Part I

Part II

Sean loved his job. He loved acting. He loved Tolkien. It was a dream come true to take this job and he had almost gotten into an accident when he first heard the news. He even loved this country that had the most beautiful sunsets that made his hands ache for watercolours, and landscapes that had him reaching for charcoals that he hadn’t touched for years.

He fucking hated these mountains.

Sean growled underneath his breath as he watched everyone else pile into the helicopters. There was still more than a week (or more, if PJ was unhappy) left of the Caradhas scenes to shoot. He wasn’t complaining about the mountains exactly -- they were perfect for the descriptions that Tolkien had written for Caradhas -- but he was usually irritated at the end of the day. He had snow stuck in places that snow was never supposed to go, his limbs ached from the cold... and there was still a long way down for him to walk before he could get to the ski lift. Then he would have to drive back to his hotel. No matter what time they finished shooting, it would be dark before he reached it.

Of course, all of his problems would be solved if he took the helicopter. But Sean was would be damned if he was going to endure sitting in a tiny round box while the skies shuddered around him due to the turbulence. He sighed and slung Boromir’s shield behind his back. The only good thing about this was that Boromir’s uneasiness came to him easier than ever. Sean had never been the kind of actor who felt exactly as how his character felt, but he couldn’t deny that this made doing his job easier either.

“Sean, wait.”

He blinked, turning around. Viggo was standing behind him, thumbs hooked over Aragorn’s belt. The wind of the departing helicopter made his wig fly all over his face, making him look more like the dishevelled Ranger more than ever.

“I thought yer going with the rest,” Sean shouted back. The helicopter was loud; another reason to not take it.

Viggo jogged over to him. “What?” He had to yell to make himself heard, his hand shoving his hair backwards.

Sean waited until the helicopter had moved off the cliff before he repeated himself. Viggo shrugged, “I figured that I’ll keep you company as you walk down.”

“Alright,” Sean said. They hadn’t spoken for some time. He couldn’t help but think that all of his current irritations were hidden blessings, because Boromir’s disquiet about Aragorn was almost exactly what Sean felt towards Viggo as well.

They walked in silence for a long while. Sean couldn’t help but feel agitated, as if there were ants crawling up and down his skin. He couldn’t figure out Viggo’s heavy silence, and he wondered why the other man would bother taking the long road with him down when he wasn’t going to talk. Then he realised how strange the thought was, because he and Viggo had spent long hours without a single word spoken to each other, whether smoking, drinking, watching football or making art together. They were used to each other’s quiet, and Sean realised with a start that this was the first time that he was discomfited that Viggo wasn’t saying anything.

Damnit, he should have known that having sex with a castmate was a bad idea. It never led to anything good -- just look at his marriage with Abby for example. No, Sean corrected himself. No, he wouldn’t give Evie up for anything in the world. But there was no chance he would ever marry Viggo, so he always thought it understood that what they had between them was just an arrangement for the sake of convenience.

Now Viggo had him thinking in circles. Sean couldn’t help but grit his teeth and shove Boromir’s shield further up his shoulders. Feeling so off-centred was enough to piss anyone off, he reckoned.

“Have you spoken to Karl lately?”

Sean was so caught up in his thoughts that it took a few seconds for him to realise that Viggo was talking. He blinked, turning.

“What?” He rubbed the back of his head. “Nah, I haven’t. Have you?”

“No,” Viggo said quietly. His thumbs were still hooked in Aragorn’s belt. If he was wearing jeans, Sean knew that his hands would be shoved into the pockets. “I thought you would be.”

“Why?” Sean looked back to the road. The cliff was coming up; they would have to climb down soon. Maybe Viggo would shut up then.

“You were the one fucking him, weren’t you?”

Sean frowned. Viggo’s question sounded calm, almost too casual, and it made him hiss. The cold turned his breath into a fog, and he used that as an excuse to not look at the other man. “I didn’t realise that fucking someone means I’m now his keeper.”

