Green Dark by shegollum -- Part 7/?
Sep. 5th, 2005 08:48 pm![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
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rugbytackleTitle: Green Dark by shegollum -- Part 7/?
Author: shegollum
Pairing: Viggo/Bean; includes some Orlando, too.
Rating: R - NC17
Summary: Morning after the night before...where are they in this strange new space?
Warnings: Angst; mental cruelty/instability; possibly non-con
Disclaimer: No truth in it at all.
Archive: Viggo-Cursive and rugbytackle
A/N: Not beta'd. All errors are completely mine and mine alone.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Banner bestowed upon me by the monstrously talented Amanda (![[profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
legomyarrow). I am not worthy, but I LOVE it so much. Thank you, sweets. :-)
When my marriage died, I had to fight to not die with it. I’d become that: a half of a union and was somehow no longer truly myself. The hurt was so great and there simply was not enough of me left to adequately guard against it.
So I looked for reinforcements elsewhere.
In women. And drink. And more women.
And every one was like a dream and a nightmare all at once. The possibility of love hiding behind all of the artifice and sheer foreignness called to me yet repelled me. Nothing equated to home. But nothing was far enough removed from it to keep me sane either.
So I tried other things.
Drugs got mixed in with the drink and men got mixed in with the women. Men can be a lot more accepting of the notion of fuck buddies than are women, I found.
Being casual wasn’t a game with most of us. It was a necessity. And it came easily to these men I fucked, as it did to me.
And then I stumbled into something completely unexpected. I met a man who became far more than I’d planned. He was the first one I ever let have me. The only one. And for a while, it became less callous and more giving. We saw each other in daylight, woke up together some mornings and knew the names of each others’ kids. We opened up to each other. Or so I thought. I could have loved him. Might have. But I realize now that only one of us entered into the game with our fingers not crossed behind our back.
My Alan. My Waterloo. My Three Mile Island. My Dear God, You’ve Fucked Things Up For Real This Time.
I didn’t know. I swear to God, I was blind as a fucking bat and I didn’t see him for what he was. I couldn't see what he was. His marriage was over, too. And we—no, I -- thought this was turning into something right and real. His rages were normal. I’d felt them myself during the anguish of losing the myth of my marriage. Felt them at the fear – irrational, I now know – that I’d lose my son somehow. Or worse, hurt him in some way that could not be mended.
But my rages were only ever directed inward whereas his were not. And I fucking allowed it. Couldn’t imagine that each time it happened, it wouldn’t be the last. That it wasn’t something I could help with.
All of it – the good and the bad – was made up of my choices. And my reactions.
Our meeting was intense, our evolution spectacular, our dissolution bloody and messy and full of anger more so than sorrow.
What I can allow Alan now is this. He was wrong to do the things he did. To anyone. But he was in pain and in some way, I can still understand his actions. And I suppose I can understand my reactions – misguided but intended to help. I just didn’t know enough to realize I couldn’t give all of myself and have anything left to be. Pain should never be acted out on someone else. You can’t remedy your own breaks by breaking someone else.
And I suppose after all this time, I will allow myself this. When I was in pain, I worked with it myself. None of it got played out on anyone else. At least not to the extent I could control it. So score a few points for this psycho. I still own my pain. And I thought I would never use it to hurt anyone.
Yet somehow, I totally fucked up and Sean, I used you. You! Again, it was my choice and my reaction and I have to own that. But I can’t fucking believe it. Can’t feel any more to understand why I would hurt you of all people, the only person besides Henry that I’ve loved with something honest and without reservation.
I am so sorry. There is nothing I can do to make it right. Except stay away. Orlando left a message so I know he’s watching out for you. And I know he will continue to do so.
