[FIC] RPF: signal fire: the planets bend between us [2/2]
Part I
Part II
“What the hell is wrong with him?” Dominic asked between bites of his sandwich.
They were filming the Isengard scene, where Merry and Pippin welcomed their friends to the stronghold that had been destroyed by the Ents. They were on lunch break right now, and Viggo had stormed off somewhere with his camera muttering about being alone. He had been that way for at least a couple of weeks now, and Dom was seriously getting annoyed. Or worried. Or both.
“Don’t talk with your mouth full,” Ian told him serenely, whapping him gently on the back of his head. “It’s bad manners.”
He was looking down over his reading glasses at Dom, a well-marked and thumbed Fellowship of the Ring in his hand. Like that, he looked enough like a benevolent grandfather that Dom couldn’t help but reply cheekily: “Yes, granddad,” right before he swallowed.
“If I’m your grandfather, I would have had you drowned at birth,” Ian replied in the same calm tone, turning back to his book and flipping the page. “In any case, leave our dear King alone. He’s missing his Steward.”
Dom blinked, “He hasn’t met David yet, has he?”
Ian tutted, his fingers tapping against his book. “Not Faramir, Dominic. Boromir. Sean.”
“Beanie?” Dom blinked. He tipped his head to the side, thinking… Sean left the set a couple of weeks back. The entire cast threw him a gigantic farewell party, and Dom had woken up the next morning completely hungover and having managed to miss sending Sean off at the airport. But it was alright, because he knew that he would see Sean again. The Fellowship would stick together; Elijah said it, and Dom believed it. But, more importantly…
“I would’ve thought Viggo’d be happier, since there’s only one other Alpha encroaching on his territory now.”
Dom didn’t entirely understand how Alphas worked. He was a Beta; his immediate family were all Betas. He had one Omega cousin, but that was on the complete other end of the spectrum. He blinked at Ian.
“It’s odd, isn’t it?” Ian said, his tone contemplative. Dom was immediately suspicious; it was the same tone Ian used whenever he tricked one of them into something horrible. “Viggo and Sean have never fought each other for dominance despite being Alphas who are so close in age and physicality. They even live in close spaces with each other.”
Popping the last bit of the sandwich into his mouth, Dom chewed on it while he thought over Ian’s words. “You know, it ain’t odd,” he said. “It’s a fucking miracle.”
“Poor Stuart,” Ian murmured quietly, closing his book and pulling off his glasses. “He was meant to be Boromir’s King, but he would never manage to convince anyone that he has convinced Sean to kneel to him.”
“Stuart was always the one to show his throat,” Dom said, wincing a little at the memory. No one liked conflict within the cast, but Stuart and Sean had been constantly at each other’s throats. Honestly, after the third time of getting out of the way when one Alpha entered the space the other was occupying at the same time, it was fucking annoying, even if Sean had always won the little competitions within a few minutes. It cut short on the annoyance, but Stuart was always in a bad mood afterwards, and Sean had spent too much time talking alone with Peter and Fran as they tried to convince him to turn away from his instincts.
Now he actually thought about it, it was so odd that Viggo and Sean never once fought. Dom couldn’t even remember if the two Alphas had even looked at each other with hostility in their eye. Dom might not know much about Alphas, but anyone with a brain knew that there was probably a very good reason why God made so few of them in the world. One amongst twelve or thirteen of the population were Alphas. There were more nowadays, when there were ways to stop them from killing each other so often or so successfully.
“That’s weird. I wonder why I never noticed.”
“The same reason why you don’t notice that they don’t fight with me,” Ian answered, and he gave Dom a small, secretive smile. “After a while, you’re just so thankful for it that you don’t even want to think about the possibilities.”
“They’d probably kill each other if they fought,” Dom said. They wouldn’t be the first Alphas to; Alpha murdering Alphas happened so often that the death penalty stayed on just to act as a deterrent-nothing else would work.
“Maybe,” Ian shrugged. “Instead, they live together harmoniously, and Viggo only gets cranky after Sean leaves.” He smiled.
Dom stared. He opened his mouth, and closed it. Did it again. “This probably sounds really insensitive, considering I’m talking to you,” he said, and barely noticed that his voice was working because he just caught the implications of what Ian had been trying to drive towards. “But- what the hell?”
“Double-alpha relationships aren’t that strange anymore,” Ian pointed out. “Why should you Betas hog all of the homohierarchal relationships?”
“Yeah,” Dom said. “I know. It’s just-” weird and unnatural, he thought, and had to kill it immediately because he wasn’t infected with foot-in-mouth disease so much that he forgot who he was talking to. Ian was only the most famous British advocate for double-Alphas and general non-breeding relationships, after all. It wasn’t that he was prejudiced-he couldn't afford to be as an actor-but two decades of assumptions were hard to erase.
He shook his head, “You’re… sure about this?”
“Perhaps,” Ian said, and he smirked, as if he knew exactly what words Dom had managed to swallow down. “On that note, I believe I shall have a talk with our King.”
Dom nodded dumbly, and he was incredibly thankful when his name was called. It meant that he could think about Merry and work instead of the relationships between his castmates, which were probably none of his business anyway.
*
The trees were beautiful here, but Viggo could barely concentrate on them. His camera was with him, but his hands were shoved inside his pockets. The leaves were golden-red, but they were a wrong shade of gold no matter how hard he looked. The weather must be too cold or too hot nowadays, because he was alone, he never minded being alone-in fact, often he preferred it-and now he was incredibly irate whenever he wasn’t working and immersed in Aragorn’s head.
There was a crack of a twig breaking, and Viggo whirled around, his lips drawing back to expose his teeth in a sharp snarl. But there was no answering gasp or growl, only the snap of a Zippo lighter and the crackle of burning paper and tobacco.
“I’ve been putting Alphas down since you’re in nappies, boy,” Ian’s voice floated across the forest floor. “Put your teeth back where they belong.”
