Taking Back What's Mine

[thevixenne.livejournal.com]

Author: Ashlyn K. Toliver

E-mail: KTR525@yahoo.com

Rating: NC-17

Type: RPS

Pairing: Sean/Viggo (Orlando mentioned)

Warnings: If you’re partial to Orlando, you might not like this story.  If you’re not, then you may.  Also mentions of drug use and masturbation. 

Author’s Note:  This is for Anne, Helena and jamiesdream.  I miss you all and miss spending time in this universe.

Sean

 

I’m laying here in the dark in my empty flat with a bottle of something or other thinking about him.

 

Wanting him…craving him.

 

It’s bonkers really, that with one call on the mobile my agent Trevor can have a bevy of lovely and willing women at my front doorstep in the time it takes for me to piss and all I can think about is what I could have had if I wasn’t so bloody stupid.

 

I’m a right idjit and I know that now, but at the time who could’ve blamed me.

 

We’re mates – blokes – and as far as I’d known I was more or less certifiably straight.  Oh yeah, I’d had a few go rounds with guys – one can’t help that in the high class bordello that made up nights at RADA, especially after a few pints, maybe a few lines or a few hits (depending on who could afford the drugs) and conducive surroundings.  I’d had my share of fooling around, mutual circle jerks and the like, but nothing like what I found myself wanting in that damned bloody blue-eyed walking contradiction.

 

Then again, I grew up running the streets and learned stuff about life that I’m sure my parents didn’t have in mind when they talked of gaining experience.  Coupla my mates back then in my old gang, The Union – I knew they were queer – liked boys more than girls, but it didn’t bother me and they kept it hush.  They were still tough as all get out and would sooner kick your arse just for looking at them wrong.

 

Why the fuck am I even trying to justify this? 

 

Abby always said I was a selfish bastard anyways and in this case she’s bloody well right.  I want what I want and all the bloody rationalization in the world isn’t going to change that.

 

I knew from the moment we met that I wanted him.  I didn’t rightly know what it was, didn’t know how to express it without sounding like a character from some bloody romance or something – it’s hard to explain, even now.

 

Moreso it just seemed right to want him.  Yeah, I know two guys and all, but people expect all Brits, especially actors, to be poofs anyhow so I’d just be living up to that reputation.

 

Besides, as a straight man it seems I’ve not been the best at it, if three screwed-up marriages is any sign. 

 

Yeah, I want him, but there’s just one little problem.

 

Viggo’s with Orlando.

 

He’s with Orlando and I know damn well he shouldn’t be.  I know he took Orlando because I was so fucking stupid.

 

Well, I didn’t get a reputation for ruthlessness for no reason.  I’m going over there and I’m taking back what’s mine.  If Orlando gets in the way, well, he gets hurt.

 

Wot’s that they always say – you can take the boy out of the streets, but you can’t take the streets out of the man.

 

Viggo

 

I’m laying here almost like dead weight while Orlando is doing his best with his mouth on my cock.  I’m making all the prerequisite sounds of ecstasy and thrashing my hips about, and I’m surprised that he can’t tell it’s all an act.

 

My mind is elsewhere though my body swerves, rises and falls to the rhythm of his lips on me.

 

I’m seeing Sean, feeling Sean. 

 

It should be Sean doing this to me, or me doing this to him.  Orlando tries his best, but I already know, as I’ve known for almost a year now that it’s just not meant to go on.  It never was.

 

I’ve been a liar and a coward, too damn stubborn in my pride to see what was so obvious.  Sean did not have the words to say, but were they really necessary?  All I needed to see what was in those incredible eyes of his.

 

And the day I allowed myself to be led away by Orlando – what the hell was I thinking?  I wasn’t thinking, at least not with the head attached to my neck.  I just wanted someone and figured Orlando would do.  Hell, I even thought that perhaps I could love him eventually, rather than use him to get a certain arrogant Brit out of my blood.

 

I do like Orlando – as a friend.  As a lover I discovered a little too late that he really wasn’t what I needed…what I craved.

 

What I saw in Sean.

 

What I tasted in the man’s kiss that night I tried to get him to say the words.

 

Fuck, I didn’t need the words.  His mouth on mine had been far more passionate than a Donne sonnet.  In that kiss had been desire, trust, hunger, violence – everything that made him so devastatingly attractive to me in the first place.

 

Why couldn’t I have been satisfied with what I felt rather than what I heard – or didn’t hear?

 

His cock against my thigh, straining in the confines of the linen trousers he wore as our eyes held each other’s gazes like predator and prey.  My hand on his rib cage as his tongue made short work of any semblance of gentleness as we fought to be closer than just a kiss.

 

I like Orlando.  I can’t – won’t – call him Orli as I know he would like for me to do.  To call him that is what I’d call him if I thought of him as a lover.  He’s not though he believes he is.  I’ve let him go right on believing it, just as I’m letting him believe that the sex we have is everything I could possibly dream of.

