A King and a Steward (1/2)

[v-angelique.livejournal.com]

Title: A King and a Steward (1/2)
Authors: v_angelique and rainbowcobweb
Pairing: Sean/Viggo
Rating: NC-17
Disclaimer: Not true.
Summary: Sean remembers New Zealand.


Sean's eyes swept across the set, committing certain details to memory and bypassing others. Years of work on films had given him a certain knack for knowing what was important, a sense of the essential elements and further than that, of the order of things. He could get a feel for the cogs and gears of the modern movie relatively quickly, from the director to the physical landscape of the set to the way the lighting teams and sound crews and other more peripheral groups worked with one another.

So far his impression of The Lord of the Rings was a positive one. Peter Jackson was a jolly, energetic man in whom he felt he could place at least a qualified measure of trust. The crew was hard-working, and even though it was relatively early in the planned months of principal shooting, they had been working together for much longer in many cases than the actors and seemed to move well together as a unit. An assistant materialised at his left, offering a Styrofoam cup of tea, and he took it gratefully, resting cup and hand on the wooden arm of the canvas chair reserved for him.

Sean had only been in New Zealand a few days, and his brain hadn't yet overcome the jet lag. Nonetheless, he had been working eight- and nine-hour days since his arrival, going through costume fittings and meetings and script readings as well as sword and horse practice. Today he was supposed to be observing the "hobbits" in their natural habitat, namely the set of the Buckleberry Ferry scene, so that he would have a better idea of their characters for future interaction. He'd met Elijah Wood and Sean Astin already, as well as Orlando Bloom, but not the other two hobbits or the other newcomer to the set, Peter's second Aragorn. Unlike the hobbits and the Elf, Sean hadn't actually met Stuart Townsend, so he had no point of reference, but already he was hearing good things about Viggo.

He was just starting to wonder when the other actors were going to make their appearance when a voice came out of the trees near the riverbank like the crack of a whip.

"I claim this hobbit for Queen and country!!" was the battle cry, followed by an insane whooping noise and the commotion of footsteps and raucous shouts of laughter. Looking to the tree line, Sean saw both Viggo Mortensen and Dom Monaghan for the first time, the latter over the shoulder of the former, kicking his rubber-enhanced feet with abandon as he pounded small fists on the t-shirt clad back of the King.

It wasn't until Viggo stopped just a few feet away from his chair, depositing a grateful Monaghan in the grass as Sean Astin, Billy Boyd, and the young Elijah caught up with gasping breaths, that Sean managed to shut his mouth again.

"Hello," the American actor said with a wide grin, standing casually over the giggling hobbit who was clasping his own knees and rocking back and forth as he tried to catch his breath through his laughter, a brown cloak drawn around him like a blanket. Viggo, like Sean himself, was dressed in track pants and a t-shirt, and looked a little out of place in the group of young men that most strongly resembled a group of medieval travellers.

"Hi," Sean replied slowly, searching the other man's eyes for any clue of an impending joke.

"Excuse me a moment?" Viggo asked, as if this impromptu meeting were actually planned, and Sean was expecting his participation. Sean nodded, still completely bewildered, and then watched as Viggo, still grinning, turned abruptly and engaged Elijah in a flying tackle, fingers digging into the younger man's ribs as Elijah shrieked and laughed.

"Sean! For fuck's sake, help a hobbit out!" he begged as Viggo tickled him relentlessly.

"Nah," Sean Astin replied with a good-natured smile, turning to direct the expression at Sean as Viggo continued to torture the other man. "This is too good."

"What did they do?" Sean asked Billy, who had collapsed into the chair next to him, assuming that the two younger hobbits had to at least be on the receiving end of a retribution for some prank.

"Do?" Billy asked with a sidelong glance at Sean. "They dinnae do anything. It's just Viggo."

Sean continued to watch, with a growing sense of dread, as Viggo tickled to his heart's content and then suddenly looked up, his grin just as wide and haphazard as before, again fixed on Sean. He didn't like the sound of that at all.

~*~

Present day, in a house outside London

"Bloody… buggering… surrender!" Sean hissed at the jar of pickles, held firmly between his thighs as he tried to use both hands to twist the top off. After a moment, he just sat there glaring at it, engaged in a staring contest he couldn't win. He considered going to ask the young lass in the house next door if she had a jar opener of some sort, but after a moment of considering it decided he couldn't stomach the humiliation.

