Just Like The Movies
Recipient: idrillia
Author: enchanteresse
Pairing: Bean/Viggo
Rating: NC-17
Summary: Sean tries to track down Viggo.
Author's Note: Thanks to yueni for her tireless betareading efforts.
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Sean was worried.
In two days, it would be 2010, the kind of number that had sounded like science fiction when he was a child. He should have be spending it in England, with his girls and some of the ex-wives that still talked to him. Instead, he was sitting in an airplane, clutching a glass of whiskey as if it was a lifesaver and most pointedly not thinking about the landing.
There was something about sitting on a plane, carrying part of your life in a suitcase that was conducive to deep, introspective thoughts. There was the fact that he wasn't terribly happy with the last year of his life, for instance, or that he wasn't looking forward to the next one either. There was nothing wrong, exactly, just a nagging feeling that maybe something was missing in his life. Going in search of a friend to avoid the holidays was practically a relief. His eldest was bubbling with happiness, with that new diamond on her finger, but it only made him sad.
In fact, it made him feel like a total bastard.
Damn Viggo, he thought morosely while trying to stretch his legs in the cramped space. It was all his fault that he was on this fool's errand, after all.
They continued to meet off and on over the years, never working together again, but still taking the time to have dinner together at least once a year. The number of messages left on each other's answering machines had dwindled, but the link that had been forged during the Ring movies had never broken.
This was why, Sean, acting from an obscure intuition that something was wrong, had hastily packed one bag and left his comfortable (but too empty) home on a quest to find Viggo. He hadn't seen the other man in at least nine months. None of his messages had been returned. All he had learnt, he had gathered from the press or from Viggo's agents apologetically telling him that they had no idea where to find the damn Yank either. Something about the shocked, bewildered quality in Viggo's agent's voice had been enough to finally set Sean in motion.
Viggo had announced that he was retiring from the acting business, which wasn't terribly surprising in itself. What was really alarming was the fact that he had sold his publishing company to his partner, had cancelled all his future showings and had refused to give out any interviews about it. The last blow came when Sean had accidentally learned that Viggo had just given his horses and his dog to some of his friends.
It sounded more and more like the behaviour of a man who was preparing for his death. Then Viggo dropped off the face of the planet.
Sean finally decided, mostly because he was at his wit's end, to go straight to LA to try to find him.
**
When Sean finally made his way out of the airport, he felt like he had just narrowly escaped hell. He gave the cab driver Viggo's address, then spent the rest of the trip fighting off jet lag. When they turned into the familiar street, however, a jolt of adrenaline woke him up in a way that his bad coffee had failed to manage.
The sun had been setting when he landed in LA and now it was dark. He had no idea if Viggo was home, but he dismissed the driver nonetheless. He could always call another one on his cell later. He just didn't want anyone to witness his disappointment if the house was empty.
Viggo's place was tucked in a quiet corner of the street, with big trees hiding the façade. There were no lights in any of the windows, not even a solitary porch light. There was only the sound of distant traffic when he walked up the driveway. He thought for a moment that he had seen a curtain twitch, but convinced himself that it was a trick of the shadows.
Sean took a deep breath, squared his shoulders and pressed the doorbell. The feeling of dread increased when there was no answer, no even the sound of footsteps hurrying towards the door. He could see a corner of the couch from where he was standing, but there was none of the familiar mess that Viggo always left behind. He leaned into the doorbell more insistently, in a way that was guaranteed to annoy the hell of anyone inside, but there was still no answer.
He sighed and took a step back, looking up at the dark and closed windows upstairs, feeling particularly foolish. He had followed his intuition and it had led him this far, but he had no idea what to do at this point. He could always try to track down Henry, because he would certainly know where his father was, but he was loath to disturb someone who had been a teenager the last time they had met.
He walked around the side of the house, deeper into the shadows, until he hit the fence that enclosed Viggo's backyard. He fully expected to find it locked, but to his great surprise, he only had to slide the bolt open. He paused for a moment, uncertain of what to do next. Walking into someone else's backyard without an invitation made him feel like a thief.
He looked around nervously, hoping that some neighbor wasn't watching him through a window while calling the cops. Sighing, he muttered a curse under his breath and walked deeper into the backyard, carefully closing the gate behind him.
He hadn't taken into account how dark it would be back there, away from the streetlights. There was a bulky shadow in one corner that was probably a barbecue but it could have been an alien tripod intent on world domination. He could make out the shed at the back, but it didn't help. He cursed again when he almost tripped over a pile of firewood that had been abandoned in a corner, then looked around quickly, feeling even more foolish.
