There was an exhausted little crease between Sean's brow, a tension in his neck. Viggo wanted to reach out and smooth it clear, to soothe away the tension until Sean was relaxed again; until he could be himself, without artifice, without his false smiles, without all the weight that he was carrying on his shoulders. It wasn't the first time that Viggo had wished that the fairytale of the Rings shooting had never ended; that they actually managed to meet up every year, that the five year, ten year reunion actually went through.
But they were all busy. Acting was a career like that; you didn't have much control over your schedule, much less anyone else's. It was a life of the eternal nomad, moving from place to place, moving from groups of people to other groups, going through the same motions. Viggo hadn't really tried this time, because he was tired and there was a feverish light in Michael's eyes that reminded him of Orlando at his worst and Christian Bale at his usual, and it was more than a little tiring.
All Viggo wanted to do, nowadays, was to act, write, paint and photograph. Like always. He didn't need the awards or the attention, and honestly, he had learned to do without the people.
Except for Sean. Viggo's smile was still a little crooked, and he wanted, achingly badly, to kiss Sean. To lean forward and kiss him gently on the lips, and kiss him all over. To trace the lines of his jaw with his own mouth, then to dot the smaller, gentler lines with kisses, to reassure Sean somehow that he wanted him just like this. That Viggo didn't need him to be anyone else; that he was beautiful like this, and he didn't even need him to smile if he didn't want to.
Viggo never really had many demands in his life.
"I don't say anything I don't mean," he said, and his voice was gentle, a little teasing. That was what Sean had said of him, wasn't it, on the extended videos. Viggo reached out, blindly, hand closing around his drink, and he held onto the glass so he wouldn't reach out to touch. They were still in public, and Viggo still remembered about Sean's limits.
"It doesn't matter how long I have to wait," he tipped his head back, looking at the ceiling. "Or even if I will get what I want at the end. As long as you're happy. As long as you feel better about yourself."
He caught Sean's eyes again, and his smile widened, genuine and large and true. He lifted a single shoulder, then dropped it. Almost a shrug, but far too fraught with meaning.
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But they were all busy. Acting was a career like that; you didn't have much control over your schedule, much less anyone else's. It was a life of the eternal nomad, moving from place to place, moving from groups of people to other groups, going through the same motions. Viggo hadn't really tried this time, because he was tired and there was a feverish light in Michael's eyes that reminded him of Orlando at his worst and Christian Bale at his usual, and it was more than a little tiring.
All Viggo wanted to do, nowadays, was to act, write, paint and photograph. Like always. He didn't need the awards or the attention, and honestly, he had learned to do without the people.
Except for Sean. Viggo's smile was still a little crooked, and he wanted, achingly badly, to kiss Sean. To lean forward and kiss him gently on the lips, and kiss him all over. To trace the lines of his jaw with his own mouth, then to dot the smaller, gentler lines with kisses, to reassure Sean somehow that he wanted him just like this. That Viggo didn't need him to be anyone else; that he was beautiful like this, and he didn't even need him to smile if he didn't want to.
Viggo never really had many demands in his life.
"I don't say anything I don't mean," he said, and his voice was gentle, a little teasing. That was what Sean had said of him, wasn't it, on the extended videos. Viggo reached out, blindly, hand closing around his drink, and he held onto the glass so he wouldn't reach out to touch. They were still in public, and Viggo still remembered about Sean's limits.
"It doesn't matter how long I have to wait," he tipped his head back, looking at the ceiling. "Or even if I will get what I want at the end. As long as you're happy. As long as you feel better about yourself."
He caught Sean's eyes again, and his smile widened, genuine and large and true. He lifted a single shoulder, then dropped it. Almost a shrug, but far too fraught with meaning.