Green-eyed monster
When at last the end of his shift arrives, Sean goes in search of his man who has been absent ever since disappearing off with whatever it was arrived for him in the post this morning. As expected he finds Viggo in what still gets called the spare room because, as the poet has rightly pointed out, going spare is what he does most of whilst he’s in there. What isn’t expected is the ragged circle of many and varied piles of photographs that surround Viggo on the floor.
‘Ah! Just who I needed!’
The smile accompanying Viggo’s greeting manages, as always, to pack a glorious punch that sends Sean’s stomach reeling in joyous wonder at the man who has made his life so complete.
‘Why? What yer up to?’
Viggo waves a vague hand over the photographs.
‘Letter from the publishers. They want me to do a shoot for the cover, but I’m sure there must be something here they could use. Don’t want to go through all that again. Drove me nuts last time.’
Sean frowns and rubs an ear in thought.
‘But yer like photography, Vig. Yer always off with yer camera, an’ Zoë says yer an amazing teacher. So what’s the problem?’
‘Yeah, that’s when I’m taking the pictures, not when I’m on the receiving end. You don’t know how awful it is – sit here, not like that like this, look moody, look thoughtful, cross your legs, uncross your legs, push your hair back – it’s fucking appalling and I don’t want to do it again. There’s tons of stuff here, they can use one of these surely.’
‘Ok, but which one?’
Viggo heaves himself up, shaking aching legs, stamping numbed feet.
‘Exactly! That’s the problem. I can’t choose. So you have a look through while I get us some coffee and see what you like best. I’ll leave the decision up to you.’
‘Me?!’
‘Yeah, you! After all…’ and Viggo’s expression at this point is nothing less than a filthy leer, ‘You have fucking fantastic taste!’
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So much too choose from! Where on earth should he begin?
Sean flicks idly through the first pile, not quite sure what he’s looking for, hoping that it’ll sort of hit him and he’ll just know, though he’s not exactly counting on it.
This is a Viggo that isn’t his. This is a Viggo without Sean. A Viggo happy and smiling and loving and doing things and being in places and with people that have nothing to do with Sean. Old boyfriends, even old girlfriends, the extremely short-lived marriage that was a massive mistake. Shouldn’t hurt, but it does.
It doesn’t exactly hit him right between the eyes. It’s more of a gradual feeling of unease which grows with terrifying speed into nauseating horror.
It’s there, in every shot, in the eyes of everyone Viggo’s caught with.
He knows it’s in his eyes too.
And then he finds the proofs from the last publicity shoot, and that’s when he finally cracks.
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When Viggo returns he knows instantly that something is wrong, very wrong.
Quickly and carefully finding a safe home for the brimming mugs, he folds himself down onto the floor and takes Sean’s shaking hands into his own.
‘Tell me’ he asks gently.
‘S’nothing. Forget it.’
He knows full well how hard it can be for Sean to find words to express his feelings. Sometimes Viggo understands that it’s best just to let things lie and move on. This isn’t one of those times.
‘Won’t. Not nothing. Tell me.’
Viggo rarely has a hankie so has to retrieve Sean’s own to cope with the snuffly nose and tear-stained cheeks. Then he folds his man into a gentle hug of safety and asks again.
‘Tell me, please. What have I done to upset you so much, love?’
Sean flinches and sniffs again, rubbing his nose against Viggo’s comforting shoulder.
‘Not you. Not your fault. S’just… Stupid.’
‘Not stupid. Whatever it is it’s not stupid, ok? Whatever it is I still love you and am not about to stop. So tell me.’
Sean pulls back but not quite away, finds the hankie and blows hard before he begins.
‘S’them…’ he says, gesturing at the photos.
‘What about them?’
‘Them. Their eyes, every damned one of them, always in their eyes. Just like me…’
‘What is it, love? What about the eyes? I don’t get it…’
‘Their eyes, God dammit Vig! Look at them! Every damned fuckin’ one of them! Like me! Just like me…’
‘Sean, love, I…’
‘That’s just it, Vig. Love. They all loved you, all of them, just like I do. I look at you like that, I love you like that. Am I going to lose you like they did?’
Viggo knows exactly why Sean hurts. He hurts too when he has to think about it.
He looks down at the strewn array of lovers who have crossed his path over the years and remembers all too well the look of adoration they each seemed to end up with. How it always became a prison from which the only thing to do was to break free, move on, find someone else, someone new, love again, leave again.
Remembers how every time he’d find his love being questioned, his intentions mistrusted, how it was always so easy just to take his lover by the hand and lead them to bed, to fuck away their fears, knowing all the time that it wouldn’t be long now before they’d wake up one morning and find him gone from their lives.
He stands, and holds out a hand to the man crumpled on the floor before him.
‘Come on,’ he murmurs.
‘What? Where?’
