Viggo blinked, feeling his lips part but no words came out. “Someone stole your car?”

“Aye.” Sean looked away. He took the handle of Viggo’s luggage, fixing the wheels with one twist of his wrist before he started pulling at it. “Seems different bastards than the ones who broke into me house.”

He stopped, turning back to meet Viggo’s eyes. “I’m sorry. I keep talking to you ‘bout it and now I can’t even show it to you.” Licking his lips, he rubbed at his neck again. “Christ, it’s been a shite week.”

“I can tell,” Viggo said. His mind was already whirring. Didn’t Sean live in a good neighbourhood? Who the hell would break into his house and now take his car? Well, if he had an answer he would give it, but now he could only swing his arm onto Sean’s shoulder, pulling him close as they walked towards the entrance. Sean leaned against him slightly.

It was a little awkward, walking like this, but Viggo wasn’t going to let go for anything.

Sean nudged him gently on the side. “You’re not tired?”

“Nah,” Viggo replied. He flashed Sean a smile, and barely resisting kissing him right there in the middle of the airport. Instead, he brushed his fingers against the side of Sean’s mouth -- something that was far less than ideal, but acceptable while they were in public. “I slept on the plane.”

“Lucky bastard,” Sean chuckled. His free arm slipped around Viggo’s waist, pulling him close for a moment before he let go. “Why can’t I do that? Might make the damned trips pass faster.”

“Hmm.” Viggo pretended to consider the question. “I can sleep anywhere, so I don’t know what your difficulty with it is.”

Sean thumped him on the shoulder. They reached the doors of the airport by now, and Sean flagged down a cab. Viggo dumped his luggage into the boot.

“C’mon,” Sean said, grinning at him over the hood of the car. “Let’s get you home, and I can shut you up nice and proper there.”

Viggo laughed. He dropped himself into the leather seat, sinking against it and lifting his feet. He stared at them for a moment, wriggling his toes, before he shot Sean a grin.

“Hey, look. I remembered to wear shoes.”

*

The cab drew up next to Sean’s place at Belsize Park, and Viggo looked at the house. It didn’t seem to have changed at all since the last time he had seen it, at least not from the outside, and yet he felt that it should have. There should be some visible sign of the break-in that happened, but all he noticed was that the driveway was empty where there should have been a car. He shook his head hard, getting out of the cab even as Sean paid the driver.

He glanced over the house again, and he realised the letterbox was open.

“Sean?” Viggo turned around.

“Yeah?”

“Did you forget to close your letterbox after you got your mail?”

Sean blinked. He froze suddenly before he licked his lips, a nervous chuckle escaping his throat. “What? I haven’t checked me mail today, and yesterday... I don’t remember.”

Viggo shrugged. It might just be a mistake of the postman or something. He walked over to the box and rummaged through it- there was just a single letter. The name and address was printed, and Sean dropped his arm over Viggo’s shoulder as he looked at it.

“Don’t look like bills,” he said.

“Are you expecting mail from anyone?”

“Nah,” Sean shrugged. “It’s probably some kind of spam or something. C’mon, let’s get into the house.”

The envelope was made of thick, good quality paper, and Viggo couldn’t help but doubt that it was spam. Didn’t spam usually come in thin-papered flyers? Maybe people did things differently in Britain, and Viggo grinned at the thought even as he followed Sean into the house. It would be something to tease Sean about, the prissiness of the Brits.

The thought froze in his mind when he saw Sean’s face. The envelope was torn open, and he was staring at something in his hands. Viggo dropped his luggage at the door, immediately moving over to Sean and wrapping his arms around him, tucking his head on the other man’s shoulder.

“What happened?”

Sean looked at him, his mouth parted but there were no words. He pulled away from Viggo’s embrace, walking over to the coffee table and dropping the letter and its contents on the wood.

“Look.”

Three pieces of paper. The first was a sketch of a man standing near a pillar, with doors behind him. He had a cigarette in his hand, and when Viggo picked up the piece of paper he felt a sickening feeling begin at the base of his stomach. It was Sean.

His hand trembled slightly as he pushed the sketch aside. There was a Polaroid behind it, and Viggo recognised the jacket. It was Sean’s jacket, something he had worn plenty of times because it was comfortable. Viggo couldn’t help but remember when the first time their schedules took them away from each other in New Zealand, when he stole Sean’s jacket and held it next to himself to breathe in his scent.

