At Midnight

Posted: January 2003
Title: At Midnight
Author: Luna
Type: RPS
Characters: Sean/Viggo
Rating: PG-13
Disclaimer: It's fiction. Didn't happen. No matter how hard I might wish.
Author's notes: No beta so all mistakes grammatical, logical and otherwise are my stupidity.

Summary: Every relationship has a starting point. Sometimes it's no more than a single word.

*****

Viggo Mortensen was bewildered.

At midnight on a perfectly good night when he didn't have to be on the set in less than six hours, he was standing in the dark in his house in New Zealand rather than still drinking at the pub with Hobbits and Elf and Human. Well, Hobbits and Elf, Viggo reminded himself. The other Human had left. About as quickly as he'd arrived.

And that turn of events had the man even more confused.

Viggo hadn't bothered turning on the lights. He immersed himself in the darkness, sliding down the living room wall and letting the moon creep its way over his jeans, studying how the hue changed as the light slid across a nearly worn-through stretch of denim.

"You were stupid to think anything would happen," he chastised himself, making sure his brain understood by banging his head against the plaster.

"Viggo."

He started at the voice. How the accent fell heavier on the second syllable of his name. It bounced off his eardrum, slid down a frayed nerve ending and spiraled along his spine. Straight shot to his groin.

"What did you expect to happen?"

Viggo's eyes scoured the darkness, registered a silhouette on the chair at the opposite end of the living room. Sean Bean. The other Human in this coalescing Fellowship he'd recently joined. The particularly annoying Human.

"That explains where you went," he said.

"It does." Sean didn't move. "What did you expect to happen?"

"I don't know," Viggo stalled. He didn't want to answer.

"Viggo." He swallowed. Hard. Saliva refusing to make his mouth less dry as Sean's voice assaulted him. "You're the poet. Surely you can articulate an answer to a simple question."

Viggo ignored the taunt. Maybe it was the way he knew Sean manipulated words, that methodically maddening way the Sheffield boy could turn the Queen's English in on itself and meld sandpaper-fine nuances onto perfectly innocent syllables.

He wished it was simple. Then he'd understand the arousal clawing at his body. He was past the age of on-set flings. Or so he thought. He was happy being alone. Or so he told himself. He definitely wasn't looking for love. And he sure as hell hadn't anticipated it staring him in the face in Middle Earth. Blond and green eyes had always been a deadly combination for the painter's soul. His heart picked up on it from Sean's first hello. It had taken his brain a month to catch on and initiate discussion with his mouth about doing something. And the something his mouth wanted at that moment was to be kissing the nuances out of the Human who barely seemed to be breathing.

Or maybe it was just that simple. Say the words. Viggo pulled himself to his knees. "I want," he whispered out, unable to finish the thought.

"You have to be more specific, Vig." Sean's voice floated through the air, trailing along the dust darting across the moonbeams. Vig shivered at how Sean seemingly twirled the shortened version of his name around his tongue until it spilled from his lips. He pushed up on one knee, started to stand, but was stopped by the voice again. "I like you on the floor."

Likes me on the floor. Viggo mulled over the implications of such a simple statement. He wasn't submissive by nature. Never had been. In any relationship. With either sex. What, he wondered, was there about SeaneffingBean that forced his resolute dominance onto its hands and knees?

So, at a little past midnight, Viggo Mortensen found himself crawling through the dappled moonlight, exaggerating every move, consciously trying to tempt the unmovable object of his desire before him. It took him mere minutes to cover the short expanse of the living room, to place himself at Sean's feet.

Just how submissive do you want me? he silently asked of himself. "I want you, Sean," he said aloud as he craned his head up to meet Sean's eyes, the verdant gaze a little brighter this close. He brushed his hands over Sean's legs, fingering the soft denim.

"If you can't say it, you can't do it."

Viggo swallowed the laugh tickling his throat and with it the snide comment about how too-oft-quoted Bond villains ought not swipe lines from Tom Cruise flicks. "Fuck." He let the word slide out of his mouth with all the piety befitting a man on his knees.

*****

THE END

If you enjoyed this story, please send feedback to: Luna