The Prairie Kid 1/3 fic
Nov. 12th, 2012 01:26 pm![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
govigmoombean.livejournal.com posting in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png){kind=small}
rugbytackleTitle: The Prairie Kid
Pairing: Sean/Viggo
Authors:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
moomsandgovi20
Rating: R
Summary: It's 1950 and Sean has a job in the Picturedrome and he meets a celebrity.
Disclaimer; Written for fun, not for profit.
The Prairie Kid
Part 1
Holmfirth, Yorkshire, June 1950
For the first time in a week it wasn't raining and Sean thoroughly enjoyed his trip. When he had first started his evening job, the thought of riding his bike 20 miles to and fro every day had made him wince. It didn't really pay much either, certainly not enough for him to quit his day job as a welder in his father's company and rent a place in Holmfirth. Still, when offered he had grabbed the opportunity to work at the Picturedrome with both hands. Ever since he was a small boy, Sean had loved cinema and being a projectionist meant he would be able to see a lot of films and even for free.
Now actually on the job, he had discovered the cycling wasn't too bad really; he'd never felt fitter in his life and after a long day on the welding shop floor, dealing with the heat and dirt, he rather liked being outside. Now that the weather had improved, it was even better. He didn't regret taking the job for a single second, even though his parents had made objections and were afraid he wouldn't cope with having two jobs. His mother also worried about him not going out any more in the evenings and Sean assumed she would have preferred him to meet a nice girl, get married and give her grandchildren instead of spending lonely nights in the projection room. Well, that would all have to wait. Welding was fine, but somehow, Sean had always felt there was more to life than that.
Securing his bike against the wall, Sean looked up at the building, impressed as always by its big balcony. It felt good working here.
Waving to Tina, the girl in the box-office, Sean ran up the stairs, where the Picturedrome manager, Mr. Collins, was already presiding in the only chair, his feet propped up on a pile of film cans. Smiling, he handed Sean a small, but colourful flyer.
"This is what we will be showing this week, Sean; a complete season of The Prairie Kid westerns. Five films, one for each night and on Saturday morning, the sixth. I assume you’ve seen them, like almost everyone? I mean that Vic Morgan is really something, isn't he?"
Sean nodded enthusiastically as he looked down at the flyer. "Aye, Mr Collins I have seen them and they are champion! It’s fantastic that we're able to show them here. I am sure it will attract a big audience."
"I think so too. Bums on seats, lad, is what this business is about; that's why I had those flyers printed and they were distributed today. It will be a winner. The men will love them because they are Westerns and the women because of the cowboy hero. I expect you to put in an extra effort this week."
"I will, Mr. Collins."
His boss clapped him on the shoulder and left. Sean sat down and examined the piece of paper. Never bothering to read the text, he just looked at the picture closely. Even though the print was not very clear, it showed off the strong features of the actor well enough. Piercing eyes in a sharp, boned face looked straight into the camera and Sean swallowed. *Not just the women, Mr. Collins. So fucking hot, that Vic Morgan.*
At the same time, on the other side of the small town, someone else was holding a copy of the flyer and looking at the picture, with a wry grin. He knew that face only too well, for it was the face reflected back from his shaving mirror every morning, as he carefully negotiated the deep cleft in his chin. Of course, he wasn’t usually wearing the cowboy hat and the red bandana, while he shaved.
After his war service, when he’d seen things he preferred to forget, but been lucky to escape with a couple of flesh wounds and a scar on his upper lip, he’d pitched up in California and by a series of happy coincidences and pulling in favours from some old army buddies, had found himself in pictures.
His lithe fitness and his fearless skill with horses had suited him to Westerns and he’d been lucky to get the role of The Prairie Kid and therefore a series of B movies. He enjoyed working with the horses and making movies. For him it was playing the games of make-believe he’d played as a kid and getting paid for it. He also liked the idea of giving people a lift out of their mundane and often difficult lives with a little fantasy. Now he was getting known and had quite a fan following. It was only a matter of time before a big studio signed him and his agent had already been approached. Trouble was that he wasn’t all that sure he wanted to buy into that and become a real movie star.
Because he’d been filming pretty much non-stop for a year, he’d demanded a little time off to get away from everything. His studio had readily agreed, anxious to keep him signed to them and he had known where he wanted to go.
His boundless curiosity had led him to research the history of movies and he had been intrigued to discover that the small Yorkshire town of Holmfirth in the Pennines had once been the home of a silent film industry and Britain’s answer to Hollywood. James Bamforth had founded the industry and as there were no professional film actors at the time, had relied on local people for his movie casts.
When war broke out in 1914, movie-making in Holmfirth came to an end. The material used to make film was needed to make explosives. After the war, they never resumed film production. By then, Hollywood had the movie world in its grip and small British producers would have struggled to compete.
The idea of this place had appealed to the quirky side of him, especially when he’d discovered that he’d had a couple of distant relatives in the area. Who knew if they had even starred in the early movies made there? He could combine some movie history ferreting with genealogy.
His mind made up, he’d come over and got himself a car, then driven up to Yorkshire through amazing countryside, seen through a screen of rain. He’d arrived in Holmfirth just as the rain stopped and the sun came out. A little pub had provided a clean, comfortable room and he was nursing a pint of Yorkshire ale in a quiet corner, when he saw the flyer on the table. *Fuck, there goes my anonymity*
Still, it was flattering that they were having a season of his movies here and he might just pull his hat down, put his collar up and mosey down to the Picturedrome later!
From the small window above the auditorium, Sean had watched the first part of the film, impatiently tapping his feet when the lights went on for the interval. Mr. Collins’ idea of interval entertainment was hiring a magician, who performed rather poorly.
Of course the audience needed a break to visit the lav and Mr. Collins needed the break to sell tea, lemonade and ice-cream, but Sean hated being brought back from a film to reality. Fortunately, the film itself ran smoothly and he didn't have to stop or repair it, as often happened. It was obvious Vic Morgan and his film were very popular; the audience were silent and immersed in the film with not even crackling toffee papers to be heard.
