Hope I got this code right. :)
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rugbytackleTitle: Sleeping Beauty. Two. (Incidents.)
Author: Arden Elear
E-mail: thedarkvoice@hotmail.com
Rated: PG
Chapter: 2/?
Pairing: Viggo Mortensen x Sean Bean
Disclaimer: They're real. This is not.
Warning: RPS; Real person slash. Don't read it / do read it. Make an adult decision.
Feedback: Not required.
Archive: No.
Summary: It takes some people a long time to wake up. Especially to themselves.
Sean woke from his doze and flicked on the telly. A desultory flick through the channels revealed nothing worth getting excited about, so he dropped the remote back onto the couch and let it show him what it would. The ads finished and it looked like he was going to be watching Pretty Woman. The end of it, anyway.
Sighing, he raised himself up on his elbows and turned his head. Viggo was sitting at his dining room table, exactly where he’d been when Sean had nodded off, sketchpad in hand, pencil flying.
His fingers were filthy from all the rubbing and blending he was doing with the soft lead and there were dark swipes of it on his forehead where he’d pushed his fringe back out of his eyes. His only source of illumination was the hanging lamp over the dining table and how he could see what he was drawing, how he hadn’t bloody well gone blind long ago, escaped Sean.
No point in talking to him then. Viggo’s eyes were laser-points of concentration; long legs curved and bent at an impossible angle so that his feet were resting on the table, a pretzel-like position that Sean knew he could never manage.
Flexible, was Viggo. Must make his bed-mates very happy.
Sean grinned to himself and turned his attention back to Julia Roberts and Richard Gere.
The movie ended and Sean stretched and yawned. Not a bad film, a bit sappy in spots but he’d always been a sucker for happy endings. He sat up straight and looked back over at the table. Still there, still at it.
“You believe in romance, Vig?”
“Hmm?” Viggo finally managed to drag his attention away from his sketch and looked up, the point of his tongue still poking out. Sean hid a smile at the child-like habit. Viggo’s eyes switched their focus as he came back; Sean could see him adjusting to the different reality, picking up the thread of Sean’s question.
“Romance is dead.” He said. He ventured a quick glance down at his work, held it out at arm’s length and frowned.
“Viggo! I’m shocked!” Sean clasped his hand to his chest.
Come back here, you prat! Enough, already.
“What? Why?”
Ahh. There! Back amongst the living. Viggo put the pad on the table, the pencil on top.
“You’re an artist. You’re supposed to believe in hearts and flowers.”
Viggo grinned at him.
“Says who? Besides, I didn’t say I don’t believe. I said it’s dead. Different thing altogether.”
“You’re not serious?”
Sean curled his legs up beneath him and laid his arm along the back of the couch. Much more comfortable. He could see a great debate starting here; just the thing to relieve boredom.
“Totally.”
Sean quirked an eyebrow, requiring further explanation. Viggo obliged.
“You’ve been out with the young ones, Sean. You’ve seen ‘em in action. It’s all, ‘Hello’, a couple of drinks and then they fuck.” He shrugged. “That’s not romance, it’s not even sex. It’s masturbation. Pleasing yourself.”
“But they’re kids!” Sean protested. “They’re supposed to behave like that. Hormones and all. Not everyone’s the same. What about older people? Our generation? We’re not like that.”
Viggo snorted and Sean couldn’t hide his grin this time. He loved being able to wind Viggo up and set him off. Vig knew perfectly well what he was doing, but he enjoyed it as much as Sean did. Their frequent debates were always lively and interesting, stirring much mirth amongst their fellows and sometimes even serious thought.
Some could last for days or weeks, with outbursts at the oddest of times. Especially when a new point-that-needed-to-be-made manifested itself in Viggo’s twisted little mind.
Watching Aragorn deep in conversation with Lord Elrond and then, when the A.D. called cut, to have him turn around and launch into another episode of why colors did indeed have smells was a spectacle not to be missed.
