Summary: Viggo walks in on something unexpected, and makes a move for revenge.

Rated: NC-17

Categories: Actor RPS Pairing: Sean/Viggo/Karl Urban

Warnings: None

Challenges:

Series: No More

Chapters: 2 Completed: Yes

Word count: 4982 Read: 1961

Published: 03 Aug 2009 Updated: 03 Aug 2009

Viggo isn't obsessed. Not exactly. He's just... Viggo isn't obsessed. Not exactly. He's just... interested.

Really, who wouldn't be interested? Sean is gorgeous, and funny, and the way he looks when he's smiling -- well. Viggo has quite a number of pictures of Sean, and he's considered keeping copies for himself instead of just putting them on the walls of the trailer.

But Sean is, as far as anyone can tell, straight. He's been hanging out with Cate, mostly, and he's not nearly as easygoing with his touches as much of rest of the cast is. Orlando, Dom, Elijah -- Viggo has spent quite a bit of time fending off drunken advances from each of them in turn, and he's exchanged light touches here and there.

But Viggo is a one-man-at-a-time sort of guy. He gets taken by someone; his attention is taken, and he gets a bit obsessed. Doesn't really have eyes for anyone else. Even if the man in question not only isn't interested, but probably never will be.

Karl -- Karl's tempting. There's something about Karl that Viggo finds very appealing, and there have been nights where one more move from either of them would probably get Viggo's mind off Sean for once and for all. But that move never seems to get made.

Viggo walks past a group of laughing hobbits and smiles slightly to himself; he's tired, it's about time to get out of his costume -- well, as much as he ever gets out of his costume -- and go home for the night. He steps into the trailer--

--and stops cold.

Sean.

On his knees.

In front of Karl.

Karl's hands are tangled in Sean's hair, and he's grinning wildly, face flushed, lips parted just a bit, grunting and gasping and thrusting his hips forward, plunging his cock into Sean's mouth over, and over, and Viggo is fucking mesmerized. It's the most beautiful thing he's ever seen, maybe more beautiful because he didn't realize it was possible, maybe more beautiful because he's so jealous his vision has gone green. He's hard, instantly, and doesn't know whether to reach for his sword or his cock or whether to turn on his heel and walk out of the room.

Karl's eyes go up, away from Sean's face -- Viggo doesn't know how Karl can do that; if it were him against the wall, there's nowhere he'd be able to look but Sean. Sean's face, Sean's mouth, Sean's lips wrapped around his cock, God.

But Karl is looking up at Viggo, and his brow creases slightly. He shakes his head, very quickly, and mouths, Later.

Later? Viggo doesn't know what the hell Karl means, but it's clear he isn't wanted here. That he's intruding on something he shouldn't be. He backs out of the trailer, silently, and walks around the corner, slumping against the outside of the vehicle, head going back, thumping against the siding.

Sean.

On his knees.

In front of Karl.

God.

He hears the crunch of leaves and holds still, eyes closed. He doesn't know who's approaching, and really doesn't care. If it's Karl or Sean come to beat the shit out of him for intruding on their moment, he probably deserves it.

"Hey," says Karl, very quietly. "You all right?"

"Fine," Viggo mumbles. "You?"

Viggo feels the impact as Karl slumps against the siding next to him. Viggo is rocked slightly off-balance and falls lightly into Karl's shoulder. Karl hums, sounding entirely too satisfied, and Viggo feels an answering pang of -- jealousy? anger? hurt? -- in his chest.

"You didn't know?" Karl asks.

"Well, I thought he was with Cate," Viggo mumbles, thinking none of this makes sense, that Karl isn't making any sense, that his own words mean nothing.

"Don't know what Sean and Cate are up to," Karl answers. "But Sean loves blowjobs. You didn't know that?"

Viggo's eyes snap open and he turns to Karl with a frown. "Why would I know that?"

"He's been down on half the cast. They keep quiet about it, mostly, but the way you watch him, I figured he'd been swallowing you whole from the first day you met."

"Hhnn," Viggo snorts, whuffling noncommittally.

"But then, if he'd been swallowing you whole since you met, you wouldn't be looking at him that way, would you? Funny, that." Karl grins. "You want some advice?"

No, Viggo thinks, I want you to shut up and go away, and leave me to wallow here in peace. But he shrugs anyway. "Sure," he says, very softly.

"Catch him alone, grab him by the back of his neck, and tell him to get on his knees and suck you off like the slut he is. Works great."