“No, I guess not.”

They fell silent again, but only for a few seconds before Sean whirled around. He stormed over to Viggo, boots crunching on snow.

“Look,” Sean said, frustration creeping into his voice. “You want to tell me what the hell yer getting at?”

Viggo’s eyes were blue, coloured by the clear skies over head. He looked at Sean for a long moment, the silence stretching between them until Sean wanted to reach out and shake him. But he shrugged before Sean could say a word, shoulders far too tense for the movement to seem smooth in any way.

“Nothing,” Viggo said, voice soft. “I’m not getting at anything.”

Sean threw up his hands. “Christ,” he blurted out. “Could you behave any more like a whiny woman? You sound worse than me wife.”

“Right, of course, I almost forgot,” Viggo shot back, acidic. Sean froze at the sudden venom in his voice, and he could feel his own anger rise, burning in his chest, choking in his throat.

“How’s the divorce going, Sean?”

Sean stared at him, all the words drained out of him. His hands shook at his sides. He took a long deep breath before his fingers darted forward, fisting Aragorn’s tunic as he dragged him forward.

“Go. Fuck. Yourself.”

Poison dripping off every perfectly enunciated Received Pronunciation word. He let go of Viggo’s tunic and pushed himself backwards. Sean stormed off towards the side of the cliff, grabbing onto the safety harness and strapping it around his waist. He didn’t turn to look if Viggo was doing the same.

Viggo could jump down the damn cliff for all he cared right now.

***

Sean stared out of the window of the cottage. The road was ridiculous, slamming hard against the windows until he couldn’t even see his own reflection in the glass. He smacked his fist against the grill hard before stepping back, sighing.

“Staring at the rain isn’t going to make it stop raining, you know.”

“We won’t be stuck in the damned rain if you didn’t insist on going shopping every single fucking mile we took, Orlando,” Sean said pleasantly.

Orlando snorted, lifting his shoulders up in a shrug. “People need presents for Christmas, Sean.”

“Yeah? And how many of those are wet now, much less trapped in the car?”

He waved a hand. “It’s just the bags that are wet. Jesus, Sean, you’ve become as crotchety as an eighty-year-old woman ever since Viggo left to film Edoras with Karl, Bernard and the rest.”

Sean snorted, but he couldn’t help his shoulders tensing up. “Shooting schedule interrupted me conversation with Bernard, that’s all.”

“I thought Bernard’s talking more to Viggo than to you because you get all tongue-tied when you speak to him,” Orlando said. He stretched out on the couch with all the fearlessness of youth, completely oblivious to the narrowing of Sean’s eyes.

“Yeah? Who told you that?”

“Karl did.”

“You’ve been talking to Karl lately?”

Orlando shrugged. “He’s a nice bloke. And unlike some people, I don’t get all tongue-tied when talking to someone I saw on telly before.”

“Ian,” Sean drawled the name out, and he grinned to himself when Orlando blushed slightly, turning his head away.

“He’s a legend, Sean. That’s totally different.”

“If you say so,” Sean said. He dropped down to the armchair.

Orlando shifted on the couch, finally sitting up. He looked at his hands for a minute, thinking. When he looked up, Sean was instantly suspicious. Who wouldn’t be, when the kid was grinning like he was the cat who had just eaten the cream?

“Hey, you want to know what Karl told me?”

“What, he’d declared his love for you already?” Sean raised an eyebrow.

“Besides that,” Orlando waved a hand. He posed slightly in his seat. “I mean, who wouldn’t, you know what I mean? I’m a handsome fucker, that I am.”

Sean just stared at him. Orlando laughed, rubbing a hand through his shaved head, fingers dragging through the short Mohawk.

“Nah, it’s about Viggo.”

I don’t want to know anything about Viggo, Sean meant to say. Instead, he blurted, “What ‘bout Viggo?”

