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rugbytackleTitle: The Sharing of Dreams
Author: Rocketbalm
Pairing: SB/VM
Rating: G in this chapter R in later chapters
Summary: Two years later the fledgling friendship continues to grow and find it's way.
Content/warnings: none
Disclaimer: A work of my modestly twisted mind -- complete fiction. Never happened. Don’t know these people, sadly all in my imagination.
Archive rights: sure, ask first please
Chapter 2 – The Art of Being Friends
1996 – Two Years Later, LA
Viggo hurried through the gallery barely glancing at his work on the walls. It was less of an ego trip than he would have thought -- more like sharing your family album with strangers, which made him vaguely uncomfortable. The Gallery opening the night before had been a moderate success for the still relatively unknown artist. Viggo was pleased that some of the pieces had sold, and while it was nice that people seemed to enjoy his work, the real pleasure came from creating and sharing his work -- whether people “got it” or not was secondary. In all the excitement of the evening, he had left without his jacket which still hung in one of the offices along with cards of well wishes from friends and a beautiful bouquet of Lillies from his agent.
Lost in thought, Viggo was enjoying the reclaimed stillness of the gallery, when he realized he was not alone. A man sat, sprawled really, with his legs stretched out in front of him, completely relaxed, and stared at the painting. He knew in an instant who it was – and in that realization a wave of anticipation surged through him. It had been two years, but the memory of the man was untouched. The relaxed sprawl, the tilt of the golden head, the ooze of sex appeal – it couldn’t have been anyone else but Sean.
Memories spliced together like a home movie took Viggo back instantly. They never had got together for the night out Sean had promised back in London. Schedules clashed, meetings couldn’t be juggled and then Viggo flew state side. They had called each other a couple of times since then, but life kept getting in the way, and the budding friendship had seemingly stalled between continents. Still, Viggo enjoyed the memory and had saved the note along with the sketches. It was well worn from his fingers gliding over the page not because he needed it to remember but because it always made him smile.
The fact that the intensity of Sean had crept into Viggo’s art hadn’t really surprised him -- considering how visually rich and textured his recollection of their evening was. He had painted dozens of paintings over the last two years, though he always returned to a painting that emerged seemingly from his subconscious. At first its appearance startled him as it smoldered and licked its way across the canvass creating and intense glow -- when he recognized the glow for what it was, it became warm comforting place to just be. The canvas was less a reflected portrait of Sean and more a random collage of emotion, colour, and texture exposing the quiet strength that radiated from the man; the cracked and brittle foundations of broken relationships; and struggle of hopefulness trying to break free of the past. It was all there in the painting, the painting, the very one that Sean sat and stared at.
Viggo realized that he had been standing motionless for several moments, holding his breath. His lungs were beginning to protest as he finally let it out with a soft, barely audible, whoosh. Sean’s body tensed slightly as he realized that he wasn’t alone. With the careless grace he swung his legs to straddle the bench and face Viggo as if he had been expecting him.
“I like this one; it feels familiar -- intense yet a little sad and hopeful at the same time.”
Viggo’s eyes widened in surprise, not believing that Sean could see what he had painted so clearly and seemingly, not see himself. Before he could fully process his thoughts Sean added with a grin, “And here I was worried I’d find a picture of me snoring on your couch, with eyelashes longer than my daughters.” Viggo snorted as he closed the gap between the two and hugged Sean close as he rose from the bench. They fell into a comfortable silence as they basked in the warmth of friendship and studied the painting.
“I’m pretty thick when it comes to this stuff so you’ll have to forgive my ignorance – I don’t know what it’s supposed to be, I just know it makes me feel comfortable, safe.” Sean said shyly.
Viggo nodded and replied softly “I know”. After another comfortable silence, Sean turned to Viggo hesitantly. “So, what do you say, are you free? Can I take you for dinner? I owe you a night out, you know. I haven’t forgotten.” Sean spoke in a rush like he was afraid that Viggo might not come.
Viggo continued to stare at the painting, still slightly stunned that Sean was here in front of his painting. Sean shyly ducked his head, taking Viggo’s silence for rejection and he shuffled uncomfortably. Viggo shook himself out of his stupor and put his hand on Sean’s arm and said “Sounds great” with a warm grin. Then with frown he remembered that he was expecting a call from Henry later that evening that he didn’t want to miss. “My son is going to be calling tonight, how about you come over and I cook you dinner?”