“What--” he said, and he couldn’t even continue.

“There’s something else,” Sean said, and Viggo dazedly noted the shakiness of his voice before he took the last piece of paper that was in the letter. It was a type-written note, its edges uneven, obviously cut inexpertly with a pair of scissors.

I wonder how you look in this jacket, it read. Just this jacket. Sometimes I dream about coming home and seeing you like this, waiting for me. Will you look at me the way I dream you would?

Viggo dropped the paper like it was on fire. His fingers were nervous and he stared at his hands, watching them tremble with an almost scientific sort of curiosity. It wasn’t fear, he realised. It was rage, a sudden rage that was boiling up from the base of his stomach, bubbling upwards and choking his breath.

“It’s probably the bastard who broke into the house,” Sean said.

The sudden sound was jarring. Viggo didn’t realise how absolutely silent the house was until Sean spoke, and he whirled around, looking at his lover. Sean’s face was absolutely white, his eyes fixed upon the note as if he was trying to make it disappear with just his eyes. Viggo’s hands moved even before his brain knew it, reaching out, pulling Sean into his arms and holding him tight, hugging him so hard that he could barely breathe.

“It’s probably one of those mad fans,” he murmured. “One of those who think you belong to them because they’ve watched all your movies and read all of your interviews, or something like that.” He buried his hand into Sean’s hair, turning his head and pressing a soft kiss behind a pointy-tipped ear. “I’ve met some of those and they’re scary when they talk to you, but they’re mostly harmless.”

“Don’t seem harmless,” Sean blurted out. His heart was racing beneath Viggo’s and Viggo could feel him trembling, could practically taste the fear coming off of him. “Christ, Vig, he broke into me house once, what if he does it again?”

It won’t be clothes that will be stolen this time, Viggo heard the unspoken words loud and clear, and he clutched Sean even closer. Leaning back slightly, he cupped Sean’s jaw with his hands, crashing their mouths together. He was being selfish, he thought suddenly. He wasn’t kissing Sean to alleviate his fears, but to reassert Viggo’s claim over this man, kissing him because he knew the bastard who wrote this letter would never get to do this. No one else would have this response, with Sean’s mouth slowly opening beneath his own, Sean’s body turning pliable beneath his as Viggo took his mouth, claimed every single inch of it as he had been wanting to since he saw Sean at the airport.

“Vig,” Sean breathed, his body arching towards him, his fingers burying into Viggo’s hair. “Viggo, Christ, what are you doing?”

“I’ve been here for nearly an hour and you’re not paying enough attention to me,” Viggo said, and the words were supposed to be teasing, but they came out as a growl instead. He twisted his hand in Sean’s hair and pulled him back, barely realising that his own lips had drawn back and he had bared his teeth.

“Stop thinking about this,” he said.

“What?” Sean laughed shakily, but the fear was retreating from his eyes. “Are you going to be me knight in shining armour and protect me from the big bad wolf?”

Viggo chuckled. He wrapped his arms around Sean, pressing every inch of his body to the other man’s.

“No,” he said, his thumb tracing Sean’s lower lip. “I’m going to claim you until everyone who looks at you will know you’re used goods.” His grin widened. “My used goods, Sean.”

Sean darted out his tongue. He licked the thumb slowly, his gaze fixing upon Viggo’s.

“You sure you can do that?” His fingers were gentle on Viggo’s jaw before he tightened his grip, the tips digging hard into the skin. “Don’t try making promises you can’t keep, aye?”

The fear was gone from Sean’s eyes, Viggo noticed. They were burning now, with challenge and want, and there were no thoughts other than Viggo in his mind.

Nodding sharply to himself, Viggo pulled away. He kept his hand on Sean’s wrist, tightening his grip just slightly before he tugged him forward.

“I haven’t seen your bedroom in months,” Viggo said. “And I want to see you flat on your back on your bed.”

Sean laughed behind him, keeping in stride even as he mock-struggled against the grip. Viggo knew that if Sean really wanted him to stop, his ass would already be on the curb. But it was the kind of game they played with each other, the push-pull of power between the two of them. The violence between them was only a reassurance of what they meant to each other. No matter how much abuse Viggo dealt out, he knew that he could only do it because Sean allowed it; that it was only happening because of Sean’s permission, whether spoken or not.

