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wordsontongueTitle: The Facts of Life
Author: *koulagirl (![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
koulagirl666 / raise_the_knife)
Rating: R
Warnings: none
Beta:j_ryder448
Request: Genres - fluff, domestic, AU, h/c, kink, humour; prompt(s) or general mood(s) - change, reflection
Disclaimer: Sean and Viggo are their own people and do not belong to me.
Summary: It is what it is.
Viggo always did smell a bit funny; it's one of the few things Sean doesn't forget, even when he doesn't actually remember the smell. Smells different is one of the facts that he will always know about Viggo; along with Likes mate and Prefers to be barefoot; and, like all those, and a few others, it's one of the things he has to remember when Viggo's coming to stay. It's not something he does anything about, unlike actually sweeping the kitchen properly and going to the market instead of the shops; it's something he knows he has to prepare for. Inevitably, when Viggo arrives, the smell will be one of the first things he notices, because Viggo will sweep in the door and drop everything to wrap him in a hug. He's surrounded by the smell before he can even take in how thin Viggo's become, or how long Viggo's hair is and how many new wrinkles there are to learn.
Of course, he pretends not to have noticed that this is one of the few things that comforts him about the time he spends with Viggo, or that it's one of the factors that helps him split with-Viggo memories from without-Viggo memories. If he acknowledged it, he'd have to admit that there was something between them, and it's not like that at all.
Usually there's an ocean between them, or a country, or a continent. There's phone calls and parcels and e-mails for keeping in touch; there's his hand if he gets desperate for anything more. He likes it best with Viggo's voice in his ear, though; he likes hearing Viggo tell him how and where to touch, though he can come just as hard on his own. That, however, is another thing he can label as different - not the reason he comes, but what it makes him feel, what happens to him after. God knows, he's had enough women to know the difference between coming on his own and doing it because of someone else, but this is something new, and yeah, maybe a bit awkward, but that's no reason to stop. 'Sides, that would break Viggo's heart, and for some reason, he really doesn't want to do that. He knows that, somehow, it would break his too.
It's still not love, or anything like that. It's just the way things are.
~*~
He looks forward to seeing Viggo, he really does, but it gets tiring after a few weeks. Viggo tends to be on some kind of extended sabbatical and spends most of the time (that they're not fucking in inconvenient places) sitting around and being frustratingly still. It's a change from ten years ago, when Viggo was always the first to suggest some wild plan or drag him off to a pub. Apparently, sometimes the facts need adjusting - Bit crazy becomes Layabout or maybe Happy to stay in, at least until something happens and Viggo's painted the kitchen purple, apparently to complement the late afternoon sun. It's not changing, he realises, after the fourth time Viggo comes to stay with him, but growing.
He stays with Viggo sometimes too; that's where he learns about horses and darkrooms and ignoring clocks in favour of listening to his body. He lets Viggo fuck him for hours; he falls asleep when the sun starts to come up and Viggo's coming back to bed after giving the horses their morning feed. Viggo's feet are always cold and he pretends to mind, but it's just to hide how glad he is that Viggo's back. He reckons he sleeps better when Viggo's there, too, but he writes it off as his imagination, because he's asleep and who can really bloody know anything that happens when they're not awake?
It's not the same when they meet at some event or another; festivals and premieres require other people to be around and they're always crowding in on the space around them. It's funny, the crowd pushes them together but modesty and social rules require them to stay a bit apart. They still touch, and sometimes even kiss, but it's like they're still not really together, and that's when the space between them feels like the whole entire Earth instead of just a handspan. It's a pity, but as nice as Viggo looks in a suit, even a borrowed one, there's just some lines they can't cross yet, probably ever. Even if he was ready, even if Viggo asks with his eyes and his wandering fingers, there's just nothing worth risking this for; it's theirs and he doesn't want to share.
The flight back home always feels longer after something like that; as if the ocean flooded when his heart swelled and the tide hadn't yet gone out.
~*~
Sometimes Sean wonders how this could have lasted so bloody long with so little put into it; it's been ten years, after all, and there's been nothing more than a few stolen hours, nights and weeks scheduled and explained away. They still have their lives and they both know that there'll be an end to it if one of them ever really wants to let go. It's too awkward to just be convenient and they never just pick up where they left off as if nothing's changed; so much has changed each time that they spend an hour, maybe two, learning what's new and what's the same. Viggo's hair is coarser and mostly grey; Sean has a freckle under his left eye. They can afford a hotel room somewhere in the middle whenever their free time coincides, and sometimes they can meet at the airport; those flights are always easier, of course, but there's still the idea of Viggo wants me to distract him every time the seatbelt light comes on partway through.
