Viggo could see it- the apprehension, the fear in Sean's eyes, and he couldn't help himself. He put down his mate, took Sean's cup and dropped it on the table, and he pulled his lover into his arms, holding him tight, his lips grazing against Sean's temple and kissing against his hair. Sean had far more to lose with coming out to the world - after all, he was a man who built his reputation on being a man's man, the 'bit of rough' with a stunning smile that drew all of the fairer sex to him. His breakout role had been a strictly heterosexual serial monogamist, though Viggo had read that there were people who seemed to see Sharpe's relationship with Harper to be a love story.
Viggo had nothing to lose, really. If his acting jobs dry up, then he still had Perceval Press to fall back on. He still had his painting, his photography, his poetry- his art, all of which were anonymous once he had created them, and whose merits didn't depend on his face.
(He knew that wasn't true, and that many people bought his works because they saw him as Aragorn or Walker Jerome or even Nikolai, but he hoped that they actually looked at his work they would forget all that.)
The world would be receptive. It was in the second decade of the new millennium, and if they weren't- Viggo would force it to be, somehow. He would make it happen. He loved Sean too much for the world to tear them apart; for the world to be cruel. There were too many people who loved him for things to go crashing down upon his head. Viggo closed his eyes, and he kissed Sean softly on the lips, his hands running through the strands.
"Of all the countries you could've chosen, why choose one that has a language I don't speak?" he smirked, and kissed Sean gently at the side of his mouth. "We can't elope, but- if you want, we can go to the Monserrate Palace and I'll put my ring on your finger again. If you want, we'll hike up to the Pico mountains and taste all of their sweet wine grapes, and I'll kiss you until your lips are swollen and bitten and you taste of me. It'll be alright, because the juice is red and no one will be able to tell the difference except for the two of us."
Lorna had cornered him after Sean had gone to speak to his ex-wives, wth Abby and Mel. She had seen her father hurt too many times in the past; she was the oldest child, and had watched him fall in love with Abby, then out, and she had watched him struggle and fight through an ugly divorce because he wanted to be a part of Evie's life. She had watched him fall for Georgina and have that marriage and later divorce nearly drive him into shattering, and she never wanted to see that again.
Viggo had wondered how much Sean knew about what his eldest saw, because Lorna was bright-eyed and too sharp and he could see so much of Sean in her that it took his breath away. And he couldn't help but be honest, laying out the pieces of his heart out for her to inspect, until she knew how much he loved Sean; how much he didn't want to hurt him and how far he would go to make him happy. There was no selfishness to his love, and he loved - for fifteen years now, each day stronger than the last, and there was nothing or anyone more important than Sean.
Lorna had looked at him for long moments before she nodded, and she said- it would be that the one person whom her father seemed to settle down for life with was one he couldn't actually marry. It seemed fitting, somehow. Viggo had laughed.
Henry never really needed to be told. Viggo had came back smiling one day, taking off the cloth off the painting that represented the colours of Sean's hair, and Henry had asked if he had finally just told Sean how he felt. And Viggo had, and there was that, and Exene told him that it might have been decades, but he was still ridiculously slow.
But neither of them mattered at the moment. Viggo tipped Sean's head up, catching his eyes and holding his gaze tight.
no subject
Viggo had nothing to lose, really. If his acting jobs dry up, then he still had Perceval Press to fall back on. He still had his painting, his photography, his poetry- his art, all of which were anonymous once he had created them, and whose merits didn't depend on his face.
(He knew that wasn't true, and that many people bought his works because they saw him as Aragorn or Walker Jerome or even Nikolai, but he hoped that they actually looked at his work they would forget all that.)
The world would be receptive. It was in the second decade of the new millennium, and if they weren't- Viggo would force it to be, somehow. He would make it happen. He loved Sean too much for the world to tear them apart; for the world to be cruel. There were too many people who loved him for things to go crashing down upon his head. Viggo closed his eyes, and he kissed Sean softly on the lips, his hands running through the strands.
"Of all the countries you could've chosen, why choose one that has a language I don't speak?" he smirked, and kissed Sean gently at the side of his mouth. "We can't elope, but- if you want, we can go to the Monserrate Palace and I'll put my ring on your finger again. If you want, we'll hike up to the Pico mountains and taste all of their sweet wine grapes, and I'll kiss you until your lips are swollen and bitten and you taste of me. It'll be alright, because the juice is red and no one will be able to tell the difference except for the two of us."
Lorna had cornered him after Sean had gone to speak to his ex-wives, wth Abby and Mel. She had seen her father hurt too many times in the past; she was the oldest child, and had watched him fall in love with Abby, then out, and she had watched him struggle and fight through an ugly divorce because he wanted to be a part of Evie's life. She had watched him fall for Georgina and have that marriage and later divorce nearly drive him into shattering, and she never wanted to see that again.
Viggo had wondered how much Sean knew about what his eldest saw, because Lorna was bright-eyed and too sharp and he could see so much of Sean in her that it took his breath away. And he couldn't help but be honest, laying out the pieces of his heart out for her to inspect, until she knew how much he loved Sean; how much he didn't want to hurt him and how far he would go to make him happy. There was no selfishness to his love, and he loved - for fifteen years now, each day stronger than the last, and there was nothing or anyone more important than Sean.
Lorna had looked at him for long moments before she nodded, and she said- it would be that the one person whom her father seemed to settle down for life with was one he couldn't actually marry. It seemed fitting, somehow. Viggo had laughed.
Henry never really needed to be told. Viggo had came back smiling one day, taking off the cloth off the painting that represented the colours of Sean's hair, and Henry had asked if he had finally just told Sean how he felt. And Viggo had, and there was that, and Exene told him that it might have been decades, but he was still ridiculously slow.
But neither of them mattered at the moment. Viggo tipped Sean's head up, catching his eyes and holding his gaze tight.
"We don't have to, if you don't want to."