Fic: Rugbytackle
The authors are up at slashababy, so I can post this here now. :)
Title: Rugbytackle
Author: AngiePen
Fandom: Celebrity RPS
Pairing: Viggo/Sean
Rating: NC-17
Request: "VigBean is my main love ... Angst that doesn't stand in the way of a happy ending is fine, but not required, as I'd be just as happy with a more upbeat story; informal BDSM is listed among my kinks (not so interested in rigid 24/7 D/s); and when it comes to VigBean I'm most fond of established relationship fic (vs. the more popular "first time" fic). I'm not too big on schmoop, though, so... I tend to shy away from fic in which the characters call each other "Baby" and the like; affection and love is wonderful, as long as it doesn't get too sticky-sweet."
Summary: To Viggo, it was just having some fun for old time's sake, but the result wasn't at all what he'd intended. Any chance a few braincells will've been jarred loose?
Disclaimer: I don't own anyone you recognize. I know nothing about their social lives or sexual activities, more's the pity. This is fiction, period. It is done as a labor of love and I make no money from it.
Notes: AU in that Sean isn't married. Written for caras_galadhon for the 2009 slashababy fest.
It'd seemed like a good idea at the time. How many disasters started out that way?
Sean'd insisted on renting a car at the airport, saying he didn't fancy braving the ruts of rural Idaho in that rattletrap pile o'shite Viggo called a truck, which had made Viggo cackle at him over the phone. They'd gone back and forth with the usual round of insults before hanging up, but the idea'd popped into Viggo's head as soon as he thought of Sean driving up by himself and he'd laughed again after they got off the phone.
So four days and some-odd hours later, after he'd spotted a shiny, new-looking car he didn't recognize bumping slowly up the snow-rutted drive, he snuck out the back door and lurked behind a couple of evergreens near the side of the walk. As soon as Sean passed by, slipping and muttering to himself, Viggo -- who was wearing the sturdy, cleated boots he wore to do work around the yard and barn in that kind of weather -- got a good run up behind Sean and rugbytackled him.
They landed in a pretty deep snowbank, where he'd been piling the snow he shovelled off the walk for the previous month, but apparently the snow wasn't soft enough because Sean let out a first class holler when they hit. At first Viggo laughed 'cause he thought Sean was just bitching, which'd been the whole point of doing it, but when the hollering kept going, along with some bitching and moaning and gasping, it finally occurred to him that there was something wrong.
Well, that sucked.
He hauled himself to his feet, then got a good, stable stance and helped Sean up. Sean had a hand on the small of his back and he was still moaning and griping and hyperventilating.
"--the fuck were you thinking, you daft wanker?!" Sean asked at the end of a tirade, just as Viggo was helping him into the upholstered armchair by the fireplace.
"I said I was sorry! Seriously, man, I just thought it'd be a little fun. Like old times, you know?"
"What, were you asleep when you passed fifty? Or when I did? We're not kids anymore, you know? Hell, we weren't kids when you did that the first time, and it weren't much fun even back then." He shifted his weight in the chair and griped, "Fuck, that hurts! I think I sprained something. No, you sprained something!"
"Sorry," Viggo muttered. He scuttled off to find the hot water bottle, fill it, and stick it in the microwave, then dug up a bottle of ibuprofen and handed it to Sean, along with a glass of water.
Sean took the pills and the glass and tossed Viggo his keys. "My bags are in the trunk. What, you can't be imagining I'm going to haul them in myself? You'd have to call a fucking medevac chopper to airlift me out."
Viggo took the hint -- well, the order, really -- and headed out to get Sean's bags.
Viggo felt like shit, seriously. He'd never meant to do any actual damage, and hurting Sean -- or at least, really hurting him, like an injury -- was the last thing he'd ever wanted.
Besides, he'd been looking forward to some hard, pounding sex, preferrably a lot of it in various times and places, and it looked like he was out of luck, maybe for the whole visit.
Massive suck.
Sean got as comfortable as possible in his chair and stayed there, less a couple of carefully tottering trips to the bathroom. Viggo fetched and carried and re-warmed the hot water bottle, which Sean kept tucked into the small of his back. The ibuprofen helped enough that his breathing slowed back down to normal, but there were still pain lines in his forehead and at the corners of his eyes.
