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rugbytackleTITLE: The Orange Grove (23/32): Stop
AUTHOR: Cinzia and Gloria
Full headers here
The impulse to talk it out with Sean had been so strong that Viggo had spent the drive home telling himself that it wouldn't be fair. Sure, Sean had kissed back as though all he wanted was Viggo. Maybe he did want Viggo; but there was no point rushing it, no point in forcing the issue. Saying something now, after Sean had broken off the kiss and hurried off into the night, would get him nowhere.
And there was still that nagging feeling that he was cheating somehow; that he'd tricked Sean into wanting him, when Sean was -- everyone knew -- straight, heterosexual, comfortable with what he was.
Sean's car wasn't in the driveway when Viggo pulled in. He felt briefly guilty: maybe something had happened... Logically, though, it made sense. Sean was avoiding him, after that kiss. He'd get over it.
Viggo found himself walking towards the beach, through the grove. The grass under the orange trees was damp, but he barely noticed. That night, when he'd had the dream about Boromir ... it had seemed so easy, so comfortable then. Sean had comforted him, brought him back to the real world -- just as he had in New Zealand. And back then, long ago and far away (Viggo smiled to himself at the fairy-tale phrase) there hadn't been any of this tension between them. He'd never thought of kissing Sean, never worried that Sean would be unhappy because of Viggo's choice of lover. Funny that he'd said that about Orlando; though, now, Viggo could see it. Petros did look like Orlando, and Sean, like Valeria, had assumed that he went for a particular type.
But Valeria -- who'd known him, after all, for much longer than anyone else here in Crete -- had quite different ideas about his type. That first night, before she'd even talked to Sean for more than a few minutes, she'd said that Sean was his type. He'd laughed it off, uncomfortable even thinking about Sean in that way; but Valeria had sounded so sure ...
The orange grove was dark and quiet. The faint spice of leaves blended with the scent of rosemary and sage. Somewhere a bird called, and another answered it. He could hear a car coming down the road: Sean, returning. Would he come down into the grove when he realised that Viggo wasn't in the house? Viggo realised, at last, that he was waiting for Sean; that he'd come here, down into the dark, scented orchard, to wait for Sean.
But Sean wasn't ready to talk, yet. Viggo watched the light go on in his bedroom. Then Sean drew the curtains across the window, and there was just a dim glow.
Viggo went indoors at last, not bothering to be quiet. There was a line of light under the door, so Sean was still awake, but there was no sound from his room. He must know that Viggo was back, but he hadn't come out to find him.
All the same, Viggo paused, just for a moment; it would be so easy to knock on the door, talk to Sean, persuade him that it could work, between them...
Too easy. Let Sean work it out for himself. Viggo shut his bedroom door firmly. He could still smell Petros on his skin. Sean had probably smelt Petros, too, and Sean had still --
He was as hard, thinking about that kiss, as though he'd stayed away from Petros after all -- though he could still feel the ache where Petros had stretched him, giving him what he hadn't had for years. What he wanted from Sean. He showered the smell away and stood under the warm water, stroking himself firmly and efficiently. He tried not to think about anyone, not Petros or Orlando, not the girl he'd been seeing back in LA. When he bit down on his lip to stifle a moan, the brief pain reminded him of Sean's hand, pressed against his mouth. After that it was quick. He let himself whisper Sean's name when he came, like a luxury, knowing that Sean wasn't listening.
By the time Viggo woke up the next morning, Sean had left for the set. His own shots weren't until after lunch, and it was a fine morning; he wandered barefoot down through the orange grove -- the oranges looked ripe, and he wondered whether they were ready yet -- to the little beach below the villa.
There was something dark, there on the sand ahead of him, and Viggo quickened his pace; but it was only a wine-bottle, uncorked...
Viggo curled his fingers around the neck and picked it up. The rough red wine he'd brought back from Valeria's party was mostly vinegar now, from the harsh smell, and there were dead flies bobbing in the dark liquid. So much change in such a little time. It was only just over a week since the party -- since the kiss that had changed everything. Viggo laughed, and poured the wine out onto the sand. It pooled like blood and sank away slowly.
A libation, he thought; but he didn't know for whom, or to whom, he was pouring it. Odysseus would've known. Perhaps he should ask Sean ...
Viggo shook his head. "Moral of this story?" he said aloud to the empty beach. "Drink up, or it'll go to waste."
Maybe there was nothing to salvage, with Sean, except their friendship; but that was a great thing in itself, and Viggo thought there might yet be more. Whatever Sean was prepared to give, whatever he could give to Sean; that had to be worth something.