“Karl said he’s been sleeping with one of the bearded women of Edoras,” Orlando leaned forward, elbows on his knees, the perfect image of someone completely happy to share a bit of gossip about a mutual friend.

Sean’s breath froze in his throat. He closed his eyes and let the air go, hissing through his teeth.

“What?”

“Yeah, Karl told me. He says that it’s weird, because well, if he’s sleeping with Miranda, then that’s no surprise. If he’s sleeping with one of the male extras, that’s no surprise either. But he’s sleeping with one of the bearded ladies, and well, you know, that’s a bit odd.”

Sean looked down on his hands, mildly surprised to find them clenched so hard that his nails were biting into flesh. “Thought you’re more open-minded than that, kid,” he said, and applauding his self-control at sounding so mild.

But Orlando looked up suddenly nonetheless, his eyes narrowing on Sean. “It’s just a bit funny-weird, that’s all.”

“Viggo can sleep with whoever he wants,” Sean said. He sounded perfectly reasonable, he thought. He was even defending Viggo here.

Orlando didn’t say a word. He only continued to look at Sean, head slightly cocked to the side. The silence stretched out between them, broken up periodically by the sound of thunder and rain outside the cottage. Sean met his gaze for a long moment before he twitched just once.

“What?”

“Nothing, really,” Orlando said, but his carefree tone had turned thoughtful. “It’s just that you just reminded me of my ex-girlfriend.”

“What?” Sean repeated.

“Jemma, you know? I’ve talked your ear off about her more than once.” Orlando shrugged. “One time I met her and won’t stop jabbering about this amazing woman I saw on stage and how brilliant she is at acting. And she starts getting all stiff on me like you just did.”

Sean let out an explosive sigh. He shoved himself upwards to stand, striding over to look out of the window.

“Yer full of shit,” he told the glass. He wasn’t entirely sure if the words were aimed towards Orlando, or himself.

“Er, Sean?” Orlando sounded confused. Sometimes Sean was annoyed at the kid. He couldn’t help but be so, really, because he had almost twenty years on Orlando and he was long past the period in his life when he believed that he was immortal and the world revolved around him. He liked Orlando, he really did, but the boy could annoy the shit out of him by being all of twenty-two years ago.

But now, Orlando’s obliviousness was entirely too useful. Sean sighed again, watching as the window fogged up from his breath.

“Nothing,” he said, staring out into the rain.

He could understand if he was angry, because Viggo was being a hypocrite, sleeping with someone else when he had given Sean the cold shoulder for doing the same. But he wasn’t. Sean knew what rage felt like; knew the way it twisted his stomach into knots and made his blood rush in his veins and his vision to sharpen and his hands to clench into a fist he had to be careful not to throw. He would prefer anger to this strange emotion in his chest. It was a cold knife slicing through his lungs, making breathing utterly impossible.

“Uh, okay,” Orlando said. “What do you want for dinner?”

Finding out that he was behaving like Orlando’s teenage girlfriend had to be the last insult, but he still couldn’t muster up the damn anger. Not at Viggo, not at Orlando, not even at himself -- which was strange, because it was always so damn easy to be angry at himself. He just felt cold and thin, like the rain had seeped into his skin and replaced his blood.

Sean rubbed his mouth slightly before he turned. “You get it for yerself,” he said, shoving his hands inside the pockets of his jeans.

“I ain’t hungry.”

Somehow he would have to figure out what the hell was wrong with him and to get rid of it before he saw Viggo again.

***

“Can I sit here?”

Viggo looked up, cigarette burning in his hand. Karl was still in Eomer’s clothes and wig, blond hair tied into a bright purple scrunchie and draped over his shoulder. He had in his hand a cupcake topped with icing the same colour as his hair tie. Viggo’s lips twitched.

“Sure,” he waved a hand.

“Bernard told everyone that purple is my colour of the day or something. He has one too, but he assigned himself a really nice blue, so I think he’s just fucking with me.” Karl touched his hair slightly. “Anyway, he told me to give you this.”