Just then, Sean demanded another mug of tea, and so the afternoon went. Viggo stayed nearby, slouched on the sofa with a journal in his lap, ready to fetch or adjust whatever Sean needed. He fixed a more elaborate lunch than he'd ever made for himself because Sean didn't want "some rubbishing sandwich or one of your hippie salads." After lunch Sean took a nap right there in the armchair, sleeping off some of the jet lag with a blanket tucked around him and the fire warming his feet.
Some of the lines smoothed out with sleep, but it was still obvious that Sean had gotten older in the years they'd known one another -- been friends, been lovers. Not that it was any kind of surprise, really, but still, it was maybe something he hadn't really got, in his gut, no matter how aware his brain had been.
Sean was right; they were both older, neither of them kids anymore, despite how Viggo felt inside sometimes. Well, all right, a lot.
Viggo thought about their years together and realized with a surprised blink that he'd been with Sean for longer than he'd been married to Chris.
The rare steaks and baked potatoes with butter met with Sean's approval at dinner, even if he ignored the chili powder Viggo liked to coat his own potato with under the butter. The percentage of grousing in the conversation fell for a while, and by the time Viggo'd cleaned up and it was time for bed, he was starting to think Sean might be feeling enough better that the fucking wasn't necessarily off the table.
They headed into the bedroom with Sean leaning on Viggo, an arm across his shoulders and Viggo's arm around Sean's waist. Sean stopped halfway down the hall and arched his back with a soft moan. Viggo yanked his hand away and grabbed Sean by the arms, in case he was about to fall or something, but Sean said, "Na, it felt good, the pressure against my back."
"Oh, good, cool." Viggo put his arm back, pressing a little harder, kind of half a rub, and they started walking again.
Sean stripped down to his boxers, every move deliberate, then lowered himself onto the mattress the same way. He lay down on his side with a long, huffing exhale, his knees bent and his backside presented like a gift Viggo wasn't allowed to unwrap.
He managed not to groan or curse or even sigh very hard while pulling his own jeans and sweater off, then headed around to the other side of the bed, facing Sean's front.
"Sorry," he muttered while pulling the covers up over them both. He cuddled up against Sean and dropped a quick kiss on the end of his nose. "Careless." Another kiss, this time on his shoulder. He ducked his head and whispered, "Just wasn't thinking," then scooted farther down the bed, tugged the front of Sean's boxers down and sucked the head of his cock into his mouth.
Sean gasped in a quick breath, then gave a pleased, uneven hum. "There now," he said, his voice tight and breathy, "there you go. Fuck, you're good at that." He rotated onto his back and Viggo followed him around, finally stretched out between Sean's bent legs.
He stroke the hardening cock with one hand while licking down onto the wrinkled sack below. He felt a hand push into his hair and clutch.
The sting in his scalp sent a thrill through him and he sucked harder, nibbling at the loose skin with his teeth -- but carefully. The memory of hurting Sean, of really hurting him, still stung.
Carefully then, he teased with teeth and tongue until the hand in his hair pressed him closer. He took one ball into his mouth and rolled it around with his tongue, savoring the smooth-stretched skin and the blood-warm heat of it and the rich musk flavor.
He let it slide out of his mouth and licked his way up to the fully hard cock. The shaft was solid and salty under his tongue; he kissed his way up to the head and gave it a long, slow suck.
Sean tilted his hips up and made an "Nnnnn!" noise that had Viggo sucking harder. He ran his hands up and down Sean's thighs, then slid them under his ass and lifted his hips higher, taking him deeper. He felt a driving compulsion to focus completely on Sean, to do the best job he'd ever done and, like, make up for... everything.
When Sean convulsed and spurted down his throat with a hoarse yell, Viggo felt almost as much satisfaction as if he'd come himself.
They weren't anywhere in particular but that felt normal and Viggo didn't worry about it. Sean was there -- he was always there always around even if only on the phone or in e-mail and whenever they felt like getting together they did. They were kicked back on the sofa with beer on the table and football on the TV.
Except it was snowing and they were up the mountain in a clearing near a cliff where the sunlight cast creeping broken shadows all day long starting with a spectacular dawn. Viggo had his camera and he was taking pictures never having to reload just snap-snap-snap and Sean was still there until the sun finally set and Sean was fucking Viggo against the rough bark of a white pine his camera still in his hand.