“We’re exactly the same.” Viggo told him. “Blame the sexual revolution if you like. A generation bought up on a solid diet of consumerism and instant gratification; where everything is ‘instant’. Where even love is sold as something that happens all at once or not at all.”
Tempted as he was to prolong this, the first round in what he knew was gonna be another long one, Sean was tired. Still, he fired one last sally.
“It worked for Julia and Richard.” He pointed out. “Then there’s Liv and her fella, they’re blissfully happy. And what about Hugo and his missus? Then there’s Peter and Fran, or Sean and Chris, eh?”
Viggo gave him an arch look. “Julia and Richard are actors, Sean, as you well know. They make a lot of money peddling that idea to the masses. As for the others . . . I believe the subject was romance, not love or marriage. Again, different thing altogether.”
“Celibacy has fried your brains.” Sean chuckled. “You’re a darkly cynical, celibate poet with an over-inflated opinion of the power of the media.”
“It’s the truth.” Viggo shrugged, only half joking. “Believe what you like; romance is as dead as the dodo.”
He got up from the table and, standing on tiptoe, his arms straight above his head, worked the kinks out. Sean reached for the remote and clicked the television off. The evening was over, but he could still have the last word.
“’Tis not.” He whispered. Viggo heard him, he knew.
**
It was a beautiful day for a party, celebrating the end of shooting at Helm’s Deep. A heartfelt thank you for all the hard work.
Everyone was in good spirits and the lawn was full of happy guests. Tables groaned under their burden of food and the sound of sizzling sausages and laughter drifted up to the patio on the breeze.
Sean leaned back against the garden wall, his arms folded across his chest. He closed his eyes and tilted his face skywards, worshipping the sun. Content.
“Here ya go.” He cracked an eyelid and accepted the beer Orlando was proffering.
“Thanks, mate.” Took a swig and closed his eyes again as Orli came to rest beside him on the wall, echoing his position.
“Ahh, this is the life.”
“Mmm.” Sean agreed.
“I needed this.” He felt Orlando shift, so he opened his eyes, sun seeking abandoned for now.
“Yeah. You look a bit . . . vampish.”
“Vampiric, Sean. Not vampish.” Orlando grinned at him.
“Depends, dunnit?” Sean teased.
Orlando poked his tongue out. “Fuck off.” He said, amiably.
“So? What happened while I was gone? Anything good?” He grabbed another sip of beer, letting the cool liquid slide down his throat to chill his gut.
“Not a thing, mate. All working too fucking hard for much else.”
The conversation chugged along in desultory fashion for a while, lazy talk on a lazy spring afternoon, half a world away from snow in the high street, divorces, lawyers and disappointment.
Orli turned and bent forwards to lean his arms on the top of the stone wall, watching the goings-on just below them. He sighed.
“Poor Karl.”
Sean looked at him. “What’s wrong with Karl?” He twisted his head, but couldn’t spot Karl in the crowd.
“Nothing wrong, per se. It’s just, well. . . Karl has this . . . thing. For Viggo.” Orli explained, keeping his voice down.
“Really? You’re kidding! Karl?” Now it was Sean’s turn to echo Orli’s stance. He rested his drink on the wall. “Where is he?”
Orlando used his bottle to point. “Down there, next to the umbrella.”
Sean followed the line of sight, finally spotting Karl and Viggo next to the drinks table. Looked like a perfectly ordinary conversation to him.
“You’re imagining it, Orli” He scoffed.
Orlando eyed him. “Yeah? Watch.”
Sean did. Still looked pretty regular to him. Viggo was gesturing, the bottled water in his hand sloshing about as he made whatever point it was he was attempting to get across, Karl listening and nodding.
Then Ian came up beside them and spoke and Viggo was turning his head to answer him.
It all changed.
With Viggo’s attention diverted, Karl did not look away. He did not join in the conversation; he kept his eyes fixed on Viggo. Intense and dark, raking up and down, hungrily taking advantage of his chance for a little unobserved lusting.
