Sean suddenly felt very young, and he followed Viggo a little distractedly, the tingle of kisses still lingering on the back of his hand. If this was London he'd be terrified of being seen, but it was a little bar in America, and even if the stars were out tonight, the spotlight on them was far away. He sank down into the seat opposite Viggo, still a little shellshocked, and his hand dropped onto the table when Viggo let him go.

"Feels like it's been forever," he told him, his shoulders sinking a little. "Since I've been around people who want me as me. Can't imagine anything much worse than those damn bootlickers draping all o'er me fer the rest of the night."

He shook his head, watching the bartender approach with their drinks, and taking one to sip it quietly. He'd have preferred beer, but they only exported Guinness out here and there was only so much of the stuff he could stand.

He didn't know quite how to approach what Viggo had left him with, with the flash of his smile and the appreciative downward working of his eyes, the murmured words about the shades of his hair.

"You've been waiting thirteen years," he said, almost afraid that the sentiment would run away from him the moment he spoke out loud. That Viggo would shake him off and walk out and have none of it. "Didja mean it?"