The first thing Viggo thought when he saw Sean, standing in a clearing in full Boromir costume, smiling softly at some private joke, was that he had never seen anybody so full of vitality, of sheer love of life. His fingers itched to touch, to feel Sean’s skin, to soak up some of that vitality, absorb it into himself, but of course he didn’t know him, hadn’t even been officially introduced, and so when Sean looked up, the smile still lingering, Viggo nodded and smiled, and put his hands behind his back. It felt as if he had come home.
**
"My home," Boromir had said softly, in the deepest reaches of the night when he had come to sit with Aragorn, both of them staring into the darkness, aware of each other and refusing to acknowledge what seemed to building between them. "I should like you to see my home."
Aragorn didn’t tell him then; didn’t say I am of the Numenor; I have lived longer than you can imagine. I remember your father’s father as a young man. I have seen your city.
He didn’t say any of that. He simply moved closer until their shoulders were barely touching.
**
"It’s yours, if you want it." Sean looked so shy and embarrassed that Elijah hid a laugh behind a cough.
"I’ve been hoping for this," he said, his fingers reaching out to touch Sean’s wrist before moving to stroke his palm, tracing the object Sean was holding out. "For so long." He picked it up, held the key in the palm of his own hand, before closing his fist around it tightly.
"Thank you," Sean said. "For wanting it as much as I do."
Elijah smiled and, holding his clenched fist hard against his chest, leaned forward, meeting Sean halfway.
**
Sometimes Elijah knew that he annoyed Viggo. He was too young, too brash, too determined to drink and smoke and swear himself into adulthood. He tried to be what Viggo wanted, but he was aware when he had got it wrong. Viggo turned quiet and distant, and Elijah would almost panic when that happened because he was terrified that he would drive away the one thing he needed more than he needed to breathe.
"Why are you here?" he had asked on one such occasion. "What do you see in me?"
Viggo had smiled and answered him.
"My home."
**
"You’re a brash little bastard sometimes," Billy had said, his hand moving slowly, making think seriously about begging. "Full of yourself, you know? Think everybody’s going to fall at your feet."
"Haven’t noticed you running away," Elijah had replied, moving his hand to cover Billy’s, urging him on.
"That’s because I’m patient with your youth." Billy kissed his neck. "And anyway, where the hell would I go? Wouldn’t want to be anywhere you’re not." He kissed Elijah again. "Brash little bastard."
Elijah tasted something new and familiar in the kiss and it took him a moment to identify it.
Billy tasted of home.
**
"How do you cope with it?" Orlando tilted his head so that he could look over the top of his sunglasses, clearly – and appealingly – thinking that sunglasses and a ridiculous hat offered him protection from his fans.
Elijah shrugged. "You get used to it."
"I miss home. I miss having a place where I can close the door and forget about the world. A place where I can sit and watch telly in the nude, scratching my balls when I want."
"Home’s inside you," Elijah said. "You have to learn that."
Orlando looked utterly lost.
"How do I even start?"
**
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