Viggo wrestled Sean into the bed, pinning him down flat onto the black sheets. Sean’s hair was gold, shining in the red light of the approaching sunset, and Viggo stroked the strands slowly. Sean took his hand, turning it over and pressing a kiss to the underside of his wrist, his teeth grazing against the beating pulse before he bit down on the thin skin. There would probably be a bruise tomorrow, and Viggo felt giddy at the thought -- that he wouldn’t have to care about the marks either of them would carry from this night because neither of them had work right now.

There was no need to hide from makeup artists; no need for them to hide themselves and touch each other only in the dead of the night. Viggo was in Sean’s house, with the curtains closed. The neighbours could mind their own business, and so could the bastard who had such an obsession with Sean.

He leaned over Sean’s body, urged by the arm tugging him down by the neck. Their lips met again, but this time the kiss was far gentler, more of simply touching while they breathed in each other’s exhales.

“You think he’s watching?”

For what seemed like the umpteenth time of the day, Viggo felt himself freezing. He blinked slowly before he pushed his hand against the mattress, lifting himself up just enough to look at Sean.

“What?”

“Do you think he’s watching us, right now?” Sean murmured, his lips curved up into a sharp smile. It was an expression Viggo was familiar with; he usually saw it just before Sean would slam him into a wall. But Sean didn’t try to do that right now. Instead, his fingers trailed the side of Viggo’s face, brushing against his small sideburns.

“Maybe he’s watching us with his long telescope.” The whisper crept along his skin, warming it and causing sweat to break out. Viggo tried to breathe. “Maybe he’s hoping that we’ll draw the curtains, so he’ll see.”

Tearing his eyes away from Sean’s with an effort, Viggo turned to look at the window. The curtains were drawn; Sean must have done that before he left the house. His breath shuddered out of him; his heart slammed into his throat. When the words came to him, he wasn’t even sure they came from his mind.

“I should draw the curtains back,” he said. “Give him a good show.”

“Aye.” Sean smiled, his finger trailing down Viggo’s throat. He thumbed the buttons open, one by one, each word punctuating the motion. “Let all of me neighbours see you fuck me open. That’s what you like, eh?”

“You’re the possessive one,” Viggo said, but he wasn’t paying particular attention to words now. Sean’s chest slowly being revealed as Viggo pulled off his sweater was far more enthralling. He particularly liked the tiny nipples, and he caught them between his fingers, twisting.

Sean arched off the bed, a soft moan echoing in his chest.

“That so?” He arched his eyebrow, and Viggo felt almost indignant that he still had the capacity to do that. “Then why is it that I always go out looking as if I’ve been mauled by some beast?”

Viggo chuckled. Breathing in deep, he took in Sean’s scent. No matter how long he had been gone, it never seemed to change.

“Maybe I just like tasting you,” he said, and he did just that, stroking his tongue against Sean’s collarbone. Salt and something else he could never describe. Viggo hummed quietly underneath his breath, hands creeping down to unbuckle Sean’s belt. The man always wore too much, he thought, and he laughed again.

“You should mark me,” Sean said, and the idle tone of his voice was belied by the quickness of his fingers as he unbuttoned Viggo’s jeans, shoving them off of his hips. “Mark me so that when I go out tomorrow, the bastard will see you all over my skin.”

“Why are you still talking about someone else when I’m in your bed?” Viggo left the belt there, unzipping Sean’s slacks and pulling the whole thing off him. Sean arched again obligingly.

“Might just be a clue to get you to hurry the fuck up,” Sean drawled. His hands cupped Viggo’s cheeks, calluses rubbing against the joint between hip and thigh. Viggo shuddered, and almost missed his next words. “Why, you didn’t wear underwear again.”

“Trying to keep my luggage light, you know,” Viggo shot back. He pulled away from Sean, kneeling on the bed as he dragged cloth over lightly-haired thighs. Sean came up with him, tugging Viggo’s shirt off. Viggo struggled, performing some kind of strange acrobatics as he tried to strip off his own jeans without having to stand up. The clothes ended up in a pile next to the bed.

They looked at each other for a long moment, finally naked after months of not being able to see each other like this. Sean reached out for him, his fingers burying themselves in Viggo’s hair, and Viggo laughed again as their foreheads met.