Viggo really wasn't home. He could push his search further, check if the patio doors were locked or not, but that was definitely trespassing. He was going to set off burglar alarms if he wasn't careful.
He took one last look at the dark house, still reluctant to leave, as if waiting for a sign. Sean had done so many movies that sometimes, he actually expected his life to work out like a predictable movie ending. The hero had to give up on his quest before a helpful clue would finally appear. This time, however, it appeared that he was out of luck.
He was about to walk away when he became convinced that he wasn't alone anymore.
"Viggo?" he softly called out, pleased that his voice didn't betray how nervous he was.
There was a soft sigh in the dark, then a silhouette moved forward, out of the shadows from the corner of the house. He couldn't make out any details, but there was something in the way that the other person walked that was heartbreakingly familiar.
"Viggo," he said again, sure of himself this time. "What the bloody hell do you think you're doing, skulking in the dark like that?"
"I could ask you the same question," Viggo said in his usual mumble of an American accent.
"I left you about ten messages over the last month and you never called me back," Sean said, wondering why he sounded like one of his ex-girlfriend.
"There was a reason I didn't call back, Sean," Viggo said, sounding very tired.
Sean walked closer, struggling to see Viggo's face more clearly.
"Are you sick?" he asked, voicing the first worry that had been niggling at the back of his mind. "You just drop everything, you even sold your horses, it's like you're preparing to die."
"I suppose you could put it that way," Viggo said, who was obviously intent on freaking Sean out.
"You want to tell me why I came all the way from England just to stand in your backyard and trade bad dialogue with you?"
There was another sigh.
"I don't know, I think it's a pretty good script myself. Very much like a horror movie."
"Yeah, I'm sure something is about to jump out and eat me. It's all very well done," Sean said. "Are you going to invite me in?"
"Isn't that a bit rude of you?" Viggo asked, cocking his head to the side. "I thought you were a burglar at first."
"Bullshit, you knew damn well it was me," Sean said, taking another step forward.
He was pretty sure that he was right too.
"I can call you a taxi to take you back to the airport," Viggo persisted, taking another step away from him.
"I want you to talk to me," Sean said. "Convince me that I can't help you and I'll leave."
"Sean, goddamit. I don't want you here for a very good reason. Get the fuck away from me!"
"Look, we've been friends for years, you've seen me at my worst," Sean said, trying to sound reassuring. "What's wrong? I can help you with it. Seriously, are you sick? You got hooked on coke or what?"
Viggo shook his head, then laughed. "You could say I have an addiction problem too."
"Well then," Sean said, ridiculously relieved to learn that Viggo didn't have cancer or something worse. "We can work on that."
"Jesus, Sean, what are you doing here?"
"I was worried about you, fucker," Sean said, stepping forward again, reaching for Viggo too quickly to give him the time to back away again.
He raised his hand to touch the other man's face, but his fingertips barely brushed against Viggo's skin before he realized that there was something odd, something about the texture.... then Viggo stepped away from him again, as if he had some highly contagious disease.
"Viggo?" Sean said again, feeling a little hurt.
He had nothing but harmless fantasies that would never see the light of day, certainly not after all these years, but it hurt nonetheless.
"I suppose you could come in, since you won't listen to me and leave," Viggo finally said.
"I'm going to punch you, that's what I'm going to do," Sean muttered as he followed Viggo, who was holding the patio door open for him.
He stepped into the dark kitchen, blinking and trying to make up any details in the dark. His eyes had gotten used to the moonlight outside, but the curtains were drawn, cutting out even that source in light.
"Did you forget to pay the electric bill?"
"Yes," Viggo said, apparently moving a kitchen chair around, judging from the sound.
"You don't want me to look at you," Sean flatly said.
"No," Viggo said, sounding like he was smiling a little.
"What happened to you?"
"You wouldn't believe me if I told you," Viggo said, his voice fading a little.
He was soon back, pressing a bottle of beer into Sean's hand.
"Thanks," he said, dumping his bag on the floor and draining a third of the beer in one long swallow.
Sometimes, a bloke really needed some alcohol to cope with crazy, difficult friends.
"I'll get you a flight for tomorrow morning," Viggo said, still sounding too far away for Sean's taste.
"What about you go fuck yourself instead? I don't need a bloody travel agent," Sean sweetly said. "What happened to you?"
"You won't believe me."
"Try me."
"I'm sure your girls are missing you," Viggo said, which was a low blow.
"What happens if I turn on the light and take a good look at you, Viggo?" Sean said, finishing the bottle.
He put it down on the floor, for lack of a better place, then walked towards Viggo's voice. He could vaguely make out where the table was and hoped he wasn't about to trip over some of Viggo's crap.
