My first fic ever
Jun. 10th, 2003 07:59 pm![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
moldava.livejournal.com posting in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png){kind=small}
rugbytackleTitle: Memory
Author:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
moldava
Pairing: SB/VM
Rating: NC-17
Summary: drunken Sean
Feedback: Would love it, thanks.
Disclaimer: not mine, only in my dreams
Notes: with huge thanks tocinzia and jenmstar for encouragement and beta and to lannamichaels for the lj code and great feedback
Memory
He was driving around the night district, looking for an easy lay...
The blitz trip to England had been a wreck. He’d gone through the meetings with the lawyers and the divorce hearings in a numb haze of exhaustion, not caring anymore what was going on, ready to give up on everything if it meant that it would all be over quicker so he could put it past him and start forgetting. Once again.
When he’d boarded the plane for the flight back to New Zealand he’d fallen asleep, the coma-like sleep of utter physical and emotional exhaustion. Sleep had brought back energy. Awake now and cruising through Wellington a tsunami of blind, mindless rage had set in, charged with anger and bitterness. Such kind of rage he remembered from much younger days. It was something he thought he’d mastered and put behind as he grew older and wiser. Now it burned dangerously through him once again, but it also made him feel alive, running on a high voltage current that must find release.
And, despite all the years, he still knew just what it took to have that energy flow through him harmlessly, cleansing him without carrying him over the edge. A beating or a fucking.
He still bore a couple of old, faint scars from the many pub brawls he used to throw himself in just to unwind. Of the many women he’d used to the same purpose he only had a vague feel of writhing bodies beneath him, to be used and forgotten.
And one of the two was what he needed right now.
The first option was not open to him anymore. The Sean Bean thing had its dues. The press would have a field day if he were to get caught in a drunken brawl. And as for PJ he would certainly kill him without waiting for the Boromir death scene.
A fucking then. He only needed to find a body, but whose...
An image flashed through his mind, his gut immediately joining in enthusiastically: Viggo, with those clear, somber eyes that always seemed to be staring at him, sizing him up, waiting. Was there really a kind of unspoken challenge in the watcher’s steady gaze or was he placing in those eyes the things he wanted to find there, those he dreamed about in the still of the night? No. He shut the door fast on those thoughts. Too dangerous ground. He’d never had a true mate like Viggo, but a wrong step on that path might lose him the friendship and maybe not gain him anything to make up for that.
Back on track then, cruising, hunting for a quick one he could forget all about five minutes after finishing with. But as woman after woman sped past he did not slow down. He shifted nervously in the car seat, but could not remember being that picky in the past.
Then he slammed the brakes.
*Viggo*. Standing right in the middle of the street in full Strider rags, Anduril in his hand and a couple of wary looking Wellington policemen closing in on him.
In a flash he was out of the car and smooth-talking the cops, explaining, finding excuses, calling on all Middle Earth powers to get Viggo out of the spot before this got ugly.
Luckily the guys knew about the filming and since no real trouble had happened yet, they were willing to let it go, provided Sean brought “Strider” home, kept an eye on him and made sure that ugly looking sword was put somewhere safe.
“Viggo, have you gone completely crazy? What the fuck are you doing in the middle of Wellington in costume and with that damn sword?” Sean asks, trying to keep in check the anger that was boiling in him, threatening to spill. However, he hadn’t planned on venting this way.
***
Viggo’s quite happy to see Sean. It’s been just a few days but he’s missed him so much. And with him away his brain has been going in circles, around and around the one thought: I want him, I must have him, I have to find a way to have him, at least once, without risking the friendship. Unable to find a way through to the heart of the maze, he’s let Aragorn take over for a bit, give him some rest.
By now he knows Sean as well as he knows himself. He’s been watching him so long he can read him as if he were one of his poems. Hell, he wants Sean to become one of his poems... But now something’s different, he’s never seen such uncontrolled fire in him, wonders what got it started and just how much it would burn if he could find a way to get close enough.