But then Sean was gone out into the after-midnight gloom and there was a swirl of brown and white doughy paste spread across Sean's kitchen table plain flour and water kneaded with chocolate and flour and water so the colors splotched and curved and then pressed onto the table with a sheen of melted butter over it all because the lights over the stove shone from the perfect angle to give the whole thing a mirror glisten and he was taking pictures again. Sean came back with bags from the all-night market and pulled out bowls working on the counter out of Viggo's way snap-snap-snap and when the camera vanished and Viggo turned around his favorite chocolate coconut cake was sitting next to the stove in the early morning light studded with little birthday candles and Sean was in bed alone.
Then they were away again in Toronto at the festival and Sean had come even though he didn't have any movies there because Viggo was there and it was a chance to get together. Viggo was excited to be seeing him looking forward to finally heading up to the room using the key Sean had slipped him in the twenty seconds they'd had to say hello and slap shoulders when they'd passed in a hotel lobby somewhere two mornings earlier. Viggo was talking to a director he'd worked with however long past and a few studio people they were in a dark bar with loud music and hockey on TV. The beer was good and the project a producer Sam Somebody was pitching to him sounded interesting so he ordered another round and they sat and drank and by the time he used his key late the next afternoon Sean was packing had to catch a plane back to Los Angeles for a meeting. But they got to see each other say hi so that was good. There'd be another time.
Viggo woke up to the feel of slicked fingers in his ass.
"Ohgod, fuck, Sean...."
"Hold still," Sean murmured. He rubbed across Viggo's prostate and Viggo squirmed and grunted and tried to hold as still as he could. It wasn't like Sean could just move around to whatever position he needed and Viggo was determined to make it easier for him, so he stayed on his side, curled up with Sean behind him, and dug his fingers into the mattress, doing what Sean had said. His reward was another thrust across his sweet spot, and a big palm gripping his hip, keeping him steady, pressing him down.
It was hot and tight and perfect but so slow. He clenched his jaw, determined to tolerate it, to take whatever Sean wanted to give him. The slow tease kept his cock twitching and his balls aching, right on the edge but never enough, never that last push to send him over.
Viggo stayed clenched and panting and trembling for as long as he could, but finally he gasped out, "Please!"
He felt Sean nuzzling into the back of his neck, hot breath stirring his hair, and the fingers slid out of him. He whined a protest, but then a thick cock pressed inside him in their place, slow and careful.
A gradual withdrawal, then a gentle push, so tight and so close and Viggo couldn't stand it because Sean was there, he was always there, griping and snarking but always there, always patient, always willing to wait for the next time, the next opportunity that might or might not work out, always willing to give Viggo whatever he needed or wanted whenever he got around to showing up, to paying attention. Viggo's attention when he gave it was focused and complete, but it bounced from project to subject to cause to event and didn't land on Sean often enough, anywhere near often enough.
"Fuck, I'm so sorry!" he gasped.
"Wha?" He felt Sean shift behind him and his slow stroke paused. "What for? You're doing fine there, far as I can tell." A warm hand stroked over his cock and Viggo spasmed and came.
"Ahh! Fuck, Sean!"
"I'm the one doing the fucking," Sean snarked. "Maybe you're still asleep, there?"
Viggo muttered, "Bastard," and shifted away to the edge of the bed, then leaned over to grab a handful of tissues from the nightstand.
"There, you didn't do so badly as all that."
Viggo looked over and saw a flash of Sean's wide grin before he roll over to his side of the bed, where he'd left the bottle of ibuprofen and a glass of water. Viggo winced and felt a cold thread of guilt shoot through his gut.
He finished cleaning up, then got back into bed and scooted over next to Sean, looking down at him with his head propped up on one elbow. "You didn't have to do that," he said.
"What, you complaining?"
"Course not -- it was great and you know it. But you didn't have to, I was okay. You probably re-sprained whatever it was and now you're gonna be ordering me around for an extra three days."
"Maybe I like ordering you around," Sean mused, his face a study in thoughtful contemplation. Then he gave Viggo a wink and said, "Besides, I can't ruin my rep as a lover, you know? Gotta reciprocate or word gets around you're a selfish tosser."
Viggo smirked and said, "Love you too," then leaned down for a deep kiss before Sean could get another word out.
He did love him, always had, and he knew Sean loved him back, even though neither of them ever said it much. Sean was more about actions than words, and his actions had been shouting love for years. Viggo was determined he was going to start doing some shouting back.
