Sean answered the door wearing only a pair of white boxers. He didn't seem to recognize his caller immediately, blinking slowly, and only then saying, "Oh, it's you. Come in."
"My horse died."
Of all the things Sean might have expected to hear, that was... Well, actually, that would never have made the list anyway. So he blinked again.
"I beg your... um?"
Viggo just stood on his doorstep, staring at him. He looked unhappy, and at last Sean's still sleep-muddled brain connected to his ears.
"Brego died?" he asked, somewhat shocked because he'd gone riding with Viggo just the week before, and the horse had looked perfectly healthy then.
"No!" Viggo frowned at him, still unmoving. "Not Aragorn's horse," he added, and Sean, hearing the rare distinction on Viggo's lips, knew that this was serious.
"Come on in," he said again, only this time he took Viggo's arm to actually make him move, and closed the door behind them. Viggo just let himself be guided into Sean's living room, and only when Sean physically pushed him down did he sit on the couch. Sean could tell he was in shock.
"Tell me what happened," he said, as gently as he could, sitting on the coffee table in front of Viggo, wincing a little when his bare thighs touched the cold polished wood. He considered getting some clothes on, but he reckoned that could wait a bit longer. And after all, it was well past midnight. Maybe he could get back to bed in a little while...
That last thought vanished when Viggo looked up into his eyes. Sean could tell right then that it was going to be a long night.
"My horse died," Viggo repeated, but this time he went on, "My old horse, back home."
Sean finally got the picture. He knew how crazy Viggo was about horses, and he had been telling Sean all about this horse of his just the day before, actually -- and now, it was dead.
"I'm sorry," Sean offered, quietly. He touched his hand to Viggo's nearest knee, because Viggo looked so forlorn sitting there, his hands hanging limply between his own knees.
"They just called me," Viggo added, sounding as though he hadn't yet quite grasped the reality of it.
Sean had never had a horse -- never really liked horse-riding enough to consider buying one -- but he had an inkling about how bad Viggo was feeling. It was also kind of touching, in a weird sort of way, that Viggo's first thought had been to come to him.
Even at half past bleedin' midnight.
"I'm really sorry, Vig," he said again, squeezing the knee under his hand, wondering what else he could say, or do, to make things better. He still felt half-asleep.
"Maybe I could make you a cup of tea. Or something stronger..."
Viggo just looked down, at the hand Sean still had on his knee, and didn't say anything. Sean decided he was processing his grief, or whatever; better let him do that, then. He got up, and was deciding whether to fix a cuppa or retrieve that brandy bottle from his studio, when Viggo from the couch said, loud and clear, "Wanna fuck me?"
Sean froze mid-step. Then turned around, blinking once more. "Eh?"
Viggo's head came up, clear blue eyes alight. He repeated, enunciating every word even more clearly, "Want to fuck me?"
Sean felt suddenly very, very conscious that he was only wearing a pair of shorts.
And the worst of it was, Viggo looked perfectly serious.
Sean had, of course, wondered before. Because of the way they were together at times, because of jokes and looks and... Yes, he'd wondered. He wasn't blind -- and he wasn't brain-dead. He and Viggo, they were... friends. Good friends. Friends like... like he wasn't sure he'd really been friends with anyone -- anyone that he hadn't then married, anyway.
But actually doing it? Actually hearing Viggo offer... No. Not Sean's scene. No, really. Well, not any more. Not since Lorna was born -- 'cause, hello, father, you know? Responsibilities and examples to set and faith to keep and all. So, no. Fewer complications that way.
Viggo was still looking at him.
Sean cleared his throat. Licked his lips. He shifted from one foot to the other.
"Eh, I... Maybe that's not a good idea," he managed at last.
Viggo frowned. "Why not?"
"I, uh... don't do blokes," Sean said -- and it was true, it was. He didn't. Present tense. Whatever the hell else could be between him and Viggo, Sean didn't do that. With blokes. Too danger-- Well, too out of practice. Or too... Well. Mostly, too out of practice.
Whatever. He didn't.
"Oh." Viggo considered this, then, to Sean's relief -- he thought that was the word -- he shrugged. "I suppose that's a reason," he said, and rested back against the cushions, closing his eyes.