So that is where the line comes into play. And that is where it all stops. Has to stop. I can’t let anyone in there again. Alan left a pretty good mess and life has this way of demanding things of you. Things that make taking time to figure out your problems and fix them ridiculously frivolous and selfish. I can’t stop working, stop thinking and painting and writing and breathing, to figure out why I can be so fucked. What am I going to learn? Nothing that can undo what I have done, so frankly, it can all stay locked away. Total avoidance works pretty well for the chickenshit in me so long as I make sure to keep the door locked and double-bolted.
And fuck!! Sean… fuck…I am so sick every time I slip and my brain goes back over what I have done to you. I am so very sorry. I had no understanding that you were so close. Goddamn it… I thought we’d never move any closer and then when we did… God, I saw right then that it wasn’t about sex or lust or all the teasing we’d done. It was about love. And still I fucked you like a whore and tried to sneak out before daylight. I’d realized what my need was going to cost you. And how I had nothing to give no matter how we played it out. So the door slammed shut, echoing and reinforcing the line I already guarded, and I slithered away.
I will stay away now. But I will never stop regretting and trying to make it right somehow.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Sean jerked awake to the sound of thunder -- oddly rhythmic thunder that was then abruptly joined by a very annoyed voice calling his name. Fuck! Orlando was yelling his fool head off out in the hallway and threatening to beat the fucking door down if Bean didn't get his ass up and let him in.
With many muttered ‘fucks’, Sean dragged his complaining body out of the rumpled bed and stumbled to the door. He allowed himself the enjoyment of first opening it just a crack while leaving the security chain on, knowing Orlando would be eager to burst in. He wasn’t disappointed as the extremely agitated younger man yelled, “Finally!” before barreling directly into the scarcely open door and bouncing off of it.
“Fuck me!” he yelled angrily as the chain stopped his progress and he stood back with one hand caressing his bruised shoulder, glaring at Sean. “What the fuck, Bean? Open the fucking door! What the hell is wrong with you?”
Sean dropped the chain and turned back toward the room, the momentary flash of humor already gone. He ran his hand back over his dirty hair and couldn’t help but notice his own smell of day-old sweat, stale cigarettes and scotch. He heard the door close behind him and then heard Orlando’s exclamation.
“Jesus fucking Christ, Beanie! What is wrong? This place reeks! How long since you let a maid in here, huh?”
Bean turned to him slowly, in part because he wanted to get a look at him, but mostly because he wanted to flip him off.
Orlando whistled lowly as he took in the mess of a man in front of him. His voice was softer when he spoke and his eyes conveyed nothing but concern.
“Bean? You okay?”
He moved closer as though to hug him and then stopped short, surprised. He took a harder look at the other man and then scanned the room, seeing the overflowing ashtrays, empty bottles and general chaos of clothes, newspapers, and crumpled cigarettes packs.
“You’re drunk! How long have you been holed up in here drinking? What is going on, Sean? How can I help?”
At the use of his given name, Sean looked up and met Orlando’s eyes, touched and feeling oddly exposed. Orlando never called him that. And it somehow seemed so very intimate right now. He was surprised to realize that he felt a tightness in his throat at the concern and worry etched on the younger man’s handsome face. He coughed quietly and shook his head.
“Its okay, Orlando. I’m alright, mate. Just taking a break…”
“Well you look like hell, mate. And you smell. Bad! Go take a shower for God’s sake.”
“I don’t need a keeper, Orlando. Why don’t you run along and go do whatever it is you do?” Sean glared at him, a scary look coming from those tired and hooded eyes, but Orlando didn’t back down.
“Go on, mate. I’m not leaving so you may as well make yourself presentable.” With that, Orlando knocked a crumpled towel off a chair and removed the scotch bottle from the ottoman before sitting down in a gesture of defiance.
They stared each other down for a long moment and then, with a disgusted grunt, Sean turned unsteadily and headed toward the bathroom.
“Don’t fucking touch anything. And don’t start in about the scotch, Orlando.”
“Are you kidding, mate? I’m not touching anything in here until it’s been sterilized. I’m calling the cleaning staff.”
“No… no, you’re not. Leave it.”
