*****
1. Freedom.
Drunk on the cast's champagne and five months' worth of Shakespeare (daily, twice on Sundays), he's keenly aware of his freedom. Nothing concrete in his diary: nothing he needs to promote: no reason, any more, to do as he's told.
"When I'm free," he'd promised, afraid it would sound like an excuse. "When *Macbeth* is done with." He hadn't realised that his vow would be taken so literally. But Viggo was there waiting for him backstage, roses clutched in his hand and a grin that said, clear as words, "this isn't only a joke."
"Done waiting," he murmured into Sean's embrace.
---
2. Memory.
The first thing Sean saw when he woke up was the red roses sitting peacefully in a china vase near the window. He blinked at them for a moment, taking in the unfamiliar placement of the window itself and the strange colours, sleepingly registering that he was not at home; and then he recalled. Viggo, at the theatre.
Viggo, saying "Done waiting," while holding him close.
Sean rubbed his eyes, blinking sleep away, thinking tiredness and too much champagne probably hadn't been the wisest of combinations.
*Macbeth*, finished; done. And Viggo...
Viggo was here.
When Sean moved to sit up he could suddenly tell that Viggo had *definitely* been here--he dropped back down with a groan, his face flushing, while the memories came back and he remembered.
Telling his driver to take them to the hotel Viggo was staying in, not giving a damn what the man would make of that. Viggo, chatting endlessly about the play and the young, pretty cast, while Sean just sat back looking at him, at Viggo's long elegant fingers drawing patterns in the dimly lit interior of the Mercedes, punctuating every low, drawled word, his own fingers playing with the red petals of the roses in his lap, so soft and velvety, so easily bruised. Not looking at Viggo during the ride in the lift, because of the people in there with them, his lips curving into an unstoppable smile at the looks his bouquet of roses caused.
And finally, once safely inside Viggo's rooms, kissing Viggo because it seemed something he'd needed--wanted--to do since the play's first opening in October. And then, after that...
Sean flushed a deeper red, recalling all too clearly the question Viggo had whispered into his ear, recalling the overwhelming... lust... he'd felt at hearing Viggo say *that* to him; and then nodding, his heart beating wildly in his throat, pushing clothes out of the way, falling down onto the bed, hands roaming, thinking...
Thinking of nothing, really, except *It's over, he's here*; and stroking a condom on Viggo, lingering, until Viggo had groaned and captured both his wrists in his hands--remembering letting Viggo do that--his fingers slick with lube as much as Sean's; and then Viggo pushing him down, pushing into him, and it hadn't been as Sean had pictured it--because he had--and he had hated it at first, the burn and the pain and the feeling of being so open, stretched, full... He had hated that he could hate that.
*Full of Viggo,* he remembered thinking or--Jesus--maybe actually saying aloud at some point, with his nails digging bloody marks into Viggo's shoulders, tears trickling down from the corners of his eyes. Everything had clicked into place then, and Sean felt his face heat even more, because he had arched into it, his eyes wide, seeing nothing, feeling only Viggo moving inside, Viggo saying his name over and over, rocking him slowly, saying... saying things like "Love," and "It's over now," and "Mine," before fucking him into oblivion.
Sean stifled a new groan, shifting his legs under the sheets to make space for his growing erection, and he felt again the slickness and the soreness; he glared accusingly at the roses beside the window for a couple of seconds before the quiet of the place finally hit him--and even before looking around he knew.
He was alone in the room.
---
3. Daydream.
It was early on a sunny Sunday morning, spring just beginning to bring out the leaves and buds. The air stank of traffic fumes. Viggo wandered along the Embankment and replayed last night in his head again and again.
Sean hadn't expected to see him so soon, that much was clear. His expression, seeing Viggo standing there smiling, roses in hand, would have been worth photographing: almost comically shocked, his pleasure at seeing Viggo overlaying the exhaustion that was inevitable after the last intense performance of the run.
There'd been a cast party, of course. It had started at the theatre, though they'd all headed off somewhere else pretty soon. Sean had made his excuses, a mostly-empty bottle of champagne in one hand, kissing all the girls and quite a few of the men too. He hadn't said more than a few words to Viggo since he came off-stage after the last curtain call, but those few words had included 'wonderful' and 'happy to see you' and they'd been delivered with Sean's amazing smile.
