Archive of Our Own

Sean Bean’s performance as Lord Eddard Stark is solid and incredibly commendable. He carries off the air of command of a true Alpha worth his salt, and though he does bend his knee to his King the world never seems to forget that he’s an Alpha.

It might be redundant to mention Sean Bean’s acting as Ned Stark, but there is no moment when I do not believe that he’s truly an Alpha. Ned does not posture and strut—in fact, in one of his first scenes, he kneels to his King—but his confidence and carriage shows his position as an Alpha clearly enough. Bean carried it off. There are no doubts of that.

When the casting of Game of Thrones was announced, there were uproars amongst the fans when Sean Bean was chosen as Eddard Stark. Bean is a veteran actor, but it seems that his personal life looms larger than his career, and many fear that with his history, he’s incapable of portraying a strong, quiet Alpha like Eddard Stark. I’m glad to say that those people can eat their words, for he has proven them entirely wrong.

***

“Julian.”

A young boy—he couldn’t be more than six years old—looked up at the sound of his name. He stopped talking mid-word and smiled immediately when he recognised the voice, pulling away from his companion, reaching out.

“Papa!”

Sean picked up his son and pulled him into his arms, making a soft oof noise. He ruffled his son’s bright blond hair before he shifted the boy a little bit—until he could sit down. Julian had swung his arms around his papa’s neck, looking up with him with a pair of striking blue eyes.

“Are you finished for the day, papa?”

“Yeah, unless they decide ta call me again,” Sean answered, smiling.

“Good,” Julian said. “I’ll ask about it later, because I think you want to talk to Isaac. Right, papa?”

“Right.”

Isaac Hempstead-Wright blinked, looking up at the sound of his name. He had been talking to Julian for quite a while, but it was honestly always a shock whenever Julian said something so perceptive and intelligent. It usually made him feel just a little bit inadequate, even though he knew it was stupid.

“You’re really smart, Julian,” he said admiring. “But uh- what is it, Mi- Sean?” It was so odd to call Sean by his first name, especially when Isaac’s mother hand spent a lot of time in her youth watching Sharpe. It was still a little surreal that he was acting at this man’s son. They were technically colleagues, but that was totally too weird for him to think about.

“Director’s calling for you,” Sean said, and he nudged Isaac gently towards the set. “I think you haveta call yer mother too, because he ‘as some ideas fer the next episodes he want to run through the both of you.

“And of course Julian’s smart,” he continued as he grinned, green eyes glittering. “He takes after his father.”

Isaac wasn’t a stupid boy. He knew Sean wasn’t referring to himself.

***

Sean officially hated Malta’s heat. This was getting fucking ridiculous.

Odysseus’s wig stuck to his neck and the armour was so heavy that Sean imagined that they cut against his shoulders. The food here was so bad that he was literally throwing up every single day because of it, although Sean was starting to wonder if it was just because the food hated him. No one else seemed to be doing as badly.

At least the tasteless protein cubes they were supposed to eat for building up muscles were still working. Sean needed those; he popped them like candy nowadays, because despite throwing up (or because of it) he felt ravenously hungry. He supposed that it was due to all of the working out he had to do for the movie, especially now that Wolfgang had added a fight scene for Odysseus. A chance for him to show his prowess, they had said, because the producers were making noises about making a movie about The Odyssey if Troy did well domestically and internationally.

Sean was a rising star and they wanted to make use of him as much as possible. Of course, he had said yes—he would be stupid not to—even though it would cut down on his spare time even more. He promised Viggo that he would schedule at least two months free so that they could fly off to some remote place where no one knew them from Lord of the Rings. Two months where they didn’t have to hide.

Same-sex alpha-alpha relationships were illegal. They were literally the only illegal relationships left in the world right now, and the laws weren’t budging. Alphas were commodities, with genes that couldn’t be wasted in non-reproductive relationships; Alphas had the civic duty to their country and the damn species to breed. The Omegas might claim that society saw them as broodmares, but society saw everyone’s worth as being judged by their breeding potentials. Alphas were the stallions who would be led to the mares to breed no matter if they actually wanted to or not. Most didn’t complain.

Sean was an Alpha, and he had been taught since his youth what he was supposed to do. He had it hammered in so hard—and had watched his Alpha father and Omega mother all of his life—that he married Debra when they were both so young so that they would have more time to have children. Of course, that had fallen apart. He did eventually have children, though.

Viggo was an Alpha as well. They were two of the only three Alphas amongst the Rings cast (the third was Ian), with Elijah as their unbounded Omega whom they protected. Everyone else were Betas—Betas were, after all, the majority, even though there were still more Alphas in executive positions. People had started rumours that Sean was sleeping with Elijah then, or that he still was, simply because the world seemed to be unable to conceive of Alphas and Omegas having platonic relationships when they weren’t related by blood.

Sean never did sleep with Elijah. He did, however, sleep with Viggo. He was still sleeping with Viggo, being careful with their outward appearance so that there would be a scandal about it. The law against homosexual double-Alpha relationships might not be enforced, but legal discrimination wasn’t the only discrimination in existence. He sighed, rubbed at his head. Thinking about this always gave him a headache, and now the heat was making the stars dance in front of his eyes.

“Sean!” he lifted his head, squinting slightly. He could see Wolfgang calling, and he hefted himself to his feet, a hand on a table. The world spun. Sean shook his head, but the throbbing worsened even further. He took a step forward, and he felt his legs give out underneath him.

Then he was surrounded by darkness.

***

“Viggo—look, I know you’re busy right now, but I really need you to come over to Malta.”

“I’m filming, Orlando—”

“I know, but this is really bad. Beanie collapsed in the middle of the day. He says he’s fine but I’m worried—”

“Orli, slow down. You’re telling me that Sean fainted?”

“Yeah. He just stood up from his chair and then went down like a sack of bricks. He told met the doctor gave him a clean bill of health and told him to drink more water. Wolfgang has the go-ahead to keep filming Odysseus’s scenes, but Beanie still looks like shit.”

“…Give me a minute- yeah, I have a filming break coming up next week.”

“Great! Thanks, Vig. I’m really tired to talking to a brick wall.”

“What do you mean?”

“I think the doctor told Beanie something but he’s not sharing with the class. He’s just… spacing out a lot and being stupidly evasive when I ask. You’re the only one who can get anything out of me, I swear.”

“I’ll try, Orlando.”

“God, if you can’t do something, I don’t know who can.”

***

“Daddy!”

“Hey there, little soldier,” Viggo bent down and scooped his youngest child, his miracle child, into his arms, holding him tight and feeling soft, fat arms wrap around his neck. He turned his head, pressing a kiss against Julian’s temple. Then he looked up, reaching out with one hand to cup against Sean’s neck, pulling him in close.

“Close your eyes, Julian,” Sean murmured, and that was all the warning their boy had, because Viggo was already leaning in and kissing him hard, all teeth and tongue claiming him. Sean growled underneath his breath, his fingers tight against Viggo’s arm. There would be bruises tomorrow and Viggo was already thinking about wearing tank tops, showing the bruises that his husband had placed on him—the bruises he was willing to accept from this man and only this man; the bruises he would always be proud of, because it showed that he belonged to Sean.

“Ew,” Julian said, and Sean laughed against their lips. “You’re both gross.”

Viggo slowly pulled away, his fingers sliding through Sean’s hair. He leaned in again, kissing those tempting lips and brushing his fingers against one cheek. Sean’s wrinkles had deepened even further while he had been gone, and Viggo frowned. His fingers trailed over them, and his instincts screamed at him that his husband had changed without his permission, and that wasn’t something he allowed.

Sean tipped his head and kissed Viggo on the wrist. “I think,” he said, his voice cast into a low murmur, “we should go inside.”

They were getting stares. Discreet ones, of course, because Viggo had made sure to tuck himself behind something before he caught Julian, but Julian’s announcement of his presence already made a few look. They were both Alphas, they were married, they had a child, and they made enough noise about it to change things—there was no reason why they wouldn’t look.

“Let’s,” Viggo said, and he pulled back from Sean to focus on Julian. He kissed the boy on the forehead again, and Julian made a small face. “Then my little soldier can tell me when he has learned by hanging around the set.”

“Lots,” Julian promised. Sean’s fingers curled around his own, and Viggo let himself be led.

***

“Tell me everything you know.”

Viggo was two minutes off the plane and already giving orders, his eyes narrowed and lips pursed like the King of Men. Orlando couldn’t help but smile, shoving his hands into his own pockets as he tried to keep up with Viggo.

“Everything I’ve told you haven’t changed,” he said, shrugging slightly. “It’s just getting weirder, or maybe it’s weird because I’m now noticing things, but—you know, Beanie’s stopped smoking? I don’t think it’s a new thing, but he hasn’t smoked in a while, and he’s begged off Brad—God, I need to introduce the two of you, and Eric!—when Brad asked him out for drinks. I don’t think he drinks at all nowadays, which is bloody strange.”

He chuckled, shaking his head, “It’s like he’s on some kind of mad health regime, really. If he is, it’s too damn late, because we’re almost done filming. Did I tell you that Wolfgang had the writers pen in a scene with Odysseus because he likes Sean so much?”

“No,” Viggo chuckled, “but I’m not surprised.” He stopped in his tracks, turning to look at Orlando, his eyes half-narrowed. Orlando had always fancied it to be the look that Viggo turned onto roadkill before he roasted it and ate it, and he tried to not back up a step. “Let’s go.”

“Yeah,” Orlando said, and he deliberately didn’t think about what it meant that Viggo was willing to drop everything for Sean; that he looked at Orlando and barely saw him, because his focus was entirely on a man still some distance away. Viggo was an Alpha and Sean was an Alpha and they were both men; it was just so much safer for him to think that it wasn’t possible.

“I’ll drive,” he said instead.

**

Viggo closed the flimsy, wooden trailer door behind him. Then he turned around, leaning against it. Sean was sitting on the small bed, his fingers intertwined and clenched so hard the knuckles were white. His shoulders were tense, lips drawn back unconsciously to bare his teeth even though his eyes were boring holes into the floor. If Viggo wasn’t an Alpha himself, he would’ve gotten out of the room immediately—Sean looked defensive and ready to attack anyone who so much as came near him.

