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.

Rated: NC-17

Categories: Actor RPS Pairing: Sean/Viggo

Warnings: AU

Challenges:

Series: None

Chapters: 7 Completed: Yes

Word count: 49107 Read: 8479

Published: 29 Jul 2009 Updated: 29 Jul 2009

There were few things that Sean insisted on; generally speaking, he considered himself quite flexible. He hadn't cared much when he had to move to the States for business reasons, although he loved England. He liked the apartment he had bought, fully furnished, but most of the others would've worked just as nicely. He preferred British beer and liked his food simple, but he could enjoy vodka and French wine, sushi and korma-e-gosht any day. And considering the innumerable amount of things he hadn't done yet, he, too, thought himself well above average when it came to accepting things the way they were. Maybe it was because of this that there were those few things he just wouldn't compromise on that had to seem silly from the outside.

He saw his face reflecting vaguely in the big panoramic window of the v.i.p. box and instantly erased the displeased look from it, the slightly annoyed boredom now glimmering on within him even as his features bore a well-trained hint of a smile.

American football. Seriously, he really didn't get the common fascination for this so called sport. It wasn't proper football, neither was it any sort of variation of rugby that he could take seriously; in plain terms, it bored him shitless. But then, this was just another business meeting - not one with massive conference tables and piles of case files, but business in any case. He had been invited to this match by a client of his.

Said client caught his eye and waved him over with a jovial gesture, and Sean's smile broadened a little in a silent reply. He turned away from the staged entertainment to return to the real work on a Sunday afternoon. Picking up a glass of fizzling champagne from one of the waitress's trays, he walked over to the one familiar face in this crowd of well-dressed, well-behaved and not unpleasantly artificial people.

"Nice match, Bernard." Sean raised his glass in a silent cheer on whichever of the two teams his client might be siding for.

"No, it's not." Bernard Hill's highly amused tone of voice clearly signalled that he certainly wouldn't waste time and energy on cursing the bad luck of his team. "And I'm getting the impression that you would rather spend your time elsewhere, too."

Reacting solely on the fraternising grin, Sean smirked and tilted his head. "Let's say as much as I appreciate this invitation, I found your generous gift of tickets for the theatre even more appealing."

The other man laughed heartily, which earned him a few sideward glances from the people around him, and slapped Sean on his shoulder. "I certainly believe that. Shakespeare's bloodlust easily surpasses this friendly diversion."

"True, at least for 'Titus'. But you surely wouldn't accuse him of being overly explicit in, say, 'Midsummer Night's Dream', would you?"

Sean sipped his champagne and merely smiled at Bernard's dismissive gesture. The other man clearly didn't call himself an admirer of romantic comedies, so Sean was a little surprised when Bernard's face brightened as a sudden thought struck him and said, 'Midsummer Night's Dream', aye? I think you should meet someone, then?" He looked around, searching. "Have you seen my wife?"

He spotted her earlier than Sean did (no real surprise since the latter had certainly met her a lot less frequently) and ushered Sean over to a beautiful blonde in her late forties who was deep in conversation with a man. Also in his late forties, also blond, and also beautiful in a unique way, even though these three similarities were about all one could name, comparing them. Bernard Hill's wife had not only been an actress but also still acted consciously in her social role now, graciously accepting the variable mask society dictated her. The blond man on the other hand, Sean thought, as he waited to be introduced, had this unspecific aura of not fitting any description, not letting himself being sorted and stoically accepting any kind of puzzlement this might cause. He talked softly and made equally subdued but precise gestures with his hands, and registered their presence with light grey eyes only when Bernard interrupted with his loud voice and his broad smile.

'Sean, I'd like you to meet Viggo Mortensen. You wouldn't guess, but he's written a book about 'Midsummer Night's Dream.' Viggo, this is Sean Bean, without whom I'd be broke.'

'Nice to meet you,' said the man who'd saved Bernard's fortune. Viggo instantly liked the dark, rich voice. Green eyes examined him attentively, though as discreetly as possible, but Vig noticed it nevertheless and his lips curled upwards in amusement. He had no doubt that Sean wouldn't miss even the slightest "flaw" in his outer appearance.

'Nice to meet you, too,' Viggo replied calmly and smiled, more genuinely this time, now for his part looking at the other man closely. The suit fit like a glove and looked very expensive. And it suited Sean extremely well.

'You wrote a book about "Midsummer Night's Dream"..' Sean asked.

'Yes. Actually, I mostly illustrate books, mainly children's books, but now and then I write a book on my own.'

'Children's books?'

'Any kind of book. Depends on my mood. And what have you done to prevent our dear Bernard from being impoverished?'

"He convinced him not to invest last year's tax return in a third Jaguar." The tone in which Bernard's wife spoke was teasing but the couple exchanged affectionate looks.

Sean specified with a smirk, "I'm a tax consultant."