Viggo obeyed immediately. It was self-preservation instinct, the way Sean and he both skirted around Ian and never once challenged him. Ian was powerful in a way that had nothing to do with bodily strength and everything to do with the look in his eyes, with the way he held himself. It was a kind of dominance that ruled by sheer power of will alone, and Viggo knew when he was completely outmatched.
Sean. Damn, Viggo had been trying really hard to not think about him.
“What do you want, Ian?” he tried his best to not sound like a sullen little boy when he finally spoke, but he had a strong suspicion that he failed. He sighed, leaning against the tree and watched Ian’s shoes as they came closer.
“I’m simply checking if you’ve managed to pull your head out of your arse within the last half hour, but it seems that the answer is a firm ‘no’.”
Viggo couldn’t help but laugh as he looked up. Ian was lounging against a tree with a cigarette in his hand like a movie star, the smoke curling around his face, light grey against the white of his hair. He was still in his costume as Gandalf the White, and Viggo didn’t resist the temptation to lift his camera and take a shot.
He looked at Ian through the pinhole of the camera for a long moment before he sighed. “I can’t concentrate,” he said, finally lowering the thing.
“Of course not,” Ian said, sounding amused. “Your heart just flew over the Pacific, and I’m sure it’s taken more than half of your mind with it.”
Viggo blinked, and stared. “What?”
Ian cocked his head, “Sean, my dear boy. I’m talking about your brave Steward, who has finished his scenes and has thus flown back to England to his wife.”
Completely involuntarily, Viggo drew back his lips and snarled. He tipped his head back and said, in a voice that was full of a strange sort of satisfaction he didn’t even understand, “He’s divorcing her.”
“My God,” Ian said. He reached forward and grabbed Viggo by the collar, pulling him close and twisting the cloth until Viggo half-choked, his eyes widening. “Do you remember the first rule of civilised Alpha behaviour, Viggo? Do not covet what belongs to other Alphas. Sean’s Abby is an Alpha, I’m sure you know that.”
“I’m better,” he said, and he didn’t even realise what words were coming out of his mouth. He just knew that he meant them. His hands closed around Ian’s wrist, trying to pry him off. “I’m better than her. Better than she can ever be. Do you know how beautiful Sean’s throat is in the light, Ian? I can draw it. I see it every time I close my eyes. I want to mark it so badly that I can’t breathe. I see the back of his neck and it’s unmarked, and if she’s not going to mark her property, I’m going to take it as mine.”
“Sean is not property, boy,” Ian’s voice had dropped into a low, deep growl, and Viggo’s hands immediately dropped to his side, eyes widening. He didn't want to fight with this man. He knew he would lose, quickly.
“He is, Ian,” Viggo said, his eyes having narrowed into slits. He wasn’t looking at Ian now; his gaze was fixated upon the image of Sean, branded at the back of his eyelids. “He’s mine, he’s mine and I should have claimed him, marriage be damned. Or he can claim me instead. I don’t care.”
He stopped. Ian’s grip had loosened, and he stumbled back, a hand on his throat, and another against his lips, as if trying to shove the words back down his throat.
“I don’t care,” he repeated.
Ian’s cigarette had fallen to the ground, and the older Alpha ground it out with his toe. He looked at Viggo for a long moment.
“It’s strange, isn’t it?” Ian said. He was half-smiling, looking like the sweet, gentle grandfather again. “To love someone and not want to possess them, to claim them. To want to be marked as well as mark.”
“He’s not the first Alpha I’ve wanted,” Viggo said, rubbing at his eyes. “I know that feeling-I’ve had it, with Exene, but never this strong.” He took a deep breath, rubbing at his mouth. “Never this strong.”
“If you knew, Viggo, why didn’t you do anything? Why keep yourself in denial?”
Viggo took a deep breath, lifting his shoulders in a shrug. He knew everything that he was saying already; had known it a long time ago. There was only one reason; Viggo had always believed that people were more than just their instincts, especially Alphas. Especially after what nearly happened with Elijah. He sighed, shoulders sagging.
“You said it yourself, Ian: first rule of civilised Alpha living is to not covet what belongs to another Alpha.” He rubbed at his eyes again, lifting them.
“I’m waiting for him to come back to me.”
***
“Nice place.”
It was a familiar voice coming from somewhere behind him. Viggo froze in the middle of his conversation with Billy, and he heard the Scotsman greet Sean. But his body refused to move, refused to turn around, because it had been more than a full year of waiting and he did not know if this was a dream.
There was no ring on Sean’s finger, he noticed, a little dazed. Viggo lifted his eyes, meeting Sean’s gaze, and there was a peculiar fire in them. Sean licked his lips, reaching out a hand- and Viggo moved.
He took a step back and slammed his entire body into Sean, lifting the both of them off of the ground until they both smacked right against the floor. Sean gave a soft oof as the breath was knocked out of him, and Viggo knew that he was grinning like a fool. He couldn’t help it; it just had been so long since he had seen the other Alpha.
(Exactly four hundred and twenty-two days. Viggo counted.)
“So,” Sean said, still flat on his back. His smile was like the sun breaking through the clouds. “I take it that yer glad ta see me?”
“Oh, yes,” Viggo’s grin widened even further. He straddled Sean, giving him just enough space to sit up so he could hug him hard, inhaling his scent. His breath hitched, and he barely resisted the urge to bury his face into Sean’s neck to take in more of it.
“Good,” Sean’s voice was muffled, his arms coming up to wrap around Viggo’s shoulder. “’Cause I’m damn glad ta see ya too.”
“Knocking Boromir to the ground is the hobbits’ job, oy,” Billy’s voice interrupted them. Viggo nearly growled at the interruption; it was only by sheer willpower that he remembered that the two of them weren’t alone, that they were amongst friends. He lift his head up to grin at Billy.
“Sorry, I’m usurping it.”
Sean snorted at that, but he still wasn’t letting go and neither was Viggo. “Ya all can take turns now that Viggo’s taken the first tackle,” he called.