“Do you want to tell me what’s wrong?” Viggo kept his voice low, barely above a murmur. He had never been the type of Alpha that postured and threw his weight around—he left those antics to people who couldn’t assert their authority with just a look—but he pushed, nonetheless, walking over to the bed and falling to his knees. He took Sean’s hands into his own and started rubbing at the knuckles.

“Didn’t think I’d see you ‘ere,” Sean mumbled, still not lifting his eyes.

Viggo rubbed harder, stroking his thumb down to follow the thin bones and tendons of Sean’s wrist. “Orlando called me. He told me that you collapsed and you are ill, so don’t try to tell me you’re fine.” He looked up, smiling slightly as he brushed his knuckles against Sean’s cheek. If Sean was an Omega, Viggo would’ve kissed him already, holding him close and burying his hands into Sean’s hair—but he wasn’t, so he didn’t.

“Besides, I think I’m overdue for a visit anyway.”

Sean bit his lip, “I- I think I ‘ave somethin’ I haveta tell you.”

“Yeah?” Viggo leaned back, still holding onto Sean’s hands, to sit on his haunches. “I’m listening.”

Sean took a deep breath, seeming to gather up his courage. His eyes flickered left, then right, fixating on the door for a long moment. Viggo got the message and he shifted a little to the side, so that Sean had an unimpeded view—and path—to the exit, and he wondered what on Earth did Sean feel he had to protect from him.

“I’m pregnant.”

Viggo blinked, “What?”

“Pregnant,” Sean said again, rubbing at his nose. He licked his lips, not meeting Viggo’s eyes. “Knocked up, bun in the oven, in the Omega way,” he rubbed at his eyes, and snuck a peek at Viggo, who had gone as still as a statue. “It’s yours, Vig.”

There was a huge roar in his ears and Viggo was moving before he even knew it. He had reached out and slammed a hand against Sean’s chest, pushing him onto the bed as he climbed over him, pressing their lips together. Sean’s fingers curled around his shoulders, but Viggo pulled at them, grabbing both wrists and pinning them above Sean’s head as he pried him lips open, claiming his mouth and breathing in his scent. He heard Sean moan beneath him, and his instincts screamed—his hands were pulling off Sean’s shirt already, fingers dancing from his collarbones to his chest, flicking at his nipples (these will be used to feed my child, he thought giddily), and splaying out his hand against his stomach. Sean’s skin was warm underneath his hand, and it might just be his imagination but it seemed warmer than usual. He could feel the baby underneath Sean’s skin.

A child. His baby. His baby with Sean.

“Mine,” he said, and he couldn’t even recognise his own voice. It was a low, rumbling growl, and Viggo turned his eyes up, fixing on Sean. “Mine.”

“Aye,” Sean said softly, and the fear that was knotting his muscles seemed to have faded. He reached out and cupped his hand around Viggo’s neck, pulling him in for a long kiss. He arched up underneath him. “Yours, Vig. Just like you’re mine.”

There was something he had to ask here—Viggo’s mind was trying to bat away the Alpha instincts that crowded into his head. He had always prided himself for being able to control those urges and to not behave like a caveman, damnit—

“How?” the question slipped out before he was even aware of the word sitting on his tongue. “I- you’re a male Alpha.”

“Don’t know,” Sean said, turning away. “Everyone knows that it ain’t supposed to happen, but I still ‘ave the equipment, and so do you.” He poked Viggo on the chest, licking his lips a little. “Apparently something ‘appened ta turn it on.”

Viggo narrowed his eyes, searching his memories, “… It was when I visited you during that Nicolas Cage movie, wasn’t it?” He reached out, cupping Sean’s face with a hand and turning him to look at Viggo. “You were begging me to knot you.” His hand smoothed down, flattening out against Sean’s stomach again. “That was four months ago.”

Sean nodded, “Yeah, that’s me ‘eat alrigh’. Doc said that me ma bein’ an Omega might also ‘ave somethin’ ta do about it.”

“Is that why you’re sick?”

“Mornin’ sickness,” Sean explained, and his grin was ironic and dim, but it was there. “I’ve been ‘aving it for the past three months and it doesn’t seem ta be endin’.”

Viggo looked at him for a long moment then down to his hand—which was spread out against Sean’s flat stomach. He looked up, silently questioning with a small tilt of the head. Sean shrugged.

“I’ve been workin’ out a lot. Muscles are stronger, so they ain’t givin’ in much. Baby’s pretty small too.”

He moved to sit up, and Viggo moved back immediately. They looked at each other for a moment before Viggo moved to the head of the bed, back against the headboard with his arms open and legs spread. Sean followed him, leaning against him, his spine perfectly aligned against Viggo’s chest. Viggo’s hands moved, stroking against Sean’s abdomen, feeling the strong muscles underneath the smooth, hairless skin. His lips grazed against Sean’s neck.

There were so many issues to be dealt with. There was the damn law. Most of Europe had quitted trying to criminalise non-abusive relationships, but double-Alpha relationships were still incredibly rare and looked down upon. Britain and America still criminalised homosexual Alpha relationships and it was only fifteen or so years ago that heterosexual Alpha relationships were made legal in the latter. Viggo even had to be born in Argentina because his parents’ relationship wasn’t legal in America.

Sean’s career would definitely suffer if the news got out that he was pregnant. Pregnancy, according to society, wasn’t made for Alphas.

Society loved its little boxes and labels, and what Sean managed to do—what both of them managed to do—defeated so many expectations that they would both certainly be looked at differently when news got out of this. They might even be in danger. Viggo’s hand was clenching at his side, fisting against the sheets, and he swore that he would do anything he could to keep Sean safe. He knew exactly how strong of an Alpha he was, and even though he rarely used that power when off-camera, he wouldn’t keep it back now. He had to protect Sean and their child, and he would give anything to do so.

For the first time in his life, Viggo’s instincts and his mind were perfectly in line with each other. His instincts screamed and railed at him to protect both his baby and his— Viggo realised with a jolt that he had been treating Sean like he would treat an Omega, and Sean was letting him. Sean, who fought him every time that they fell into bed with each other until they were both covered in scratches and bite marks and bruises.

“Don’t get used to this,” Sean said, his voice thick. Even when he was falling asleep, he could still read Viggo’s mind. “I ain’t goin’ ta lettin’ you make all me decisions or ‘ave me quit actin’ to stay ‘ome ta be yer little pet Omega or somethin’. I’m just tired right now.”

Viggo stroked a hand through Sean’s hair, “If I wanted an Omega, I wouldn’t have fallen for you. I’m just thinking.”

“Think softer,” Sean ordered, shifting on the bed until his entire weight was pressing onto Viggo, using him as a pillow. His eyes were a brilliant green. “I know we’ve got lots ta talk ‘bout and even more ta do and I’ll help you with the thinkin’, but I haven’t seen you in a bit.” He left I missed you unspoken, but Viggo could hear it anyway.

“We’ll talk later,” Viggo agreed, pressing a kiss against Sean’s hair.

“Hey, Vig?”

“Mm?”

“You’re really happy ‘bout the baby, yeah?” The tone of the question was far too casual for it to actually be casual. Viggo’s hand stilled for a moment before he nipped against Sean’s neck.

“You’re going to have our child, Sean. I don’t think ‘happy’ covers all of it.”

“Good,” Sean said, his accent thickening so much that if Viggo was anyone else, he wouldn’t be able to understand him. “Didn’t think you would be.”

Viggo jerked, blinking hard—but Sean had fallen asleep, and he was left with a mind that was far too awake, trying to figure out what Sean meant. Was this why he was suddenly so docile?

For the rest of the night, Viggo couldn’t sleep.

***

It took a rare Alpha to be able to pull off long hair. All Omegas could—in fact, long hair was the required length for Omegas for most of history—and most Betas were capable of it because many of their features could still be considered ‘delicate’. But Alphas generally looked terrible with long hair. Even female Alphas sheared their hair short because they didn’t look good with it, much less male Alphas, whose features were even stronger.

Viggo laughed, burying his fingers in Sean’s long strands of gold as he was slammed against the door, the breath knocked out of him. His lips parted as he panted against Sean’s lips, all urgency as he rocked his hips upwards, feeling the other Alpha’s cock against his own.

Sean’s hand snuck down past Viggo’s waistband and curled his fingers around the slowly-growing knot. Viggo gasped, thrusting his hips upwards, trying to fuck into that hand, but Sean had his other hand around his shoulder, pressing him into the wall.

“I want,” Sean’s voice was low and rough, his stubble scraping against Viggo’s ear. “I want you inside me, Vig. I want you ta fuck me hard, slamming all the way inside. I want you ta knot me and fill me with your come. Then I want you ta do it all over again.” Fingers against Viggo’s lips—Viggo darted his mouth out and licked against the tips, helplessly aroused by the words.

“Come on now, King of the West. What are you waiting for?”

Viggo moved. He grabbed Sean by his arms and shoved him backwards, practically throwing him onto the big, luxurious bed of Sean’s hotel suite. Sean dropped back, his eyes glittering in the lowered lights, teasing as he spread his legs and Viggo couldn’t resist the invitation. He leaned over Sean’s, kissing him hard, his fingers moving down Sean’s hips, curving around his cock and back down to his entrance—

“Jesus,” he broke off the kiss to gasp, shaking hard. His fingers pulled out of Sean, coming back wet and glistening. Viggo closed his eyes, biting down his lip as he imagined Sean kneeling on his bed, head thrown back as he stretched himself open, preparing himself for Viggo’s cock, Viggo’s knot. If he thought about it more he was going to explode without a single thrust.

Sean had no Omega pheromones, but Viggo didn’t need any of them. He was hard just looking at him, taking in the smooth, golden skin, the strong jaw and the broad shoulders. Sean was an Alpha through and through—the heavy knot at the base of his cock proved it—and he looked utterly glorious lying there with his legs spread and hole wet, inviting Viggo to fuck him.