And then he'd waved off the last of the stragglers, and turned to Viggo, and said, "Where do you want to go?"
Viggo had almost said, "To bed, with you, right now." But that wasn't--necessarily--what this was about. All Sean had said, back in the fall, was "when I'm done with *Macbeth*."
Viggo knew it was a bit unfair of him to turn up unannounced like this, to whisper "Done waiting" into his friend's ear and to present him with romantic red roses in front of the rest of the cheering cast. He didn't want to pressure Sean into anything. But oh, he wanted Sean.
"I've got a room at the Radisson, up the road," he had said quietly to Sean. "Want to come by for a drink or two?"
Sean was swaying on his feet from tiredness and champagne, and more drink wasn't going to make him think any more clearly. But he beamed at Viggo and said, "That'd be grand."
They'd talked about the play all the way back to the hotel--they could have walked, but Sean decided he couldn't face fans--and Viggo teased Sean about his accent, and the predominantly female audience, and the pretty young witches. Sean listened, and laughed, and told Viggo he was a jealous old sod who should get out more. And then Viggo was unlocking the door of his hotel room, holding it open for Sean to go in first ... and Sean had turned around to push him against the door even before it was fully closed, mouth hot on Viggo's. Viggo wanted to smile, but he wanted to kiss Sean more.
Now that they were touching at last, he could feel Sean trembling, with fatigue or excitement or tension. They'd kissed before, light and tentative, never like this: this was like being swept away.
"Let's get away from the door," Viggo said at last, breathing quickly.
Sean looked dazed, but he was grinning at Viggo. "Good to see you," he said.
"You don't do that to all your friends?" said Viggo dryly, and let Sean laugh and haul him over to the small sofa at the other end of the room.
"Let me put the flowers in water first," Sean said, with such characteristic practicality that Viggo relaxed. He breathed deeply while Sean was in the bathroom, trying to get himself under control. Though it was obvious that Sean wanted the same as he did. Maybe it was just the champagne?
The Sean reappeared, the glorious roses stuck incongruously in an ornate china jug. "Hideous, innit? But the roses are gorgeous, Vig." He slid down onto the sofa beside Viggo. It was a tight fit.
"Sean..." He could feel Sean's breath on his face, smelling slightly of champagne and cigarettes.
"Wha'?" said Sean, grinning. It was a flirtatious grin, and Viggo decided there was no point in resisting it.
"Can't believe I'm here," Viggo said. "Can't believe we're here together, *Macbeth* is over... I've been waiting--"
"Me too," said Sean. He swiped his tongue over his lower lip, and Viggo nearly leapt on him. From Sean's wicked smile, that was just what he'd intended. "I haven't changed my mind, Vig," he said, very quietly. "I still want you."
...Viggo blinked. He'd been standing staring out over the sparkling sunlit water for ages, long enough for his legs to stiffen up, dreaming of Sean... He'd only meant to walk a short distance, to clear his head and ground himself in this amazing new world where Sean was his lover. Instead, he was daydreaming in the sun. And maybe Sean was awake by now.
Though there was good reason for him to be tired. Somehow they'd got to the bed, still kissing. Sean had kissed him wildly, urgently, with so much passion that Viggo almost stopped, afraid that Sean was rushing in before he changed his mind.
"We don't have to..." That was *Sean* whispering in his ear, even while Sean's hands were fumbling, clumsy with drink and nerves, at the buttons of Viggo's shirt. Sean was looking at him with wide green eyes, looking worried. "Vig?" he said.
"I haven't changed my mind, either," Viggo said softly, pulling Sean towards him. "Want you."
"You've got me," Sean said hoarsely. "What are you going to do with me?" He licked at the hollow of Viggo's throat, and Viggo couldn't help arching up against his mouth.
"I'm going to... I want to fuck you, Sean," he said breathlessly, feeling the blood surge in his veins just at the words. They had an effect on Sean too: he moaned and pressed harder against Viggo.