Title: Rugbytackle
Author: AngiePen
Fandom: Celebrity RPS
Pairing: Viggo/Sean
Rating: NC-17
Request: "VigBean is my main love ... Angst that doesn't stand in the way of a happy ending is fine, but not required, as I'd be just as happy with a more upbeat story; informal BDSM is listed among my kinks (not so interested in rigid 24/7 D/s); and when it comes to VigBean I'm most fond of established relationship fic (vs. the more popular "first time" fic). I'm not too big on schmoop, though, so... I tend to shy away from fic in which the characters call each other "Baby" and the like; affection and love is wonderful, as long as it doesn't get too sticky-sweet."
Summary: To Viggo, it was just having some fun for old time's sake, but the result wasn't at all what he'd intended. Any chance a few braincells will've been jarred loose?
Disclaimer: I don't own anyone you recognize. I know nothing about their social lives or sexual activities, more's the pity. This is fiction, period. It is done as a labor of love and I make no money from it.
Notes: AU in that Sean isn't married. Written for caras_galadhon for the 2009 slashababy fest.
It'd seemed like a good idea at the time. How many disasters started out that way?
Sean'd insisted on renting a car at the airport, saying he didn't fancy braving the ruts of rural Idaho in that rattletrap pile o'shite Viggo called a truck, which had made Viggo cackle at him over the phone. They'd gone back and forth with the usual round of insults before hanging up, but the idea'd popped into Viggo's head as soon as he thought of Sean driving up by himself and he'd laughed again after they got off the phone.
So four days and some-odd hours later, after he'd spotted a shiny, new-looking car he didn't recognize bumping slowly up the snow-rutted drive, he snuck out the back door and lurked behind a couple of evergreens near the side of the walk. As soon as Sean passed by, slipping and muttering to himself, Viggo -- who was wearing the sturdy, cleated boots he wore to do work around the yard and barn in that kind of weather -- got a good run up behind Sean and rugbytackled him.
They landed in a pretty deep snowbank, where he'd been piling the snow he shovelled off the walk for the previous month, but apparently the snow wasn't soft enough because Sean let out a first class holler when they hit. At first Viggo laughed 'cause he thought Sean was just bitching, which'd been the whole point of doing it, but when the hollering kept going, along with some bitching and moaning and gasping, it finally occurred to him that there was something wrong.
Well, that sucked.
He hauled himself to his feet, then got a good, stable stance and helped Sean up. Sean had a hand on the small of his back and he was still moaning and griping and hyperventilating.
"--the fuck were you thinking, you daft wanker?!" Sean asked at the end of a tirade, just as Viggo was helping him into the upholstered armchair by the fireplace.
"I said I was sorry! Seriously, man, I just thought it'd be a little fun. Like old times, you know?"
"What, were you asleep when you passed fifty? Or when I did? We're not kids anymore, you know? Hell, we weren't kids when you did that the first time, and it weren't much fun even back then." He shifted his weight in the chair and griped, "Fuck, that hurts! I think I sprained something. No, you sprained something!"
"Sorry," Viggo muttered. He scuttled off to find the hot water bottle, fill it, and stick it in the microwave, then dug up a bottle of ibuprofen and handed it to Sean, along with a glass of water.
Sean took the pills and the glass and tossed Viggo his keys. "My bags are in the trunk. What, you can't be imagining I'm going to haul them in myself? You'd have to call a fucking medevac chopper to airlift me out."
Viggo took the hint -- well, the order, really -- and headed out to get Sean's bags.
Viggo felt like shit, seriously. He'd never meant to do any actual damage, and hurting Sean -- or at least, really hurting him, like an injury -- was the last thing he'd ever wanted.
Besides, he'd been looking forward to some hard, pounding sex, preferrably a lot of it in various times and places, and it looked like he was out of luck, maybe for the whole visit.
Massive suck.
Sean got as comfortable as possible in his chair and stayed there, less a couple of carefully tottering trips to the bathroom. Viggo fetched and carried and re-warmed the hot water bottle, which Sean kept tucked into the small of his back. The ibuprofen helped enough that his breathing slowed back down to normal, but there were still pain lines in his forehead and at the corners of his eyes.