And Viggo was already lining himself up. He felt Sean’s hand on his neck and leaned down, their mouths crashing together in a battle of teeth and tongue and lips. His lip split and he could taste his own blood, but Sean was already licking against the wound, his hips rocking upwards, urging—and Viggo pushed inside him, groaning loudly at the feel of the hot, tight vice clamping around his cock. Sean’s legs wrapped around his hips, pulling him in even more, seating him deep inside, and Viggo fell over him, gasping.

He drew back and thrust in, breathing in Sean’s sharp, pleasured cry and letting it sink into his lungs. “You’re so damn gorgeous,” his words were in his mouth as he did it again, leaning down to kiss Sean, to swallow down those sounds until he was filled with them like how he was filling Sean up. “So goddamn beautiful, Sean,” he breathed the words against Sean’s neck, taking in his scent. Sean smelled sweet, incredibly sweet, and Viggo felt like he was drowning in him.

“Vig,” Sean gasped his name, arching against him, his cock sliding against Viggo’s stomach, sending sparks up and down his spine. “Harder, harder,” his nails sank into Viggo’s shoulders. There would be bruises there tomorrow. “Harder—get your knot in me, Vig. Do it, do it.”

There was something Viggo was missing here. Sean had never wanted it this badly and had never begged for him like this. But he was begging now and there was no way Viggo wouldn’t give it to him. He dragged in a sharp breath, leaning against one elbow above Sean as he pulled out almost completely, leaving only the tip of his cock inside, before he slammed in. Sean threw his head back, biting down hard his own palm to stifle his scream. Viggo smiled, reaching out to pull that hand away, muffling Sean’s sounds with his own mouth as he did it again, and again, and again.

Sean was still too tight for his knot, but he had asked, and like hell was Viggo going to refuse him. He hissed, reaching out with two fingers- and with his next thrust in, he shoved his fingers as well, stretching Sean even further open. Sean was incoherent by now, writhing against him, his lips forming litanies of Viggo’s name, over and over and over again, so relaxed and loose that he let Viggo’s fingers in easily. Viggo hissed out a breath of Sean’s name before he pulled his hand away and breached Sean’s body with his knot, falling forward, leaning their foreheads together. His hand curled around Sean’s cock, stroking him hard as he felt him come—felt him clench down around him.

“Mine,” Viggo was growling and coming as well, pressing inside as much as he could, following his Alpha’s instincts to plant the seed as deep inside as possible even though he knew it would fall on barren soil. “Mine,” he whispered again. Sean’s lips parted underneath his own, and his mouth tasted so sweet that he couldn’t help but lick every single corner, to taste him in every way he could. He could feel Sean’s legs still around his hips, keeping him inside even as Viggo had softened.

Sean rolled his hips gently, opening his eyes. Viggo leaned against the hand against his cheek, nipping against the fingers.

“What was that about?” he asked, his voice half-muffled.

“Wanted you,” Sean said, his smile small and sweet. His eyelids were heavy, and his eyes were a deep green. “Just wanted you.”

Viggo kissed him again, pulling out slowly and relishing in Sean’s quiet hiss at the move. “You have me,” he said.

“You’ll always have me.”

***

Sean woke up warm.

It wasn’t the kind of heat that came from sweat sticking to his skin because the weather in Malta was too hot for an Englishman to deal with. No, it was the warmth of someone else in his bed who had wrapped him up completely—and Sean almost shoved him away when he remembered last night, forcing himself to relax. He didn’t like being held like this, but he could tolerate it. He would have to tolerate it.

Viggo had taken the news remarkably well last night, but Sean suspected this meant that he would blow up even more this morning. He wondered if Viggo would accuse him of lying, because who had ever heard of a male Alpha who was capable of carrying a baby? Male Alphas were sires by default, and Sean knew that there were theories that male Alphas were the least evolved, because every other sex and hierarchy was capable of siring and bearing children both. Even the female Alphas could carry kids, even though they were said to have a lot of trouble with it. Sean didn’t know if that was entirely true: Abigail was a female Alpha, and Evie was an accident.

He tried his best to not move too much and breathe shallowly, casting his senses outwards. Sean hadn’t noticed it until now, but it seemed that he had been wrapped in a very thin glass lately. All of his senses seem muted, half-silenced, and he wondered if it was out of sheer self-preservation. If he had to smell what he threw up most mornings, he would never actually stop throwing up.

The doctor that Wolfgang called in wasn’t a tokologist or a paterologist—he was a general practitioner, hired for his sheer discretion because illnesses on sets tend to spoil the reputation of the upcoming movie. It was a good thing that the man chased out Wolfgang when he finally figured out Sean’s symptoms, but that barely made up for the sheer humiliation of sitting at the clinic in a paper gown and having a doctor babble at him excitedly about how much he and his baby was going to improve scientific knowledge. Sean had refused immediately, storming out, and he knew it was just patient-doctor confidentiality that stopped the bastard from leaking out information.

He wasn’t going to be a lab rat to be tested on. His son wouldn’t be either, and Sean would make sure of that. He didn’t know how it worked, honestly, that he could still have the protective Alpha instincts that had followed him his whole life even though he was doing something that Alphas didn’t usually do. He didn’t even have any of those Omega instincts—if Viggo tried to protect him now, he would punch him more than he would thank him.

It was too damn complicated.

“Now who is thinking loudly?”

Viggo’s voice made him start, jerking slightly in the other man’s arms. He felt a hand stroking through his hair before Viggo was pulling away from him, keeping a distance between them. Sean turned to face him, and found a pair of blue eyes that were far too bright for Viggo to have just woken up.

“Did you sleep at all?” Sean asked suspiciously.

“No,” Viggo admitted, shrugging slightly. “My body is still running on another clock, so I’m not tired. Yet.” He looked at Sean, “You want to tell me what you’re thinking about?”

Sean looked away, “It ain’t important”

“Okay then,” Viggo shrugged. “Then I’ll start. Why were you acting like some kind of needy Omega just now?”

Jerking back, Sean stared at him. “What?”

Viggo gave him a look, and he sighed quietly. “I’m not stupid, Sean,” he murmured. “You let me shove him onto the bed without fighting back, you wanted me to hold you even though I know you think it’s suffocating, and you actually told me that you’re mine. That’s not normal for you.”

“Well,” Sean said, irritated at being suddenly on the defensive. “This bloody situation ain’t normal fer me either.”

“No it isn’t,” Viggo admitted easily. “The whole situation is weird. We’ve been told our whole lives that loving someone of our own hierarchy is wrong, especially as an Alpha, because we can’t breed. You’re proving them wrong in the most obvious way possible.” He reached out, cupping Sean by the cheek and stroking against his cheekbone. “And don’t tell me it’s hormones, because Exene never really did acting differently from herself when she was pregnant with Henry. And she’s an Alpha, so I know what I’m talking about.”

Sean bit his lip, licked against it. He pushed Viggo’s hand away and clenched his own in his hands.

“It’s fuckin’ weird, alrigh’? It’s fuckin’ weird. I’ve sired three girls and two of them are Alphas and I’m pretty sure Evie will be too, so that’s my damn breedin’ duty done. I didn’t think I would ever ‘ave another kid because now I ‘ave you and it’s fuckin’ impossible, yeah? It’s just…” he bit on his lip.

Viggo didn’t speak. He just waited.

“The fuckin’ doctor,” Sean said. “That damn fuckin’ doctor. He told me—told me that it’s probably me mom’s Omega gene that caused this ta ‘appen, and he told me he wants to do fuckin’ experiments. Nothing invasive, he said, except for a whole bunch of fuckers looking up my ass and watching me like a damn labrat.” Sean was starting to shake, and Viggo immediately moved over, folding Sean’s hands into his own. “He treats me like a fuckin’ freak and I know you never thought you could ‘ave kids wi’ me, so I ain’t blame you if you treat me like a freak too. I thought—maybe if I act like an Omega, you’ll find it better. Easier.”

“No,” Viggo said, and he squeezed Sean’s hands, looking at him hard in the eyes. “It’s you. I love you. I love you for being an Alpha; love the way that you fight me; love the way you order me around. I know that there’s nothing you’ll ever do just for the sake of pleasing me.” He pulled away, cupping Sean’s face with both hands and leaning their foreheads together. “I love you and this baby and you’re not a damn freak, and if I ever meet the doctor I will kill him with my bare hands for saying those things to you, because you don’t deserve it.”

Sean’s hand folded around the back of Viggo’s neck, and they were so close that Viggo breathed in his exhale. “You sure? There’s going ta be a fuckin’ circus once people find out. I might not be showin’ now, but I’m going ta eventually, and—”

“You’ll have me beside you,” he promised. “Every step of the way.”

“Once this gets into the news, my career’s finished. There’s no way anyone would want a male Alpha who got pregnant to play any of the roles.” Sean said, and he knew this as a fact. Hollywood hated anomalies—all of their actors had to be normal.

“Bullshit. You’re good, Sean, and you know that I don’t say that easily. If Hollywood doesn’t want you, then we’ll get out of Hollywood,” Viggo traced his finger over a cheekbone. “You loved Macbeth, loved theatre. I’ll follow you back to London, because if Hollywood doesn’t have you it’s not worth a damn.”

“I can’t do anything except act, Vig. I ain’t like you. What the hell can I do? And it’s still illegal—”

“Sean,” Viggo interrupted, pulling away so that he could look this man—his man—in the eyes. “I’ll find a way. We’ll both find a way. We’re Alphas, remember? We’re the ones who are supposed to rule the world. Changing it would be a damn breeze. If they’re going to prosecute us for being Alphas, then let’s show them what it really means to be an Alpha.”

Sean closed his eyes, laughing quietly, his body sagging against Viggo’s. “God,” he said. “What ‘apped to Mister Politically Correct Mortensen, eh?”

“This is something worth fighting for,” Viggo said simply. He tilted his head and pressed a soft kiss against Sean’s temple. “The world can either change, or it can go to hell.”

Taking Viggo’s hand, Sean pressed a soft, tremulous kiss against his knuckles. “What’s next? Rulin’ the world?”

“If that’s what it takes,” Viggo promised, and his eyes flared blue. “I’ll do anything it takes, Sean.”

