Okay, so maybe I lied...
Sep. 3rd, 2003 09:54 am![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
kiamatthews.livejournal.com posting in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png){kind=small}
rugbytackleIn searching my hard drive, I found that I DO have a little Sean/Viggo in me.... I found a Sean/Viggo piece I started about 6 months ago. It's very short and, truth be told, I have NO idea where I was gonna go with this. I've been staring at it for the last hour trying to add something, but I can't. Can someone help? ideas? suggestions?
What led him here, Viggo couldn't remember. The past few weeks had been a blur - between working and subsequent bouts of insomnia, Viggo couldn't quite grasp reality lately. But somehow this was all so real, so fresh. He didn't know why everything was so tactile now: the fabric on the sofa felt strangely rough but soothing under his hands, he could feel the movement of each and every hair on his head from the slight breeze from the open windows.
Viggo contemplated vaguely how he managed the drive over, because he felt like he had been sleeping until now. Until Sean kissed him, slow and tenative, wordlessly seeking an answer to the question that hung between them for too long. A answer that Viggo, now, was all too willing to give. He suddenly felt blood rush to his head, awaking in him something he always knew was there, but couldn't bring to the surface. Maybe it was this that he needed, Sean, to come alive.
Sitting in Sean's living room wasn't something he hadn't done before. He'd been here a thousand times. But today, with Sean just in the kitchen on the phone, Viggo felt like it was his first time in this place, and he felt naked, open. Nothing like a phone call to interrupt a moment. Sean reluctantly left the sofa, left Viggo, to answer the call. "Might be important" Viggo said, regretting it two seconds later. Looking around the quaint apartment, he couldn't remember the colors ever being so vibrant, so vivid. He wanted to photograph this moment, freeze it in time. His hands drew nonsense patterns on the sofa cushions beside him, a mock painting. Sean's voice was a soothing low murmur in the back of his mind while he closed his eyes, searing this fraction of time in his mind forever.
Sean tried to sound calm on the phone, his voice a few tones higher than usual. Nervous. He turned his back to Viggo, focusing - as best he could - on what the caller had to say. Hanging up the phone was biggest relief he had felt in ages, it seemed.
The feel of Viggo's lips was still fresh on his own. Sean touched his mouth, sighing. As he turned to again face Viggo - and face what would come - he felt dizzy. But Sean liked this feeling, no person had made him feel this way in a long time. Too long of a time. The kitchen doorframe served to brace him as he set his eyes upon Viggo: head tilted up slightly, eyes closed, palms flat to the sofa on either side of him. A beautiful sacrifice to the gods of - what? Joy? Ecstasy? Passion? Steeling himself with a deep breath, Sean slowly approached the sofa again, his tread causing Viggo to open his eyes and smile, a hint of nervous energy twitching in the all too supple lips.
Sean contemplated sitting, but that seemed trite. Instead he offered his hand to Viggo. The englishman had no idea, really, what this invitation meant, but the electicity surging through his veins when Viggo reached out and took his hand would serve to guide him in the right direction. He hoped.
What led him here, Viggo couldn't remember. The past few weeks had been a blur - between working and subsequent bouts of insomnia, Viggo couldn't quite grasp reality lately. But somehow this was all so real, so fresh. He didn't know why everything was so tactile now: the fabric on the sofa felt strangely rough but soothing under his hands, he could feel the movement of each and every hair on his head from the slight breeze from the open windows.
Viggo contemplated vaguely how he managed the drive over, because he felt like he had been sleeping until now. Until Sean kissed him, slow and tenative, wordlessly seeking an answer to the question that hung between them for too long. A answer that Viggo, now, was all too willing to give. He suddenly felt blood rush to his head, awaking in him something he always knew was there, but couldn't bring to the surface. Maybe it was this that he needed, Sean, to come alive.
Sitting in Sean's living room wasn't something he hadn't done before. He'd been here a thousand times. But today, with Sean just in the kitchen on the phone, Viggo felt like it was his first time in this place, and he felt naked, open. Nothing like a phone call to interrupt a moment. Sean reluctantly left the sofa, left Viggo, to answer the call. "Might be important" Viggo said, regretting it two seconds later. Looking around the quaint apartment, he couldn't remember the colors ever being so vibrant, so vivid. He wanted to photograph this moment, freeze it in time. His hands drew nonsense patterns on the sofa cushions beside him, a mock painting. Sean's voice was a soothing low murmur in the back of his mind while he closed his eyes, searing this fraction of time in his mind forever.
Sean tried to sound calm on the phone, his voice a few tones higher than usual. Nervous. He turned his back to Viggo, focusing - as best he could - on what the caller had to say. Hanging up the phone was biggest relief he had felt in ages, it seemed.
The feel of Viggo's lips was still fresh on his own. Sean touched his mouth, sighing. As he turned to again face Viggo - and face what would come - he felt dizzy. But Sean liked this feeling, no person had made him feel this way in a long time. Too long of a time. The kitchen doorframe served to brace him as he set his eyes upon Viggo: head tilted up slightly, eyes closed, palms flat to the sofa on either side of him. A beautiful sacrifice to the gods of - what? Joy? Ecstasy? Passion? Steeling himself with a deep breath, Sean slowly approached the sofa again, his tread causing Viggo to open his eyes and smile, a hint of nervous energy twitching in the all too supple lips.
Sean contemplated sitting, but that seemed trite. Instead he offered his hand to Viggo. The englishman had no idea, really, what this invitation meant, but the electicity surging through his veins when Viggo reached out and took his hand would serve to guide him in the right direction. He hoped.
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Date: 2003-09-03 05:01 pm (UTC)Perhaps the reason you're having trouble adding to this is that it's supposed to be finished. Some stories are like that---they finish themselves, and resist any well-meaning attempts to tamper with them. I think the ending works well---there's a sense of hope and anticipation for what comes next.
Mind you, I'm *not* at all discouraging you from writing more if the spirit moves you! Nooooo, not at all. I just think you have a fine gem here, on its own.
Thanks for sharing. Please excuse my babbling!
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Date: 2003-09-03 06:10 pm (UTC)And I agree: you don't really have to continue this, because it's a great ending already!
Somehow the hand-reaching-out-part was very sweet, by the way :)
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Date: 2003-09-03 06:27 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2003-09-03 07:06 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2003-09-03 08:11 pm (UTC)Did you realize it ends with an image of hands reaching for each other straight out of the Sistine Chapel? Did Michelangelo feel the need to touch it again?
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Date: 2003-09-03 10:48 pm (UTC)In short: I love it -- and welcome! Hope you'll give use more gorgeous SeanViggo fics soon... ;)
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Date: 2003-09-04 03:40 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2003-09-04 05:42 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2003-09-04 06:10 am (UTC)I love the dual point of view...how Viggo's feeling and then how Sean sees him.
That last paragraph is amazing, says so much, and really is a perfect ending.
It's beautiful as it is. You could always write more about these two boys at a later date, but this piece is just perfect on its own.