This is a waste of time. Aren’t there about a million things I could be doing, that are more important, more useful than attending the inaugural lecture of this… bastard. I sigh heavily and lean back, folding my arms in front of me. Looking around the hall, I easily spot the fangirl students and postgrad students, hanging on his every word. They think he’s even more gorgeous for never ever taking them up on their implied offers. They assume he’s a good husband. They adore how he must still be in love with his wife.
I know better.
They live like brother and sister, he’s assured me. They are together only until the kids go off to University. His wife is, discreetly, seeing someone else as well. He tells me, as he’s inside me with his hands gripping my legs, that I’m the only one. That I don’t ever have to doubt how much he wants me, just like this. He loves me like this. My eyes boring into his, accepting every intrusion with moans increasing in volume.
Sometimes I wish he would just shut the hell up. I don’t want to hear the words I crave if they’re not real. But still. When he tells me he lives for these moments, when we are alone and he gets to unwrap me like a present, when he gets to touch where he tells me I can’t let anyone else touch me; when he says those words, by god, I can’t not want to hear them. I want to believe.
Until I’m alone again. Alone on holidays. Alone on birthdays. And alone, always, at night.
I get pulled back out of my head when someone slides into the seat next to mine, after nearly tripping over the ill-placed handbag of the woman one seat over.
“Did I miss anything?” he murmurs in an American accent.
I’m frowning as I turn my head to him. “Well, you missed the first half hour.” I feel it’s not really good form for him to pretend he’s just a tad late.
I look him over. I realise I have never seen him before. And, objectively speaking, he’s an attractive man.
“Yeah, but you know,” he winks, “did I miss anything.”
I have to agree with him there. “No.” I find myself smiling.
“That’s a relief,” he sighs, but he’s taking the piss.
I snort. Some people look over, annoyed, and I cover my grin with my hand and cough.
“Oh, you’re a smooth one,” the man chuckles softly.
“Shhh.” I’d prefer not to be noticed at all.
I want to be completely invisible. I am here because it is, really, compulsory to attend. But I don’t want him to see me. I will not stay for the celebrations. I will go home and drown myself in drink, in order to collapse into a state of unconsciousness. Hopefully somewhat free from dreams.
The man next to me is fidgeting. It’s a little annoying, because it will draw attention again, in this echo-y auditorium. I notice he’s trying to fish something out of his trouser pocket. He pokes me in the side with his elbow and I squirm.
“Oops, sorry,” he whispers with a grin.
I rub at my ribs to take the sting out and grumble that it’s okay. I try to focus on the podium where my ex stands.
Ex. Because it’s actually, really over. Has been for a month, to the day. Though it doesn’t feel like it. Feels like fresh wounds, ironically punctuated by the ache in my side.
The images are still bright and vivid whenever they involuntarily reappear. The smell of sex, stuffy books and Earl Grey are pungent on my olfactory bulbs. The breathy moans of bliss, sounds that are still ringing in my ears. And I can still taste the bile on my tongue.
He hadn't been trying to rub my face in it, really. I was supposed to be away at a seminar. But I’d felt such a pull to go to him then, I had decided to skip out. The illicitness of my actions put a bounce in my step as I approached his office. I used my key automatically when the door didn’t yield, because he sometimes locked it when he sat reading in his comfy chair. And so often he would fall asleep, which gave me an opportunity to look at him, undisturbed, for up to half an hour before he’d awaken. I loved looking at him. Taking all of him in with my eyes, forcing myself not to follow the path of my gaze with my hands. Making myself wait, building up the need, so that when he opened his eyes I was usually ready to pounce. And he always responded with equal fervor.
But this time, what greets me makes my chest clench so tightly, I can’t breathe. Which seems a useless thing to do, anyway. My fingers and toes, my arms and legs are tingling, and my head is spinning. I force myself to look, because I’m not believing it. He’s the one moaning, in a way that I have rarely heard. He’s the one on the receiving end. Saying the words that mark the ultimate betrayal.
There is another nudge and a triumphant sigh. I look. He’s got the candy out of the pocket now. Of course it’s going to be unwrapped next. I close my eyes and breathe in, sighing it out through my nose, as the sound of the unwrapping of the sticky paper fills our area. More looks are cast our way. I look at the floor and shield my eyes by holding the side of my hand against my forehead.