Sean decided on the brandy bottle.
When Sean got back -- dressed in loose shorts and a shirt now... though unbuttoned and hanging free, so as not to make Viggo uncomfortable or bring to mind homophobic overreaction or anything else as daft -- Viggo was still where he had left him, still with his eyes closed. He opened them when Sean touched the cool glass of brandy he'd poured for him to Viggo's forehead, and accepted it without speaking.
Poor bastard, thought Sean. A crazy bastard, for sure, and Sean had seen him exhausted and aching before, thanks to the absurd hours Peter sometimes required from all of them -- but this time it wasn't because of the film, and it felt wrong.
After a few more minutes, Viggo started talking. He told Sean about his horse, Kammerat, that Sean recalled was a Danish word, though he wasn't sure he'd ever asked its meaning; about himself, at the time he'd bought him with his first big paycheck from a movie; about when he taught Henry to ride, when he'd take him up on the saddle and slowly trot around -- how happy that always made his son; about how gentle the old horse had always been, especially around kids.
"He was very old, I was expecting it," Viggo said at last. "But I'm going to miss him." His glass of brandy was still full, because he'd just been turning it around and around in his hands, looking down at it as though that way he could look back in time.
"Feels wrong," he said again, very quietly, "not even remembering when it was the last time I took him out for a ride."
So that was it, Sean finally realised. It was that dreadful combination: pain, and guilt. Sean was all too familiar with it -- and that was why it felt so wrong, seeing it in Viggo. Sean sighed, his knee pressing against Viggo's knee, where they sat side by side on the couch.
"Can I sleep with you?" Viggo asked at last, without lifting his head. Sean noticed he hadn't said 'here'; he had said, 'with you.' As in, 'in your bed'. Typically Viggo, Sean thought. Straight to the point.
If it'd been anyone else, Sean would've been sure it was a come-hither. But it wasn't anyone else; it was Viggo. And he was clearly upset.
"I promise," Viggo added just when Sean had been about to speak, and he looked right at Sean, "that I won't steal your virtue while you sleep."
Sean had almost snorted at that, but he avoided it just in time. "That's... very thoughtful of you," he said, managing to sound very serious; grave, almost. Matching Viggo's tone.
Viggo nodded solemnly -- as Aragorn would have nodded -- and smiled a little, for the first time.
It was still dark when Sean woke from a confused, fast-fading dream that had let him pleasantly tingling, yet unsatisfied.
Then he realised that the tingling was continuing, and that that wasn't his own hand, so nicely wrapped around his slowly hardening cock.
He licked his lips, trying to think.
Horse. Dead horse. Viggo. Upset. Viggo. Offering...
"Viggo?"
An indistinct mumble from behind him, and Sean finally noticed that not only Viggo's hand was around his cock and Viggo's whole body was plastered to his back, but also, Viggo's face felt hot, and damp, where it pressed against Sean's shoulder. And Viggo's breathing was hitching for more than just one reason, apparently.
He swallowed, biting back a moan when Viggo's hand sped up, then a groan when he felt Viggo wiping his nose against his t-shirt.
Trust Viggo to be the kind of fellow who needed to process grief through sex.
Sealt felt a bit choked-up -- probably because what Viggo was doing was making it difficult to breathe properly.
"Thought you weren't goin' to take me virtue," Sean mumbled, not attempting to move.
Viggo's breath was hot in Sean's ear. "You don't have any," he breathed, his voice sounding almost right -- almost amused. Almost.
Sean hesitated for a second; his hips moved up into Viggo's tight hold -- he was so hard he could've burned a hole in Viggo's palm -- must've been all that talk of horses, he vaguely mused; and that bloody dream -- black stallions? Whatever.
"Oh," Sean said, and pushed back a little, just to feel how hard Viggo was, too.
Well.
He licked his lips again. "Just this once," he conceded.
"Yes," Viggo said, taking a shaky breath.
"'Cause you are... ah... in need of, um..."
"Creature comfort?" Viggo helpfully provided, voice firmer now. Then wiped his damp face on Sean's shoulder some more.