You should've brought her a plant when you moved in, his mum would have said. You can't depend on your neighbours when you need them if you don't have the courtesy to bring them a single bloody plant.

Sean scowled and tossed the jar against the side of the sofa for good measure. It bounced and nestled between the cushions, which Sean deemed its final resting place as he turned back to the match on television and bit into his respectable, but decidedly pickle-free sandwich. He felt rather old.

He also felt rather pissed off that the Wolves were winning the match on the telly, after the playoff final fiasco in 2003. To be fair, they were only playing Hull City, so it wasn't like winning was hard, but still. Principles and all that. He'd gone all the way to Wolverhampton for that as well, only to watch the Blades lose. Bloody garbage.

Not sure why he'd paid for Sky only to watch this sort of drivel, Sean rolled his eyes and flipped the telly off with the remote control, deciding to stare out of the window instead.

After ten minutes, that too lost any sort of entertainment value and Sean sighed, getting up off the settee and wandering back into the kitchen. When he saw the bread, still left out on the counter, he remembered his sandwich and went to retrieve that from the living room.

Cheese (and pickle) was his favourite. When he was a kid and had fallen over playing footie, his mum had patched him up and kissed him better and made him a cheese sandwich before sending him off out to play again. When he was living in a crappy flat in London, he'd lived off the things. Even in New Zealand...

Suddenly, unexpectedly melancholy at the thought, Sean sighed again and pressed the heels of his hands into his eyes. It all seemed such a long time ago.

~*~

"Catch!!!"

The rugby ball came within inches of Sean's right eye; he put a hand up belatedly and caught it just behind his head, giving Viggo a look that was half annoyance and half "what the fuck?"

Viggo, of course, just stood there grinning like a complete madman, the pearly white of his very American teeth a stark contrast to the grit of his costume. Sean and Orlando had started making jokes about how Viggo must come to set early just to roll around in the dirt and get small insects in his beard, but he had no compunctions about his physicality with others, even dirty as he was. More than once Orlando or Liv or an extra had been forced to sic hobbits on him just to keep their robes and hair from getting dirty.

"Don't you have things to do?" Sean asked, holding up the ball with a sarcastic expression.

Viggo shrugged and flopped down in the pine straw next to him. "Probably."

"It's a wonder Pete hasn't said anything to you," Sean muttered, hoping after he said it that Viggo wouldn't take offence.

"See, that's the beauty of it. He can't," Viggo said with a mischievous smile not at Sean but at the canopy of trees over their heads, folding his hands on his stomach.

"Why not?"

"He's already had to fire one Aragorn. He's not going to do it twice."

"Ah. So you're safe?"

"Theoretically." Viggo grinned and started digging around in his costume, which made Sean raise an eyebrow quite pointedly and glance around to see if anyone was watching. A few of the makeup girls had developed crushes on Viggo, for reasons surpassing human understanding.

After a moment, however, he crowed triumphantly, producing a sandwich in a zipper lock bag, slightly smushed but other than that edible-looking.

"For you, my Steward."

"A sandwich?" Sean eyed the thing warily.

"Not just a sandwich, young Boromir. Oh no! Hark—a cheese and pickle sandwich." Grinning, Viggo shook the bag until the top slice of bread shifted and the cheese and pickle were visible. "I noticed your stomach growling yesterday before the break."

"Oh." Sean kept looking at the sandwich, and then finally took it from the other man, removing his gloves and taking a big bite. "Thanks, mate."

"No problem." Lying back down again, Viggo closed his eyes, and Sean chewed on his sandwich, listening half-heartedly for his name.

~*~

Sean grinned as he remembered and, for a fleeting moment, put his hand on the phone to consider giving Viggo a ring, see how he was getting on. Oh, but Viggo wasn't answering his phone, was he? Not this month, anyway.

Infuriating bastard.

There was any number of things that Sean could do. He could check his e-mail. He could water his plants or read the paper or go out and buy a magazine or two.

Or he could always, you know, get drunk.

Oh, what a plan.

Whistling to himself, tunelessly, Sean strode purposefully back into the kitchen and started rummaging about in the drinks fridge, making a triumphant noise when he came up with a four-pack of lager, similar to the stuff he and Andy used to drink back in the day.

Yeah, back in the day.

Thing is, drinking had been fun, then.