“I could be risking a lot here. If you cook like you paint, will it taste anything like it looks?”
“If I cooked liked I painted you might never get fed” he answered easily. The effortlessness of friendship warmed them as they worked out plans for dinner.
-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=
At home Viggo stood barefoot, humming to himself as he leisurely prepared dinner for himself and Sean. He would stop often and stare out the window, still not sure of how he felt about Sean seeing his picture -- not just seeing it, but feeling it. While Sean didn’t know that the picture was essentially him, it felt like he saw inside Viggo, to what he thought and felt. It was as if Viggo’s already unique world was slightly out of balance -- but in a good way. He wasn’t quite sure what it meant only that he liked the feeling; the feeling of being understood, of not having to explain. He hadn’t felt that with anyone in a long time and he liked it. He liked it a lot.
-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=
Driving to Viggo’s, Sean smiled at how fate had brought them together again. When Sean had flown into town for the premiere, he had toyed with idea of calling Viggo, catching up, and maybe going for dinner. It wasn’t until he had heard, in passing, of Viggo’s gallery opening that the idea stirred from interest to need. Sean shook his head, Viggo was quite possibility the most down to earth, eccentric, nutter he’d ever met who somehow made Sean feel comfortable in his own skin again. He didn’t give it a lot of thought, he just accepted it. For some reason, they shared a bond, a connection like they’d been friends since childhood. Sean didn’t want to analyze it; he just wanted to enjoy it. Pulling into Viggo’s unassuming driveway, he grabbed a bottle of wine, from the seat next to him in the car and made his way to the door.
Dinner was just as each man expected. Good food, wine, comfortable companionship. They talked about everything; from upcoming projects to kids. When ever Viggo spoke of Henry, his eyes sparkled and his whole face lit up. Viggo’s voice would get soft and his words rolled together in a warm jumble, with the love only another parent could relate to. Sean would get the same glow when he spoke about his girls; it was yet another bond the two men shared. They skirted around the subject of ex wives and relationships and after dinner they settled in the lounge abandoning the wine in favour of whiskey and music from Viggos’ eclectic collection.
Before Sean arrived he had promised himself he wouldn’t unload his problems on Viggo for a second time, wanting to enjoy the evening. Slowly, as the night wore on; as Viggo shared pieces of his life with him; as the warmth of being with a friend reassured him, and in knowledge that he wouldn’t be judged, Sean forgot his promise. Then as he sat there, and told Viggo about Mel and the girls and how he thought he failed again, all the hurt and anger and guilt that were wrapped up in his deteriorating marriage came pouring out. He sensed Viggo beside him before he saw him; and when he felt a strong hand on his shoulder offering comfort, he lost it. His eyes welled up and sobs rumbled deep in his chest as Viggo pulled him close and held him. Held him and slowly stroked the back of his head, running his fingers though his hair, like you would a child who was hurt. Held him until his breathing became even again. Held him and made him feel less broken.
Slowly Sean moved away from Viggo’s warmth, and looked sheepishly from underneath his fringe. “Gonna tuck me in again too?” he asked with a wry grin.
“Naw, the last time I did that you drooled on my couch.” Viggo smiled back, blue eyes teasing him gently. “Come on you can sleep in the guest room.” Taking it for granted that Sean would stay. Sean, for his part, was grateful for not having to ask.
“God, I can’t believe I did that to you again. You must think I’m a complete nutter and now I owe you another dinner. Christ at this rate, I’ll just buy you a restaurant and have it done with.” Sean shook his head with disbelief.
Viggo slung his arm casually across Sean’s shoulders as he guided him to the rear of the house. “You needed a friend Sean. I happen to like being your friend” then he gave Sean’s arm a squeeze and added “even if you are a complete, what did you call it? Nutter?” He threw Sean a T-shirt and spare toothbrush.
“Besides, you can make it up to me tomorrow by spending the day with Henry and me and take us both out for dinner AND ice-cream.
TBC
Author: Rocketbalm
Pairing: SB/VM
Rating: G in this chapter R in later chapters
Summary: Two years later the fledgling friendship continues to grow and find it's way.
Content/warnings: none
Disclaimer: A work of my modestly twisted mind -- complete fiction. Never happened. Don’t know these people, sadly all in my imagination.