Viggo frowned slightly. It seemed to be a pretty boring job for someone who looked like Sean. Then again, dark green eyes and a gorgeous smile didn't mean that someone had to be a horse breeder or an actor or an archaeologist.

'I'm impressed,' Viggo said finally. 'It's not easy to keep Bernard from buying cars. Or houses. Or football teams. Which is losing by the way.'

The older man grimaced. 'You're merciless, aren't you? I knew I shouldn't have invited you over.'

Viggo grinned. 'And keep me from the pleasure of meeting Sean? Now who's merciless, my friend?'

Sean had followed the little banter with his eyes going back and forth between Bernard and Viggo Mortensen, and he tried to figure out what kind of relationship the two had. Sure, Bernard Hill was known for being not overly formal when he could get away with it, but seldom had Sean witnessed someone replying in kind, picking up the bantering tone and almost teasing the other man. Bernard seemed to take that for the normal procedure and for Viggo it didn't seem to be a big thing either, so Sean's guess was that they definitely didn't know each other in business terms but were some kind of friends in private. He was surprised to feel the slightest pang of jealousy over that discovery and couldn't really name the reason for that.

While Sean had stood there, smiling but other than that not really participating in the conversation, Bernard's wife had quickly finished the discussion Bernard and Sean had interrupted and now touched Bernard's arm to catch his attention, "Darling, have you seen, the Casavettis have arrived. Didn't you want to--...'

"Oh, yes," Bernard gently patted his wife's hand and made their excuses to Viggo and Sean. "Business calls, gents. Hope you enjoy the rest of the match, even if it's not Shakespeare." He winked at Sean and with that, the couple left the two men on their own.

Viggo and Sean smiled at one another for a moment, deliberately on Sean's part, drawing out the silence to prevent a rush of all too superficial small talk. Sean took another sip of his champagne and only then asked the one question that he really was kind of interested in. "So, I didn't get that before, I'm afraid - was it a children's adaptation of Shakespeare you illustrated, or a book about Shakespeare?"

'I wrote a book about Shakespeare's "A Midsummer Nights Dream,"' Viggo replied calmly. 'Not for children, and only barely illustrated, though the story itself has many inspiring scenes for someone like me.' He smirked. 'You're not really interested in football, either, are you?'

That earned him a risen eyebrow from the green-eyed man and a surprised, 'Excuse me?'

Viggo chuckled softly and gestured in the general direction of the window at which Sean had been standing only a few minutes before. 'I'm sorry. I saw you watching the field. Or so I thought. But then I noticed your eyes weren't following the players.' Sean frowned slightly, but as far as Vig could tell, more out of confusion than annoyance.

'I thought you were talking to Emily,' the tax consultant said and Viggo nodded.

'I was. I watched you before she approached me. You stood there for quite a while, you know? I, too, think it's boring as hell.' At Sean's still somehow sceptical look, Vig gently touched the other man's forearm and leaned closer, whispering conspiratorially, 'Don't worry. I won't tell anyone.'

Chuckling again, Viggo winked at Sean and took a sip of his wine. 'So, where do you know Bernard from? Is it only business-wise, or in private, too?'

"He's one of my oldest clients." Sean replied and silently mused from which point on you'd call someone a personal friend. How many of the highly enjoyable social events he'd been invited to did it take? Or was it just the casual pat on the shoulder that indicated a shift in a relationship? "He has great taste in theatre, and crappy taste in sports, so I don't know about the intimacy of this friendship."

Viggo smiled at the answer but Sean still had the feeling that, despite the other man's silence, his smile, and his subdued attitude, that his gaze was piercing and Sean couldn't have hidden behind elegant but completely noncommittal phrases--that the other man could look behind that. It wasn't too unusual that Sean had a feeling like this but it was unusual - for him as a lawyer as well as a private person - that he somehow didn't mind.

"So, why are you here if it's not because of the joys of American football?"

'Because Bernard invited me over.'

'Yeah, sorry. Silly question.'

Viggo couldn?t help laughing. 'No, I'm sorry. Really. It was a silly answer.' He took another sip from his glass and explained, 'I know Bernard for...Well, not for that long, but it feels like I've known him for half of my life.' Vig could see from the slight squinting of Sean's eyes that the other man thought that statement pretty corny, but Viggo's smile only broadened. 'It just clicked when we first met. I think it was three years ago, when Lemony held an autograph session. Bernard's niece was too shy to ask for one and so Bernard went with her, and that's how we met. He asked me first and I had to tell him that I was only the illustrator, not the author. And then...Well, one word followed the other and now I'm here. Bernard's always asking if I want to come to one of his "parties," and occasionally I accept. Like today. Though I really don't know what got into me. Football is one of the most boring sports ever - except for golf maybe.'

