Sean had left two hours ago and Viggo should have been sleeping by now, if not for the wake-up call waiting for him a couple of hours ahead, then at least because a man was supposed to sleep like a log after one of the most brilliant orgasms in his life.
But Viggo's body was tensed and felt dirty, while his mind was only annoyance. He couldn't discern where his irritation towards Sean - or was it towards himself? - began and where his exhaustion took over to feed his exasperated state. The whole feeling was confusing and unhealthy.
He had been standing naked in his kitchen, mentally composing an ode to the fridge, when the bell had rung. Seeing Sean on his threshold almost an hour after midnight had been a bit of a surprise for Viggo. Seeing a Sean smelling of scotch who couldn't end a single sentence had been another one.
Now, in the cocoon of bed linen, Viggo wanted to smack himself for not seeing the obvious, and yet it had been written all over the day's events. While he had given vent to his sadness, crying before the cameras and the large crew assisting Boromir's death, Sean was playing the blasé, smiling and paternally patting his colleague and friend. But Sean's assurance was only on the surface, a shell carefully applied around introversion. Viggo remembered now the too cheerful tone of Boromir's jokes at lunchtime; he remembered the strain of Boromir's body under him between a "cut" and the next "action", especially during the afternoon. He was cross with himself for having let Aragorn's sorrow close his eyes to Sean's one. He had been selfish, deceived by Sean's I'm used to seeing my characters die impression.
With a good deal of questions and some personal conclusions, Viggo had reconstructed the after-shooting moments from Sean's point of view.
Sean had waited for the seclusion of his home to mourn his character. There, nobody had been able to sooth his shaking and dry his tears, at least not the bottle of scotch he had clung to. The need to harm himself, in the hope another pain would ease the searing inside his belly, explained the dried blood on Sean's fingers - what in hell had he hit to hurt himself like that, Viggo had wondered angrily. Sean had seemingly fought for several hours the urge to disturb someone else. Viggo was shaken by this bit. He would have hoped his friend could have come to him sooner. But Sean was a tough northern guy. Showing personal emotion offstage hadn't been on the agenda of his education, and you don't change forty years of internalization. Only a drunken state could overcome his modesty.
When he came back from the kitchen with a bottle and two glasses, determined not to let Sean leave before he felt better, Viggo had found red salty eyes looking back at him. Putting down what was in his hands, he had done what seemed the most logical option at the moment: he had given Sean a close hug, wrapping his arms around the hard body, forcing Sean's head onto his shoulder.
Despite his rage about the course of the night, Viggo couldn't regret one moment: this one. Hugging Sean had felt like top-quality happiness. Let it last, please let it last, he had thought.
He sat in his bed, listening to the soft sound of the waves. The noise was usually refreshing, cooling his nerves. Tonight it was yet another cause feeding his ire, the too peaceful up-and-down of the water reminding him the world hadn't changed in spite of the earthquake happening in his own house. The world outside hadn't changed, but Viggo resented all he had lost tonight, wanting to blame the stubborn water for his own weakness.
Engulfed in the heat of Sean's arms, the feeling of Sean's lips on the nape of his neck and his hands wandering over his body had seemed so right Viggo hadn't thought about the implications. When Sean's fingers had started squeezing his buttocks a pang of weirdness had passed through his mind, already forgotten when he had found himself pushed against the next wall, Sean's hand inside his boxers, Sean's other hand guiding his own towards the front of his jeans, Sean's warm tongue doing delicious things to his ear, Sean setting the mutual pace bringing them to climax.
Viggo lay back against the pillows. He was hard again thinking about Sean's macho actions. "Don't you have any decency?" he wanted to bark at his cock. It would have been a waste of effort: his deaf cock had learned to respond to fantasies of Sean long before tonight. Viggo cursed, ignoring his need.
What could have gone on as a friendly time, helping Sean talk out what was buried inside, offering him drinks then letting him pass out on the couch, had become taboo night, something both of them wouldn't recall together but also wouldn't be able to forget. With some minutes of ecstasy they had built up a wall of awkwardness between them for the rest of their lives. However much he tried to imagine a future for them, Viggo couldn't see other paths.
Because Sean had only used him. Fragile wisps of hope had whirled inside Viggo while his body recovered, hope for this moment to be the beginning of something. They had been dashed away when Sean had turned aside, re-zipping himself and leaving hastily while murmuring words of apology. Sean was sorry, but he had used him nonetheless. He had thought Viggo unable to bring him comfort with his pointless rambling and his awful fortified wine. Then he had searched for oblivion his own way: in Viggo's reactions to his expert lover's touches. Viggo was sickened by the idea, and furious at himself for not stopping it.
He was not even certain it had helped Sean, and maybe that was the worst of all the reasons for Viggo to be mad at himself now. He had enjoyed it. He had revelled in the feeling of Sean's hand around his cock, of Sean's scent surrounding him, of Sean's fire burning his body. When he recalled the scene in his mind - a thing he had done forty-seven times in two hours - the background noise was perfectly clear: he had expressed his approval in a whole range of needy whimpers and desperate sighs. He had even encouraged Sean by calling him by his first name, the real one.
Sean himself had stayed perfectly silent.
Viggo's hands closed into fists. For the first time in his life, he wanted to pray for a time machine.
Summary: The night they tried to forget.
Rated: NC-17
Categories: Actor RPS Pairing: Sean/Viggo
Warnings: NoneChallenges:
Series: NoneChapters: 1 Completed: Yes
Word count: 1114 Read: 929
Published: 02 Aug 2009 Updated: 02 Aug 2009