Painted Memory

Title: Painted Memory (1/1)
Rating: NC-17
Pairing: VM/SB
Author: jenolas
Warning: Mention of character death
Summary: Viggo lacks inspiration for his unfinished painting.

A/N: Halloween is not a traditional celebration in Australia (where I live), although in the interests of any reason for a party many have adopted it. Nonetheless, this is a ficlet for Halloween.

Disclaimer: This is a work of total fiction and nothing more. I make no claim about these lovely men’s preferences, sexual or otherwise.

Painted Memory

“Trick or treat!”

Viggo heard the muffled giggles and whispers of childish voices outside his front door, and groggily rose from his favourite armchair where had apparently been sleeping for most of the afternoon. The reclining leather chair was most conducive to sleeping, but one still became stiff in the joints at his age, Viggo mused as he stretched lazily and wandered over to the door to find three children and their father standing on his front porch.

“Very impressive costumes, happy Halloween,” he said as he smiled at the expectant faces, exchanging a nod of greeting with the man in a pirate costume who was standing to one side. “Perhaps you and your wife would care to share this later,” he said as he handed him bottle of wine from the crate of adult ‘treats’ he had ready for indulgent parents

“Trick or treat?” Batman, Spiderman and the fairy princess demanded again in unison. Viggo wisely decided on treats and offered the children their choice from the large bowl of candies and such he had prepared earlier that day when Henry and his son had visited.

Viggo had drawn upon his knowledge of costuming and make up years of acting had given him to create a very credible looking vampire of his grandson, but he had declined the invitation to join them for the evening leaving Henry to carry on the father and son Halloween tradition. Besides, he and Sean had started one of their own, and role-playing in the bedroom was definitely not something to be missed. Except that it would be this year.

“Sean, wish you were here,” Viggo sighed longingly as he thought of his lover. He squeezed his eyes shut as he sagged wearily against the closed door and pinched the bridge of his nose as if that would avert the headache he felt already throbbing at his temple. Although the night was still young, and he could not recall the last time he had eaten, he knew the only way to escape his increasingly melancholy mood was to sleep.

As he walked past the studio, he automatically glanced around at the unfinished works, hoping that perhaps inspiration would strike and he could lose himself in his painting. He had not touched a brush for months, and nothing he saw motivated him to do so now. Not even the way the moonlight filtering in through the large windows was playing on the unfinished portrait that he and Sean had been working on. It was part experiment, part a gift to each other, the idea born after more than a few beers and a pleasantly intense lovemaking session to celebrate their fifteenth anniversary some months ago.

As they lay together basking in the afterglow, reaffirming their love with words as they always did, Sean had produced a photo his daughters had sent, and asked if Viggo would reproduce it in a painting.

“I know it’s not your usual style, but I want one that actually looks like us, formal like, as it were,” Sean explained, grimacing slightly at the punch in the arm his words earned.

“I thought you liked my art.”

“I do, don’t understand it too well at times, but I love anything you do. It’s just that I want this to be special,” Sean replied.

“Anything?” Viggo asked with an evil smirk that did not intimidate Sean in the least.

“Aye, but let’s talk about the painting first, before I let you do ‘anything’ else,” he insisted playfully.

“Okay, since it is so important to you. This is not a recent photo, is it? We both look much younger.” Viggo stated as he studied the picture of Sean and himself standing together, lost in each other and looking out a window at the London snow.

Sean was behind Viggo, his arms wrapped around his lover’s waist, his head resting on Sean’s shoulder and he was smiling at some secret his lover was whispering into his ear. There was a bit of tongue involved as well, Viggo recalled with a shiver of delight at the sensation that seemed undiminished with time.

“Aye, that were the first Christmas we shared with me girls,” Sean said, his words further jogging Viggo’ memory.

“Yeah, I remember now. They gave us those matching sweaters we are wearing as presents,” he replied, with a smile. “They thought it was a very romantic gesture for partners to wear the same clothes.”

“So did I, but more than that, it showed their acceptance of you as my lover and made me even more happy than I already was,” Sean said tracing a finger over the chest of the Viggo in the photograph.

“Mmm, me too,” Viggo agreed murmuring against the soft skin of Sean’s neck. “I like the idea of us having a proper portrait. Besides, capturing the way my handsome, incredibly sexy lover looks upon me with such love and adoration on canvas should not be too difficult, but to do this photo justice, I think you should paint the portrait of me,” Viggo said, already planning his approach to the work in his mind.

