"Hey, it's me. What are you wearing?"

"Jeans. You? Flannel?"

"Certified George Lucas. You're rather breathless, Sean. Have you been naughty?"

"To Indian Runner. Right now, in fact. I think I'm wearing the tape thin."

Laughter. "I know the feeling. Wish it were you and not a movie."

"Yeah."

Silence. Then, "I'll be in New York next week."

"Oh?"

"Doing Saturday Night Live. I want you to visit."

"Really?"

"Visit, hell yeah."

"No, are you really doing Saturday Night Live?"

"No." Laughter. "I think that would be funny. My opening would be a marriage proposal, and I would definitely want you in the audience."

"Well, if you ever do host it, tell me and I'll watch it. From my hotel room."

"Spoilsport."

"Always." Pause. "Viggo?"

"Yeah?"

"Just why is everything so blurry in your nude scene?"

"Because they didn't want such a high rating. Imagine, if it was a close up in such nice and gory detail..."

Moan. "So close, Viggo."

Whisper. "Tell me what you're doing."

"It's Saturday Night and I'm missing you. Have to do a show tomorrow, and I should be practicing. But I'm not. Missing you too much. Took out my trusty DVD player and decided that if I couldn't have you here, at least I could have you naked. I took off my shirt when I put the tape in, pulled down my black jeans..."

Moan on the other end of the phone. "Black jeans. White boxers. You. Go on."

"Why do I get the feeling you're enjoying this?" Small laughter, increased breathing pace.

"Because I am. Flannel...warm, but not you. And I'm watching your nude scenes. Talk to me, Seany. Let me hear you."

"Lying on that quilt you sent me, jeans around my knees. I'm on headset so I can have both hands free. Wishing one of those hands was you. Wishing you were inside me when I'm doing this. Wanting you to be watching."

"Get a webcam and I can."

"Don't be impertinent." Strangled groan. "I like you with tattoos. You're getting more. All over your chest, and my name on your cock."

"Sounds, oh! Good." Panting. "Yeah. I should probably try to even out with you." Desperate. "So how 'bout them Blades?"

Insane giggling. "Getting jumped more than me. Vig!"

"Tell me...tell me what it feels like."

"Wet, warm. Clinging. Hard...very hard. Want you. Here. Now."

"The Concorde leaves in," groan, "two hours."

Various sounds of pleasure, screams of names and Danish curses.

"You're really coming?"

"Came already." Sleepy.

"No, not that. Coming to visit?"

"Promised I would, didn't I?"

"What about your engagement in New York?"

"I'll put it off for my engagement with you." Sigh. Sounds of a zipper being done up. "You really want your name on my dick?"

"Well, it's mine, isn't it?"

"Possessive little bastard." Fondly.

"Always. So get into that damned Concorde. I expect a repeat of this once you get here. So get some rest on the plane."

"Yes, sir."

"Oh, and Vig?"

"Yeah?"

"Live from New York, it's Saturday Night!"