Sean concluded he liked it as much as the first time, perhaps even more. His secluded space made him feel as if he were in an expensive, private area, as he stared at a close-up of Vic, tantalizingly near.
It was around ten-thirty when he finally left; everything already prepared for the following evening. He was outside, unlocking his bike when he spotted the man standing in front of the Picturedrome. There was something familiar about him, even though it was impossible to see his face, due to the way he had pulled his hat down to shadow it and turned up the collar of his coat, which seemed quite peculiar. Sean kept looking, until the man turned and left. For a moment the bloke's profile was lit by a street lamp and Sean gasped when for a moment he thought that... but, no; that was impossible and just a trick played on him by his overheated thoughts.
Tuesday brought bright sunlight and Sean had folded his jacket and put it on the back of his bike, underneath his lunchbox. All day long he had been anxious to go to the theatre and see the next Prairie Kid film. The second one had a very exciting plot and was actually his most favourite. He managed to escape a little earlier and he had the wind at his back, carrying him over the hilly road far more easily than usual, resulting in his being almost an hour early.
He was securing his bike, when someone tapped him on the shoulder.
"Hello. Can I ask you something?"
Straightening, Sean turned. The same bloke he had seen the evening before stood in front of him, still wearing his coat, despite the warm temperature. This time Sean didn't hesitate, because this close by he had no doubt this was indeed Vic Morgan, as even the pulled down hat couldn't disguise his features.
*This can't be true, can it?*
"You are Vic Morgan, aren’t you?" Sean bit his lip, realizing how breathless he sounded, but then felt he could be forgiven, because how likely was this to happen, here in Holmfirth of all places?
The familiar face broke into a tentative smile, the blue eyes scrutinizing Sean's face, as if the man needed to make up his mind about the answer. "Actually it's Viggo, Viggo Mortensen. Vic Morgan is not my real name," and then he offered his hand.
"I am Sean Bean," Sean replied, regaining a bit of his composure.
"Pleased to meet you, Sean. I just wanted to ask if you work here."
Viggo had managed to slip along to the Picturedrome without being recognized, although on a warm, June evening, he got a few odd looks and shaken heads from his turned up collar and pulled down hat. Still, this was Yorkshire, ‘God’s Own County’ where folk tended to mind their own business, secure in their innate superiority and all foreigners, including that lot from over the Pennines, were by definition,’ queer’. In the pub, Viggo had already heard the saying,” There’s nowt so queer as folk” as a comment on somebody’s anecdote. It had made him smile, because he considered himself queerer than most in a very particular way.
Successfully disguising his American accent from the girl in the box office, who had been distracted by her beau, slouched against the booth and chewing gum, he bought a ticket. It amused him that the kid was trying to look American, while he was doing his best not to. Sitting at the back, he had been charmed by the little theatre, which clearly had an interesting history and gratified by the full house.
Next morning, set up for the day by a hearty breakfast, he had ventured to ask the landlady about the movies, which used to be made here. She remembered as a small child being roped in to be an extra in Mr Bamforth’s films, just as everyone in Holmfirth had been. They sometimes even stopped the trains running on Mr Bamforth’s say so. Nowadays, though, she had no time to waste on such nonsense and preferred a good book or the BBC Home Service on the radio in the evenings. “Filling people’s heads with silly ideas,” was her dismissive opinion of the film industry, so it wasn’t surprising that she had failed to recognize him, even though he had hardly been able to keep his hat on in the bar.
He had explored around a little and found his relatives’ graves in the small churchyard, but the fine weather had inspired him to drive out of town and enjoy the wonderful hills. He always had his camera with him and it had been great to shed his disguise, because on a working day, there had been only sheep to share the scenery with him.
In the evening, he once again headed for the Picturedrome. What he really needed was to talk to someone local, who was interested in movies and he was pleased to see a young man dismounting from his bike outside the building and bending to attach the lock. The kid was wearing a flat cap, but was jacketless and Viggo couldn’t help whistling quietly between his teeth as he admired the long back, the muscles clearly defined beneath the damp fabric of the shirt, which clung to them. He also noticed that there was a fine, taut ass lurking beneath those workaday corduroy trousers.
He tapped the kid on the shoulder and he stood up, gasping, when he turned to face Viggo. Of course, he recognized him immediately, as was only to be expected if he worked here and he could scarcely contain his excitement.
He studied the face beneath the cap, before deciding that he liked it very much. The young man was very easy on the eye it was true, but Viggo also detected a simple decency and honesty, so after only hesitating a moment, he introduced himself by his given name, not his stage name and got a name in return.
They shook hands *nice, firm grip* and he asked Sean if he did work at the Picturedrome.
I do, aye. I’m the projectionist."
"I gather you are interested in movies, then?"
'Oh aye, I love films! But, why are you here? Is it because of the Prairie Kid week?"
Viggo grinned and Sean blushed. *He must think I am an idiot.*
"No, it's a strange coincidence. I am on vacation and to tell you the truth, I was just trying to get away from it all."
"You on holidays here, in Holmfirth?"
Again, Viggo grinned. "I am here for a reason. I did some research on movie history and was surprised to find such interesting information about the town and the Picturedrome. I am kind of hoping you can tell me a bit more, since you work here."
"I’ve only been on the job for a few weeks, but I suppose I could help you out a bit."
"Great! Let me buy you a drink, so we can talk, if you have time to spare, of course."
Checking his watch, Sean nodded. "I do have forty minutes or so, but I can't drink; that would cost me my job."
"How about a Coke, then? I noticed there's a pub just around the corner."
In the ‘Kings Arms' they sat at a quiet table in the corner and Sean sipped his Coke, not knowing what to do or say. Luckily, Viggo seemed to talk enough for the both of them and asked numerous questions about the history of the Picturedrome.
Sean felt his heart sink, as he realized he couldn't answer most of the questions. "I think you should talk to Mr. Collins, my boss," he said reluctantly, "he is very knowledgeable about the subject."
Viggo shook his head decisively. "I will certainly not. We met by chance and I am very happy we did and I would like to meet again. I am sure I'll be able to find books and other material in the library here."