"Ah, golf's not that boring." Sean grinned when Viggo's single raised eyebrow contradicted him fiercely. "You just shouldn't see it under the premise of entertaining sport but quaint business meeting with sunshine. And anyways, this is not football. It's American football."

To hell with being mature and noncommittal; Sean heard his British accent thickening when he spoke the last sentences and shrugged, leaving it to Viggo to judge this sudden outburst. While Viggo chuckled softly and tilted his head, assessing him for a second time with gentle and yet intense eyes, Sean again didn't mind but held the other man's gaze for several seconds before he asked, "What's your own personal favourite of all your books, if I might ask? I'd really like to have a look at it."

Viggo thought about that for a moment, then replied, 'Speaking of the books I've merely illustrated, try something written by Rita Mae Brown or Meg Cabot's 'The Princess Diaries'. The latter's a book written for teenagers, though. Consider yourself warned.' He winked at Sean and then added, 'If you want to take a look on what I'm like as an author, I think I like 'The Eyre Affaire' best.?

But he didn't want to talk about his work now. Changing the subject he asked, 'Why are you in America, Sean? You're British, aren't you? And since you're so enthusiastic about it, I'm assuming you've played football or rugby yourself, right?'

"A bit of both, but show me the British lad who hasn't."

Viggo thought about that statement for a moment before he slowly nodded, seconding Sean's assessment. Sean nodded back and, taking a look around and seeing several of his business relations in one glance, answered the first question as well. "The firm I was working for sent me to Boston several years ago. And when I left them, my divorce was already almost through, so there wasn't any apparent reason to return to Sheffield."

Viggo was slightly surprised. Somehow he'd thought Sean unmarried, but maybe that had just been wishful thinking. Well, now Sean was.

'I'm sorry to hear that,' Viggo said calmly. 'Divorces are always...difficult.'

'So you are, too?' Sean looked at him with his incredibly green eyes and Vig found himself staring for a moment. When he noticed what he was doing, he smiled and fought the urge to touch the other man... somewhere. Anywhere. It didn't really matter.

'No, I'm not. But many of my friends are. Do you have children?'

"Yeah, a daughter, Molly," Sean smiled stupidly as usual when he was talking about his girl, and hid his smile by drinking another sip of his champagne. "She loves to read, so I'm always keen to find good books to send to her."

"I take it she lives with her mother then?" Sean liked Viggo for his tone of voice. He didn't even know why he'd mentioned his ex-wife for he hated those stepping-on-eggshells talks that tended to follow but Viggo's voice hadn't changed; it still held friendly interest and nothing more.

"So she does. We email, though," Sean's brows furrowed as if a sudden thought struck him. "She really tends to spam me from time to time..."

Viggo chuckled, and from the look he gave Sean, Sean figured that he was still sporting that sappy smile. Still, Sean's next statement surprised himself for he usually was very... territorial when it came to his little girl.

"I bet she'd love to meet you. She'd ask you truckloads of questions about being an author."

'Well, if the opportunity presents itself one day, I'll be glad to answer all of them,' Viggo replied. 'I support everyone who's at all into reading these days.' He noticed appreciatively that Sean didn't try to hide his smile behind his glass any longer. It was a gorgeous smile and he liked a lot to look at it. It gave Sean something endearingly boyish. 'You mentioned e-mail spam.. so shes writing, too, right?''

"I guess so, since she wants to become an author. But she doesn't send me the results." Shrugging and placing his now empty glass onto a held out tray he explained, "Teenagers. Secretive is their middle name. Except when it comes to - and here we're talking spam - sending their father urls to dating agencies to get him hooked up again."

Viggo smirked at that and tilted his head a little.

"Well, that only shows how much she cares about her father," he replied, and took another sip of his wine. "It didn't work, though, did it?"

"How can you tell?" Sean asked; a smile took the sarcastic edge off his words.

"You're here alone."

"Maybe my friend had no time today?"

"Maybe." Viggo's grin broadened. "Bernard told me you're single."

"You're worse than my teenage daughter, and Bernard's an old tattletale."

Viggo chuckled as Sean instinctively lowered his voice, only at the end of his accusation, though, and just because he remembered where he was. Sean made a little growling sound at Viggo's victorious smile, a sound that surprised himself more than it seemed to intrigue the other man. Sean had liked Viggo's chuckle that bordered a light giggle, but he liked the subtle change in his features, the only reaction to Sean's growl and accompanying glare, even better. He caught himself staring at the dimples on Viggo's cheeks for a long moment and then couldn't recall whose turn it was to say something. Something light and witty and appropriate - regarding the fact that they were right in the middle of a huge sports event and didn't really know one another. And he told himself to ignore the strange fluttering in his stomach that felt like a swarm of dead-drunk, tottering butterflies.

"I don't believe in dating agencies or any sort of professional assistance when it comes to these things. Wouldn't know where to make my exes on those application forms. I know what I want when I see it."

