Maestro
Title : Maestro (1/2)
Author: dalehead
Pairing : VigBean
Rating : R (for bad language)
Summary : If music be the food of love, play on.
Disclaimer: This is entirely made up.
Author’s Note: For liars_dance hoping this will be more to your taste…
“Bollocks,” Sean threw the alarm clock across the room. “I gotta go…” he turned to the man asleep in his bed.
“Oi … Victor, I gotta go…”
“It’s Viggo,” one eye opened and looked up at Sean. “What time is it?”
“Eight…”
“Damn,” Viggo shot out of bed. So have I,” he reached for his jeans and tee shirt, pushed his feet into the sandals that Sean had been taking the piss out of. If he hadn’t noticed the “Jesus boots”, it was doubtful the two would have ended up in bed fucking all night.
Dressed, Viggo glanced around the room. “It’s been great, Steve, I’ve got your number, I’ll give you a call…”
“It’s Sean,” lips twitching a little. “You haven’t but don’t sweat it mate,” Sean reached for his towel, wrapped it around his hips. “I need to grab the bathroom now, we’ve a rota, if I miss my slot…”
Viggo grinned. “Sure … Um …” he went to the bedroom door. “See you around,” and he was gone in a cloud of last night’s aftershave and stale cigarette smoke.
Sighing Sean went to the bathroom. He hated auditions. With a passion. Nothing pissed him off more than having to “perform” first thing in the morning. Although, in fairness, to most people 11am was not first thing in the morning. But having got use to working most evenings, either performing or ushering at the Barbican Hall, Sean thought anything before midday was equivalent to the middle of the night.
Someone was banging on the door as he left the shower.
“Hurry up you northern animal,” it was Harriet. “You’re not the only one and if you’re having a mammoth one, leave the pan clean,” Sean grinned. Mouthing in unison with her. Dirty bugger.” It never ceased to amaze him how someone as posh as Harriet, the Honourable Harriet no less, could have such a dirty mouth.
Finally back in his own room, Sean had enough time to practise for his audition before leaving home, picking his way over the detritus in the hall, where there were invariable at least four bicycles as well as numerous free newspapers and piles of junk mail. In New Cross, where Sean lived, one didn’t leave anything outside the front door else it would get nicked in a heartbeat.
The joy of the place though, was the cheapness of the rent and the fast train service to London Bridge, close to work and college where he was supposed to be doing a Teaching Certificate but where he only went to drink the cheap beer. On the train which was on time for once, he went through his piece again, mentally ironing out the bits that troubled him.
When he arrived it was, of course, to find they were running late. Not a great surprise. He sat down with the rest of the hopefuls and immediately fell asleep. It was Sean’s great gift. He could sleep anywhere at anytime. Luckily he could wake up too, be alert and ready to go.
“Sean Bean…” a woman’s voice called and immediately Sean stood up.
“Here,” he picked his way across the room.
“Sorry to have kept you, I’m Sally Thaxted, I’m the orchestra manager. You’ll be playing for Sian Kempton, our conductor and Viggo Mortensen, our first violinist. Not that he has much to do with the violas but he’s got perfect pitch…” she paused. “Are you alright?”
“Um, yeah, just I think I may know Viggo … Mortensen did you say?
“Oh I’m sure you do, he’s played just about everywhere in his time, now come on through.”
There was no good reason for Sean to muck it up but muck it up he did. He started off in the wrong key and got the timing completely skewhiff and although he played all the right notes, to quote the late, great Eric Morecombe, they may not have been in the right order.
Gutted, he left Guildhall where the auditions were being held and made his way home. He didn’t even feel like having a pint. He kept telling himself, he didn’t want to play in an orchestra that was not yet world class, but he knew it would be; everyone knew it would be. Sian Kempton was taking the classical music world by storm. There were rumours that she’d even turned down the Berlin Phil in favour of the City Phil.
~~
Exactly twelve months later, now a qualified music teacher, Sean Bean set off to the South Bank Centre. He was part of the Steele Ensemble, a newish string quartet who were garnering not a little success in the chamber music world. They had their first recital at the Queen Elizabeth Hall and Sean was both excited and terrified. They were playing a programme of Schubert, including Death and the Maiden, one of Sean’s favourite pieces. He was whistling as he came into the Artists’ Entrance, waving to Alan, the security guard and shouting an obscenity about Chelsea who he knew Alan was passionate about.
The rest of the band were in the Green Room, having a pint, Sean marvelled that these girls could all drink him under the table.
“Hiya,” Florence patted the seat next to her. “Sit down, have a cup of tea and then we’ll have a little run through.”
Florence Steele had started the Quartet, had originally intended for it to be all girls but then she’d heard Sean playing and changed her mind. Course it helped that Sean was gay, for although he was devastatingly gorgeous, none of them had to worry about pulling him. It was a recipe for success.
“City Phil are playing next door,” Vicky-T remarked. “I auditioned for them last year, got a recall then fucked it up,” she grinned. “Good thing too, I prefer what we do.”
“That’s weird, so did I,” Sean murmured. “Shagged Viggo Mortensen the night before… When I showed up and there he was, I lost my nerve.”
“You’re shitting me…” Lyn-Z stared at him. “You shagged Viggo Mortensen…”
“Actually Viggo Mortensen shagged him…” a voice interrupted.
Four chins simultaneously hit the deck as into their midst, dressed in a tux, feet bare, walked Viggo Mortensen himself.
