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“Christ- stop saying it like that,”
“Your-?“ Walter sputters, brow furrowing. He looks up at him from where he lounged, holding himself up by his elbows, only cushioned by the mix of his and Sean’s sleeping bags along the tent floor. Those infuriatingly genuine blue eyes still shine in the lamp light. “-Your name?”
Walter Mitty’s nose is pink from the cold, but his cheeks are flushed with the barley wine their guide had passed around the campfire, the children having been sent to bed under the starry night sky. He’s looking up at Sean with that same awe as when he had found him on that mountain and the photographer had told him to fuck off from his blind. Something between disbelief and wonder, as if he was seeing something more than a man with a camera.
Sean’s blood is humming with the alcohol. His mind still replaying the way Walter had looked at him when Chodak passed the thermos to him, the Sherpa’s deep brown eyes full of mirth. The archivist’s eyes darted towards him, uncertain, trusting Sean to affirm he was doing it right. Sean had given him one sure nod, watching Walter take a hearty drink as the man before him did. The moment the spirit hits his tongue his whole body tenses, grimacing as he forced himself to swallow. Chodak and his brother had started laughing, the latter leaning to knock his shoulder into Walter’s. He says something about Walter having taken to it worse than Sean had the first time, the photographer only giving him an eye roll in return.
“It’s-“ a cough and a few raps of his fist against his chest. “It’s- not bad- uh” he holds it out to Sean desperately, face still pinched in distaste.
Sean reached to take it from him, the pinpoints of Walter’s fingertips leaving a ghost of warmth on the metal. He brings it to his mouth, unable to keep his eyes off of Walter as he recovered, Kami giving him a few firm slaps on the back. Sean tipped his head back and appreciated the burn of liquor against the cold air. Even after that, Walter still politely took it every time the bottle circled back to him.
Sean is so utterly smitten with the man in front of him he can only laugh, breathy and fond.
“No! God- Walter I want you to call me just my name instead of reciting the full thing like a title.” He laughs again, his voice going serious as he attempts his best Walter Mitty impression. “Are you Sean O’Connell?” His pitch is off but the inflection is perfect.
Somehow, Walter’s face flushes more. He looks away, nose scrunched with indignation but his grin remains firmly in place, much to Sean’s satisfaction.
“That’s a valid reaction to finding the man you chased through three countries,“ he starts quietly, his voice an embarrassed grumble. “Plus your name holds a lot of weight at Life, and in the photography field—“ Walter cuts himself off with a huff. “I’m not saying it like that, it’s in your head.” Punctuates the end of his sentence with the most petulant look Sean has ever seen. Christ, he’s pouting, still turned away.
It’s a well known fact that alcohol makes you stupid. Since the beginning of time human beings have tried to quell their minds for the simple joys of it, endless archeological evidence has proved that. Modern times have made many regrets of the feelings that Sean has right now- but Sean doesn’t know if anyone in history has ever witnessed a moment as wonderful as this. The lamp inside of the tent cascades over the planes of Walter’s face, somehow highlighting the little grey hairs on his crown like stars in the night sky. His profile is a beautiful cameo, it catches his pursed lips, pink cheeks, and the light of his eyes. He’s staring holes into the tent wall, still mad at Sean’s teasing.
For once Sean is grateful he didn’t put his smaller camera away- won’t chastise himself on the merit of leaving expensive things unprotected; only because it’s right next to him. Ready to be picked up and snap a photo of the man in front of him. Walter doesn’t even move at the sound of his rustling, Sean tries not to think too hard about trust again as he lines up his shot- years of perfecting his craft keep his hands still.
Through the lens Sean can see that Walter is far away, his eyes having taken him somewhere else in that beautiful head of his. Walter Mitty was a day dreaming thing, perfected the art of it despite his peer’s annoyance, but Sean could never fault him for it. No matter how inopportune the moment Walter Mitty could take himself anywhere and not even leave the room. Plus, it gave Sean time to shamelessly stare. Sean lived his life in moments- this one he wanted to memorialize, just for himself, unsure if he could stand the possibility of not seeing it again.
The click of the camera is a near silent sound of internal machinations, barely perceptible. But somehow, incredibly, Walter hears it. Wrenches himself out of his thoughts, head snapping to Sean with alarming speed for a man who had just been fully checked out. Sean nearly flinches, his eyebrows shooting up with the strangest feeling of being caught. Walter’s mouth falls open in surprise. He clicks the camera again to capture that too.
“Sean!” Walter exclaims, outrage and disbelief but his eyes are so bright- another near silent slide of the lens. And another as Walter sputters, scrambling up from where he had been laying and lunging towards his paparazzi. Sean forces himself back, trying to evade Walter in the space barely big enough for one grown man let alone two.
“See! Like that!” He goads, laughing deep from his belly, sourcing a frustrated growl from his subject, snapping picture after picture as he falls back. His spine aches in protest but he promises his body the photos will be worth it. Capturing blurry scenes of Walter climbing on top of him, his hand reaching for the camera but he never grabs it. He knows the worth of such an object, the brush in the painter's hand. Instead he hides, pressing his face into Sean’s chest. The goal moving from taking it away to protecting his visage from his stalker. (God, that is what Sean had done wasn’t it? Walter doesn’t even know he never saw his slide 25, and now no one will- there’s no time for Sean to unpack all of that.)