~*~

"For he's a jolly good fellow, for he's a jolly good fellow, for he's a jolly good felloooooooow… which nobody can deny!"

Sean laughed, and watched as the hobbits laughed so hard they managed to get more beer out of their mouths than in. He then watched as a round of hugs started that, in true hobbit fashion, kept going until everyone present had hugged everyone else, until people were hugging for the second and third times and Orlando was planting kisses sloppily on Elijah's cheek.

As for himself, Sean retained a modicum of dignity, standing in the corner of the pub and sipping at his ale. It wasn't that he wasn't drunk—no, Sean was definitely drunk—but he had a certain level of decorum. He was far too old for things like this. Far too civilized…

"For Gondor!!" Viggo cried, careening into Sean's chest and throwing his arms around the broader man's middle with a recklessness that made Sean very glad they were both drinking from bottles, at least.

"How are you?" Sean asked as Viggo's eyes sparkled and he suddenly licked Sean's cheek, making him swat at Viggo as if he were a fly.

"Excellent!" Viggo exclaimed, still laughing. "I have my libations, my friends, my subjects…" He broke off there, giving Sean what definitely looked like a leer, but he blamed it on the lights. "What are you doing over here? You look like you need another."

"It's all right. I'm not feeling like much of a social butterfly tonight, mate."

"Oh." Viggo nodded sagely and then pushed his hip against Sean's, forcing him to scoot over and make room for Viggo against the wall. "That's all right, then," he announced, smiling and tipping his bottle towards the hobbit melee. "We watch."

~*~

Halfway through his first can of lager, Sean's phone rang. He contemplated not answering it, but after the fifth ring, the urge to pick it up became too strong.

"Yeah?"

"Oh, good day to you as well, my boy," Ian said, the smile evident in his tone. "Whatever's the matter with you?"

"Nowt."

"You sound as sullen as dear Dominic, Sean, and that takes some beating these days. Tell me what's the matter."

"M'fine. Really," Sean said, sipping his drink again.

"Well I personally believe that you need to come out with your favourite old queen to a nice little pub for a drink and something to eat. What do you say to that?"

"Ian," Sean whinged, "I can't be arsed."

"Charming. I shall see you at three at the nice little eatery in Chalk Farm that we frequented once. Excellent beer. Don't be late."

Sean grunted and put the phone down.

Bugger.

~*~

"Let me give you a lift home."

"Sean, you're f'cking drunk," Viggo slurred, grinning too widely as he gestured with his nearly empty pint glass. "No driving."

Sean laughed. "Not as drunk as you. C'mon. I've driven drunk before; no one's got hurt."

"No." Viggo was emphatic, and cuffed Sean a little too hard upside the head to emphasise his point. "No drunk driving. We walk. Come, my friend. Walk with me," he said, finishing his pint and wrapping an arm around Sean's waist. As they left the bar, waving to hobbits too pissed to notice, Sean realised that not only were they leaning heavily on each other, but they were close enough for him to smell Viggo—not just the alcohol, but something else, a strong scent that was part earth and things that shouldn't be pleasant like mud and leaves, things that in any other person would indicate nothing more than a need to shower. But the other part was a hint of something like woodsmoke, and an underlying manly odour that smelled a little like his father. Sean found himself breathing deeply as they walked along in silence, and enjoying the experience.

"Smell nice," he mumbled, leaning more on Viggo, nuzzling into his shoulder in what he hoped could be written off as drunken affection. "Like smells."

Viggo grinned and nudged Sean lightly, pushing their path slightly off kilter for a moment until Sean tightened his forearm around Viggo's waist and steered them back into an essentially straight line. "I smell like smells? You smell like cologne and beer."

"Oh. Is that a bad smell?" Sean asked, watching the street converge into a point on the horizon, lit dimly by street lamps, and imagining the scene as a photograph.

"Not at all."

~*~

"Ah," Ian said, standing up and putting his book down as Sean walked over to the table, "there you are. Minus a shave, I see."

"Shut up, Ian."

"Are you quite all right, lad?" Ian asked, frowning and cocking his head to the side.

"I'm fine, Ian," Sean said, rolling his eyes and sitting down, "really. What're you drinking?"

"At the moment, white wine," Ian said, raising his glass, "although I do sense some whisky coming my way in a moment."

"Of course you do," Sean grumbled, staring at the menu.

"Now now, no need to get stroppy," Ian said, raising an eyebrow at Sean. "What crawled up your arse and died?"

