There was something heartbreakingly beautiful about that flush. Red against the gilded gold of Sean's skin, against his hair. Viggo wanted to reach out to touch, to feel the heat of the flush against his fingertips. Did Sean's heartbeat quicken? Was that embarrassment, or-- no, no, that wasn't it. That wasn't a good kind of flush at all, and Viggo smacked himself for getting so caught up with the aesthetics that he had almost completely foregone the meaning.
It was shame, and Viggo's heart ached, twisted painfully in his chest. Sean was beautiful; beautiful in ways that Viggo had never been able to articulate except in bits and pieces, hidden like easter eggs in his poetry and paintings and photographs throughout the years. He had never really thought about it before, but perhaps he had broken it all up into pieces so that he could still breathe when he looked at his own work. Breathe, instead of break, instead of shattering, from the heartache of being able to capture Sean on paper. In any way.
There was nothing this man needed to be ashamed about. Today should be his victorious day, because he had won a prestigious award, a prize that many people had said that he had deserved for a very long time. Viggo didn't really care about all that, but he knew that not everyone was as careless with material validation as he was, and he knew that this award should mean something to Sean. There was nothing he should be flushing about. Not in shame. Embarrassment, maybe, because Viggo had turned him down, but-
He shook his head gently, tossing away the thoughts that were starting to run in circles. Viggo's hand closed around Sean's, feeling the rough knuckles against his thumb, and he shifted his body slightly, hiding Sean from sight before he lifted that hand to his lips and kissed the back of it. He could smell sweat and cologne and musk and Sean, and this close, the hair on Sean's hand looked like burnished gold underneath the dark lights of the bar. Impulsively, Viggo kissed his hand again.
"Alright," he said, simply, but he tugged on Sean's hand, leaning back to his original booth. It was against a window, so they could look out to the silly people still camped out on this bar at night. He tipped his head back and signalled to one of the real bartenders to bring them two double shots of scotch.
Viggo hadn't let go of Sean's hand. Reluctantly, he opened his fingers, letting his arm drop back to his side. It draped loosely, like a doll's arm. Viggo ignored it, focusing on Sean.
"You should be celebrating your win." A little idle, and very gentle. He had spoken the truth when he said that he could wait another day. Something was bothering Sean.
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It was shame, and Viggo's heart ached, twisted painfully in his chest. Sean was beautiful; beautiful in ways that Viggo had never been able to articulate except in bits and pieces, hidden like easter eggs in his poetry and paintings and photographs throughout the years. He had never really thought about it before, but perhaps he had broken it all up into pieces so that he could still breathe when he looked at his own work. Breathe, instead of break, instead of shattering, from the heartache of being able to capture Sean on paper. In any way.
There was nothing this man needed to be ashamed about. Today should be his victorious day, because he had won a prestigious award, a prize that many people had said that he had deserved for a very long time. Viggo didn't really care about all that, but he knew that not everyone was as careless with material validation as he was, and he knew that this award should mean something to Sean. There was nothing he should be flushing about. Not in shame. Embarrassment, maybe, because Viggo had turned him down, but-
He shook his head gently, tossing away the thoughts that were starting to run in circles. Viggo's hand closed around Sean's, feeling the rough knuckles against his thumb, and he shifted his body slightly, hiding Sean from sight before he lifted that hand to his lips and kissed the back of it. He could smell sweat and cologne and musk and Sean, and this close, the hair on Sean's hand looked like burnished gold underneath the dark lights of the bar. Impulsively, Viggo kissed his hand again.
"Alright," he said, simply, but he tugged on Sean's hand, leaning back to his original booth. It was against a window, so they could look out to the silly people still camped out on this bar at night. He tipped his head back and signalled to one of the real bartenders to bring them two double shots of scotch.
Viggo hadn't let go of Sean's hand. Reluctantly, he opened his fingers, letting his arm drop back to his side. It draped loosely, like a doll's arm. Viggo ignored it, focusing on Sean.
"You should be celebrating your win." A little idle, and very gentle. He had spoken the truth when he said that he could wait another day. Something was bothering Sean.