Title: Caravaggio´s Painting / Shattered Illusions Author: klatschmohn and Ashlyn K. Toliver E-Mail: KTR525@yahoo.com Rating: R Characters: Sean B./Viggo M., Orlando B. Warning: This story deals with a dark side of love – jealousy. It contains elements of BDSM Disclaimer: All fiction! Summary: Everyone suffers from war injuries… but Orlando gathers his forces for the last battle… Chapter Five - Shattered Illusions This one moment seemed forever locked in time. Sean’s face was almost drained of colour, horrified as if seeing a ghost or one of the avenging furies shrieking invectives at him. He nearly sank to the floor in a faint, so stricken with guilt and shame. He must have been wishing that hell would open up and swallow him. And though I felt something akin to triumph, it didn’t feel quite like I thought it would. It was mixed with something else, like a bad premonition. “Sean…” Viggo asked, concern in his voice. “Oh my god…Viggo…” Sean groaned as he struggled to maintain his composure. It was expected he would be caught unaware, shocked and embarrassed at his lovers ‘sudden’ arrival and I was more than eager to see Sean Bean squirm like a schoolboy caught playing truant. I wanted to hear what lies he would tell, how he would tangle himself up in excuses and lies. I had also hoped that Sean would somehow react defensively, allow for his guilt to become misplaced anger at Viggo. Oh yes, it would be more than a pleasure to slowly reveal to Viggo what his precious Sean had really been up to… After all, I hadn’t forgotten nor forgiven Sean’s callousness towards me in the church. But as they say, all the best laid plans… Not in a million years would I have ever guessed that Sean would do what he did next. He confessed. “Viggo…forgive me…I did something wrong…I’m so sorry…” Oh my god…He actually confessed. And as Viggo stared at him, without the slightest clue as to what was going on, Sean looked at me in desperation, disgust, guilt, and reproach clearly marked on his sombre face. After a minute of loaded silence Viggo drawled, toneless: “You fucked him, didn’t you?” He nodded slowly. “I’m sorry…” Sean whispered, closing his eyes. “So even though I stayed strong – for you – and don’t think you’re special or something Sean, because the little slut offered his ass to me first,” I gasped, hearing for the second time the venom in Viggo’s voice as he referred to my attempted seduction, which had been real and not a game for me, “You just couldn’t keep your cock in your pants long enough and went chasing after Orlando’s ass. All I want to know is, did you fuck him or did he fuck you?” “Viggo…let me explain…” Viggo just pushed him back. “Explain what, Sean? That you brought him back to your room for a nice little after-filming fuck and that my showing up unannounced was bad form on my part?” His accusations made no sense, but Viggo was in no frame of mind to behave rationally. He turned on his heels. “Fine then, I’ll leave you to shag your little elfboy to your heart’s content. There’s another flight back tonight…” And Viggo headed for the door. Sean went after him immediately, catching his wrist and pulling him back hard. Viggo stood in front of Sean, sullenly staring at him. “Viggo, please…I know it was wrong but it didn’t mean anything…it was just a stupid mistake, that’s all. You don’t need to be jealous…” And there it was again, that strange deja-vu where art once again imitated life… There’s a scene in LotR (the extended version), where Boromir and Aragorn argue, with Boromir accusing the ranger of having more trust in elves and dwarves than in his own people. Aragorn, the arrogant git, merely shrugged free of Boromir’s grasp and walked away, not even deigning to give Boromir the barest hint of a reply. After a few steps he turned back to face Boromir, throwing some harsh words at the other man, telling him in no uncertain terms that the ring would never come anywhere near Gondor. Interestingly enough, Aragorn never really addressed Boromir’s accusation at all. It always seemed to me that Aragorn behaved rather shoddily towards the young captain of Gondor – never giving Boromir the slightest explanation or reason, just merely clung stubbornly to his position, repeating it louder than before, giving Boromir nothing that could be remotely considered as an answer. Typical Aragorn and typical Viggo – always needing to have the last word. No wonder Boromir wasn’t convinced. And what was happening right now between them, before my eyes, was exactly the same scenario. Viggo wrenched himself free with a sudden jerk of his arm, hurrying to reach the door, then suddenly whirled around, addressing Sean sharply, “Just for your information Sean, I don’t even take your cheap little piece of ass seriously enough to be jealous.” Ouch, that hurt – and though a retort was poised on my lips, one look at Viggo quelled any impulse I may have had to say anything. “But I can’t accept that after everything we’ve talked and argued about – after all your little hissy fits when I kiss a friend – that you have the nerve to pull something like this and expect me to trust you…” Just like Aragorn, only insisting upon his point