"Nothing," Sean grumbled. "I'm just in a shitty, sentimental mood."

Ian laughed and shook his head. "Only you, dear boy, would automatically equate shitty with sentimental. What are you thinking about, then? Childhood? Marriage? New Zealand?"

He said the last a bit too knowingly, and Sean just nodded, his thoughts drifting for a moment as he stared at the drinks list.

~*~

"You have gorgeous features," Viggo murmured, his voice low as they sat on the sofa in Viggo's living room. Sean knew he should have been leaving, and that the fingers of Viggo's hand tracing his stubbled jaw were far too dangerous, but of course he didn't move a muscle. "I'd like to paint you some time."

"You would?" Sean asked, playing it cool as he met Viggo's eye for a second and then looked away.

"I would," Viggo confirmed, nodding. "Put my hands..." he ran his hands up the sides of Sean's face and into his hair, "into the paint and...and move it..." again, Viggo ran his hands down Sean's body, "wipe it all over your body. Really paint you."

"Oh," Sean replied, moving his eyes back to Viggo and unable to avoid staring. Maybe this was just one of Viggo's eccentricities. And he liked some of those eccentricities. He liked a lot of them, in fact. Maybe it was just the alcohol talking. It would be a good excuse, and Viggo's hands on his waist were extremely distracting.

"I bet you taste delicious," Viggo whispered, tilting his head to the side and stopping with his lips within inches of Sean's. "May I?"

"M-may you what?" Sean asked, his mouth slightly open, his chest heaving.

"Taste you," Viggo purred, straddling Sean's lap and continuing to touch him. "I know how you feel. I want to know how you taste."

"Viggo, I'm not..."

"Gay?" Viggo asked, laughing and brushing his palms flat over Sean's face, their solid surfaces incongruous with the bumps and ridges of Sean's features. "I didn't ask if you were gay. I asked to taste you," he repeated, ghosting his lips over Sean's jaw and towards his ear.

"Fuck," Sean muttered. "All right."

Viggo laughed and brushed his hair back. "You look so serious," he said, before Sean had taken a hold of his head with both hands and was kissing him, full on the mouth, tongue and teeth and everything. And drunk or no, Viggo was not a woman. Viggo smelled like Viggo and tasted like something new and felt hard and hot under his body. A danger signal beeped dimly in the back of his mind, but the haze covered it sufficiently as Viggo growled like a tiger and pushed his hips up underneath him.

"Jesus," Sean grunted, not thinking twice as he wrestled his way out of his shirt and climbed on top of Viggo, kissing him again. "Jesus, Jesus, you and your fucking stupid—oh..."

"Yesss," Viggo hissed, arching and moaning and pushing his chest against Sean's so that the fine cashmere jumper he was wearing rubbed Sean's nipples in the most exquisite manner.

"Fucking stop it," Sean growled, holding Viggo down so he had to stop, "I don't want any of that shit, just..."

"Don't like it?" Viggo asked, grinning and raising an eyebrow, then replying in a sing-song. "I don't belieeeeve you."

"I've tied girls up before," Sean warned, even if it was just one girl, "don't think I won't do the same to you."

Viggo laughed and licked his ear. "Don't think I wouldn't like it," he challenged, biting down at the shell.

"Cunt," Sean said, gasping as he continued to thrust his crotch against Viggo's. "This is a one-time thing. We don't tell anyone."

"I don't kiss and tell," Viggo agreed, reaching down to squeeze his arse. "Want me to suck your cock?"

"Yeah," Sean groaned, closing his eyes and stilling his hips, "yeah, sounds good."

"But you're not the only one getting off tonight," Viggo warned. "Anything I do to you, you're doing to me. So think about that."

"I don't want to suck cock, though," Sean said, glaring. "I'll fuck you."

"Fine, but if you fuck me you have to jerk me off," Viggo said, scraping his teeth along Sean's ear. "It's only fair."

"All right," Sean mumbled, "fair. Suck me, come on."

Viggo laughed and slid to his knees, licking Sean's stomach and then swirling the tip of his tongue in Sean's navel.

"Fuckin' 'ell," Sean groaned, impatient, "come on."

"Tell me something, Sean. Do you ever sit back and enjoy yourself?"

"Yes," Sean snapped, pulling Viggo's hair, "right now, though, I want a blow job, as I'm stuck on an island in the middle of fucking nowhere and I haven't shagged anything in months. So come on, Viggo."

