Sean had been wearing a chain too, this one with Viggo's ring, and he was himself very aware of the fact that his finger was naked. The wedding band that he had worn and taken off only to get married again for the last few decades, was now gone, and his hand still bore an untanned mark where the ring had once been--it was glaring in all his photographs, because he'd picked up so much colour during his visits to the ranch, relaxing in the sunshine, riding through the prairie with Viggo, camping by babbling streams. It had been like visiting another world, and he'd adored every second of it.
His own ring, that ring that had been so close to him, so important to him, was now hung on a chain about Viggo's throat, and in every photograph of him - not many, he noticed - Viggo wore that ring, that glimpse of chain, and Sean thought of where it had been, and he thought of taking it into his mouth and kissing Viggo and tonguing him through the center, and then holding it in his teeth as he backed toward the bed, leading him like it were a particularly shiny leash.
Right now, Sean fumbled the ring at his own neck, and thought quietly of his conversations with his extended family(s). His wives had stared in disbelief, and laughed as though he'd told a particularly funny joke, and then slowly as Sean hadn't moved it had dawned on them that he wasn't joking at all, and slowly they'd come round to it. For the most part his children had been better, and while Sean felt he had waited for Evie to be old enough to be comfortable in herself and in school, no longer just judged for her father, he still worried about how this would effect them. The press would probably hound them, and that he regretted more than anything else, because there was nothing he could do to prevent it. They promised they'd be fine, and he'd kissed each of them, and been relieved that they understood, but the consensus was that if daddy was finally happy, then they were happy too, all of them--wives and all. And all of them were endlessly relieved that they weren't going to find out about any more random hussies he was dating through some news broadcast explaining how he'd been stabbed, and that sounded just fine to him too.
Of course it didn't come without other risks, but as rough as the world was, superstardom tended to help people step above it. The only real worry was his career, but Viggo promised to help him with that, and Sean's agent in London seemed - although not enthused - positive enough about the prospects.
The only thing left, then, was the night itself, and while he kept telling himself that he would be ready, the fact was that he wasn't. There were butterflies leaping in his stomach, and had been for a week, and he wanted nothing more than to just grab Viggo and run, but this was planned. Everyone was ready. Publicists and preprepared statements all in place, and if Sean backed out now he'd be letting all that planning down, and worst of all letting Viggo down.
But it scared him. It scared him because he was afraid that this would be the end, that he wouldn't be able to go home a hero any more, and maybe - in his nightmares - they'd pull down the plaque bearing his name, and spit on it, and grafitti horrible things on his parents' house, and just...
He forced himself to relax, leaning back, looking up at Viggo as he reached for the cup.
no subject
His own ring, that ring that had been so close to him, so important to him, was now hung on a chain about Viggo's throat, and in every photograph of him - not many, he noticed - Viggo wore that ring, that glimpse of chain, and Sean thought of where it had been, and he thought of taking it into his mouth and kissing Viggo and tonguing him through the center, and then holding it in his teeth as he backed toward the bed, leading him like it were a particularly shiny leash.
Right now, Sean fumbled the ring at his own neck, and thought quietly of his conversations with his extended family(s). His wives had stared in disbelief, and laughed as though he'd told a particularly funny joke, and then slowly as Sean hadn't moved it had dawned on them that he wasn't joking at all, and slowly they'd come round to it. For the most part his children had been better, and while Sean felt he had waited for Evie to be old enough to be comfortable in herself and in school, no longer just judged for her father, he still worried about how this would effect them. The press would probably hound them, and that he regretted more than anything else, because there was nothing he could do to prevent it. They promised they'd be fine, and he'd kissed each of them, and been relieved that they understood, but the consensus was that if daddy was finally happy, then they were happy too, all of them--wives and all. And all of them were endlessly relieved that they weren't going to find out about any more random hussies he was dating through some news broadcast explaining how he'd been stabbed, and that sounded just fine to him too.
Of course it didn't come without other risks, but as rough as the world was, superstardom tended to help people step above it. The only real worry was his career, but Viggo promised to help him with that, and Sean's agent in London seemed - although not enthused - positive enough about the prospects.
The only thing left, then, was the night itself, and while he kept telling himself that he would be ready, the fact was that he wasn't. There were butterflies leaping in his stomach, and had been for a week, and he wanted nothing more than to just grab Viggo and run, but this was planned. Everyone was ready. Publicists and preprepared statements all in place, and if Sean backed out now he'd be letting all that planning down, and worst of all letting Viggo down.
But it scared him. It scared him because he was afraid that this would be the end, that he wouldn't be able to go home a hero any more, and maybe - in his nightmares - they'd pull down the plaque bearing his name, and spit on it, and grafitti horrible things on his parents' house, and just...
He forced himself to relax, leaning back, looking up at Viggo as he reached for the cup.
"If I say no, can we just elope to Portugal?"