The cupcake in his hand was topped with bright, pumpkin orange. Viggo took it and took a big bite.

“It’s a few months and a couple of continents too far from Halloween,” he chewed. “Doesn’t taste too bad, though.”

Karl made an indistinct sound from beneath the pile of purple icing. Viggo blinked, cocking his head.

“What?”

“I said, I’m glad Aragorn isn’t pissed at Eomer anymore.”

Viggo froze. He looked away, his hand dropping to his side. “Sorry,” he said. The skies were fascinating at this time of the day, the barest streaks of pink and orange running across the blue, cut occasionally by clouds. He wished he had a camera in his hand; it would work as an excuse as well as any.

But Viggo wasn’t that much of a coward. He took a deep breath, turning to catch Karl’s gaze with his own.

“I really am sorry. It wasn’t very professional of me.”

Karl looked at him for a long time, chewing on his cupcake. Viggo resisted the urge to fidget. Karl finished the cupcake, his eyes still fixed on Viggo, and he licked his fingers.

“Orlando told me something interesting this morning,” he said.

Viggo blinked. “Orlando? Isn’t he coming over here?”

“He’s travelling with Sean,” Karl said, and he placed an almost comically exaggerated emphasis on Sean’s name. “They are stuck in the middle of nowhere because of a bunch of landslides.”

“Is Sean alright?” the words burst out of Viggo without his permission, and he bit his lip immediately. He tasted sugar and food colouring, and he licked the corner of his mouth for want of something to do.

“Yeah, they’re both fine. That’s not the interesting thing Orlando told me.”

“You’re obviously dying to tell me,” Viggo tried for a light tone. It wasn’t very successful, and his mind was running in damn circles about what had happened to Sean. He had heard reports about the landslides, but he figured that Sean had flown home since the last time they spoke. Boromir had no real business in Edoras, really, so he had no idea that he was even heading here.

God, Sean was coming over here. Viggo felt his hand moving to his ear and he resolutely started to shred the cupcake wrapper, staring at it in an effort to not look at Karl. It was an effort to not think about Karl as he looked that night, face flushed and wide-eyed over Sean’s shoulder.

It was a good thing that Eomer wasn’t the type of person to blush, really. If he was, things would be even more awkward than it already was.

“Orlando says that Sean is behaving like his ex-girlfriend,” Karl was saying. Viggo forced himself to pay attention again. It took a moment for the words to sink in.

“What?”

“He told Sean about your thing with one of the bearded ladies,” Karl grinned.

“Her name is Isabelle,” Viggo corrected absent-mindedly.

“Right,” Karl said. “So I don’t think you have anything to worry about.”

“I was worried about something?” Viggo was tugging on his earlobe again. He dropped his hand back to the side.

Karl smiled, “I saw your face when you came into the trailer, you know.”

“Sorry,” Viggo said automatically. He didn’t even know what he was apologising for, but it was good enough as conversation filler, since Karl seemed to be expecting him to say something. Viggo couldn’t decide what his reaction was supposed to be, that Sean was coming to the Edoras set knowing that Viggo had slept with someone else.

If Sean started ragging him on it, Viggo didn’t know if he could stop himself from hitting him. Not when he had saw him with his hands smelling of Karl’s come. Viggo was aware that Sean wasn’t the only one who was acting like Orlando’s teenage ex-girlfriend.

“It should be me apologising,” Karl shrugged. Viggo blinked at him. “Honestly, the two of you confuse the hell out of me. I don’t actually know what is going on, and I’d rather not presume, but I’d also rather that you’re not pissed off at me.”

“I’m not,” Viggo said automatically. That much he was clear about. He wasn’t angry at Karl, not really. Why would he, when Karl wouldn’t have known about what was happening between Viggo and Sean, or even that there was a ‘Viggo and Sean’ at all? Viggo didn’t even know how to classify what he had with Sean, so how would Karl know?