"As you wish," Viggo said simply, confusing Sean greatly as he completely gave up his argument and sunk down on Sean's cock, moving efficiently up and down. Mad bugger.

"Mnh," Sean grunted, taking hold of Viggo's hair, "mnh, good..."

After a moment, Sean looked down and realised Viggo was stroking himself, which was a little off-putting but really, as heterosexual as he was he had to be fair, at least. And maybe it was the alcohol that made him fixate on Viggo's hand, and Viggo's cock, or maybe it was just the fact that he couldn't look at Viggo's mouth on his own cock without seeing it, and it really wasn't polite to have a bloke suck you off and then ignore him, was it?

"Jesus," he mumbled, confused as he stroked Viggo's hair roughly, "didn't think you'd be that good at...that."

Viggo sat up and smiled after a moment. "Haven't you ever heard of a hidden talent? I can play the ABCs on my armpit, too."

Sean pulled a horrified face and frowned, looking halfway between amused and disgusted. "Go back to what you were doing."

Viggo laughed and saluted. "Yes, sir," he agreed before going back down on Sean's cock, this time fondling his balls with one hand. It was odd, but not unpleasant, and girls had done it to him before and he supposed it wasn't so alarming that he needed to say something.

"S'all right," he said lightly, thrusting his hips slightly, "I like it."

Viggo smiled and nodded as much as he could with his head in the position it was, and continued doing what he was doing, his other hand again drifting down to his own erection.

Sean craned his neck again to look, purely out of curiosity, of course. "God..." he mumbled, stroking Viggo's hair again, "do I taste nice?"

Viggo laughed and nodded as Sean cleared his long hair away and held it at the nape of his neck, incidentally improving the view.

"Oh," Sean gasped, "oh, wow."

Viggo grinned and pulled off. "If you're going to fuck me still, you might wanna do it before it's too late, partner," he joked in an exaggerated cowboy drawl.

Again, Sean pulled a half-confused, half-amused face and shook his head. "Bend over, then."

Viggo's smile just widened as he crawled up on the couch and dramatically draped himself over one arm. "Mm, yeah," Sean said, heaving himself up off the settee and going to stand behind Viggo. He spat in his palm, wiped his hand on his cock and then tried to push forwards, into Viggo.

"Jesus fucking Christ!" Viggo exclaimed, whipping his head around. "I may be drunk, Sean, but I'm not that drunk!"

"What?" Sean said, stopping his movement, "I've spat on my cock and everything!"

"Uhh... should I give you a prize?" Viggo asked, looking confused. "Fingers, Sean. I might be able to handle no lubrication but I at least need fingers. It's been a bloody long time, you know. Not since college."

"Fingers?" Sean asked, his mouth open, "you want me to put my fingers..."

"It's a small hole!" Viggo exclaimed. "Did you really think you could just shove it in there?"

"Well...yeah," Sean said, "they do on films and stuff."

"Films," Viggo repeated, incredulously.

"Yes," Sean said, drunkenly trying to push forward again, "you can do it, I saw."

"Well excuse me if I disagree with your obviously superior experience," Viggo muttered, reaching back to push Sean away. "But no way in hell. Sean, you have to use your fingers or you aren't fucking me. Do you want to fuck me?"

"Yeah," Sean mumbled, blushing and looking like a child that had just been told off. "I don't want to put my fingers there though. Can you do it?"

Viggo grumbled and glared at him, flipping over and suddenly grabbing Sean by the back of the neck, kissing him so hard that he lost his balance and ended up lying on top of Viggo as Viggo most thoroughly molested him. "You silly man," Viggo murmured, almost fondly, against Sean's mouth.

"Mm," Sean mumbled, "kissing you's weird. Good weird. You taste like...sea and...and stuff."

Viggo laughed and pushed his open mouth against Sean's, licking his tonsils. "You want me to just suck you off?" he suggested, sounding only a tad bit disappointed.

"No," Sean said, "want to fuck you. I'll do it well, I'm good at fucking."

"Doesn't seem like you are," Viggo said, raising his eyebrow. "When you fuck a girl, do you just stick it in there, no foreplay or nothin'?"

"Well no," Sean said, "but you're a bloke. I can't do bloke foreplay."

"It's just the same. You stick the fingers in till I start making happy noises," Viggo explained with a little grin.

