Posted: September 2003
Title: So Young
Author: mormegil
Type: RPS
Rating: R
Characters: Viggo/Sean
Warning: Drug use. Songfic. Don't read if it's not your cup of tea.
Disclaimer: So not true it hurts.
Author notes: Posted first on Rugbytackle but is now dedicated to Laebeth, she knows why. Hope this one won't disappoint you.
Summary: "Come chase the dragon, old man!"

* *

So Young

"Because we're young, because we're gone,
We'll take the tide's electric mind, oh yeah? oh yeah,

We're so young and so gone, let's chase the dragon, oh

Because we're young, because we're gone,
We'll scare the skyes with tigers eyes, oh yeah? oh yeah,

We're so young and so gone, let's chase the dragon, oh
Let's chase the dragon…

…from our home high in the city where the skyline
stained the snow, I fell for a servant who kept me on the boil

We're so young and so gone, let's chase the dragon from our home!"

Suede, So Young

* *
*

All it takes are a few words for Viggo to know what he's up against.

"C'mon Vig. Come chase the dragon."

"Not again, no way. You're crazy, and we're not /so/ young."

"Well, speak for yourself."

"And we're not gone either. I'm not."

"Hah! Have you looked at yourself in the mirror lately?"

"I'm fine where I am, thank you."

"Come. Let's chase the dragon, old man."

* *
*

Sean's got tigers eyes tonight. Viggo reserves for them equal doses of hatred and love. He's lost count of the times that look has nearly landed them in trouble. Almost got them killed. No, that's not true. He remembers each time with frightening precision. Which means he also remembers the rush, the feeling of invulnerability, of absolute power and infinite possibility.

He should have seen it coming, of course. Should have guessed by the way Sean's large bedroom mirror lay over the living room table, two thick red candles placed neatly at the top.

Sean makes a point of ritualizing the drawing of lines over mirrored surfaces. There is passion in the way he cuts and crushes, spreads the lines in patterns, creating shapes pleasing to the eye, appealing to the senses. Turning what could be a decadent coke snorting session into a soireé of conoisseurs. He inhales angel dust through 100$ bills in slow easy breaths. There is no haste. Just the rush.

This must be untainted by need, driven by pleasure, he insists. He thrives in abundance, delights in waste.

And that's what keeps Viggo at ease with all of this, the lightness combined with the sense of ritual. They do this twice, maybe three times a year, and somehow he knows that these glimpses of Sean are for him and him alone.

The catch is, these nights of beauty and excess sometimes reveal more than glimpses. Viggo finds himself invited to a grand tour of Sean's private psyche, the willing victim of primeval urges sleeping just below the surface.

On a regular night they talk and talk and talk like they've got the world hanging on their words and there's nothing more important than getting it all out before there's no time left to talk. The bottle of scotch evaporates, cigarettes burn at the rhythm of hearts and before
he knows it Viggo's got Sean moving inside him, kindling fires he didn't know were burning, drawing pleads for things he never knew he wanted.

Then there are the "Let's chase the dragon, Vig!" nights. Seemingly endless, filled with desire for speed and the chase. Nights made for daunting fate and the devil, for reckless driving through vacant motorways, speakers on, full blast with songs of loss and anger and
longing for the unfathomable truths. Words wasted on furious youths made of whole big mouthfulls of nothing.

And these are the nights Viggo doesn't get the fucking of a lifetime. These are the tyger-eyed nights when Viggo invariably ends up on the terrace of an entrance-broken skyscraper, a trespassed lilly field or an usurped garden bench, Sean quietly weeping against his chest,
mourning the passing of something irretrievably beautiful he never even knew the meaning of.

*****

THE END


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