' bet you do,'Vig thought, amused, watching the other man closely. He noticed not exactly discomfort, but it was pretty clear to Viggo that Sean was slightly surprised, maybe even a bit confused, about the way he was reacting to the illustrator, and determined to ignore these feelings.

' know what you mean,'he finally said, and rolled his glass absentmindedly between his palms. 'uch a date must seem very set up and stiff; I wouldn' like it either. And then, where's the fun without the spontaneity?'
He winked at Sean, which earned him a smile and another stare from these incredibly green eyes. Viggo didn't mind. On the contrary. He let the other man take his time to study his face, obviously pleased with what he saw. 'Listen,'Vig said softly so as to not startle the tax consultant, 'a friend of mine will release his book in about..' He thought about it for a moment. When had this damn release date been again? 'Erm...six weeks, I think. Somewhere around July 10th. I illustrated it for him, so why don't you just come over and see for yourself? If you have the time, that is. And if I'm not mistaken, the autumn break in the UK will have begun at that time, so maybe your daughter will be here, too?'

"No, I'm afraid she won?t be. I'll be flying over for a week or so, but that'll be later, too."

Viggo nodded and shrugged, as if to say that that was all right; his idea had only been on the spur of the moment anyway. But Sean, feeling the strange need to please the other man, contemplated, "But I 'm sure she'd love an autographed book from you if I brought it with me. And I'll need something to read for the flight as well, won't I? Where is the release going to be? A bookshop?"

"Yes. Libertine Bookshop in Boston. Not too hard to find."

"I know where it is." Sean smiled when he saw Viggo's relief at not having to explain the location of the small bookstore. "I live there. Not in the bookshop, obviously, but in that part of town."

'Great,' Viggo said and couldn't avoid a hint of relief colouring his voice. 'I'm looking forward to it. Would you give me your phone number?' Sean looked at him with a mixture of curiosity and surprise and Vig added, 'So I can call you if something's rescheduled or such. It's not uncommon. Sometimes the "artist" gets a little drama-queen attack and decides to call the whole thing off, only to confirm it again a few hours later. Well, I can't see Karl fitting in there, because usually he's very far away from being a drama queen at all, but you never know, right?' Plus he'd love to have Sean's phone number. Just because.

Sean waited until Viggo had finished his series of quickly spoken sentences and then he waited a little longer, for it seemed to him like the monologue, even if not spoken out loud any more, seemed to go on a bit longer in the other man's head. And who was Sean to interrupt that? Not that there was any reason for Sean to not give Viggo his card - why on earth would he not - but simply because he quite liked to listen to Viggo talking, or better, musing aloud with one sentence leading to another like he was creating a patchwork blanket, surprising himself a little with the pattern of the outcome.

Reaching into the front pocket of his jacket and holding out his card to Viggo, he joked, "So, you have those, too, then I take it? Drama-queen attacks?"

Viggo took the card and put it into the back pocket of his jeans. 'Of course,' he answered. 'All the time. Like right now, for example. I don't like football and I don't like parties and at the moment I'm bored. So I'm planning to leave this place within the next thirty seconds and hope Bernard will understand. Wanna join me? There's a nice little café at the corner Liberty and Washington. The tea they make is crap, but the coffee's not lethal.?

Sean couldn't help but grin at that. If he'd ever seen a drama-queen fit, this definitely was the oddest one ever since Viggo would have looked like the poster boy for utter and rock solid calmness if it weren't for that glint in his grey-blue eyes that Sean couldn't really place, but it surely wasn't hinting at hysteria. Maybe a little nervousness but, Sean told himself, he had to be misreading that.

"All right. I could use a strong cuppa coffee after this."

Viggo smiled, the strange twinkling in his eyes disappearing instantly. Sean might've wondered about that if he hadn't been feeling a little rush of excitement jolting through his body, too, as if he was a boy again, sneaking off from home to play football with his mates instead of doing his homework.

***

Viggo took one sip of his coffee and almost purred with contentment. The atmosphere in his favourite café as very calm, relaxed and...yes, just lovely. He smiled. And his company made said café to an even lovelier place to be. Vig was sure Bernard hadn't noticed them leaving, but even if he had, Vig would explain everything to him later. After all, Bernard knew perfectly well that Viggo wasn't much into these "in-party" thingies. He'd been there for far longer than he'd wanted to be, and that would have to do. Still smiling, Viggo pushed back his cup and looked at Sean maybe a little longer than proper under "normal" circumstances.

'So,' he finally began, 'what do you do when you're not giving people good advice on what to do with their taxes, Sean?'

"Juggling numbers." Viggo's eyes fixed Sean and the latter looked closely at him. It was as if Viggo's imagination was transferred to him, because he suddenly had an image of a stick figure actually acting out that metaphor clearly in front of his inner eye. They shared a grin and Sean shrugged. "I like the theatre and go if I have the time to, which is rarely enough, I'm afraid." Not that he minded. Well, not much. "What about you?"