Sean accepted the cigarette Viggo offered him and searched his pockets for matches. "There is an archive room in the Picturedrome. I suppose there will be plenty of information to find in there. I could ask Mr. Collins to allow me to show it to you, if you'd like."
"That would be great, Sean. Do you think he'll let you?"
"I think so. If I promise I won't damage anything, he probably will." *I won't tell him who I am taking, though. He just might want to take him himself.* "I will ask him tonight."
"Okay! I was planning to go see the movie, so perhaps I can meet you afterwards?"
"Sure, though but not for too long. I don't live here, but in Sheffield, which is a twenty mile bike ride and then I have to get up early in the morning for my daytime job."
"Twenty miles to and from Sheffield after work every day?" Viggo stared at Sean, obviously impressed. "That's quite something, Sean. So what is your daytime job?"
"I am a welder, in me dad’s firm. The job at the Picturedrome is more like a hobby really."
"You must really like films it's worth the effort. No wonder you look so fit. Maybe I should get on the bike a bit more."
Sean gave him a shy look. "I think you look well enough yourself," he replied and quickly picked up his glass again to hide another blush. "I’m sorry, but I do need to go now."
As Viggo slid into his seat at the back of the stalls, he reflected on how he’d expected to spend a couple of anonymous weeks somewhere a few thousand miles away from his busy and demanding life; somewhere small and quiet. First he had found that they were showing a season of his movies, so anonymity was going to be a problem and now he had met the most disquieting young man ever.
He tried to settle down to watch “The Haunted Goldmine”, which was actually his favourite Prairie Kid movie. It was the second he had made and he had found the character with ease and continued the rapport he had with his feisty little paint pony, Tomahawk, or Tom to his friends. At the end of the movie, he was embarrassed to find himself cheering with the rest of the audience.
Viggo joined the crowd shuffling out and waited in the shadows by Sean’s bike, lighting a cigarette. It was a full half hour before Sean appeared, having carefully locked the side door. He joined Viggo, eyes shining with excitement and accepted a cigarette.
“You should have one of mine, really. I can’t keep bumming fags off you!”
Viggo’s eyes opened wide, startled for a moment, until he remembered that somebody had once said, “England and America are two countries separated by a common language”.
“Fags are cigarettes, right?”
Sean nodded, “Mr Mortensen, that were grand. Did you do all those stunts yourself, even when the mine blew up?”
“Viggo, please. I sure did and that explosion was pretty hairy, I can tell you. It ended with my pants on fire and I had to be stamped out by the crew. I had bruises on my ass for days!”
Sean’s laugh was delightful. “I’d have liked to have seen that! Oh, I didn’t mean seen your ass…arse. I meant seen …”
Viggo laughed at his horrified expression and the slight flush of embarrassment. “It’s okay, Sean. I knew what you meant.” *And it would have been just fine and dandy if you had meant my ass.*
“Mr Mor…I mean, Viggo, I really have to go now or I shan’t be up at 6 to go to work.”
“So the son of the boss doesn’t get cut any slack?”
Sean grinned as he unlocked his bike. “You don’t know my dad. If I’m not in the welding shop with me boots on by 6.30 sharp, he’ll have my guts for garters.”
“I really love your accent and those expressions you use. So you’ll ask your other boss about the archive? “
“Aye, I will. ‘Night, Viggo.”
Sean mounted his bike with grace and was off down the hill. Viggo watched him until he was out of sight.
A cold shower was out of the question, as there was only a bath at the end of the corridor and Viggo felt that running one at this hour would make him somewhat unpopular with his landlady. He did, however splash his face with cold water and retired to bed to compose himself.
He couldn’t deny that he was very much attracted to his beautiful young man, but he just had to control himself. For one thing, Sean would probably be shocked to know how he felt. This was hardly a sophisticated or cosmopolitan place and Viggo’s lifestyle was strictly illegal.
For another, Sean was an impressionable fan and Viggo could never exploit him that way, even though they were of an age.
No, he would need to take himself firmly in hand, he told himself, while taking himself firmly in hand.
It was as if his bike was driven by a motor, so easily did Sean pedal the way back. Still reeling and thinking over his meeting with the American film star, no less than a hero in Sean's eyes, he was over excited.
Still, when he came home he said nothing to his parents, knowing all too well they wouldn't understand. He had a quick beer in the living room and then went to bed. As soon as he turned off the bedside light, the evening replayed in his head like a film and he winced, thinking about some of the stupid things he had said. He could only hope that Viggo would come back.
It wasn't easy to rise the following morning after a broken sleep and Sean felt rather grumpy when he arrived at the welding shop. Luckily the other men left him to himself after one look at his face. Even though Sean was considered a 'nice bloke', he could have a temper sometimes.
After his first morning break, Sean's mood lifted and at the dinner hour he was in his right mind again, as he had worked out a way to get Collins' approval - and even better - his key for the archive. After eating his sandwiches, Sean even found the courage to ask his dad for a few hours off on the coming Friday.
The weather was still lovely and after work, Sean took a quick bath and then dressed in his new jeans and blue shirt. He didn't mind the long ride, as he had much to think about.
Again, he was too early and as he dismounted his bike Sean looked around eagerly, hoping to spot Viggo, but unfortunately he didn't. His shoulders sagged, as he realized he must have said something wrong the other night and Viggo had decided to leave or stay away as far as possible. Barely managing to greet Tina, Sean had started to climb the stairs, when he heard his name called.
Viggo stood in front of Tina's booth, smiling at him and Sean turned around and walked back. "Good to see you! I’m off to talk to the Boss."
"Okay! I will see you later, then, after the movie. Hope you'll get his permission."
Sean ran up the stairs, now even more determined to get what he wanted. At the top, he took a deep breath and then knocked on Collins' office door.
"Come in."
Sean stepped in, closing the door behind him. "Good evening, Mr. Collins."
"Good evening, Sean. I was just counting this week's takings so far. We are doing well, lad. Now what can I do for you."