While he’s been caught up in his musing, Sean’s been haranguing him about going around in costume and with his sword in the middle of the night on a busy street. He can tell that his friend is really angry, but he feels that there must be something more to it than Sean having to step in to rescue him from the cops (Had he needed rescuing? If so he hadn’t noticed).
The word lashing however makes him feel good and warm, as if a tiny flame of the fire he’s seen in those green eyes has caught on and is now burning in him. He can’t focus on what Sean’s saying, the words fly past him unheeded, the voice, harsher than usual and in a much thicker accent, scrapes over his nerve endings in an oddly pleasant way, so he lets himself be pushed into the car and driven to Sean’s place.
****
He waits for Viggo to step into the trailer before slamming the door. He’s still feeling badly on edge and deep down he knows that being around Viggo when his temper’s like this is not a good idea. He resorts to breathing techniques and tries to relax a bit, to keep himself in check. Tonight Viggo seems to him already unbalanced enough without his adding fuel to this strange unspoken bonfire they always seem to have going, each in his own different way.
He walks to the window, looks out unseeing into the dark, considering. The anger is still boiling inside him, barely banked. Brawling he’d already discarded. An easy cathartical fuck’s not an option anymore, despite the twitches in his cock the mere idea’s giving him every time he catches Viggo’s gaze lingering on him.
Booze will have to do then, and luckily he picked up jumbo bottles of vodka and single malt at Heathrow while waiting for his flight to be called.
“Drink?”, he asks Viggo.
****
Viggo’s mind has been considering options too.
Sean’s not his usual self tonight, that is plain to see. Could this be his chance? If so, does he want to risk taking that chance? Sean’s at the window, gripping the frame, knuckles white. Just looking at the lean muscled frame vibrating energy makes Viggo harden and ache, while his mouth goes dry.
When Sean finally gets a grip, turns and offers a drink, he eagerly accepts. He needs one badly but tones down the whisky with ice from the kitchen. No time to get sloshed, he needs to have a clear mind. He watches Sean dive into the vodka, glass after glass, though it’s unchilled and must taste like shit. Sean’s drinking like there’s a best before date on it and it’s today and Viggo wonders what’s causing this but all his cautious prodding questions end up in front of a stone wall. He cannot get through, not yet.
****
After the first few glasses, the vodka’s not even tasting so bad anymore. There’s no taste and this is good, means that quite soon there’ll be no feeling too. Some part of Sean’s still aware that Viggo is there and claps itself on the back cause he has kept him safe. Sean has protected Viggo from the cops and now the vodka will protect Viggo from Sean himself, from that angry bad boy Sean that might beat him up or fuck him senseless. He starts relaxing, letting the booze smooth the tension in his body and flow through his consciousness, taking over. He stretches on the couch, knotted muscles slowly unclenching.
****
Viggo tastes his whisky slowly, biding his time, but the alcohol is getting to him too, each sip making sensible thought something that can be put off to another day. Possible moves that he had previously discarded as too crazy, too direct, just too jeopardizing of his friendship with Sean, now begin to seem feasible. Even good maybe.
His mind is still alert enough to realize that Sean’s defenses are down and that Sean’s booze dulled awareness might play so that whatever Viggo does the memory of it, if any at all, would be just some vague ghost itching at the back of Sean’s mind: did that really happen or did I dream it?
Sean is now lying on the couch, eyes closed, glass and bottle on the floor close to a limp stretched out arm.
Viggo moves near, climbs on the sofa, his knees on either side of Sean’s legs.
“Hey, you’re falling asleep on me? Want me to go home so you can go to bed?”, asks Viggo.
“Yeah and who’s gonna drive? I’m not volunteering and you’ve drunk half of my whisky. Do you want us to visit Wellington’s jailing facilities? You can crash here with me.”, Sean’s accent is thicker, even sexier than his usual smooth tone and it is what finally breaks Viggo’s reserves.
“Oh sorry, so fucking bad mannered of me to drink your whisky and not offer you any! Forgive this uncouth American. You want a taste?”
“Of course, wouldn’t do to have my guests drinking stuff I have not quality inspected..”