They’re both clumsy, and Walter despite himself had almost immediately started laughing along with the photographer.
“Sean! Quit it, you’re going to waste all your film-!” He’s a little breathless and Sean wants to preen at how his name sounds even when Walter is scolding him.
“Don’t tell an artist what to paint, Mitty.”and that starts another spout of giggles from the man overtop of him. It’s then that Sean realizes their position. His head just above Sean’s heart, blue eyes peeking up at him, their legs having intertwined in the scuffle. Walter has both his hands flat against him, just under his collar while Sean’s arms are outstretched above them, holding his camera out of reach.
“So, they’re really discontinuing Life?” He asks, unable to really stop the question, unsure why this was the time to do it. Almost regrets it from the way Walter immediately wilts. His eyes fall, firmly staring at Sean’s chin. For a moment Sean thinks he’s fled to his thoughts again before he breaks his silence.
“Yeah,” his fingers clench slightly, fidgeting with the fabric of Sean’s shirt. “They’re in production of the last issue- frame 25, it was supposed to be the last cover photo.” Something close to shame casts its shadow over him.
Sean only hums in response, sees the exact moment Walter retreats into himself, blank and silent. He carefully sets the camera behind his head, stretches his arms and settles his hands onto Walter’s waist. Maybe it’s the alcohol making him bold, or just the warmth he carries for the man who came all this way for him. His thumbs rub circles into Walter’s sides before he crosses them over Walter’s back and squeezes him tight. That's what brings him back. His shoulder’s jump, going tense for a moment, blinking hard, coming back to himself before he looks back at Sean.
There’s something truly indescribable about Walter Mitty.
They stare at each other, silent aside from the sounds of the world outside the tent, the lantern casting a dim glow. He can tell that Walter is fully here with him, his arms are trapped between Sean’s chest and his embrace, but his fingers once again press into his clavicle, barely dipping over the fabric and onto Sean’s skin. The older man lets out a long suffering sigh.
“And then you threw it away.” He delivers it with a shit eating grin and Walter immediately frowns.
“And then I threw it away.” He deadpans, face soured into something thoroughly unimpressed. Sean can’t help but laugh, throwing his head back and squeezing Walter again.
“And then I lost my job,“ Walter’s smiling despite it, ever small and rueful. “Really I threw away a wallet- a really cute wallet.” He mocks, sending Sean further, cold hands clenched in the fabric of his shirt.
“It was cute-“ he tries to counter through tipsy giggles but Walter only rolls his eyes. He lays his head on Sean’s chest, his ear against heart, no doubt hearing the way it starts to beat a little faster. It feels dangerously natural for his hand to start moving across Walter’s spine, up and down, the man melting further against him. He lets out a sigh and Sean can see that he’s closed his eyes.
“What was it?” He asks again, quietly, reverent even.
Sean thinks. He thinks about his two week stint in New York, of surprising his publicist, meeting up with a few friends more out of habit than anything else, when he knew he was really there for Walter. He thinks of Walter’s mother and how kind she was to let him in, feed him cake and tell him the story of the Mitty family. Thinks of how he tailed the man for a week trying to find the perfect shot. Of how many moments he had let slip by because he wanted them for himself. The wonder of a man he had worked with for sixteen years but had never spoken to face to face.
He thinks of the first time he had heard Walter’s voice.
-
Somewhere in Turkey, he flipped through one of his field notebooks until he found the number to Debbie in payroll, who, after some badgering, then gave him the number for the archives. He remembers the anxiety of waiting for someone to answer- but more importantly the giddiness of it. The latest issue had came out and his photos were perfect.
He had been terrified that the story he wanted to show them wouldn’t survive. The roll he sent in had been through the wringer. Gone through multiple falls, been stepped on, and even a dip into a river has he fled from a rather angry angora goat. And they had somehow come out exactly as they were shot- whoever developed them, cared for them, and restored them- had done more than they knew.
He remembers the way his breath caught at the hesitant “Hello?” from the other side of the line. Walter had been 14 years younger then, they both had been. Had worked together for 2 years without Sean even having known.
“Hi- this is Sean- O’Connell-“
“Oh.” Is the first thing Walter had said, surprised. Then followed shortly by “You really need to take better care of your film rolls-“ Sean’s jaw had dropped before he started laughing. Walter silent throughout it.
“That’s- damn. That’s actually why I was calling- were you the one who restored it?” He managed. Barely.
“Yeah- yes, that was me.” There was an edge of anxiety then, as if he was expecting to be reprimanded.
“God you’re fantastic. I can’t believe you managed to save them. I just wanted to thank you.”
“Oh.” Walter had said again. “Yeah- of course they were great photos after you got past all the- muck.” He had paused before the end as if trying to come up with the perfect word.