Viggo pushed himself up and rolled over, half on top of Sean now, sliding his hands under Sean's shirt and stroking his skin. Sean was amazingly responsive, humming with pleasure every time Viggo touched him, moaning when Viggo's thumb brushed across a nipple. His erection was temptingly hard against Viggo's thigh.
And it wasn't as though he had to resist this temptation any more. Grinning, Viggo slid down the bed, unzipping Sean's black jeans and reaching in. Sean moaned loudly when Viggo's hand closed around his cock, and the sound was incredibly hot: Viggo couldn't wait to hear what other sounds his friend would make. A single broad swipe with his tongue, and Sean was babbling incoherently, "Viggo" and "fuck" and "please". Viggo closed his lips around the shaft and sucked. He had a vague idea that Sean would fall asleep as soon as he came, which was a pity: but there'd be less room for regret this way.
Then Sean was pulling his hair, not that gently, and saying clearly, "Stop."
Viggo stopped. He stared up at Sean, trying to read his expression. They were both turned on, and they'd both waited so long...
"I want you," said Sean slowly, with care. "I want to come with ... with you fucking me." He was blushing by the end of the sentence, but he looked steadily back at Viggo, smiling.
It seemed like the most erotic thing anyone had ever said to Viggo. He lunged back up the bed, pressing Sean into the mattress, kissing him hungrily: rolled aside enough to wrap his arms around Sean and grin at him. Sean's shirt was half-unbuttoned and he was flushed and smiling. Viggo wished his camera was in reach, but nothing on earth would have made him let go of Sean right then.
They undressed each other almost desperately, though it seemed like hours until they were naked together. At last they were touching, skin to skin, head to foot, pressing against each other. Viggo slid a hand over Sean's hips and down between his thighs, pleased that Sean wasn't nervous any more.
"You sure about this?" he asked Sean again, leaning back to grab the necessary supplies from the bedside table.
"Get on with it," Sean growled, and laughed at him. He tensed up when Viggo pushed the first lubed finger in, and Viggo held him and kissed him and whispered sentimental nonsense until he felt the muscles relax. It took a while before Sean was pushing down around three fingers, and even then there was some tension, but Viggo couldn't wait. Sean's hands, as sticky as his own with lube, were smoothing the condom onto him, urging him on.
Viggo couldn't wait any more. He knew he was hurting his friend, and he hated himself for that, hated the tears glittering in the corners of Sean's eyes even while he tried to stretch himself wider for Viggo. He kissed Sean's mouth, his eyelids, his throat, whispering to him, trying to soothe him enough to stop the pain, if nothing else. Hated himself for ruining--
Then suddenly it stopped hurting: he could see it happening, see Sean smile in wonderment at the simple absence of pain. Viggo dared to push forward, just slightly, and Sean swore, laughed, pulled Viggo hard into him, pushed up against him... It was magical, and Viggo was way beyond being able to resist. He kissed Sean again, finding a rhythm that they could both keep, thrusting into him again and again, telling Sean about love and waiting and done waiting...
Viggo stretched, grinning to himself. It was ten o'clock on a Sunday morning--he could see Big Ben from here--and he was standing in the sun on the Embankment, getting an erection just thinking about his best friend. His lover.
He'd come out to give Sean the space, if he wanted to wake up alone and have time to think. Hell, maybe he'd given him too much time, and Sean would be gone... Viggo crossed the road, hurrying. All that time dreaming on the riverbank when he could have been sitting watching Sean wake up, naked, in his hotel bed.
Surely no regrets. Viggo wouldn't let him have regrets.
---
4. Reality.
When Viggo came back to the hotel he found Sean standing in front of the bedroom window, looking out into the street below, or maybe at the roses, at the few velvety red petals that had fallen off during the night; he was fully clothed, which was a pity, since Viggo had hoped to join him back in bed.
Sean didn't turn around when he entered, though he had to have heard him come back, so Viggo just walked up to him, sliding his arms around Sean's waist and letting his chin rest comfortably on Sean's shoulder.
