Confessions On The Wind

Confessions On The Wind

Posted: April 2005
Title: Confessions on the Wind
Author: Ashlyn K. Toliver
Fandom: Real Person Fiction
Genre: RPS
Characters: Sean/Viggo
Rating: PG-13
Disclaimer: The story is FICTION. The emotions are my own.
Warnings: Implied same-sex pairing...that's all.
Author's Notes: Part of this story began as something I posted on the Viggo Chronicles site under a thread called "I Confess" and I thought "Wow, maybe this would be going through Sean's mind as well..." The last line is borrowed from the novel Stardust by one of my favorite authors Neil Gaiman. I'm also celebrating because this is my 10 th LOTR RPS fanfic - Big hugs and thank yous' to all my 'usual suspects' - Alexa, Greymist, Anne, Stefany, Haleth, Izbit, Brigantine, jazzyjean, everyone at When Darkness Beckons, LOTR Adult Fic, Mirrormere, thegodsthemselves, Green Opals, Of Elves and Men and The Chronicles of Osgiliath - this is all your fault!

I dedicate this story to my two beautiful male muses Sean Mark Bean and Viggo Peter Mortensen Jr., both of whose incandescent souls inspire me.

Summary: Sean's feelings about Viggo before taking a giant leap of faith...the things he cannot say.

*****

New Zealand...

In the dark of night, the stars close enough to illuminate his rugged features, the eyes a maelstrom of green turbulent emotions, Sean speaks to the wind, hoping that it will carry the words he cannot say to the man whom, in what seems a relatively short amount of time, has become more than just a friend. They are the words wrested from deep inside his heart, and to speak them to the wind, his sole confidante - he can bare his soul and it will not judge him. The stars listen impassively, as they have done for countless eons and for countless men before him.

I confess that it is his air of gentle command that makes me want to surrender everything to him. His is a strength born not of force but of kindness and tenderness.

My strength, such as it is, was born of necessity, and perhaps from fear.

I confess that I drown in his eyes, the color of a winter sun striking a glacier.

In his eyes I imagine that I see a tomorrow.

I confess that his voice is like honeyed amber and that when he speaks is like the sighing of angels.

His smile is crooked and his lips are soft.

He can be as unpredictable as the elements but steadfast as the earth herself.

I confess that there is a mystery to him that I never want revealed. He fascinates me - his joy in living, his expansive soul, his passion, his art - so much vibrancy contained in one mortal man.

I confess the beauty of that soul is sometimes too much for me to bear, and that I must be crazy for being so attracted to it, but there's never been anyone like him in my life.

I don't even remember when I first became aware of these emotions. I didn't think it was possible, especially with another man.

Sometimes I fear he knows me better than I do myself, even the things that I hide. He's seen all of me, my darkness and my despair, my failures at love and yet does not judge me.

He held me when the divorce papers were delivered. I don't remember reading their contents, nor do I remember signing my name in what felt like blood. I remember his arms around me like an anchor, keeping me moored in a safe harbor.

I want him and I know that he knows. Face to face I cannot lie to him.

I know that he wants me. He told me.

I confess that his touch brands me already as his and I don't want to feel that way.

The idea of losing myself in love again - I can't do it - but whenever I see him or he touches me or gazes at me, all I want is to be made his - to love him with all my being.

How did it ever come to this?

I confess that what I feel may have the power to unman me, to make me less than what I am, but if I let him walk away I will never be whole.

I confess to my wild nightdreams - his hands, his lips, his eyes, his voice, his body - all lay claim to me, demanding my surrender which I have no choice but to give freely.

I have been with men before, though not many and those times had been no more than tentative fumblings in the dark or mutual body worship.

I have never been taken, nor had the experience of taking.

I am a virgin in this territory of desire and I confess to wanting Viggo to be the first and the only though a part of me rebels at such thoughts but oh god to have those eyes of winter sky burn me, capture me...

I confess that in his arms my body would be as clay as he molds me anew.

I confess to wanting everything his has and everything he is.

And I confess that he will find me wanting or that I will fail or that I will run away - or that we will be friends and nothing more and that I will simply retreat into myself as I've always done - never risking, never feeling, never loving.

Perhaps I am an old man after all and that those heady emotions of youth, where I ran heedlessly into the headwinds of fate, are no longer suitable for a man like me who seemingly cannot hold onto love.

I confess that as much as it frightens me, I think I'm in love with him.

Perhaps it's true after all - that every lover is in his heart a madman, and in his head a minstrel.

*****

THE END

If you enjoyed this story, please send feedback to: Ashlyn