Archive rights: sure, ask first please
Chapter 2 – The Art of Being Friends
1996 – Two Years Later, LA
Viggo hurried through the gallery barely glancing at his work on the walls. It was less of an ego trip than he would have thought -- more like sharing your family album with strangers, which made him vaguely uncomfortable. The Gallery opening the night before had been a moderate success for the still relatively unknown artist. Viggo was pleased that some of the pieces had sold, and while it was nice that people seemed to enjoy his work, the real pleasure came from creating and sharing his work -- whether people “got it” or not was secondary. In all the excitement of the evening, he had left without his jacket which still hung in one of the offices along with cards of well wishes from friends and a beautiful bouquet of Lillies from his agent.
Lost in thought, Viggo was enjoying the reclaimed stillness of the gallery, when he realized he was not alone. A man sat, sprawled really, with his legs stretched out in front of him, completely relaxed, and stared at the painting. He knew in an instant who it was – and in that realization a wave of anticipation surged through him. It had been two years, but the memory of the man was untouched. The relaxed sprawl, the tilt of the golden head, the ooze of sex appeal – it couldn’t have been anyone else but Sean.
Memories spliced together like a home movie took Viggo back instantly. They never had got together for the night out Sean had promised back in London. Schedules clashed, meetings couldn’t be juggled and then Viggo flew state side. They had called each other a couple of times since then, but life kept getting in the way, and the budding friendship had seemingly stalled between continents. Still, Viggo enjoyed the memory and had saved the note along with the sketches. It was well worn from his fingers gliding over the page not because he needed it to remember but because it always made him smile.
The fact that the intensity of Sean had crept into Viggo’s art hadn’t really surprised him -- considering how visually rich and textured his recollection of their evening was. He had painted dozens of paintings over the last two years, though he always returned to a painting that emerged seemingly from his subconscious. At first its appearance startled him as it smoldered and licked its way across the canvass creating and intense glow -- when he recognized the glow for what it was, it became warm comforting place to just be. The canvas was less a reflected portrait of Sean and more a random collage of emotion, colour, and texture exposing the quiet strength that radiated from the man; the cracked and brittle foundations of broken relationships; and struggle of hopefulness trying to break free of the past. It was all there in the painting, the painting, the very one that Sean sat and stared at.
Viggo realized that he had been standing motionless for several moments, holding his breath. His lungs were beginning to protest as he finally let it out with a soft, barely audible, whoosh. Sean’s body tensed slightly as he realized that he wasn’t alone. With the careless grace he swung his legs to straddle the bench and face Viggo as if he had been expecting him.
“I like this one; it feels familiar -- intense yet a little sad and hopeful at the same time.”
Viggo’s eyes widened in surprise, not believing that Sean could see what he had painted so clearly and seemingly, not see himself. Before he could fully process his thoughts Sean added with a grin, “And here I was worried I’d find a picture of me snoring on your couch, with eyelashes longer than my daughters.” Viggo snorted as he closed the gap between the two and hugged Sean close as he rose from the bench. They fell into a comfortable silence as they basked in the warmth of friendship and studied the painting.
“I’m pretty thick when it comes to this stuff so you’ll have to forgive my ignorance – I don’t know what it’s supposed to be, I just know it makes me feel comfortable, safe.” Sean said shyly.
Viggo nodded and replied softly “I know”. After another comfortable silence, Sean turned to Viggo hesitantly. “So, what do you say, are you free? Can I take you for dinner? I owe you a night out, you know. I haven’t forgotten.” Sean spoke in a rush like he was afraid that Viggo might not come.
Viggo continued to stare at the painting, still slightly stunned that Sean was here in front of his painting. Sean shyly ducked his head, taking Viggo’s silence for rejection and he shuffled uncomfortably. Viggo shook himself out of his stupor and put his hand on Sean’s arm and said “Sounds great” with a warm grin. Then with frown he remembered that he was expecting a call from Henry later that evening that he didn’t want to miss. “My son is going to be calling tonight, how about you come over and I cook you dinner?”
“I could be risking a lot here. If you cook like you paint, will it taste anything like it looks?”
“If I cooked liked I painted you might never get fed” he answered easily. The effortlessness of friendship warmed them as they worked out plans for dinner.
-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=
At home Viggo stood barefoot, humming to himself as he leisurely prepared dinner for himself and Sean. He would stop often and stare out the window, still not sure of how he felt about Sean seeing his picture -- not just seeing it, but feeling it. While Sean didn’t know that the picture was essentially him, it felt like he saw inside Viggo, to what he thought and felt. It was as if Viggo’s already unique world was slightly out of balance -- but in a good way. He wasn’t quite sure what it meant only that he liked the feeling; the feeling of being understood, of not having to explain. He hadn’t felt that with anyone in a long time and he liked it. He liked it a lot.