Then there was a hand in Viggo’s hair, a callused thumb brushing his ear. Viggo closed his eyes, just for the moment.
“I’ve got ta talk ta ya later,” Sean’s voice murmured, his breath a warm caress against Viggo’s cheek. “’otel room, wherever.”
Then he was pulling away and Viggo let him go, reaching out to take the hand that Sean offered. It was his left hand, and Viggo immediately noticed the lack of a wedding band on the finger. Sean’s hand was warm, and he wanted it; wanted that heat, wanted that skin, that inviting throat that was right in the line of his sight. His breath hitched again, but he ignored it, instead turning around and joining the ruckus of their castmates. Out of the corner of his eyes, he could see Ian saluting him with a small glass of red wine, but he only clenched his hand at his side.
Viggo had learned patience well. Even though he didn’t know if Sean wanted to talk to him for the reason he wished for, he knew that he could wait just a little longer, now that Sean was back by his side.
*
“Fucking ‘ell,” Sean said, leaning against the door of their shared hotel suite. Maybe Peter knew them too well, or maybe Ian had dropped some kind of oblique hints, but whatever the reason, Viggo was glad that Sean was sharing his space again. That the place that he lived would be permeated with Sean’s scent. He had missed it; missed it as badly as he would have a missing half of his heart.
“Didn’t realise that there’d be that many people.”
Sean dug into his pocket for his pack. Viggo was moving forward before he could, snapping on the flame of his lighter just as Sean placed a cigarette between his lips, and he lit the cancer stick and looked at those green eyes through the smoke.
“There’s been a lot of anticipation for the movies,” Viggo murmured, and did not step away.
There was another brief moment of silence. Then Sean brought the cigarette down, reached forward, slid his hand into Viggo’s hair and pressed their lips together. The smoke from his mouth curled into Viggo’s, and Viggo inhaled it, felt the heat seep into his lungs. Then he was pressing Sean back against the door, darting his tongue into Sean's mouth.
When he pulled away, his hand closed around Sean’s wrist, bringing the cigarette to his own lips and taking a long drag. The smell of the smoke almost obscured Sean’s scent, and it was only that saving grace that let him keep some measure of control over himself.
“I ‘eard somethin’ ‘bout a Lola girl,” Sean said, tilting his head and inhaling from the cigarette himself. “If ya don’t want this, tell me ta fuck off, right now.”
“I’ve been waiting,” Viggo breathed, sliding his hand into Sean’s golden hair, holding him still as he tried to inhale the smoke from his mouth straight into his lungs. “I’ve been good,” he peppered kisses against Sean’s jaw, feeling the roughness of stubble like small fires against his lips. “There’s no one else. No Lola. I don’t know where they got it from.”
“Good,” Sean breathed. “I ain’t good at sharin’.”
“Neither am I,” Viggo said. He took another drag from their shared cigarette, licking around the tip of the filter to try to taste Sean on it. “Good thing you’re not wearing your ring.”
“I ain’t belong ta anyone right now,” Sean replied. His eyes burned as they looked into Viggo’s. “So if you’d let me, I’d really like ta fuck ya. Put my knot into ya.”
“Yes,” Viggo hissed, and he tipped his head back, showing his throat. “God, yes.”
Sean only smiled, taking another inhale from the cigarette before he pulled away long enough to stub the cigarette out on his tongue. Viggo's breath hitched, but he didn't have time to comment, because Sean was shoving the stub into his pockets, his hands closing on Viggo’s arms, hard enough to leave bruises. Viggo felt himself being pushed backwards with Sean's mouth on his throat, teeth against skin. Sean wasn’t biting, not yet, but the anticipation of it was already enough to make Viggo hard as a rock.
The bedroom was far away, but Sean was close, so close that Viggo couldn’t even concentrate on the steps he was taking. He only knew that his knees hit the edge of the bed and he was falling back. Sean fell with him, pressing him to the bed. There was a hand on his throat and it was completely antithetical to an Alpha, but he couldn't help but let it fall backwards, giving Sean more access. His legs remained closed, however. It wasn't going to be so easy.
“I need lube,” Sean whispered. His voice was a breath of heated air against Viggo’s throat. Viggo let his head drop backwards, and took a long, shaky inhale. Sean’s scent surrounded him, wrapped around him, and he took in it.
“Pockets.”
It felt right. It felt good. Viggo’s hands spread around Sean’s shoulders, curving down the lines to flatten against his chest. A single finger hooked against the collar and he pulled down, the buttons hitting his chest one by one as they burst from their seams and fell onto the sheets around them.
Sean leaned back, his hands ripping open Viggo’s slacks, tearing the zip into pieces. It was one of his few good pair of dress pants but he didn’t even care as he dug into his pockets, slipping out the lube and condoms just as Sean pulled them off and tossed them over the side of the bed. Viggo wasn’t wearing any underwear underneath them.
“I didn’t bring any,” Sean said against his bare thigh. His eyes were green, such a deep green that it shamed emeralds. His hands grasped Viggo's legs and forced them apart by sheer force, his fingers digging into the flesh. Viggo fought against him instinctively, but he took a deep breath and let himself fall wide open. Sean smiled, shifting himself forward so his hips prevented Viggo from closing his legs again.
His hands moved upwards, grabbing the tails of Viggo’s shirt with his hands and pulled it open by force. “Didn’t want ta get me ‘opes up and end up in me room all alone with lube and condoms ta remind me of what I couldn't 'ave.”
“You have me,” Viggo breathed, and he knew that it was true. Alphas weren’t supposed to belong to anyone, but it was true, nonetheless.
“So take me already.”
“Aye,” Sean’s teeth against the corner of the lube packet, tearing it open and spreading clear liquid all over his fingers. Then his fingers were inside Viggo, two of them at once, spreading him open and Viggo arched up, offering his throat, his chest, his everything. His hands tugged at Sean’s belt. It was strong leather but it was no match for his desperate, wanting strength, and he tore that too, tore Sean’s slacks apart, the sound of cloth giving away the only sound in the room apart from their harsh breathing.