Viggo was on set before lunch was over, but when he arrived at the catering tent there was no sign of Sean.
"He went that way," Valeria told him, pointing. "And he's in a queer mood."
Viggo raised an eyebrow. "Really?"
Valeria scowled at him. "Going to sort it out?"
"I --" Viggo began, wondering what Sean had said to her to make her unhappy with him; but she was waving her hand at him, dismissing his protest.
"You should be honest with him." she said, as though he'd spent the last week lying through his teeth to her.
"I have." Even while he said it, he wasn't sure it was true. Wasn't sure he'd been honest to himself.
Valeria made a face. "I'm sure you can catch him, if you run," she said; and he did run, all the way over to the makeup trailer, so that when he caught up with Sean he was breathing heavily.
"I'm sorry about last night," Viggo said without preamble, falling into step beside his friend. "I --"
Sean was frowning at him. "No," he interrupted, "it's me who should be saying that. And I am sorry. I didn't..." He seemed to reconsider whatever he'd been about to say. "I'm sorry," he repeated at last, looking away from Viggo.
That wouldn't do at all.
"Well, you were being a miserable fuck," Viggo teased. It was too close to the truth, really, but he went on anyway, keeping his voice deadpan. "You're no fun any more. It's 'cause you're too old and --"
"It's because I'm poking my nose in something that isn't my business," Sean said, biting off the words. "You're right to be pissed off at me. I was out of order." There was no hint of an answering smile in his expression.
"Crap!" Viggo was abruptly angry. Angry at himself for dwelling on the kiss; angry at Sean for not mentioning it. "I'm not pissed at you. I'm ..." He pushed his hair out of his eyes. "Sean," he said more firmly. "Stop it."
"Stop what? Stop interfering?" said Sean bitterly. He was staring at the ground. Viggo wanted to ... to hit him.
"Stop being such a wanker," he said instead, in the Comte's best upper-class English accent.
It worked. Sean hesitated for just a moment. "Takes one to know one," he growled, flicking a quick glance at him. Viggo was grinning, and Sean's scowl opened up into a radiant smile. His arm connected with Viggo's shoulders in a blow that became a hug.
The contact alone would have made Viggo happy; he'd missed that amiable roughness more than he'd realised. He let out the breath he'd been holding, waiting for Sean to stop fighting. Not worth thinking about what might have happened if he'd turned away.
Viggo grinned, perfectly happy, and hugged Sean back, wrapping both arms around him and just holding him for a moment. They were both laughing. "Crazy fucker," Viggo muttered into Sean's shoulder. The closeness was wonderful. He could feel Sean's aliveness, warm and strong and vibrant against him. Could've stayed like that all afternoon, just holding Sean, inhaling the smell of sweat and linen and leather from Sean's costume, Sean's skin. Sean's arm tightened on his back, as if he thought Viggo was going away again, and Viggo lifted his head and grinned at him.
The moment stretched, seconds piling into minutes; and neither of them let go.
AUTHOR: Cinzia and Gloria
Full headers here
The impulse to talk it out with Sean had been so strong that Viggo had spent the drive home telling himself that it wouldn't be fair. Sure, Sean had kissed back as though all he wanted was Viggo. Maybe he did want Viggo; but there was no point rushing it, no point in forcing the issue. Saying something now, after Sean had broken off the kiss and hurried off into the night, would get him nowhere.
And there was still that nagging feeling that he was cheating somehow; that he'd tricked Sean into wanting him, when Sean was -- everyone knew -- straight, heterosexual, comfortable with what he was.
Sean's car wasn't in the driveway when Viggo pulled in. He felt briefly guilty: maybe something had happened... Logically, though, it made sense. Sean was avoiding him, after that kiss. He'd get over it.
Viggo found himself walking towards the beach, through the grove. The grass under the orange trees was damp, but he barely noticed. That night, when he'd had the dream about Boromir ... it had seemed so easy, so comfortable then. Sean had comforted him, brought him back to the real world -- just as he had in New Zealand. And back then, long ago and far away (Viggo smiled to himself at the fairy-tale phrase) there hadn't been any of this tension between them. He'd never thought of kissing Sean, never worried that Sean would be unhappy because of Viggo's choice of lover. Funny that he'd said that about Orlando; though, now, Viggo could see it. Petros did look like Orlando, and Sean, like Valeria, had assumed that he went for a particular type.
But Valeria -- who'd known him, after all, for much longer than anyone else here in Crete -- had quite different ideas about his type. That first night, before she'd even talked to Sean for more than a few minutes, she'd said that Sean was his type. He'd laughed it off, uncomfortable even thinking about Sean in that way; but Valeria had sounded so sure ...