"But...but that's your arse," Sean protested with a little whimper.

"And is a girl's cunt really so much more attractive? I promise I haven't needed to take a shit since this morning. And I washed before we went to the pub."

"All right," Sean mumbled, taking a deep breath and then shoving his forefinger inside unceremoniously.

"Ow, fuck," Viggo hissed, biting his lip. "Just... can you try to kind of bend your finger?"

"What, like that?" Sean asked, bending it forward and making a 'come hither' kind of motion.

"Um... pull your finger back a little and... ah, yes! There!"

"Oh," Sean said, "what's that?"

"It's my prostate, Jesus, you really weren't paying much attention in anatomy class were you?"

"No," Sean said, doing it again and again and again, enjoying the way that Viggo writhed about.

"Ohh, that's good Sean. Very good. Put another finger in, God..."

"Alright," Sean said, adding his second finger. "Nice?"

"Yeah, nice," Viggo groaned. "Just another couple of minutes."

"Okay," Sean said, bending down and biting one of Viggo's arse cheeks as he continued to wriggle his fingers about.

"Oh Christ!" Viggo yelped.

Sean laughed and did it again, a little harder. "Viggo likes paiiin," he sing-songed, "Viggo likes me biting his arse...oh God. I'm biting Viggo's arse."

Viggo burst out laughing and reached out to brush Sean's cheek. "Smukke mand. Ja har så meget brug for dig," he muttered quietly.

"What's that mean?" Sean asked, licking Viggo's arse cheek as he thrust his fingers inside again, harder than he had been doing it previously.

"If I wanted you to know the meaning," Viggo grunted, mewling a little like a cat and squirming before he settled and continued, "I would have said it in English."

"Oh," Sean said, curling his fingers some more and then biting down again as frankly, he rather liked the sounds that Viggo was making. "Thought you were just confused."

"A little of both," Viggo murmured, breathing very heavily. "When the signs are confused, the signified becomes blurred and incorporated by the sign," he whispered, stroking Sean's face as he let out a long low moan. "But there are no signs appropriate here, I fear."

"Yeah. Can I fuck you now, like?"

"Yeah," Viggo replied, his voice husky and pornographic but unsettlingly pleasing to Sean's ears. "Go on," he agreed, flipping over as soon as Sean had removed his fingers and spreading wide, his forearms supporting him on the sofa's arm.

"Yay," Sean said, spitting on his hand again and slicking his cock up, pushing inside. "Oooh. Tight."

Viggo just grunted in agreement, his muscles doing strangely fabulous things to Sean's cock as he struggled to accommodate him. "Slowly," Viggo murmured. "Move just a little. You have to open me up with your cock," he explained, very matter-of-fact.

"Oh, right. Okay," Sean said, pushing forwards gently and then pulling back again, repeating the motion several times.

"Yeah, that's it," Viggo said, his voice hushed.

"Told you I was good at fucking," Sean said, rubbing his fingers over one of Viggo's nipples.

Viggo smirked and pressed his forehead against one of his arms. "After a little coaching."

Sean pulled a face and pushed forwards harder, shivering as Viggo's body clenched down. "Fuck."

"Ah!"

"Mmmm, yeah," Sean groaned, doing it again. "You smell nice."

"Th-thank you," Viggo stuttered, groaning as Sean continued to thrust.

"Is it nice?" Sean asked, "what does it feel like?"

"God, just... I don't... it's intense, Sean. Really intense. Good. Better than... well, good."

"Intense. I like that word," Sean said, grabbing Viggo's hips and digging his fingers in.

"Me too," Viggo gasped, pushing his body back towards Sean. "God, fuck me."

"I am," Sean said, sounding puzzled. "What? You want it harder?"

"No, I just... I'm just... it's good, Sean. That's what I'm trying to tell you. It's good. Hard as you want, whatever you like. I'm good."

"Oh," Sean said, thrusting a bit harder, but slower, trying to get deeper. "Pretty."

Viggo moaned and tried to wriggle the rest of the way back onto his cock, clutching at the sofa. "Fuck. Sean."

"Mm, that's sexy," Sean groaned, repeating the movement.

"Oh," Viggo gasped. "Yes. Please. Feels good."

Sean continued to fuck Viggo, bringing his hand back and slapping Viggo's arse spontaneously.