of view. “One question, Sean…was he that good?” And he walked out of the room, leaving Sean breathing heavily, and then lowering his head with sudden frustration, in helplessness and disappointment, doubting himself and revolting inwardly at the same time. I said before the two of them didn’t have to act when it came to Boromir’s death scene. What I saw now was so similar to their performance in said quarrel that I began to wonder if they ever acted at all. But I realised something else, even more important… Viggo lied. He was jealous. He was not only jealous, he was insanely jealous, practically foaming at the mouth with jealousy. His reaction had nothing to do with honesty and trust and all that rot. Though he had not yet admitted it to himself, somewhere he must have realized that everything he thought he believed in – the whole ‘open relationship’ thing – was nothing more than cheap talk. I had been more than right after all when I told Sean that perhaps Viggo didn’t think he had it in him to find someone who could be viewed as a rival. Apparently, Viggo realized just how wrong he’d been. In more ways than one... ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ I went back to my room, tossing my clothes haphazardly on the floor as I quickly made my way into the shower, wanting nothing more than to wash away Sean’s scent from my skin. As the gentle spray rained down my body, I tried to recollect the events of the day and sort out all my jumbled thoughts. How should I classify what had happened between Sean and me? Had I seduced Sean or had he raped me? And why did it matter so much anyway when I had achieved my aim, which was to separate Sean from Viggo? And why didn’t it feel like I had won? I felt more like a leader who started a war without thinking of what to do after the enemy was defeated and who realised too late that instead of peace there was nothing left but destruction in the end. I had damaged the relationship of Sean and Viggo, perhaps permanently, but that hadn’t brought me any closer to Viggo. Believe it or not, though – that wasn’t what bothered me most. I was disappointed in Viggo. And that was not because he didn’t immediately turn to me for comfort, though in the state of mind he’d been in I realistically couldn’t see him doing that. The man had been my idol, my hero, my shining example of every virtue. It was more than admiration. I truly adored him. In my eyes he was that one perfect person, not only a renaissance man in nearly all the arts, with superior general education in science, politics and philosophy, but also flawless of character, the incarnation of kindness, dedication, courage, strength and – honesty. I was devoted to him. When he told me to swim across an icy river in the middle of the night, I did it, just because he wanted me to. And when Sean had selfishly abandoned him, I had done everything in my power could to comfort him, to show him that someone besides the Brit could love him. I had believed in him. In any given situation he knew what to do or what say. In some ways my respect and my hunger had grown greater even after he resisted me. But what I had seen half an hour ago was not what I would have expected of Viggo. His behaviour was so immature, hysterical… Weak. He was, at the end of the day, just a man… I knew he was jealous, but he lied – to himself and to Sean. He was running away to lick his wounds. Not daring to face his problems and talk it out with Sean. I had loved him for years, regarded him as the only man who was worth my love. If he wasn’t the man I saw in him, I took it as personal affront. Stepping out of the shower, I dried off quickly, donned a fresh pair of jeans while plotting my next move. Because, for all his failings, I still loved him. I took the taxi to the airport. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ You might laugh at my thoughts. But I have never pretended to be Mother Theresa when actually I was Iago. What made me different was that I was brutally honest with myself as far as what I wanted. Yes, I had lied, I had cheated, manipulated, schemed, but I knew it and offered no apologies for my actions. I didn’t lie to myself as Viggo did. I could say, that in expecting perfection from Viggo was rather typical for the sort of juvenile adoration I felt for him. Nevertheless, I still wanted him. Somehow, and without regard of my disappointment with him, I loved him even more, felt closer to him. As the cab moved slowly through the twisting, winding streets of Malta, I decided my next move would be to lay the blame for everything on Sean, starting from the kiss on the beach to his ravishment of me in this church. Sean couldn’t very well deny he had attacked me, not when he had already confessed his ‘crime’ to Viggo. I needed to explain to Viggo that I had been the innocent victim of his not-so-harmless lover – mind you, I had heard rumours Sean had been sentenced guilty for acts of violence more than once – and it was more than urgent that he didn’t leave the island. If I allowed him to leave now, within a few days he’d regret his actions and realise just how much he had over-reacted. He’d call Sean, they would