There was a part of himself that was very much relieved he was still capable of reason.

“I’m not actually pissed at anything, actually,” Viggo said. He shrugged again, turning out to look at the sky. The sunset was rapidly approaching. “I’m sorry for making things awkward between us,” he heard himself saying. “It won’t be a problem anymore, I promise.”

“I’ll take you at your word for that,” Karl said, but his voice sounded like it came from a distance away. Viggo gave him a flickering smile before he stood up, moving towards his trailer to get his camera.

He would deal with Sean when he came over. Not right now. Right now, he had a sky to chase.

***

Viggo felt the breath knocked out of his chest as Sean slammed him against the door. His face was so close to his own, and Viggo’s lips drew back into a snarl. He growled, fingers curling into the shoulders of Sean’s shirt, nearly tearing the fabric apart.

“Is this how you always try to solve problems, Sean?” Viggo could barely recognise his own voice. He sounded savage, rough, the usual rasp turned into a snarl. “By thinking with your cock? You’ve never realise that doing that is exactly the problem, do you?”

“No,” Sean was right in his face, his green eyes flashing gold as he stared hard into Viggo’s. “It ain’t me fucking Karl that’s the problem, Vig. It’s you.”

The rage Viggo felt was so intense that he surprised even himself, but his hands and feet were already moving, shoving Sean off of him. He didn’t want to admire the colour of Sean’s eyes; didn’t want to feel his body tingle at the feel of his hard body against his own. He shoved a leg between Sean’s, pushing him back until they stood in the middle of Sean’s hotel room.

“Me,” Viggo said. “The problem is me.” He barked a laugh, and there was no humour in the sound at all. “And Saint Sean has no faults whatsoever, aye?”

“Oh, aye,” Sean said, and his grip on Viggo’s elbow was so tight that it was going to leave bruises. “I know me faults alright, but I ain’t the one behaving worse than me ex-wife ‘bout having some fun with a friend when we are supposed to be mates.”

“It must hurt, doesn’t it, Sean?” Viggo hissed back. “That I wasn’t there to comfort you when you get a call from that ex-wife of yours. That I wasn’t there as a convenient body to fuck so you can forget what a failure you are at relationships.”

Sean flinched, and Viggo knew the shot had hit home. He had always been good with words; better at controlling them to make himself likeable. Somewhere deep within him, he realised he had gone too far, but his anger was bubbling too hot to even think about that.

“It’s always like that with you, ain’t it?” The bitterness in Sean’s voice was sharp enough to cut. “Always making out like yer the one being used when you enjoyed what we did plenty.”

“I don’t deny that,” Viggo didn’t know where the words were coming from. “You called me a mate, but how many others in the cast have you fucked, Sean? How many others have known the taste of Sean Bean’s come?”

Sean shoved at him, hard enough to make Viggo stumble. His back slammed against the wall, and it trembled even more from the force of Sean’s fist. “You want to say what you really mean? You keep talking in circles, Vig, but it’s a shite way of hiding.”

“You called me your mate, Sean,” Viggo said, and he hated how his voice had gone soft. Steeling it, he hid the hurt away. Like hell he was going to give Sean more ammunition to hurt him with. “Is that what we are?”

There was a flicker of confusion in Sean’s eyes, and he licked his lips.

“What are we, Viggo?”

Viggo didn’t have an answer, didn’t even know if there was a right answer to give. He suddenly felt tired, so tired of fighting with this man who was his friend, whom he had spent countless mornings and afternoons and nights together. He was tired of fighting, tired of running, tired of seeing shades of green on grass and in the skies and only being able to think of Sean. He was tired of remembering the sight of both of their hands stained with charcoals or with paints, the sound of their laughter reverberating around his house. He was tired of only seeing the shade of Sean’s dark blond hair whenever he looked out into the rain.

