Contrasts 3, Part 2
Sep. 7th, 2006 05:30 pm![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
irrlicht74.livejournal.com posting in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png){kind=small}
rugbytackleTitle: Contrasts 3, Part 2
Authors:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
afra_schatz & irrlicht74
Pairing: VigBean, of course
Rating: R
Disclaimer: All made up. Not making money with it. Yaddayadda...
Warning: AU!! Plus this was written as a roleplay.
Summary: Sean’s a tax consultant and Vig’s a book illustrator. They meet at a party and like each other instantly, but aren’t sure what to make out of it. Yet. ;) Hell, I do SO suck at summaries! I promise it’s far more interesting than it sounds like.
Author’s Note: Well, I tried to NOT let months pass again...
Beta: The lightning-fasthelena_s_renn Thank you so much! *snugglehugs*
Archive: Rugbytackling. All others, please ask.
Sean turned his head and watched the door to his room being pushed open slowly. He swallowed hard when he saw the silhouette of Viggo’s body standing in the doorframe, only dimly illuminated by the moonlight.
Sean half sat up in his bed, his mouth suddenly too dry to speak, but Viggo didn’t seem to need a verbal invitation to step over the threshold into the room. Sean’s heart was pumping so hard, it seemed to slam against his lungs with each forceful stroke, making him breathless; he just waited.
Viggo walked over to Sean’s bed, natural elegance without even a hint of pretentiousness, and sat down on the edge of the white covers, looking at Sean.
“You okay?”
Viggo’s voice was quiet and a bit raspy, the two little words sending shivers down Sean’s spine and all he could do was nod. Viggo leaned closer, his gaze becoming even more focused, and Sean crumbled under the intensity of Viggo’s stare and changed the nod into a short helpless shrug. Viggo shifted closer and Sean was transfixed, unable to move, like he was hypnotised by the American’s blue eyes.
“You will be,” Viggo stated, utter conviction in his voice, and he raised his hand to cup Sean’s face. Completely calm, but still shaking a bit. It took Sean a long moment to realise that it was him, his entire body, quivering, not Viggo’s.
The Brit’s eyes widened when Viggo leaned closer still and suddenly he was so aware of how dry his lips were, of how warm Viggo’s breath. Sean’s lips parted as Viggo’s came within mere centimetres. As he closed his eyes he could already almost taste Viggo, he almost knew how Viggo’s rough lips would feel on his own when Viggo would, would – Kiss him.
Sean didn’t get to know; he didn’t get to feel.
He woke up suddenly, panting and sweating, sitting up in his bed. Alone.
Damn.
Damn. Damn. Damn.
He wiped away the sweat from his forehead and fell back onto the mattress, cursing quietly. Cursing a little louder when he realised how hard he was and that this state of arousal wouldn’t let him fall asleep again and forget what he had been dreaming. He rubbed his hands over his damp face, felt them shaking slightly and groaned in frustration. But as soon as he had closed his eyes again, he saw Viggo, saw Viggo leaning closer to him to kiss him. Shit.
He squeezed his eyes shut tightly, having no other choice than to close his fist around his erection to get it over with quickly. Tears ran down his cheeks when he came and he sobbed in frustration when he could almost feel Viggo’s rough tongue licking them away, could almost hear Viggo’s voice whispering ‘you’ll be okay’ over and over.
He wiped his come from his hand with a handkerchief and felt himself blushing at the task. Like he was 13 again, wanking for the first time with that exquisite and sickening rush of excitement and shame.
The first light of dawn came through the window next to his bed and Sean was so grateful for the arrival of day for he feared that if he fell asleep again, he would only dream of Viggo. And then he probably wouldn’t want to wake up ever again.
With a shaky intake of breath he got up, dressed, and left the house quietly for a walk, only to return after 20 or so metres because he’d forgotten to leave a note so Viggo wouldn’t worry.
”Out for a stroll. Will be back for brekkies. Sean.” It said.
***
Viggo woke up from his half-dozing state, because he thought he’d heard a door shut. He rubbed his eyes and blinked. Sunlight crept into the room and Vig wasn’t sure whether to be happy or sad about it. He didn’t get much sleep that night. His dreams had been blurry and weird, but all about Sean.
Four or five times Vig had woken at night, because he’d dreamed Sean had cried out for him, but once fully awake Vig had noticed that it had all been a dream and went to bed again. Over in Sean’s room everything was silent. Had been all night. Vig had thought that he’d heard the sheets rustling, but that wasn’t possible. The walls were just too thick for it.
He’d spent some time then imagining the Brit’s body moving under the sheets, he couldn’t have heard rustling. Had imagined how the soft fabric had caressed the pale skin. How it would feel to replace the sheets with his hands, stroking over muscular thighs, well-trained pecs and hard abs, further down until he would reach Sean’s already hard and perfect cock.
He’d tried to think of how Sean would react to his touch. Or at least how he _wished_ Sean would react. How his breathing would deepen, how his eyelids would droop in pleasure, how he’d arch up into Viggo’s gentle touch, opening his eyes again and looking up at him with these sparkling, green eyes...
Vig had moaned and almost involuntarily begun to stroke himself. He’d been hard anyway and had known he wouldn’t grow soft anytime soon. Not when he’d continued fantasising about the man he loved sleeping peacefully next door.
He’d drawn out his pleasure, had held back as long as he could, half hoping that Sean wouldn’t notice what was going on in the room right next to him, half hoping that he _would_ catch Vig in the act and admit his own feelings. Feelings Vig hoped and prayed were there, hoped and prayed he hadn’t imagined.
Viggo had come with a harsh cry and Sean’s name on his lips, but still sleep hadn’t come easily to him. He’d dozed off now and then, but had woken from the faintest sounds. At least until shortly before morning, until now, when the sound of a closing door woke him up again.
Closing or opening?
Vig got up and dressed, then he walked downstairs, where he found a note saying Sean was out for a walk, but would be back soon.
It had been cold before the sun had fully risen and warmed the air but Sean didn’t mind. He had never been much of a nature person, playing football in back alleys and on muddy patches of green had always been more his idea of ‘being outside.’ But this was nice.