There's no depth there, though, to show what they've been through; he can't tell what Viggo's thinking without some strange little poem to help him out, and he always has to ask when he wants to order in instead of going out. Occasionally, Viggo's eyes mist over and Sean knows that means longing but he hasn't yet worked out for what, exactly.
The first time he sees Viggo when they get together, though, whether it's there or here or in between, it's all different. There's barely enough time to breathe before he's surrounded by Viggo and he's reminded what Viggo smells like - spices and paint and sometimes horse. They're things that Viggo likes and it's fitting that they should cling to him the way Sean sometimes wants to, because when he says goodbye and Viggo clings to him, he sometimes fancies that he leaves a bit of his scent on Viggo, too, just like how he can smell Viggo on his skin until he's had a shower and reluctantly scrubbed it off.
Especially in those first few days after, he wishes that this could be something more; that there was something he could do to make it last longer or never stop. If there was something; he'd do it, but he knows that there will never be one thing that would make the shadows go away. There's always something else - their kids, their careers, their lives. It's frustrating that choices they made before they even knew each other are the things that keep them apart and stop it from becoming something he can admit is love. He doesn't know what he's missing out on in order to know what he'd give up for it, but in those times when he's not fooling himself into dismissing it, he knows that it would be a hell of a lot.
Instead, he puts everything into the time they have; he lets Viggo inside him and he takes the time to touch and taste. It's not rough anymore; they're done with the cuffs and blindfolds and they don't need to play games. It's enough to move against each other when there's nothing between them; it's so rare now that it can't be diluted with untruths and fantasies. He loves to slide his hand down Viggo's chest and feel the sweat gather under his palm; he uses it to tease until he hears Viggo swear in Spanish and start to beg. He likes to bite down on something the first time Viggo slides in, and he likes to lick the bruise the morning after before apologising with breakfast and the paper.
It is what it is, and he'll never know anything more than some of the pieces that make it that way - who he is, what Viggo likes, where they've come from. It will never be more than this and he can make do with that; there's no pressure, the way Viggo likes it, and there's no rules, the way he likes it. If it could be more, he knows Viggo wouldn't hesitate either, and that's all he needs to know about that.
Sean likes things he can understand and break down, and this is his one exception.
Author: *koulagirl (
koulagirl666 / raise_the_knife)Rating: R
Warnings: none
Beta:
j_ryder448Request: Genres - fluff, domestic, AU, h/c, kink, humour; prompt(s) or general mood(s) - change, reflection
Disclaimer: Sean and Viggo are their own people and do not belong to me.
Summary: It is what it is.
Viggo always did smell a bit funny; it's one of the few things Sean doesn't forget, even when he doesn't actually remember the smell. Smells different is one of the facts that he will always know about Viggo; along with Likes mate and Prefers to be barefoot; and, like all those, and a few others, it's one of the things he has to remember when Viggo's coming to stay. It's not something he does anything about, unlike actually sweeping the kitchen properly and going to the market instead of the shops; it's something he knows he has to prepare for. Inevitably, when Viggo arrives, the smell will be one of the first things he notices, because Viggo will sweep in the door and drop everything to wrap him in a hug. He's surrounded by the smell before he can even take in how thin Viggo's become, or how long Viggo's hair is and how many new wrinkles there are to learn.
Of course, he pretends not to have noticed that this is one of the few things that comforts him about the time he spends with Viggo, or that it's one of the factors that helps him split with-Viggo memories from without-Viggo memories. If he acknowledged it, he'd have to admit that there was something between them, and it's not like that at all.
Usually there's an ocean between them, or a country, or a continent. There's phone calls and parcels and e-mails for keeping in touch; there's his hand if he gets desperate for anything more. He likes it best with Viggo's voice in his ear, though; he likes hearing Viggo tell him how and where to touch, though he can come just as hard on his own. That, however, is another thing he can label as different - not the reason he comes, but what it makes him feel, what happens to him after. God knows, he's had enough women to know the difference between coming on his own and doing it because of someone else, but this is something new, and yeah, maybe a bit awkward, but that's no reason to stop. 'Sides, that would break Viggo's heart, and for some reason, he really doesn't want to do that. He knows that, somehow, it would break his too.
It's still not love, or anything like that. It's just the way things are.