"Oh!" Viggo gasped again. "Fuck, yes. Harder," he moaned, rubbing his cheek against the arm of the sofa while reaching underneath himself to jerk off and reminding Sean of a cat in heat.

Sean smacked him again, groaning when Viggo continued to writhe. "Fuck. Yeah."

"Sean... fucking... gonna come, Sean."

"Yeah, go on," Sean gasped, slapping him again, harder, thrusting in again, harder. "Come. Come on."

As if Sean's words triggered something in Viggo, he moaned and writhed even louder, completely unrestrained, his torso pushing forward and back, rubbing his chest against the arm of the sofa, from the sounds of it producing a very desired effect on his nipples through that God-forsaken jumper. When he came, he didn't shout Sean's name or cry out "yes!" or anything particularly expected, but instead let out a string of incoherent babble that may have been a foreign language or may just have been Viggo, scratching at the sofa and moaning.

"Bloody yeah," Sean groaned, continuing to thrust, "oh, that sounds hot..."

"Fuck," Viggo muttered, pressing his face against his arm. "Fuck. C'mon, Sean. Want you to."

"Oh," Sean grunted, thrusting inwards once more and then coming hard, his head against Viggo's back. "Yeah."

Viggo just groaned, reaching back feebly and brushing Sean's hip with his fingertips. Sean wasn't sure why that gentle brush was so much more than the whole bloody evening, but he wouldn't contemplate it too much. He was drunk. That was his excuse.

~*~

"Ahhhh," Ian said, grinning in that little way he had, flipping the wine list over repeatedly in his hands. "I was right then." He smirked and rested his hand on top of Sean's. "Come on then, my boy. Tell me what you're thinking about."

"I just...I don't..." Sean sighed and shrugged, almost pouting. "It's hard, Ian."

"Everything is hard, Sean. Nothing is easy. Why ever would you think that anything is easy?"

"I just wish things were. That's all."

"Of course you do. How is Viggo, anyway?"

Sean's eyes snapped up and he nearly knocked over his water glass. "What on earth does he have to do with anything?"

Ian raised an eyebrow calmly. "You tell me."

Sean looked down at the table and frowned. "He hasn't got anything to do with anything," he mumbled, tapping his fingers on the table. "Nothing at all."

"All right, lad," Ian said, sipping his water, "no need to snap."

"I'm not snapping!"

"Of course not. Two glasses of Macallan, please," Ian said when the waitress came to take their order. "Sean, order some food. My treat. It'll do you good."

"I don't need food," he grumbled in return, but Ian just smiled at the waitress.

"I'd like the beef Wellington, please. Sean, eat something. The poor woman will be offended that you don't like her food."

"Well I didn't cook it, sir," she said with a little smile, but it was obvious she had eyes for Sean. Normally, he would have flirted with her, maybe even ordered her a drink on her break, as she was a pretty young thing, but even that didn't lift his spirits tonight. He wasn't in the mood to pull, and he wasn't sure he'd have been able to, even if he had wanted. He just felt old.

~*~

"Sean? Let me the fuck in! It's freezing out here!"

Sean sighed and opened the door to his house, his Wellington house, to which he'd returned only a couple of hours earlier.

"Vig."

"Yes, me. Let me in, you idiot. Are you all right?"

Sean sighed and locked the door behind him. "No."

"Do you want to talk about it?"

Sean shrugged. Viggo nodded and walked over to the sofa, sat down and held his arms out. "Sit down."

Sean looked at him suspiciously and Viggo laughed. "Sit down, Sean. I don't bite."

Yes, but I do. Sean bit his lip and sat.

"Just relax," Viggo suggested, cracking his knuckles and then digging his fingers hard into Sean's shoulders. "I know that flight had to be a fucking bitch."

"Aye," Sean agreed, and then after a moment, smiled. "And not nearly as pleasant as most of the bitches I've fucked."

Viggo laughed, low and throaty, and dug his fingers in harder. "What would you like? Booze?"

"No," Sean replied quietly. "This is good."

~*~

"Come on, Sean," Ian said gently, sipping the Macallan that had just been handed to him, "you know you can tell me what's wrong. I am your friendly neighbourhood queen, after all," he added with a wry smile, his eyes creasing around the corners.

"Nothing's wrong with me," Sean grumbled, folding his arms and looking over his shoulder, just for something to do. "Will you stop...going on?"

"Sean, I always go on. Come now, tell me what's the matter. I have got all night."

