Admission

Admission

Posted: October 2005
Title: Admission
Author: Helena Snow-Renn
Type: RPS
Characters: Sean/Viggo
Rating: NC-17
Disclaimer: As always, this is fiction. It never happened.
Warnings: Besides main pairing, others mentioned; PWP
Beta: lady_aurora
Author's Notes: Seriously people, I'm floundering. Can't give up my vigbean, but this is what I was able to do for now. Hope you enjoy just this little ficlet.

*****

It had just... happened. No other explanation. Sean knew better than to get involved with costars, though it seemed like he always did ...

Viggo did not. He'd been married to Exene before he'd ever been in a film with her, and that was only once, in their early years.

A bitter taste in his mouth from a third damn divorce, Sean didn't want anything soft, with breasts, or their wet little slits and their 'not so hard.' There were men and more men to be had here, beautiful men, most with leanings in the right direction...

Only... there was only one who would do. It would just be a matter of wearing him down.

He thought on it for a few days, his chances, after Viggo's arrival in their midst. The first time Sean touched him like that had been early on, in the sweaty confines of the Cuntebago, in the twilight after a long day. Without warning, Sean had simply pushed Viggo against the nearest wall and captured his mouth. The taste of smoke and the unique tang of full-grown, aroused male was unmistakable, and highly encouraging. Those delicious, fine-lined lips of Viggo's were warm and dry and they certainly did respond despite the fighting that his body did. Sean had gotten his tongue past the other man's teeth, pressing his advantage with his excited body and quickly hardening member against Viggo. God, he needed it. Blood throbbed in rhythmic surges, and the slight gyrations his body had only begun, but the rush of sex and power whirled up in his brain.

And then... he'd been pushed. Hard. He'd had to take several steps back to catch his balance.

Despite his best efforts, that had gone over like horse shit. The look in those wary blue eyes, and that soft voice ragged with denial told Sean everything he needed to know. Viggo had been a little pissed off and warned him of his 'not on the job' policy, but laughed it off.

It was weeks before Sean cared to try to again. You just didn't mess with someone like Viggo. He couldn't be overcome with physical force or coerced, or whined into things; there was no dirt on him, either. Not that Sean had tried any of these things. He found he actually liked the guy, despite the brush-off. After a time, he began to think of the undeniable attraction as unfortunate, in some respects. He'd have liked to go to the pub or dinner or hang out watching telly and drinking beer without it feeling odd, but he had that... hunger... always with him, too. And he'd have missed it, if it were gone.

Viggo never mentioned it, what had happened, never teased him, never insinuated. He wrapped Aragorn around himself like a cloak, and wasn't seen that often as himself, less so the further they progressed into shooting. Sean missed seeing Viggo, too, when he was gone for a long time. He could admit that much to himself.

Always keeping his radar tuned in that direction just in case, other things began to happen to Sean with regards to his other colleagues. They started to look better and better. He was torn; he knew he shouldn't but...The Brit listened to his whiskey and his bollocks once, twice, three times; a pattern set itself that he couldn't seem to get out of.

The rabid need to fuck anything that moved came and went. Sean worked his way through whatever willing piece of ass that would go home with him. It didn't really matter that much if the skin was fair or brown, if there were blue eyes or brown or green or black, because he rarely looked into them. Top and bottom didn't matter either. He was a 'whatever' man. Deep down, he felt his soul divided but... he stubbornly held up his head as people giggled 'cast slut' but lined up anyway for a chance at Mr. Sean Bean, Mr. Bum of the Year, sure to be a Sir before too many more years passed. One night Orlando showed up with a smirking Liv in tow, on a bet that no way would Sean go for such a thing.

Needless to say, he--Orlando--lost.

From there, things could have gotten a lot weirder, except for one thing. The very next night, Cate had knocked on his door. Sean let her in with a resigned sigh which she no doubt heard. 'Here we go,' he thought to himself. Now the women were coming around, too. But as it turned out, she wasn't there for sex.

There was something about her... her wordless enigmatic intensity. He found himself involuntarily recalling many things, and then, just as quickly, spewing them forth in stream of consciousness while she kept her piercing eyes fixed on him. Unable to sit still, he was up and pacing the narrow walkway of his trailer. In a round-about way, it all led back to his discombobulated sex life, the way he was having anyone and everyone because he couldn't have... someone. He vowed not to mention any names, but it was ultimately unavoidable.