Sean smiled to himself when he realised that ‘this’ and ‘nice’ were astonishingly poor descriptions of the landscape and its untouched beauty, but then he was no poet and was quite happy about that, too. He could do without the heartache and misery of not finding adequate words. Bow more than ever was he glad to have a job that required crunching numbers and trained rhetoric rather than creativity.
Merely thinking of facing Viggo again gave him a rush of stage-fright. What was he supposed to say? ‘Oi, yesterday while you were drivelling ‘bout tomatoes I realised that I’m in love with you. Did the Greeks really think that vegetable is special?’ Sean cringed at his brain’s unasked-for preview and began walking a little faster down the uneven path close to the woods so he would become breathless and too occupied to think further. Of course this didn’t work – yeah, he was out of breath pretty soon, leaning against a huge old tree, its rough structured bark scratching against his back, but he just kept thinking about Viggo.
His crooked smile, his barking laughter, his slightly off gestures when he spoke. His ability to phrase complicated things so very clearly and seemingly simply, to talk about the minutiae of life with sophisticated eloquence.
A tiny cloud that had momentarily shaded the sun travelled a little further and the bright rays of the sun blinded Sean and made him give up his resting place. Trusting his instincts he turned left into the forest, believing that the winding path would lead him back to the farm eventually. Sunlight danced on the rich brown ground all around him and birds outdid themselves with their lilting. And suddenly it felt so ridiculous to Sean to angst like he was, to brood like he had that he laughed out loud and scared the birds closest to him off their branches.
Viggo, for once not knowing what to do to distract himself, had entertained himself with a few quick sketches of his nightly dreams – entitled ’Things that will never be’ – and then with making breakfast, hoping Sean would be back before tea and coffee got cold.
He’d taken his time. Against his usual self that was completely satisfied with having all items he’d need to eat _somewhere_ on the table, Vig had set it properly this time. Napkins neatly folded and laid next to the plates, framed by a knife, a fork and a spoon, the cups on saucers slightly oblique above the plates.
Vig frowned. How could anyone like such...static arrangements? He took the vase with – he took a closer look – with almost fresh flowers and put it on the table without thinking. So it would add a little chaos to all the straight lines. He frowned again. Could there be chaos when it was intended? Or would that be too much organisation already? Hm...
While he was still pondering over that question Sean returned from his walk. He looked...Vig held his breath for a second. Better than ever before. Happy, relaxed, vibrant, the green eyes sparkling with mischief. Sean was practically _glowing_ with joy and all Viggo could do was stare.
“Good morning,” the Brit greeted him. “See you found my note.”
Viggo blinked and remembered how to breathe again.
“Yes. Thanks. I didn’t know whether you wanted tea or coffee, so I made both. Sean, where have you been? You look, like, ten years younger.”
Sean shrugged and smiled, “Ta.”
He knew he hadn’t answered Viggo’s question, knew it had not been merely rhetorical. Where had he been? To the forest and feeding bouquets to livestock but of course this didn’t explain a thing, so why say it?
Viggo tilted his head and obviously waited for a further comment for a moment longer. When it didn’t come he teased, “Exchanged eternal youth for the ability to speak, have you?”
“Fucker,” Sean chuckled but then did reply to Viggo’s question after all, “’M just happy to have this weekend off and am spending it here and with you, is all. And tea, I take tea.”
Viggo gestured towards one of the pots.
“Help yourself.”
He took a seat while Sean did the same, but Vig reached for the coffee pot instead of the tea pot. So, a weekend it was. He didn’t ask Sean again where he’d been. It had been a more or less rhetorical question anyway. Something said to fill the silence. Obviously Sean was in a better mood today than yesterday evening.
“I’m glad to be here with you, too,” Viggo finally said.
Sean raised his cup of tea and made a toasting gesture with it in response to Viggo's words.
"And with you making breakfast it's my turn to think 'bout something for supper, yeah? - You think they have take out out here? I'm really good at ordering that."
"Really?" Viggo's answer was slightly mumbled due to the cereal in his mouth but after chewing and swallowing he said, "I do remember a time when I had to eat something that I couldn't even pronounce correctly because you thought it a neat idea to order in the native tongue of the man on the other end of the line..."
"For one thing,” Sean defended himself, "my Japanese isn’t half bad, so that person must've had a hearing problem. And secondly, it's not like there's anything on this planet that you wouldn't eat. Even if only out of pure curiosity."
"Have you tried bugs? They taste great, really crunchy and--"
Sean pulled a face just as he knew Viggo wanted him to and shook his head in mock exasperation. "You're an idiot."
Viggo grinned broadly and Sean knew that he’d done that just to please Sean, that huge smile that made laugh lines appear around his eyes and made his nose wrinkle a little.
"Didn't know,” Sean said after a pause, "that you could set the table that nicely."
Now Viggo pulled a face and Sean laughed out loud. "Don't tell me. The neatness of it makes you nearly fall into a coma, don't it?"
"I may be an idiot," Viggo replied and rearranged the glasses of jam and honey into a mock military parade, all standing to Sean's attention, "but you're a freak for discipline."
"Won't deny that.” Sean nodded, pulled some of the flowers out of the vase, and scattered them over and next to Viggo's plate. "Structure is nice. Reliable. Comforting."
"Change baaad?" Viggo asked, drawling the two words so they were almost not understandable, and his fingers played with the soft petals of the tulips in front of him.
"No,” Sean replied with conviction as he watched Viggo's idle actions. "I'm just slow. Have problems adjusting to anything new; takes me longer than normal people."
Somehow Vig got the feeling that they weren’t merely talking about setting tables and changing habits any longer, but about way more fundamental, life-altering changes. But he didn’t want to rush head over heels into assuming things he didn’t have the slightest proof of. Not this time. It was too important. Still, he wanted Sean to know that...
Vig drew his gaze away from the silky-feeling flower petal between his fingers and looked up into the Brit’s face.
“I think that’s good,” Viggo said. “Needing time, I mean. Changes should develop slowly. One should have enough time to think everything through. There’s no use in making rash decisions only to regret them for the rest of your life.”
He returned to toying with the flowers on the table and around his plate, feeling himself relaxing as he did so. When had he begun to tense anyway? His tone had been light. Sean’s, too. Only a harmless exchange of opinions. Vig felt the Brit’s gaze on him, but didn’t look up again.