Viggo crawls forward on his knees, glass in hand, takes a sip and leans in, mouth settling on Sean’s mouth, hips hovering on Sean’s.
Sean’s lips are still slightly open in a smirk and Viggo’s tongue slides in, opens them up, carrying the whisky along and blending it with the taste of raw vodka permeating Sean’s mouth. The world freezes for a moment, then erupts. Sean’s arms, so lifeless just a few seconds ago, close in like bands of steel, pressing Viggo’s body into Sean’s so hard it looks as if skin, soul and bones might interlock, become one and never be the same again once returned to their rightful owner.
Deep kisses melt one into the other until Viggo breaks away to look Sean in the eye. He knows now that he’s not the only one wanting but is still reluctant to put the question into words.
Words however are not necessary: Sean’s hands reach up and clear clothing away getting heated skin against skin. Just the contact, pores sweating into each other, is enough to drive them both crazy.
With a snake like twist of his lower back, Sean flips position.
He’s now topping a panting Viggo and this time the message those ever watchful hungry eyes are telling him is finally clear to Sean. His for the taking.
He fumbles in his discarded jeans for the condom he’d gotten ready for someone else. Dons it and nudges Viggo’s legs high and apart while oiling his cock with precome and spit. The same go on his fingers and into Viggo’s tight circle for a quick stretch. Then he aims and plunges in, straight and deep, and then stills, waiting for Viggo’s pained hiss to quiet down and for his tight clenching around Sean’s shaft to relax, making movement possible. And quite soon moving, raising hips, slamming down is the only thing can save them both from going crazy.
Sean seems tireless. All the alcohol he’s consumed is not affecting his performance but has slowed down his reactions. He pushes in and out of Viggo endlessly, until time has no meaning, while Viggo’s body climbs to orgasm, explodes, collapses and starts the trek up again and again. At last, Viggo lying limp under him, body and senses utterly sated and drained. Sean stills his pistoning, open his eyes staring directly into Viggo’s dilated ones and comes, long and hot, deep into the core of his friend’s body until with a final shudder he gently lays himself down on Viggo and melts into the deep sleep of booze and sex overload.
Viggo doesn’t care that he’s being squashed by Sean’s unconscious body, worlds could disintegrate right now and he wouldn’t even notice. Whatever grain of energy he has left, whatever brain cell is still functioning is busy trying to absorb through every pore, every sense, the feeling of Sean, saving it for the days that will come, the cold lonely days of a memory that will be Viggo’s alone.
He’s pretty sure that Sean will not remember what happened this night beyond picking him up in Wellington and sharing a few drinks. Viggo himself knows how when life’s being a bitch you can lose whole days or nights to alcohol. Once sober again, you do know that you have somehow lived through those hours but you only have a totally blank page to tell of them. But he has no regrets.
He gently pushes Sean’s weight off until he rolls onto his back, his sleep so deep he hardly seems to be breathing. He hovers above him for a while watching him, sensitive artist’s finger tracing like a butterfly his face and body, memorizing each trait by touch like a blind man would do.
With a sigh he rises from the couch, wets a cloth in the kitchen and cleans both himself and Sean, straightening things around, trying to obliterate what has gone on, to make it look like the theatre of nothing more than unquiet boozed sleep and leaves without looking back, not really caring whether he’ll be able to call a cab or will have to walk home.
****
The return to the set is good, Sean muses sitting at the pub with assorted fellowship after a day of shooting, a step forward along the path back to normal. He’s grateful for the couple days off PJ granted him after his quick duty trip to England. The voyage, the reason for it and the aftermath wore him raw and he’s still feeling strange, as if something had happened and he can’t pinpoint it.
In his mind he’s gone through all of those few days, unpleasant as they were, so many times already he’s becoming to feel sick again, almost as hungover as he was on the morning after his return to Wellington.
He’s lost some hours of his life to the booze that day, not the first time, likely not the last, but for once he’s got this itch at the back of his mind nagging him that he’s really missed something this time.