There's a flash of violent, furious anger that springs up in Viggo; he can picture himself slamming Karl back into the trailer, forearm pressed up against Karl's throat, eyes blazing, snarling You don't fucking treat him that way--

--and then, of course, reality, or some variation thereof settles in, and Viggo draws in a shaky breath, remembering that he is, at least in theory, a pacifist. He's not given to beating up friends because they're sleeping with -- no -- being sucked off by other friends.

Even if the other friend in question is Sean.

Karl can see the look in Viggo's eyes; he raises an eyebrow and smirks. Smirks. Viggo's fists clench unconsciously, and he has to look away.

"Oh, this is good," Karl grins. "Tell me you're not in love with him."

"Karl..." Viggo mumbles, because he wants to say shut the fuck up, and he can't -- he just can't.

"It's your own fault, mate. You could have gone up to him at any moment and said something."

Softer than ever, Viggo mumbles, "I know."

"Well." Karl steps away from the trailer and looks over his shoulder at Viggo. "There's nothing saying you can't say something to him now. Think about how his lips would look around your cock, and decide whether you can snap him down off that I-love-you pedestal long enough to put your hands in his hair and make him choke on it." Karl smirks again. "That works great, too, with him. He's such a fucking slut he can get off just sucking cock. He loves choking on it."

Viggo's fingertips reach out behind him, try to dig into the trailer wall and find purchase. No such luck; his fingertips scrabble over cold metal and he has to close his eyes for a moment before he can look at Karl. His eyes are glinting.

Karl shakes his head. "Pedestals are great and all, Viggo, but tell me it wouldn't feel a hell of a lot better having him down on his knees than up on a pedestal where you can never touch him."

Viggo doesn't say a word. He can't. Doesn't dare. And when Karl walks away, Viggo looks down at the ground, unable to think clearly.

Some time later, Viggo finds himself at home, pacing a bit, palms itching, wanting to spill paint, spill himself, wanting something, movement, motion, some way of draining the jealousy and wrath out of him. These are feelings he doesn't want, feelings he isn't at all comfortable having. This is not him, he thinks, not the way he really is. It's Aragorn and exhaustion and--

--it's Sean, is what it is. Karl's right. Viggo can't say he's not in love with Sean, can't say it wouldn't feel better having Sean on his knees than up on that pedestal.

The knock on his door doesn't surprise him. Not really. He walks over and yanks the door open, eyes flashing.

"Viggo," Sean says, expression guarded, not looking terrified by Viggo's flashing eyes, Viggo still being half in costume, half in character. Viggo can't tell what Sean's feeling, damn it. Hell, he can't tell what he's feeling, either. And that's been the problem all along, really. He just.

Can't.

Tell.

"Sean," Viggo manages, voice strained.

"We were worried about you after the way you stalked off," Sean says quietly. "Karl was under the impression I should come and talk to you."

Viggo's chest tightens, his eyes narrow. "Oh?" he asks, very quietly.

"Viggo--" Sean takes a step inside, and Viggo takes a step back. Sean raises an eyebrow, then closes the door behind him. "Tell me what's the matter." He steps further into the room, coming up to Viggo, closing the distance until there's just a breath between them, until leaning in closer would have them up against each other's chests, touching, kissing, even, if Viggo just turned his face--

"What did Karl say to you?" Sean asks, interrupting Viggo's line of thought.

And with his thoughts interrupted so badly, Viggo can only mumble out, "I saw you. This afternoon. With Karl."

Sean blinks, then pulls back. That sense of only being a breath apart dissipates, and Viggo feels it as if it's a physical blow. "You saw me?" Sean repeats. His expression is growing hard, cold. "You were watching," he continues, starting to sound angry. "You came in without knocking and you stood there and watched?"

Sean's anger seems to set something off in Viggo; his own eyes are throwing sparks again, blue ones matching Sean's green. "Is it true? What he said?" Viggo asks.

"What did he say?" Sean asks, words clipping out from behind gritted teeth.

Viggo stays silent. He doesn't want to stammer, doesn't want to stumble over his words, but he can't think of any way he could answer that without losing his grip on the English language. For long moments, their gazes are angry, caught, held.

Sean looks away first. Glances away, then looks down at the floor.

And Viggo feels something falling away from him. Much later, he'll realize what it is. It's his self-control. His restraint.

He reaches out, so fast it makes Sean's head snap back, Sean's green eyes wide with near-shock.

And his hand grabs the back of Sean's neck.

And he tugs, hard, and pushes Sean to his knees.