There’s warm air brushing my ear.
“You want one?”
The sensation triggers a raising of gooseflesh on my skin. I know they are sensitive, my ears. But his voice isn’t unpleasant either. Even if on a more conscious level, he’s annoying as hell.
Therefore, my answer must be an exasperated “No.”
“All right,” he says it as if he’s shrugging. He most likely is.
I frown and look at him again. He licks the last remnants of sweet stuff from the candy wrapper. What is he, five? And what is that, that obscene… licking thing he’s doing with his tongue.
Of course it’s not slipped my attention that he really doesn’t want to be here. But this tongue show thing, it can only be a wind-up. I’m not surprised that the visual theatrics trigger a slight physical response on my part; dozens of associations, mostly automatic, will make that happen.
I shift and tug at my pant leg, adjusting the seam to a spot that’s a little more comfortable. He chuckles (annoying shite), and crumples the wrapper. He moves his hand to put the thing back in his pocket. The tops of his fingers brush lightly against my leg as he fidgets again.
Bloody hell, what is he playing at?
“Do I know you?” I whisper, not nicely.
“Not yet.” He’s still smiling. Then he sighs and sinks lower into his chair. “How long do these things usually go on?”
“Well, you missed the better part of it. About ten more minutes.” I shoot angry glances back at the people shushing me.
“Okay. I’ll shut up for ten more minutes. And you can continue to pretend to listen.”
Pretend is right, though I’m bothered that he noticed.
True to his word, he keeps quiet for the rest of the talk, with the exception of a dramatic sigh here and there. When it’s finally over, we get up to join the file of people making their way out of the hall.
“So. Is this when we get hammered?” He’s walking behind me and it makes me feel slightly uncomfortable.
“You can do whatever you like. I’m off,” I say without turning.
“Too bad,” the man mumbles. “Since I’m new, I was hoping you could clue me in on everyone.”
“Some other time.” The thought of standing in line, getting ever closer to shaking his hand and congratulating him, is already starting to make me feel as I did the last time I saw him. Him, he who is currently still lingering by the podium, not in a hurry to get to the reception room.
He won’t expect me to be there either. In fact, he’ll probably be terrified, with the wife and kids there an’ all.
“I’ll hold you to that.” There is chuckling.
I’m annoyed. Again. Am I ever not in the mood to flirt. But he is taking no notice. I pause and turn, and we get bypassed by people behind us. He looks at me with a twinkle of amusement in his eyes. Already I’m not as annoyed as I was, but he needs to know that even though he might just be poking fun, even though he is not unattractive and he’s looking at me in a way that is so inviting and shows genuine interest… even so, he has to know.
“Look--”
“Viggo,” he holds out his hand.
“Look, Viggo.” That’s an unusual name. “I’m not the best person to act as a welcoming committee right now.”
I’m shaking his hand. But I’m distracted, looking at another man as he passes us, dressed in ceremonial robes and smiling and nodding at several people congratulating him. And it’s his wife who is hurrying him along.
When I look back, a frown is creasing Viggo’s forehead. Probably, he’s noticed that my hand is suddenly very clammy and since my skin feels weird, my face must look a fright.
“Are you okay?”
“I… I need some air.” I need it desperately. And I flee the scene without looking back.
I give no opportunity for pursuit. When I get outside I bolt for my car and I’m halfway home before I realise why my vision is so blurry. I stop by the side of the road.
My desperation takes over. This is never going to end, this feeling of sorrow and constantly balancing on the edge of sanity. I am doomed to live every day in hell, having him so near and yet further away than ever before. I can’t deal with these feelings of loss and panic that are uncontrollable to me when they take me over. I will never want anyone but him, I could never feel this way about anyone else.
And if he comes for me, I know I’ll not resist the comfort of his arms.
Summary: Sean is a lecturer at University, and he's just come out of a bad relationship.
Rated: NC-17
Categories: Actor RPS Pairing: Sean/Viggo
Warnings: AUChallenges:
Series: I Call You HomeChapters: 11 Completed: Yes
Word count: 20070 Read: 16545
Published: 06 Aug 2009 Updated: 06 Aug 2009