Nothing of him that doth fade
But doth suffer a sea-change
Into something rich and strange.
The Tempest I.2
Viggo's proven Ian wrong, and Sean figures he's glowing with triumph just as much as Viggo himself is. They've left the anemone - and Ian's gentle laughter - behind, and are wandering by the edge of the waves. Or rather, he's leading the way down the beach and Viggo's trailing aimlessly behind, milling about in the shallows and picking up shells.
Most of the time, Sean can't wander around like Viggo does, just going somewhere for the hell of it, stopping along the way because something interesting has come up. There are places to go, has been his reasoning, and the point is to get there. Viggo usually meets his complaints with some remark about 'the goal being the journey' or else a very expressive roll of the eyes, and while Sean used to meet such remarks with his own annoyance, he finds himself thinking that maybe there's something to Viggo's crazy philosophy after all.
It's nice, just walking. He stops at the water's edge and digs his toes into the damp sand, feeling the gritty-silky texture of it against his skin. The edges of the Pacific lap around his ankles, and as he looks out, the ocean runs off to the horizon, and keeps on going for thousands of miles. He remembers reading something about the aboriginal people of Indonesia and the Pacific islands, and the amazing distances they traveled in tiny canoes on the chance of catching fish, or finding a new home. A hurricane could snap one of those things in two, and how could they have known what food they had could get them to the next unknown island? The mind boggles.
And he's scared of flying. Weird. Sad, really.
Sean grins at the thought, snorts at himself, and, with a last burrow through the sand, turns around to keep walking down the beach. He walks along for a minute or so, hands in his pockets, breathing the calming salt-scent of the air when he hears stealthy footsteps behind him, betrayed only by the splash of water in a puddle.
The sand, he decides, is soft enough, but he turns out of reflex anyway, not really fast enough to dodge, but enough to catch Viggo's full weight - and the full benefit of his rugbytackle war-cry - full in the chest. How Viggo gets up the momentum to do this he doesn't know, and speculation is pounded out of him along with air as his body meets the beach and Viggo's weight lands squarely atop him.
The sand isn't particularly soft, and the water isn't particularly warm. There's saltwater in Sean's nose and some in his eyes, and there's no breath in his lungs because Viggo's knocked it all out of him, and Viggo's all slippery with the water and his devious fingers are poking and prodding right where he knows Sean is ticklish, and Sean can't get a hold of him to retaliate. As it is, they roll around through the shallows, choking on laughter and the Pacific, until momentum exhausts itself and Sean - as always - ends up on his back with Viggo straddling him, arms bracketing his head.
And they look at each other for a long, silent moment. Viggo's face is streaked with sand, and there's shell fragments clinging to one cheek and stuck in the hair plastered to his skin. His clothes are soaked, but under the cold fabric Sean can feel the hot, insistent burn of Viggo's body, a heat echoed in the blue eyes that gaze down on him.
God, he wants Viggo, even though they're on a public beach and there's probably people around who are not their castmates - people with kids or dogs, people with cameras - but Viggo's bending closer now, his lips just touching Sean's, a dare because he knows Sean's hesitating and he'll only go further if Sean wants it enough to go there. And for a terrifying, suspended moment, Sean can't, but Viggo's hot and close, pulsing around him like fire, like the cold water lapping at his thighs, and before he knows it indecision is past and his fingers are in Viggo's wet hair, and Viggo's mouth is firm against his.
He can feel the low burn of desire in him, chasing away the cool air and the fear of discovery, stoked by Viggo's tongue moving against his, the quiet, absorbed sounds he can feel vibrating in Viggo's chest. Viggo's inexorable like that, like a rip current, dragging him down until he finds it's easier to go along with him, because he wants it, and every now and then he can want things - want someone - without fearing it'll be taken away, or screwed up, or anything.
Besides, Viggo has him. Has him locked up in muscled arms and legs, the assertion of his presence. And at that, contentment suffuses lust, and it seems okay to lie there, kissing like there's all the time in the world, no hurry to go anywhere at all. It's miles from anything that Sean normally thinks, because for him it's a headlong dive into lust and wanting, and who can blame him, with Viggo being who he is, but now it's right to be, to let the waves soothe him and to be lazy and wander in the moment.
The kiss ends, and it's a moment before Sean can get his lungs to function properly again, and Viggo's still bent over him, a soft smile on his face, and the fingers - the scraped, beat-up, bruised fingers - on Sean's face tell him that Viggo knows his thought, and is content to stay for a while there with him.
Summary: Follows "Having"
Rated: PG
Categories: Actor RPS Pairing: Sean/Viggo
Warnings: NoneChallenges:
Series: NoneChapters: 1 Completed: Yes
Word count: 965 Read: 801
Published: 06 Aug 2009 Updated: 06 Aug 2009