“Ever regretted one of your decisions?” he asked softly.
Viggo exhaled audibly. “Many. But I would make everything just like that again, if I got the chance. - Even wearing green jeans to a screaming pink shirt at Bernard’s birthday. He almost had a heart attack, but the look on his face was so worth it.” Viggo giggled at the memory. “That aside, I _like_ green and pink.”
Sean looked Viggo up and down, dressed in a slightly paint splattered blue T-Shirt and faded jeans and muttered, "Pink? You've got to be kidding me."
But if he was honest with himself, Sean would still think him sexy even if Viggo dressed up as The Pink Panther, complete with a wagging tail. That mental image made Sean snicker into his tea and earned him a curious glance from Viggo.
"What?"
"Nothing, mate,” Sean put his cup down but couldn't stop grinning. "As long as that's the first thing that comes to your mind when thinking about regrets, you're a lucky man."
"What's the first thing you think about then?"
Sean shrugged and he really didn't know, spontaneously. Not that there weren't things he regretted, things he should've handled with more care, more professionalism - simply better. But right now they all didn't seem unforgivable, nothing to spend sleepless nights over anymore. Except that he had only slept a few hours last night and had lain awake for the rest...
A small frown furrowing his brows, he looked up at Viggo who was again concentrating on coating his toast in as many flavours of jam as possible. But what was there to say? Knowing how much he liked being around someone and having overcome the first shock of that realisation didn't mean that he knew what to do next, did it? He had never been good with that flirting business, never felt comfortable ‘courting’ - aside from the fact that Viggo would probably fall down on his ass laughing if Sean did.
“Thinking too much,” Sean finally answered Viggo’s initial question of what he regretted.
“Yeah,” Vig murmured, chewing. “I know what you mean.” He silently mused over taking more of the blackcurrant jam next time and thought to himself that the pink/green attack hadn’t been the first thing that had come to mind, only the first thing he’d said. All the other things would’ve been too serious to discuss first thing in the morning. Plus he didn’t want to make Sean uncomfortable again, and sharing secrets, or at least the intimate details of one’s life, sometimes had that effect. Maybe another time.
“So you’re thinking too much, too?” the Brit asked and took another cup of tea.
Viggo frowned slightly while he thought about that for a moment, then his forehead smoothed and he answered, “I don’t know if I’d say _too_ much, but definitely a lot. I often go outdoors or take a walk through the streets in search of new impressions and motives. You have a lot thinking time then.”
"Comes with the profession, doesn't it?"
"Letting your thoughts wander and trying to keep up? Yeah, I guess."
"Different from mine then,” Sean mused and sat back, having finished eating. "Figures, contracts, paragraphs - all interesting and time consuming but really quite separated from what I image one would think of when letting one's thoughts wander."
A bit like that dressing thing, Sean thought. He felt comfortable in expensive suits, even liked going out shopping for them, but they were clearly labelled 'work,' while his jeans and pullovers were for that limited free time. He knew Vig owned a suit or two, but he was sure that Viggo really couldn't care less what he wore when, because all of it was just Viggo, nothing more nothing less.
"So, that on the agenda for today?" Viggo asked. Sean's thoughts had obviously drifted off after his last statement. "Thinking too much?"
Sean flipped Viggo the bird. "I was more thinking of lazing about but you go right ahead and I'll watch smoke coming out of your ears."
"I'd rather not,” Viggo replied; both of them looked in the direction of the door where Sean's coat hung, cell phone ringing in the pocket.
Sean checked his watch and smiled, explaining, "It's just Molly, checking whether I've gotten my lazy arse outta bed today."
Viggo waved him off. While Sean talked to his daughter, he put the milk back in the fridge so it wouldn't turn sour before leaving the room. When the Brit had finished his short conversation, still blushing at the knowing tone in his girl's request to 'give the artist a kiss from me, aye,' he found said artist sitting on the grass in front of the house, drawing. Viggo waved at Sean to join him in sitting Indian style in the middle of nowhere doing nothing in particular. Sean got a football mag out of his car and slumped down beside the other man, squinting at the bright sunlight when he lay on his back.
***
The hours had passed with almost unreal speed. Viggo guessed said that little cliché was true: time really flies when you’re having fun. Not that he wasn’t used to forgetting about time and surroundings when he was drawing, but he’d still been slightly shocked when he’d noticed that it was almost one p.m. He turned his head and found Sean lying right next to him, dozed off in the warm sun.
Viggo really could’ve used a nap himself, but oddly enough he wasn’t tired. Not yet. Maybe later. He turned a page of his sketch book and took a closer look at Sean. Vig could’ve drawn the Brit from memory by now – and actually had done it already, many times – but who was he to let this chance go by? He followed the other man’s features with his pencil – metaphorically, of course – transcribed him to the paper. Vig outlined the now slightly furrowed forehead, the elegant brows, the cheeks, as if it wasn’t his pencil but his fingers tracing them. A pity that Sean’s eyes weren’t open. Then again, he wouldn’t have the chance to capture the green depths properly anyway. After all, he wasn’t drawing in colour at the moment. Hm...Maybe...
Viggo turned to a new page and drew Sean’s head tilted a little, so he looked at him. With eyes open. So called “artistic licence,” wasn’t it? His stomach growled loudly. Oh. Yeah. They hadn’t eaten for quite a while now. Only a few more lines...
Sean wasn't really sleeping but he wasn't awake either. He noted the quiet rustling of paper, the tiny scratches Viggo's pencil made on it. He heard the grass rustling softly and vaguely wondered whether there was a bug crawling through it right next to his ear. He heard Viggo's stomach growling and the American mumbling something in response or just wordlessly talk to himself, startling to hum. Viggo's stomach growled again and the right corner of Sean's mouth curved upwards slightly.
The pencil scratches stopped for a moment; Sean knew that Viggo had noticed him smiling and opened his eyes. He found Viggo's calm grey-blue gaze on him, watching him so intensely that for a moment Sean asked himself whether that bug he'd been wondering about was maybe sitting right on his forehead. Sean tried an easy if self-conscious grin, but Viggo didn't answer it for long seconds, just kept staring as if he was trying to look right through Sean. Then he seemed to notice himself gazing and quickly turned his eyes down, closing the sketch pad on his lap.