Sean felt something heavy and icy come to rest in his chest. How dare he stare at Vig like he was a . . . piece of meat? Like he was . . .
“See.” Orlando’s voice was in his ear.
Sean nodded, throat too tight to speak.
“I feel a bit sorry for him, actually.”
“Sorry for him?” Sean found his voice, but it was rough and dark.
“Yeah. He looks almost wistful”
“Wistful?” Not the word he’d use to describe that licentious, grubby . . . vortex. Sucking him in, imagining . . . things. Wanting. Needy. Dirty.
Not that it mattered. Not at all. Karl could stare and stare all he wanted, Sean knew that there was no way Vig would take up any offer those dark, hungry eyes might make. No way.
“Yep. Knowing you can’t have it, doesn’t make you stop wanting it.”
Now Orlando was sounding a bit . . . wistful himself. Sean forced his concentration away from where Viggo and Karl had resumed their conversation and onto his friend.
“And who do you want?” He asked gently. “Can’t imagine there’s someone you can’t have Orli.”
Orlando gave him a look that could only be described as astonished.
“You’re kidding right?”
Seeing Sean’s confusion, Orli shook his head, curls tumbling.
“Unbelievable! You dense prat, Sean. I’m a charter member of the Mortensen Fan Club, dickhead! Didn’t you know that?”
He answered his own question.
“No, of course you didn’t.” He grinned, not upset at all by his admission.
“We have a wide and varied membership, Sean. Karl included. Care to join?”
“What! No, thank you!” Sean felt himself flush. Silly kid. “What do you mean, ‘wide and varied’?”
Orlando gave him a brilliant smile, thoroughly enjoying being in a position to lord it over his elders. He made an expansive gesture with his hands, almost losing his grip on his beer.
“Well, right off the top of my head I can think of five, maybe six crew. Then there are the ladies in town who drool every time he walks past. Cast members, of course, and . . .”
“Okay. Okay. I get it.” Sean held up his hands in defeat.
“Hunk, Sean. H.U.N.K. Hot, sexy, gorgeous, amazing . . .”
“I do not need to hear this, Orli.” He threatened, covering his ears.
Orli muttered something that Sean didn’t quite catch.
Sounded like, ‘Yeah. You do.’
**
Well at least it wasn’t a stunt gone wrong this time. Sean could be grateful for that, at least. A simple accident, or so he’d heard. One kick too many at an Orc helmet and a couple of broken toes.
He’d heard about it in the canteen and decided that he’d slip across to the trailer before the break was over and just make sure his mate was okay.
Almost everyone was at lunch, glad to be out of the heat of the noon sun and he saw only one or two hardier souls sitting outdoors as he strode down the dirt road towards where the trailers were parked.
He rounded the corner and stopped dead in his tracks. They couldn’t see him from there, unless he stepped out from behind the bushes, but Sean had a clear view of the front of the trailer and the two men.
Viggo was sitting on the steps, wearing only his undershirt and trousers, injured foot extended. One boot lay discarded in the dust beside the trailer, the other was clutched in Karl’s hand as he knelt at Viggo’s feet. Knelt between his legs. He’d helped Viggo take the other boot off. Obviously.
But Viggo’s hand was on Karl’s shoulder, their faces close together. In costume; two kings-in-waiting. Viggo smiling warmly. Sean couldn’t see Karl’s face, but he could imagine those eyes. Filthy, needy eyes.
Sean’s heart was hammering in his chest, his vision blurred and he swallowed, hard.
All of a sudden, he felt sick. It looked so . . . intimate. But Viggo wouldn’t.
Would he?
Christ! What the fuck was wrong with him? Who cared if Viggo chose to . . . God! Oh, fuck! No!
He spun around and stumbled back the way he’d come, dropping bonelessly onto the first steady surface he came across, a log.
Sean covered his face with his hands. Oh, god! Oh, shit! You stupid bastard! It all made perfect, insane sense. Ohjesusandgoddamit! What was he supposed to do now!