“Bean!”
“Leave it, Orlando! I’ll take care of the mess meself. Don’t need anyone seeing what I’ve been up to.”
Orlando sighed. Bean was right. A room full of empty scotch bottles and Sean Bean would be instant tabloid fodder.
“Well, I’m calling Viggo then. He can come over and bring stuff and help us out.”
Bean stopped in the hall just outside the door to the bath. Orlando was watching him and he saw the older man’s head drop down to his chest for a long moment before he turned to face Orlando.
“Don’t call Viggo,” he said quietly.
Orlando jumped up from his seat, pulling his cell phone out of his pocket.
“I’ve got his number right here. He’ll want to see you anyway.”
“Orlando,” Bean tried again. The younger man didn’t hear or didn’t listen, he wasn’t sure which.
“Orlando! Stop! Do not call Viggo!
Orlando stopped then, eyes wide with alarm at the unexpected shout from the other man. He didn’t say anything, just watched the sad tiredness cover Sean’s face.
“We’re not mates any more, Orlando. I don’t want him here any more than he would want to be. So stay in or get out – whichever you prefer – and I’ll be fetching that shower.”
He didn’t wait to hear what Orlando intended to do. He just turned and disappeared.
Author: shegollum
Pairing: Viggo/Bean; includes some Orlando, too.
Rating: R - NC17
Summary: Morning after the night before...where are they in this strange new space?
Warnings: Angst; mental cruelty/instability; possibly non-con
Disclaimer: No truth in it at all.
Archive: Viggo-Cursive and rugbytackle
A/N: Not beta'd. All errors are completely mine and mine alone.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Banner bestowed upon me by the monstrously talented Amanda (
legomyarrow). I am not worthy, but I LOVE it so much. Thank you, sweets. :-)When my marriage died, I had to fight to not die with it. I’d become that: a half of a union and was somehow no longer truly myself. The hurt was so great and there simply was not enough of me left to adequately guard against it.
So I looked for reinforcements elsewhere.
In women. And drink. And more women.
And every one was like a dream and a nightmare all at once. The possibility of love hiding behind all of the artifice and sheer foreignness called to me yet repelled me. Nothing equated to home. But nothing was far enough removed from it to keep me sane either.
So I tried other things.
Drugs got mixed in with the drink and men got mixed in with the women. Men can be a lot more accepting of the notion of fuck buddies than are women, I found.
Being casual wasn’t a game with most of us. It was a necessity. And it came easily to these men I fucked, as it did to me.
And then I stumbled into something completely unexpected. I met a man who became far more than I’d planned. He was the first one I ever let have me. The only one. And for a while, it became less callous and more giving. We saw each other in daylight, woke up together some mornings and knew the names of each others’ kids. We opened up to each other. Or so I thought. I could have loved him. Might have. But I realize now that only one of us entered into the game with our fingers not crossed behind our back.
My Alan. My Waterloo. My Three Mile Island. My Dear God, You’ve Fucked Things Up For Real This Time.
I didn’t know. I swear to God, I was blind as a fucking bat and I didn’t see him for what he was. I couldn't see what he was. His marriage was over, too. And we—no, I -- thought this was turning into something right and real. His rages were normal. I’d felt them myself during the anguish of losing the myth of my marriage. Felt them at the fear – irrational, I now know – that I’d lose my son somehow. Or worse, hurt him in some way that could not be mended.
But my rages were only ever directed inward whereas his were not. And I fucking allowed it. Couldn’t imagine that each time it happened, it wouldn’t be the last. That it wasn’t something I could help with.
All of it – the good and the bad – was made up of my choices. And my reactions.
Our meeting was intense, our evolution spectacular, our dissolution bloody and messy and full of anger more so than sorrow.
What I can allow Alan now is this. He was wrong to do the things he did. To anyone. But he was in pain and in some way, I can still understand his actions. And I suppose I can understand my reactions – misguided but intended to help. I just didn’t know enough to realize I couldn’t give all of myself and have anything left to be. Pain should never be acted out on someone else. You can’t remedy your own breaks by breaking someone else.