-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=
Driving to Viggo’s, Sean smiled at how fate had brought them together again. When Sean had flown into town for the premiere, he had toyed with idea of calling Viggo, catching up, and maybe going for dinner. It wasn’t until he had heard, in passing, of Viggo’s gallery opening that the idea stirred from interest to need. Sean shook his head, Viggo was quite possibility the most down to earth, eccentric, nutter he’d ever met who somehow made Sean feel comfortable in his own skin again. He didn’t give it a lot of thought, he just accepted it. For some reason, they shared a bond, a connection like they’d been friends since childhood. Sean didn’t want to analyze it; he just wanted to enjoy it. Pulling into Viggo’s unassuming driveway, he grabbed a bottle of wine, from the seat next to him in the car and made his way to the door.
Dinner was just as each man expected. Good food, wine, comfortable companionship. They talked about everything; from upcoming projects to kids. When ever Viggo spoke of Henry, his eyes sparkled and his whole face lit up. Viggo’s voice would get soft and his words rolled together in a warm jumble, with the love only another parent could relate to. Sean would get the same glow when he spoke about his girls; it was yet another bond the two men shared. They skirted around the subject of ex wives and relationships and after dinner they settled in the lounge abandoning the wine in favour of whiskey and music from Viggos’ eclectic collection.
Before Sean arrived he had promised himself he wouldn’t unload his problems on Viggo for a second time, wanting to enjoy the evening. Slowly, as the night wore on; as Viggo shared pieces of his life with him; as the warmth of being with a friend reassured him, and in knowledge that he wouldn’t be judged, Sean forgot his promise. Then as he sat there, and told Viggo about Mel and the girls and how he thought he failed again, all the hurt and anger and guilt that were wrapped up in his deteriorating marriage came pouring out. He sensed Viggo beside him before he saw him; and when he felt a strong hand on his shoulder offering comfort, he lost it. His eyes welled up and sobs rumbled deep in his chest as Viggo pulled him close and held him. Held him and slowly stroked the back of his head, running his fingers though his hair, like you would a child who was hurt. Held him until his breathing became even again. Held him and made him feel less broken.
Slowly Sean moved away from Viggo’s warmth, and looked sheepishly from underneath his fringe. “Gonna tuck me in again too?” he asked with a wry grin.
“Naw, the last time I did that you drooled on my couch.” Viggo smiled back, blue eyes teasing him gently. “Come on you can sleep in the guest room.” Taking it for granted that Sean would stay. Sean, for his part, was grateful for not having to ask.
“God, I can’t believe I did that to you again. You must think I’m a complete nutter and now I owe you another dinner. Christ at this rate, I’ll just buy you a restaurant and have it done with.” Sean shook his head with disbelief.
Viggo slung his arm casually across Sean’s shoulders as he guided him to the rear of the house. “You needed a friend Sean. I happen to like being your friend” then he gave Sean’s arm a squeeze and added “even if you are a complete, what did you call it? Nutter?” He threw Sean a T-shirt and spare toothbrush.
“Besides, you can make it up to me tomorrow by spending the day with Henry and me and take us both out for dinner AND ice-cream.
TBC
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no subject
Date: 2005-09-10 05:58 pm (UTC)That's all I'm going to say. I'm not sure I know how to tell you in another manner that I love everything that you write. You're super talented and I'm jealous :P
no subject
Date: 2005-09-11 05:35 am (UTC)I'm glad you're enjoying :-)
rb
no subject
Date: 2005-09-10 06:19 pm (UTC)I'm looking forward to reading the rest of this :)
no subject
Date: 2005-09-11 05:37 am (UTC)cheers, rb
no subject
Date: 2005-09-10 07:47 pm (UTC)*fangirls you*
There is this easy connection between Viggo and Sean. And you describe exactly how I picture Sean, sprawling on the bench , then straddling it. There is something about his body language that's so very sexy.
no subject
Date: 2005-09-11 05:39 am (UTC)Thanks for reading, I'm glad you're enjoying it.
rb
Hello
Date: 2005-09-11 05:06 am (UTC)Re: Hello
Date: 2005-09-11 05:41 am (UTC)cheers, rb