Sean shuffled his feet, silently wishing he was a better liar. "You see, we have this American cousin. He's coming over, travelling around the country to visit family. He will be at our house this coming weekend. Now he's really interested in Holmfirth and its film history, and more specifically in the Picturedrome. Would you be willing to show him the archive on Friday?"
Collin's quite sullen face lit up and he even smiled at Sean. "Interested in our Picturedrome, is he? Well, so he should be, lad. Unfortunately I won't be here. You know I have to conduct the Holmfirth Children's Choir on Friday. For this one time, I will give you the key, though. I will expect your cousin to buy a ticket, mind; we can't have nepotism."
Viggo had spent the day out exploring the glorious countryside again, partly to make the most of the good weather and partly because he didn’t think he could get away with sneaking around the town without being recognized. Hundreds of people had packed the Picturedrome for the last two nights and somebody was bound to recognize him sooner or later.
The pub landlady had graciously made him some cheese and pickle sandwiches to take with him and had added a bottle of ale, which he had eaten in the sunshine. He couldn’t help his thoughts turning to Sean and their next meeting and he eagerly awaited the evening. Even if he couldn’t touch, he could certainly look and he enjoyed Sean’s company, however brief their encounters.
He went to the Picturedrome early, ahead of the crowd this time. He was beginning to think that Tina, the ticket girl was not very bright, because for the third time she failed to recognize him, in spite of the posters around the foyer. Moving away with his ticket, he saw Sean’s unmistakeable rear mounting the stairs. He looked good in jeans and a blue shirt. ”Hey, Sean!”
He was rewarded by a broad grin and a flash of green eyes, as Sean told him he was on his way to see his boss. Viggo hoped that the boss would agree, reflecting that he wouldn’t be able to refuse Sean anything.
After the movie, which was once again well-received, he waited outside, impatient for Sean, who soon joined him.
“Hi, again. You look good tonight. That blue really suits you.” In the shadows, he sensed, rather than saw Sean blush. *Shit, Too far?*
“Thanks. That’s very nice of you.” Sean quickly changed the subject. ”The film was right exciting again. I like them all, but last night’s was my all time favourite.”
“Mine too! So what did your boss say?”
“He agreed to let me have the key to the archives on Friday. He won’t be here. He has to go and conduct our kids’ choir at a competition in Halifax. “
“How convenient!”
“Aye, it is. I told him you were an American relative interested in the history of Holmfirth and the Picturedrome.”
“Well that’s mostly true, except about our being related. I see that it says 1912 on the front of the building.”
“I do know that it were The Holme Valley Theatre in them days, but there’ll be more about that in the archives.”
“I can’t wait! I know a little about James Bamforth already. After World War I, he concentrated on the comic postcards, didn’t he?”
“You know about them?” Sean was clearly surprised.
“Sure! We yanks sent them home in wartime as well as you Brits, you know.”
“Mam thinks they’re vulgar, but Dad and me like a chuckle over them. Look, I really need to get off home, but I’ve wangled Friday afternoon off, so we can get started early, before the showing.”
“That’s great! I’ll see you tomorrow anyway and then Friday, shall we meet here?”
“Yes, about three. Gormless Tina won’t be here then. She comes in later. It’ll just be us and I’ll let you in and take you up to the archive. If you’re interested I can show you round the projection box as well.”
“That sounds interesting. I‘ll look forward to inspecting your equipment.”
“Now you sound just like one of them mucky postcards! ‘Night.”
*Now did that constitute a flirt? Maybe Sean isn’t as innocent as he looks!*
“Now you sound just like one of them mucky postcards!”
Amazed by his new found courage, Sean quickly turned to leave. The thought of Viggo fancying him seemed very unlikely, but there was that remark about Sean's shirt. Perhaps just an American thing that, though.
Anyway, he was quite excited about the prospect of spending some real time with Viggo and the idea of being alone with him in the theatre sent shivers down his spine. There was no law against fantasizing, was there?
That Friday, as he rode into Holmfirth, Sean felt annoyingly nervous, telling himself numerous times on the way there, he should stop that; he was not an awestruck kid, but a twenty-five year old man, dammit. He had fought in a war! The same war in which he had discovered his attraction to men, come to think of it. It had been a long dry spell since then, for obvious reasons. Even though he was afraid of rejection - or even worse, disgust - Sean just knew somewhere deep inside that the attraction was mutual. Viggo wouldn't be here forever and perhaps today would be their only chance, but Sean still wasn't certain if he would dare to take the first step.
Viggo was already waiting, leaning against the wall of the Picturedrome. He looked amazing in black jeans and shirt, white teeth showing in a flash.
After securing his bike, Sean grabbed his overnight bag, grinning as Viggo raised his eyebrows.
"Hello there, Sean. What's in the bag?"
"I always stay over at the pub on Friday night, because I have to be here early Saturday mornings, doing the children's showing. I brought us some sandwiches too."
That's great; we can have a picnic! And if you don't have to go home, we might as well have that real drink tonight after work."
Viggo followed Sean inside the now quite dark and silent building and together they climbed the stairs. At the far end of the corridor was a green door and Sean fumbled with the key to open it. The archive was a fairly large room, but without windows and Sean pressed one of the light switches. There was light coming in from the corridor also, enough to show large shelves, filled with books, films reels, photo albums and more. On the floor were cardboard boxes and on a large table in the corner, piles of clippings.
Viggo whistled, obviously impressed. "I think I could spend weeks here." He knelt down and opened one of the boxes. "Pictures, mostly black and white."
Sean grabbed a few of the reels from a shelf, blew off the dust and studied them. "These are a couple of the first films made here in Holmfirth. We could watch some of them in the projection room if you like? I would love to see them."
Viggo rose and peered over Sean's shoulder. He smelled good, a mixture of soap and tobacco and Sean's breath hitched in his throat as Viggo's hand landed on his shoulder.
"Your boss isn't very well organized it seems, Sean, but it's all quite amazing, isn't it?"
*Now or never.* Lifting his hand, Sean closed it over Viggo's and slowly turned his head to look at him. "I think you are quite amazing."