He could feel Sean’s cock against his hands, hard with a knot forming at the base, reminding him of what the man in front of him was. Sean was an Alpha, an Alpha who was going to fuck him into this bed, and he moaned deep in his throat at the thought.
Sean followed the sound, his teeth finding Viggo’s throat. Finally biting down hard enough to bruise, his fingers crooking upwards inside him. Viggo couldn’t help but gasp, thrashing on the bed, moving upwards towards those fingers, towards those teeth.
“I’m-a make ya mine.”
“Already yours,” Viggo murmured, his hands cupping Sean’s hips, tugging away his boxers impatiently, so impatiently that the luxurious silk pulled itself apart as well. God, neither of them were going to have any clothes left after today- but that was only a brief thought, because his hands were moving up, carding through Sean’s hair, pulling him up.
They kissed, but it was less of a kiss than a force of nature, like a hurricane taking form through their lips. Tongue and teeth thrust and bit and claimed. Viggo spread his legs slowly, his hand leaving bruises on the back of Sean’s neck, on the spot where it could be seen underneath his hairline.
Sean broke the kiss. Let his head drop back.
Viggo had wanted this; wanted his throat from the moment he had met this man. He was already leaning forward, biting down on the skin, feeling Sean’s pulse beat against his lips. He was going to leave bruises there, bruises that couldn’t be hidden, and Sean’s hands were lifting his hips up, shoving a pillow underneath him. Viggo barely noticed, too distracted by Sean’s scent, musk and sex and pure Alpha, and he could only moan deep in his throat when Sean pressed into him.
Sean pulled back, all the way back, before he slammed into him hard, so hard that Viggo bit down with even greater force, breaking skin, his hands clenching around Sean’s arms. He was going to leave bruises. He liked that; liked that Sean would have bruises in the shape of Viggo’s hands the next morning. A reminder of who he belonged to now; who he owned.
“Mine,” Sean growled, and his voice was barely a rumble in the hollow of his throat. “Mine.”
Viggo only wrapped his legs tight around Sean’s hips, pulling him closer, deeper, refusing to let go of his neck. He pulled his head back, teeth leaving Sean’s throat, tongue laving against the wound.
“Mine,” he whispered. “Fuck me, Sean. Fuck me. Give me your knot. Mark me.”
“Vig,” Sean choked out, and his mangled name was the most beautiful sound Viggo had ever heard in his life. Then Sean was thrusting into him, hard and deep and fast, and Viggo heard his own voice, crying out Sean’s name over and over again, strangled little noises that barely escaped him throat. Every stroke inside brushed against his prostate, every single move made his cock ache, made his own knot grow, and he was clawing at Sean’s shoulder, rough enough to leave red marks all over the curve.
Then Sean pulled back, half-sitting up, and his hand shoved down hard against Viggo’s neck, pressing him into the bed, cutting off of his air. He was spreading Viggo’s thighs wide open with his other hand as he fucked him impossibly harder, impossibly deeper, Viggo’s name escaping him in soft, breathless snarls.
His hand wrapped around his knot, stroking against the sensitive, hard knob, and he buried his face into Viggo’s shoulder.
“Ya ‘ave a beautiful cock,” Sean slurred, and his accent was so thick that Viggo could barely understand him. “I want it in me. Yer going ta fuck me later, fuck me like I’m fuckin’ ya now, and I want ya ta shove yer damn knot inside me. Just- like- this-”
His hand let go of Viggo’s throat, pulling his legs open even more with sheer force as he slammed his knot inside, stretching Viggo impossibly even wider. And Viggo threw his head back and shouted wordlessly as he felt Sean come inside him, felt his knot expand even further, claiming him as Sean’s, and only Sean’s. Then Sean’s hand was stroking him, just once, from base to the tip and twisting against the head of Viggo’s cock.
Viggo blacked out completely as he came.
“Ya marked me real good,” Sean said.
Viggo breathed out, turning instinctively towards that voice. The mattress was hot underneath his back, and Sean’s body was even hotter beside him. He raised a hand, rubbing at his eyes as he tried to catch his breath, even as his hand slipped down to curl around his own throat. It felt sore, and he knew that there would be bruises come morning.
“So did you,” he replied. He turned around and looked at Sean, his fingers immediately tracing the slightly bloodied mark on his neck. Yours, the mark said, and Viggo felt his grin widen even further.
Sean leaned in, a hand in Viggo’s hair, his lips against his temple.
“I ain’t want this ta be temporary,” he murmured.
“It isn’t,” Viggo closed his eyes, leaning into that touch. “I didn’t wait for you for a year and a half for just one fuck, as fucking amazing as it was.”
Sean nodded, and Viggo felt the movement more than he saw it. “I’m ‘ere,” he said. “I’m right ‘ere, and I ain’t goin’ anywhere.” He smiled, the edges just a little mischievous. “Well, I don’t know ‘ow I am anyway, seein’ that ya ruined me clothes.”
“I’ll get you new ones, or you can borrow mine,” Viggo replied, and his breath hitched suddenly. The idea of Sean wearing his clothes sent a shot of arousal down his spine, and he moaned a little as his cock tried to harden again. It was too soon, and Sean didn’t have the scent of an Omega in heat to cancel out his refractory period.
That was alright; Viggo could wait.
“Ya like the idea, don’t ya?” Sean chuckled, and the sound vibrated throughout Viggo’s body. “Me wearin’ yer clothes. Tellin’ the world that I’m claimed now.”
“Fuck, yes,” Viggo reached up slightly, curling his fingers against Sean’s cheek, tipping his face towards him even further. “I like the idea of putting my knot in you even more, but that can wait.”
“Like I said,” Sean turned his head, teeth nipping against the tips of Viggo’s fingers, “I ain’t goin’ anywhere.”