"That's what I'm afraid of," Sean grumbled quietly.

~*~

"Lie down," Viggo suggested after ten minutes or so, when Sean was slumped almost limp on the sofa, his eyes closed, enjoying the massage. "On your stomach."

Sean frowned, having expected Viggo to be done by now. "Aren't your hands tired?"

Viggo grinned and shook his head. "The King's hands are the hands of a healer, didn't you know? They never tire. On your stomach, please."

~*~

"Well," Sean said, tapping his hand on the table, "I miss New Zealand a bit."

"Don't we all, my dear boy?" Ian said, patting the back of his hand and smiling. "Don't worry."

"I do though," Sean said, "things...things aren't the same. Nothing's the same. I don't like it."

"We were very far away from everything, Sean," Ian said, "very far away. Things are bound to be different, my boy, surely you know that."

"I know that, I just...I just..."

"It's all right," Ian said, "It's all right."

~*~

"You're all right," Viggo whispered gently. He had been rubbing Sean's back thoroughly for about forty-five minutes, and Sean had given up worrying about Viggo's hands. Somewhere in there, it had gotten too warm, and he had taken off his shirt and then his jeans, and Viggo had extended the massage to include his calves and the backs of his thighs. Now Viggo was back to concentrating on his neck, and Sean was mortified to realise that he was crying silently.

"I'm not..."

"Shh," Viggo hushed him, pressing a gentle kiss to the back of his neck. "It's just us."

Sean tensed briefly, and then relaxed, letting Viggo's magic hands soothe him into comfort once more.

~*~

"Sean?" Ian said gently, "you keep drifting off."

"Oh," Sean mumbled, "sorry. I don't mean to."

"I know. Do you want to tell me what's wrong now? What's really wrong?"

"No."

"Ah. All right then. I'll wait."

~*~

"Vig," Sean said roughly as Viggo finally finished getting a tough knot out of his lower back.

"Yes?" Viggo replied gently.

"I... thank you."

"You're welcome."

"I... there's just... one more thing. I don't know if you... I just need..."

"Shh," Viggo soothed him. "Shh."

He scooted onto one knee and nudged Sean to roll over. When he did, Viggo smiled gently and kissed his lips, all too brief, then slid down his body.

"Wait," Sean said, stopping him with a hand on a shoulder and feeling very ashamed. "I want... I mean I'd rather..."

Viggo smiled and pressed a finger to his lips. "Wait right here."

~*~

"So how's work?"

"What work?" Sean replied grumpily, messing with the candle on their table.

"Oh," Ian said, sitting back in his chair, "I see."

"You see everything," Sean grumbled, "I hate that."

"Ah, Sean. I would apologise, but I'm not sorry."

Sean smiled briefly. "I know you're not."

~*~

"Just relax," Viggo said softly, with the kindest smile Sean could ever remember having been directed at him, as he spread his thighs and straddled Sean's hips.

"Wait!" he exclaimed as Viggo held up his hard cock and pressed his arsehole to it. "You need to..."

Viggo grinned and brushed Sean's cheek with his other hand. "Catching on, are we?" he teased, and then to Sean's surprise dropped all the way down, the join between their bodies already slick.

"Christ!" he shouted, his nerve endings singing with the sensation, with the image of Viggo sitting astride him. "You..." Viggo nodded. "You're... Christ, Viggo, you're too good to me."

"Nah," Viggo replied casually, bending to kiss him and rocking gently up and down.

"No," Sean exclaimed, rather violently, pulling out of the kiss. "I mean... you are," he insisted. "Too good, I... why are you like this with me? I don't understand. I don't deserve... I'm not a nice man, Vig. I'm a crappy husband, and I don't..."

Viggo stopped him with a hard, harsh kiss that took his breath away and just for five seconds, shut down his mind as well.

"I'm not your wife," Viggo rasped against his mouth, hot and firm. It was just what Sean needed, and he whimpered at the realisation.

~*~

"I shagged Viggo," Sean muttered, playing with his glass, staring down at it. "More than once."

"Well, Sean," Ian said, "I think even Elijah got that far."

"What?" Sean asked, snapping his head up, "everyone knows?"

"No," Ian said gently, "just the more perceptive amongst us. And by that I mean me. And possibly Billy."

"I hate you," Sean said, flushing.

"Ring him, Sean," Ian said, pushing his own phone across the table, Viggo's number already on the screen.