Linger 4 – Poetry and Prose Author: rotpunkt (klatschmohn) Pairing: VigBean Rating: R-NC17 Warning: None Disclaimer: All made up Summary: This is an interpretation of Viggo´s book “Linger” as a story Note to Helena: Danke mein Schatz! The street corner wasn´t a very appropriate place to talk; neither did Viggo want to discuss their private concerns in a pub. Sean knew Viggo had a hotel room somewhere in the city, but didn´t dare ask about it. If he was very lucky, Viggo would perhaps invite him there later; but certainly not now, after he had just made it clear – though in a somewhat “original” way – that he was afraid they´d drift along their usual “shipping channel” once again and fucking would replace the talking as it had so many times before. They decided to talk in Sean´s car, which he had parked nearby, but unfortunately on more of a main road. It was still far too crowded with people who curiously peeked at them through the front window. Sean suggested they drive just a short distance to a quieter area of town. But when he shifted gears to pass the third corner, he heard long, deep breaths accompanying the humming of the engine. He flicked a short glance sideways – his eyes opened wide and he almost ran the next streetlight. He shook his head, disbelieving, then chuckled inwardly. Viggo had fallen asleep, probably as soon as he had fastened the seat belt. Viggo had once told him of an incident from his childhood, when his mother had angrily scolded him. Ten minutes later she noticed he was gone. Panicking through the whole house looking for the little boy in growing suspicion that he had run away, she finally found him where she had least expected him - sleeping as innocently as an angel in his bed. The embrace of sleep seemed to be Viggo´s natural emergency escape from conflicts he found hard to face. Sean sighed. He didn´t want to wake him up. He had no clue where his hotel room was. While he kept on driving, anxious a sudden halt of the engine would disturb Viggo´s sleep, his eyes were repetitiously drawn back to the peaceful face beside him. Varying colours of neon writings and traffic lights bathed Viggo´s features in quickly changing arrangements of fluorescent paint. Radiant blue and purple flecks and aphotic darkness obscured parts of it. Sean felt reminded of Viggo´s self-portraits in photos: never revealing his face completely, showing only puzzle-pieces of himself – masking behind interestingly-shaped shadows… just enough to give a hint this could be Viggo. Sean drove around in silly circles, overcome by a Godot-like sensation of complete and absolute absurdity. Once again his eyes fell on the “Sleeping Beauty” besides him. Slowly but irresistibly, an idea beckoned. It was a two-hour drive to Viggo´s home – for Sean, that was. It would have taken three and a half for Viggo. Whatever Viggo had left in the hotel, they could fetch it tomorrow. Sean was tired and worn out, too, after listening to Viggo´s poetry reading, then hiding from all the women in Viggo´s audience while holding out and waiting for him for hours, not to mention the convoluted dramatics of their talk and chaotic outburst of all the contradictory feelings between them. But looking at Viggo in sweet slumber he felt very protective about his man. He would bring him home safely, however exhausted and drained he felt himself. Carefully, he fumbled for Viggo´s coat on the backseat with his right hand. He emptied the pockets – there was nothing in them besides Viggo´s keys anyway – then rolled and crumpled it into a cushion, fastidiously stuffing it under Viggo´s cheek to stabilise the position of his head. A while later – he was already about to hit the highway - he had managed to drape his own coat over Viggo´s body to give him warmth, all while steering one-handedly. When they arrived at the familiar house, Viggo was even more deeply asleep. For some minutes, Sean quietly watched him, unable to call him back into night, cold, and reality. After a while he saw two of Viggo´s neighbours coming down the street, probably returning after a long night out. He simply let the two figures creep across his retinas, without any definite thought gaining gestalt in his diffuse mind…until sudden enlightenment almost made him leap off the seat. * Half an hour later, Sean lurched out of Viggo´s bathroom and crept into bed beside him. Sean smiled with the satisfaction of having managed to bundle off a consciousless Viggo from the car into the bed. For three men, Viggo wasn´t a heavy weight… the hardest part of the task had been suppressing his laughter. A broad grin stayed on Sean´s face while sleep carried him away on its wings… Sean was the