TBC
Pairing: Sean/Viggo
Authors:
moomsandgovi20Rating: R
Summary: It's 1950 and Sean has a job in the Picturedrome and he meets a celebrity.
Disclaimer; Written for fun, not for profit.
The Prairie Kid
Part 1
Holmfirth, Yorkshire, June 1950
For the first time in a week it wasn't raining and Sean thoroughly enjoyed his trip. When he had first started his evening job, the thought of riding his bike 20 miles to and fro every day had made him wince. It didn't really pay much either, certainly not enough for him to quit his day job as a welder in his father's company and rent a place in Holmfirth. Still, when offered he had grabbed the opportunity to work at the Picturedrome with both hands. Ever since he was a small boy, Sean had loved cinema and being a projectionist meant he would be able to see a lot of films and even for free.
Now actually on the job, he had discovered the cycling wasn't too bad really; he'd never felt fitter in his life and after a long day on the welding shop floor, dealing with the heat and dirt, he rather liked being outside. Now that the weather had improved, it was even better. He didn't regret taking the job for a single second, even though his parents had made objections and were afraid he wouldn't cope with having two jobs. His mother also worried about him not going out any more in the evenings and Sean assumed she would have preferred him to meet a nice girl, get married and give her grandchildren instead of spending lonely nights in the projection room. Well, that would all have to wait. Welding was fine, but somehow, Sean had always felt there was more to life than that.
Securing his bike against the wall, Sean looked up at the building, impressed as always by its big balcony. It felt good working here.
Waving to Tina, the girl in the box-office, Sean ran up the stairs, where the Picturedrome manager, Mr. Collins, was already presiding in the only chair, his feet propped up on a pile of film cans. Smiling, he handed Sean a small, but colourful flyer.
"This is what we will be showing this week, Sean; a complete season of The Prairie Kid westerns. Five films, one for each night and on Saturday morning, the sixth. I assume you’ve seen them, like almost everyone? I mean that Vic Morgan is really something, isn't he?"
Sean nodded enthusiastically as he looked down at the flyer. "Aye, Mr Collins I have seen them and they are champion! It’s fantastic that we're able to show them here. I am sure it will attract a big audience."
"I think so too. Bums on seats, lad, is what this business is about; that's why I had those flyers printed and they were distributed today. It will be a winner. The men will love them because they are Westerns and the women because of the cowboy hero. I expect you to put in an extra effort this week."
"I will, Mr. Collins."
His boss clapped him on the shoulder and left. Sean sat down and examined the piece of paper. Never bothering to read the text, he just looked at the picture closely. Even though the print was not very clear, it showed off the strong features of the actor well enough. Piercing eyes in a sharp, boned face looked straight into the camera and Sean swallowed. *Not just the women, Mr. Collins. So fucking hot, that Vic Morgan.*
At the same time, on the other side of the small town, someone else was holding a copy of the flyer and looking at the picture, with a wry grin. He knew that face only too well, for it was the face reflected back from his shaving mirror every morning, as he carefully negotiated the deep cleft in his chin. Of course, he wasn’t usually wearing the cowboy hat and the red bandana, while he shaved.
After his war service, when he’d seen things he preferred to forget, but been lucky to escape with a couple of flesh wounds and a scar on his upper lip, he’d pitched up in California and by a series of happy coincidences and pulling in favours from some old army buddies, had found himself in pictures.
His lithe fitness and his fearless skill with horses had suited him to Westerns and he’d been lucky to get the role of The Prairie Kid and therefore a series of B movies. He enjoyed working with the horses and making movies. For him it was playing the games of make-believe he’d played as a kid and getting paid for it. He also liked the idea of giving people a lift out of their mundane and often difficult lives with a little fantasy. Now he was getting known and had quite a fan following. It was only a matter of time before a big studio signed him and his agent had already been approached. Trouble was that he wasn’t all that sure he wanted to buy into that and become a real movie star.
Because he’d been filming pretty much non-stop for a year, he’d demanded a little time off to get away from everything. His studio had readily agreed, anxious to keep him signed to them and he had known where he wanted to go.
His boundless curiosity had led him to research the history of movies and he had been intrigued to discover that the small Yorkshire town of Holmfirth in the Pennines had once been the home of a silent film industry and Britain’s answer to Hollywood. James Bamforth had founded the industry and as there were no professional film actors at the time, had relied on local people for his movie casts.
When war broke out in 1914, movie-making in Holmfirth came to an end. The material used to make film was needed to make explosives. After the war, they never resumed film production. By then, Hollywood had the movie world in its grip and small British producers would have struggled to compete.
The idea of this place had appealed to the quirky side of him, especially when he’d discovered that he’d had a couple of distant relatives in the area. Who knew if they had even starred in the early movies made there? He could combine some movie history ferreting with genealogy.
His mind made up, he’d come over and got himself a car, then driven up to Yorkshire through amazing countryside, seen through a screen of rain. He’d arrived in Holmfirth just as the rain stopped and the sun came out. A little pub had provided a clean, comfortable room and he was nursing a pint of Yorkshire ale in a quiet corner, when he saw the flyer on the table. *Fuck, there goes my anonymity*
Still, it was flattering that they were having a season of his movies here and he might just pull his hat down, put his collar up and mosey down to the Picturedrome later!
From the small window above the auditorium, Sean had watched the first part of the film, impatiently tapping his feet when the lights went on for the interval. Mr. Collins’ idea of interval entertainment was hiring a magician, who performed rather poorly.
Of course the audience needed a break to visit the lav and Mr. Collins needed the break to sell tea, lemonade and ice-cream, but Sean hated being brought back from a film to reality. Fortunately, the film itself ran smoothly and he didn't have to stop or repair it, as often happened. It was obvious Vic Morgan and his film were very popular; the audience were silent and immersed in the film with not even crackling toffee papers to be heard.
Sean concluded he liked it as much as the first time, perhaps even more. His secluded space made him feel as if he were in an expensive, private area, as he stared at a close-up of Vic, tantalizingly near.