***

Sean collapsed on a chair, dug into his pocket, and called the first speed dial. Viggo picked up after the second ring.

“Finished?”

“Yeah,” Sean said, heaving a long breath. He rubbed against his nose “Filming’s over. Fuckin’ fight scene is finally over after two weeks and I’m so goddamn tired it ain’t funny. Your kid’s eatin’ up all my damn energy, Vig.”

“Oh, so when he’s giving you trouble, he’s my son?” Viggo sounded amused.

“’Course, especially when he’s kicking me in the ribs—Christ,” Sean exhaled slowly, placing a hand against his still-flat stomach. The muscles were smoothing out, finally starting to give, and he was damn glad that he wasn’t Brad or Eric and had to go through the scene half-naked. He knew everyone would give him grief for getting fat, and he didn’t know if he could stop himself from snapping back that he had a damn good excuse because he was pregnant. “I don’t know where he has the room ta move so damn much, but he won’t fuckin’ stop kickin’ me. It’s like he’s training for footie or he just hates the fight scene as much as I do. I usually love the stuff, you know that, but it’s damn ‘ard ta convince them ta not hit me in the stomach without spillin’ everythin’.”

Viggo sighed, something amused in the sound. “Don’t tempt me to just drop Hidalgo and fly over again, Sean,” he warned. “Because right now, I really want to.”

“Finish yer damn filmin’,” Sean said, tipping his head up to stare at the ceiling, his phone crammed against his ear to catch Viggo’s every breath. “But fuckin’ ‘ell, Vig, I miss you. If you’re here you can ‘elp me fend off Orlando’s questions.”

“What has the elf done now?”

“Nah, he’s just worried.” Sean rubbed his face. “Christ, ow.”

“… Sean?” Viggo’s voice suddenly sharpened, worried. “What happened?”

“Kid’s got a foot in my liver,” Sean said, teeth gritted. He tried to soothe the baby, stroking against his belly, but the kid seemed to take it as encouragement to kick harder, driving all the breath from his lungs. “Oof.”

“Fuck this,” Viggo swore. “I don’t give a damn, Sean. I’m calling up my agent to send you a ticket down here. I’m not going to wait another two weeks to see you in Wellington.”

“I still don’t like flying, Vig,” Sean said wearily, draping himself completely on the armchair. “But yeah, that sounds good.” He cracked a smile at the phone. “At least I’ll ‘ave someone ta ‘old me ‘air back.”

Viggo hissed out a breath, and Sean could faintly hear him starting to pace. “Morning sickness still there?”

“Took up fuckin’ residence,” he replied. “When’s the ticket?”

“Tomorrow. Just get your ass to the nearest airport and I’ll take care of the rest.”

“Yeah. Yeah, alright.” There was a pause, and Sean continued quietly. “You tol’ Peter yet?”

“Not all of it,” Viggo said, and Sean could practically see him rubbing his eyes. “But you’re coming with me for Wellington, that’s for certain. Our publicists already scheduled an interview for January after Return of the King has finished its run.”

“And I’ll be so fuckin’ huge by then that no one will think it’s a lie or a publicity stunt or whatever the hell the tabloids always say,” Sean sighed. “After that?”

“After that, we’ll leave,” Viggo said quietly. “We have Ian and Stephen in England and my friends in America. They’ll deal with the politics and I’ll pop in here and there for a statement.”

Sean swore, “I hate fuckin’ politics.” He paused. “You know I cancelled on Bay’s The Island, right? It was supposed ta start when I’m big as a fuckin’ ‘ouse.”

“Yeah?”

“There’s some fundin’ snafu goin’ on and now they’ve delayed filmin’. The new dates ‘bout a month after I’m due,” he licked his lips.

“That script has a fight scene for you, right?” Viggo said thoughtfully. “I don’t have anything planned for next year at all, so I can come with you and take care of the baby while you work.” He tapped on his fingers. “Do you want to?”

Sean sat up, “You don’t mind?”

“No? Should I?” Viggo sounded genuinely surprised. “I’m just worried if you have enough time to recover.”

“I can probably convince ‘im ta schedule the ‘eavy stuff ta the back. Most of it is just standin’ or sittin’ ‘round talkin’; Ewan and that girl Scarlett’s got the heavy work o’ it.” Sean licked his lips again, thinking hard. “I’ll just tell ‘im first that he should look for a backup just in case, and when the news break I’ll see if he still wants me ta take the job.”

“He will,” Viggo said with a confidence that Sean desperately wanted to believe in. Then his voice gentled a bit. “Not quite a career suicide, is it?”

Sean snorted quietly, “I’ll believe that when it ‘appens.”

“Hey, there’s only room enough for one pessimist in this relationship and I already took the spot. Get out of my seat.”

“Wanker,” Sean said fondly, his eyes half-closing. “I should ‘ang up. The bill’s going to take half me pay already, and you ‘ave ta call for the ticket.”

“Mm,” Viggo said reluctantly. “Rest up, alright? I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Yeah,” he smiled. The thought of being able to see Viggo tomorrow instead of just talking on the phone was making him smile like a fool, and the baby agreed with him with a gentle kick against his hand. “Pretty sure Julian misses you too, given ‘ow ‘e refuses ta calm down whenever we’re talkin’.”

“Julian?”

“Good name, ain’t it?”

Viggo laughed quietly. “You’re doing all of the work, Sean. You get to pick.”

“Think of a second name,” Sean said, and he hung up.

***

“Julian William Bean,” Viggo announced when he saw Sean at the airport. He reached down and grabbed Sean’s duffel, throwing it behind his back—it was a poor substitute for hugging him, but they weren’t taking any chances.

Sean stared at him before he rolled his eyes. “One, that would be Julian Mortensen, because yer the sire; two, I ain’t going ta let you name both of yer sons after William Blake.”

“You’re doing all the work, so Julian should take your name,” Viggo pointed out. “What about Julian Auden Bean?”

“I ain’t namin’ this kid after a poet. Any poet. Anyway, Henry’s not Henry Cervenka, is ‘e? Yer his sire, he had yer surname. It’ll be the same with this one,” Sean gave his lover a flat look over the hood of the car. “Don’t be fuckin’ stupid.”

“I just think that it’s unfair,” Viggo said, half-muffled with his head inside the trunk where he was dumping Sean’s things in. Sean got into the car and Viggo joined him a few seconds later, continuing. “What about Bean-Mortensen? Mortensen-Bean?”

Sean sighed, “I’d like the kid ta ‘ave a name he doesn’t need to take a year ta learn how to spell it. A simple name, Viggo.”

“Then I’ll name him after you,” Viggo suggested. “It’ll be simple enough. Sean Julian Bean-Mortensen. We can call him Julian at home.”

“Four things,” Sean held up his fingers. “One, Sean’s a fuckin’ common name. Two, he’s goin’ ta introduce ‘imself as ‘Please call me Julian because I ain’t me Pa’ all of ‘is life. Three, I ain’t got an ego that’s so big that I need our son ta be named after me. It’s fuckin’ tacky. Four, no fuckin’ hyphens.”

Viggo threw up his hands. Then he put them back on the steering wheel because he was actually driving. Sean threw him a dubious look.

“I give up,” Viggo said, sounding more amused than defeated. Then he changed his mind. “Look, we keep Julian as the first name… Julian Richard Bean-Mortensen? I insist on the hyphen.”

“… Yer namin’ ‘im after Sharpe,” Sean stared.

“I mean it about naming our son after you,” Viggo threw him a grin. “It won’t be egoistical because it’s a common enough name that only we will know he’s named after you. Plus, Lorna.”

Sean snorted. “I took on Carver because me girl’s named Lorna, not the other way around.” He slid his eyes over to Viggo, “Julian Richard Mortensen is a good name.”

Viggo laughed, “I have a few more months to convince you of the merits of Bean-Mortensen.”

“In yer dreams.”

***

Sean knew that this day would come eventually, but he still frowned as he sucked in his stomach even more and found that he couldn’t button his damn slacks no matter how hard he tried. He stood in front of the mirror, his hand on top of the gentle curve of his abdomen, and sighed when the baby kicked him. It was damn weird; he looked like he had the beginning of a beer belly.

At least he didn’t have any interviews for the Return of the King promotions.

“I blame you fer this,” he informed Viggo over his shoulder.

Viggo moved forward, wrapping his arms around Sean’s waist and pulling him close, nipping him lightly on the neck. “You’re showing,” he said, his voice full of wonder as he placed his hand against Sean’s stomach. Julian kicked him gently in greeting, and Viggo’s smile widened even further. “Christ, Sean, you’re so beautiful like this.”

Sean raised an eyebrow, meeting Viggo’s eyes through the mirror. “You mean fat?”

“No,” Viggo’s voice had deepened, and Sean knew exactly what that meant. He shivered slightly as Viggo continued, his hands moving from Sean’s arms down to his thighs. “You even smell fucking intoxicating, Sean. You’re mine,” he rocked his hips forward, his erection sliding against Sean’s barely-clothed ass. “My Sean. You’re so beautiful with your belly full of baby. With my baby.”

“Jesus,” Sean breathed out. He didn’t feel like an Alpha now; not with Viggo’s chest plastered against his back, Viggo’s hands on him, Viggo’s baby growing inside him. He dropped his head forward, hissing out a breath through his teeth. “Inside me,” he ordered, bracing his hands against the mirror. “Get inside me right now. Fuck me, Vig.”

Viggo got his slacks off so fast and his own belt came off so quickly that the air snapped around them. Sean arched backwards, his breathing speeding up, and he could feel Viggo’s fingers inside him. He was wet already—if his head wasn’t clouded with arousal, he would find it so weird, that he was wet like an Omega or a woman because he wasn’t either of them, but right now he didn’t care. It was goddamn convenient, and he moaned out loud as Viggo slid inside him, stretching him, filling him up until his knot was pressed up against his ass.

“God, Sean,” Viggo gasped, and he flung his arm around him, his hand splaying out against the small bump as he started to thrust slowly. “Sean. Sean, Jesus Christ. You know what I want?” His teeth grazed against Sean’s neck, nipping gently.