“Sean?”
Orli. Again. Always bloody Orli. He groaned and refused to look up. Felt Orlando kneel down beside him, hand on his knee. Just like . . . No.
Don’t go there.
Too late. Burned on his fucking brain, that image. Maybe they already were. Maybe Orlando was wrong.
“Sean. What’s wrong?” The concern rose a notch. Sean muffled another moan. Leave me alone, Orli. Leave me to my miserable embarrassment. I’m a stupid, blind wanker, can’t see his own hands in front of his face. Or into his own heart.
Pull yourself together, Sean. Orli’s your friend. Drawing in a ragged breath, he dropped his hands from his face and looked up.
“Nothing, Orli. I’m fine.” He tried for a reassuring smile.
Failed, it seemed. Orli’s frown didn’t go away.
“You’re as white as a sheet, mate. Heat getting to you?”
That was handy, saved him the effort of trying to think for himself. “Yeah, a bit.”
“Ahh.” Orli didn’t look as convinced as he should have; being that it was his idea and all.
Orli straightened up, flexing his back, hands on hips. “Nothing to do with Vig and Karl getting all cozy up at the trailer then, right?”
“What?” Sean almost bolted upright himself. Would have, if Orli hadn’t been standing right in front of him.
“I saw you.” Orli said softly. He crouched down again, hand on Sean’s knee.
“Good morning.” He said.
Sean blinked. “It’s lunchtime, Orli.” He managed to point this out quite reasonably for someone with a fractured brain.
Orli shook his head, a tiny smile playing across his face.
“Not for you, mate.” He whispered confidentially. “You just woke up.”
tbc
Author: Arden Elear
E-mail: thedarkvoice@hotmail.com
Rated: PG
Chapter: 2/?
Pairing: Viggo Mortensen x Sean Bean
Disclaimer: They're real. This is not.
Warning: RPS; Real person slash. Don't read it / do read it. Make an adult decision.
Feedback: Not required.
Archive: No.
Summary: It takes some people a long time to wake up. Especially to themselves.
Sean woke from his doze and flicked on the telly. A desultory flick through the channels revealed nothing worth getting excited about, so he dropped the remote back onto the couch and let it show him what it would. The ads finished and it looked like he was going to be watching Pretty Woman. The end of it, anyway.
Sighing, he raised himself up on his elbows and turned his head. Viggo was sitting at his dining room table, exactly where he’d been when Sean had nodded off, sketchpad in hand, pencil flying.
His fingers were filthy from all the rubbing and blending he was doing with the soft lead and there were dark swipes of it on his forehead where he’d pushed his fringe back out of his eyes. His only source of illumination was the hanging lamp over the dining table and how he could see what he was drawing, how he hadn’t bloody well gone blind long ago, escaped Sean.
No point in talking to him then. Viggo’s eyes were laser-points of concentration; long legs curved and bent at an impossible angle so that his feet were resting on the table, a pretzel-like position that Sean knew he could never manage.
Flexible, was Viggo. Must make his bed-mates very happy.
Sean grinned to himself and turned his attention back to Julia Roberts and Richard Gere.
The movie ended and Sean stretched and yawned. Not a bad film, a bit sappy in spots but he’d always been a sucker for happy endings. He sat up straight and looked back over at the table. Still there, still at it.
“You believe in romance, Vig?”
“Hmm?” Viggo finally managed to drag his attention away from his sketch and looked up, the point of his tongue still poking out. Sean hid a smile at the child-like habit. Viggo’s eyes switched their focus as he came back; Sean could see him adjusting to the different reality, picking up the thread of Sean’s question.
“Romance is dead.” He said. He ventured a quick glance down at his work, held it out at arm’s length and frowned.
“Viggo! I’m shocked!” Sean clasped his hand to his chest.
Come back here, you prat! Enough, already.
“What? Why?”
Ahh. There! Back amongst the living. Viggo put the pad on the table, the pencil on top.