Viggo smiled again, seemingly unable to stop himself from doing that, but not minding it much. 'I was lucky. I was able to make my hobby, or better hobbies, my profession. I love to draw, to paint, to write. I like reading, too, and riding horse. And yes,' theatre is also interesting, as is cinema.'

"Cinema? I like watching movies, but I prefer my telly for that. Guess I'm not too fond of salty popcorn, and since I consider myself too old for making out in the last row of seats either, television is a more convenient choice. I used to go with Molly, but she refuses to take her old dad nowadays." Sean winked and took a sip of his coffee. "Do you have kids?"

'Yes,' Viggo replied, feeling his voice softening a little. 'One son. Henry. He's sixteen now and we phone a lot. He visits me regularly.'

'And his mother?'

Viggo smiled. 'We get along.'

Sean laughed heartily, "Ever the diplomat you are." More seriously he added, "But I know what you mean. Never understood how I couldn't get along with someone with whom I shared parenthood. Even if the marriage itself feels like from a different lifetime, like it hadn't really been me marrying Abby back then."

Viggo nodded. 'Exactly. But I've never been married, so I suppose it's slightly different. Though we lived together for a few years. It wasn't easy, but...yeah, well, we got along. Like we do now. It's just... Well, I think we liked each other. A lot. But liking someone is very different than loving someone. It couldn't last that way.'

Silently, Sean again drank from his cup and ate the accompanying biscuit. Viggo's calm words sounded like the complete opposite to the thunderstorm of feelings Sean remembered, but then, they both ended up in quite similar situations, him and Viggo, didn't they?

'I'm sorry,' Viggo said sympathetically, when he saw the Brit's eyes darken a little. He laid his hand on Sean's. 'I didn't mean to revive bad memories.' He squeezed said hand lightly and then let go of it, not wanting to give Sean the impression he'd badger him or something like that.

'You weren't,' Sean replied, meeting his gaze, and Viggo smiled. He leaned back in his chair and not so subtly changed the subject again. 'I was in London four times up until now. It's a beautiful city. Very...inspiring. Unfortunately I've never had the chance to go anywhere around London, though I was told the surrounding landscape is much more beautiful. Where in Great Britain do you come from?'


"Sheffield." Sean grinned, partly because somehow that grin always simply appeared on his face when he was talking about home, partly because it amused him how Viggo didn't even try to find an elegant way out of their last topic but simply steered in a completely different direction.

"Up in the north," he specified when he saw the blankness on the other man's face. "It's home, but I wouldn't call it 'beautiful' so you're probably better off visiting London for a fifth time. Unless you like football, in which case we have the very best of teams." Not that he was biased or anything. "What did you do in London?"

'Two times it was only a vacation and the third time I had work to do there,' Viggo replied. 'I met a lovely lady called Lynn Flewelling, who's written lots of fantasy stuff. Which means, I can give my own fantasy free reign. And I made the best out of my spare time by visiting the old cathedrals, the Tower, Madame Tussauds...Just being a tourist, you know.'

Sean grunted softly as a reply, the faint disbelief making Viggo look up and arch an eyebrow, half in amusement, half in question.

"Nothing," Sean shook his head but continued nonetheless, "it's just that I thought that I could picture you everywhere, but never as a tourist." Sean looked up from his coffee and into Viggo's eyes that still had this questioning gaze, although the answer to that question, what Sean didn't seem to be able to explain, lay right in them, too. Their steadiness said 'this is me' as if it was the easiest thing in the world to know exactly who one was, and yet the longer Sean looked, the clearer it seemed to him that he'd never find the words to describe it.

"You just don't strike me as the tourist type. You probably blend in perfectly, whether it's London or New Delhi or Moscow." Sean shrugged, uncomfortable with his lack of precision and the strange kind of privacy they still seemed to contain.

Viggo noticed Sean's slight uneasiness, though he couldn't imagine where it came from. He could see no reason at all, because he himself had never felt so completely comfortable with anyone ever before. But maybe that was exactly the problem. Vig looked at the Brit again, taking in the sight. The other man sat leaned back in his chair, just like Vig did--legs crossed, one hand framing his face with thumb and index finger. Sean looked back, not trying in the least to hide said uneasiness.

Viggo smiled reassuringly and said, 'I think I've never gotten such a wonderful compliment before. Thank you.'

Most of the people he knew tried to put him into a pigeonhole that read "mad artist" or such. It was nice to know that Sean thought he was so flexible that he didn't fit any pigeonhole at all.

Sean didn't want to reply to this, because he just knew he would stutter and probably say something stupid. His only hope was that his accent, was so thick from nervousness that he wouldn't be understood in any case. His mouth felt ridiculously dry despite the half cup of coffee he'd just drunk; if he stared at his own fingertips, fiddling with the tablecloth, any more intensely they might well spontaneously combust or some such.

