Sean wasn't behaving like himself. Viggo knew about all about masks, and knew even more how Christian Bale used his. It seemed like Sean had been close enough to that man to pick up his habits, and Viggo froze for the briefest of moments. Like the flash of the lightning before he smiled. It was his business smile, his artist's smile, the smile he put on for the interviewers, the fans, the bookstore owners- everyone who wanted something from him.
Viggo had his masks too. His masks, and his pride. He took a breath, and pushed himself away, his hand on Sean's wrist - he could feel his pulse, and Viggo felt his own heart traitorously start to follow that beat, unbidden - and tugging him away from his own tie.
Then he leaned in, tilted his head a little, and pressed a gentle kiss on the side of Sean's lips. It was a chaste little thing, almost like a continental greeting; far more pure than the dozens of kisses that Viggo had laid upon his friends' lips over the years. Billy, Dom, Orlando, Elijah, Ian, Sala, Lawrence, not to mention David and Ed and Vincent. Most of his friends and those he had worked with, because Viggo was free with his affections and easy with his touches.
But he was cagey with his love, and kept his heart locked up tight. He hadn't a choice with that, to be honest; after all, his heart hadn't belonged to him for a very long time.
"It's alright," Viggo murmured, and pulled away. He took his drink, and knocked it back, letting the cold, smooth liquid burn its way down his throat.
"It's not very fair to either of us if I ask you to come back to my place, because you're not my friend." Reached out, placing a hand on Sean's arm, and his smile faded a little. "It's better if you stay here, and find someone who would like you for you, rather than whatever resemblance you have to some actor you don't even know."
Then, Viggo placed the empty glass on the counter, sliding it over to him. He licked his lips slowly, catching the last drops of the alcohol, and sighed.
"I've been waiting for that friend of mine for thirteen years, I think I can spare another night."
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Viggo had his masks too. His masks, and his pride. He took a breath, and pushed himself away, his hand on Sean's wrist - he could feel his pulse, and Viggo felt his own heart traitorously start to follow that beat, unbidden - and tugging him away from his own tie.
Then he leaned in, tilted his head a little, and pressed a gentle kiss on the side of Sean's lips. It was a chaste little thing, almost like a continental greeting; far more pure than the dozens of kisses that Viggo had laid upon his friends' lips over the years. Billy, Dom, Orlando, Elijah, Ian, Sala, Lawrence, not to mention David and Ed and Vincent. Most of his friends and those he had worked with, because Viggo was free with his affections and easy with his touches.
But he was cagey with his love, and kept his heart locked up tight. He hadn't a choice with that, to be honest; after all, his heart hadn't belonged to him for a very long time.
"It's alright," Viggo murmured, and pulled away. He took his drink, and knocked it back, letting the cold, smooth liquid burn its way down his throat.
"It's not very fair to either of us if I ask you to come back to my place, because you're not my friend." Reached out, placing a hand on Sean's arm, and his smile faded a little. "It's better if you stay here, and find someone who would like you for you, rather than whatever resemblance you have to some actor you don't even know."
Then, Viggo placed the empty glass on the counter, sliding it over to him. He licked his lips slowly, catching the last drops of the alcohol, and sighed.
"I've been waiting for that friend of mine for thirteen years, I think I can spare another night."