And again Sean feels Viggo’s quiet gaze rest on him like a touch, though when he tries to meet those crystal eyes they connect just for a second before shifting away. But the second’s enough to trigger something, to fuel the feeling that something is buried in the back of his memory and that it is something he needs to have back.
He is sure that if he could just stare enough into the depth of those eyes the answer he is seeking to the question he really does not know would be found. He could pick it up and click it into in its proper place in his memory and all would be well.
An unconscious instinct makes him reach across the table, grab Viggo’s hand and drag it close, bringing stiff fingers to skim his face. And what the conscious mind was keeping hidden, the body knows. Awareness finally flashes through Sean’s skin and the few moments Viggo allows before snatching back his hand and rushing out are enough to bring back the memory of touch during a lost night.
Too stunned to get up and follow Viggo, he sits there among the din and drinking, oblivious to everything, reliving a night that had been lost and is now found again.
And wondering how he can make it real for all the nights to come.
****
Alone in his trailer, Viggo stretches on the bed and allows memory to bring him back to the night that haunts his memory, the night that makes him uneasy, ashamed and full of longing when he’s around Sean. Like today.
For a moment, he’d been scared tonight at the pub. Sean’s touch on his face had slammed into his senses making him feel naked and defenseless, afraid Sean might read through him. So he’d rushed away. He’s been feeling guilty at having used his friend’s drunken state to get what he would not step up and ask for. And he’d probably do it again given a chance.
The ringing of the cellphone breaks into his thoughts. He reaches for it and looks at the display. Sean’s number..
“Hey Viggo, what was the rush? Something wrong?”
“No Sean, I’m sorry I left so abruptly, I had forgotten I was waiting for a call from Henry”. The lies comes easy, funny how much acting he’s doing in his real life lately thinks Viggo.
“Well, since you’re done now, come over. I’d love some company and it’s still early. Come and have a drink with me.”
Shit, he had felt rather sure Sean would not remember but having it spelled out in this casual invitation hurts.
But he won’t say no, he’s not able to refuse any chance to be around Sean.
****
“I’ll get us something to drink”, says Sean heading to the kitchen.
Viggo walks to the window, leans on the frame and stares out into the dark. Does he have the strength to face this? Will it be just a few hours of companionship or will it be another bout of heavy drinking, maybe followed by another heart rending round with an oblivious Sean?
He craves the feel and the memory of it but just that one time was wrecking enough, a repeat would break him...
And time is up cause Sean’s back and filling up to the brim their glasses from a moisture fogged bottle of clear liquid. Vodka again then, lust, oblivion and shame to follow.
To feel again Sean’s hard hotness taking him and to stare again in ignorant eyes offering just uncomplicated friendship in the days to follow... He takes a huge swallow from his glass, so cold it numbs his mouth. Queer, there’s no kickback in the throat from the alcohol. Another sip... iced water??
Sean meets Viggo’s stunned look grinning.
“I’m not taking any risks this time. I want to be sure we’re both clear headed enough to know and enjoy and remember”.
Author:
moldavaPairing: SB/VM
Rating: NC-17
Summary: drunken Sean
Feedback: Would love it, thanks.
Disclaimer: not mine, only in my dreams
Notes: with huge thanks to
cinzia and jenmstar for encouragement and beta and to lannamichaels for the lj code and great feedbackMemory
He was driving around the night district, looking for an easy lay...
The blitz trip to England had been a wreck. He’d gone through the meetings with the lawyers and the divorce hearings in a numb haze of exhaustion, not caring anymore what was going on, ready to give up on everything if it meant that it would all be over quicker so he could put it past him and start forgetting. Once again.
When he’d boarded the plane for the flight back to New Zealand he’d fallen asleep, the coma-like sleep of utter physical and emotional exhaustion. Sleep had brought back energy. Awake now and cruising through Wellington a tsunami of blind, mindless rage had set in, charged with anger and bitterness. Such kind of rage he remembered from much younger days. It was something he thought he’d mastered and put behind as he grew older and wiser. Now it burned dangerously through him once again, but it also made him feel alive, running on a high voltage current that must find release.
