It didn't even remotely faze Karl. But then, Viggo reflected, nothing fazed Karl at all. "Tell me why I'm here again?" Karl flashed an irrepressible grin, and slid a bare foot along Viggo's calf, teasing worn denim. "I'm here?" "That's why I flew out," Viggo corrected. He ignored Karl's attempt at flirtation for the moment. "Why am I here?" Here being a trendy little café in the heart of Vancouver, full of yuppie types and suits and actors – it was like being in L.A., only with a grey sky overhead. He and Karl, also in jeans and a t-shirt, were the two most casually dressed people. "Someone I want you to meet," Karl shrugged, but Viggo knew exactly what that meant. "Jesus, Karl, haven't you conquered enough?" "No." Karl's look suggested that he thought Viggo was off his nut simply for suggesting it. "Anyway, just wait until you meet him." "I didn't come here for this." "Yes," Karl said, gently correcting him, with a small smile "you did." Viggo really hated it when Karl had a point. "So, who is it this time? Another young, dim, pretty actor?" "Yes, no, and yes." Karl leaned back in his chair, clearly pleased with himself. And Viggo. A few dark strands of hair fell across his forehead. Viggo resisted the urge to push them back. He wasn't ready to give Karl that much ammunition yet. "He's prime, Vig," Karl continued, with a lusty sigh. "Mouth like a whore, and the stamina to go all night. Takes direction like a wet dream." "You told him about me?" "Of course I did...and here he is now. Jensen, over here, mate." Viggo half-turned in his chair when Karl called out – and it was like being broadsided by a particularly beautiful bit of poetry. The visceral punch hit him as his gaze traversed the length of clearly well-toned legs clad in a tight pair of jeans, to a well-defined chest and arms hidden under a bright blue t-shirt. The blue only emphasized the brilliant green of the man's eyes, which, in turn, only emphasized the hard angle of his jaw, and the obscene fullness of soft lips. Viggo watched in dumbfounded silence as the man slid into the seat beside Karl with a soft smile. A strong hand slid, possessive and firm, over Karl's knee, and the other reached across the table. "Mr. Mortensen. Jensen Ackles. Big fan. Loved you in 'Crimson Tide'." The voice was deep, friendly, held a hint of Texas. "Thank you," Viggo replied, finally finding his voice. The handshake was firm, no-nonsense. "Karl here's been singing your praises." Karl lifted his hand, fingers drifting through the hairs on the back of Jensen's neck, and managed a small shrug. "I might have mentioned you in passing." Jensen gave Karl an amused, but fond glance, full lips parting in a smile. Long fingers squeezed and flexed over Karl's thigh. "Only good things I hope." "The best," Viggo replied, and raised his glass to Karl in a silent toast. Karl, the bastard, simply smiled.
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