“Don’t be daft, love. I haven’t touched a brush in more years than I care to mention, I would only spoil it,” Sean objected.

“On the contrary, having you paint me as only you see me would make it perfect. A joint effort is something I have never considered before, but with you as my partner how could it be anything other than spectacular and so very precious to us both. Please say you will do it?” Viggo pleaded, offering a tender lingering kiss as added persuasion. Sean melted into his arms and when they finally parted, he nodded his agreement, sealing the bargain with another session of passionate lovemaking.

Sean had gone on location not long after they had started the joint project, and in his absence, Viggo had all but finished his half of the portrait. Like his other paintings, he had not touched it in months, not since… the searing pain in his heart put paid to completing that thought.

True to his word, he had captured his lover’s likeness well, so much so in fact that he could almost believe those eyes, a deep jade darkened with love and desire for the man he held so lovingly in his arms, were looking at him now.

“You do good work, Viggo,” Sean’s voice whispered in his ear, his warm breath sending tingles down Viggo’s spine as soft lips trailed sweet kisses down his jaw line.

“Sean! How? When?’ Viggo asked excitedly, unable to string any words together in a coherent form as he felt himself wrapped in the arms of his lover. Standing in the same pose as they were in the half finished painting, Viggo leaned against the strong, warm chest and closed his eyes, sighing contentedly as he felt the heart that beat exactly in time with his own against his back, and listened to the soft inhale and exhale of breathing so in synch with the rise and fall of his own chest that an outsider would be hard pressed to detect more than one person in the room. They were in fact one, Viggo thought as he caressed the hands that rested around his waist.

“I thought it was time for me to see how the painting was going. To do my bit,” Sean replied, not making a move other than to nibble on Viggo’s earlobe.

“The painting can wait, right now I need you to ‘do’ me,” Viggo said seductively, turning to face his lover with a burning hunger in his eyes that could not be denied. Taking Sean’s hand, and making his lover laugh joyously at his eagerness, Viggo all but dragged Sean over to the sofa that was the only piece of furniture in the studio.

Tender kisses, gentle nips and licks soon evolved into something more primal and passionate. Touches and caresses became demanding as hands explored every inch of available skin. Tongues fought for dominance of warm mouths, then other places more intimate, one eventually giving way to allow a needy, hard, weeping cock to take its place.

All that could be heard was the sound of balls slapping against arse cheeks as Sean thrust in and out while Viggo stroked his own silk covered steel. The moans and whimpers of the carnal symphony became ragged and incoherent as sweat and semen slicked bodies pounded together, the lover’s music building to a crescendo as the white lightning of orgasm ripped through them both. Breathless, sated and exhausted, but not so much so that they could not exchange a heartfelt “I love you” and a lingering kiss, Viggo fell asleep wrapped in Sean’s arms.

Moonlight had not yet been replaced by the morning sun when Viggo awoke, and he sat up in alarm when he realised he was alone. His unanswered calls for Sean became almost desperate as he raced through the house, still more asleep than awake.

Anxiously he checked in every room, finally returning to the studio when he realised his lover was gone. In fact there was no sign of him ever having been there except for the dried seed on Viggo’s body, he thought as he sat dejectedly on the sofa, and tried to sort through the confusion. He and Sean had always seemed to be able to sense their connection even when separated by half the globe and deep in his heart it was still there. Wanting and needing it to be so, had he just imagined Sean was with him, loving him? Was it all just a lovely, erotic dream?

Shit! Of course it had to be, Viggo’s inner voice of reason replied angrily as tears welled in his eyes. Now he remembered with painful clarity. Sean was dead.

Fucking drunk driver and fucking wet road saw to that, didn’t they? Took his beloved Sean from him on his way home from the airport.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck, I miss you. It hurts so much Sean. Why did you leave me?” Viggo’s anguished cry was screamed into the empty room. He turned to glare the smiling man in the portrait, and his jaw slackened with astonishment as not one, but two pairs of eyes, one jade, one deep, smoky blue, stared back at him.

“What the hell?” he asked no one as he moved to take a closer look at the now completed painting. A soft brush of well-loved lips across his own sent an eerie shiver down his spine and Viggo felt rather than heard the answer.

“No, Halloween,’ tis what it is love, the night when walls between the worlds are thin.”