End
Part II
“What the hell is wrong with him?” Dominic asked between bites of his sandwich.
They were filming the Isengard scene, where Merry and Pippin welcomed their friends to the stronghold that had been destroyed by the Ents. They were on lunch break right now, and Viggo had stormed off somewhere with his camera muttering about being alone. He had been that way for at least a couple of weeks now, and Dom was seriously getting annoyed. Or worried. Or both.
“Don’t talk with your mouth full,” Ian told him serenely, whapping him gently on the back of his head. “It’s bad manners.”
He was looking down over his reading glasses at Dom, a well-marked and thumbed Fellowship of the Ring in his hand. Like that, he looked enough like a benevolent grandfather that Dom couldn’t help but reply cheekily: “Yes, granddad,” right before he swallowed.
“If I’m your grandfather, I would have had you drowned at birth,” Ian replied in the same calm tone, turning back to his book and flipping the page. “In any case, leave our dear King alone. He’s missing his Steward.”
Dom blinked, “He hasn’t met David yet, has he?”
Ian tutted, his fingers tapping against his book. “Not Faramir, Dominic. Boromir. Sean.”
“Beanie?” Dom blinked. He tipped his head to the side, thinking… Sean left the set a couple of weeks back. The entire cast threw him a gigantic farewell party, and Dom had woken up the next morning completely hungover and having managed to miss sending Sean off at the airport. But it was alright, because he knew that he would see Sean again. The Fellowship would stick together; Elijah said it, and Dom believed it. But, more importantly…
“I would’ve thought Viggo’d be happier, since there’s only one other Alpha encroaching on his territory now.”
Dom didn’t entirely understand how Alphas worked. He was a Beta; his immediate family were all Betas. He had one Omega cousin, but that was on the complete other end of the spectrum. He blinked at Ian.
“It’s odd, isn’t it?” Ian said, his tone contemplative. Dom was immediately suspicious; it was the same tone Ian used whenever he tricked one of them into something horrible. “Viggo and Sean have never fought each other for dominance despite being Alphas who are so close in age and physicality. They even live in close spaces with each other.”
Popping the last bit of the sandwich into his mouth, Dom chewed on it while he thought over Ian’s words. “You know, it ain’t odd,” he said. “It’s a fucking miracle.”
“Poor Stuart,” Ian murmured quietly, closing his book and pulling off his glasses. “He was meant to be Boromir’s King, but he would never manage to convince anyone that he has convinced Sean to kneel to him.”
“Stuart was always the one to show his throat,” Dom said, wincing a little at the memory. No one liked conflict within the cast, but Stuart and Sean had been constantly at each other’s throats. Honestly, after the third time of getting out of the way when one Alpha entered the space the other was occupying at the same time, it was fucking annoying, even if Sean had always won the little competitions within a few minutes. It cut short on the annoyance, but Stuart was always in a bad mood afterwards, and Sean had spent too much time talking alone with Peter and Fran as they tried to convince him to turn away from his instincts.
Now he actually thought about it, it was so odd that Viggo and Sean never once fought. Dom couldn’t even remember if the two Alphas had even looked at each other with hostility in their eye. Dom might not know much about Alphas, but anyone with a brain knew that there was probably a very good reason why God made so few of them in the world. One amongst twelve or thirteen of the population were Alphas. There were more nowadays, when there were ways to stop them from killing each other so often or so successfully.
“That’s weird. I wonder why I never noticed.”
“The same reason why you don’t notice that they don’t fight with me,” Ian answered, and he gave Dom a small, secretive smile. “After a while, you’re just so thankful for it that you don’t even want to think about the possibilities.”
“They’d probably kill each other if they fought,” Dom said. They wouldn’t be the first Alphas to; Alpha murdering Alphas happened so often that the death penalty stayed on just to act as a deterrent-nothing else would work.
“Maybe,” Ian shrugged. “Instead, they live together harmoniously, and Viggo only gets cranky after Sean leaves.” He smiled.
Dom stared. He opened his mouth, and closed it. Did it again. “This probably sounds really insensitive, considering I’m talking to you,” he said, and barely noticed that his voice was working because he just caught the implications of what Ian had been trying to drive towards. “But- what the hell?”
“Double-alpha relationships aren’t that strange anymore,” Ian pointed out. “Why should you Betas hog all of the homohierarchal relationships?”
“Yeah,” Dom said. “I know. It’s just-” weird and unnatural, he thought, and had to kill it immediately because he wasn’t infected with foot-in-mouth disease so much that he forgot who he was talking to. Ian was only the most famous British advocate for double-Alphas and general non-breeding relationships, after all. It wasn’t that he was prejudiced-he couldn't afford to be as an actor-but two decades of assumptions were hard to erase.
He shook his head, “You’re… sure about this?”
“Perhaps,” Ian said, and he smirked, as if he knew exactly what words Dom had managed to swallow down. “On that note, I believe I shall have a talk with our King.”
Dom nodded dumbly, and he was incredibly thankful when his name was called. It meant that he could think about Merry and work instead of the relationships between his castmates, which were probably none of his business anyway.
*
The trees were beautiful here, but Viggo could barely concentrate on them. His camera was with him, but his hands were shoved inside his pockets. The leaves were golden-red, but they were a wrong shade of gold no matter how hard he looked. The weather must be too cold or too hot nowadays, because he was alone, he never minded being alone-in fact, often he preferred it-and now he was incredibly irate whenever he wasn’t working and immersed in Aragorn’s head.
There was a crack of a twig breaking, and Viggo whirled around, his lips drawing back to expose his teeth in a sharp snarl. But there was no answering gasp or growl, only the snap of a Zippo lighter and the crackle of burning paper and tobacco.
“I’ve been putting Alphas down since you’re in nappies, boy,” Ian’s voice floated across the forest floor. “Put your teeth back where they belong.”
