For a few moments Sean stared on straight away as Viggo leant in close to his ear, his breath hot, his teeth sharp, his words bewitching. He turned his head when Viggo looked away, but the film was already starting and Viggo's eyes were fixed straight ahed and wouldn't even glance his way. After a few minutes of just watching Viggo he smiled, and turned his head and began - like the director - looking over the theatre as people watched the movie, his own heart thundering so loud in his chest he felt someone might shout at him to keep it down.
It wasn't a short movie, and the sound of his own voice was grating, the sight of his own face, knowing how much effort went into getting it all just right, how many times they'd retook that damned scene where he climbed up the mountain at a run, stumbling and slipping, and how one time the moss covered rocks had foiled him, and he'd slipped so hard he'd ripped a muscle in his leg. He found himself frowning awkwardly at his own love scenes, and knowing that the women in the audience were all biting his lips, and the critics in the screening all the more vigilant still for any lack of affection he might be showing, either in the film or out of it.
He found himself raising his chin and watching almost defiantly as the delicate filming captured lithe fingers stripping off his armour, stroking across his bare and scarred (genuinely scarred) chest, his own shivers and gusts of breath, sensual and beautiful...and humiliating.
Sean glanced toward Viggo again, and got no reassurance from him, but squeezed his hand just slightly. Hawk eyes were on him, he could feel them. And it was only the first love scene of the movie.
The second came and went. The big finale, and the whole theatre stood and applauded. Sean sat back, watching all the way to the end, where a creaking wooden horse was pulled up a sandy hill--a teaser--and then he stood, and they applauded again, and Sean was finally able to look Viggo right in the eye, and wrap his arms around him and kiss him like he'd been waiting to for hours.
Now came the hard bit; the walk out and the after party. The press. It was going to be hard work, and terrifying work, but he had Viggo beside him; he wore his armour. He could do this.
They walked out hand in hand, and at the end of the red carpet Sean deruffled Viggo all over again. He'd only been sitting still, and yet everything was out of place all over again.
"I'll have to take on some of them myself," he said, softly. "Make it clear I'm not attached to you by the hip. I'll be alright, but if I say we're going then we go, alright?"
no subject
It wasn't a short movie, and the sound of his own voice was grating, the sight of his own face, knowing how much effort went into getting it all just right, how many times they'd retook that damned scene where he climbed up the mountain at a run, stumbling and slipping, and how one time the moss covered rocks had foiled him, and he'd slipped so hard he'd ripped a muscle in his leg. He found himself frowning awkwardly at his own love scenes, and knowing that the women in the audience were all biting his lips, and the critics in the screening all the more vigilant still for any lack of affection he might be showing, either in the film or out of it.
He found himself raising his chin and watching almost defiantly as the delicate filming captured lithe fingers stripping off his armour, stroking across his bare and scarred (genuinely scarred) chest, his own shivers and gusts of breath, sensual and beautiful...and humiliating.
Sean glanced toward Viggo again, and got no reassurance from him, but squeezed his hand just slightly. Hawk eyes were on him, he could feel them. And it was only the first love scene of the movie.
The second came and went. The big finale, and the whole theatre stood and applauded. Sean sat back, watching all the way to the end, where a creaking wooden horse was pulled up a sandy hill--a teaser--and then he stood, and they applauded again, and Sean was finally able to look Viggo right in the eye, and wrap his arms around him and kiss him like he'd been waiting to for hours.
Now came the hard bit; the walk out and the after party. The press. It was going to be hard work, and terrifying work, but he had Viggo beside him; he wore his armour. He could do this.
They walked out hand in hand, and at the end of the red carpet Sean deruffled Viggo all over again. He'd only been sitting still, and yet everything was out of place all over again.
"I'll have to take on some of them myself," he said, softly. "Make it clear I'm not attached to you by the hip. I'll be alright, but if I say we're going then we go, alright?"