The day Sean left New Zealand, Viggo fucked him with tears in his eyes.

He'd woken long before dawn and lain quietly on the bed, spooning Sean, memorising his scent until the first rays of light came through the blinds and started working their usual magic on Sean's hair.

Sean hadn't protested or seemed to think it strange, to wake up with Viggo halfway inside him, pushing ever so gently, hand pressed to his stomach, head buried in the crook of his neck. The only sign of his surprise had been a deep breath, followed by a light tremor.

It was an unusual position for them but Viggo hadn't wanted Sean to see him cry. 'This could be the last time we fuck,' Viggo'd mused while he prepared Sean in his sleep, 'the very last time.' He pushed it from his mind. 'So what?' he thought. 'Poets have said goodbye to lovers before.'

He kept on fucking Sean steadily, casually, as if they had all the time in the world. His hand slid from Sean's stomach to stroke him lazily, almost lovingly, in time with his own thrusts. They came in silence, seconds apart. Neither moved until both their eyes were dry.

*

Later that same day Viggo drove Sean to the airport only to find out his flight had been delayed by a little over an hour. Sean spent the extra time drowning his fear of flying in vodka-martinis. Viggo had laughed at the choice of drinks but ordered the same for himself.

'I'm getting wasted at an airport bar; you're lucky I'm not having bloody Mai Tais,' Sean had growled between an olive and a smoke.

It was only after Sean's flight had been announced, after the very manly farewell of rough hug/back patting, after watching Sean disappear through the boarding gate without once looking back, that Viggo realised he'd just got himself drunk at 11am with a long drive home ahead of him. He made his way to the parking lot, praying he wouldn't run into any patrols on the road. At least Sean didn't have to drive the plane. He could just hear him now: 'You don't /drive/ planes, Vig...'

Curse him. Curse him and his sharp cheekbones, evil smirks and predatory looks. Curse casting directors. Curse Tolkien and his damned redemption fantasies. And curse himself for not having the balls to say goodbye like he'd wanted to.

*

Viggo's mood was sombre for a couple of days after Sean's departure. Still, it was distraction more than anything else. He was a little quieter than usual, a little less playful maybe. Between hectic filming and general exhaustion the rest of the cast took little notice of whatever was eating him. Life went on as usual.

Somewhere deep down he was wounded by the lack of attention. He and Sean had been discreet, yes, but he'd half expected at least a bit of good-natured teasing for him to meet with cutting one-liners. None came. Except from Elijah, who was a little too wise beyond his years for his own good. But even him only shot him a few knowing looks and a 'Betcha he misses you too, old man' before resuming regular hobbit programming. Viggo couldn't think of anything snarky enough to say to that.

Soon he, too, was so deep in Aragorn mode that thoughts of Sean, cheekbones and evil smirks were banned from his mind. Almost.

He'd wake up late for filming because there was no elbow to poke him in the ribs when the alarm clock sounded for the umpteenth time.

He'd wake up too early, chilled by a draft from the window he'd forgotten to close before going to bed, with no warm body to shield him from the cold. Sean had always slept facing the window.

On days off, he tried not to wake up at all, holding on to sleep for as long as he could, willing himself to dream of blond hair scattered messily on the empty pillow next to his, where only pallid sunbeams rested now. Other than that, he was fine.

*

Sean called before a month had passed. Viggo felt at once ashamed and pleased he hadn't been the one to give in first. He'd called at around 9am on a Saturday and they'd talked for almost an hour, hesitantly at first. Soon though, they'd fallen into familiar ground with talk of children and work and the like. Then there had been silence filled more with longing than awkwardness, and they'd both sighed at the same time. Sean's voice was close to strangled when he said he had to go, leaving Viggo to ponder on how they both completely sucked at saying goodbye.

*

There were other calls, a few of them from Viggo, who usually phoned whenever his breaks coincided with a time he deemed decent on the other side of the world. Sean always called on Saturdays.

The conversations became more comfortable with each call, but they still kept to safe, familiar territory. Silences and sighs were carefully avoided through some urgent matter that had to be attended by one or the other. Unknowingly, they fell into a routine of early Saturday morning phone-calls that made Viggo go through the week with sunlight playing on his face on the cloudiest of days.

*

Elijah stopped by Viggo's house one Saturday afternoon, bearing offerings of beer and weed. They'd sat on the porch, drinking, smoking and talking nonsense until Elijah interrupted the sunset by saying how he hoped Viggo would've wised up by the time Sean returned. Viggo almost asked what on earth he was talking about when he registered the full meaning of Elijah's words. "He's coming back? When?"

"Next week."

He'd already toyed with the notion of Sean being back for reshoots some time in the future, but had never dared taking it further than an itch at the back of his mind, which he strove to ignore. "He... We talked today. He didn't say anything."

"I know. He wouldn't. Just... Make up your mind 'til next week, okay?"

A protest of feigned ignorance died on his lips along with the last drops of his beer. He nodded at the setting sun and they both fell silent as it dropped lower on the horizon.

*

The following Saturday, Viggo woke to the annoying sound of his alarm clock instead of the welcome ringing of the telephone. He nearly jumped out of bed in spite of having slept next to nothing during the night. He'd been too wired to sleep. Sean would be arriving in a couple of hours.

He all but ran to the shower, had last day's microwave-heated coffee for breakfast and drove to the airport with hell on his heels, keeping just below speed limit for the sole reason that getting himself a ticket could make him miss Sean's arrival.

Sean's flight turned out to be fashionably late. He went into the same bar they'd been at before and began drinking the minutes away. When Sean came through the arrivals' gate he was met by a Viggo whose smile would've shined bright in a coal mine. Viggo held a finger to his lips in an unspoken plea for silence, grabbed one of the bags and nodded towards the exit.

As soon as they were both inside the car Sean found himself invaded by an explosion of flavours. He was breathless when Viggo finally let go of his mouth, cheeks flushed like a schoolgirl's. "Vig! You taste of..."

"...Mai Tais. I know. No more evening drinks at early hours." Viggo was grinning like a maniac. Sean too was about to laugh but was silenced by another wave of rum, lime juice and just a dash of something exotic that made him think of blue seas and tropical beaches. Viggo broke the kiss but kept holding Sean's face with both his hands, fear and amazement lending a wild expression to his eyes. "Next time you leave, I don't want it to be goodbye."

Sean pressed his forehead to Viggo's chest and closed his eyes. "It doesn't have to. I... Never wanted it to."

"I know. Took me long enough to find out, though."

"That it did. And... I don't suppose a certain blue-eyed nuisance had anything to do with your sudden enlightenment?" There was a hint of amusement in his smile when he lifted his face to look at Viggo.

"You could suppose that, yes." Viggo's face took a concerned expression. "Sean... I never thought... I didn't think..."

"Vig." Sean too became serious, eyes glinting with something fierce and hungry. "Let's go to bed."

Viggo drove home forgetting to pray for no patrols on the road this time. The sun was rising ahead of them and Sean's hand rested on his thigh. They'd probably be okay.

"But let's not talk of love or chains and things we can't untie, Your eyes are soft with sorrow, hey, that's no way to say goodbye."