And I suppose after all this time, I will allow myself this. When I was in pain, I worked with it myself. None of it got played out on anyone else. At least not to the extent I could control it. So score a few points for this psycho. I still own my pain. And I thought I would never use it to hurt anyone.
Yet somehow, I totally fucked up and Sean, I used you. You! Again, it was my choice and my reaction and I have to own that. But I can’t fucking believe it. Can’t feel any more to understand why I would hurt you of all people, the only person besides Henry that I’ve loved with something honest and without reservation.
I am so sorry. There is nothing I can do to make it right. Except stay away. Orlando left a message so I know he’s watching out for you. And I know he will continue to do so.
So that is where the line comes into play. And that is where it all stops. Has to stop. I can’t let anyone in there again. Alan left a pretty good mess and life has this way of demanding things of you. Things that make taking time to figure out your problems and fix them ridiculously frivolous and selfish. I can’t stop working, stop thinking and painting and writing and breathing, to figure out why I can be so fucked. What am I going to learn? Nothing that can undo what I have done, so frankly, it can all stay locked away. Total avoidance works pretty well for the chickenshit in me so long as I make sure to keep the door locked and double-bolted.
And fuck!! Sean… fuck…I am so sick every time I slip and my brain goes back over what I have done to you. I am so very sorry. I had no understanding that you were so close. Goddamn it… I thought we’d never move any closer and then when we did… God, I saw right then that it wasn’t about sex or lust or all the teasing we’d done. It was about love. And still I fucked you like a whore and tried to sneak out before daylight. I’d realized what my need was going to cost you. And how I had nothing to give no matter how we played it out. So the door slammed shut, echoing and reinforcing the line I already guarded, and I slithered away.
I will stay away now. But I will never stop regretting and trying to make it right somehow.
Sean jerked awake to the sound of thunder -- oddly rhythmic thunder that was then abruptly joined by a very annoyed voice calling his name. Fuck! Orlando was yelling his fool head off out in the hallway and threatening to beat the fucking door down if Bean didn't get his ass up and let him in.
With many muttered ‘fucks’, Sean dragged his complaining body out of the rumpled bed and stumbled to the door. He allowed himself the enjoyment of first opening it just a crack while leaving the security chain on, knowing Orlando would be eager to burst in. He wasn’t disappointed as the extremely agitated younger man yelled, “Finally!” before barreling directly into the scarcely open door and bouncing off of it.
“Fuck me!” he yelled angrily as the chain stopped his progress and he stood back with one hand caressing his bruised shoulder, glaring at Sean. “What the fuck, Bean? Open the fucking door! What the hell is wrong with you?”
Sean dropped the chain and turned back toward the room, the momentary flash of humor already gone. He ran his hand back over his dirty hair and couldn’t help but notice his own smell of day-old sweat, stale cigarettes and scotch. He heard the door close behind him and then heard Orlando’s exclamation.
“Jesus fucking Christ, Beanie! What is wrong? This place reeks! How long since you let a maid in here, huh?”
Bean turned to him slowly, in part because he wanted to get a look at him, but mostly because he wanted to flip him off.
Orlando whistled lowly as he took in the mess of a man in front of him. His voice was softer when he spoke and his eyes conveyed nothing but concern.
“Bean? You okay?”
He moved closer as though to hug him and then stopped short, surprised. He took a harder look at the other man and then scanned the room, seeing the overflowing ashtrays, empty bottles and general chaos of clothes, newspapers, and crumpled cigarettes packs.
“You’re drunk! How long have you been holed up in here drinking? What is going on, Sean? How can I help?”
At the use of his given name, Sean looked up and met Orlando’s eyes, touched and feeling oddly exposed. Orlando never called him that. And it somehow seemed so very intimate right now. He was surprised to realize that he felt a tightness in his throat at the concern and worry etched on the younger man’s handsome face. He coughed quietly and shook his head.