"Mmyeah..." Sean took a deep, long -- shaky -- breath himself, and with an effort he disengaged from Viggo's hold, turning onto his back; then, with another effort, he turned to pin Viggo down, under him. He heard Viggo's shallow intake of breath, felt it released against his own lips.
Too damn dark to see, but Viggo's face was wet and salty under Sean's tongue, and Bugger it all, Sean thought, tasting Viggo and tears and elation. Viggo had come to him in search of comfort -- what kind of mate would he have been, to deny it to him? A darn poor one, that's what.
Such a little thing, he thought.
Or not so little, he amended when Viggo pressed his own hard-on up against Sean's.
So, yes, it'd been many a long year -- but what was that they said? Like riding a bicycle. Or a horse, as the case might be.
He took his hands down -- down under the elastic of Viggo's boxers -- felt hot skin and hard, wet flesh against his own. Viggo's arms came up, Viggo's hands grabbed his arse and pushed him down, and Sean, when he found himself flat on his back, Viggo straddling him, for a moment forgot to breathe.
Yes -- some things...
He kept his eyes wide open in the darkness, while Viggo moved over him, and just let...
He just let Viggo ride him.
Some things you can never forget.
Sean was already showered and making breakfast when Viggo joined him in the kitchen, the morning after. Sean looked at him warily, but Viggo only mumbled a not-really-awake "Mornin'," and helped himself with the coffee. When he didn't add anything else, but just sat down at the table with his coffee, yawning and rubbing the sleep away from his eyes, Sean turned back to his toaster and tried to decide upon a course of action.
He was still deciding when he put a plate full of toast in front of Viggo, who smiled up at him, already looking livelier. Sean smiled back without having to think about it. He sat down opposite Viggo, and though his morning ritual was disrupted -- he usually read the papers during breakfast, but Viggo was doing that today -- he felt good.
Things seemed all right, until Viggo looked at his watch and said, "I should call Henry. I should tell him about Kammerat."
Sean paused with his fork halfway to his mouth, and watched Viggo more closely. He didn't look as upset as he had when Sean had opened the door the night before; he didn't look particularly happy, either, but he looked... well, he looked okay. Well-rested, also. Sean took a deep breath, decided that it would be wiser to have it in the open -- the sooner, the better.
He didn't know what Viggo wanted out of... well, he didn't know.
He didn't know what he wanted.
"Look," he began, willing himself to keep looking at Viggo while he said it, and his stomach to stop twisting into knots. "About... what happened last night..."
"Hm?" Viggo had gone back to reading the paper, and he looked up into Sean's eyes a bit distractedly.
Sean just looked back at him. Then he just went back to his breakfast, and Viggo to his reading, as if neither of them had ever spoken.
That was that, then. A way out. And they didn't need to talk about it -- because nothing had happened.
They finished their breakfast in silence.
Sean, from some unspoken accord, had stayed close when Viggo told his son about Kammerat. It was a difficult thing to watch, Viggo trying so hard to be gentle about it, in the end having just to say it -- Sean was still hearing his voice last night, so toneless and yet forlorn, 'My horse has died.' He heard him now, trying to console his little boy, promising him he would make sure the kid could come visiting him soon, with his mother, and see all the magnificent horses on the set -- and wouldn't he love to see Shadowfax with his own eyes?
At last this seemed to work; Sean had been sitting on one of the couch's armrests, next to Viggo all through the phone call, and he realised only when Viggo rested back a bit more heavily against him, looking up at him from upside down with a smile of thanks, that he'd been massaging Viggo's back in slow soothing circles.
He could still remember the way Viggo's bare skin felt under his fingers, hot and damp, stretched over straining muscles...
Or, he would have remembered, had it ever happened.
He looked away, but left his hand where it was.
He got up only when Viggo called the people at his ranch, and went to putter about in the kitchen. He put the plates into the dishwasher, tried to recall if he needed to buy more bread, changed the month on the South Island calendar hanging on the wall under the clock.
He could hear Viggo's voice droning on in the background, low, already familiar, curiously at home under Sean's roof, filling the empty rooms. A little knot kept tying and untying in his stomach, in his chest.