And, despite all the years, he still knew just what it took to have that energy flow through him harmlessly, cleansing him without carrying him over the edge. A beating or a fucking.
He still bore a couple of old, faint scars from the many pub brawls he used to throw himself in just to unwind. Of the many women he’d used to the same purpose he only had a vague feel of writhing bodies beneath him, to be used and forgotten.
And one of the two was what he needed right now.
The first option was not open to him anymore. The Sean Bean thing had its dues. The press would have a field day if he were to get caught in a drunken brawl. And as for PJ he would certainly kill him without waiting for the Boromir death scene.
A fucking then. He only needed to find a body, but whose...
An image flashed through his mind, his gut immediately joining in enthusiastically: Viggo, with those clear, somber eyes that always seemed to be staring at him, sizing him up, waiting. Was there really a kind of unspoken challenge in the watcher’s steady gaze or was he placing in those eyes the things he wanted to find there, those he dreamed about in the still of the night? No. He shut the door fast on those thoughts. Too dangerous ground. He’d never had a true mate like Viggo, but a wrong step on that path might lose him the friendship and maybe not gain him anything to make up for that.
Back on track then, cruising, hunting for a quick one he could forget all about five minutes after finishing with. But as woman after woman sped past he did not slow down. He shifted nervously in the car seat, but could not remember being that picky in the past.
Then he slammed the brakes.
*Viggo*. Standing right in the middle of the street in full Strider rags, Anduril in his hand and a couple of wary looking Wellington policemen closing in on him.
In a flash he was out of the car and smooth-talking the cops, explaining, finding excuses, calling on all Middle Earth powers to get Viggo out of the spot before this got ugly.
Luckily the guys knew about the filming and since no real trouble had happened yet, they were willing to let it go, provided Sean brought “Strider” home, kept an eye on him and made sure that ugly looking sword was put somewhere safe.
“Viggo, have you gone completely crazy? What the fuck are you doing in the middle of Wellington in costume and with that damn sword?” Sean asks, trying to keep in check the anger that was boiling in him, threatening to spill. However, he hadn’t planned on venting this way.
***
Viggo’s quite happy to see Sean. It’s been just a few days but he’s missed him so much. And with him away his brain has been going in circles, around and around the one thought: I want him, I must have him, I have to find a way to have him, at least once, without risking the friendship. Unable to find a way through to the heart of the maze, he’s let Aragorn take over for a bit, give him some rest.
By now he knows Sean as well as he knows himself. He’s been watching him so long he can read him as if he were one of his poems. Hell, he wants Sean to become one of his poems... But now something’s different, he’s never seen such uncontrolled fire in him, wonders what got it started and just how much it would burn if he could find a way to get close enough.
While he’s been caught up in his musing, Sean’s been haranguing him about going around in costume and with his sword in the middle of the night on a busy street. He can tell that his friend is really angry, but he feels that there must be something more to it than Sean having to step in to rescue him from the cops (Had he needed rescuing? If so he hadn’t noticed).
The word lashing however makes him feel good and warm, as if a tiny flame of the fire he’s seen in those green eyes has caught on and is now burning in him. He can’t focus on what Sean’s saying, the words fly past him unheeded, the voice, harsher than usual and in a much thicker accent, scrapes over his nerve endings in an oddly pleasant way, so he lets himself be pushed into the car and driven to Sean’s place.
****
He waits for Viggo to step into the trailer before slamming the door. He’s still feeling badly on edge and deep down he knows that being around Viggo when his temper’s like this is not a good idea. He resorts to breathing techniques and tries to relax a bit, to keep himself in check. Tonight Viggo seems to him already unbalanced enough without his adding fuel to this strange unspoken bonfire they always seem to have going, each in his own different way.
He walks to the window, looks out unseeing into the dark, considering. The anger is still boiling inside him, barely banked. Brawling he’d already discarded. An easy cathartical fuck’s not an option anymore, despite the twitches in his cock the mere idea’s giving him every time he catches Viggo’s gaze lingering on him.
Booze will have to do then, and luckily he picked up jumbo bottles of vodka and single malt at Heathrow while waiting for his flight to be called.