“W- what?” Sean’s fingers scrabbled against the cool, smooth surface of the mirror, looking for some purchase. He gasped, loud and sharp, when Viggo pulled him back until his whole weight leaned against the other man, impaling even further on Viggo’s cock. “Tell me, Vig. Tell me.”

“I want to fill you up again. Give you another baby right now, growing alongside this one, so that when you give birth you’ll still be pregnant. You’ll always be pregnant, you’ll always look like this, big with my children inside you,” Viggo’s voice was steady, but his thrusts sped up. Faster, harder, and Sean moaned helplessly. The truth of the scenario was horrific, but right now—there was nothing he wanted more. “You’ll be big all the time, with the skin of your stomach tight with baby. I’ll do it over and over, because you’re mine and everyone will be able to see it. I want to fuck you when you’re in public, bend you over with your belly hanging so everyone can see it, and I’ll fuck you and fill you up. Again, and again, and again.”

“Vig,” Sean reached back, grabbing one of Viggo’s hands and pulling it over, shoving it against his own mouth to muffle the sounds. “Vig, Vig. ‘arder.”

Viggo growled, turning his head and kissing him hard, and Sean opened his mouth and kissed back just as harshly, trying to claim Viggo’s mouth as he felt his orgasm approaching. Viggo was slamming into him now, the sounds loud in the hotel room, and Sean could feel his breath fogging the glass. He could barely see himself because his vision was spotted with white, but he didn’t need to see to rock back against Viggo’s cock, meeting every single one of his thrusts.

“Fill me up, Vig,” he gasped out, barely hanging onto coherence and proper words. “Yer the only one; the only one that can breed me like this.” He bit against Viggo’s lips. “Come with me. Come.”

He felt Viggo’s teeth against his neck, biting down just as he shoved his knot inside Sean. Sean nearly screamed at the burning stretch, his body clamping down against it, and he felt Viggo coming and he reached down and stroked his own cock just once before he tipped over the edge.

The two of them fell down into a sweaty, panting heap in front of the mirror. Sean closed his eyes, leaning back against Viggo’s shoulder as he tried to breathe.

“You,” he said, and ran out of breath to continue. He swallowed. “You should let those Alpha instincts out more often, Vig. They are fucking strong. That was fantastic.”

“Christ,” Viggo said, hiding his face in Sean’s shoulder. “I can’t believe I said that. Any of that. I-sorry.”

Sean raised an eyebrow, reaching out and cupping his cheek. He tilted his head and kissed Viggo softly, scraping his teeth against his lip. “I liked it,” he said, shrugging slightly. “’Course, I won’t like it at all if you actually go through wi’ it and I don’t think it’s even possible, but I like it as dirty talk. It’s fuckin’ sexy.”

Viggo lifted his eyes, staring at him. He was blushing and it was so goddamn adorable that Sean had to kiss him.

“… Really?” Viggo said when he finally had his mouth free again.

“Mm,” Sean shrugged. He licked his lips. “It’s nice ta know that you think me sexy like this. Christ, Vig, I’ve never been fat, ever, and I’ve got clothes from fuckin’ Sharpe that I can still wear. That’s from ten years ago. This is goddamn weird.”

“Baby,” Viggo said firmly, his hand stroking over Sean’s stomach. “Not fat. Baby.”

“Yeah,” he grinned, leaning his head against Viggo’s. “Your baby, you bastard, and don’t you forget it.”

“Not going to,” Viggo pecked him on the lips. He shifted backwards, pulling out gently. They both hissed. “Stay here, I’ll get something to clean us up,” he paused, and threw Sean a small grin as he stood up.

“Then we’ll find you some bigger clothes.”

***

It was a day before the official promotions for Return of the King began, and there was a reunion party with the cast that hadn’t seen each other in somewhere between a few months to a few years. Fran was the one who organised it, saying that the camaraderie between the cast was a big draw the last two times and it would be good to make sure that it was still there. Privately, Viggo thought that this cast had taken any chance for a party while filming, and this was as good an excuse as any.

Sean and Viggo were sequestered in a corner of the big room that Barry had rented for the party, with Sean sitting down because his back was killing him and Viggo sipping water next to him. They had both been teased for not drinking, but Viggo had just lifted an eyebrow and even Karl shut up after a while.

Elijah was the first to figure it out.

He dragged a chair over and sat next to them. Viggo didn’t mind. The three of them had built a pretty good relationship during filming, because Sean had driven off any overzealous Beta or Alpha who had tried to hit on Elijah, and after Sean had left, Viggo had taken over. The younger man was almost family to them now, and Viggo had missed him.

It didn’t mean they expected his question, though.

“So,” Elijah began after draining a far too colourful drink that only Dom could have mixed for him. “When are you going to tell all of us that you’re going to have a baby?”

Sean nearly choked on air. Viggo just stared at him before shrugging.

“Probably during promotions,” he said. “Or afterwards. We have an interview planned in January to announce the news, and honestly, we’d like to get to tell you guys before then.”

“How do you know?” Sean’s eyes were wide.

Elijah gave him a flat stare. “I’m an Omega, Sean. I’ve had drilled into me every possible symptom of pregnancy because even though I don’t want to, everyone tells me that eventually I will.” He shrugged, “The water is kind of the killer for me.”

“… Really?”

“Well,” Elijah shrugged. “You ran off when the lobster’s brought out, you’re sitting down, Viggo’s been hovering over you the whole time since the two of you arrived… Plus,” he grinned suddenly. “Peter is terrible at keeping secrets. He’s been shooting you concerned glances the whole night.”

“We told him a couple of days ago,” Viggo said quietly. “Sean’s coming with me during promotions, and I’m not going to lie to Peter about why I’m backing out of the tail end of things.”

“I don’t think there’s anyone else who would notice,” Elijah said, pitching his voice even lower, trying to soothe. “Well, maybe Dave because his wife is an Omega, but that’s a really big maybe. Most Betas don’t notice these things.”

He shook his head. “Anyway, Orlando’s been ranting to me about the two of you keeping secrets and how worried he is for you,” he nodded at Sean, smirking slightly, “When you tell him, can I be there?

Sean and Viggo looked at each other, and they laughed. Sean shook his head, “Try ta pretend that you’re hearin’ it for the first time, alrigh’?”

“I’ll do my best,” Elijah gave them a little salute and wandered off.

Barely a moment later, Ian dropped onto the chair. Viggo stepped forward instinctively, his hand clenching against the back of Sean’s chair before he recognised Ian, calmed himself down, and took a step back. Ian watched the whole display with a small, knowing smile.

“So our artist has the bite of the wolf,” he said, sipping at his margarita. It was probably made by Dom: it was bright, emerald green. “How are you feeling, Sean?”

“If one more person asks me that question, I’ll chop their fuckin’ balls off,” Sean rolled his eyes. “I’m fine; I ain’t some kind of delicate flower who is going to break because the kid’s too damn heavy or somethin’.”

Ian raised a fine, pale eyebrow. “I didn’t realise you’ve told so many people that you’re getting bombarded with questions.”

“It’s his girls,” Viggo put in, quirking his lips upwards. “They’ve been bugging him for daily updates on little brother since we told them last month.”

“A son?”

“Yeah,” Sean said. “Haven’t got an ultrasound since the first time when a doctor checked me over, but I’m a hundred percent sure.”

“Don’t ask why. Just go with it.”

But Ian was staring at him. He looked around himself before leaning in and hissing his next works, “You haven’t had a medical checkup?”

“I did,” Sean said defensively, draining his glass of water. “A month half or so ago. The doc said things are going fine, so I ain’t goin’ again. No matter ‘ow much the bastard bugs me ‘bout it.” He paused, then shrugged. “We’re going on a tour, so it ain’t like I can keep doctor appointments anyway.”

Ian frowned, tapping at his own lip, “Peter might allow my physician to come with me if I make a small fuss.”

Sean raised an eyebrow, “You have a tokologist?”

“General practitioner,” Ian sighed.

“Then bringing an ultrasound along will raise too many questions,” Sean said. His hand fell to his stomach for a moment before he shoved it to lay flat against the out of the chair. “I’ll be fine. Vig’s been readin’ way too many books.” He paused.

“I’ll figure it out,” Viggo said, his hand curling around Sean’s on the chair arm. Though his voice was soft there was a determination and authority there that made him such a good Aragorn—he had never been a showy Alpha, but authority came easily to him without any need for bluster or declarations. Ian had always admired that about him.

“I know you will,” he said, looking at the both of them for a long moment before he pursed his lips. “Stonewall will be ready.”

“Who is on our side?” Viggo’s eyes were narrowed, but he was looking inwards.

Ian shrugged, smiling wryly, “Non-breeding couples. The loud activists—myself included—are male Alphas, but our majority members are still Betas of both sexes. There are even Omegas. Homohierarchal relationships are still looked down upon, even though only Alphas have to deal with illegalities. The stereotypes of Alphas being role models and leaders of societies and hence held to a completely different standard still hold. But if we think about it, it’s counterintuitive that those who are supposed to rule are now the ones prosecuted.”

“This is all too fuckin’ complicated,” Sean complained. He had wrapped both arms around himself, resting them above the small bump of his abdomen. “It ain’t the government’s damn business to decide who we want ta fuck.”

“My existence is still technically illegal,” Viggo said, smiling wryly. “Both my parents are Alphas.”

“Bullshit,” Sean said succinctly. He reached out for Viggo’s hand, pressing a kiss onto the back of it. “We’ll change things. Just you see.”

Ian didn’t stop his soft, wistful smile. There would always be a part of him that envied them—that they were able to find each other and fight out of the boxes that society placed them in.

If only he had been born a few decades later.

***

Sean closed his eyes, placing his head against the glass window of the car, “It’s too damn late ta back out now, ain’t it?”

Viggo made a small sound of agreement. They had decided on an interview with People, and apparently the reporter was already there, so really, the question was asked not for confirmation but reassurance. He knew that, reaching out and wrapped his arm around Sean’s stomach, stroking against it. Sean was dressed in a comfortable cashmere sweater—proper button-down shirts were far too rough against his skin right now—and Viggo rubbed against the curve of his stomach and pressed a kiss against his temple.

