Sean listened, riveted, reaching his tired hand up to scuff it slowly through Viggo's hair as he spoke. His eyes opened, closed, opened again, and he yawned, drew himself just a little further upright, kissing at Viggo's chin. He kept them open for Viggo; open and sleepily staring.
"You ain't the one split open, Vig," he kissed again, and sighed. "Besides which, if the two of us weren't bloody actors, I figure there's such thing as too much of good times. Me and you. We'd shag each other to an early heart attack."
His lips curled, to show that it was a joke, and he dropped his head back down, looking up at Viggo like a satisfied virgin, misty love in his eyes, endless affection for the man in front of him, albeit love he didn't have the strength left in him to lend toward a fresh assault.
Sean closed his eyes, thinking hard and long, his sleepy mind not quite as sharp as it might be if he wasn't quite so exhausted, and he dropped his hand down to Viggo's neck as he opened them again, rewarding him with the reality that he wasn't quite asleep - not quite beaten - yet.
Two could play a game of poetry.
"I lay meself to sated sleep, In contemplation made complete To rest beneath your outstretched wing And feel yer breath upon me skin. I think I might be happiest With you asleep upon me breast; But when I wake to see yer eyes It's clear I'm more than just unwise. I see yer eyes, and you see mine, Me head spins--yet I drank no wine, And then out loud you speak me name You whisper love, an' stake yer claim. Aye, I'm happy now - happy as may be - With you lying here aside of me."
His smile was mischievious, but warm, sated, sleepy. He'd probably remember but a line of the poem in the morning--a shame, since he thought it was pretty good. But the morning wasn't the point. One last smile from Viggo was what he actually wanted.
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"You ain't the one split open, Vig," he kissed again, and sighed. "Besides which, if the two of us weren't bloody actors, I figure there's such thing as too much of good times. Me and you. We'd shag each other to an early heart attack."
His lips curled, to show that it was a joke, and he dropped his head back down, looking up at Viggo like a satisfied virgin, misty love in his eyes, endless affection for the man in front of him, albeit love he didn't have the strength left in him to lend toward a fresh assault.
Sean closed his eyes, thinking hard and long, his sleepy mind not quite as sharp as it might be if he wasn't quite so exhausted, and he dropped his hand down to Viggo's neck as he opened them again, rewarding him with the reality that he wasn't quite asleep - not quite beaten - yet.
Two could play a game of poetry.
"I lay meself to sated sleep,
In contemplation made complete
To rest beneath your outstretched wing
And feel yer breath upon me skin.
I think I might be happiest
With you asleep upon me breast;
But when I wake to see yer eyes
It's clear I'm more than just unwise.
I see yer eyes, and you see mine,
Me head spins--yet I drank no wine,
And then out loud you speak me name
You whisper love, an' stake yer claim.
Aye, I'm happy now - happy as may be -
With you lying here aside of me."
His smile was mischievious, but warm, sated, sleepy. He'd probably remember but a line of the poem in the morning--a shame, since he thought it was pretty good. But the morning wasn't the point. One last smile from Viggo was what he actually wanted.