“Drink?”, he asks Viggo.
****
Viggo’s mind has been considering options too.
Sean’s not his usual self tonight, that is plain to see. Could this be his chance? If so, does he want to risk taking that chance? Sean’s at the window, gripping the frame, knuckles white. Just looking at the lean muscled frame vibrating energy makes Viggo harden and ache, while his mouth goes dry.
When Sean finally gets a grip, turns and offers a drink, he eagerly accepts. He needs one badly but tones down the whisky with ice from the kitchen. No time to get sloshed, he needs to have a clear mind. He watches Sean dive into the vodka, glass after glass, though it’s unchilled and must taste like shit. Sean’s drinking like there’s a best before date on it and it’s today and Viggo wonders what’s causing this but all his cautious prodding questions end up in front of a stone wall. He cannot get through, not yet.
****
After the first few glasses, the vodka’s not even tasting so bad anymore. There’s no taste and this is good, means that quite soon there’ll be no feeling too. Some part of Sean’s still aware that Viggo is there and claps itself on the back cause he has kept him safe. Sean has protected Viggo from the cops and now the vodka will protect Viggo from Sean himself, from that angry bad boy Sean that might beat him up or fuck him senseless. He starts relaxing, letting the booze smooth the tension in his body and flow through his consciousness, taking over. He stretches on the couch, knotted muscles slowly unclenching.
****
Viggo tastes his whisky slowly, biding his time, but the alcohol is getting to him too, each sip making sensible thought something that can be put off to another day. Possible moves that he had previously discarded as too crazy, too direct, just too jeopardizing of his friendship with Sean, now begin to seem feasible. Even good maybe.
His mind is still alert enough to realize that Sean’s defenses are down and that Sean’s booze dulled awareness might play so that whatever Viggo does the memory of it, if any at all, would be just some vague ghost itching at the back of Sean’s mind: did that really happen or did I dream it?
Sean is now lying on the couch, eyes closed, glass and bottle on the floor close to a limp stretched out arm.
Viggo moves near, climbs on the sofa, his knees on either side of Sean’s legs.
“Hey, you’re falling asleep on me? Want me to go home so you can go to bed?”, asks Viggo.
“Yeah and who’s gonna drive? I’m not volunteering and you’ve drunk half of my whisky. Do you want us to visit Wellington’s jailing facilities? You can crash here with me.”, Sean’s accent is thicker, even sexier than his usual smooth tone and it is what finally breaks Viggo’s reserves.
“Oh sorry, so fucking bad mannered of me to drink your whisky and not offer you any! Forgive this uncouth American. You want a taste?”
“Of course, wouldn’t do to have my guests drinking stuff I have not quality inspected..”
Viggo crawls forward on his knees, glass in hand, takes a sip and leans in, mouth settling on Sean’s mouth, hips hovering on Sean’s.
Sean’s lips are still slightly open in a smirk and Viggo’s tongue slides in, opens them up, carrying the whisky along and blending it with the taste of raw vodka permeating Sean’s mouth. The world freezes for a moment, then erupts. Sean’s arms, so lifeless just a few seconds ago, close in like bands of steel, pressing Viggo’s body into Sean’s so hard it looks as if skin, soul and bones might interlock, become one and never be the same again once returned to their rightful owner.
Deep kisses melt one into the other until Viggo breaks away to look Sean in the eye. He knows now that he’s not the only one wanting but is still reluctant to put the question into words.
Words however are not necessary: Sean’s hands reach up and clear clothing away getting heated skin against skin. Just the contact, pores sweating into each other, is enough to drive them both crazy.
With a snake like twist of his lower back, Sean flips position.
He’s now topping a panting Viggo and this time the message those ever watchful hungry eyes are telling him is finally clear to Sean. His for the taking.
He fumbles in his discarded jeans for the condom he’d gotten ready for someone else. Dons it and nudges Viggo’s legs high and apart while oiling his cock with precome and spit. The same go on his fingers and into Viggo’s tight circle for a quick stretch. Then he aims and plunges in, straight and deep, and then stills, waiting for Viggo’s pained hiss to quiet down and for his tight clenching around Sean’s shaft to relax, making movement possible. And quite soon moving, raising hips, slamming down is the only thing can save them both from going crazy.