“You still nervous?” Viggo whispered.

“Aye,” Sean said, his voice shaking very slightly. But he took a deep breath, and thumped Viggo on the shoulder. “Aren’t you going to distract me?”

“Oh, I am,” Viggo said, and he brushed their lips together. The barest of touches. “You want to talk now, or later?”

“How ‘bout ‘not at all’?” Sean sighed. He dropped back to the bed, stretching upwards, exposing himself.

Viggo knew a diversionary tactic when he saw one, and he let himself fall forward. “Nope.”

“I’ve had crazy fans, you know,” Sean said. Now, then. Viggo balanced himself on both hands, looking at him without talking. “Like you had. They still scare the shit out of me, though.”

“Yeah,” Viggo breathed.

“This one...” Sean bit his lip. Licked it. “This one’s bolder than the rest, that’s all it is, I know, but I just can’t help...”

“It’s scary,” Viggo whispered. “When they think you belong to them.”

“Aye,” Sean said. He carded his fingers through Viggo’s hair. “That’s the part I can’t stand.”

Viggo only nodded. What else could he do, when Sean already knew that he understood? It was Sean who calmed him down after he received mail from fans who sent him their dirty underwear, who went to every single public event he went to no matter the country, no matter how out of the way it was? It was everything that Sean had already heard before.

“I can’t even explain it,” Sean sighed, rubbing a fist against his nose and lips. “And it’s fucking annoying me, how a fucking letter can scare the shit out of me when...”

“Yeah,” Viggo said. “I know.”

Sean made a frustrated sound. He looked at Viggo before he pulled him down again, kissing him hard, rocking his hips upwards to rub their bared erections and thighs together.

“Distract me.” I don’t want to think about this anymore, Viggo heard.

He nodded, leaning in. His hands reached out, finding the familiar curves of Sean’s nightstand before he pulled over the drawer. The lube and condoms were in the place they always were, and Viggo took them out and offered them to Sean.

“Do you want to top?”

“Nah,” Sean said, biting his lip again as he looked to the side, at the blank wood of his wardrobe. “Later, aye, definitely. But not right now.”

There were more that needed to be said about this; even more that needed to be done. Perhaps they should have staved off their lusts for each other and called the police immediately, but right now, Viggo knew that Sean needed this -- that they both needed this - far more than they needed solutions.

“Alright.”

Slicking up his fingers, he curled his free hand underneath Sean’s knee. Sean spread his legs without further urging, opening himself up for Viggo. This was what no one else would be able to have from Sean, Viggo thought viciously. No matter how much they wanted him, Sean wouldn’t give himself to anyone else like this.

When he pushed into Sean it was as if everything since Viggo had started planning this trip to London was only a prelude, and he only came home when Sean was clenching tight and hot around him, when Sean’s hands were stroking his shoulders and back, over and over. The world narrowed down to heat, to pleasure, to the sight of Sean’s eyes, completely black with only the barest rim of green, to Sean’s mouth wet and swollen from Viggo’s own lips. Viggo thrust, his hips shoving inside, but the movement seemed to mean nothing until he wrenched a moan, then a cry, from Sean’s throat, until he could feel Sean’s chest shuddering underneath his hands from the sounds he was making, from his heavy pants.

Sean’s nails dug into flesh when Viggo thrust harder, their skin slapping together. Viggo shoved his face into Sean’s shoulder, teeth biting on any inch of skin he could reach. His hands pressed down hard on Sean’s thighs, holding them down, holding Sean open as he pushed into him, over and over, seeking to claim him with lips and teeth and cock in a way that he couldn’t outside this house, this bedroom.

His hand wrapped around Sean’s cock, and he bit down hard, tasting salt and metal on his tongue. Sean jerked underneath him, his voice hoarse as he whispered something incoherent. He shoved Viggo’s head up, looking at him for the barest moment before he slammed their lips together. Viggo’s lip was cut open, and the sudden, sharp pain was all it took before he came hard inside Sean, shoving himself as deep as he could go.

He closed his eyes as he breathed, feeling Sean’s rapid breaths against his skin.

“Have I distracted you enough?”

“Oh, aye,” Sean’s laughter was broken up by his panting. “You did a good job with that. I might just keep you.”