Viggo was damn tired of being afraid. He should do something about it.

His body moved before he did, surging forward, hands burying themselves in Sean’s hair as he crashed their lips together. Sean jerk against him, a large hand splaying out over his shoulder, slowly closing into a fist around Viggo’s shirt, pulling him closer instead of pushing him away. Sean’s tongue was in Viggo’s mouth, claiming it, stroking every corner until Viggo moaned and leaned further towards him. His body trembled, but he wasn’t the only one -- Sean pushed him harder, shoved him against the wall, his feet unsteady.

“What are we doing,” Sean murmured, and his voice was choked in Viggo’s throat. Less of a question, more of a plea.

I don’t know, Viggo thought. There wasn’t an answer he could find: not for what they needed, much less what they wanted. He only knew he could be addicted to the taste of Sean’s mouth. He could spend his entire life like this, just like this, kissing Sean over and over, never once tiring of Sean’s taste, Sean’s heat.

That was an answer in itself, but Viggo didn’t want it. Maybe it was cowardice, but Viggo was far too good with words, and he knew that this was self-preservation.

“I want to fuck you,” he said instead. Sean’s tongue sliding against his own as he pulled back, and he shivered again. He felt Sean nod more than he saw it; felt the heat of Sean’s cock against his thigh.

“Here,” Sean breathed. He pulled away from Viggo. Hands slapped against the wall, legs parted. Viggo’s breath slammed out of his lungs at the sight of Sean’s hair falling in front of his eyes. Gold and green against tan, and Sean’s smile trembled at the edges as he looked back to Viggo.

“Don’t bother with lube.”

“I don’t want to hurt you,” Viggo protested, but his hands were disobeying him again. He was pulling off Sean’s belt, leather and metal thud-thudding on the ground. His body splayed itself out over Sean’s, fingers finding small nipples, tweaking them. Images flashed in his head, of fucking Sean hard until he screamed; until his legs and hips and throat and ass all carried marks of Viggo, until there was no way that he could forget about him.

Sean turned him into a savage. He stripped Viggo raw, left him open, and Viggo could only drag his head back by his hair and shove two fingers into Sean’s mouth. The violence terrified him, aroused him, but he couldn’t stop himself, couldn’t help thrusting his hips forward, his still-clothed cock sliding up Sean’s jean-clad ass. Over and over as Sean sucked on his fingers, bit on the tips and made him bleed on the inside.

Viggo knew there was an answer, somewhere, but he had stopped caring somehow. Instead his hand was shoving Sean’s pants down to his ankles, his feet kicking Sean’s apart. Sean’s spit made his fingers gleam and Viggo licked at the tip, grey eyes holding onto green. Sean opened his mouth as if to speak, but Viggo pulled his head back and kissed him hard. He felt Sean moan against his lips, a trembling thing as Viggo shoved those fingers inside, less stretching than trying to pry Sean apart physically. Like Sean could pry him apart just by breathing.

His body didn’t feel like his own and he felt entirely out of his control. His head spun. Sean was saying something, the arch of his neck shivering from the force of his voice. But Viggo wasn’t listening any longer. Instead he threw himself forward, shoving Sean against the wall even as his teeth bit down on the thin, vulnerable skin of Sean’s throat.

“Come on, Viggo,” Sean said, drawling out Viggo’s name. A hand grabbed Viggo’s collar from the back, twisting the cloth until Viggo choked slightly, rearing back. Sean’s eyes burned on his.

“Fuck me already.”

He let go and Viggo grabbed his wrist, slamming it flat against the wall. Leaning in, he lowered his voice into a barely audible rasp.

“You asked.”

His hand closed around Sean’s hip, holding him still. Spitting into his hand, he stroked himself once. Pressed inside, slowly, inch by inch. Sean growled, trying to thrust his hips back, but Viggo only tightened his grip. He held him steady before he thrust hard, filling Sean as much as he could with one rough stroke. Sean threw his head back and roared, the sound so loud that it made Viggo’s bones rock inside him. Viggo grinned to himself, pulling back and slamming back in, and Sean’s hands slapped hard against the wall as he tried to keep his face from smashing into it.