Just then, Sean demanded another mug of tea, and so the afternoon went. Viggo stayed nearby, slouched on the sofa with a journal in his lap, ready to fetch or adjust whatever Sean needed. He fixed a more elaborate lunch than he'd ever made for himself because Sean didn't want "some rubbishing sandwich or one of your hippie salads." After lunch Sean took a nap right there in the armchair, sleeping off some of the jet lag with a blanket tucked around him and the fire warming his feet.
Some of the lines smoothed out with sleep, but it was still obvious that Sean had gotten older in the years they'd known one another -- been friends, been lovers. Not that it was any kind of surprise, really, but still, it was maybe something he hadn't really got, in his gut, no matter how aware his brain had been.
Sean was right; they were both older, neither of them kids anymore, despite how Viggo felt inside sometimes. Well, all right, a lot.
Viggo thought about their years together and realized with a surprised blink that he'd been with Sean for longer than he'd been married to Chris.
The rare steaks and baked potatoes with butter met with Sean's approval at dinner, even if he ignored the chili powder Viggo liked to coat his own potato with under the butter. The percentage of grousing in the conversation fell for a while, and by the time Viggo'd cleaned up and it was time for bed, he was starting to think Sean might be feeling enough better that the fucking wasn't necessarily off the table.
They headed into the bedroom with Sean leaning on Viggo, an arm across his shoulders and Viggo's arm around Sean's waist. Sean stopped halfway down the hall and arched his back with a soft moan. Viggo yanked his hand away and grabbed Sean by the arms, in case he was about to fall or something, but Sean said, "Na, it felt good, the pressure against my back."
"Oh, good, cool." Viggo put his arm back, pressing a little harder, kind of half a rub, and they started walking again.
Sean stripped down to his boxers, every move deliberate, then lowered himself onto the mattress the same way. He lay down on his side with a long, huffing exhale, his knees bent and his backside presented like a gift Viggo wasn't allowed to unwrap.
He managed not to groan or curse or even sigh very hard while pulling his own jeans and sweater off, then headed around to the other side of the bed, facing Sean's front.
"Sorry," he muttered while pulling the covers up over them both. He cuddled up against Sean and dropped a quick kiss on the end of his nose. "Careless." Another kiss, this time on his shoulder. He ducked his head and whispered, "Just wasn't thinking," then scooted farther down the bed, tugged the front of Sean's boxers down and sucked the head of his cock into his mouth.
Sean gasped in a quick breath, then gave a pleased, uneven hum. "There now," he said, his voice tight and breathy, "there you go. Fuck, you're good at that." He rotated onto his back and Viggo followed him around, finally stretched out between Sean's bent legs.
He stroke the hardening cock with one hand while licking down onto the wrinkled sack below. He felt a hand push into his hair and clutch.
The sting in his scalp sent a thrill through him and he sucked harder, nibbling at the loose skin with his teeth -- but carefully. The memory of hurting Sean, of really hurting him, still stung.
Carefully then, he teased with teeth and tongue until the hand in his hair pressed him closer. He took one ball into his mouth and rolled it around with his tongue, savoring the smooth-stretched skin and the blood-warm heat of it and the rich musk flavor.
He let it slide out of his mouth and licked his way up to the fully hard cock. The shaft was solid and salty under his tongue; he kissed his way up to the head and gave it a long, slow suck.
Sean tilted his hips up and made an "Nnnnn!" noise that had Viggo sucking harder. He ran his hands up and down Sean's thighs, then slid them under his ass and lifted his hips higher, taking him deeper. He felt a driving compulsion to focus completely on Sean, to do the best job he'd ever done and, like, make up for... everything.
When Sean convulsed and spurted down his throat with a hoarse yell, Viggo felt almost as much satisfaction as if he'd come himself.
They weren't anywhere in particular but that felt normal and Viggo didn't worry about it. Sean was there -- he was always there always around even if only on the phone or in e-mail and whenever they felt like getting together they did. They were kicked back on the sofa with beer on the table and football on the TV.
Except it was snowing and they were up the mountain in a clearing near a cliff where the sunlight cast creeping broken shadows all day long starting with a spectacular dawn. Viggo had his camera and he was taking pictures never having to reload just snap-snap-snap and Sean was still there until the sun finally set and Sean was fucking Viggo against the rough bark of a white pine his camera still in his hand.