Viggo elbowed him as he pulled out, falling to the side. Sean immediately draped an arm over him, pulling him close, and Viggo laughed even as he tucked his head into Sean’s shoulder.

“That’s all I’m good for?”

“Part of it,” Sean teased. “Might be because you’re a pretty good cook. Make me breakfast tomorrow?”

“Only if you promise me that we’ll fuck in the shower first,” Viggo replied archly. He kissed Sean briefly, darting his tongue out to lick at the spot of blood on Sean’s cheek left behind by his own lips. “I’m still taking up to your word, mind.”

“Alright, alright,” Sean said, managing to sound amused and put-upon at the same time. “You’re demanding, that what you are.”

“Mm,” Viggo said, not even bothering to argue. He yawned, fingers walking slowly down Sean’s spine.

“I thought you slept on the plane,” Sean said, sounding amused. His words were immediately contradicted by his yawn.

“Fucking you is exhausting,” Viggo shot back. It was a better answer for the situation than to tell Sean that the adrenaline and the torrent of emotions he felt about the strange letter had wrung him out, and the sex had only been the icing on the cake.

But it seemed he didn’t need to anyway, because Sean was looking into his eyes with a crooked smile that told Viggo he knew everything that he wasn’t saying. Viggo stroked his finger down Sean’s jaw, feeling the beginning of stubble, before he kissed him again.

Somehow, he fell asleep like that. With his hand against Sean’s neck, feeling his heart beat beneath his skin.

*

“What is it about you and checking your mail in the morning?” Viggo grumbled slightly. He was dressed far earlier than he expected, because Sean wanted to go out of the house to get his mailbox. It might only be a pair of Sean’s old sweatpants and a ratty, paint-stained t-shirt, but Viggo was nearly always naked when he woke up and the clothes chafed against his skin, just a little.

Sean shot him an amused look. “Habit, mate,” he drawled. “You could’ve stayed in the house, you know.”

Viggo only grinned, nudging Sean in the side. They only had less than a month together, and he would rather not waste a single moment of it. Especially right now when they were still addicted to each other, and he was taking in every single part of Sean. They would be tired of each other’s constant presence soon enough and they would need the space for themselves, but... not just yet.

He resisted swinging his arm over Sean’s shoulders to pull him close, instead choosing the more publicly acceptable option of walking just a little bit too close.

Sean reached over the fence of his house and opened the mailbox. Viggo took a moment to appreciate the perfect view that pose gave him of Sean’s back and ass, but only a moment, because Sean’s hands came away from the box with a whole lot of flyers, and another pale, thickly-papered envelope.

Viggo stared at it. He took the whole bunch of mail from Sean’s hands before Sean dropped it. They shared a glance, and Viggo stopped caring about propriety, stopped caring about the eyes on them before he grabbed Sean by the wrist, pulling him back into the house and shutting the door loudly behind them.

“We should go to the police,” Viggo said. He cupped Sean’s jaw with a hand, looking into his eyes. “Right now.”

“There’s no postmark, Vig,” Sean whispered, his words made almost inaudible by his shuddering breath. “The letter. There’s no postmark.”

“There might be fingerprints,” Viggo said, trying to exorcise the desperation from his voice. He couldn’t let Sean hear it; couldn’t let him know that he was just as terrified. “Or something else. At the very least they would put the investigation of the break-in higher up on their list, right?”

Sean wasn’t listening. Instead, he was staring at the letter in Viggo’s hand, and Viggo wanted to tear it to pieces, or to burn it, or do something so Sean would stop looking at it.

“I want to open it,” Sean said. His eyes were burning with determination and a kind of bravery, neither of which hid the fear lurking behind. “I want to see what the bastard says this time.”

Viggo wanted to refuse, because he knew that no matter how either of them tried, whatever was inside the letter would cause fear, just like last night. But he also knew that if they didn’t open it, their imaginations would start conjuring up possibilities about what the letter might be, and that would be even worse.

“Okay,” he sighed. “We’ll open it.”

Sean nodded sharply, his hand clenching around Viggo’s arm as he dragged him over to the couch and coffee table in the living room. He didn’t let Viggo go even when they were seated, and Viggo dropped everything onto the table, shoving the flyers away.

“You want to do the honours?” Viggo asked.

Shaking his head, Sean licked his lips. He refused to look at Viggo, instead keeping his eyes down and staring at his own hands. “No, you do it.”