"I suppose I'll become hysterical. Or you will."
Sean reached out, brushing against what had to be Viggo's shirt. This time, the other man stayed put, which was progress of some sort.
"So, have you gone insane?" Sean asked conversationally. "Because you were always a little touched in the head."
"Nope."
"You're seeing critters because you're in withdrawal?"
"No. Not the kind of withdrawal you're thinking of, anyway."
"Viggo…" Sean said, his patience abruptly running out.
"I got turned into a vampire."
It was only the serious, even quality of Viggo's voice that stopped Sean from laughing.
"You're shitting me."
"No."
"You're serious."
"Yes."
Sean reached out again, really touch Viggo's face. It was as cold as ice.
"Fuck," he said, his hand fell away as if it had been burned.
"Yeah, pretty much," Viggo said.
**
They were sitting at the kitchen table. Sean had another beer in front of him, though he hadn't drunk a drop. He was peeling off the label, restlessly, mostly to have something to do with his hands. Viggo had relented enough to turn on a small lamp in the living room, allowing Sean to see enough to notice that Viggo didn't exactly look like himself. He was far too pale, even in the insufficient light.
"It happened in Buenos Aires," Viggo said while Sean was trying very hard to look like he believed him. "She said she was a big fan," he added with a self deprecating smile.
"Then what?"
Viggo shrugged.
"The usual story. She drank my blood and left me for dead. I can't stand sunlight anymore. I went to Idaho to try to be alone, but the horses were afraid of me. My own dog was growling at me, as if I had become some kind of monster. So I had to go away. I didn't want to drag all my friends into it."
"What were you going to do, fake your own death?" Sean asked, fascinated, still not sure that he believed that story.
There was a long silence.
"You weren't going to fake it," Sean added, slowly, feeling something twisting in his stomach.
"I don't have much choice, Sean. I need to kill people to survive. You have no idea… you're sitting there and I can smell your blood. I can't go on like this."
Viggo's voice broke and Sean laid a comforting hand on his wrist, ignoring the bit about Viggo being able to smell his blood. He wasn't exactly surprised that his life was turning out to be a script for a bad horror movie after all.
"You're not serious," he said again, tightening his grip on Viggo's wrist, as if that alone was enough to prevent him from disappearing. "What were you planning to do?"
Viggo shrugged, staring at the hand on his wrist.
"I figured walking out into the sun would do it, really."
"Do that and I'll kill you myself," Sean said, straightening up again, trying to find the energy from somewhere to deal with this.
"You need to sleep," Viggo finally said, having apparently just noticed that Sean was in need of a good shower and a bed.
"I'm not leaving you alone."
Viggo almost smiled, then shook his head.
"I promise I won't off myself in the next twenty four hours, alright? I'll even promise on my son's head, if it makes you feel any better," he finally said. "Now, are you going to stop arguing with me and get some sleep?"
"Good enough. I hope you have some clean towels," Sean said, getting up and retrieving his bag. "Because I won't accept the vampire thing as an excuse not to do laundry."
There was a long pause, then Viggo laughed, almost heartily this time.
"Fuck, I missed you."
**
It was the presence of a not so warm body in his bed that woke him up.
Sean had spent part of the day grocery shopping, because Viggo didn't have shit in his fridge, besides a very sorry looking cucumber. And beer. Then he had watched soaps, tried to convince himself that he had hallucinated last night's conversation. He had gone back to bed for a bit, because he was still tired. In the light of day, it had been hard to believe in the whole vampire thing. Now that it was night and he was waking up in a strange bed with Viggo sitting on the edge of it, he believed it.
He had been dreaming, an old erotic dream that involved Viggo wearing Aragorn's clothes, bending over him to give him a real kiss. He suspected it probably had something to do with Viggo's scent which clung to his pillow.
"How are you feeling?" Sean asked, sitting up and rubbing his face, hoping that he hadn't been talking in his sleep.
"Hungry," Viggo said in a voice that strongly implied it was a moronic question. "It's a pity it's too late in the season for girl scouts."
"It's so nice to see you keeping your sense of humour about it all," Sean said.
God, but he was so very fond of the bastard, even after all these years.
Viggo's shoulder slumped a little and Sean hesitantly reached out for him, gently tugging on his hair.
"Hey, I'm sure we can figure out something," he said awkwardly, instantly cursing himself for offering such useless words of comfort. "What are you ... what do you do for the blood?"
"I can stop myself from killing someone… mostly. You have no idea how hard it is. I thought I had a hard time quitting smoking," Viggo said, leaning into Sean's touch.