When at last Viggo hung up, Sean was standing in front of the living room window, suddenly remembering that they both had the day off today. It was a warm, sunny autumn morning; for some reason, the thought of asking Viggo if he wanted to spend the day together didn't feel as awkward as he'd thought it would.
"I was going to see Brego today," Viggo said from the couch. "Care to join me?"
It didn't feel awkward at all.
They were on the way when Viggo swore softly and glanced apologetically at Sean.
"Sorry, I forgot something. Would you mind a little detour?"
The detour, as it turned out, took them in front of Orlando's house, where Orlando's Jeep was parked. Liv and a couple of hobbits were standing around, waiting to get in.
"Vig!" Orlando called happily when Sean parked his car behind the Jeep and they got out. He passed a big duffle bag to Liv and went to hug Viggo and slap him manfully on the back -- then ruined the effect by tousling his hair. "So you're coming, then? I was about to think you had changed your mind."
"Well..." Viggo looked a little ruffled at that, Sean noticed. He greeted Liv and the hobbits -- Elijah and Astin. "In fact, that's just it. Change of plans. Sorry, kid."
"Oh." Orli actually looked disappointed for a second, before he bounced right back. "But come on, you're here! You and Sean could come along..." And then he trailed off, looking uncertainly at Sean. "Right?"
Sean blinked. "Right what?"
"We're going skydiving," Elijah said, sounding almost apologetic. He smiled at Sean. "We've cleared it off with Peter. Well, me and Orli are going to." He pointed at Liv and Astin. "They're just watching. Wanna watch?" he added, waggling his eyebrows and getting a giggle out of Liv, and a "Wanker" out of Orlando.
Sean could feel himself getting queasy just thinking of it -- what sane person would ever jump out of a plane? ...never mind -- but he looked at Viggo, standing there with the kids. "We could go, I guess," he said, considering. When Viggo tilted his head, looking back at him, his brows wrinkled in thought, Sean shrugged. "If you want to," he clarified, because somehow he felt he needed to say it.
Then Viggo said... well, Sean wasn't really sure what he said, because he started going off on a bit of a tangent soon enough -- something about sky and life and death and falling, and the permanence of being -- so it was a bit hard to make out what he was actually going on about. Sean could see the puzzled, amused glances, and he felt like smiling.
Viggo was rambling. All was right with the world.
Liv wasn't even pretending she was following Viggo's words; she looked up at Sean, curiously. "Why should you come? Just being on the plane would make you turn green, wouldn't it?"
Sean smiled, more at Astin's muffled groan behind her back, than at her question. She had a point, after all -- though maybe not much tact. Why the hell should he want to go?
"So I could hear Viggo ramble on?"
Viggo rolled his eyes at him, then, as if in afterthought, slapped him lightly on the arm. But he was grinning, and the hobbits and the elves kept going on about the joys of jumping out of a plane and how there wasn't anything that would've made Sean sick, really, he should at least try it once -- and Sean was surprised to find that he actually meant it.
He would've gone, if Viggo had.
So strange, feeling like he wasn't ready to let Viggo out of his sight yet, as though he was afraid Viggo might still fall apart, if he wasn't there to watch him.
As though no-one else but him could put Viggo back together -- not the right way, anyway.
But that, of course, was absurd. He shouldn't feel like that -- like... like nothing had ever happened between them, and if he let Viggo go now, there would be nothing to make Viggo come back.
That little knot inside tightened again, leaving him almost breathless for a second, as though he'd gone and stepped out into the sky without even noticing.
As though he'd fallen hard out of it.
"Fuck," he said aloud, "I think I'm cracked."
Everyone laughed, and Elijah made witty jokes.
Viggo just smiled.
Sean noticed that he hadn't told them about his horse.
"Go, little hobbits and comely elves," Viggo said, guiding Orli around the car to the driver's seat. "Have fun and try to stay alive." Then he came back, to stand beside Sean once again, close, but not too close. "We're going to see the horses."
