Sean is in his garden on a sunny late afternoon, kneeling to tend to the new flowerbeds. It's almost summer and the air is warm, sweet, the noises of the city coming through filtered by the tall trees of the park around the house. Viggo has just woken up after sleeping off the jetlag, and he's finally come out to sit next to him in the grass, to see what is it that has all of Sean's attention.
"They're called..." Sean begins, but Viggo smiles and says, "Simbelmyne," because they're small white flowers, shaped like stars.
It makes Sean chuckle, shake his head, and he nudges Viggo's closest shoulder with his own. "I'm not dead yet," he jokes, making Viggo's still-sleepy smile grow wider.
"Oh, I noticed that, believe me," Viggo says huskily, and shifts a little on the grass, suggestively, making Sean blush so easily even after all these years.
Viggo laughs at that, leans closer to drop a kiss on Sean's cotton-covered shoulder; and then, as if on second thought, he rests his head there.
A bloody silly picture they must make, Sean thinks, but doesn't move except to shift to sit back--with an alarming creaking of joints that makes them both giggle--and allow Viggo to doze against him more comfortably.
A right silly picture, aye: two ancient blokes with grey hair and almost a century and a half between them, still going at it as though they were twenty years younger--as they had been when first they had met--still sneaking away from families and sets and assistants to meet, and now dozing off together in the early June sunlight.
Like two old men.
Funny, Sean thinks, that this is what he used to imagine all those years ago, when he'd married his first wife: spending all your life with your soulmate, growing old and grey together. He'd been so young back then, old age just a vague, abstract concept.
A long time ago.
"Simbelmyna33;," Sean repeats under his breath, chuckling again. Viggo rolls his head on Sean's shoulder, and pokes his elbow in Sean's ribs, but gently; then he uncurls his arm, circling Sean's waist with it. And it's easy, expected.
"Fuck off," Viggo mumbles happily, and reaches out with the fingers of his free hand to brush over the delicate petals of the flowers. His hand looks wrinkled, stained with age where once it had been only ink and paint. It looks much like Sean's hand; it feels just as familiar.
"I like them," Viggo decides at last, and lets his hand fall back to rest over Sean's knee.
"I'm glad," Sean says. Viggo's hand on his leg feels warmer than the sun. "I picked them 'cause I liked the picture on the seeds packets."
"Yeah?" Viggo says, his eyes still the same clear blue as always, sparkling as they look up into Sean's. Waiting for it.
"Yeah," Sean says, aware he's about to break into a goofy grin and not caring. "They looked like simbelmyne to me."
He squeals like his Evie still does sometimes--when she's looking at her child playing in the garden and Sean sneaks up on her with an unexpected hug--when Viggo pushes him down and straddles him, tickling him mercilessly, until he has tears in his eyes and is breathless with laughter: and it's because of Viggo's nimble, familiar fingers and of the late afternoon sun in his eyes and of Viggo's welcome weight resting atop of him at last, as they sprawl in the new grass and kiss as if it were still their first time...
And it's just because they're growing old, and they're together.
Summary: Just a late spring afternoon in Sean's garden.
Rated: PG
Categories: Actor RPS Pairing: Sean/Viggo
Warnings: NoneChallenges:
Series: NoneChapters: 1 Completed: Yes
Word count: 606 Read: 896
Published: 01 Aug 2009 Updated: 01 Aug 2009