"What're you drawing?" Sean asked curiously and propped himself up onto his elbows. Viggo merely shrugged and half smiled, a spontaneous reaction Sean wasn't sure was directed at him. Sean nudged Viggo's thigh with the back of his hand, trying to ease the strange tension by joking, "Have I been drooling in my sleep 'n' you found that expressionistically worth sketching?"
Again no reply, but Viggo looked at him from beneath lowered eyelashes and Sean could see something twinkling there that made him chuckle.
"Oh aye, mock the tired Brit. I don't care as long as I'll become famous by appearing in your next book." He sat up, and guided by that mischievous and amused look in Viggo's eyes, went on, tugging lightly at one corner of
the sketch pad. "C'mon, show me."
Viggo shook his head and tugged back, neither of them using any real force. Viggo temporarily got the upper hand by yanking surprisingly hard and getting the paper out of Sean's reach, hiding it behind his back. He grinned like a lunatic but yelped the next second when Sean lunged forward, pushing him onto his back and landing on top of him.
"Now will you show me?"
Viggo found his speech again.
“Can’t. We’re lying on it.”
“What a lame excuse.”
Vig only grinned. He really enjoyed Sean lying on top of him, but of course the Brit didn’t stay like that. He seemed to be determined to see what Vig had drawn, and Viggo didn’t know exactly why he made such a big deal out of not wanting to show him. He hadn’t captured something indecent or particularly erotic, probably nothing that would embarrass Sean or make him uncomfortable. Thinking more closely about it, Vig came to the decision that he had acted like that because it had been the first occasion he’d had Sean so close without the other man minding or getting nervous.
They rolled around in the grass for a moment, playfully fighting for the sketch book. Sean even started to tickle Viggo, which made him dissolve into giggles for a few seconds; his grip on the paper lessened. With a triumphant, “Ha-haaaa!” Sean raised his arm in an ‘I won’ gesture and immediately started to flick through the drawings. Viggo propped himself up onto an elbow and watched Sean.
“Great,” the Brit murmured. “These are so great. You should become illustrator, you know.”
“Oh, funny. Ha, ha.” Sean raised his head, his green eyes sparkling with silent laughter. “If you weren’t a tax consultant already, I’d have suggested stand-up comedian.”
“Since you’re grinning like the loon you are,” Sean countered, “you can be the president of my fan club. There’ll be t-shirts and buttons and little flags with my name on them.”
“Sometimes I wonder why your head hasn’t grown to the size of a really big pumpkin and maybe even exploded what with you being so god-awfully narcissistic.”
“I think my head is quite well-proportioned, thank you,” Sean replied dead pan and returned looking at the sketches. Carefully he traced his own features on the paper and looked at the image of himself with wonderment. With all teasing irony gone from his voice, he asked, “Do I really look like that when I sleep?”
He looked up to search Viggo’s face but the other man just shrugged, seemingly light-heartedly, and nodded once. Sean’s eyes returned to the paper and he shook his head in disbelief. Sure, he recognized his own face; he looked at it every morning in the mirror, didn’t he? The thin lips, lines having hardened over the years; his nose, almost invisibly crooked thanks to a drunken bar fight; short eyelashes and that constant frown that had engraved lines into his forehead. It was him alright, and yet the picture had ‘Viggo’ practically written all over it. Sean didn’t know much about the technical process of drawing, didn’t know how an artist thought about proportions rationally, but he could tell from the results when skill and passion worked together in the process of creating. He felt himself blushing, not because of the intimate moment of sleep Viggo had captured but because of the thousand things that little piece of paper seemed to whisper to him about Viggo.
Viggo watched Sean closely. One could say carefully. Had it been a mistake to show him his sketches? Certainly not. It seemed the Brit liked what he saw. Viggo was thankful that he hadn’t brought the sketch book he’d been working with earlier that morning. Yes, Sean was definitely opening up little by little, but everything Vig had drawn earlier that day might have scared the Brit so he’d have retreated again behind the high walls he’d built so carefully around himself. And Vig wouldn’t have wanted that.
He had just opened his mouth to tease, something along the lines of, “I could paint you a proper portrait so you could hang it into your office. Always a good way to impress your clients,” when his stomach growled again and he started laughing instead.
“Damn!” he cursed. “Seems you’re right. I’m always hungry.”
Sean got up, grunted something about how old his knees felt in moments like this and looked down at Viggo.
"C'mon then, Picasso. I'll make us something for supper."
Viggo just tilted his head and wriggled his toes, which Sean took as approval of his plans, but the artist didn't get up.
"All right,” Sean sighed ostentatiously. "You lazy bugger! I'll see what I can bring out here, yeah?"
"I'll wait here."
"Yeah, I figured that what with you still not having moved. I’m expecting you to be here when I'm back from the hunt."
"So, I'm not supposed to be collecting berries and doing other cave-woman stuff, then?"
"Well, I'd tell you to go and wash your hands and feet, but I suppose you wouldn't do that either, would you?"
"Nah, free spirit and all."
Sean flipped him the bird and walked back to the house. He actually found a picnic basket on top of one of the shelves and threw in whatever sorts of edible stuff he could find that didn't need further preparation. Fetching a blanket from the sofa in the living room, he returned outside only to find Viggo lying on his belly and sketching again an expression of utter concentration on his face. Sean corrected that by throwing the blanket on top of Viggo, who hadn't even noticed his arrival, so it covered the artist’s body except for his naked feet and left him in the dark.
TBC (of course :)
A/N: The first two parts can be found atdas_moor or THERE.
Authors:
afra_schatz & irrlicht74Pairing: VigBean, of course
Rating: R
Disclaimer: All made up. Not making money with it. Yaddayadda...
Warning: AU!! Plus this was written as a roleplay.
Summary: Sean’s a tax consultant and Vig’s a book illustrator. They meet at a party and like each other instantly, but aren’t sure what to make out of it. Yet. ;) Hell, I do SO suck at summaries! I promise it’s far more interesting than it sounds like.