first to wake up. Though it couldn´t have been more than three or four hours of sleep, he felt refreshed and energy-loaded. He sneaked out of the bedroom and downstairs into the kitchen and living room. It was a wonderful morning: shimmering pale rosé flushed the room, and with the rising sun, cascades of golden light burst through the terrace door. It was cool outside, but Sean couldn´t resist and stepped out. The horizon was decorated with garlands and wavering cloud-ribbons in light and happy colours, as if the sun was celebrating her birthday today. Sean stretched his limbs cat-like, breathed in deeply and returned into the kitchen to prepare breakfast. Aromatic clouds of coffee, milk and toast smells swept through the house. “You kidnapped me home…” came Viggo´s murmur from the stairs, just as Sean carried a huge steaming pot of coffee into the living room, whistling quietly. Viggo´s blue eyes were still round and wondering. That´s what I wanted to do for a very long time, Sean thought, but merely grinned. They ate and drank silently, both knowing they had to talk, but unsure of how to start. “I interrupted you last night,” Viggo said. Sean collected himself doubtfully. He wasn´t sure whether he really should take the long way via Viggo´s book once again, instead of speaking right out what he wanted to say. But Viggo had already shoved a copy of “Linger” towards him. He smiled, noticing Sean´s worried eyes. “I´d like to hear the rest of your interpretation of my book.” Sean hesitated, but inwardly agreed it might be easier for them to get started, when they just moved along his initial concepts… after all these years out of practise in talking about their issues. Sean didn´t want to act as an impostor, so he started with putting things straight and told Viggo that he had planned this together with Dave. “… but it was my idea,” Sean confessed. “It started when I looked at one of Georg Gudni´s paintings – Yes, I´ve been to the exhibition,” he admitted at Viggo´s quizzical look. “Suddenly it was no wonder to me that you are so fascinated with them, because they do “linger.” They give a sense of what “linger” is, holding and keeping the true essence of what will never change in a landscape to the end of time. The longer I looked at his paintings, the better I understood that your photos are the exact opposite of that, Vig – and therefore, in some way, go together so brilliantly with these paintings in an exhibition. His paintings speak of eternity, your photos of split moments.” Viggo stared at Sean for a long while. Sean wasn´t sure whether he might have crossed a line again, and didn´t push any further, waiting for Viggo´s reaction. An enigmatic and sinister shadow ghosted over Viggo´s face. With a cool and neutral voice he answered. “I´m influenced by the art of the Impressionists, Sean. The fleeting light and random movements of their subjects.” He inwardly gathered ammunition, thinking of the statements of critics who attested he gave “lucid glimpses,” surprises with perspective and composition in experimental ways, and considered which of the praises he should use against Sean. But Sean was faster. “Oh, your photos are everything you want - everything but appropriate illustrations for a book called ´Linger´.” Sean didn´t know where the words came from. He simply felt that Viggo was building up his resistance again. His art was still his castle and he wasn´t prepared to give up his defences so easily. He knew he aimed at the weakest, most vulnerable point, but it was now or never if he wanted to get through to Viggo. He never once had had a chance in a discussion with Viggo concerning the “higher intellectual things,” though sometimes he knew he had the deeper approach - but instinctively, without being able to put it to words. It was just how he had fleshed out Boromir by instinct, whereas Viggo would have been able to write a postdoctoral thesis on Aragorn. Sean usually didn´t win arguments. This time, he had to. He shook his head. “The impressionists of the 19th century tried to catch and celebrate the beauty of the moment, your photos mourn and be-weep the realisation that it cannot be caught. Your photos show more of the sadness of losing the moment forever than of the moment itself.” Viggo was completely taken aback. Sean´s short statement was so simple and true that he couldn´t close his eyes and deny. That was how life had felt to him for a long while… that everything was over and gone before you even fully perceived it, like water or sand running through your fingers. “Lola….” There was a low snarl in Sean´s voice as he pointed at the blurred black and white photo at page 83. Viggo, whose