The orange grove was dark and quiet. The faint spice of leaves blended with the scent of rosemary and sage. Somewhere a bird called, and another answered it. He could hear a car coming down the road: Sean, returning. Would he come down into the grove when he realised that Viggo wasn't in the house? Viggo realised, at last, that he was waiting for Sean; that he'd come here, down into the dark, scented orchard, to wait for Sean.
But Sean wasn't ready to talk, yet. Viggo watched the light go on in his bedroom. Then Sean drew the curtains across the window, and there was just a dim glow.
Viggo went indoors at last, not bothering to be quiet. There was a line of light under the door, so Sean was still awake, but there was no sound from his room. He must know that Viggo was back, but he hadn't come out to find him.
All the same, Viggo paused, just for a moment; it would be so easy to knock on the door, talk to Sean, persuade him that it could work, between them...
Too easy. Let Sean work it out for himself. Viggo shut his bedroom door firmly. He could still smell Petros on his skin. Sean had probably smelt Petros, too, and Sean had still --
He was as hard, thinking about that kiss, as though he'd stayed away from Petros after all -- though he could still feel the ache where Petros had stretched him, giving him what he hadn't had for years. What he wanted from Sean. He showered the smell away and stood under the warm water, stroking himself firmly and efficiently. He tried not to think about anyone, not Petros or Orlando, not the girl he'd been seeing back in LA. When he bit down on his lip to stifle a moan, the brief pain reminded him of Sean's hand, pressed against his mouth. After that it was quick. He let himself whisper Sean's name when he came, like a luxury, knowing that Sean wasn't listening.
By the time Viggo woke up the next morning, Sean had left for the set. His own shots weren't until after lunch, and it was a fine morning; he wandered barefoot down through the orange grove -- the oranges looked ripe, and he wondered whether they were ready yet -- to the little beach below the villa.
There was something dark, there on the sand ahead of him, and Viggo quickened his pace; but it was only a wine-bottle, uncorked...
Viggo curled his fingers around the neck and picked it up. The rough red wine he'd brought back from Valeria's party was mostly vinegar now, from the harsh smell, and there were dead flies bobbing in the dark liquid. So much change in such a little time. It was only just over a week since the party -- since the kiss that had changed everything. Viggo laughed, and poured the wine out onto the sand. It pooled like blood and sank away slowly.
A libation, he thought; but he didn't know for whom, or to whom, he was pouring it. Odysseus would've known. Perhaps he should ask Sean ...
Viggo shook his head. "Moral of this story?" he said aloud to the empty beach. "Drink up, or it'll go to waste."
Maybe there was nothing to salvage, with Sean, except their friendship; but that was a great thing in itself, and Viggo thought there might yet be more. Whatever Sean was prepared to give, whatever he could give to Sean; that had to be worth something.
Viggo was on set before lunch was over, but when he arrived at the catering tent there was no sign of Sean.
"He went that way," Valeria told him, pointing. "And he's in a queer mood."
Viggo raised an eyebrow. "Really?"
Valeria scowled at him. "Going to sort it out?"
"I --" Viggo began, wondering what Sean had said to her to make her unhappy with him; but she was waving her hand at him, dismissing his protest.
"You should be honest with him." she said, as though he'd spent the last week lying through his teeth to her.
"I have." Even while he said it, he wasn't sure it was true. Wasn't sure he'd been honest to himself.
Valeria made a face. "I'm sure you can catch him, if you run," she said; and he did run, all the way over to the makeup trailer, so that when he caught up with Sean he was breathing heavily.
"I'm sorry about last night," Viggo said without preamble, falling into step beside his friend. "I --"
Sean was frowning at him. "No," he interrupted, "it's me who should be saying that. And I am sorry. I didn't..." He seemed to reconsider whatever he'd been about to say. "I'm sorry," he repeated at last, looking away from Viggo.
That wouldn't do at all.
"Well, you were being a miserable fuck," Viggo teased. It was too close to the truth, really, but he went on anyway, keeping his voice deadpan. "You're no fun any more. It's 'cause you're too old and --"
"It's because I'm poking my nose in something that isn't my business," Sean said, biting off the words. "You're right to be pissed off at me. I was out of order." There was no hint of an answering smile in his expression.
"Crap!" Viggo was abruptly angry. Angry at himself for dwelling on the kiss; angry at Sean for not mentioning it. "I'm not pissed at you. I'm ..." He pushed his hair out of his eyes. "Sean," he said more firmly. "Stop it."