Sean seems tireless. All the alcohol he’s consumed is not affecting his performance but has slowed down his reactions. He pushes in and out of Viggo endlessly, until time has no meaning, while Viggo’s body climbs to orgasm, explodes, collapses and starts the trek up again and again. At last, Viggo lying limp under him, body and senses utterly sated and drained. Sean stills his pistoning, open his eyes staring directly into Viggo’s dilated ones and comes, long and hot, deep into the core of his friend’s body until with a final shudder he gently lays himself down on Viggo and melts into the deep sleep of booze and sex overload.
Viggo doesn’t care that he’s being squashed by Sean’s unconscious body, worlds could disintegrate right now and he wouldn’t even notice. Whatever grain of energy he has left, whatever brain cell is still functioning is busy trying to absorb through every pore, every sense, the feeling of Sean, saving it for the days that will come, the cold lonely days of a memory that will be Viggo’s alone.
He’s pretty sure that Sean will not remember what happened this night beyond picking him up in Wellington and sharing a few drinks. Viggo himself knows how when life’s being a bitch you can lose whole days or nights to alcohol. Once sober again, you do know that you have somehow lived through those hours but you only have a totally blank page to tell of them. But he has no regrets.
He gently pushes Sean’s weight off until he rolls onto his back, his sleep so deep he hardly seems to be breathing. He hovers above him for a while watching him, sensitive artist’s finger tracing like a butterfly his face and body, memorizing each trait by touch like a blind man would do.
With a sigh he rises from the couch, wets a cloth in the kitchen and cleans both himself and Sean, straightening things around, trying to obliterate what has gone on, to make it look like the theatre of nothing more than unquiet boozed sleep and leaves without looking back, not really caring whether he’ll be able to call a cab or will have to walk home.
****
The return to the set is good, Sean muses sitting at the pub with assorted fellowship after a day of shooting, a step forward along the path back to normal. He’s grateful for the couple days off PJ granted him after his quick duty trip to England. The voyage, the reason for it and the aftermath wore him raw and he’s still feeling strange, as if something had happened and he can’t pinpoint it.
In his mind he’s gone through all of those few days, unpleasant as they were, so many times already he’s becoming to feel sick again, almost as hungover as he was on the morning after his return to Wellington.
He’s lost some hours of his life to the booze that day, not the first time, likely not the last, but for once he’s got this itch at the back of his mind nagging him that he’s really missed something this time.
And again Sean feels Viggo’s quiet gaze rest on him like a touch, though when he tries to meet those crystal eyes they connect just for a second before shifting away. But the second’s enough to trigger something, to fuel the feeling that something is buried in the back of his memory and that it is something he needs to have back.
He is sure that if he could just stare enough into the depth of those eyes the answer he is seeking to the question he really does not know would be found. He could pick it up and click it into in its proper place in his memory and all would be well.
An unconscious instinct makes him reach across the table, grab Viggo’s hand and drag it close, bringing stiff fingers to skim his face. And what the conscious mind was keeping hidden, the body knows. Awareness finally flashes through Sean’s skin and the few moments Viggo allows before snatching back his hand and rushing out are enough to bring back the memory of touch during a lost night.
Too stunned to get up and follow Viggo, he sits there among the din and drinking, oblivious to everything, reliving a night that had been lost and is now found again.
And wondering how he can make it real for all the nights to come.
****
Alone in his trailer, Viggo stretches on the bed and allows memory to bring him back to the night that haunts his memory, the night that makes him uneasy, ashamed and full of longing when he’s around Sean. Like today.
For a moment, he’d been scared tonight at the pub. Sean’s touch on his face had slammed into his senses making him feel naked and defenseless, afraid Sean might read through him. So he’d rushed away. He’s been feeling guilty at having used his friend’s drunken state to get what he would not step up and ask for. And he’d probably do it again given a chance.