"My liege," he saluted, and could feel Sean's answering smile in the way Sean tilted his head toward him, letting their cheeks touch. But still Sean didn't turn, or really greet him back; so very quietly, very carefully, Viggo asked, "What's wrong?"
Sean shrugged lightly at that, and leaned back more into Viggo's embrace, his forehead brushing against Viggo's temple. Yet there had been a slight hesitation before he did that, and Viggo felt a sudden flash of panic. He wondered if he hadn't been right after all, if Sean was actually regretting what had happened now that he was sober and the daylight was making everything, even the room itself, look different.
Then he realized that Sean might have felt that as well, waking up and not finding him there--stupid of him leaving, in hindsight, yet there wasn't much he could do about it now. They only needed to learn how to trust each other with--*With this,* he thought, and found himself wondering what 'this' really was, after all, and what they would decide to make of it.
He turned his face toward Sean's, his lips brushing Sean's neck. "How are you feeling?" he asked softly, and when after a moment Sean chuckled--though it actually sounded so much more like a giggle--and said, "Sore," Viggo had to fight hard not to take him back to bed then and there. As it was, he just laughed, letting his hands fall down from Sean's waist to his hips, rubbing lightly against his ass. "Sorry," he said, and felt like giggling himself.
"No you aren't," Sean said, and he turned into Viggo's arms. "Don't be," he added, more seriously, and he took Viggo's mouth in a hungry, wet kiss that had them both moaning in moments.
"Want to have breakfast out?" Sean asked after a few more seconds, a little breathlessly. Viggo, standing between Sean's thighs, his arms around Sean's shoulders, distractedly noticed that they were leaning against the window sill, right beside the vase of roses. Sean's fingers were tangled in Viggo's hair, stroking a smooth strand between thumb and forefinger, his eyes roaming all over Viggo's face, as if drinking in the sight. Sean's voice sounded low, and Viggo thought there was uncertainty in it as well. "Want to see London a bit?"
Viggo shook his head. "Want to see you--a lot," he said without really thinking, and was rewarded by Sean's most brilliant smile, a smile so happy and open it made Sean look as if he was about ten years old.
"You can," Sean huskily said, his accent as thick as it'd been during the play. "You can see me every bloody day." And then he added, looking right into Viggo's eyes, still smiling yet dead serious, "Done waiting," making Viggo's heart feel all funny before kissing Viggo again, and for a long time.
A little later, though, Viggo felt him squirm on the sill, shifting his weight from hip to hip, and he couldn't help whispering, "Still sore?" which got him a nibbled lip and a swat on the ass.
When Sean growled "You don't need to look so smug about it" Viggo had to hide a new smile. He leaned further down, pressing himself more fully against Sean. "Then maybe I deserve to be sore as well," he offered--and at that Sean just made a low, odd sound deep in his throat and got up from the sill, lifting Viggo with him in the process, and he tried to carry him over to the bed--which luckily wasn't that far away, since after a few steps they wobbled and dropped down on the mattress. Sean's weight falling full on him and Sean's erection pressing against his own... that robbed Viggo of breath and speech for a few seconds.
"You going all caveman on me, Bean?" he chuckled after a moment, his voice still a breathless whisper; but Sean just started unbuttoning his shirt, leaning down to press light, lingering kisses over his exposed throat.
"So it's for real, this time?" Sean asked, so quietly that for a moment Viggo thought he was just hearing his own thoughts, his own doubts.
"Is it?" was all he could think of saying, thinking back of last fall and the promises they'd made, not really believing that they would--could--ever come true. Sean lifted his head and they just looked at each other for a long time, until at last a new smile found its way to Sean's eyes, making him look hungry, intense, and feral--a look that made Viggo shiver up into Sean's touch, into Sean's kiss.
"Done waiting," Sean said into his mouth. And Viggo just said, "Done."
And then there was nothing more that could be said with words.
*****
Summary: Macbeth is finally over.
Rated: NC-17
Categories: Actor RPS Pairing: Sean/Viggo
Warnings: NoneChallenges:
Series: NoneChapters: 1 Completed: Yes
Word count: 3211 Read: 1251
Published: 02 Aug 2009 Updated: 02 Aug 2009