Viggo obeyed immediately. It was self-preservation instinct, the way Sean and he both skirted around Ian and never once challenged him. Ian was powerful in a way that had nothing to do with bodily strength and everything to do with the look in his eyes, with the way he held himself. It was a kind of dominance that ruled by sheer power of will alone, and Viggo knew when he was completely outmatched.
Sean. Damn, Viggo had been trying really hard to not think about him.
“What do you want, Ian?” he tried his best to not sound like a sullen little boy when he finally spoke, but he had a strong suspicion that he failed. He sighed, leaning against the tree and watched Ian’s shoes as they came closer.
“I’m simply checking if you’ve managed to pull your head out of your arse within the last half hour, but it seems that the answer is a firm ‘no’.”
Viggo couldn’t help but laugh as he looked up. Ian was lounging against a tree with a cigarette in his hand like a movie star, the smoke curling around his face, light grey against the white of his hair. He was still in his costume as Gandalf the White, and Viggo didn’t resist the temptation to lift his camera and take a shot.
He looked at Ian through the pinhole of the camera for a long moment before he sighed. “I can’t concentrate,” he said, finally lowering the thing.
“Of course not,” Ian said, sounding amused. “Your heart just flew over the Pacific, and I’m sure it’s taken more than half of your mind with it.”
Viggo blinked, and stared. “What?”
Ian cocked his head, “Sean, my dear boy. I’m talking about your brave Steward, who has finished his scenes and has thus flown back to England to his wife.”
Completely involuntarily, Viggo drew back his lips and snarled. He tipped his head back and said, in a voice that was full of a strange sort of satisfaction he didn’t even understand, “He’s divorcing her.”
“My God,” Ian said. He reached forward and grabbed Viggo by the collar, pulling him close and twisting the cloth until Viggo half-choked, his eyes widening. “Do you remember the first rule of civilised Alpha behaviour, Viggo? Do not covet what belongs to other Alphas. Sean’s Abby is an Alpha, I’m sure you know that.”
“I’m better,” he said, and he didn’t even realise what words were coming out of his mouth. He just knew that he meant them. His hands closed around Ian’s wrist, trying to pry him off. “I’m better than her. Better than she can ever be. Do you know how beautiful Sean’s throat is in the light, Ian? I can draw it. I see it every time I close my eyes. I want to mark it so badly that I can’t breathe. I see the back of his neck and it’s unmarked, and if she’s not going to mark her property, I’m going to take it as mine.”
“Sean is not property, boy,” Ian’s voice had dropped into a low, deep growl, and Viggo’s hands immediately dropped to his side, eyes widening. He didn't want to fight with this man. He knew he would lose, quickly.
“He is, Ian,” Viggo said, his eyes having narrowed into slits. He wasn’t looking at Ian now; his gaze was fixated upon the image of Sean, branded at the back of his eyelids. “He’s mine, he’s mine and I should have claimed him, marriage be damned. Or he can claim me instead. I don’t care.”
He stopped. Ian’s grip had loosened, and he stumbled back, a hand on his throat, and another against his lips, as if trying to shove the words back down his throat.
“I don’t care,” he repeated.
Ian’s cigarette had fallen to the ground, and the older Alpha ground it out with his toe. He looked at Viggo for a long moment.
“It’s strange, isn’t it?” Ian said. He was half-smiling, looking like the sweet, gentle grandfather again. “To love someone and not want to possess them, to claim them. To want to be marked as well as mark.”
“He’s not the first Alpha I’ve wanted,” Viggo said, rubbing at his eyes. “I know that feeling-I’ve had it, with Exene, but never this strong.” He took a deep breath, rubbing at his mouth. “Never this strong.”
“If you knew, Viggo, why didn’t you do anything? Why keep yourself in denial?”
Viggo took a deep breath, lifting his shoulders in a shrug. He knew everything that he was saying already; had known it a long time ago. There was only one reason; Viggo had always believed that people were more than just their instincts, especially Alphas. Especially after what nearly happened with Elijah. He sighed, shoulders sagging.
“You said it yourself, Ian: first rule of civilised Alpha living is to not covet what belongs to another Alpha.” He rubbed at his eyes again, lifting them.
“I’m waiting for him to come back to me.”
***
“Nice place.”
It was a familiar voice coming from somewhere behind him. Viggo froze in the middle of his conversation with Billy, and he heard the Scotsman greet Sean. But his body refused to move, refused to turn around, because it had been more than a full year of waiting and he did not know if this was a dream.
There was no ring on Sean’s finger, he noticed, a little dazed. Viggo lifted his eyes, meeting Sean’s gaze, and there was a peculiar fire in them. Sean licked his lips, reaching out a hand- and Viggo moved.
He took a step back and slammed his entire body into Sean, lifting the both of them off of the ground until they both smacked right against the floor. Sean gave a soft oof as the breath was knocked out of him, and Viggo knew that he was grinning like a fool. He couldn’t help it; it just had been so long since he had seen the other Alpha.
(Exactly four hundred and twenty-two days. Viggo counted.)
“So,” Sean said, still flat on his back. His smile was like the sun breaking through the clouds. “I take it that yer glad ta see me?”
“Oh, yes,” Viggo’s grin widened even further. He straddled Sean, giving him just enough space to sit up so he could hug him hard, inhaling his scent. His breath hitched, and he barely resisted the urge to bury his face into Sean’s neck to take in more of it.
“Good,” Sean’s voice was muffled, his arms coming up to wrap around Viggo’s shoulder. “’Cause I’m damn glad ta see ya too.”
“Knocking Boromir to the ground is the hobbits’ job, oy,” Billy’s voice interrupted them. Viggo nearly growled at the interruption; it was only by sheer willpower that he remembered that the two of them weren’t alone, that they were amongst friends. He lift his head up to grin at Billy.
“Sorry, I’m usurping it.”
Sean snorted at that, but he still wasn’t letting go and neither was Viggo. “Ya all can take turns now that Viggo’s taken the first tackle,” he called.