Sean hits the ground hard and lets out a soft curse. But now his eyes are waist-level, and he stares straight ahead. When he shifts, it's not because his knees hurt -- though they probably do -- and it's not because he's trying to get away from the grip on the back of his neck -- though that's probably not comfortable, either.

"Do it," Viggo hisses.

And Sean reaches forward for the front of Viggo's trousers.

Really, who wouldn't be interested? Sean is gorgeous, and funny, and the way he looks when he's smiling -- well. Viggo has quite a number of pictures of Sean, and he's considered keeping copies for himself instead of just putting them on the walls of the trailer.

But Sean is, as far as anyone can tell, straight. He's been hanging out with Cate, mostly, and he's not nearly as easygoing with his touches as much of rest of the cast is. Orlando, Dom, Elijah -- Viggo has spent quite a bit of time fending off drunken advances from each of them in turn, and he's exchanged light touches here and there.

But Viggo is a one-man-at-a-time sort of guy. He gets taken by someone; his attention is taken, and he gets a bit obsessed. Doesn't really have eyes for anyone else. Even if the man in question not only isn't interested, but probably never will be.

Karl -- Karl's tempting. There's something about Karl that Viggo finds very appealing, and there have been nights where one more move from either of them would probably get Viggo's mind off Sean for once and for all. But that move never seems to get made.

Viggo walks past a group of laughing hobbits and smiles slightly to himself; he's tired, it's about time to get out of his costume -- well, as much as he ever gets out of his costume -- and go home for the night. He steps into the trailer--

--and stops cold.

Sean.

On his knees.

In front of Karl.

Karl's hands are tangled in Sean's hair, and he's grinning wildly, face flushed, lips parted just a bit, grunting and gasping and thrusting his hips forward, plunging his cock into Sean's mouth over, and over, and Viggo is fucking mesmerized. It's the most beautiful thing he's ever seen, maybe more beautiful because he didn't realize it was possible, maybe more beautiful because he's so jealous his vision has gone green. He's hard, instantly, and doesn't know whether to reach for his sword or his cock or whether to turn on his heel and walk out of the room.

Karl's eyes go up, away from Sean's face -- Viggo doesn't know how Karl can do that; if it were him against the wall, there's nowhere he'd be able to look but Sean. Sean's face, Sean's mouth, Sean's lips wrapped around his cock, God.

But Karl is looking up at Viggo, and his brow creases slightly. He shakes his head, very quickly, and mouths, Later.

Later? Viggo doesn't know what the hell Karl means, but it's clear he isn't wanted here. That he's intruding on something he shouldn't be. He backs out of the trailer, silently, and walks around the corner, slumping against the outside of the vehicle, head going back, thumping against the siding.

Sean.

On his knees.

In front of Karl.

God.

He hears the crunch of leaves and holds still, eyes closed. He doesn't know who's approaching, and really doesn't care. If it's Karl or Sean come to beat the shit out of him for intruding on their moment, he probably deserves it.

"Hey," says Karl, very quietly. "You all right?"

"Fine," Viggo mumbles. "You?"

Viggo feels the impact as Karl slumps against the siding next to him. Viggo is rocked slightly off-balance and falls lightly into Karl's shoulder. Karl hums, sounding entirely too satisfied, and Viggo feels an answering pang of -- jealousy? anger? hurt? -- in his chest.

"You didn't know?" Karl asks.

"Well, I thought he was with Cate," Viggo mumbles, thinking none of this makes sense, that Karl isn't making any sense, that his own words mean nothing.

"Don't know what Sean and Cate are up to," Karl answers. "But Sean loves blowjobs. You didn't know that?"

Viggo's eyes snap open and he turns to Karl with a frown. "Why would I know that?"

"He's been down on half the cast. They keep quiet about it, mostly, but the way you watch him, I figured he'd been swallowing you whole from the first day you met."

"Hhnn," Viggo snorts, whuffling noncommittally.

"But then, if he'd been swallowing you whole since you met, you wouldn't be looking at him that way, would you? Funny, that." Karl grins. "You want some advice?"

No, Viggo thinks, I want you to shut up and go away, and leave me to wallow here in peace. But he shrugs anyway. "Sure," he says, very softly.

"Catch him alone, grab him by the back of his neck, and tell him to get on his knees and suck you off like the slut he is. Works great."

There's a flash of violent, furious anger that springs up in Viggo; he can picture himself slamming Karl back into the trailer, forearm pressed up against Karl's throat, eyes blazing, snarling You don't fucking treat him that way--

--and then, of course, reality, or some variation thereof settles in, and Viggo draws in a shaky breath, remembering that he is, at least in theory, a pacifist. He's not given to beating up friends because they're sleeping with -- no -- being sucked off by other friends.