"Stop what? Stop interfering?" said Sean bitterly. He was staring at the ground. Viggo wanted to ... to hit him.
"Stop being such a wanker," he said instead, in the Comte's best upper-class English accent.
It worked. Sean hesitated for just a moment. "Takes one to know one," he growled, flicking a quick glance at him. Viggo was grinning, and Sean's scowl opened up into a radiant smile. His arm connected with Viggo's shoulders in a blow that became a hug.
The contact alone would have made Viggo happy; he'd missed that amiable roughness more than he'd realised. He let out the breath he'd been holding, waiting for Sean to stop fighting. Not worth thinking about what might have happened if he'd turned away.
Viggo grinned, perfectly happy, and hugged Sean back, wrapping both arms around him and just holding him for a moment. They were both laughing. "Crazy fucker," Viggo muttered into Sean's shoulder. The closeness was wonderful. He could feel Sean's aliveness, warm and strong and vibrant against him. Could've stayed like that all afternoon, just holding Sean, inhaling the smell of sweat and linen and leather from Sean's costume, Sean's skin. Sean's arm tightened on his back, as if he thought Viggo was going away again, and Viggo lifted his head and grinned at him.
The moment stretched, seconds piling into minutes; and neither of them let go.
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Date: 2003-11-07 12:17 am (UTC)Umm... though methinks there is more angst yet to co.. er.. be experienced? Still,
The moment stretched, seconds piling into minutes; and neither of them let go.
Yaaaayyyyy!!!!
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Date: 2003-11-07 09:40 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2003-11-07 01:06 am (UTC)Thank you for that! I really needed them to just be happy with each other for a little.
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Date: 2003-11-07 09:50 am (UTC)Glad you liked ...
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Date: 2003-11-07 01:12 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2003-11-07 09:51 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2003-11-07 01:16 am (UTC)With that said, I absolutely love this storyline… so angsty, and teasing (of the audience!), and believable. It’s absolute torture and I can’t wait until the next section. :)
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Date: 2003-11-07 09:52 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2003-11-07 05:33 am (UTC)Thanks,
mormegil.
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Date: 2003-11-07 09:52 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2003-11-07 11:35 am (UTC)This is killing me. Tis.
And those two, watching at each other, not letting go...
~hugs you both madly~
And it's brilliant that their friendship is there, truly, a resource to be counted on, not just set-acquaintance but something deeper, that (we all hope) might change into something more, but it is there nonetheless. Lovely.
Now I go away to die with dignity.
no subject
Date: 2003-11-11 10:25 am (UTC)That 'not letting go' is what they've been doing all along in subtler ways: at least, now, they're able to do it for real. The underlying friendship is strong enough to get them through the difficult territory at the beginning of the realisation that there might be more than just friendship there (if you can understand this sentence, well done! I'm not sure I can!)
If you really want to die with dignity, wait until the last chapter, hmmm? <g>
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Date: 2003-11-11 10:35 am (UTC):)
Your sentence makes perfect sense to me!
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Date: 2003-11-07 01:52 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2003-11-11 10:56 am (UTC)Thanks for commenting!
thank the valar...
Date: 2003-11-07 02:50 pm (UTC)If they now get that "talk to each other thing" right, well there is still hope.
I'm eagerly awaiting the next part. Well done!
Re: thank the valar...
Date: 2003-11-11 10:56 am (UTC)Thanks for commenting!
no subject
Date: 2003-11-11 10:56 am (UTC)Thanks for your comment: it gave me a warm glow!
Re: Cowriting
Date: 2003-11-11 03:57 pm (UTC)Personally, I'm having exactly the opposite of your big picture / little picture problem. I can't get plots, but I come up with perfectly-formed sentences or details or images that spring out of nowhere and (depending on the fandom) ambush me while I'm writing something else, or at 4am, or when I can't scribble them down.
Have you tried the time challenges -- like in
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Date: 2003-11-08 01:28 am (UTC)I love that Sean is honest enough not finish that sentence, to say he didn't mean it when he's pretty sure he did. That was the first break for me.
But now it's still two and a half days til more!*wails*
no subject
Date: 2003-11-11 10:56 am (UTC)Thank you, thank you for the scarf-icon! Gorgeous!
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Date: 2003-11-11 12:36 pm (UTC)Oooh, I'm in love with your scarf. It is preciousss to me! *steals it* ;D
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Date: 2003-11-09 06:28 am (UTC)Addicted as always.
no subject
Date: 2003-11-11 10:56 am (UTC)Thanks for commenting!