It was around ten-thirty when he finally left; everything already prepared for the following evening. He was outside, unlocking his bike when he spotted the man standing in front of the Picturedrome. There was something familiar about him, even though it was impossible to see his face, due to the way he had pulled his hat down to shadow it and turned up the collar of his coat, which seemed quite peculiar. Sean kept looking, until the man turned and left. For a moment the bloke's profile was lit by a street lamp and Sean gasped when for a moment he thought that... but, no; that was impossible and just a trick played on him by his overheated thoughts.
Tuesday brought bright sunlight and Sean had folded his jacket and put it on the back of his bike, underneath his lunchbox. All day long he had been anxious to go to the theatre and see the next Prairie Kid film. The second one had a very exciting plot and was actually his most favourite. He managed to escape a little earlier and he had the wind at his back, carrying him over the hilly road far more easily than usual, resulting in his being almost an hour early.
He was securing his bike, when someone tapped him on the shoulder.
"Hello. Can I ask you something?"
Straightening, Sean turned. The same bloke he had seen the evening before stood in front of him, still wearing his coat, despite the warm temperature. This time Sean didn't hesitate, because this close by he had no doubt this was indeed Vic Morgan, as even the pulled down hat couldn't disguise his features.
*This can't be true, can it?*
"You are Vic Morgan, aren’t you?" Sean bit his lip, realizing how breathless he sounded, but then felt he could be forgiven, because how likely was this to happen, here in Holmfirth of all places?
The familiar face broke into a tentative smile, the blue eyes scrutinizing Sean's face, as if the man needed to make up his mind about the answer. "Actually it's Viggo, Viggo Mortensen. Vic Morgan is not my real name," and then he offered his hand.
"I am Sean Bean," Sean replied, regaining a bit of his composure.
"Pleased to meet you, Sean. I just wanted to ask if you work here."
Viggo had managed to slip along to the Picturedrome without being recognized, although on a warm, June evening, he got a few odd looks and shaken heads from his turned up collar and pulled down hat. Still, this was Yorkshire, ‘God’s Own County’ where folk tended to mind their own business, secure in their innate superiority and all foreigners, including that lot from over the Pennines, were by definition,’ queer’. In the pub, Viggo had already heard the saying,” There’s nowt so queer as folk” as a comment on somebody’s anecdote. It had made him smile, because he considered himself queerer than most in a very particular way.
Successfully disguising his American accent from the girl in the box office, who had been distracted by her beau, slouched against the booth and chewing gum, he bought a ticket. It amused him that the kid was trying to look American, while he was doing his best not to. Sitting at the back, he had been charmed by the little theatre, which clearly had an interesting history and gratified by the full house.
Next morning, set up for the day by a hearty breakfast, he had ventured to ask the landlady about the movies, which used to be made here. She remembered as a small child being roped in to be an extra in Mr Bamforth’s films, just as everyone in Holmfirth had been. They sometimes even stopped the trains running on Mr Bamforth’s say so. Nowadays, though, she had no time to waste on such nonsense and preferred a good book or the BBC Home Service on the radio in the evenings. “Filling people’s heads with silly ideas,” was her dismissive opinion of the film industry, so it wasn’t surprising that she had failed to recognize him, even though he had hardly been able to keep his hat on in the bar.
He had explored around a little and found his relatives’ graves in the small churchyard, but the fine weather had inspired him to drive out of town and enjoy the wonderful hills. He always had his camera with him and it had been great to shed his disguise, because on a working day, there had been only sheep to share the scenery with him.
In the evening, he once again headed for the Picturedrome. What he really needed was to talk to someone local, who was interested in movies and he was pleased to see a young man dismounting from his bike outside the building and bending to attach the lock. The kid was wearing a flat cap, but was jacketless and Viggo couldn’t help whistling quietly between his teeth as he admired the long back, the muscles clearly defined beneath the damp fabric of the shirt, which clung to them. He also noticed that there was a fine, taut ass lurking beneath those workaday corduroy trousers.
He tapped the kid on the shoulder and he stood up, gasping, when he turned to face Viggo. Of course, he recognized him immediately, as was only to be expected if he worked here and he could scarcely contain his excitement.
He studied the face beneath the cap, before deciding that he liked it very much. The young man was very easy on the eye it was true, but Viggo also detected a simple decency and honesty, so after only hesitating a moment, he introduced himself by his given name, not his stage name and got a name in return.
They shook hands *nice, firm grip* and he asked Sean if he did work at the Picturedrome.
I do, aye. I’m the projectionist."
"I gather you are interested in movies, then?"
'Oh aye, I love films! But, why are you here? Is it because of the Prairie Kid week?"
Viggo grinned and Sean blushed. *He must think I am an idiot.*
"No, it's a strange coincidence. I am on vacation and to tell you the truth, I was just trying to get away from it all."
"You on holidays here, in Holmfirth?"
Again, Viggo grinned. "I am here for a reason. I did some research on movie history and was surprised to find such interesting information about the town and the Picturedrome. I am kind of hoping you can tell me a bit more, since you work here."
"I’ve only been on the job for a few weeks, but I suppose I could help you out a bit."
"Great! Let me buy you a drink, so we can talk, if you have time to spare, of course."
Checking his watch, Sean nodded. "I do have forty minutes or so, but I can't drink; that would cost me my job."
"How about a Coke, then? I noticed there's a pub just around the corner."
In the ‘Kings Arms' they sat at a quiet table in the corner and Sean sipped his Coke, not knowing what to do or say. Luckily, Viggo seemed to talk enough for the both of them and asked numerous questions about the history of the Picturedrome.
Sean felt his heart sink, as he realized he couldn't answer most of the questions. "I think you should talk to Mr. Collins, my boss," he said reluctantly, "he is very knowledgeable about the subject."
Viggo shook his head decisively. "I will certainly not. We met by chance and I am very happy we did and I would like to meet again. I am sure I'll be able to find books and other material in the library here."
Sean accepted the cigarette Viggo offered him and searched his pockets for matches. "There is an archive room in the Picturedrome. I suppose there will be plenty of information to find in there. I could ask Mr. Collins to allow me to show it to you, if you'd like."
