The house is quiet and dark. The air feels like the central heating hasn’t been switched on for quite a while, the impersonal coldness seeps from the walls, envelops him in a reluctant embrace at the front door. He shrugs off his leather jacket as his hand automatically reaches for the light switch. The single bulb in the hall flickers on and he listens to his own footsteps, his own breathing loud in the silence.
“Vig?” He doesn’t really expect a response and still he calls out half loud. The sound of the short name echoing from the walls makes the place feel welcoming somehow. “Vig, you ‘round?”
The yellowish light curls around the corner to the living room, he can see the couch is empty, the thick blanket neatly folded on its back. The familiar pair of dusty boots lies in front of it, though, and he drops his jacket as carelessly next to them. It’s dirty in its own way, just that it’s not sand and horse but the stale dust of the highway that doesn’t really smell like freedom but like exhaust gas and tarmac.
The table in the kitchen is set for one, the plate used, the glass half full. He eats directly from the pan, paella or summat, leaning against the counter. Hungry, stomach rumbling, doesn’t really matter whether it tastes dubious, cold as it is. He prolly should’ve stopped on the way somewhere, gotten something to eat. He knows the good places on the way here from every direction, knows where to get the best coffee, hot meals, an undisturbed bit of shut eye in the back of his truck. But really, he just wanted to get home. Wolf down cold leftovers and sleep in his own bed. With him.
The back of his hand serves as a napkin to wipe his mouth and damn, it feels good to have something in his belly. He unbuttons his shirt on the way to the bathroom and it hangs loosely from his shoulders when he steps over the threshold. He stops.
His lover lies in the tub and even though the water temperature must’ve dropped by now, he is fast asleep. His arms lie on the rim of the tub and his head is sagged to the side. The water is a bit milky from soap but even so, he can see every bruise on his body. There’s a dark black one on his upper thigh, hoof shaped, his soft cock rests right over it. Similar discolorations on his stomach, his chest, too. His half long hair clings damply to his skull, making it look oddly fragile.
He stands next to the tub and watches his chest rise and fall slowly, watches a tiny pool of water in the hollow of his throat vibrate with each intake of breath.
Funny thing, love.
It’s like getting your breath punched out of your lungs, something really physical, only it doesn’t hurt. Maybe he’s only overly tired himself, but right now he just wants to climb into the icy water, boots, jeans and open shirt and all, simply to hold him.
He crouches down next to the tub, knees cracking, and touches his lower arm, gently to not startle him. The skin is cold but seems to warm under his palm instantly and his lover stirs.
“Wake up, love,” he says, unnecessarily really, “let’s get to bed.”
Slowly, slowly eyelids flutter open and grey eyes try to focus. Focus on him. “Mm hm,” he hums. His voice is rough from fatigue and he winces when he moves to sit up, sore muscles stiff from the cold water.
“Sean,” he exhales in greeting and that and the little smile make this place home.
-- END --
Summary: Funny thing, love.
Rated: PG
Categories: Actor RPS Pairing: Sean/Viggo
Warnings: NoneChallenges:
Series: NoneChapters: 1 Completed: Yes
Word count: 639 Read: 952
Published: 29 Jul 2009 Updated: 29 Jul 2009