talk, Sean would beg to be forgiven, and they’d reconcile. I had no intentions on allowing any of that to happen. Especially not after everything I’d done and had done to me. Though I hadn’t reached my goal, I still was closer to it than I’d been. All I needed was for their break-up to be a little crueller, less easy for the two of them to sort out. I definitely needed Viggo to hear my version of Sean’s infidelity. I assessed the situation objectively: Currently Viggo was in an extremely violent mood. Good. The only thing I needed to do was to get Sean in a similar mood as well, which wouldn’t be a difficult task considering Sean’s penchant for striking first and asking questions later. If I played my cards just right and somehow managed to get them in the same proximity, they would beat the living crap out of each other, which would hopefully be the final nail in the coffin of their relationship. But first things first – I had to make damn sure that Viggo didn’t get on that plane. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ As I entered the terminal, I saw Viggo standing in line to check-in, carrying his backpack in one hand, his wallet and ticket in the other. He saw me approaching him, froze in his tracks for a second, then behaved as if I weren’t even there. “Viggo!” No answer. The murderous look in his frightening icy-blue eyes made me pause, shivering and I was glad to be surrounded by so many people or I wouldn’t have dared to talk to him. “Viggo, listen to me…you can’t simply…” “Piss off,” he growled through clenched teeth. “Just piss off before I lose control.” It was clear I wouldn’t get very far with trying to talk some sense into him. My mouth moved silently, my hands gestured nervously, urgently… and then my eyes fell on the ticket in his hand… Yes, I’ve been called impulsive – and worse. Without a second thought as to what he’d do if he caught me, I snatched both his ticket and wallet from his hands and ran as if the very hounds of hell were on my heels. “You little shit!” I heard him curse, and then we were sprinting through the airport in a chase that would have done any movie director proud. Being chased through a not so crowded terminal by an enraged Viggo Mortensen was just as bad as the hounds. After all, a few doggy treats and they’re your friends. Viggo couldn’t be bought off as easily. I ran as if my life depended on it, refusing to look back, to see how close he was, though I thought I could feel his breath on my neck. I knew the man was pretty damn fast, his anger at both Sean and me lending wings to his pursuit, so I simply concentrated on eluding him. I hurdled effortlessly over suitcases and strollers, shamelessly used other waiting passengers and their entourages as obstacles, pushed luggage behind me to thwart him further. I used every dirty trick in the book, every stunt we’d practiced while in New Zealand, weaved in and out of the throng of people, who seemed to me frozen in place. Somehow, more with luck than anything else, we ended up on opposite sides of a glass wall, staring each other down. He was less than a yard away from my position but far enough for me to feel relatively safe. I smirked at him through the life-saving glass and triumphantly held up his ticket at one edge. “If you want it, come and claim it,” I taunted him in my best Arwen impersonation. Yes, doing that was as intelligent as sticking one’s head into the jaws of a starving lion, and the full-blown rage on Viggo’s face reminded me the only thing between myself and his wrath was a thin pane of glass. I’d seen that exact same look on Sean’s face just before he fucked me in the chapel. I knew I was treading in dangerous territory, and after my earlier experience with one volatile male, common sense should have warned me from the next course of action I’d decided to take… But I didn’t want him to leave. Not yet. Ever so slowly I lifted the other hand to the second edge. Viggo blanched. I gave him my sweetest, most insincere smile… …As I tore his return ticket into jigsaw-sized pieces with fiendish glee. Oh yes, Viggo wasn’t going anywhere now. That had to be one of the best moments in my life, as Viggo stood there completely helpless with rage. I still had his wallet, but Viggo didn’t bother to give chase. With one last death-promising look he simply walked back to where we began, shouldered his backpack that miraculously was still laying there and left the airport. I no idea what he would do next, whether he kept extra money or a credit card in his backpack, if he had a cell phone or not, and so I just followed him (from a safe distance) and watched him. I needn’t have worried though, for it seemed that Viggo just didn’t care what I did to him now. He never once looked in my direction. For about twenty minutes he sat on a bench in front of the airport, staring at nothing with empty eyes. I half expected for him to take a cab back to the hotel, but finally he just stood up and started walking and didn’t stop. He walked down the road aimlessly, as if any destination were better than the one he’d left. I waited until I almost lost sight of his retreating figure, then took off after him.