The ringing of the cellphone breaks into his thoughts. He reaches for it and looks at the display. Sean’s number..
“Hey Viggo, what was the rush? Something wrong?”
“No Sean, I’m sorry I left so abruptly, I had forgotten I was waiting for a call from Henry”. The lies comes easy, funny how much acting he’s doing in his real life lately thinks Viggo.
“Well, since you’re done now, come over. I’d love some company and it’s still early. Come and have a drink with me.”
Shit, he had felt rather sure Sean would not remember but having it spelled out in this casual invitation hurts.
But he won’t say no, he’s not able to refuse any chance to be around Sean.
****
“I’ll get us something to drink”, says Sean heading to the kitchen.
Viggo walks to the window, leans on the frame and stares out into the dark. Does he have the strength to face this? Will it be just a few hours of companionship or will it be another bout of heavy drinking, maybe followed by another heart rending round with an oblivious Sean?
He craves the feel and the memory of it but just that one time was wrecking enough, a repeat would break him...
And time is up cause Sean’s back and filling up to the brim their glasses from a moisture fogged bottle of clear liquid. Vodka again then, lust, oblivion and shame to follow.
To feel again Sean’s hard hotness taking him and to stare again in ignorant eyes offering just uncomplicated friendship in the days to follow... He takes a huge swallow from his glass, so cold it numbs his mouth. Queer, there’s no kickback in the throat from the alcohol. Another sip... iced water??
Sean meets Viggo’s stunned look grinning.
“I’m not taking any risks this time. I want to be sure we’re both clear headed enough to know and enjoy and remember”.
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no subject
Date: 2003-06-10 11:02 am (UTC)will come back and give coherent feedback if I survive.
no subject
Date: 2003-06-10 12:53 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2003-06-10 05:54 pm (UTC)This is a lovely first fic -- congratulations, and I'm so glad you posted it. Plus the sex... *guh*! I really like the way you explored Sean's motivations and emotional state, very nicely done. And you had some great lines in there, such as:
fumbles in his discarded jeans for the condom he'd gotten ready for someone else
*hearts* I love this sentence... it has a real angsty smack to it.
Sequel! Sequel!
no subject
Date: 2003-06-10 11:13 am (UTC)And I can't believe I didn't tell you before, but Sean coming across Viggo in Aragorn costume, in the night? That's one hot image, whoa. (And I LOVE the ending!) :)
Now, go write more. *is greedy* :)
no subject
Date: 2003-06-10 12:57 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2003-06-10 02:16 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2003-06-11 12:10 pm (UTC)Re:
Date: 2003-06-11 04:01 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2003-06-10 11:42 am (UTC)And watch your grammar :) You've got several places where your punctuation ended up outside the quotation marks.
I liked the story though. Sean being so wrought up and quivering with energy... *thud*
no subject
Date: 2003-06-10 01:00 pm (UTC)Re:
Date: 2003-06-10 01:15 pm (UTC)Seriously, that's what constructive criticism is all about. We're all helping each other get better for next time! And I really hope there's a next time. You're a terrific writer :)
Thal
no subject
Date: 2003-06-11 12:13 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2003-06-10 12:04 pm (UTC)Sean’s arms, so lifeless just a few seconds ago, close in like bands of steel, pressing Viggo’s body into Sean’s so hard it looks as if skin, soul and bones might interlock, become one and never be the same again once returned to their rightful owner.
Superb line.... great first fic
no subject
Date: 2003-06-10 01:05 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2003-06-10 05:08 pm (UTC)And what a lovely ending--did I mention devious!Sean as another favorite?
Write more! Sequel! (says she who's stuck on several of her own pieces...*sheepish grin*)
~Kris
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Date: 2003-06-11 12:17 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2003-06-10 09:56 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2003-06-12 10:49 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2003-06-11 04:52 pm (UTC)And poor Viggo, having the burden of memory all by himself until Sean does remember. Wanting it, can't say no to it, but can't believe in it either. Delightful resolution!
no subject
Date: 2003-06-12 10:41 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2003-06-20 02:16 am (UTC)