“You’re an artist. You’re supposed to believe in hearts and flowers.”
Viggo grinned at him.
“Says who? Besides, I didn’t say I don’t believe. I said it’s dead. Different thing altogether.”
“You’re not serious?”
Sean curled his legs up beneath him and laid his arm along the back of the couch. Much more comfortable. He could see a great debate starting here; just the thing to relieve boredom.
“Totally.”
Sean quirked an eyebrow, requiring further explanation. Viggo obliged.
“You’ve been out with the young ones, Sean. You’ve seen ‘em in action. It’s all, ‘Hello’, a couple of drinks and then they fuck.” He shrugged. “That’s not romance, it’s not even sex. It’s masturbation. Pleasing yourself.”
“But they’re kids!” Sean protested. “They’re supposed to behave like that. Hormones and all. Not everyone’s the same. What about older people? Our generation? We’re not like that.”
Viggo snorted and Sean couldn’t hide his grin this time. He loved being able to wind Viggo up and set him off. Vig knew perfectly well what he was doing, but he enjoyed it as much as Sean did. Their frequent debates were always lively and interesting, stirring much mirth amongst their fellows and sometimes even serious thought.
Some could last for days or weeks, with outbursts at the oddest of times. Especially when a new point-that-needed-to-be-made manifested itself in Viggo’s twisted little mind.
Watching Aragorn deep in conversation with Lord Elrond and then, when the A.D. called cut, to have him turn around and launch into another episode of why colors did indeed have smells was a spectacle not to be missed.
“We’re exactly the same.” Viggo told him. “Blame the sexual revolution if you like. A generation bought up on a solid diet of consumerism and instant gratification; where everything is ‘instant’. Where even love is sold as something that happens all at once or not at all.”
Tempted as he was to prolong this, the first round in what he knew was gonna be another long one, Sean was tired. Still, he fired one last sally.
“It worked for Julia and Richard.” He pointed out. “Then there’s Liv and her fella, they’re blissfully happy. And what about Hugo and his missus? Then there’s Peter and Fran, or Sean and Chris, eh?”
Viggo gave him an arch look. “Julia and Richard are actors, Sean, as you well know. They make a lot of money peddling that idea to the masses. As for the others . . . I believe the subject was romance, not love or marriage. Again, different thing altogether.”
“Celibacy has fried your brains.” Sean chuckled. “You’re a darkly cynical, celibate poet with an over-inflated opinion of the power of the media.”
“It’s the truth.” Viggo shrugged, only half joking. “Believe what you like; romance is as dead as the dodo.”
He got up from the table and, standing on tiptoe, his arms straight above his head, worked the kinks out. Sean reached for the remote and clicked the television off. The evening was over, but he could still have the last word.
“’Tis not.” He whispered. Viggo heard him, he knew.
**
It was a beautiful day for a party, celebrating the end of shooting at Helm’s Deep. A heartfelt thank you for all the hard work.
Everyone was in good spirits and the lawn was full of happy guests. Tables groaned under their burden of food and the sound of sizzling sausages and laughter drifted up to the patio on the breeze.
Sean leaned back against the garden wall, his arms folded across his chest. He closed his eyes and tilted his face skywards, worshipping the sun. Content.
“Here ya go.” He cracked an eyelid and accepted the beer Orlando was proffering.
“Thanks, mate.” Took a swig and closed his eyes again as Orli came to rest beside him on the wall, echoing his position.
“Ahh, this is the life.”
“Mmm.” Sean agreed.
“I needed this.” He felt Orlando shift, so he opened his eyes, sun seeking abandoned for now.
“Yeah. You look a bit . . . vampish.”
“Vampiric, Sean. Not vampish.” Orlando grinned at him.
“Depends, dunnit?” Sean teased.
Orlando poked his tongue out. “Fuck off.” He said, amiably.
“So? What happened while I was gone? Anything good?” He grabbed another sip of beer, letting the cool liquid slide down his throat to chill his gut.