Author’s Note: Well, I tried to NOT let months pass again...
Beta: The lightning-fast
helena_s_renn Thank you so much! *snugglehugs* Archive: Rugbytackling. All others, please ask.
Sean turned his head and watched the door to his room being pushed open slowly. He swallowed hard when he saw the silhouette of Viggo’s body standing in the doorframe, only dimly illuminated by the moonlight.
Sean half sat up in his bed, his mouth suddenly too dry to speak, but Viggo didn’t seem to need a verbal invitation to step over the threshold into the room. Sean’s heart was pumping so hard, it seemed to slam against his lungs with each forceful stroke, making him breathless; he just waited.
Viggo walked over to Sean’s bed, natural elegance without even a hint of pretentiousness, and sat down on the edge of the white covers, looking at Sean.
“You okay?”
Viggo’s voice was quiet and a bit raspy, the two little words sending shivers down Sean’s spine and all he could do was nod. Viggo leaned closer, his gaze becoming even more focused, and Sean crumbled under the intensity of Viggo’s stare and changed the nod into a short helpless shrug. Viggo shifted closer and Sean was transfixed, unable to move, like he was hypnotised by the American’s blue eyes.
“You will be,” Viggo stated, utter conviction in his voice, and he raised his hand to cup Sean’s face. Completely calm, but still shaking a bit. It took Sean a long moment to realise that it was him, his entire body, quivering, not Viggo’s.
The Brit’s eyes widened when Viggo leaned closer still and suddenly he was so aware of how dry his lips were, of how warm Viggo’s breath. Sean’s lips parted as Viggo’s came within mere centimetres. As he closed his eyes he could already almost taste Viggo, he almost knew how Viggo’s rough lips would feel on his own when Viggo would, would – Kiss him.
Sean didn’t get to know; he didn’t get to feel.
He woke up suddenly, panting and sweating, sitting up in his bed. Alone.
Damn.
Damn. Damn. Damn.
He wiped away the sweat from his forehead and fell back onto the mattress, cursing quietly. Cursing a little louder when he realised how hard he was and that this state of arousal wouldn’t let him fall asleep again and forget what he had been dreaming. He rubbed his hands over his damp face, felt them shaking slightly and groaned in frustration. But as soon as he had closed his eyes again, he saw Viggo, saw Viggo leaning closer to him to kiss him. Shit.
He squeezed his eyes shut tightly, having no other choice than to close his fist around his erection to get it over with quickly. Tears ran down his cheeks when he came and he sobbed in frustration when he could almost feel Viggo’s rough tongue licking them away, could almost hear Viggo’s voice whispering ‘you’ll be okay’ over and over.
He wiped his come from his hand with a handkerchief and felt himself blushing at the task. Like he was 13 again, wanking for the first time with that exquisite and sickening rush of excitement and shame.
The first light of dawn came through the window next to his bed and Sean was so grateful for the arrival of day for he feared that if he fell asleep again, he would only dream of Viggo. And then he probably wouldn’t want to wake up ever again.
With a shaky intake of breath he got up, dressed, and left the house quietly for a walk, only to return after 20 or so metres because he’d forgotten to leave a note so Viggo wouldn’t worry.
”Out for a stroll. Will be back for brekkies. Sean.” It said.
***
Viggo woke up from his half-dozing state, because he thought he’d heard a door shut. He rubbed his eyes and blinked. Sunlight crept into the room and Vig wasn’t sure whether to be happy or sad about it. He didn’t get much sleep that night. His dreams had been blurry and weird, but all about Sean.
Four or five times Vig had woken at night, because he’d dreamed Sean had cried out for him, but once fully awake Vig had noticed that it had all been a dream and went to bed again. Over in Sean’s room everything was silent. Had been all night. Vig had thought that he’d heard the sheets rustling, but that wasn’t possible. The walls were just too thick for it.
He’d spent some time then imagining the Brit’s body moving under the sheets, he couldn’t have heard rustling. Had imagined how the soft fabric had caressed the pale skin. How it would feel to replace the sheets with his hands, stroking over muscular thighs, well-trained pecs and hard abs, further down until he would reach Sean’s already hard and perfect cock.
He’d tried to think of how Sean would react to his touch. Or at least how he _wished_ Sean would react. How his breathing would deepen, how his eyelids would droop in pleasure, how he’d arch up into Viggo’s gentle touch, opening his eyes again and looking up at him with these sparkling, green eyes...
Vig had moaned and almost involuntarily begun to stroke himself. He’d been hard anyway and had known he wouldn’t grow soft anytime soon. Not when he’d continued fantasising about the man he loved sleeping peacefully next door.
He’d drawn out his pleasure, had held back as long as he could, half hoping that Sean wouldn’t notice what was going on in the room right next to him, half hoping that he _would_ catch Vig in the act and admit his own feelings. Feelings Vig hoped and prayed were there, hoped and prayed he hadn’t imagined.
Viggo had come with a harsh cry and Sean’s name on his lips, but still sleep hadn’t come easily to him. He’d dozed off now and then, but had woken from the faintest sounds. At least until shortly before morning, until now, when the sound of a closing door woke him up again.
Closing or opening?
Vig got up and dressed, then he walked downstairs, where he found a note saying Sean was out for a walk, but would be back soon.
It had been cold before the sun had fully risen and warmed the air but Sean didn’t mind. He had never been much of a nature person, playing football in back alleys and on muddy patches of green had always been more his idea of ‘being outside.’ But this was nice.
Sean smiled to himself when he realised that ‘this’ and ‘nice’ were astonishingly poor descriptions of the landscape and its untouched beauty, but then he was no poet and was quite happy about that, too. He could do without the heartache and misery of not finding adequate words. Bow more than ever was he glad to have a job that required crunching numbers and trained rhetoric rather than creativity.
Merely thinking of facing Viggo again gave him a rush of stage-fright. What was he supposed to say? ‘Oi, yesterday while you were drivelling ‘bout tomatoes I realised that I’m in love with you. Did the Greeks really think that vegetable is special?’ Sean cringed at his brain’s unasked-for preview and began walking a little faster down the uneven path close to the woods so he would become breathless and too occupied to think further. Of course this didn’t work – yeah, he was out of breath pretty soon, leaning against a huge old tree, its rough structured bark scratching against his back, but he just kept thinking about Viggo.