But then Sean was gone out into the after-midnight gloom and there was a swirl of brown and white doughy paste spread across Sean's kitchen table plain flour and water kneaded with chocolate and flour and water so the colors splotched and curved and then pressed onto the table with a sheen of melted butter over it all because the lights over the stove shone from the perfect angle to give the whole thing a mirror glisten and he was taking pictures again. Sean came back with bags from the all-night market and pulled out bowls working on the counter out of Viggo's way snap-snap-snap and when the camera vanished and Viggo turned around his favorite chocolate coconut cake was sitting next to the stove in the early morning light studded with little birthday candles and Sean was in bed alone.
Then they were away again in Toronto at the festival and Sean had come even though he didn't have any movies there because Viggo was there and it was a chance to get together. Viggo was excited to be seeing him looking forward to finally heading up to the room using the key Sean had slipped him in the twenty seconds they'd had to say hello and slap shoulders when they'd passed in a hotel lobby somewhere two mornings earlier. Viggo was talking to a director he'd worked with however long past and a few studio people they were in a dark bar with loud music and hockey on TV. The beer was good and the project a producer Sam Somebody was pitching to him sounded interesting so he ordered another round and they sat and drank and by the time he used his key late the next afternoon Sean was packing had to catch a plane back to Los Angeles for a meeting. But they got to see each other say hi so that was good. There'd be another time.
Viggo woke up to the feel of slicked fingers in his ass.
"Ohgod, fuck, Sean...."
"Hold still," Sean murmured. He rubbed across Viggo's prostate and Viggo squirmed and grunted and tried to hold as still as he could. It wasn't like Sean could just move around to whatever position he needed and Viggo was determined to make it easier for him, so he stayed on his side, curled up with Sean behind him, and dug his fingers into the mattress, doing what Sean had said. His reward was another thrust across his sweet spot, and a big palm gripping his hip, keeping him steady, pressing him down.
It was hot and tight and perfect but so slow. He clenched his jaw, determined to tolerate it, to take whatever Sean wanted to give him. The slow tease kept his cock twitching and his balls aching, right on the edge but never enough, never that last push to send him over.
Viggo stayed clenched and panting and trembling for as long as he could, but finally he gasped out, "Please!"
He felt Sean nuzzling into the back of his neck, hot breath stirring his hair, and the fingers slid out of him. He whined a protest, but then a thick cock pressed inside him in their place, slow and careful.
A gradual withdrawal, then a gentle push, so tight and so close and Viggo couldn't stand it because Sean was there, he was always there, griping and snarking but always there, always patient, always willing to wait for the next time, the next opportunity that might or might not work out, always willing to give Viggo whatever he needed or wanted whenever he got around to showing up, to paying attention. Viggo's attention when he gave it was focused and complete, but it bounced from project to subject to cause to event and didn't land on Sean often enough, anywhere near often enough.
"Fuck, I'm so sorry!" he gasped.
"Wha?" He felt Sean shift behind him and his slow stroke paused. "What for? You're doing fine there, far as I can tell." A warm hand stroked over his cock and Viggo spasmed and came.
"Ahh! Fuck, Sean!"
"I'm the one doing the fucking," Sean snarked. "Maybe you're still asleep, there?"
Viggo muttered, "Bastard," and shifted away to the edge of the bed, then leaned over to grab a handful of tissues from the nightstand.
"There, you didn't do so badly as all that."
Viggo looked over and saw a flash of Sean's wide grin before he roll over to his side of the bed, where he'd left the bottle of ibuprofen and a glass of water. Viggo winced and felt a cold thread of guilt shoot through his gut.
He finished cleaning up, then got back into bed and scooted over next to Sean, looking down at him with his head propped up on one elbow. "You didn't have to do that," he said.
"What, you complaining?"
"Course not -- it was great and you know it. But you didn't have to, I was okay. You probably re-sprained whatever it was and now you're gonna be ordering me around for an extra three days."
"Maybe I like ordering you around," Sean mused, his face a study in thoughtful contemplation. Then he gave Viggo a wink and said, "Besides, I can't ruin my rep as a lover, you know? Gotta reciprocate or word gets around you're a selfish tosser."
Viggo smirked and said, "Love you too," then leaned down for a deep kiss before Sean could get another word out.
He did love him, always had, and he knew Sean loved him back, even though neither of them ever said it much. Sean was more about actions than words, and his actions had been shouting love for years. Viggo was determined he was going to start doing some shouting back.