“Not a thing, mate. All working too fucking hard for much else.”
The conversation chugged along in desultory fashion for a while, lazy talk on a lazy spring afternoon, half a world away from snow in the high street, divorces, lawyers and disappointment.
Orli turned and bent forwards to lean his arms on the top of the stone wall, watching the goings-on just below them. He sighed.
“Poor Karl.”
Sean looked at him. “What’s wrong with Karl?” He twisted his head, but couldn’t spot Karl in the crowd.
“Nothing wrong, per se. It’s just, well. . . Karl has this . . . thing. For Viggo.” Orli explained, keeping his voice down.
“Really? You’re kidding! Karl?” Now it was Sean’s turn to echo Orli’s stance. He rested his drink on the wall. “Where is he?”
Orlando used his bottle to point. “Down there, next to the umbrella.”
Sean followed the line of sight, finally spotting Karl and Viggo next to the drinks table. Looked like a perfectly ordinary conversation to him.
“You’re imagining it, Orli” He scoffed.
Orlando eyed him. “Yeah? Watch.”
Sean did. Still looked pretty regular to him. Viggo was gesturing, the bottled water in his hand sloshing about as he made whatever point it was he was attempting to get across, Karl listening and nodding.
Then Ian came up beside them and spoke and Viggo was turning his head to answer him.
It all changed.
With Viggo’s attention diverted, Karl did not look away. He did not join in the conversation; he kept his eyes fixed on Viggo. Intense and dark, raking up and down, hungrily taking advantage of his chance for a little unobserved lusting.
Sean felt something heavy and icy come to rest in his chest. How dare he stare at Vig like he was a . . . piece of meat? Like he was . . .
“See.” Orlando’s voice was in his ear.
Sean nodded, throat too tight to speak.
“I feel a bit sorry for him, actually.”
“Sorry for him?” Sean found his voice, but it was rough and dark.
“Yeah. He looks almost wistful”
“Wistful?” Not the word he’d use to describe that licentious, grubby . . . vortex. Sucking him in, imagining . . . things. Wanting. Needy. Dirty.
Not that it mattered. Not at all. Karl could stare and stare all he wanted, Sean knew that there was no way Vig would take up any offer those dark, hungry eyes might make. No way.
“Yep. Knowing you can’t have it, doesn’t make you stop wanting it.”
Now Orlando was sounding a bit . . . wistful himself. Sean forced his concentration away from where Viggo and Karl had resumed their conversation and onto his friend.
“And who do you want?” He asked gently. “Can’t imagine there’s someone you can’t have Orli.”
Orlando gave him a look that could only be described as astonished.
“You’re kidding right?”
Seeing Sean’s confusion, Orli shook his head, curls tumbling.
“Unbelievable! You dense prat, Sean. I’m a charter member of the Mortensen Fan Club, dickhead! Didn’t you know that?”
He answered his own question.
“No, of course you didn’t.” He grinned, not upset at all by his admission.
“We have a wide and varied membership, Sean. Karl included. Care to join?”
“What! No, thank you!” Sean felt himself flush. Silly kid. “What do you mean, ‘wide and varied’?”
Orlando gave him a brilliant smile, thoroughly enjoying being in a position to lord it over his elders. He made an expansive gesture with his hands, almost losing his grip on his beer.
“Well, right off the top of my head I can think of five, maybe six crew. Then there are the ladies in town who drool every time he walks past. Cast members, of course, and . . .”
“Okay. Okay. I get it.” Sean held up his hands in defeat.
“Hunk, Sean. H.U.N.K. Hot, sexy, gorgeous, amazing . . .”
“I do not need to hear this, Orli.” He threatened, covering his ears.
Orli muttered something that Sean didn’t quite catch.
Sounded like, ‘Yeah. You do.’
**
Well at least it wasn’t a stunt gone wrong this time. Sean could be grateful for that, at least. A simple accident, or so he’d heard. One kick too many at an Orc helmet and a couple of broken toes.