His crooked smile, his barking laughter, his slightly off gestures when he spoke. His ability to phrase complicated things so very clearly and seemingly simply, to talk about the minutiae of life with sophisticated eloquence.
A tiny cloud that had momentarily shaded the sun travelled a little further and the bright rays of the sun blinded Sean and made him give up his resting place. Trusting his instincts he turned left into the forest, believing that the winding path would lead him back to the farm eventually. Sunlight danced on the rich brown ground all around him and birds outdid themselves with their lilting. And suddenly it felt so ridiculous to Sean to angst like he was, to brood like he had that he laughed out loud and scared the birds closest to him off their branches.
Viggo, for once not knowing what to do to distract himself, had entertained himself with a few quick sketches of his nightly dreams – entitled ’Things that will never be’ – and then with making breakfast, hoping Sean would be back before tea and coffee got cold.
He’d taken his time. Against his usual self that was completely satisfied with having all items he’d need to eat _somewhere_ on the table, Vig had set it properly this time. Napkins neatly folded and laid next to the plates, framed by a knife, a fork and a spoon, the cups on saucers slightly oblique above the plates.
Vig frowned. How could anyone like such...static arrangements? He took the vase with – he took a closer look – with almost fresh flowers and put it on the table without thinking. So it would add a little chaos to all the straight lines. He frowned again. Could there be chaos when it was intended? Or would that be too much organisation already? Hm...
While he was still pondering over that question Sean returned from his walk. He looked...Vig held his breath for a second. Better than ever before. Happy, relaxed, vibrant, the green eyes sparkling with mischief. Sean was practically _glowing_ with joy and all Viggo could do was stare.
“Good morning,” the Brit greeted him. “See you found my note.”
Viggo blinked and remembered how to breathe again.
“Yes. Thanks. I didn’t know whether you wanted tea or coffee, so I made both. Sean, where have you been? You look, like, ten years younger.”
Sean shrugged and smiled, “Ta.”
He knew he hadn’t answered Viggo’s question, knew it had not been merely rhetorical. Where had he been? To the forest and feeding bouquets to livestock but of course this didn’t explain a thing, so why say it?
Viggo tilted his head and obviously waited for a further comment for a moment longer. When it didn’t come he teased, “Exchanged eternal youth for the ability to speak, have you?”
“Fucker,” Sean chuckled but then did reply to Viggo’s question after all, “’M just happy to have this weekend off and am spending it here and with you, is all. And tea, I take tea.”
Viggo gestured towards one of the pots.
“Help yourself.”
He took a seat while Sean did the same, but Vig reached for the coffee pot instead of the tea pot. So, a weekend it was. He didn’t ask Sean again where he’d been. It had been a more or less rhetorical question anyway. Something said to fill the silence. Obviously Sean was in a better mood today than yesterday evening.
“I’m glad to be here with you, too,” Viggo finally said.
Sean raised his cup of tea and made a toasting gesture with it in response to Viggo's words.
"And with you making breakfast it's my turn to think 'bout something for supper, yeah? - You think they have take out out here? I'm really good at ordering that."
"Really?" Viggo's answer was slightly mumbled due to the cereal in his mouth but after chewing and swallowing he said, "I do remember a time when I had to eat something that I couldn't even pronounce correctly because you thought it a neat idea to order in the native tongue of the man on the other end of the line..."
"For one thing,” Sean defended himself, "my Japanese isn’t half bad, so that person must've had a hearing problem. And secondly, it's not like there's anything on this planet that you wouldn't eat. Even if only out of pure curiosity."
"Have you tried bugs? They taste great, really crunchy and--"
Sean pulled a face just as he knew Viggo wanted him to and shook his head in mock exasperation. "You're an idiot."
Viggo grinned broadly and Sean knew that he’d done that just to please Sean, that huge smile that made laugh lines appear around his eyes and made his nose wrinkle a little.
"Didn't know,” Sean said after a pause, "that you could set the table that nicely."
Now Viggo pulled a face and Sean laughed out loud. "Don't tell me. The neatness of it makes you nearly fall into a coma, don't it?"
"I may be an idiot," Viggo replied and rearranged the glasses of jam and honey into a mock military parade, all standing to Sean's attention, "but you're a freak for discipline."
"Won't deny that.” Sean nodded, pulled some of the flowers out of the vase, and scattered them over and next to Viggo's plate. "Structure is nice. Reliable. Comforting."
"Change baaad?" Viggo asked, drawling the two words so they were almost not understandable, and his fingers played with the soft petals of the tulips in front of him.
"No,” Sean replied with conviction as he watched Viggo's idle actions. "I'm just slow. Have problems adjusting to anything new; takes me longer than normal people."
Somehow Vig got the feeling that they weren’t merely talking about setting tables and changing habits any longer, but about way more fundamental, life-altering changes. But he didn’t want to rush head over heels into assuming things he didn’t have the slightest proof of. Not this time. It was too important. Still, he wanted Sean to know that...
Vig drew his gaze away from the silky-feeling flower petal between his fingers and looked up into the Brit’s face.
“I think that’s good,” Viggo said. “Needing time, I mean. Changes should develop slowly. One should have enough time to think everything through. There’s no use in making rash decisions only to regret them for the rest of your life.”
He returned to toying with the flowers on the table and around his plate, feeling himself relaxing as he did so. When had he begun to tense anyway? His tone had been light. Sean’s, too. Only a harmless exchange of opinions. Vig felt the Brit’s gaze on him, but didn’t look up again.
“Ever regretted one of your decisions?” he asked softly.
Viggo exhaled audibly. “Many. But I would make everything just like that again, if I got the chance. - Even wearing green jeans to a screaming pink shirt at Bernard’s birthday. He almost had a heart attack, but the look on his face was so worth it.” Viggo giggled at the memory. “That aside, I _like_ green and pink.”
Sean looked Viggo up and down, dressed in a slightly paint splattered blue T-Shirt and faded jeans and muttered, "Pink? You've got to be kidding me."