“This is fuckin’ stupid.”

“I know,” Viggo said softly. “But I refuse to hide, love. I refuse to claim that Julian is anyone else’s child. I refuse to let unreasonable laws stop me for proclaiming my love for you from the rooftops. I want to be able to go out in public and for everyone to look at you and know that you are mine and you’re carrying my baby.”

“Possessive bastard,” Sean smirked, turning around. He kissed Viggo gently against the lips and hated that the windows of this car was tinted. Let everyone gawk. Let them see. Sean had had three failed relationships but he had found Viggo—there wasn’t anything wrong with him. He just hadn’t found anyone right for him until now, that was all. He closed his eyes. “You’re the best damn thing that has happened to me.”

“Even though I might’ve ruined your career by knocking you up?” Sean could feel Viggo smile against his skin.

Sean snorted quietly, “Keyword’s ‘might’, yeah? Let’s not count the chickens before they ‘atch, aye.” He paused, and chuckled. “I shouldn’t use that damn cliché right now.”

“Are you calling our son a chicken?”

There was a moment of silence before Sean burst out laughing, the lines around his eyes crinkling. Viggo couldn’t help but smile as well, stealing a kiss.

“Have you told Wolfgang about not going for the Troy promotions yet?”

“Yeah,” Sean sighed. “He gave me a ten minutes lecture about the responsibilities of an actor and the chances of the Odyssey being filmed, etc, etc. I told ‘im I had a really good reason that he should wait fer tomorrow’s news.”

Viggo shook his head, “Orlando can manage him.”

The car was slowing and pulling up. Sean turned just as his agent knocked on the partition. “Much as I think the PDA is good for publicity, I’d rather the two of you do that after the interview. Are you finished?”

“Yeah,” Sean said, straightening up. He hissed out a soft breath as Julian kicked him against the spine. Viggo’s hand immediately moved to the small of his back, soothing and warm as he gently rubbed against the knot never seemed to go away. “Yeah, we’re done.”

“Let go.”

They had booked one of the penthouse suites at the hotel and the carpark was entirely blocked off for today, but Sean tensed still, hyperaware of any eyes that might be looking at him. He hated these things; hated the media circus that came with acting. He only ever just wanted to act and not be a celebrity, but nowadays the two went hand in hand, and though he might be used to it, he still hated it.

Viggo got out of the car first, but Sean batted his hand away and stepped out on his own. He let Viggo take his elbow, his other hand flattening against the curve of his stomach. As always, he pushed away the bit of worry—he was seven months along but he still showed very little. Julian was incredibly active though, and Sean really wouldn’t want to see a doctor who would use him as a labrat—not now, not in America or Britain. Maybe when they got to Europe; Viggo said he had found a doctor there.

Sean took a deep breath and went in to face the music.

***

Lord of the Rings have made Viggo Mortensen into an international star, and Sean Bean has been a household name in Britain since Sharpe and GoldenEye. Most reporters will kill to have an interview with either one of them, and I can’t believe that they purposefully called me up for one. My job is to write, but I can’t find the words that explain my nervousness and excitement when they arrived. I clutch my pen and paper.

“It’s not like either of you to call for an interview,” I start. “Both of you have a reputation for avoiding publicity unless it is for the promotion for your movies. Is this about Return of the King?”

“No,” Mortensen says calmly. If one sees one on the streets, one will peg him for a Beta—but right now, sitting opposite him, there is no doubt that this is truly the Man who would be King. He radiates confidence and authority.

I ask them about the rumours going on about Bean’s appearance during the Return of the King promotions.

“That’s part of this, yeah,” Bean says. He looks at Mortensen and takes a deep breath.

“I’m pregnant.”.

My pen stills, and I am unashamed to say that I gaped.

“You’re coming out as a...” I can’t say it. There is nothing about this man that suggests in any way that he’s not an Alpha.

“No,” Bean says firmly. “I’m an Alpha alright, a male Alpha.” He looks at Mortensen, and Mortensen links their hands together.

“We’re together,” Mortensen says. “We have been together for over three years at this point, and he’s going to have my child. That’s what we called this interview for.”

“What about the rumours about you and Lola Schnabel?”

“False.”

I open my mouth to ask about Bean’s ex-wives.

“Look,” Bean interrupts. “None of us are suddenly homosexual or homohierarchal. We loved our wives. We love each other, and we’re going to have a baby. That’s all there is to it.”

“Homosexual, double-Alpha relationships are still illegal in both Britain and the United States,” I say instead. “What do you think about that issue, given your circumstances?”

Mortensen leans forward. “The primary rejection of homohierarchal relationships, especially double-Alpha relationships, is that there is rarely any breeding potential. I’m a child of two Alpha parents myself, which should already prove the theory dead wrong forty years ago. The fact that it hasn’t is less a problem of my existence than a problem of common understanding.”

He shakes his head, “What is more important, however, is that I don’t believe firstly, that the government has the right to try to restrict who we love. Secondly, we are humans who have been developing our civilisations for thousands of years—I’d like to believe that if I choose to be with someone, it is for the sake of love rather than because I want to have the best children with that person.”

“What about the views of the religious groups?”

“I don’t try to dictate what they believe,” Mortensen says with perfect calm. “I’d like them to not dictate what I should do in my personal life.”

“This is going to be quite a piece of news to the fans of both of you. Do you have anything specific to say to them?”

They look at each other for a long moment, and any suspicion I have about their claims is washed away in that instant when I notice the way they look at each other. Bean turns to me.

“We’re happy,” he says. “We’d like them to be happy for us.”

We talk after that of their future plans. Both Bean and Mortensen have movies coming up—Troy for Bean, with Brad Pitt, Eric Bana, Diane Kruger and fellow Lord of the Rings alumnus Orlando Bloom, and Hidalgo for Mortensen, alongside Omar Sharif. After the interview, Mortensen goes for a smoke, and I follow him.

“I stopped when Henry was born,” referring to his Alpha son with X rocker and Alpha Exene Cervenka, “but I started up again later. I’m trying to quit permanently this time.” He shrugs.

I ask him why they have decided to come out publicly about the relationship.

“If we don’t, then we’ll be hiding,” he says. “I refuse to hide, because hiding implies that I’m ashamed of our relationship and what we have, which I most assuredly am not. Make this clear: I’m not trying to make a political statement through my personal life, but if we don’t say something, then we either have to have our child grow up in a place away from home, or we will have to lie. In the best case scenario, Sean will have to adopt his own child because it is illegal to list a male Alpha as the bearer. Fifteen years ago, it was any Alpha. I refuse to lie back and allow this to happen.”

He turns to me. “The world calls Alphas the rulers and holds them to hypocritical standards. I’m not saying that Alphas are the most prosecuted of all the hierarchies or sexes—I know that I’m privileged—but if there is to be true equality, Alphas have to be dragged down from the caged pedestal that they’re placed on.”

***

Viggo had found a house in Portugal. It was more of a cottage really, with only two rooms—one for the temporary nursery that they had haphazardly fixed up—a kitchen, and a hall. It wasn’t situated at a remote place—it was only a fifteen minutes drive to a mall, and ten minutes to the tokologist’s—but the neighbours all know how to mind their own business. It also has a garden at the back for Sean to tinker with, because Viggo knew his lover well.

Sean was just finishing up with it. It was difficult to think of anything to do in the garden when he was almost as big as the house they were living in—it was almost a relief when he expanded like a balloon last month—and they weren’t going to stay long here. He missed his house and garden in London with a deep ache within him, but he knew that it would be sheer idiocy to go back now. They would be hounded by paparazzi no matter where they went—not just paparazzi, but activists and politicians and God knew who else, all of them wanting a sound-bite or to tell them that what they were doing was wrong.

His stomach cramped at the thought and Sean sighed. He rubbed against it with his knuckles, trying to soothe the muscles beneath the skin. The cramps had been coming on and off for hours now, and he was getting really irritated by it. The tokologist—he finally started seeing a specialist for a bearer’s reproductive system, and he received a massive lecture for not going for monthly check-ups and only Viggo stopped the two of them from getting into a shouting match—told him that those were normal. Fake contractions because his body need practice or something. Usually he barely noticed, but these were getting to the point of actually annoying the hell out of him this time.

The next one shifted from annoying to painful, and he inhaled sharply, slamming a hand against the ground. It felt like there was a fist that clamped around his entire pelvis, squeezing so hard that it spread even to his thighs, all of his muscles clenching up. Sean closed his eyes and breathed out slowly, curling an arm around his stomach. The cramp lasted longer than the last one, and he dropped his head back with his next breath. Hand still against the ground, he waited until the cramp had faded before slowly pushing himself upwards, shoulders tense and as he started counting the seconds.

Shit.

Julian kicked him in response and Sean laughed quietly to himself, walking towards the kitchen door. It was good to know the kid’s with him on this, even if it seemed like he was berating his father for his language.

He slammed his hand against the frame as the next one practically bowled him over, clenching his hand against the wood as he breathed hard through his teeth. It wasn’t supposed to come this fast. He had lost count already, but it couldn’t have taken him more than five minutes to stand up and walk across the garden to the porch. This wasn’t good- and Sean bit down on his own lip, using the stinging pain to distract him from the contractions—yeah, he wasn’t stupid, he knew that these weren’t cramps—until they ended. Then he went for his mobile.

First speed dial. Damn Viggo for choosing now to drive forty minutes out to meet their agents. Sean knew what the reasons were—to stop the paparazzi from finding them—and they didn’t expect it to happen today. He had two more weeks to go.

“Vig,” he said, teeth gritted, when Viggo finally picked it up at the third ring. “Get your ass back ‘ere. Now.”

To his credit, Viggo didn’t ask any stupid questions. “Can you get the bag?”

Sean considered. He thought about the distance from the kitchen to the bedroom and he almost said yes before another contraction ripped through him. He had to bite back a scream and his mind blanked out completely under the onslaught of pain.