He’d heard about it in the canteen and decided that he’d slip across to the trailer before the break was over and just make sure his mate was okay.
Almost everyone was at lunch, glad to be out of the heat of the noon sun and he saw only one or two hardier souls sitting outdoors as he strode down the dirt road towards where the trailers were parked.
He rounded the corner and stopped dead in his tracks. They couldn’t see him from there, unless he stepped out from behind the bushes, but Sean had a clear view of the front of the trailer and the two men.
Viggo was sitting on the steps, wearing only his undershirt and trousers, injured foot extended. One boot lay discarded in the dust beside the trailer, the other was clutched in Karl’s hand as he knelt at Viggo’s feet. Knelt between his legs. He’d helped Viggo take the other boot off. Obviously.
But Viggo’s hand was on Karl’s shoulder, their faces close together. In costume; two kings-in-waiting. Viggo smiling warmly. Sean couldn’t see Karl’s face, but he could imagine those eyes. Filthy, needy eyes.
Sean’s heart was hammering in his chest, his vision blurred and he swallowed, hard.
All of a sudden, he felt sick. It looked so . . . intimate. But Viggo wouldn’t.
Would he?
Christ! What the fuck was wrong with him? Who cared if Viggo chose to . . . God! Oh, fuck! No!
He spun around and stumbled back the way he’d come, dropping bonelessly onto the first steady surface he came across, a log.
Sean covered his face with his hands. Oh, god! Oh, shit! You stupid bastard! It all made perfect, insane sense. Ohjesusandgoddamit! What was he supposed to do now!
“Sean?”
Orli. Again. Always bloody Orli. He groaned and refused to look up. Felt Orlando kneel down beside him, hand on his knee. Just like . . . No.
Don’t go there.
Too late. Burned on his fucking brain, that image. Maybe they already were. Maybe Orlando was wrong.
“Sean. What’s wrong?” The concern rose a notch. Sean muffled another moan. Leave me alone, Orli. Leave me to my miserable embarrassment. I’m a stupid, blind wanker, can’t see his own hands in front of his face. Or into his own heart.
Pull yourself together, Sean. Orli’s your friend. Drawing in a ragged breath, he dropped his hands from his face and looked up.
“Nothing, Orli. I’m fine.” He tried for a reassuring smile.
Failed, it seemed. Orli’s frown didn’t go away.
“You’re as white as a sheet, mate. Heat getting to you?”
That was handy, saved him the effort of trying to think for himself. “Yeah, a bit.”
“Ahh.” Orli didn’t look as convinced as he should have; being that it was his idea and all.
Orli straightened up, flexing his back, hands on hips. “Nothing to do with Vig and Karl getting all cozy up at the trailer then, right?”
“What?” Sean almost bolted upright himself. Would have, if Orli hadn’t been standing right in front of him.
“I saw you.” Orli said softly. He crouched down again, hand on Sean’s knee.
“Good morning.” He said.
Sean blinked. “It’s lunchtime, Orli.” He managed to point this out quite reasonably for someone with a fractured brain.
Orli shook his head, a tiny smile playing across his face.
“Not for you, mate.” He whispered confidentially. “You just woke up.”
tbc
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no subject
Date: 2003-12-30 11:10 am (UTC)cut worked perfectly =)
Write more.
Now.
Please.
*begs shamelessly*
--Misto
no subject
Date: 2003-12-30 01:55 pm (UTC)Did.
Just did.
You're welcome. :)
No need. I did.
no subject
Date: 2003-12-30 01:56 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2003-12-30 04:07 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2003-12-30 04:08 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2003-12-30 04:28 pm (UTC)This is so beautifully angsty. I love it how Sean slowly figures it out.
no subject
Date: 2003-12-30 09:21 pm (UTC)Totally love the last line! Orli works very well as an instigator, I like him much better than puppy!Orli that seems to turn up in other fics.
no subject
Date: 2003-12-30 10:34 pm (UTC)