It had been a long time since Sean had run his mouth like that. Or been unsettled over who he took to bed. He found himself exhausted but, amazingly, sober, down on his knees with his head in Cate's lap, trying to choke down his sobs as tears fell. She stroked his hair and beard, wiped his nose, humming softly till he could pull himself together. Too ashamed of his show of weakness to look at her, he hauled them up onto the bed... for whose comfort, he didn't know. He kissed her with his eyes shut, just like he always did, rubbing against her. It didn't take long to realize something was wrong. For all that Cate felt nice, smelled nice, allowed his salty, somewhat sloppy kisses, his willy wasn't working. Horrified, he feigned going to sleep, thinking he'd wake her later. But when he himself awoke in full darkness not remembering having dropped off, she was gone.

He lay there and thought about what had taken place. Even where no one could see him, in his own trailer, in his own bed, he flushed, embarrassed at the memory. She'd taken in his unformulated thoughts like a confession, comforted him, didn't take from his body what so many others had wanted... All of that, and he barely knew her.

He had, round-aboutly, talked to Cate about Viggo. It was the one name he hadn't brought up, but surely she understood by the mere omission. Now he needed to talk to someone else about his evening in Cate's company... it unnerved him. Only fitting the person he felt compelled to speak about it to would be Viggo. And in the meantime... somehow he no longer felt any desire what-so-ever to sleep with any of the attractive people about the set. It wouldn't matter one iota to his outwardly-known character; he already had his well-deserved reputation on this set, but he knew that was over.

Two days later, he still wasn't sure how to approach the other man, much less the topic. It was certainly not like he'd never sat by Viggo before, or spoken to him, or any of that. Silly of him to think of today's little inner melodrama as anything special. In fact, people took it that they were good mates, the fact that they interacted professionally and yet Sean hadn't shagged him.

The best Sean could come up with was the suggestion of running lines. They got through it; the Brit was extremely happy with his performance—pure acting. No sideways remarks or looks accidentally flew from him, and he was (mostly) in command of his bits, due to a quick session with his own hand shortly before the other man arrived. He refused to be distracted by the close proximity, the other man's scent, of Viggo's voice wafting over him as he tweaked his faintly Elvish accent...He had done it before on other sets, and needed to prove to himself he could still handle working with someone who interested him. Otherwise, like it or not, it was time to get out of the business, something he'd never imagined thinking to himself.

But he managed. They actually worked out several troublesome interactions, till Peter's next re-write anyway. So, all told, that was three counts of pure acting on Sean's part. He didn't get to bring up the thing he would discuss with no other person, but it could wait.

By the following week, the self-imposed celibacy wasn't looking quite as good. After the frequency and quality of tail he'd become accustomed to before this most recent turn, Sean had to wank two and three times per day to keep his natural urges in check. He grumpily told himself that no, he was not pining. The only thing keeping him from giving in to the hints and propositions of randy interspecies and interracial (or not) cast members was his memory of that strangely otherworldly evening with Cate, where all his real thoughts and deeply buried desires had tumbled into her lap.

The expression of, "You need to get laid, mate," was becoming as oft-heard as some form of, "I hear you're good for a go," had been just a couple short weeks before. One night, Sean had to bodily remove one of his previous personal favorites from his person. This being after a long night of drinking and in the presence of at least half the principle and supporting cast, word got around quickly that while something might be 'up' with Sean, one would do well not to ask for any repeat performances for the time being.

While he didn't especially like it, Sean decided that the built-up testosterone was good for his character, who Tolkien somehow seemed to think was as much a virgin as any unwedded lily-white Elf. Oh, the irony, in every sense of the word.

Days later, he was once again sitting near Vig-Aragorn during a lull, never quite sure who he was talking to but talking, none-the-less, just for the excuse of continued company. They were out in the woods somewhere near a river, doing little pick-ups here and there for the Anduin sequences. Now it was just a matter of waiting for the sun to go down so they could get in a few more.

Sean and Viggo were sitting on a log several meters from their last set; the crew was moving equipment to a farther site a piece at a time. For a time, they talked of mundane things, smoked a cigarette, and then Viggo took out a sketchbook he had stashed somewhere and began to scratch on it with a two-inch stub of a pencil.

Over and over, Sean debated the wisdom of discussing his 'issue' with the cause of it. But he couldn't stand the tension anymore; he had to try something. "Have you ever just gone off on someone you didn't know well, spilled your guts, what have you... and then felt really weird over it later?"