It took him two full seconds to pull himself together and to look up at Viggo again. The other man's smile had reached his eyes this time, not just a rather meaningless even if friendly curving of his lips, but a real smile, and Sean knew that Viggo had meant his words just like he'd said them.

"You're welcome." And Sean didn't stutter.

Vig really would've loved to ease Sean's nervousness, but he didn't know how. Every smile, every look even, seemed to add to the Brit's uncomfortableness, but Viggo couldn't stop himself, neither from smiling nor looking. Sometimes a kiss helped, but of course that was no option. First of all, because they were in a public place and Sean seemed like a very private man to him and second,...Well, he didn't know if Sean had ever experienced a kiss from another male, let alone if he wished to take their "encounter" to such a level so fast. Hell, he barely knew Sean at all. And vice versa. So he took his chances with the second option: distraction.

?You know, I really was to New Delhi once,' he said and started telling Sean the tale of how he'd spent almost a week searching for his passport, only to find it finally in a side pocket of his own backpack.

Sean wiped away tears of laughter, only to feel new ones forming in the corners of his eyes already. He was very close to hysteria right now, the complete opposite of Viggo who continued to tell his story in that calm, slightly slurred American voice. Neither his voice nor his equally even-tempered features seemed to bear even a hint of irony, only his choice of words and the puck-like glinting of his eyes gave him away.

"Bleeding hell, it's a miracle they let you back into the States," Sean was equally referring to Viggo's continued losing-official-papers problem as well as to the described outer appearance. "Well, in case you ever should get into legal trouble - you got my card."

"You get stranded globetrotters out on bail, too?"

"Nah, only people temporarily forgetting about the existence of the IRC, but I could keep you company until you get yourself a proper lawyer."

Viggo laughed. 'Sounds like a plan to me. Thanks. In case I ever get arrested, I'll use my one phone call to call you.' This was pretty much the understatement of the year, because Viggo now felt tempted to let himself be put in jail, just to spend a night or two in Sean's company. The illustrator inwardly shook his head. No. There must be a better way to achieve that - without getting the Brit nervous again.

'I'll be there,' Sean said and added that he'd once had a friend who'd gotten arrested in Bangkok. Viggo leaned a little forward while the tax consultant told his story, to make sure no word spoken with his enchanting accent would escape him. Vig had noticed earlier that he liked the sound of Sean's voice a lot, and now realized that he was actually listening more to the sound of the Brit's voice than to the words he was saying.

Sean knew that, in contrast to Viggo, his tone of voice always was a sure indicator of how seriously his words were intended. Right now it was dripping sarcasm - seriously, how could anyone be so thick as to get himself arrested for cheating at poker in the 21st century? Viggo, however, didn't smirk but smiled, didn't join him in friendly mocking, but seemed to have his eyes fixed on Sean's lips.

"..anyway, in the end they shot him for not admitting it. Chopped his body into little pieces, too." Sean waited and felt a huge grin spreading over his face when Viggo's brows furrowed in slow motion and the other man's gaze focussed on Sean's eyes in utter disbelief. "Just checking whether you were still with me, mate."

Viggo couldn't help chuckling when he realized that Sean must've noticed him zoning out a little from time to time. 'Yes, I am,' he said. 'Though I have to admit that you weren't wrong when you assumed that I wasn't listening as closely as I probably should have been.' He looked at Sean and saw his brows knitting slightly, so he smiled to take the edge off his words and added, 'But not because what you've told me was boring. Not at all.' Usually he wasn't a friend of lies, not even "white lies," but he couldn't tell Sean it was because he loved his voice, now could he' Maybe later, when they knew each other better. If they knew each other better, providing they ever got the chance to do so. 'Unfortunately, I've always had problems concentrating. Even in school. Hell, even at work, and you know I love what I'm doing. It's like my brain just takes a little vacation to...I don't know. Maybe it needs a break? Though I have to admit I really don't know why my brain would need a break, really. I mean, it's not that I?m a math professor or such.'

Sean's slight frown met mid-face with his grin and that felt kind of strange. He raised his cup in a completely habitual gesture since his coffee was long gone, but he still attempted to sip as he was trying to suss out what, in fact, was slightly off here. Viggo looked back at him, seemingly a little confused over his lack of verbal precision and Sean chuckled.

"You're full of shit."

"Excuse me?"

"I don't believe you, that's all." Viggo's frown deepened because Sean's words were offensive even if his tone of voice was amiable and nothing else. Sean set his cup down and leaned forward a little, explaining, "I don't believe you have problems concentrating. You just know better than to waste your time on something that's not worth all of your attention, that's all. It's like the opposite to what I do with figures, I guess. I concentrate... and the universe consists of numbers, and nothing else matters."

Sean chuckled at the New Age-ness of his confession and waved the waitress to get him another cup of coffee.