Then there was a hand in Viggo’s hair, a callused thumb brushing his ear. Viggo closed his eyes, just for the moment.
“I’ve got ta talk ta ya later,” Sean’s voice murmured, his breath a warm caress against Viggo’s cheek. “’otel room, wherever.”
Then he was pulling away and Viggo let him go, reaching out to take the hand that Sean offered. It was his left hand, and Viggo immediately noticed the lack of a wedding band on the finger. Sean’s hand was warm, and he wanted it; wanted that heat, wanted that skin, that inviting throat that was right in the line of his sight. His breath hitched again, but he ignored it, instead turning around and joining the ruckus of their castmates. Out of the corner of his eyes, he could see Ian saluting him with a small glass of red wine, but he only clenched his hand at his side.
Viggo had learned patience well. Even though he didn’t know if Sean wanted to talk to him for the reason he wished for, he knew that he could wait just a little longer, now that Sean was back by his side.
*
“Fucking ‘ell,” Sean said, leaning against the door of their shared hotel suite. Maybe Peter knew them too well, or maybe Ian had dropped some kind of oblique hints, but whatever the reason, Viggo was glad that Sean was sharing his space again. That the place that he lived would be permeated with Sean’s scent. He had missed it; missed it as badly as he would have a missing half of his heart.
“Didn’t realise that there’d be that many people.”
Sean dug into his pocket for his pack. Viggo was moving forward before he could, snapping on the flame of his lighter just as Sean placed a cigarette between his lips, and he lit the cancer stick and looked at those green eyes through the smoke.
“There’s been a lot of anticipation for the movies,” Viggo murmured, and did not step away.
There was another brief moment of silence. Then Sean brought the cigarette down, reached forward, slid his hand into Viggo’s hair and pressed their lips together. The smoke from his mouth curled into Viggo’s, and Viggo inhaled it, felt the heat seep into his lungs. Then he was pressing Sean back against the door, darting his tongue into Sean's mouth.
When he pulled away, his hand closed around Sean’s wrist, bringing the cigarette to his own lips and taking a long drag. The smell of the smoke almost obscured Sean’s scent, and it was only that saving grace that let him keep some measure of control over himself.
“I ‘eard somethin’ ‘bout a Lola girl,” Sean said, tilting his head and inhaling from the cigarette himself. “If ya don’t want this, tell me ta fuck off, right now.”
“I’ve been waiting,” Viggo breathed, sliding his hand into Sean’s golden hair, holding him still as he tried to inhale the smoke from his mouth straight into his lungs. “I’ve been good,” he peppered kisses against Sean’s jaw, feeling the roughness of stubble like small fires against his lips. “There’s no one else. No Lola. I don’t know where they got it from.”
“Good,” Sean breathed. “I ain’t good at sharin’.”
“Neither am I,” Viggo said. He took another drag from their shared cigarette, licking around the tip of the filter to try to taste Sean on it. “Good thing you’re not wearing your ring.”
“I ain’t belong ta anyone right now,” Sean replied. His eyes burned as they looked into Viggo’s. “So if you’d let me, I’d really like ta fuck ya. Put my knot into ya.”
“Yes,” Viggo hissed, and he tipped his head back, showing his throat. “God, yes.”
Sean only smiled, taking another inhale from the cigarette before he pulled away long enough to stub the cigarette out on his tongue. Viggo's breath hitched, but he didn't have time to comment, because Sean was shoving the stub into his pockets, his hands closing on Viggo’s arms, hard enough to leave bruises. Viggo felt himself being pushed backwards with Sean's mouth on his throat, teeth against skin. Sean wasn’t biting, not yet, but the anticipation of it was already enough to make Viggo hard as a rock.
The bedroom was far away, but Sean was close, so close that Viggo couldn’t even concentrate on the steps he was taking. He only knew that his knees hit the edge of the bed and he was falling back. Sean fell with him, pressing him to the bed. There was a hand on his throat and it was completely antithetical to an Alpha, but he couldn't help but let it fall backwards, giving Sean more access. His legs remained closed, however. It wasn't going to be so easy.
“I need lube,” Sean whispered. His voice was a breath of heated air against Viggo’s throat. Viggo let his head drop backwards, and took a long, shaky inhale. Sean’s scent surrounded him, wrapped around him, and he took in it.
“Pockets.”
It felt right. It felt good. Viggo’s hands spread around Sean’s shoulders, curving down the lines to flatten against his chest. A single finger hooked against the collar and he pulled down, the buttons hitting his chest one by one as they burst from their seams and fell onto the sheets around them.
Sean leaned back, his hands ripping open Viggo’s slacks, tearing the zip into pieces. It was one of his few good pair of dress pants but he didn’t even care as he dug into his pockets, slipping out the lube and condoms just as Sean pulled them off and tossed them over the side of the bed. Viggo wasn’t wearing any underwear underneath them.
“I didn’t bring any,” Sean said against his bare thigh. His eyes were green, such a deep green that it shamed emeralds. His hands grasped Viggo's legs and forced them apart by sheer force, his fingers digging into the flesh. Viggo fought against him instinctively, but he took a deep breath and let himself fall wide open. Sean smiled, shifting himself forward so his hips prevented Viggo from closing his legs again.
His hands moved upwards, grabbing the tails of Viggo’s shirt with his hands and pulled it open by force. “Didn’t want ta get me ‘opes up and end up in me room all alone with lube and condoms ta remind me of what I couldn't 'ave.”
“You have me,” Viggo breathed, and he knew that it was true. Alphas weren’t supposed to belong to anyone, but it was true, nonetheless.
“So take me already.”
“Aye,” Sean’s teeth against the corner of the lube packet, tearing it open and spreading clear liquid all over his fingers. Then his fingers were inside Viggo, two of them at once, spreading him open and Viggo arched up, offering his throat, his chest, his everything. His hands tugged at Sean’s belt. It was strong leather but it was no match for his desperate, wanting strength, and he tore that too, tore Sean’s slacks apart, the sound of cloth giving away the only sound in the room apart from their harsh breathing.