“Yeah I- thank you, I really appreciate all your work.”
“Thanks.” There was a pause, neither of them knowing what to say.
“What did you even do to mess it up like that?” He asked, curiosity and something more that Sean couldn’t decipher without seeing his face.
“Well it’s a long story- sorry what was your name?”
“Oh, uh- Walter. Walter Mitty.” Stiff and awkward but Sean was still smiling over five thousand miles away.
“Well Walter, If you have time between other destroyed film rolls,” and Walter had laughed, small and breathy. The sound seared itself into Sean’s head as he started his story.
-
Never in a million years would Sean have thought he’d be here. On a cold mountain top somewhere in Nepal, with Walter Mitty pressed against him, holding him close and sharing his warmth.
“I told you. Ghost cat.” Sean finally answers, his voice gone gentle. Walter groaned against him, he could feel the vibration dance along his ribs. Walter shifting to face him, sharp chin digging into where his cheek had been. Sean watches him chew at the inside of his lip.
“I’m sorry.” He murmurs
“It’s alright.”
“How are you not angry?”
“It’s not all bad. It brought you here.” That might’ve been a bit too telling, but Sean doesn’t regret it. Not when Walter just looks at him, his eyes firmly on Sean, both of them a little unsure where to go from there. It’s Sean who moves first, lets his wants take over as he brings his hand up to run through Walter’s hair, stopping to cup the back of his neck, his fingers playing with the overgrown strands there. He trusts Walter- revels in the easy way they seemed to work together, how Walter understood his vision. He trusts Walter to stop him if he needs to but Sean doesn’t miss the way blue eyes drag down his face, swallowing harshly. He pauses even when the tip of Sean’s tongue darts out to wet his chapped lips.
Walter looks back to him, uncertain but determined. Shuffles closer, one of his hands moving to the side of Sean’s neck, grazing over tanned skin, both of them slow but sure.
“Sean O’Connell,” Walter starts, mirroring the way he had been teased, a smile paints its way over Sean’s face.
“Yes?” The hand not in Walter’s hair has snuck underneath the hem of his shirt, calloused, travel worn fingers trailing across his skin.
They keep getting closer and closer. Sean feels dizzy with the proximity, how he can feel Walter’s breath against his face. Walter presses their noses together.
“Can you at least tell me what ‘The Quintessence of Life’ is?”
Sean kisses him. Closes that minuscule gap between them, eyes slipping shut as he lives in this moment. Imprinting the feeling of Walter’s stubble against his own, how he tastes still like wine mixed with toothpaste tabs. The sound that Walter makes against him, backgrounded by the wind and crickets singing their nightly song. Sean didn’t know how much he wanted this until it happened, just how deeply this feeling ran through him. It was terrifying how much he felt for Walter Mitty.
It’s Walter who pulls away first, trying to catch his breath, he presses their foreheads together, as if the idea of being any further apart is unthinkable. Sean takes in all he can. Walter’s still closed eyes, how he panted against him, the beat of his heart, just how badly he wants to capture Walter’s mouth again. Instead he grabs one of the hands that had made its way to his neck and pulls that to his mouth, pressing his lips over Walter’s pulse, trailing kisses to the back of his hand.
“Sean…” he’s so breathless, Sean thinks he might go crazy, can’t stop himself from tightening the grip he has around Walter’s waist and rolling them over cherishing the startled gasp Walter lets out. A hand on either side of the man’s head after he has the archivist settled onto his back. Walter wastes no time, fists his hand in the front of Sean’s shirt and pulls him back down, his other arm wrapping around his shoulders, locking him in place.
They lay like that, moving with fever, the both of them hungry for this new exciting thing they’ve discovered. Somehow it feels as if it was inevitable, like something written into the stars, they were so intertwined that in any reality of having met they would end up here. Sean doesn’t know how long they’ve been laying there, ferocity quickly turned syrupy and slow. Sean lifts himself away, just to take in Walter’s face. He’s dazed, swollen lips slightly parted to let out little pants, trying to control his breathing. He’s looking up at Sean with sleepy eyes.
“That’s not fair, you’re avoiding the question.” The fingers threaded through Sean’s hair give a gentle tug.
The photographer hums in acknowledgment stupid, dopey smile firmly in place. He’s incapable of looking away from the man underneath him. Cups his face, and starts to give in to the magnetic pull Walter has on him. Swiping his thumb under one blue eye as he leans in, torturously slow.
“Ask me again.” So quiet, as close to a whisper as his gruff voice could get. Walter huffs a breath through his nose. Sean stops right before Walter can lock them together again, looking down at him waiting.
“What is ‘The Quintessence of Life’?”
Windburned cheeks pull tight with his smile, absolutely giddy to give him an honest answer. He crowds into his space again, purposely avoids Walter’s lips. Presses a sweet kiss to the side of his mouth. Trails them across his face, one under his eye, up to his temple and back down till he can ghost hot breath over the shell of his ear. Walter shivers against him, holding on so tightly as if convincing himself it was real. Sean murmurs against his skin, reverent and low.
“It’s you, Walter Mitty.”