“That’s a no,” Viggo said, and Sean could just hear him starting to run. “Where are you? I’ll call the doctor so she’s ready for us, and I’ll take care of the rest.”

“In the kitchen. Don’t get into an accident,” Sean said when he was sure he could speak again. He decided not to mention that the contractions were coming so fast that it was starting to scare the hell out of him. He wasn’t kidding when he said that he didn’t want Viggo to get into an accident. He took a deep breath. “Alpha, remember? ‘igh pain thresholds.”

“Exene broke my wrist when she was in labour, and I know how you sound like when you’re trying to make me feel better about something,” in the background, Sean could hear the car door slam. Viggo’s voice softened. “Hey, it’s going to be alright. Just hold on until I get there.”

“Easy fer you ta say,” Sean snorted as he walked towards the large kitchen table, dropping down to a chair. He let his head fall onto the table. “I’m ‘anging up. Concentrate on the road. Yer a fuckin’ American; it’s on the wrong side.”

Viggo laughed. “I love you,” he said.

Sean hung up and let the phone drop from his fingers. He closed his eyes and supposed that he should try counting now. Mel told him that he should do that once he was in labour—after she laughed and told him that once he went through it he would understand why she was always so angry when he decided to leave their girls. He concentrated on that; on counting the contractions and the space between them. They really should have installed a clock of some sort in the kitchen.

He didn’t know how much time had passed with him sitting there, counting and trying to breathe. The contractions came approximately every four and a half minutes by now, and he knew it wasn’t normal. Both of Mel’s labours were much, much slower, and Abby had contractions for an entire day before she noticed them and told him about it. This didn’t even feel normal, and he really should distract himself before he started hyperventilating.

Before he could stop himself, he reached for his cell and called Mel.

“… Sean?” Mel sounded bewildered and half-awake when she picked up the call.

“Yeah,” he said, and he exhaled. There wouldn’t be another contraction for another four and a half minutes. He could do this. He swallowed. “Did I wake you?”

“Yeah, but you didn’t call for small talk,” she said, and he could almost see her narrowing her eyes at him. “… Are you alright? You sound winded.”

“I think I’m in labour,” he admitted. He swallowed. “And it’s fast, it’s so damn fast that I’m getting’ fuckin’ scared. Jesus, Mel, why didn’t you tell me it hurts so fuckin’ much?”

“Fast?” Mel’s voice sharpened suddenly. “How fast?”

“Four and a half minutes- shit,” he stopped breathing completely, hunching forward with his arm around his belly. He squeezed his eyes shut, and he could barely hear Mel telling him something, but it was drowned out by his loud countdown and the roar of blood in his ears.

“—the, breathe,” Mel was telling him, and he could tell that she was using the same voice she used on the girls when she was scared stiff and she didn’t want them to know about it. “Breathe, Sean. Remember those classes you went with me? Breathe through the pain.”

“Make that four-seventeen. ’ow the fuck could you do this twice?”

“Lorna wanted a sibling and were wanted to try for a son,” her voice rang with amusement. It was gone with her next question, “Where’s Viggo, Sean?”

“’e ‘ad a meetin’,” Sean said, leaning back against the chair and staring at the ceiling. His back was killing him. “Called ‘im when this first started, but he’s forty minutes away.”

“… Sean, are you telling me that your contractions are four and a half minutes apart after half an hour? Less?”

“Yeah,” he breathed out.

“You’re having a damn fast labour, but that’s obvious enough. Heck, Sean, nothing ever goes normally for you, does it?” he could hear her smile and he couldn’t help the tired smile back even though he knew she couldn’t see it. The divorce might have been a horrible experience, but she had James now and they were far happier together than Sean and Mel had been. Nowadays, they were good friends. Mel had seen him at his best and his worst, and there was nothing he could hide from her.

“Tell me ‘bout me girls, Mel?”

“Alright,” she said, and he could hear her drop into a chair and starting to talk. Sean closed his eyes and just listened, counting down at the back of his mind. He gritted his teeth but let go when she told him to breathe, and he didn’t feel the hand in his hair and the other one that took away the phone until the contraction faded.

“Thanks, Mel,” Viggo was saying. “Yeah, tell the girls—can you tell Evie and Abby too? Of course we’ll let you see him; if Britain hasn’t changed the laws I’ll give you all the Portugal address so you can come down. I’ll confirm with you later—I have to hang up now. This one’s over, I think.”

Viggo turned to him, standing up and pressing a soft kiss against Sean’s hair. He had the bag on one arm and he was barefoot. He probably left his shoes at… whatever it was that he was at before he rushed back home.

“Why didn’t you tell me it was coming this fast?”

“You were drivin’,” Sean said, and he hissed as he tried to stand up. “Didn’t want ta worry you.”

“It’s my job to be worried,” Viggo said, and he wrapped his arm around Sean’s waist, taking all of his weight. “It’s the stereotype of the Alpha sire, remember? The one who sits around and frets and has his hand grabbed at.”

“Don’t make me laugh, you bastard,” Sean inhaled, pushing himself up. The moment he did, he felt something inside him give way, and his sweatpants were suddenly soaked. He blinked, looking down, and rubbed at his face. “I ‘aven’t done that since I was four.”

“Five for me,” Viggo grinned, and they started to hobble towards the car. Sean was still counting in his head, and when the next contraction came, he threw his arms around Viggo and bit down on his shirt. Viggo held him tight, still holding onto most of his weight, stroking his back.

He breathed. “Let’s go,” he said, straightening up.

Viggo looked at him for a moment, as if to argue, before nodding sharply.

They went.

***

It was as if Julian knew when it was alright for him to come, because three minutes after they reached the hospital, the contractions sped up even more. Now they seemed to be on top of each other and Sean was just aware of waves and waves of pain, like a series of tides. Viggo was next to him, holding tightly to his hand, and Sean focused on that touch.

Right now, if there was anything more undignified than an examination table with stirrups on its side and butcher paper lining the metal, Sean couldn’t think of it. At least he was kneeling up on it instead of lying on his back, biting back the instinctive urge to push. He wanted to, it felt right that he should, but the doctor told him to wait—she had to do an ultrasound. He knew that didn’t mean anything good, but he only hissed quietly when he felt the cool gel on his skin instead of complaining.

“We have to do a caesarean,” the doctor said, and beneath the calm of her voice was a sharp note of worry. Sean opened his eyes.

“What? Why?” Viggo asked his question for him.

“The cord’s looped around the back’s neck twice. I can try to slip it over him, but it looks to be too tightly around his neck.” She took a breath, “And he’s already starting to move downwards. If that carries on, the cord is going to- strangle him. I have to do it now.”

Sean took a deep breath and pushed away the pain as much as he could. He took a deep breath, “Give me an epidural.” Like hell he was going to be unconscious when his son was born. He was going to be awake and holding him and nothing was going to stop him.

The doctor shook a head, “It will take far too long. I can’t let the baby move further down. I have to put you under general anaesthetic.”

He squeezed his eyes shut, gripping tight to Viggo’s hand. There was nothing he could say even though he wanted to rail and shout and scream from the pain and the frustration. It was just one thing he wanted and he couldn’t have it.

“Put him under,” Viggo said, his hand cupped Sean’s neck. He tilted his head down. Sean opened his eyes to meet Viggo’s gaze, holding it. “You’ll see him the moment you open your eyes,” Viggo murmured. “I promise you that.”

Sean reached forward, grabbing hold of Viggo’s shirt and kissing him bruisingly hard, gasping into his mouth through another contraction, struggling against the urge to push. At the same time, he could feel a prick against his elbow, but he fought the darkness.

“Julian Richard,” he stressed the next word, every damn syllable, “Mortensen.”

Then he closed his eyes.

***

There was a damn irritating beeping in his ear. Sean tried to lift his arm to shove it off—this was why alarm clocks didn’t work very well with him—but something was stopping him. It felt like there was something pressing against his arm- into his skin, and Sean tried to frown but his face didn’t seem to work very well either. He tried to open his eyes, but everything went grey for a moment so he closed them. It wasn’t long before he drifted off again.

The next time he woke up, he was first aware that his mouth felt like something had died in it. Then he felt something over his face, covering his nose and mouth. The thing in his arm was still there and it was still annoying. There was also a fog that seemed to surround his head completely. Sean tried to blink, but opening his eyes was too difficult. It was far too bright and he squeezed his eyes shut, frowning.

“Hey,” he heard a voice, and there was a hand against his cheek. “You awake?”

Sean tried to open his eyes again, and this time it was far less bright. There was something right over his eyes and he tried to get his vision to stop blurring and focus faster. He could feel Viggo’s hand around his own and he squeezed it, shaking his head to try to dislodge whatever plastic thing that was around his mouth.

Viggo pulled away for a moment and the light rushed in. Sean squeezed his eyes shut again, and he didn’t see who reached out and took the oxygen mask off of his face. It wasn’t Viggo: the skin was colder- and Viggo’s hand was on his lip, and there was something icy brushing against his mouth. A piece of ice? Sean opened his mouth slightly, taking the ice chips that Viggo was feeding him and letting them melt against his dry tongue. He swallowed the water, and the dead rat feeling of his throat faded with every single piece.

“Up,” he said, and he was surprised at how raspy his voice sounded.

“Hold on.”

Sean turned his head. There was a fuzzy female body at the edge of his vision, and he could suddenly feel the bed tilting, letting him sit upwards.

He was still trying to figure out why on Earth he was on a bed. It had been a really long time since he had gotten into hospital—in fact, the last few times he was here were entirely for someone else’s sake. It felt like he had surgery and stitches— Sean ripped his hand away from Viggo’s to flatten out against his stomach. Not completely flat yet, but definitely empty- he shook his head hard, feeling a headache start behind his eyes, but his vision cleared faster. It must be the adrenaline.

“The baby?” His voice sounded as if he ran through it with sandpapers.

“Patience,” Viggo chided gently, and he pushed against Sean’s chest with a hand. It was cold and a little wet. “Lie back.”

Sean did. He felt Viggo settle down next to him. “Here,” Viggo said. “I promised.”