Even if the other friend in question is Sean.

Karl can see the look in Viggo's eyes; he raises an eyebrow and smirks. Smirks. Viggo's fists clench unconsciously, and he has to look away.

"Oh, this is good," Karl grins. "Tell me you're not in love with him."

"Karl..." Viggo mumbles, because he wants to say shut the fuck up, and he can't -- he just can't.

"It's your own fault, mate. You could have gone up to him at any moment and said something."

Softer than ever, Viggo mumbles, "I know."

"Well." Karl steps away from the trailer and looks over his shoulder at Viggo. "There's nothing saying you can't say something to him now. Think about how his lips would look around your cock, and decide whether you can snap him down off that I-love-you pedestal long enough to put your hands in his hair and make him choke on it." Karl smirks again. "That works great, too, with him. He's such a fucking slut he can get off just sucking cock. He loves choking on it."

Viggo's fingertips reach out behind him, try to dig into the trailer wall and find purchase. No such luck; his fingertips scrabble over cold metal and he has to close his eyes for a moment before he can look at Karl. His eyes are glinting.

Karl shakes his head. "Pedestals are great and all, Viggo, but tell me it wouldn't feel a hell of a lot better having him down on his knees than up on a pedestal where you can never touch him."

Viggo doesn't say a word. He can't. Doesn't dare. And when Karl walks away, Viggo looks down at the ground, unable to think clearly.

Some time later, Viggo finds himself at home, pacing a bit, palms itching, wanting to spill paint, spill himself, wanting something, movement, motion, some way of draining the jealousy and wrath out of him. These are feelings he doesn't want, feelings he isn't at all comfortable having. This is not him, he thinks, not the way he really is. It's Aragorn and exhaustion and--

--it's Sean, is what it is. Karl's right. Viggo can't say he's not in love with Sean, can't say it wouldn't feel better having Sean on his knees than up on that pedestal.

The knock on his door doesn't surprise him. Not really. He walks over and yanks the door open, eyes flashing.

"Viggo," Sean says, expression guarded, not looking terrified by Viggo's flashing eyes, Viggo still being half in costume, half in character. Viggo can't tell what Sean's feeling, damn it. Hell, he can't tell what he's feeling, either. And that's been the problem all along, really. He just.

Can't.

Tell.

"Sean," Viggo manages, voice strained.

"We were worried about you after the way you stalked off," Sean says quietly. "Karl was under the impression I should come and talk to you."

Viggo's chest tightens, his eyes narrow. "Oh?" he asks, very quietly.

"Viggo--" Sean takes a step inside, and Viggo takes a step back. Sean raises an eyebrow, then closes the door behind him. "Tell me what's the matter." He steps further into the room, coming up to Viggo, closing the distance until there's just a breath between them, until leaning in closer would have them up against each other's chests, touching, kissing, even, if Viggo just turned his face--

"What did Karl say to you?" Sean asks, interrupting Viggo's line of thought.

And with his thoughts interrupted so badly, Viggo can only mumble out, "I saw you. This afternoon. With Karl."

Sean blinks, then pulls back. That sense of only being a breath apart dissipates, and Viggo feels it as if it's a physical blow. "You saw me?" Sean repeats. His expression is growing hard, cold. "You were watching," he continues, starting to sound angry. "You came in without knocking and you stood there and watched?"

Sean's anger seems to set something off in Viggo; his own eyes are throwing sparks again, blue ones matching Sean's green. "Is it true? What he said?" Viggo asks.

"What did he say?" Sean asks, words clipping out from behind gritted teeth.

Viggo stays silent. He doesn't want to stammer, doesn't want to stumble over his words, but he can't think of any way he could answer that without losing his grip on the English language. For long moments, their gazes are angry, caught, held.

Sean looks away first. Glances away, then looks down at the floor.

And Viggo feels something falling away from him. Much later, he'll realize what it is. It's his self-control. His restraint.

He reaches out, so fast it makes Sean's head snap back, Sean's green eyes wide with near-shock.

And his hand grabs the back of Sean's neck.

And he tugs, hard, and pushes Sean to his knees.

Sean hits the ground hard and lets out a soft curse. But now his eyes are waist-level, and he stares straight ahead. When he shifts, it's not because his knees hurt -- though they probably do -- and it's not because he's trying to get away from the grip on the back of his neck -- though that's probably not comfortable, either.

"Do it," Viggo hisses.

And Sean reaches forward for the front of Viggo's trousers.