Sean didn't often visit the corrals, and when he did, he never was on his own, but with Viggo or Karl or Miranda, or with the three of them together. Usually, though, it was him and Viggo, and he knew Viggo was there most of his free time anyway. Everyone there knew him, and Viggo knew everyone, and every horse.
Sean stood a little back, just enjoying looking at the horses and letting Viggo chatter away with the wranglers, the sun and the blue sky enough to clear his mind, to let the light in.
The time passed easily, looking around and discussing whether or no the kids had managed to kill themselves already. Sean was sure they had.
Sean had been sure that Viggo wanted to go for a ride, and had schooled himself for it: not his favourite pastime, but hey, better than skydiving anytime, and the afternoon was a damn fine one to be outdoors. Only when he heard Viggo casually refusing to mount Brego for the second time in a row, Sean finally realised that it wasn't going to happen -- and why -- and he experienced the most disconcerting feeling of having his face trying to split open in a smug grin, and wishing the earth would open up and swallow him at the same time.
For something that didn't happen, it was apparently having some consequences.
And one of them was, Sean couldn't stop thinking about it.
He tumbled out of his daydreaming barely in time to catch the apple flying at him.
"If you've done staring at nothing, we could go and have dinner," Viggo drawled, strolling past him with a sardonic look on his face. He looked down at the apple in Sean's hand, then back up again, and he added, in the same neutral tone, "Need to feed my ride."
He was already jogging out of reach when Sean recovered enough to try and catch him.
"Nutter," Sean grumbled, feeling as though everyone could tell his face wasn't so red just because it was a bloody hot day. And since there really wasn't anything else he felt like doing, and they had sort of skipped lunch, he followed Viggo, happily munching on his apple.
It really was a good day -- horses neighing and brilliant light and blue sky and the smell of hay -- and Viggo's eyes were laughing, when Sean finally caught up with him.
Dinner was, in the end, simple Chinese takeout. They shared it sitting in front of the coffee table in Sean's living room, talking of their schedules for tomorrow. Sean had to shoot close-ups for his Moria scene with Orlando.
"...only this time I won't have to fall back on him, thank heaven. The lad's good, but he's far too bony to make a good pillow -- though he can be a right pillock at times, I'll give you that." Sean looked up with a self-conscious grin at the lameness of the joke, only to realise Viggo wasn't really paying attention, but seemed very focused on his lemon chicken. Sean sighed, suspecting he was thinking of his horse again, and searched his brain for a topic that could make Viggo open up a bit and forget to hurt for a while.
"I hear you and Orlando got quite close while I was back home. Maybe you'd like to go throwing yourself out of a plane with him, one of these days?" Sean tried, grinning a little. "I'm sure the lad would take care of you. He's..."
Viggo suddenly looked up at him. "I decided to buy him and bring him back home with me," he announced, so seriously that Sean almost choked on his fried rice.
"I was talking about Brego, of course," Viggo said, looking a little too innocent for Sean to believe him for even a second. "I talked with the wranglers earlier -- they think his owner might be interested in an offer."
Sean shot him a dark look, but Viggo was actually smiling -- eating his chicken and smiling. Fuck, but the man was impossible.
And Sean felt such a twat, just sitting there with this absurdly pleased smile on his own face, watching Viggo eat.
Such a twat.
"Orlando's a great guy, and I'm sure skydiving's fun," Viggo said a little later, while they were gathering the takeout boxes to throw them away. "But I like it better here."
Sean wasn't sure Viggo was looking at him, since he was too busy with his task to look up and see for himself. But he heard the soft note in Viggo's voice all right -- it had been just like that... It had been just last night.
It made him want to ask Viggo why he'd asked 'Want to fuck me?' in the first place, what had made him think that Sean would...
Except, Sean wouldn't. Well, he had said no. And -- nothing had happened.
Something was tugging annoyingly at the tangled knot in his chest.
He looked up, at last, only when he heard Viggo get up, and the first thought that crossed his mind was, 'He's leaving'; and the second was, 'No.'
Or actually, more like 'Please, no.'
He looked up right into Viggo's eyes. Saw the way out Viggo was giving him -- just getting up too, walking him to the door, 'Great day mate, see you tomorrow then' -- because nothing had happened that could make Sean want -- need -- otherwise.