‘Just get up love, please.’
‘Where we goin’? Bed? Post-fight fuck an’ all that?’
‘We’ve not exactly been fighting…’
‘Yer know what I mean.’
But Sean takes the proffered hand, allows himself to be pulled upright.
‘Now sit down properly on the couch so your legs don’t go to sleep. And look. And listen. Ok?’
‘Ok.’
Viggo picks up the prints, sorts them back into a pile then lays them down, one by one, across the floor. What starts out as a fairly straight line ends up a crooked curl that snakes its way to Sean’s feet.
‘There. That’s where it stops.’
‘Where what stops?’
‘Me.’
‘You?’
‘You gonna repeat everything I say, Sean?’
‘Well if yer fuckin’ told me what yer was on about maybe I wouldn’t have ter.’
Viggo starts at the first picture and follows the trail around the room.
‘Me. Began there, did stuff, lived, loved, got it wrong, moved on. Am here. End. Goal. See?’
‘No. Fuckin’ poet, talk English for a change and don’t take the sacred words of football in vain.’
‘Shit Sean, I’m trying to explain. I can’t help what went before, can’t help that I loved other people and that they weren’t you. But they were all steps on the path to you. If I hadn’t got it wrong back then I wouldn’t have kept moving on until I got it right. Don’t you see? The road stops here. You’re it. Whatever I did along the way was just preparation for finding you and loving you and absolutely certainly never ever leaving you. Get it?’
‘Sort of…’
‘You have to trust me, love.’
‘Like they trusted you?’
Viggo sighs and rubs his eyes in frustration.
‘You don’t have to make it this hard, Sean. I can’t help having had a life before you. You had one before me too, you know.’
Even Sean can’t argue with that. He gestures belligerently at another pile.
‘Yeah, but… Fuck it Vig, I don’t deserve that so how can I expect to hold onto it?’
That is the last shoot, the proofs that tipped Sean over the edge.
‘I don’t deserve that,’ Sean whispers again. ‘How can I ever be good enough for beauty such as that, such as yours?’
Viggo scans through the prints, remembers how soulless he felt that day, how lost and alone and tired of life, wondering how on earth he could keep on trying, whether he would always end up failing…
‘Yeah, I look good but it’s all airbrushed and whaddya call it? Whatsit-shopped. I’m going grey, I’ve got wrinkles, for Christ’s sake I’m nearly fifty and I’ve still got spots! It’s not me, Sean. Not the real me, anyway. Real me wakes up with stinky morning-breath looking wrecked ‘cause you’ve fucked the sanity out of me the night before.’
Sean can’t help but grin just a little at that thought.
‘Yer do look a bit rough at times, love…’
‘I was hollow then, Sean. Hollow and aching. You made me real again. I never want to feel like that ever again. And I don’t want you beating yourself up over something like old photos. If it makes you feel better I’ll burn them, then there’re gone and you can forget them and we can get back to living this great life we’ve got together here. Because I ain’t leaving and I can’t see you going anywhere particularly fast.’
Sean’s head jerks upwards, a look of horror on his face.
‘No, Vig! Don’t say that! Don’t do that!’
‘What? What you on about now?’
Sean eases the wedge of photographs from Viggo’s grasp, tidies them neatly, slides them into a folder retrieved from the floor.
‘Don’t burn them. Mustn’t burn them. They’re yer life. I know that, really. Just get a bit jealous sometimes. Told yer I was bein’ stupid. Fuckin’ stupid old git.’
‘You are that at times. My fucking stupid old git, though. And I love him. And I’m not going to stop. Told you that right at the start. Before the coffee got cold.’
‘I’ll stick it in the microwave, heat it up.’
‘That you fucking won’t! Disgusting! Make some fresh, you tight bastard!’
‘Yeah, yeah, whatever, bloody fussy Yank.’
‘Piss off and get my coffee.’
‘No sugar, no milk. No sweetness, no light.’
‘Just shut up and get my sodding coffee, man!’
‘Keep yer bloody hair on, slave-driver.’
‘You watch it, you.’
‘Ok, ok. Oh and Vig…’
‘What?’
‘This one.’
‘This one what?’
‘This one for the cover. Of yer book.’
‘Yeah? Why?’
‘Cause I’m in it too. An’ there ain’t much doubtin’ that you love me as much as I love you. Can see it in yer eyes. Don’t want anyone gettin’ ideas about yer availability, do we?’
Viggo sighs in total exasperation and utter adoration.
‘Will you just fuck off and get my coffee?’
Summary: Sean is jeaulous.
Rated: PG-13
Categories: Actor RPS Pairing: Sean/Viggo
Warnings: NoneChallenges:
Series: NoneChapters: 1 Completed: Yes
Word count: 1876 Read: 862
Published: 02 Aug 2009 Updated: 02 Aug 2009