He could feel Sean’s cock against his hands, hard with a knot forming at the base, reminding him of what the man in front of him was. Sean was an Alpha, an Alpha who was going to fuck him into this bed, and he moaned deep in his throat at the thought.
Sean followed the sound, his teeth finding Viggo’s throat. Finally biting down hard enough to bruise, his fingers crooking upwards inside him. Viggo couldn’t help but gasp, thrashing on the bed, moving upwards towards those fingers, towards those teeth.
“I’m-a make ya mine.”
“Already yours,” Viggo murmured, his hands cupping Sean’s hips, tugging away his boxers impatiently, so impatiently that the luxurious silk pulled itself apart as well. God, neither of them were going to have any clothes left after today- but that was only a brief thought, because his hands were moving up, carding through Sean’s hair, pulling him up.
They kissed, but it was less of a kiss than a force of nature, like a hurricane taking form through their lips. Tongue and teeth thrust and bit and claimed. Viggo spread his legs slowly, his hand leaving bruises on the back of Sean’s neck, on the spot where it could be seen underneath his hairline.
Sean broke the kiss. Let his head drop back.
Viggo had wanted this; wanted his throat from the moment he had met this man. He was already leaning forward, biting down on the skin, feeling Sean’s pulse beat against his lips. He was going to leave bruises there, bruises that couldn’t be hidden, and Sean’s hands were lifting his hips up, shoving a pillow underneath him. Viggo barely noticed, too distracted by Sean’s scent, musk and sex and pure Alpha, and he could only moan deep in his throat when Sean pressed into him.
Sean pulled back, all the way back, before he slammed into him hard, so hard that Viggo bit down with even greater force, breaking skin, his hands clenching around Sean’s arms. He was going to leave bruises. He liked that; liked that Sean would have bruises in the shape of Viggo’s hands the next morning. A reminder of who he belonged to now; who he owned.
“Mine,” Sean growled, and his voice was barely a rumble in the hollow of his throat. “Mine.”
Viggo only wrapped his legs tight around Sean’s hips, pulling him closer, deeper, refusing to let go of his neck. He pulled his head back, teeth leaving Sean’s throat, tongue laving against the wound.
“Mine,” he whispered. “Fuck me, Sean. Fuck me. Give me your knot. Mark me.”
“Vig,” Sean choked out, and his mangled name was the most beautiful sound Viggo had ever heard in his life. Then Sean was thrusting into him, hard and deep and fast, and Viggo heard his own voice, crying out Sean’s name over and over again, strangled little noises that barely escaped him throat. Every stroke inside brushed against his prostate, every single move made his cock ache, made his own knot grow, and he was clawing at Sean’s shoulder, rough enough to leave red marks all over the curve.
Then Sean pulled back, half-sitting up, and his hand shoved down hard against Viggo’s neck, pressing him into the bed, cutting off of his air. He was spreading Viggo’s thighs wide open with his other hand as he fucked him impossibly harder, impossibly deeper, Viggo’s name escaping him in soft, breathless snarls.
His hand wrapped around his knot, stroking against the sensitive, hard knob, and he buried his face into Viggo’s shoulder.
“Ya ‘ave a beautiful cock,” Sean slurred, and his accent was so thick that Viggo could barely understand him. “I want it in me. Yer going ta fuck me later, fuck me like I’m fuckin’ ya now, and I want ya ta shove yer damn knot inside me. Just- like- this-”
His hand let go of Viggo’s throat, pulling his legs open even more with sheer force as he slammed his knot inside, stretching Viggo impossibly even wider. And Viggo threw his head back and shouted wordlessly as he felt Sean come inside him, felt his knot expand even further, claiming him as Sean’s, and only Sean’s. Then Sean’s hand was stroking him, just once, from base to the tip and twisting against the head of Viggo’s cock.
Viggo blacked out completely as he came.
“Ya marked me real good,” Sean said.
Viggo breathed out, turning instinctively towards that voice. The mattress was hot underneath his back, and Sean’s body was even hotter beside him. He raised a hand, rubbing at his eyes as he tried to catch his breath, even as his hand slipped down to curl around his own throat. It felt sore, and he knew that there would be bruises come morning.
“So did you,” he replied. He turned around and looked at Sean, his fingers immediately tracing the slightly bloodied mark on his neck. Yours, the mark said, and Viggo felt his grin widen even further.
Sean leaned in, a hand in Viggo’s hair, his lips against his temple.
“I ain’t want this ta be temporary,” he murmured.
“It isn’t,” Viggo closed his eyes, leaning into that touch. “I didn’t wait for you for a year and a half for just one fuck, as fucking amazing as it was.”
Sean nodded, and Viggo felt the movement more than he saw it. “I’m ‘ere,” he said. “I’m right ‘ere, and I ain’t goin’ anywhere.” He smiled, the edges just a little mischievous. “Well, I don’t know ‘ow I am anyway, seein’ that ya ruined me clothes.”
“I’ll get you new ones, or you can borrow mine,” Viggo replied, and his breath hitched suddenly. The idea of Sean wearing his clothes sent a shot of arousal down his spine, and he moaned a little as his cock tried to harden again. It was too soon, and Sean didn’t have the scent of an Omega in heat to cancel out his refractory period.
That was alright; Viggo could wait.
“Ya like the idea, don’t ya?” Sean chuckled, and the sound vibrated throughout Viggo’s body. “Me wearin’ yer clothes. Tellin’ the world that I’m claimed now.”
“Fuck, yes,” Viggo reached up slightly, curling his fingers against Sean’s cheek, tipping his face towards him even further. “I like the idea of putting my knot in you even more, but that can wait.”
“Like I said,” Sean turned his head, teeth nipping against the tips of Viggo’s fingers, “I ain’t goin’ anywhere.”
End