Held safely in Viggo’s arm was a small bundle of fluffy blue cloth. Sean pulled at his hand, but the IV refused to budge, so he reached out with the other hand, pulling the cloth back. Their son had a small, downy patch of blond hair and what he could tell to be the beginning of Viggo’s cheekbones. Sean stroked his hand against a milk-smooth cheek, barely daring to breathe. Julian shifted in his blankets, blinking open his eyes—and Sean knew that most newborns took time to develop the colour of their eyes, but he recognised that colour immediately.

“He ‘as yer eyes,” Sean said, his voice hoarse and full of wonder. He turned to Viggo. “Christ, Vig, he ‘as yer eyes.”

Julian wriggled a little at the new voice, his small fists peeking out of the blankets. His mouth opened in a yawn before he settled down, closed his eyes, and went back to sleep.

“Here,” Viggo urged, nudging Sean gently with his shoulder. “Hold him.”

There were some things a person never forgot. He curled his arms automatically, taking Julian into his arms. The stitches around his belly flared sharply in pain, but Sean ignored it, utterly captivated by the sight of his baby son. Then he laid Julian gently down on the bed, near to his IV-captured wrist, and tugged at the blankets to loosen them. Viggo laid his hands over Sean’s for a moment, catching his eyes, and Sean pulled away and pulled his hospital gown open.

“I want ta see and feel ‘im properly,” he said.

Viggo just gave him a smile and tugged Julian free of his blankets, “You don’t have to explain to me.”

Sean reached forward immediately, lifting the baby up very carefully and placing him against his own skin. Julian felt soft and incredibly warm, his diaper scratchy and dry against Sean’s skin. He immediately turned towards Sean, seeking out his heartbeat, and Sean leaned down and kissed against baby-soft hair.

He felt Viggo sit back down on the bed, leaning back against his chest when Viggo pulled him close. Sean turned his head and kissed him.

“What’s ‘is name?” he murmured.

“Like you said,” Viggo said, his words muffled against Sean’s mouth. “Julian Richard Mortensen. He’s going to have triple nationality, you know?”

“Good,” Sean said, closing his eyes. “We can come ‘ere more often.”

He was still in pain and the morphine was making almost everything a little fuzzy; he knew that there was a world out there that still didn’t accept his relationship and his family. But all of that could go to hell for the moment, because Sean didn’t care—he had his son, he had his lover, and he was content.

***

The things happened at the same time: Sean’s phone rang, and Julian started crying.

Sean swore under his breath, pushing himself out of the bed and grabbing his phone, going into the next room and switching it on. Viggo watched him for a moment before he got out of bed as well, heading to Julian’s crib and picking up their son.

They had moved the crib from the nursery to the bedroom after the second day, because they could barely get the boy to sleep. Julian was a restless child, prone to fussing and crying when he wasn’t being held. Even when his diapers were dry and he was just fed, he would still fuss unless one of his fathers picked him up and held him. Any sound that wasn’t their voices would make him cry, and Viggo might have a large amount of patience, but it was fraying.

It didn’t help that they still couldn’t go back home—to either homes. The debates still raged on, and even though Viggo expected that—it would take more than two months for a bunch of politicians to shut up and make a reasonable decision—emotionally it was far harder to accept. Ian was emailing him weekly updates about the situation, but Viggo hadn’t the energy to even drag himself out of the bed and out of sight of Julian’s crib for days now. He couldn’t imagine how Sean was feeling. At least he had bullied the other man into taking naps whenever Julian wasn’t sleeping. Thank God neither of them had work right now.

According to their agents, Sean and he had been offered up to five million dollars for the first pictures of their son, but both of them had refused adamantly. Money wasn’t a problem, and the last thing he wanted was for Julian to become tabloid fodder when he wasn’t even a month old yet. Even though there were times when he was incredibly frustrated that it took so long for him to find some success with his career, he was thankful of it now—thankful that his lack of fame had kept his relationship with Exene and Henry completely out of the public’s eye.

“Such a spoiled princeling,” he tutted under his breath, chucking Julian underneath the chin. His own blue eyes stared back at him, unblinking before Julian hiccupped just once and settled back down amongst his blankets. A small fist poked out and Viggo stroked against the soft skin with a finger, which Julian grabbed immediately. He scrunched his eyes shut and wriggled a little more into his blankets, his fist waving in the air without letting go of Viggo’s finger.

Viggo chuckled to himself, lifting the baby up to kiss right against the furrowed brows. Damn the boy; he was too adorable for Viggo to be angry at him. Then he looked up as Sean came back into the room, tossing his phone onto the bed.

“What happened?”

“Bay called,” Sean said, sitting down on the bed with a small wince. The staples across his stomach were still there, and the incision had only just begun to heal. “’e said that ‘e’s been fightin’ with the damn producers, that’s why he ‘aven’t called. Told me that he still wants me fer Merrick.”

Sean heaved a sigh, “But Merrick’s character is bein’ rewritten. If Bay’s ‘aving me fer ‘im, then producers are goin’ ta ‘ave ‘im be a Beta. Not an Alpha.” He paused. “Filming starts in a month. Two days after I get ta ‘ave these little bastards,” he brushed against his belly, “taken out.”

Viggo watched him for a long moment. He wanted to ask if Sean would be alright; if he had enough recovery time but then. But he knew Sean’s pride, so he only nodded, “I’ll come with you.” He gives Sean a grin and leaned over, careful to not squash Julian, to kiss him gently on the lips. “I’ll watch you while you’re being sexy and make sure that everyone knows that you’re mine.”

In response, Sean stared at him and then looked pointedly down at the baby in between them. “Thought that bit’s pretty damn obvious.”

“They can always use a reminder,” Viggo shrugged.

Sean shook his head, looking down to Julian and stroking against the soft, downy hair. “Any news on your end?”

“The box office for Hidalgo is bigger than everyone thought it would be, even though I haven’t been doing any promotions at all,” he replied. “Casey—the producer—told me that I did enough promotions with the whole media circus. News back homes haven’t changed much because politicians are being stupid. Britain is moving faster, because America keeps talking about religion.” He paused, “David Cronenberg sent me a script.”

Sean blinked, looking up. “Yeah?”

“I haven’t a chance to read it,” he said. “Little guy’s taking up all of our time, and you need to sleep and prepare for Merrick. Cronenberg says that the tentative filming schedule would be in August, so that’s after yours. I have time.”

He lifted his eyes, “Filming would be in Canada, so at least our being there won’t be illegal.”

“And I will actually speak the damn language,” Sean said wryly.

They looked at each other for a long moment. Viggo broke the silence first. “The fallout isn’t as bad as we thought it would be, is it?”

Sean raised an eyebrow, grinning, “Thought there’s only room fer one optimist in this relationship.”

“I’m not being optimistic,” Viggo protested. Julian shifted beneath them at the sudden raise in volume, finally letting go of Viggo’s finger, so he leaned back and rocked the baby gently in his arms until the baby went back to sleep.

But Sean was still laughing at him silently, his hand against his stomach because laughing tugged at the stitches. Viggo should get him to stop, but he loved Sean’s smile, so he only kissed him and felt the soft gusts of air against his own lips.

“Maybe just a little bit.”

***

“You haven’t answered me, little soldier,” Viggo said, looking at his son. Julian was wiser and smarter than Viggo himself could remember at this age, no matter what Sean liked to say.

“About what, Daddy?”

“What have you learned today?”

“Filming is really tedious,” Julian said promptly. He leaned back against his Papa’s arms, and Sean pressed a soft kiss into his hair. “There’s just so much waiting, and those makeup people are really scary, chasing after Papa with their brushes and combs. My books are so much more interesting. I don’t get how you both can do it all the time.”

Sean laughed quietly, eyes dancing as he lifted his eyes. They were all at in the hotel suite that Sean had been given while he was staying in Belfast for Game of Thrones. “The fun part is when the cameras start rolling, Julian.”

“I know,” Julian replied primly, in the tone that familiar to all children of the world: why are my parents being stupid. He swung his legs back and forth, kicking against the sofa. “I don’t think I want to be an actor.”

Viggo and Sean exchanged a glance and a swift smile. The producers for the series wanted to have Julian for Rickon—a walk-in role, they said—but Sean refused them firmly. They knew then that it was the right decision, but this just confirmed it.

“Anyway,” Julian continued, completely oblivious to his parents’ silent conversation. “I ended up talking to Isaac more than reading. He’s fun.”

“Yeah?”

“Mm! Isaac said that his mom used to watch Papa all the time on TV, and it was scary when he met you the first time. He said that he doesn’t know how I can stand to have famous parents and have cameras chasing after me all the time. I told him that he’s being dumb and Papa isn’t scary and I can’t choose my parents anyway.” He grinned, gap-toothed and blue-eyed as he looked up, one finger in the air. “But! If I could I’ll choose you two still. You’re pretty awesome.”

Viggo laughed, reaching out to ruffle through Julian’s mass of blond curls. Julian yelped, ducking his head, but Viggo chased him until his hand was batted at. “I’m honoured, little soldier.”

“We went to a lot of trouble to have you,” Sean said quietly, stroking his son’s smooth, chubby cheek with the back of his hand. “But you’re worth every damn effort.”

Julian jumped off the armchair, turning around and hugging his Papa around the hip. He wasn’t tall enough to hug him around the waist yet. “Can I see it?” he asked, his voice muffled by Sean’s shirt.

Sean blinked, but he nodded, pulling up his shirt just a little until the thin white line just above his pelvis bones was visible. Julian reached out, dancing his tiny fingers from one end to the other before turning to Viggo.

“I’m not going to have a little brother or sister, right?”

“No,” Viggo said, sliding to the floor until he was eye-level with his boy. “Definitely not.”

The boy nodded decisively. “Good,” he said. “That’s my scar. And I like having you two to myself. Well,” he chewed his lip. “I get Papa and Daddy and Henry and Lorna and Molly and Evie, and I don’t want to share any of you with anyone.”

Sean burst out laughing, reaching down and gathering his beautiful, clever boy into his arms. He dropped a kiss against his temple before leaning over Julian to tangle his fingers together with Viggo’s, their matching bands shining underneath the suite’s light.

Worth every damn minute.

End