 

Perhaps if I’d never met or touched or desired Sean Bean that might have indeed been the case.

 

But I have and I need – have always needed the roughness and harshness of breath and bone.  I need the stubble of a strong jaw and the sight of those lines of life that line his eyes like the rings of a tree.  I need those absinthe-drugging eyes and need the flavor of old whisky and warm tobacco.  I need the rude street boy with that thick and dirty accent and I need the sophisticated charmer with the lip-lick that makes me want to fuck him until neither of us can see straight.

 

Everything I need, Orlando cannot be.

 

Sean

 

It didn’t take me long at all to fly out to California.  Celebrity does indeed have its privileges, including the ability to book a first-class seat at a moment’s notice.

 

The adrenaline rush was so powerful that it made me forget that I hated planes, hated flying in general.  Thankfully it was an evening flight so I could sleep the entire time.

 

I was thinking about Viggo – so was my cock, and I was grateful for the blankets that managed to cover my hard-on.

 

About what I wanted to do to Viggo.  About what I wanted him to do to me.

 

I knew for a certainty that Orlando was merely a substitute, nothing more.  I had no problem displacing him because it had never been his place to begin with.

 

Don’t get me wrong. I didn’t hate the bloke – he was actually a nice kid and we’d had plenty of adventures during the shoots – and I’d always known he had it bad for Viggo (practically everyone on set did) – it was just that he was an obstacle now.  He was in the way of what was mine.

 

Removing obstacles was something I’d always been very good at.

 

Viggo

 

Orlando was planning to come over later that night.  Though I’d wanted to be alone, to paint, or write poetry – or attempt to do one of those things – somehow I ended up agreeing to it – again.

 

I stared at blank canvases, blank pieces of paper, twiddled a cheap blue pen in my hands as my thoughts scattered.

 

How long could I keep this charade up?  I didn’t love Orlando – hell I didn’t even want him.  I could see him slowly falling in love with me – he’s always been easy to read, honest in a way I wasn’t. 

 

I didn’t want to hurt him, but the longer I allowed him to believe my feelings echoed his, the harder it would be for me to extricate myself.  Yes, I’m a coward, I admit it.  I don’t like harming people, neither physically nor emotionally.

 

But I wanted Sean and I would have Sean.  I didn’t know how or when or what I’d tell Orlando when it happened, but Sean would be mine.

 

Sean

 

I didn’t see Orlando’s bright red Porsche which meant Viggo was alone.  Good.  It would make things easier.

 

His home was a tribute to the ultimate in what he called “rainforest chic” in the middle of a California beach town suburb.  If Viggo didn’t want to be found, he wouldn’t be, but I’d been here before and knew how to find the intercom.

 

I rang twice, waited, impatiently tapping my feet against the concrete.  I didn’t even stop to consider that he might not be home.

 

He answered and that voice I’d wanked off to for so many nights reminded me full on just why I wanked off to it.

 

“Orlando, you’re early…”

 

“It’s not Orlando.  It’s Sean.”

 

Silence.  I thought I could hear his heavy breathing.  I could barely keep still.

 

I heard a ‘click’ as the automatic gate unlocked.  I pushed my way in, leaving the outside world behind.

 

There he stood – faded jeans with holes (the man still had no fashion sense whatsoever), a faded t-shirt in which I could see the puckered tips of his tits.  My mouth salivated for a taste of that skin.  His feet as always were bare – Viggo didn’t understand the concept of footwear – he never had.

 

His hair was a shaggy mess of silvering strands lost in a forest of red, black and brown, like the colours of autumn.  The eyes were still that odd blue which tended to take the colour of whatever his surroundings were.

 

“Sean.”

 

“Yeah, me.  Where’s you know who?”

 

“Not here.  He’s planning to come over later.”

 

Within three steps I had him in my arms.  “The hell he is,” I said and took his mouth and showed him who truly owned it.

Comments

[angiepen.livejournal.com]

Heh, nice to see Sean making things right. :)

And just as a data point, I like Orlando very much but I have no problem with this story. It's not as though you're making him out to be a whiny brat or a selfish little shit or whatever. He's a nice guy who's in a bad spot because the man he fell in love with is using him. That sucks but it's not something to hate the story over. I'm sure that when Sean and Viggo get things worked out, Orlando will get over Viggo and find someone like Eric or Liam to dry his tears and make everything better. :D

Angie

[painted-horse.livejournal.com]

Better to sort out things - and oneself - late than never. Those two are meant to be and Orli can - hopefully - use his anger about having been used to get over Viggo. Great story.

[lab-jazz.livejournal.com]

I’m laying here almost like dead weight while Orlando is doing his best with his mouth on my cock.

Poor little Orlando, he tries so hard!

[alex-quine.livejournal.com]

Strong sense of characters in very contrasting moods, one all decision and motion, the other in limbo and hating himself for it, and the piece gets its drive from the imminent collision. Thanks for posting.