"I'm assuming you did that. Recently?" Viggo enquired.

"Fairly. It was unexpected. Dunno why it happened. Well, guess I had some things I needed to get out, but... it was with a person I hardly know at all. And now I feel... odd."

"Did you sleep with him?" Viggo asked, totally taking Sean by surprise. He had no idea the American paid attention to such things, set gossip and so forth.

"Oh... uh... her," he corrected, fumbling for words. "And, no."

"Why not?" Sean thought Viggo might have winked at him, but his double take only revealed a relaxed slouch and the continuing scratching of graphite. The long tendrils of Viggo's wig shielded his face, something Sean found damn near irresistible.

"Turns out that this revelation had that result. I'm... trying to cut down."

After a long silence, which, Sean had come to understand, was perfectly natural for the other actor and nothing to worry about, Viggo said, very definitely Viggo, his nasally East Coast accent coming to the fore, "Oh? So, Sean. Hobbits and Elves and Rohirrim, and a couple of Uruks, from what I hear..."

Sean started to say, "That's in the past." In fact, he did say it, but Viggo continued over him, "... aren't you the stud-muffin?"

Sean cringed, and coughed in surprise. "'Stud-muffin?' What the hell planet did you fall from, mate? And when is any of that, any of your business?" In two seconds, he'd gone from wanting to tell Viggo... what exactly he still wasn't sure, to being on the defensive.

Aragorn looked at him calculatingly. "You never were compelled to take on a Ranger? Or is that too much Man for you?" Sean could hear the capitalized 'Man' in his voice, just as Tolkien would have had it.

Anger reared up. So much for his intentions of talking this over like a civilized person. He'd just been propositioned, for Christ's sake! The eased-into conversation, rehearsed in wide-ranging variations in his mind, was shot dead in the water. He wanted to hit this multiple-personality-infested bastard. Instead, he clenched his jaw and gritted, "Aren't you s'posed to be saving yourself for your Elf princess?"

"That's like saying you're too busy fighting the forces of Sauron to..." This was Viggo speaking. Sean refused to look at him, but he heard the catch in his voice. "Well. I guess not," he finished lamely.

"I fail to see where this is any of your concern," Sean repeated. Next thing he knew he was no longer sitting on the log. He was flat on his back in a layer of leaves with his boots comically pointed up at the sky. A filthy human was straddling him, holding him down, dominating his mouth in a way that left Sean bereft of oxygen--for apparently he'd stopped caring about things like breathing--and hard as nails.

He wasn't the only one. Even through all their layers of heavy costuming, that much was obvious. Finally, Viggo yanked his head up, flipping his hair from his face. "You could've had me any time, you know. Might sound arrogant, but I knew what you wanted the minute you laid eyes on me."

Sean's mouth flapped mutely for a minute before he spat, "Damn right it does." For a moment, he was reminded of himself. How many times had he said that to others? "What do you mean, 'could have had you'? You pushed me away, dammit!"

"I did?" the other man asked, seemingly confused. "Oh. I... wanted you to work for it, fight for it, even. Why didn't you?" His eyebrows came together in the middle.

Sean pulled Viggo down in a passionate kiss, trying to convey his level of frustration, both in the present and over the past weeks. When they broke, breathing heavily, he panted, "I usually save myself the humiliation of being outright rejected. And I overreacted."

"Is that what you call it?"

"Are you trying to tell me..." Sean took a deep breath, "you think I'm a slut?"

Viggo chuckled. "Yes."

Sean bucked upwards, but the man on top held him down. "Turns out I got a dose of my own medicine, wouldn't you say? Your methods... Well. They're beyond my abilities to comprehend. But at least you came to your senses." He ground down against Sean, who reflexively grabbed for his arse, one tight cheek for each hand.

But Sean was still pissed off. "That shows how very little you know me. Or I, you. Wouldn't have thought you the sort to play those kinds of games." He cast about for one other thing, and found it. "I just got divorced. You didn't want me... so you said. So... I went a little crazy. Didn't you ever, after getting dumped?"

Both understanding and sympathy welled up in the light-sky eyes. Then the lust again. "I get it," Viggo said simply.

"Yeah? Well, happens to the best of us, it seems."

After a solemn nod, the dark-haired man lowered his head to nuzzle under Sean's dirty-blond wig and nibble his earlobe. Green eyes drifted shut; Sean let the little waves of shivers run over him.