thoughts had been far away, was caught unaware by Sean´s subtle aggression. “Didn´t last, eh? You wiped her out more than portraying her… everything´s shattered to fragments of light and movement.” Viggo flinched, but at the painful undertone of jealousy in Sean´s voice he bit back his angry retort. And with it, the remaining resistance broke down. His shoulders sank, his features slackened, and when he spoke it was the apathetic mumble that had disqualified him as an actor in the first place. “So what? You proved to me that I´m lonely? What´s the point?” Viggo looked so sad and young... Sean couldn´t help it, he simply blurted out the words: “Viggo - can we go to bed? I swear I will go on talking to you.” He needed to hold Viggo in his arms. Now. “If you were a woman I would half believe you could manage that,” Viggo drawled, doubtfully, but with a hint of amusement. “I keep hearing that,” Sean complained and looked hurt, quickly jumping on the opportunity to take the grave seriousness out of their conversation. “Dave said the same thing when I offered him to give him the best blowjob of his life – just a joke.” They often teased each other because of their mutual jealousy. Viggo usually teased Sean, because he couldn´t hide his jealousy in the slightest; Sean teased Viggo, because he wouldn´t admit his jealousy at all. Viggo shook his head, disdainfully. “You sucked him off as a thank you for helping you with a poetry interpretation?” “I told you it was just a…” “Slut.” Viggo grinned back over his shoulder, because he was already on his way to the bedroom, and thus, obviously not angry at Sean. Sean indulged Viggo with slow, tender love-making, stroking and kissing him all over, touching and caressing every inch of his body. While never ceasing to show his tenderness and passion for Viggo with his hands, mouth, and body, he told him everything he had wanted to tell him for a very long time. He explained to him why he had evaded the confession he knew Viggo wanted to reveal to him in New Zealand – that it wasn´t indifference or coldness towards Viggo. He had honestly believed the emotions that had entered into the sex were only the result of a period confusion due to their isolation and deprivation of family and acquaintances on the island, and the almost-incestuous closeness of the Fellowship. He went on fondling and cuddling Viggo, by and by directing a little more attention to his central parts. Softly squeezing Viggo´s balls, stroking very lightly over Viggo´s tight hole with his fingers, he painted tiny circles on the sensitive pucker that clenched involuntarily in anticipation. Viggo relaxed, almost completely passive, letting Sean shape and form him to his delight. He sighed, moaned and shuddered with lust under Sean´s administrations. With no hurry at all, Sean continued to prepare him, to carefully open him up for him. He told him how over the years he had come to realise how much he loved Viggo, how he had tried to talk, but Viggo had shut him off. Effortlessly, gracefully, Sean spread Viggo´s legs, sliding between them with his long, lean, naked body, rubbing against the mellow wetness of his well-moistened balls. Sean had generously spread the lube all over his groin area, loving to swimmingly smooth over his skin and along his cleft before he entered him. He finally told him how Dave and he had agreed Viggo´s photos and poetry seemed to be the only soft spot in his perfectly sheltered privacy, and that Sean should attack from there… Viggo was already floating in a cosmos of lust. There were no single perceptions, his senses didn´t work separately; it was a big whole synaesthetic celebration of sensual pleasure. When Sean finally breached him, he seemed to touch him everywhere at once, inside and outside. His voice was prickled his skin and reverberated in his veins and cells. Sean was in him and all around him; he was lost in Sean. “And now…?” Viggo whispered, athirst for Sean though already drowning in pure Sean-ness. “How shall we go on? How do you want to go on?” “I want to…” Sean bent down, until his lips touched Viggo´s and he kissed him, while Viggo passively let him, but soon couldn´t help responding to Sean´s warm, softly teasing tongue. As soon as he felt Viggo giving in, Sean contentedly drew back, his green eyes locked with Viggo´s and he closed his sentence: “….linger.” * Epi (dia) logue: „Sean – what would Dave answer, if a good friend of his, let´s say Karl, asked him who gave him the best blowjob of his life?” “Fuck you – you wouldn´t send Karl to spy on him, Viggo! Would you?” “Tell me the truth and I won´t need to.” “Goddammit. He deserved a reward, didn´t he?” “Slut.” Laughter.