Viggo smirked, taking a sip from his still half-filled cup. For a moment he'd been really afraid that he would be forced to bring up that certain topic again, that seemed to make Sean so uncomfortable. And Viggo didn't want Sean to be uncomfortable. But even if the Brit had figured out that he'd been more or less lying, he still didn't know exactly why Vig had done it. He decided he could live with that. Relieved, he leaned back in his chair again and watched the waitress bringing a new cup of coffee for Sean.

'If you put it that way...'

Sean waited until the waitress was gone again, then he rubbed his nose with the back of his thumb, replying, "Hey, I'm not the writer, here; I'm certain you can put it in much more eloquent words. You just don't, 'cause it's not too uncomfortable being viewed as eccentric by the majority of people." Sean blinked and for a split second asked himself if he'd really said that out loud. Oops, the last bit had been supposed to be a bleeding after-thought, not an almost affronting statement...

"I'm sorry," he said, "I don't know..." He broke off, irritated with himself for not being able to explain what had possessed him.

'It's okay,' Viggo said, slightly surprised that his voice betrayed him by metaphorically screaming that it wasn't. Ouch, that'd hurt, though Vig really wondered why exactly. He knew that many people - the "pigeonhole-people" - thought him eccentric. What else was new?

He'd thought Sean was different. That was new.

'No, really. It is,' he added, cutting Sean off with whatever he'd been about to say. 'I know that I seem eccentric to almost all the people I meet.' He shrugged and took another mouthful of his coffee.

Sean's frown deepened by the second. He tried to get straight how their conversation had drifted from being very pleasant to bordering 'completely uneasy.' He had the distinct impression that he could thank himself for that, himself and the fact that he couldn't handle words half as smoothly as figures.

"Actually," he said after a moment of uncomfortable silence, "I never said that I think you eccentric."

He felt Viggo's gaze resting on him again but didn't raise his eyes from his coffee to not stumble over his words again. "Because I don't. I said that you let people believe that if they choose so, because you don't care what they think. But maybe that was wrong - wrong to assume that you don't care and wrong to assume anything in the first place."

At last, he did look up and smiled apologetically, "I'm sorry."

Viggo looked at the Brit for a moment and thought that everything would've been so much easier if he hadn't had to avoid the topic they were dancing around the whole evening now, because he couldn't tell Sean, that he was right in thinking that he, Vig, didn't care, but that it was different with him, Sean.

'I'm sorry, too,' he replied. 'It's true. I don't care. So, you don't think I'm eccentric' Really? And why is that?'

He smiled and relaxed back into his chair, hopefully signalling Sean that everything was alright.

All right, Sean was still a bit confused and somehow reckoned he wasn't getting the meta-conversation going on here. But Viggo smiled and waited for a reply to his question and Sean knew the answer to that at least, so he guessed that it was just as well.

"Because it's an insult," he said with conviction, "the connotation the word has nowadays, I mean. Correct me if I'm wrong, but originally it just meant that you don't care for making yourself fit into society, which, looking at society, is most probably a good indication of mental health, nothing more, nothing less. But eccentric now is a synonym for wacky, twee loonies, and I might hardly know you, but that doesn't strike me as too fitting."

Viggo really felt the urgent need to just take Sean by his collar, draw him over the table and smooch him senseless. Instead he beamed and said, 'You amaze me. Really, you do. I said before that I've never got such a wonderful compliment, when you told me you think me so flexible that I'm practically fitting into everything, but I lied. Because that was the most wonderful compliment I ever got.' He looked at Sean closely. 'And for somebody who's always claiming not to be good with words, you always hit the nail on the head.'

"Aye, focus on the 'hitting' part there." Sean contradicted Viggo weakly, chuckled softly, and rubbed the bridge of his nose again. It was a gesture he carefully avoided doing in court because it was a reflex triggered by insecurity. Like blushing, which he figured he was pretty close to right now as well. In opposition to his appearances in court, he didn't mind Viggo seeing either which probably surprised him more than the fact that giving Viggo compliments and meaning them as well felt so frigging natural as breathing.

Shaking his head in amusement over himself he said, "Well, I'll take that as a compliment on my eloquence then, which makes us even, doesn't it?"

'Not even enough,' Viggo thought, but didn't say it aloud. Instead, he said, 'I guess so.' He went silent again, at a loss of words for once. All had been said, and yet not enough. No, he didn't want to make the Brit nervous again, but gradually he didn't care about it anymore. How could he not want to respond in kind? 'It's good to know that there are still people who don't give a damn about society's guidelines and can look behind all of that stuff. Plus, who are self-confident enough to say so.' He smiled. 'People like you are rare, Sean.'

"Oh, I do care about guidelines and conventions, just not the plainly stupid ones. Unless of course we're talking about tax law--there I know every possible way to avoid sticking to set out rules. Saves a lot of money."