TBC
Author: dalehead
Pairing : VigBean
Rating : R (for bad language)
Summary : If music be the food of love, play on.
Disclaimer: This is entirely made up.
Author’s Note: For liars_dance hoping this will be more to your taste…
“Bollocks,” Sean threw the alarm clock across the room. “I gotta go…” he turned to the man asleep in his bed.
“Oi … Victor, I gotta go…”
“It’s Viggo,” one eye opened and looked up at Sean. “What time is it?”
“Eight…”
“Damn,” Viggo shot out of bed. So have I,” he reached for his jeans and tee shirt, pushed his feet into the sandals that Sean had been taking the piss out of. If he hadn’t noticed the “Jesus boots”, it was doubtful the two would have ended up in bed fucking all night.
Dressed, Viggo glanced around the room. “It’s been great, Steve, I’ve got your number, I’ll give you a call…”
“It’s Sean,” lips twitching a little. “You haven’t but don’t sweat it mate,” Sean reached for his towel, wrapped it around his hips. “I need to grab the bathroom now, we’ve a rota, if I miss my slot…”
Viggo grinned. “Sure … Um …” he went to the bedroom door. “See you around,” and he was gone in a cloud of last night’s aftershave and stale cigarette smoke.
Sighing Sean went to the bathroom. He hated auditions. With a passion. Nothing pissed him off more than having to “perform” first thing in the morning. Although, in fairness, to most people 11am was not first thing in the morning. But having got use to working most evenings, either performing or ushering at the Barbican Hall, Sean thought anything before midday was equivalent to the middle of the night.
Someone was banging on the door as he left the shower.
“Hurry up you northern animal,” it was Harriet. “You’re not the only one and if you’re having a mammoth one, leave the pan clean,” Sean grinned. Mouthing in unison with her. Dirty bugger.” It never ceased to amaze him how someone as posh as Harriet, the Honourable Harriet no less, could have such a dirty mouth.
Finally back in his own room, Sean had enough time to practise for his audition before leaving home, picking his way over the detritus in the hall, where there were invariable at least four bicycles as well as numerous free newspapers and piles of junk mail. In New Cross, where Sean lived, one didn’t leave anything outside the front door else it would get nicked in a heartbeat.
The joy of the place though, was the cheapness of the rent and the fast train service to London Bridge, close to work and college where he was supposed to be doing a Teaching Certificate but where he only went to drink the cheap beer. On the train which was on time for once, he went through his piece again, mentally ironing out the bits that troubled him.
When he arrived it was, of course, to find they were running late. Not a great surprise. He sat down with the rest of the hopefuls and immediately fell asleep. It was Sean’s great gift. He could sleep anywhere at anytime. Luckily he could wake up too, be alert and ready to go.
“Sean Bean…” a woman’s voice called and immediately Sean stood up.
“Here,” he picked his way across the room.
“Sorry to have kept you, I’m Sally Thaxted, I’m the orchestra manager. You’ll be playing for Sian Kempton, our conductor and Viggo Mortensen, our first violinist. Not that he has much to do with the violas but he’s got perfect pitch…” she paused. “Are you alright?”
“Um, yeah, just I think I may know Viggo … Mortensen did you say?
“Oh I’m sure you do, he’s played just about everywhere in his time, now come on through.”
There was no good reason for Sean to muck it up but muck it up he did. He started off in the wrong key and got the timing completely skewhiff and although he played all the right notes, to quote the late, great Eric Morecombe, they may not have been in the right order.
Gutted, he left Guildhall where the auditions were being held and made his way home. He didn’t even feel like having a pint. He kept telling himself, he didn’t want to play in an orchestra that was not yet world class, but he knew it would be; everyone knew it would be. Sian Kempton was taking the classical music world by storm. There were rumours that she’d even turned down the Berlin Phil in favour of the City Phil.
~~
Exactly twelve months later, now a qualified music teacher, Sean Bean set off to the South Bank Centre. He was part of the Steele Ensemble, a newish string quartet who were garnering not a little success in the chamber music world. They had their first recital at the Queen Elizabeth Hall and Sean was both excited and terrified. They were playing a programme of Schubert, including Death and the Maiden, one of Sean’s favourite pieces. He was whistling as he came into the Artists’ Entrance, waving to Alan, the security guard and shouting an obscenity about Chelsea who he knew Alan was passionate about.
The rest of the band were in the Green Room, having a pint, Sean marvelled that these girls could all drink him under the table.
“Hiya,” Florence patted the seat next to her. “Sit down, have a cup of tea and then we’ll have a little run through.”
Florence Steele had started the Quartet, had originally intended for it to be all girls but then she’d heard Sean playing and changed her mind. Course it helped that Sean was gay, for although he was devastatingly gorgeous, none of them had to worry about pulling him. It was a recipe for success.
“City Phil are playing next door,” Vicky-T remarked. “I auditioned for them last year, got a recall then fucked it up,” she grinned. “Good thing too, I prefer what we do.”
“That’s weird, so did I,” Sean murmured. “Shagged Viggo Mortensen the night before… When I showed up and there he was, I lost my nerve.”
“You’re shitting me…” Lyn-Z stared at him. “You shagged Viggo Mortensen…”
“Actually Viggo Mortensen shagged him…” a voice interrupted.
Four chins simultaneously hit the deck as into their midst, dressed in a tux, feet bare, walked Viggo Mortensen himself.
TBC