But if he was honest with himself, Sean would still think him sexy even if Viggo dressed up as The Pink Panther, complete with a wagging tail. That mental image made Sean snicker into his tea and earned him a curious glance from Viggo.
"What?"
"Nothing, mate,” Sean put his cup down but couldn't stop grinning. "As long as that's the first thing that comes to your mind when thinking about regrets, you're a lucky man."
"What's the first thing you think about then?"
Sean shrugged and he really didn't know, spontaneously. Not that there weren't things he regretted, things he should've handled with more care, more professionalism - simply better. But right now they all didn't seem unforgivable, nothing to spend sleepless nights over anymore. Except that he had only slept a few hours last night and had lain awake for the rest...
A small frown furrowing his brows, he looked up at Viggo who was again concentrating on coating his toast in as many flavours of jam as possible. But what was there to say? Knowing how much he liked being around someone and having overcome the first shock of that realisation didn't mean that he knew what to do next, did it? He had never been good with that flirting business, never felt comfortable ‘courting’ - aside from the fact that Viggo would probably fall down on his ass laughing if Sean did.
“Thinking too much,” Sean finally answered Viggo’s initial question of what he regretted.
“Yeah,” Vig murmured, chewing. “I know what you mean.” He silently mused over taking more of the blackcurrant jam next time and thought to himself that the pink/green attack hadn’t been the first thing that had come to mind, only the first thing he’d said. All the other things would’ve been too serious to discuss first thing in the morning. Plus he didn’t want to make Sean uncomfortable again, and sharing secrets, or at least the intimate details of one’s life, sometimes had that effect. Maybe another time.
“So you’re thinking too much, too?” the Brit asked and took another cup of tea.
Viggo frowned slightly while he thought about that for a moment, then his forehead smoothed and he answered, “I don’t know if I’d say _too_ much, but definitely a lot. I often go outdoors or take a walk through the streets in search of new impressions and motives. You have a lot thinking time then.”
"Comes with the profession, doesn't it?"
"Letting your thoughts wander and trying to keep up? Yeah, I guess."
"Different from mine then,” Sean mused and sat back, having finished eating. "Figures, contracts, paragraphs - all interesting and time consuming but really quite separated from what I image one would think of when letting one's thoughts wander."
A bit like that dressing thing, Sean thought. He felt comfortable in expensive suits, even liked going out shopping for them, but they were clearly labelled 'work,' while his jeans and pullovers were for that limited free time. He knew Vig owned a suit or two, but he was sure that Viggo really couldn't care less what he wore when, because all of it was just Viggo, nothing more nothing less.
"So, that on the agenda for today?" Viggo asked. Sean's thoughts had obviously drifted off after his last statement. "Thinking too much?"
Sean flipped Viggo the bird. "I was more thinking of lazing about but you go right ahead and I'll watch smoke coming out of your ears."
"I'd rather not,” Viggo replied; both of them looked in the direction of the door where Sean's coat hung, cell phone ringing in the pocket.
Sean checked his watch and smiled, explaining, "It's just Molly, checking whether I've gotten my lazy arse outta bed today."
Viggo waved him off. While Sean talked to his daughter, he put the milk back in the fridge so it wouldn't turn sour before leaving the room. When the Brit had finished his short conversation, still blushing at the knowing tone in his girl's request to 'give the artist a kiss from me, aye,' he found said artist sitting on the grass in front of the house, drawing. Viggo waved at Sean to join him in sitting Indian style in the middle of nowhere doing nothing in particular. Sean got a football mag out of his car and slumped down beside the other man, squinting at the bright sunlight when he lay on his back.
***
The hours had passed with almost unreal speed. Viggo guessed said that little cliché was true: time really flies when you’re having fun. Not that he wasn’t used to forgetting about time and surroundings when he was drawing, but he’d still been slightly shocked when he’d noticed that it was almost one p.m. He turned his head and found Sean lying right next to him, dozed off in the warm sun.
Viggo really could’ve used a nap himself, but oddly enough he wasn’t tired. Not yet. Maybe later. He turned a page of his sketch book and took a closer look at Sean. Vig could’ve drawn the Brit from memory by now – and actually had done it already, many times – but who was he to let this chance go by? He followed the other man’s features with his pencil – metaphorically, of course – transcribed him to the paper. Vig outlined the now slightly furrowed forehead, the elegant brows, the cheeks, as if it wasn’t his pencil but his fingers tracing them. A pity that Sean’s eyes weren’t open. Then again, he wouldn’t have the chance to capture the green depths properly anyway. After all, he wasn’t drawing in colour at the moment. Hm...Maybe...
Viggo turned to a new page and drew Sean’s head tilted a little, so he looked at him. With eyes open. So called “artistic licence,” wasn’t it? His stomach growled loudly. Oh. Yeah. They hadn’t eaten for quite a while now. Only a few more lines...
Sean wasn't really sleeping but he wasn't awake either. He noted the quiet rustling of paper, the tiny scratches Viggo's pencil made on it. He heard the grass rustling softly and vaguely wondered whether there was a bug crawling through it right next to his ear. He heard Viggo's stomach growling and the American mumbling something in response or just wordlessly talk to himself, startling to hum. Viggo's stomach growled again and the right corner of Sean's mouth curved upwards slightly.
The pencil scratches stopped for a moment; Sean knew that Viggo had noticed him smiling and opened his eyes. He found Viggo's calm grey-blue gaze on him, watching him so intensely that for a moment Sean asked himself whether that bug he'd been wondering about was maybe sitting right on his forehead. Sean tried an easy if self-conscious grin, but Viggo didn't answer it for long seconds, just kept staring as if he was trying to look right through Sean. Then he seemed to notice himself gazing and quickly turned his eyes down, closing the sketch pad on his lap.
"What're you drawing?" Sean asked curiously and propped himself up onto his elbows. Viggo merely shrugged and half smiled, a spontaneous reaction Sean wasn't sure was directed at him. Sean nudged Viggo's thigh with the back of his hand, trying to ease the strange tension by joking, "Have I been drooling in my sleep 'n' you found that expressionistically worth sketching?"
Again no reply, but Viggo looked at him from beneath lowered eyelashes and Sean could see something twinkling there that made him chuckle.