"You manage to make annual tax declaration sound almost adventurous."

Sean arched an eyebrow and Viggo blinked innocently before they both grinned. Sean then let his voice drop a few notches and let passion darken his tones as he replied, "You have no idea."

Viggo stirred when the sensuality in the Brit's voice sent a jolt of desire through his body and finally centered in his groin. He took a deep breath and struggled to hide his very, very unambiguous reaction from Sean, which wasn't exactly easy, because he couldn't keep himself from staring into these mesmerizing green eyes. Sean smiled and that made everything worse.

Another deep breath. Viggo blinked and shifted a little in his chair. Jesus fucking Christ! What a voice! Okay. So far, so good. Not looking at Sean helped Vig a lot with getting his wits together again. The silence threatened to become uncomfortable and he tried to remember what he'd usually do in situations like this. Well...

Viggo smirked, and leaning forward, he purred, 'Maybe you can show me one day?'

It was either gulping and starting to sweat, or chuckling and joking. Sean considered the latter option if not more honest then at least more appropriate, so he laughed quietly and said, "Sounds like a plan. You bring along a book you've illustrated for toddlers, if there is one, and I'll get my file of most long-winded cases and we'll have a blast. I suppose we'd need quite a lot of booze to survive that evening."

Viggo laughed. 'Yeah, absolutely.' It would've been easy to invite Sean over to his apartment. Of course Vig had a few books he'd illustrated at home and it was only a few blocks away, but he didn't want to ruin the evening, really.

Sean watched Viggo hesitating for a moment, but the other man didn't let him in on his thoughts and Sean let it rest. Instead of trying to bring Viggo to elaborate he began musing loud which kind of alcohol might suit the proposed occasion best, leading to a lengthy discussion of whiskey brands and visits to vineyards. Sean got a friendly scowl from Viggo when he announced that American beer didn't deserve the label ?beer,? and Sean shook his head in mock exasperation when Viggo proved to have very, very detailed knowledge of every kind of liquor drunk in Asia. Half because of the original topic - which somehow lead to even stranger subjects like dog racing and the beauty of jellyfish - and half because it was so comfortable to talk with Viggo, Sean wished they were in a decent pub with a pint rather than in a café with coffee, especially since his third cup had made him a little giddy.

Viggo couldn't remember having enjoyed an evening so much in a very long time. They stayed and talked until David, one of the waiters, told them the café would be closed any minute. Viggo tipped him generously and left with Sean.

'Thanks for the wonderful evening,' he said to Sean when they stood outside on the pavement. 'A whole lot more interesting than football.' He grinned.

'American football," Sean corrected automatically with mock indignation over Viggo's repeated faux pas and shoved the other man lightly. For the fraction of a second Viggo's shoulder seemed to give in to the push, but then Sean felt it resisting, a matching amount of pressure pushing back against his palm. Again, it was only a fraction of a second in which something inside Sean shouted to not bloody ever let go again, but then he gave in, taking the pressure away and patting the other man's shoulder lightly instead.

"Never mind. You just haven't seen proper football yet, so you'll be excused."

Again Viggo felt the strong urge to pull Sean close and kiss him. Carefully, tenderly at first and when the other man had adapted, to deepen the kiss, explore the Brit's mouth until they were both panting heavily. But instead he smiled and said, 'Thanks. Your generosity renders me speechless.'

"You're welcome. Anytime," Sean replied jokingly. Only after having said it, did it hit him how much he indeed meant that. He certainly wouldn't mind spending more time with Viggo, watching football or exchanging travelling experiences, drinking too-hot coffee and shoving him. Yeah, the last element of this compilation sounded a bit funny to him, too, but his mind still insisted on including it.

"So," Sean said after a moment of silence and smiling, "I'll have to go back to the stadium to get my car. Need a lift?"

'Love to,' Viggo thought. But since he didn't trust himself where Sean was concerned and didn't want to do something he - or maybe them both - would regret, he replied, 'No, thank you. My apartment's not far away from here. I can walk. But...' He bit his lower lip. 'What about meeting me tomorrow for dinner' If you have the time, that is. I cook Tandoori chicken and can show you one or two of my works and you...bring the wine?'

"Yeah, sure." Sean blinked at his instant reply, a little surprised that some part of him had an answer ready while the rest still wasn't finished progressing the question. And there were things that spoke against that, like for example, the Johnson taxes, the preparation for the Morris hearing, not to mention Bernard's latest investment plans. Usually, Sean would have have declined any invitation for dinner that wasn't a. Business, or b. During one of the rare times he had a vacation. But yeah, sure. Simple as that in this case, it seemed.

Viggo gave Sean his address and Sean placed the card securely in his wallet so he wouldn't accidentally loose it. Viggo smiled at his carefulness and nodded 'goodbye' again before walking off. Sean smiled his entire way home.