He looked back down again, spotting his script on the couch -- must remember to take it with him tomorrow, Peter would probably want to go over his last changes about Boromir with him.
When he looked up again, Viggo was heading for the bedroom, already disrobing.
Sean let out a breath. Finished gathering the boxes -- then left them there, and followed Viggo instead.
If nothing had happened once already, he didn't see why it couldn't happen again.
Epilogue
The next time their day off coincided, Viggo took Sean back to the corrals.
It was another fine autumn morning, the sun felt warm on Sean's face, and when Viggo pointed to Brego, being led through his paces by one of the wranglers, and said, quietly proud and happy, "My horse," Sean knew that it was a done thing. Viggo had his new horse; he wasn't mourning any more -- or whatever he'd been doing for the past few weeks in Sean's bed.
"That's great," Sean said, cursing inwardly at the flatness his voice had suddenly developed. He cleared his throat, trying to smile in the brilliant light. "Your new..." he searched for the right pronunciation, the word he'd only ever heard Viggo say, and whose meaning he'd looked up in an online Danish-English dictionary late one night, after Viggo had drifted off to sleep, hearing Viggo saying the name in his head, all sharp consonants and oddly sweet-sounding vowels, "...Kammerat, eh?" And much to his consternation, it came out with a shiver in the middle.
Viggo looked at him for a second, but then he looked back at the horse, resting his chin on his arms, folded over the wooden fence. For several minutes there was only silence, the calls of the wranglers and the neighing of the horses.
"You know," Viggo said at last, sounding a little annoyed -- then he trailed off, and when he spoke again, his voice sounded, more than anything else, amused. Sean saw indeed a little smile at the corner of Viggo's mouth. "I don't actually need horses," Viggo said. "I just love them. That's all."
Sean, for a moment, felt like there was something in those words he needed to grasp, some meaning behind their actual meaning. He wasn't sure he could allow himself to see it, though; so he didn't. Viggo gave an exasperated sigh, and moved away from the fence -- but before Sean could gather his wits enough to turn and follow, Viggo was on him, arms going around Sean's waist, chin resting over Sean's shoulder, uncaring of all the people around.
"Horses are nice," Viggo said, his voice low and husky in Sean's ear, then gathering volume with each new word: "Even when they're stubborn as mules and nervous as hell and need to be talked into anything..." Here Viggo's voice dropped again, and in a whisper that somehow managed to sound both amused and serious at the same time, Viggo concluded, "Even then, you can always tell when they love you back."
And he gently nuzzled Sean's ear, before lightly butting him on the head and stepping back.
Sean just stood there, taking it in.
And then he took it in some more.
"Will you stop," he said at last, very slowly, quiet and warm, turning to face Viggo, "calling me a horse?"
Viggo shook his head.
Sean nodded.
Viggo gestured towards the stables. "Come riding with me?"
"Oh, yeah," Sean breathed, and Viggo's grin should've been wicked, or mocking; but it looked a little too luminous for that.
"Sweet. That's something," Viggo said, then 'oof'ed when Sean grabbed him around the neck and pushed him back, yelling, "Race you to the stables, old man!"
Letting Viggo catch up with him just inside, letting Viggo tumble him down on the ground, was so easy after that. They cursed and laughed, rolling around like kids, revelling in the pressing of hands, the tangling of legs, the mingling of breaths and voices and heat, like the loops of a knot coming loose then tightening again, the ends lost somewhere in the heart of it, irretrievable. The horses looked at them from their stalls, curious and maybe a bit solemn.
It was good, Sean thought, and he would have said it out loud, if only Viggo hadn't chosen just that moment to kiss him senseless.
It was just as Viggo had said, and it made him laugh into the kiss, relief or happiness or madness, he didn't really need to know.
Whatever it was -- it was something.
Summary: Nothing happens. Really.
Rated: NC-17
Categories: Actor RPS Pairing: Sean/Viggo
Warnings: NoneChallenges:
Series: NoneChapters: 1 Completed: Yes
Word count: 4966 Read: 1044
Published: 01 Aug 2009 Updated: 01 Aug 2009