“Hard enough?” he panted out.

Laughter. Sean tilted his head back, narrowed eyes on Viggo. There was pain in the creased edges, but Sean’s grin was large and infectious.

“Not nearly,” he said, and he rocked his entire body back, his spine curving as it fitted against Viggo’s chest. Snarling at the taunt, Viggo wrapped his arm around Sean’s waist as he pulled him away from the wall, took him off balance even as he thrust into him, again and again. Sean was trembling in his arms, his breath coming fast and shallow, his neck on Viggo’s shoulder-- but his fingers carved their marks on Viggo’s thighs, steadying himself. Urging Viggo to go faster, harder.

“Come on, Vig, fuck me like you mean it.”

“God,” Viggo snarled. “I should have known you wouldn’t know how to shut up.”

“Yeah? I thought you love me voice,” Sean countered. Viggo immediately decided that he wasn’t fucking Sean hard enough if he was still capable of being coherent. He buried his hand in Sean’s hair again, dragging his head back, and kissing him hard. Fingers clenched hard around Sean’s hips, grip tight enough to bruise. There was no real finesse, no real technique, only an animalistic in-out. But they had done this too many times and Viggo’s body had already shifted, finding the angle that had his cock scraping against Sean’s prostate with every single shove inside.

Sean was speechless now, reduced to grunts and moans and gasps as he leaned on his arms against the wall. Viggo took a vicious, triumphant joy in the sight of him, and he batted Sean’s hand away when it tried to creep down to his own cock. Instead, he wrapped his fingers around the head of Sean’s cock, his next thrust throwing Sean forward. Sean gasped again, clawing at the wall with his fingers, but that was all Viggo saw because he was biting down on Sean’s shoulder, eyes closed as he thrust again and again, feeling his orgasm approaching as he fucked Sean as if he was nothing more than a doll for him to use to get off.

It might do Sean some good to have a taste of his own medicine, Viggo thought suddenly. His eyes snapped open, and he grabbed onto that thought even as he felt his orgasm crash down onto him. His groan scraped the side of throat on its way up. He buried himself deep inside Sean’s body. Sean was frantic, rutting into his hand, and Viggo smiled to himself as he twisted the head of Sean’s cock, a nail flicker underneath the hood-- and Sean was coming with a low, dark roar, almost loud enough to cause the walls to shake and the decorative prints hanging on the walls to fall.

Viggo knew what he wanted now. He knew it from the easy way his body slumped against Sean’s, his arm sneaking forward to wrap around Sean’s body. Funny how he had always fitted so nicely with Sean, whether side by side or one behind the other. Viggo wasn’t particularly amused, or even surprised at all.

He closed his eyes and pushed himself away, pulling out. He heard Sean hiss, but Viggo only stumbled until he was leaning on the wall beside him. His hand was covered with Sean’s come, and he lifted it to his mouth, licking up the salty bitterness almost absent-mindedly.

“Vig.”

Viggo blinked, trying to focus. Sean was still leaning against the wall, grimacing slightly, but his eyes were clear as they fixed on Viggo’s.

“Are we good?”

Were they? Orlando mentioned that Sean was acted jealous about Isabelle, but that wasn’t a guarantee of anything. Orlando might have misinterpreted it, and Viggo had long known that possessiveness proved nothing in the long run anyway. He let out a soft, trembling breath.

“Yeah,” he said. “Yeah, we’re good.”

Sean would be leaving soon, Viggo remembered. Maybe if he ignored his latest revelation, it would hide itself away and he wouldn’t have to think of it again.

(Of course, he knew emotions didn’t work like that. But trying in this direction was far more harmless than trying in any other way.)

Part III