"That would be great, Sean. Do you think he'll let you?"
"I think so. If I promise I won't damage anything, he probably will." *I won't tell him who I am taking, though. He just might want to take him himself.* "I will ask him tonight."
"Okay! I was planning to go see the movie, so perhaps I can meet you afterwards?"
"Sure, though but not for too long. I don't live here, but in Sheffield, which is a twenty mile bike ride and then I have to get up early in the morning for my daytime job."
"Twenty miles to and from Sheffield after work every day?" Viggo stared at Sean, obviously impressed. "That's quite something, Sean. So what is your daytime job?"
"I am a welder, in me dad’s firm. The job at the Picturedrome is more like a hobby really."
"You must really like films it's worth the effort. No wonder you look so fit. Maybe I should get on the bike a bit more."
Sean gave him a shy look. "I think you look well enough yourself," he replied and quickly picked up his glass again to hide another blush. "I’m sorry, but I do need to go now."
As Viggo slid into his seat at the back of the stalls, he reflected on how he’d expected to spend a couple of anonymous weeks somewhere a few thousand miles away from his busy and demanding life; somewhere small and quiet. First he had found that they were showing a season of his movies, so anonymity was going to be a problem and now he had met the most disquieting young man ever.
He tried to settle down to watch “The Haunted Goldmine”, which was actually his favourite Prairie Kid movie. It was the second he had made and he had found the character with ease and continued the rapport he had with his feisty little paint pony, Tomahawk, or Tom to his friends. At the end of the movie, he was embarrassed to find himself cheering with the rest of the audience.
Viggo joined the crowd shuffling out and waited in the shadows by Sean’s bike, lighting a cigarette. It was a full half hour before Sean appeared, having carefully locked the side door. He joined Viggo, eyes shining with excitement and accepted a cigarette.
“You should have one of mine, really. I can’t keep bumming fags off you!”
Viggo’s eyes opened wide, startled for a moment, until he remembered that somebody had once said, “England and America are two countries separated by a common language”.
“Fags are cigarettes, right?”
Sean nodded, “Mr Mortensen, that were grand. Did you do all those stunts yourself, even when the mine blew up?”
“Viggo, please. I sure did and that explosion was pretty hairy, I can tell you. It ended with my pants on fire and I had to be stamped out by the crew. I had bruises on my ass for days!”
Sean’s laugh was delightful. “I’d have liked to have seen that! Oh, I didn’t mean seen your ass…arse. I meant seen …”
Viggo laughed at his horrified expression and the slight flush of embarrassment. “It’s okay, Sean. I knew what you meant.” *And it would have been just fine and dandy if you had meant my ass.*
“Mr Mor…I mean, Viggo, I really have to go now or I shan’t be up at 6 to go to work.”
“So the son of the boss doesn’t get cut any slack?”
Sean grinned as he unlocked his bike. “You don’t know my dad. If I’m not in the welding shop with me boots on by 6.30 sharp, he’ll have my guts for garters.”
“I really love your accent and those expressions you use. So you’ll ask your other boss about the archive? “
“Aye, I will. ‘Night, Viggo.”
Sean mounted his bike with grace and was off down the hill. Viggo watched him until he was out of sight.
A cold shower was out of the question, as there was only a bath at the end of the corridor and Viggo felt that running one at this hour would make him somewhat unpopular with his landlady. He did, however splash his face with cold water and retired to bed to compose himself.
He couldn’t deny that he was very much attracted to his beautiful young man, but he just had to control himself. For one thing, Sean would probably be shocked to know how he felt. This was hardly a sophisticated or cosmopolitan place and Viggo’s lifestyle was strictly illegal.
For another, Sean was an impressionable fan and Viggo could never exploit him that way, even though they were of an age.
No, he would need to take himself firmly in hand, he told himself, while taking himself firmly in hand.
It was as if his bike was driven by a motor, so easily did Sean pedal the way back. Still reeling and thinking over his meeting with the American film star, no less than a hero in Sean's eyes, he was over excited.
Still, when he came home he said nothing to his parents, knowing all too well they wouldn't understand. He had a quick beer in the living room and then went to bed. As soon as he turned off the bedside light, the evening replayed in his head like a film and he winced, thinking about some of the stupid things he had said. He could only hope that Viggo would come back.
It wasn't easy to rise the following morning after a broken sleep and Sean felt rather grumpy when he arrived at the welding shop. Luckily the other men left him to himself after one look at his face. Even though Sean was considered a 'nice bloke', he could have a temper sometimes.
After his first morning break, Sean's mood lifted and at the dinner hour he was in his right mind again, as he had worked out a way to get Collins' approval - and even better - his key for the archive. After eating his sandwiches, Sean even found the courage to ask his dad for a few hours off on the coming Friday.
The weather was still lovely and after work, Sean took a quick bath and then dressed in his new jeans and blue shirt. He didn't mind the long ride, as he had much to think about.
Again, he was too early and as he dismounted his bike Sean looked around eagerly, hoping to spot Viggo, but unfortunately he didn't. His shoulders sagged, as he realized he must have said something wrong the other night and Viggo had decided to leave or stay away as far as possible. Barely managing to greet Tina, Sean had started to climb the stairs, when he heard his name called.
Viggo stood in front of Tina's booth, smiling at him and Sean turned around and walked back. "Good to see you! I’m off to talk to the Boss."
"Okay! I will see you later, then, after the movie. Hope you'll get his permission."
Sean ran up the stairs, now even more determined to get what he wanted. At the top, he took a deep breath and then knocked on Collins' office door.
"Come in."
Sean stepped in, closing the door behind him. "Good evening, Mr. Collins."
"Good evening, Sean. I was just counting this week's takings so far. We are doing well, lad. Now what can I do for you."
Sean shuffled his feet, silently wishing he was a better liar. "You see, we have this American cousin. He's coming over, travelling around the country to visit family. He will be at our house this coming weekend. Now he's really interested in Holmfirth and its film history, and more specifically in the Picturedrome. Would you be willing to show him the archive on Friday?"
