For a second Sean considered just strangling him, or doing like he would with Christian and turning him over and fucking him into the couch. He didn't. It was more that he hated that tease and duck away thing that seemed to be happening. Viggo in his lap, leaning over him, kissing him with passion and uttering words of love - unneccessary - into his ear, and then suddenly he was turning cold again, pulling away from him, hiding his face. It was infuriating, and Sean didn't know how to deal with it. It required a certain subtlety that he wasn't great at.
"You know I'm sleeping with Christian," he repeated, softly. "And you barely even know who he is, do you? You were always worse at the politics than I was." He curled his lips and reached up, taking Viggo's hand.
"Christian's married. Happily married, with a pretty little girl. We're good together, but he don't make me happy. He ain't there when I wake up in the mornin'. S'just about sex, and I've got no problem with that. And I matter to him--I really do." He rubbed his face with the other hand, then leant up so that he could kiss the edge of Viggo's mouth.
"Answer me something, Viggo. If you're not good at chasing the people you want, why am I here?"
His hand dropped to Viggo's shoulder, then ran down, settling eventually on his hip. His eyes were turned down, thoughtful, and when he spoke it was barely a murmur.
"What were you hoping would happen? You've been planning this a while, right? So what did you want to happen? We have a few drinks, fall all over each other like last time? Maybe you just wanted t'talk ta me until it were after midnight and I couldn't get a cab back for love nor money, got stuck here on yer couch while you drew me while I was sleeping. Then you could be happy for another thirteen years, never say another word to me."
His hand wandered a little further down.
"I'm going to have to put that on hold, the never talking to me again thing. See, I rather like the idea of seeing you again. And again, and again. So let's make this good, yeah? Like it is in my fantasy."
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"You know I'm sleeping with Christian," he repeated, softly. "And you barely even know who he is, do you? You were always worse at the politics than I was." He curled his lips and reached up, taking Viggo's hand.
"Christian's married. Happily married, with a pretty little girl. We're good together, but he don't make me happy. He ain't there when I wake up in the mornin'. S'just about sex, and I've got no problem with that. And I matter to him--I really do." He rubbed his face with the other hand, then leant up so that he could kiss the edge of Viggo's mouth.
"Answer me something, Viggo. If you're not good at chasing the people you want, why am I here?"
His hand dropped to Viggo's shoulder, then ran down, settling eventually on his hip. His eyes were turned down, thoughtful, and when he spoke it was barely a murmur.
"What were you hoping would happen? You've been planning this a while, right? So what did you want to happen? We have a few drinks, fall all over each other like last time? Maybe you just wanted t'talk ta me until it were after midnight and I couldn't get a cab back for love nor money, got stuck here on yer couch while you drew me while I was sleeping. Then you could be happy for another thirteen years, never say another word to me."
His hand wandered a little further down.
"I'm going to have to put that on hold, the never talking to me again thing. See, I rather like the idea of seeing you again. And again, and again. So let's make this good, yeah? Like it is in my fantasy."