The gesture might not mean anything to someone who didn’t know Sean well, but Viggo did, and he knew that Sean was actively keeping himself from reaching out and touching the damned thing. Viggo nodded, his own hand squeezing Sean’s arm gently before he picked up the envelope and tore it open.

There were only two things inside this time. The first thing Viggo saw was a Polaroid. Inside was a familiar photograph, and Viggo felt his breath hitch as he recognised his own work. He had taken it in New Zealand, in the middle of a dark bar. It was Sean’s fingers, holding onto a cigarette, the smoke curling down to his wrist and nearly obscuring the watch he was wearing.

Below the photograph was the watch itself.

“You didn’t tell me he took Alec’s watch,” Viggo blurted out.

“Aye,” Sean said. His arm had crept around Viggo’s waist, pulling him tightly close and nearly burying his face into Viggo’s shoulder. “He did that.”

Viggo took a long, shuddering breath. “Alright,” he said, and pushed the Polaroid away with a single finger. He didn’t want to touch it as much as he could, and for a moment he made-believe to himself that it was because he didn’t want to ruin the fingerprints.

The note was type-written again. It would be too much to hope that it would be handwritten, Viggo supposed.

Your hands would look so good tied up in leather. I would tie you up and make you scream my name until you forget everything else. Why don't you give up on that pansy artist already? You know he can't satisfy you. I dream of bending you over and fucking that beautiful arse.

Sean took a sharp breath beside him. Viggo looked down at his own hands, unsurprised to see how much they were trembling. He looked back at the note before he gathered the bunch of flyers and dumped them all on top of it, obscuring the words. He only wished he could erase them entirely from existence, from their own memories. Erased them until they were never written.

“Christ,” Sean said. He laughed shakily against Viggo’s neck. “The bastard ain’t got much imagination, does he?”

Viggo wasn’t fooled. Sliding a hand into Sean’s hair, he tipped his head up until he looked at him straight in the eyes.

“Let’s go to Idaho,” he whispered fiercely. He leaned in close enough that their foreheads touched and their breaths ghosted against each other’s cheeks. “Let’s go to my house. We’ll be safe there, and we’ll let the police deal with this bastard.”

Sean closed his eyes and turned away. Even before he spoke, Viggo already knew with a sinking heart what his answer would be.

“No.”

“Why not?”

“This is me house, Vig,” Sean pulled away, shaking Viggo by the shoulder. “I’m not going to let anyone chase me out of me own home. Especially not someone like... someone like that.”

“He knows about us,” Viggo said.

“Aye, I know,” Sean said, and he curved his fingers over Viggo’s cheek, rubbing his morning stubble with a thumb. “I ain’t going to give up or give in to him. He’s affected me enough already.”

Sean’s accent was getting stronger, and Viggo knew there was no way he could convince Sean otherwise about this. He had already made up his mind, and the strength of his emotions only reaffirmed his decision. Viggo closed his eyes and wrapped his arms around Sean’s neck, feeling his heat underneath his hand.

“Besides,” Sean continued. “If I left he might come back here and take even more stuff, and I ain’t risking that.”

Viggo let out a shuddering breath, “You’re a hell of a stubborn bastard.”

“That I am,” Sean chuckled. He pulled away from Viggo for a moment, tilting his head up to look at him. “You don’t have to stay here if you don’t want to.”

“Are you kidding me?” Viggo blurted out immediately, incredulous. “Like hell am I going to leave. I came here to spend time with you, yeah? I’m not changing my plans.”

“Good,” Sean breathed. Viggo looked down and took Sean’s hands into his own, straightening the fingers and stroking the palm to stop the mild trembling.

“I’ll make breakfast, and we’ll go to the police,” he told Sean’s hand. “If they can’t do anything, we’ll figure out a way to find this bastard ourselves.”

“I thought I was supposed to be the organised one,” Sean said.

Viggo shrugged, “Well, sometimes I don’t like predictable. It won’t be a good thing if you get bored of me, will it?”

Sean kissed him briefly, “Aye.” He tugged on his hand as he stood up. “C’mon then.”

Viggo followed him to the kitchen. At the doorway, he stopped, looking back at the pile of papers on the coffee table. He hoped they wouldn’t have to burn the table after they found the stalker -- he liked the table.