Collin's quite sullen face lit up and he even smiled at Sean. "Interested in our Picturedrome, is he? Well, so he should be, lad. Unfortunately I won't be here. You know I have to conduct the Holmfirth Children's Choir on Friday. For this one time, I will give you the key, though. I will expect your cousin to buy a ticket, mind; we can't have nepotism."
Viggo had spent the day out exploring the glorious countryside again, partly to make the most of the good weather and partly because he didn’t think he could get away with sneaking around the town without being recognized. Hundreds of people had packed the Picturedrome for the last two nights and somebody was bound to recognize him sooner or later.
The pub landlady had graciously made him some cheese and pickle sandwiches to take with him and had added a bottle of ale, which he had eaten in the sunshine. He couldn’t help his thoughts turning to Sean and their next meeting and he eagerly awaited the evening. Even if he couldn’t touch, he could certainly look and he enjoyed Sean’s company, however brief their encounters.
He went to the Picturedrome early, ahead of the crowd this time. He was beginning to think that Tina, the ticket girl was not very bright, because for the third time she failed to recognize him, in spite of the posters around the foyer. Moving away with his ticket, he saw Sean’s unmistakeable rear mounting the stairs. He looked good in jeans and a blue shirt. ”Hey, Sean!”
He was rewarded by a broad grin and a flash of green eyes, as Sean told him he was on his way to see his boss. Viggo hoped that the boss would agree, reflecting that he wouldn’t be able to refuse Sean anything.
After the movie, which was once again well-received, he waited outside, impatient for Sean, who soon joined him.
“Hi, again. You look good tonight. That blue really suits you.” In the shadows, he sensed, rather than saw Sean blush. *Shit, Too far?*
“Thanks. That’s very nice of you.” Sean quickly changed the subject. ”The film was right exciting again. I like them all, but last night’s was my all time favourite.”
“Mine too! So what did your boss say?”
“He agreed to let me have the key to the archives on Friday. He won’t be here. He has to go and conduct our kids’ choir at a competition in Halifax. “
“How convenient!”
“Aye, it is. I told him you were an American relative interested in the history of Holmfirth and the Picturedrome.”
“Well that’s mostly true, except about our being related. I see that it says 1912 on the front of the building.”
“I do know that it were The Holme Valley Theatre in them days, but there’ll be more about that in the archives.”
“I can’t wait! I know a little about James Bamforth already. After World War I, he concentrated on the comic postcards, didn’t he?”
“You know about them?” Sean was clearly surprised.
“Sure! We yanks sent them home in wartime as well as you Brits, you know.”
“Mam thinks they’re vulgar, but Dad and me like a chuckle over them. Look, I really need to get off home, but I’ve wangled Friday afternoon off, so we can get started early, before the showing.”
“That’s great! I’ll see you tomorrow anyway and then Friday, shall we meet here?”
“Yes, about three. Gormless Tina won’t be here then. She comes in later. It’ll just be us and I’ll let you in and take you up to the archive. If you’re interested I can show you round the projection box as well.”
“That sounds interesting. I‘ll look forward to inspecting your equipment.”
“Now you sound just like one of them mucky postcards! ‘Night.”
*Now did that constitute a flirt? Maybe Sean isn’t as innocent as he looks!*
“Now you sound just like one of them mucky postcards!”
Amazed by his new found courage, Sean quickly turned to leave. The thought of Viggo fancying him seemed very unlikely, but there was that remark about Sean's shirt. Perhaps just an American thing that, though.
Anyway, he was quite excited about the prospect of spending some real time with Viggo and the idea of being alone with him in the theatre sent shivers down his spine. There was no law against fantasizing, was there?
That Friday, as he rode into Holmfirth, Sean felt annoyingly nervous, telling himself numerous times on the way there, he should stop that; he was not an awestruck kid, but a twenty-five year old man, dammit. He had fought in a war! The same war in which he had discovered his attraction to men, come to think of it. It had been a long dry spell since then, for obvious reasons. Even though he was afraid of rejection - or even worse, disgust - Sean just knew somewhere deep inside that the attraction was mutual. Viggo wouldn't be here forever and perhaps today would be their only chance, but Sean still wasn't certain if he would dare to take the first step.
Viggo was already waiting, leaning against the wall of the Picturedrome. He looked amazing in black jeans and shirt, white teeth showing in a flash.
After securing his bike, Sean grabbed his overnight bag, grinning as Viggo raised his eyebrows.
"Hello there, Sean. What's in the bag?"
"I always stay over at the pub on Friday night, because I have to be here early Saturday mornings, doing the children's showing. I brought us some sandwiches too."
That's great; we can have a picnic! And if you don't have to go home, we might as well have that real drink tonight after work."
Viggo followed Sean inside the now quite dark and silent building and together they climbed the stairs. At the far end of the corridor was a green door and Sean fumbled with the key to open it. The archive was a fairly large room, but without windows and Sean pressed one of the light switches. There was light coming in from the corridor also, enough to show large shelves, filled with books, films reels, photo albums and more. On the floor were cardboard boxes and on a large table in the corner, piles of clippings.
Viggo whistled, obviously impressed. "I think I could spend weeks here." He knelt down and opened one of the boxes. "Pictures, mostly black and white."
Sean grabbed a few of the reels from a shelf, blew off the dust and studied them. "These are a couple of the first films made here in Holmfirth. We could watch some of them in the projection room if you like? I would love to see them."
Viggo rose and peered over Sean's shoulder. He smelled good, a mixture of soap and tobacco and Sean's breath hitched in his throat as Viggo's hand landed on his shoulder.
"Your boss isn't very well organized it seems, Sean, but it's all quite amazing, isn't it?"
*Now or never.* Lifting his hand, Sean closed it over Viggo's and slowly turned his head to look at him. "I think you are quite amazing."
TBC
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
no subject
Date: 2012-11-14 11:23 am (UTC)Oh haven't we all done this? Wondered what woud happen if a film star turned up in our own tiny corner of the world? !! *grin* And here's Sean's finding out that it really can happen.
I'm enjoying the Picturedrome history, too - it's a fascinating subject and a great idea for a story.