"And I would like to discuss it at whatever length and depth you can take it," they both grinned at the double entendre, "and get to know you...Later." The wiry man sprang up and held out his hand. "The truth is, I can't work in this state. Can you?"

"I have," Sean admitted with a grimace, "but it's less than pleasant."

"Let's go deeper into the woods a little ways, while we have the chance. It'll be a little while before they miss us. We can help each other..." He leered.

Sean glared at him again. "Why would I help you?"

"Because you want to," Viggo stated simply.

Sean looked at his outstretched hand, and finally accepted it. "I might still wanna beat you bloody," from him was followed by Viggo's, "You can try, and by the way, that sounds more than a little sexual." Sean snorted, and they walked in the opposite direction of the temporary set, upstream.

They were not quite what Sean considered safely out of range when he was pinned to a tree. Chest to chest, and groin to groin, the men kissed fiercely. Their tongues touched and slid forward, lips sucked, teeth nipped. Viggo had one hand on the side of Sean's face tracing the lines down his cheeks and radiating from the outer corners of his eyes, and the bone structure below. The other hand found the arousal throbbing painfully between Sean's legs, squeezing and stroking it. For Sean's part, he had seized that firm butt again and hung on.

Not long into it, Viggo stepped back, almost stumbled; Sean reeled him back in with the death grip on his arse and an unmanly whimper. "Sean," Viggo rasped, protesting. "I'm gonna cum in my costume unless you let me go... Now." Sean did. He understood that implication. Ineffectually, he tried to loosen Viggo's tunic, to no avail. "You do yours, I'll do mine, alright?" Viggo told him. "Nothing gets ripped that way."

"We hope," Sean cut across him. He took a deep if shaky breath, and another, and reached down to undo the most pressing thing, the laces on his breeches.

A foot away, Viggo was doing the same. As much as he knew they wanted to partake of each other more fully, time dictated this be quick and efficient. When Sean caught the first glimpse of Viggo's purpled erection standing out so thick and proud over tight round bollocks, he almost didn't want to show his own. Wanting Viggo to touch him and that bone-deep craving to put his hands on him in return won out.

Viggo grasped him and went immediately to relentless stroking of his hard flesh. Aching for release already, Sean rested his forehead on Viggo's shoulder, who did likewise. Their sweating faces turned inwards, lips barely touching. "Oh god... Sean..." Viggo breathed in a hiss. His tongue flicked lightly at Sean's lips. It shivered the blond more than the anticipation of the same ever had.

Once he got it in his hand, Sean didn't have to stroke that leaking, veined flesh for more than maybe a dozen times before the man came in powerful spurts onto the ground between Sean's boots. The sight of it, the sticky warmth in his palm, and the Ranger's strangled little gasps set off the reaction in his brain to force his balls into spasms, and his own seed being offered to the forest floor.

Sean looked deep into the dazed blue eyes. Satisfaction, his own and for Sean, looked back at him. Just then he realized that he'd repeated, "Viggo, Viggo, Viggo..." a quietly groaned chant, snapping his hips to wring every sensation from those incredibly strong, calloused, half-gloved hands that caressed him for longer than strictly necessary. Letting go, they drew shuddering breaths while slowly tucking themselves away and straightening clothing.

Viggo slung an arm around his neck as they walked back to where they'd been with as much normality as they could muster after their opening round. It had been almost brutally exciting, their beginning, so to speak; but more so, an unspoken accord that said there was further discovery involved. Viggo had said, 'later.' If he could, Sean would hold him to that.

In the depths of his little breakdown, he'd told Cate that underneath it all, messed up as he might be, that there could be something that might, with time, develop into more than rampant lust. It was that element that led him to such a reaction. He didn't dare say the word, but it was in there, inside him. Surely one as perceptive as Viggo had seen.

Normally, Sean would feel awkward at a time like this but he just... didn't. And Viggo never seemed to be uncomfortable in his own skin. Sometime soon, he hoped that instead of the mutual wanking, he'd be able to take his Vig-Aragorn, whatever character he happened to be wearing at the time, up against one of these trees or have it done to him...yes, even that. He knew the man would give him a run for his money, and that he would do likewise. First though, they would need time to explore and learn at least the rudimentary basics of each other, and that would have to keep till later that night.

But no later than that.

*****

THE END

If you enjoyed this story, please send feedback to: Helena Snow-Renn