"You know, it's funny," Sean said, daring to pet Viggo's hair as he spoke. "You get to a certain age and you start watching your friends die, so I was sure that something had happened to you. And then I started kicking myself for not saying anything sooner," he continued, his accent thickening.
"Saying what?" Viggo asked, leaning into the touch like a shameless cat.
"I always had this thing for you, you see," Sean added, feeling himself flushing.
Viggo went so still for a moment that Sean started to withdraw his touch, fearing that he had gone too far. Then Viggo turned his head to nuzzle into his open palm and Sean had to sharply exhale. His friend was someone who was either very present or who could forget to put on his shoes before going out of the house; there was usually no middle ground for him. Suddenly, he was all there, intent on Sean, as if he had forgotten that he was supposed to be depressed.
"You're really picking an interesting time for this," Viggo said, not sounding at all like he minded.
The tip of Viggo's tongue briefly followed Sean's life line. Sean fought the temptation to just grab the other man and drag him into the warm nest of sheets and blankets.
"I'm tired of not getting what I want," Sean said with a strangled voice.
Viggo chuckled. He grabbed hold of Sean's hand and that tongue, that dirty, wonderful tongue was wandering up to his wrist, briefly pressing against Sean's thundering pulse before following the vein up his arm. Sean closed his eyes, thinking that the light touches were going to drive him mad.
The other man found a sensitive spot in the crook of his elbow, something Sean hadn't quite known about, which was enough to finally force him into action.
Sean swallowed heavily, then impatiently pushed that hand aside, grabbing a fistful of Viggo's shirt to drag him in bed. Viggo made a startled noise, then laughed, perfectly happy to fall on top of Sean, the covers bunching up between them.
Sean really wanted this, but he struggled to make this good for Viggo, tried to keep his hands from becoming too greedy, his mouth from creating bruises on the other man's skin. Viggo, however, begged him for all those things and more, not seeming to mind the bite in the hollow of one shoulder, actually pressing himself into it, as if he was hungry for the slight sting of pain. Viggo was letting himself be overpowered, it was as if he actively craved it, that he wanted Sean to have the upper hand in this.
Maybe he really wanted to forget.
Sean started caressing Viggo as if he had every right to it, not as if it had been forbidden for years. His hands traveled over the other man's slim, muscled body, exploring the fur on his chest, between his legs, mapping it. His hands, frustrated for so long, greedily teased flat nipples until they were hard little pebbles under his fingertips, until Viggo was thrashing and crying out under him, shamelessly grinding his erection into Sean's belly.
Viggo didn't feel cold inside when Sean slowly worked his body open with his own cock, fighting the grip of stubborn muscles to finally sink all the way in, both of them panting, covered with sweat. Viggo couldn't keep still anymore, twisting and digging his fingernails into Sean's back, then pulling on the sheets, until Sean had no choice but to try to nail him down, and keep the other man under him. He was fucking Viggo to try to keep him right there, right in this place and in this time, fucking him to try to deny that death was right around the corner, that the night would end at some point and that Viggo would have to go away.
He felt fangs against his neck, just for a moment, when Viggo went rigid and came all over both of them with a hoarse cry. Then Viggo's head fell back and the pressure disappeared, leaving the illusion of a mortal man behind him, around him, until Sean was desperately kissing Viggo as he came, kissing him hard enough to try to bring him back to life.
**
It was the year 2010, the kind of number that had seemed like science fiction when he was a child. He was going back to England to try to spend what remained of the holiday with his girls. He was pointedly trying not to think of what the landing would be like.
He was still feeling an ache when he moved about in his seat; Viggo had woken him up again before dawn. This time, there had been fangs grazing against his neck, not quite enough to make him bleed. He hadn't minded. He had been so busy trying to deal with the raw pleasure that he would have let Viggo do anything he wanted.
He drank his whiskey and thought of his life as a movie. He didn't remember seeing vampire movies with a happy ending. The vampire was usually dead, in those things. Sometimes he managed to redeem himself before the end, sometimes he was only a monster that had to be destroyed. If there was to be a happy ending at all, the vampire had to become mortal again. It was pretty much the only way to get the girl.
Viggo wasn't going to magically become human again. There was apparently no happy ending to be had there.
It was the middle of the night and most people were asleep. There was a man, a few seats over, who was busily typing away at his laptop. There was only silence surrounding Sean, the thought of the empty house awaiting him.
Then he turned his head and looked at Viggo, sitting next to him, reading a Spanish poetry book. They had argued for hours, until Viggo had agreed to come with him. Sean still didn't think there was going to be a happy ending, but sometimes movies had unexpected twists. There was a reason he was so much in love with movies, after all, because they surprised you.
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