"Oh aye, mock the tired Brit. I don't care as long as I'll become famous by appearing in your next book." He sat up, and guided by that mischievous and amused look in Viggo's eyes, went on, tugging lightly at one corner of
the sketch pad. "C'mon, show me."
Viggo shook his head and tugged back, neither of them using any real force. Viggo temporarily got the upper hand by yanking surprisingly hard and getting the paper out of Sean's reach, hiding it behind his back. He grinned like a lunatic but yelped the next second when Sean lunged forward, pushing him onto his back and landing on top of him.
"Now will you show me?"
Viggo found his speech again.
“Can’t. We’re lying on it.”
“What a lame excuse.”
Vig only grinned. He really enjoyed Sean lying on top of him, but of course the Brit didn’t stay like that. He seemed to be determined to see what Vig had drawn, and Viggo didn’t know exactly why he made such a big deal out of not wanting to show him. He hadn’t captured something indecent or particularly erotic, probably nothing that would embarrass Sean or make him uncomfortable. Thinking more closely about it, Vig came to the decision that he had acted like that because it had been the first occasion he’d had Sean so close without the other man minding or getting nervous.
They rolled around in the grass for a moment, playfully fighting for the sketch book. Sean even started to tickle Viggo, which made him dissolve into giggles for a few seconds; his grip on the paper lessened. With a triumphant, “Ha-haaaa!” Sean raised his arm in an ‘I won’ gesture and immediately started to flick through the drawings. Viggo propped himself up onto an elbow and watched Sean.
“Great,” the Brit murmured. “These are so great. You should become illustrator, you know.”
“Oh, funny. Ha, ha.” Sean raised his head, his green eyes sparkling with silent laughter. “If you weren’t a tax consultant already, I’d have suggested stand-up comedian.”
“Since you’re grinning like the loon you are,” Sean countered, “you can be the president of my fan club. There’ll be t-shirts and buttons and little flags with my name on them.”
“Sometimes I wonder why your head hasn’t grown to the size of a really big pumpkin and maybe even exploded what with you being so god-awfully narcissistic.”
“I think my head is quite well-proportioned, thank you,” Sean replied dead pan and returned looking at the sketches. Carefully he traced his own features on the paper and looked at the image of himself with wonderment. With all teasing irony gone from his voice, he asked, “Do I really look like that when I sleep?”
He looked up to search Viggo’s face but the other man just shrugged, seemingly light-heartedly, and nodded once. Sean’s eyes returned to the paper and he shook his head in disbelief. Sure, he recognized his own face; he looked at it every morning in the mirror, didn’t he? The thin lips, lines having hardened over the years; his nose, almost invisibly crooked thanks to a drunken bar fight; short eyelashes and that constant frown that had engraved lines into his forehead. It was him alright, and yet the picture had ‘Viggo’ practically written all over it. Sean didn’t know much about the technical process of drawing, didn’t know how an artist thought about proportions rationally, but he could tell from the results when skill and passion worked together in the process of creating. He felt himself blushing, not because of the intimate moment of sleep Viggo had captured but because of the thousand things that little piece of paper seemed to whisper to him about Viggo.
Viggo watched Sean closely. One could say carefully. Had it been a mistake to show him his sketches? Certainly not. It seemed the Brit liked what he saw. Viggo was thankful that he hadn’t brought the sketch book he’d been working with earlier that morning. Yes, Sean was definitely opening up little by little, but everything Vig had drawn earlier that day might have scared the Brit so he’d have retreated again behind the high walls he’d built so carefully around himself. And Vig wouldn’t have wanted that.
He had just opened his mouth to tease, something along the lines of, “I could paint you a proper portrait so you could hang it into your office. Always a good way to impress your clients,” when his stomach growled again and he started laughing instead.
“Damn!” he cursed. “Seems you’re right. I’m always hungry.”
Sean got up, grunted something about how old his knees felt in moments like this and looked down at Viggo.
"C'mon then, Picasso. I'll make us something for supper."
Viggo just tilted his head and wriggled his toes, which Sean took as approval of his plans, but the artist didn't get up.
"All right,” Sean sighed ostentatiously. "You lazy bugger! I'll see what I can bring out here, yeah?"
"I'll wait here."
"Yeah, I figured that what with you still not having moved. I’m expecting you to be here when I'm back from the hunt."
"So, I'm not supposed to be collecting berries and doing other cave-woman stuff, then?"
"Well, I'd tell you to go and wash your hands and feet, but I suppose you wouldn't do that either, would you?"
"Nah, free spirit and all."
Sean flipped him the bird and walked back to the house. He actually found a picnic basket on top of one of the shelves and threw in whatever sorts of edible stuff he could find that didn't need further preparation. Fetching a blanket from the sofa in the living room, he returned outside only to find Viggo lying on his belly and sketching again an expression of utter concentration on his face. Sean corrected that by throwing the blanket on top of Viggo, who hadn't even noticed his arrival, so it covered the artist’s body except for his naked feet and left him in the dark.
TBC (of course :)
A/N: The first two parts can be found at
das_moor or THERE.
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no subject
Date: 2006-09-07 03:59 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-09-07 04:45 pm (UTC)RL kept me from posting sooner. *laughs* No, seriously. I just didn't have the bloody time! *growls* But today I managed, and I hope
Thank you very much that you're still such a faithful reader, despite the long time between the posts. (And I hardly dare to tell you, that I still have to send Helena the last part for this "chapter". *hides*)
no subject
Date: 2006-09-07 05:19 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-09-07 06:14 pm (UTC)And...
but hope it doesn't take them too long to get round to it !
Within this "chapter", I promise.
no subject
Date: 2006-09-07 09:58 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-09-08 11:30 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-09-07 11:36 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-09-08 11:32 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-09-09 11:44 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-09-10 10:38 am (UTC)But fear not! We do our very best. :)
no subject
Date: 2006-09-10 09:22 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-09-10 10:40 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-09-11 06:32 am (UTC)And that's like the pace of this story - slow and easy, letting them discover each other.
And makes for most enjoyable and pleasurable reading.
no subject
Date: 2006-09-11 05:15 pm (UTC)I never thought I'd be able to write a VigBean fic without them ending up in bed within the first part, but with this story everything's different.