~*~
He looks forward to seeing Viggo, he really does, but it gets tiring after a few weeks. Viggo tends to be on some kind of extended sabbatical and spends most of the time (that they're not fucking in inconvenient places) sitting around and being frustratingly still. It's a change from ten years ago, when Viggo was always the first to suggest some wild plan or drag him off to a pub. Apparently, sometimes the facts need adjusting - Bit crazy becomes Layabout or maybe Happy to stay in, at least until something happens and Viggo's painted the kitchen purple, apparently to complement the late afternoon sun. It's not changing, he realises, after the fourth time Viggo comes to stay with him, but growing.
He stays with Viggo sometimes too; that's where he learns about horses and darkrooms and ignoring clocks in favour of listening to his body. He lets Viggo fuck him for hours; he falls asleep when the sun starts to come up and Viggo's coming back to bed after giving the horses their morning feed. Viggo's feet are always cold and he pretends to mind, but it's just to hide how glad he is that Viggo's back. He reckons he sleeps better when Viggo's there, too, but he writes it off as his imagination, because he's asleep and who can really bloody know anything that happens when they're not awake?
It's not the same when they meet at some event or another; festivals and premieres require other people to be around and they're always crowding in on the space around them. It's funny, the crowd pushes them together but modesty and social rules require them to stay a bit apart. They still touch, and sometimes even kiss, but it's like they're still not really together, and that's when the space between them feels like the whole entire Earth instead of just a handspan. It's a pity, but as nice as Viggo looks in a suit, even a borrowed one, there's just some lines they can't cross yet, probably ever. Even if he was ready, even if Viggo asks with his eyes and his wandering fingers, there's just nothing worth risking this for; it's theirs and he doesn't want to share.
The flight back home always feels longer after something like that; as if the ocean flooded when his heart swelled and the tide hadn't yet gone out.
~*~
Sometimes Sean wonders how this could have lasted so bloody long with so little put into it; it's been ten years, after all, and there's been nothing more than a few stolen hours, nights and weeks scheduled and explained away. They still have their lives and they both know that there'll be an end to it if one of them ever really wants to let go. It's too awkward to just be convenient and they never just pick up where they left off as if nothing's changed; so much has changed each time that they spend an hour, maybe two, learning what's new and what's the same. Viggo's hair is coarser and mostly grey; Sean has a freckle under his left eye. They can afford a hotel room somewhere in the middle whenever their free time coincides, and sometimes they can meet at the airport; those flights are always easier, of course, but there's still the idea of Viggo wants me to distract him every time the seatbelt light comes on partway through.
There's no depth there, though, to show what they've been through; he can't tell what Viggo's thinking without some strange little poem to help him out, and he always has to ask when he wants to order in instead of going out. Occasionally, Viggo's eyes mist over and Sean knows that means longing but he hasn't yet worked out for what, exactly.
The first time he sees Viggo when they get together, though, whether it's there or here or in between, it's all different. There's barely enough time to breathe before he's surrounded by Viggo and he's reminded what Viggo smells like - spices and paint and sometimes horse. They're things that Viggo likes and it's fitting that they should cling to him the way Sean sometimes wants to, because when he says goodbye and Viggo clings to him, he sometimes fancies that he leaves a bit of his scent on Viggo, too, just like how he can smell Viggo on his skin until he's had a shower and reluctantly scrubbed it off.
Especially in those first few days after, he wishes that this could be something more; that there was something he could do to make it last longer or never stop. If there was something; he'd do it, but he knows that there will never be one thing that would make the shadows go away. There's always something else - their kids, their careers, their lives. It's frustrating that choices they made before they even knew each other are the things that keep them apart and stop it from becoming something he can admit is love. He doesn't know what he's missing out on in order to know what he'd give up for it, but in those times when he's not fooling himself into dismissing it, he knows that it would be a hell of a lot.
Instead, he puts everything into the time they have; he lets Viggo inside him and he takes the time to touch and taste. It's not rough anymore; they're done with the cuffs and blindfolds and they don't need to play games. It's enough to move against each other when there's nothing between them; it's so rare now that it can't be diluted with untruths and fantasies. He loves to slide his hand down Viggo's chest and feel the sweat gather under his palm; he uses it to tease until he hears Viggo swear in Spanish and start to beg. He likes to bite down on something the first time Viggo slides in, and he likes to lick the bruise the morning after before apologising with breakfast and the paper.
It is what it is, and he'll never know anything more than some of the pieces that make it that way - who he is, what Viggo likes, where they've come from. It will never be more than this and he can make do with that; there's no pressure, the way Viggo likes it, and there's no rules, the way he likes it. If it could be more, he knows Viggo wouldn't hesitate either, and that's all he needs to know about that.
Sean likes things he can understand and break down, and this is his one exception.
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