“Its okay, Orlando. I’m alright, mate. Just taking a break…”
“Well you look like hell, mate. And you smell. Bad! Go take a shower for God’s sake.”
“I don’t need a keeper, Orlando. Why don’t you run along and go do whatever it is you do?” Sean glared at him, a scary look coming from those tired and hooded eyes, but Orlando didn’t back down.
“Go on, mate. I’m not leaving so you may as well make yourself presentable.” With that, Orlando knocked a crumpled towel off a chair and removed the scotch bottle from the ottoman before sitting down in a gesture of defiance.
They stared each other down for a long moment and then, with a disgusted grunt, Sean turned unsteadily and headed toward the bathroom.
“Don’t fucking touch anything. And don’t start in about the scotch, Orlando.”
“Are you kidding, mate? I’m not touching anything in here until it’s been sterilized. I’m calling the cleaning staff.”
“No… no, you’re not. Leave it.”
“Bean!”
“Leave it, Orlando! I’ll take care of the mess meself. Don’t need anyone seeing what I’ve been up to.”
Orlando sighed. Bean was right. A room full of empty scotch bottles and Sean Bean would be instant tabloid fodder.
“Well, I’m calling Viggo then. He can come over and bring stuff and help us out.”
Bean stopped in the hall just outside the door to the bath. Orlando was watching him and he saw the older man’s head drop down to his chest for a long moment before he turned to face Orlando.
“Don’t call Viggo,” he said quietly.
Orlando jumped up from his seat, pulling his cell phone out of his pocket.
“I’ve got his number right here. He’ll want to see you anyway.”
“Orlando,” Bean tried again. The younger man didn’t hear or didn’t listen, he wasn’t sure which.
“Orlando! Stop! Do not call Viggo!
Orlando stopped then, eyes wide with alarm at the unexpected shout from the other man. He didn’t say anything, just watched the sad tiredness cover Sean’s face.
“We’re not mates any more, Orlando. I don’t want him here any more than he would want to be. So stay in or get out – whichever you prefer – and I’ll be fetching that shower.”
He didn’t wait to hear what Orlando intended to do. He just turned and disappeared.
no subject
Date: 2005-09-06 12:55 am (UTC)whoa...
no subject
Date: 2005-09-08 12:00 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2005-09-06 01:25 am (UTC)So so sad but so beautifully done! And angst is just what I'm a needin' tonight.
*reads it again and whimpers some more*
I'm so glad you re-posted it! I missed it earlier!
*hugs*
no subject
Date: 2005-09-08 12:01 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2005-09-06 02:50 am (UTC)Wonderfully done monologue from Viggo. Brutally honest with himself, but just can't take that step to get in there and deal.
*bouncing with anticipation to see what happens next!*
no subject
Date: 2005-09-08 12:02 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2005-09-06 06:30 am (UTC)I'm still really loving Vig and Bean's two opposing points of view. Viggo's back story helps to make his actions a lot more understandable now. Poor Viggo. No wonder he's built up such a wall around himself! I just hope Sean can be persuaded by Orlando (very sweet character here) to try to scale this wall. (I use the term 'scale' rather than 'break it down' 'cos it sounds like Vig's had a brutal enough time as it is!)
I also LOVE the humour in Sean, even in his current state. Keeping the chain on the door was hilarious. Made me LOL. There's obviously hope for him yet!
More more more, please. xxx
no subject
Date: 2005-09-06 08:58 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2005-09-08 12:02 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2005-09-08 12:04 am (UTC)and yep, it was fun to bounce orli off the door! lol!
no subject
Date: 2005-09-06 12:26 pm (UTC)I'm taking all of these to work with me, and I'll spam you with some indept FB later today. Thank you so much for posting it. :)~
no subject
Date: 2005-09-08 12:03 am (UTC)