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fellowshippers2004-07-01 04:40 pm
elf-skitzo.livejournal.com) wrote in fellowshippers2004-07-01 04:40 pm
For LotR RPS Challenge #10
Title: Colours of the Heart
Author: elf_skitzo
Rating: PG-13
Summary: for LotR RPS challenge #10
Author's Note: song lyrics in the title of "yellow" belong to Coldplay; lyrics at the beginning of the part belong to The Calling.
Feedback: I will be eternally grateful; constructive criticism is welcomed.
A smile flickered across his lips when the couch squeaked. Viggo glanced over his shoulder, seeing the blanket slip further along the young man's body, exposing the small of his back and a smudge of purple paint. Viggo wasn't certain what time Orlando had arrived last night, but it hadn't exactly mattered then. Orli had surprised him in his studio, and they hadn't left it since then, sleeping on the couch in there instead of making the painfully long migration down the hallway and to his bedroom.
Viggo had known Orlando for five years, and every day he looked at him he saw another colour. He could categorize their relationship in colours, could see them as clearly as he felt them. On that thought he picked up a brush, wanting to finish the piece he had started the night before, allowing his mind to wander over their history together as he worked.
White Eyes
Everything starts white: canvases, photograph paper, notebook pages, lives. Everything was white until one started to colour it, started to live and interact with other people, getting colours from them as well, adding dimensions, shades, hues, words to the once-blank beginning. Orlando was by no means blank when Viggo first met him, but he had been white. He had been new and glowing, brilliant and young; though sometimes Viggo would see the young man smiling through his eyes and he seemed older than he was.. but... Even then he seemed to look at the world with innocent wonder. Viggo had never been able to leave well enough alone, especially when he was intruiged.
Orlando was a fathomless mystery, seeming flat at first until one actually touched the surface, only to realise how deep he could actually go. He was innocent despite his age, as if he would always be smiling, always seeing the best... but Viggo's silver-lined vision of the beautiful boy would not always remain so. White was made to be covered up, different shades would pass over Viggo's eyes whenever he looked at the young man until he found the right one.
Cold Embrace and Green Claws
And it then burned in him. A sickly green that began to consume the entire piece - not even the artist's will could stop it now. What had started as a speck, a mere twinge, had now spread across the canvas of their love. The brush fell from numb fingertips when he realised what he had done; the beautiful art that he had ruined. Sighing he stepped back from the canvas, frowning as he stared at it. Orlando's photographed image turned coyly away from him in the far corner, now looking out at the jealous landscape. He let the paint dry, already mixing another colour in hopes of fixing the piece, refusing to let such an irrational emotion - colour - spoil it. It had been beautiful before he had even touched it, but it hadn't been his. He had never been able to leave well enough alone.
Blue Smiles
Sorrow drifted across the beautiful face, the shade alone making his heart ache. There weren't many people that saw the sadness lingering behind such a beautiful smile... but he could. He saw the heartbreak, the cold lonelieness of a young man growing up before the very eyes of the public, too private to let them see what they were stealing. The dispiritedness floated across the piece and immediately he feared another ruined work. A desolate and broken piece, reflected back by a shattered mirror. It was set aside immediately and he felt strangely shaken after seeing his own fractured reflection beside the beautiful face on the canvas, as if he had somehow caused the unhappiness, the remorse and the regret.
"I'm drowning, please don't let me go..."
He hadn't let him go, he couldn't.
Roses Are Red
Pounding, rushing, overwhelming, driving, heat... irrational, unpredictable and demanding. It was every thing or nothing, it was red. One could see red when they were angry, one could feel it in lust. Because it wasn't all jealousy and sadness. Neither of them would have been there if not for the passion: it was what drove the artist on, made him unable to let go. It was the throbbing rush of blood; bodies tangled together on the bed - kissing, loving, inseperable. It was the overwhelming mixture of sex, frustration, anger, and posession. It was unforgiving, it was love.
It was in the curve of those lips, a secret smile just for him. It was the anger he felt when he saw it flashed to another, the irrational fear and the primal urge to grab what was his and his alone. It was the frustration he felt when he saw Orlando flirting, however innocently. It was the love he felt, the lust and the passion when he had the young man pinned down beneath him, a moaning and writhing creature. You're beautiful for me.
All of it was dashed across the canvas in fleeting expressions.
... and they were all Yellow
Within the darkness you are the light. He was all warmth on the soft cushions, glowing there like the sun on the couch in his studio. His smile, as gentle an expression as it was, was brilliant and blinding - he couldn't bring himself to look away. A sweep of yellow flew across the layered colours on the canvas, flying free of the dark ground and above every other shade that wove through the piece. His sun, his happiness - his Orlando.
"Hey there..." The gentle voice purred in his ear and Viggo could only smile, his hands lifting to smooth over Orlando's forearms draped over his shoulders. "You're getting paint all over me, old man."
"We can wash it off later, yellow looks good on you."
"Lucky it's my favourite colour."
Just like you're mine, no matter what shade you make me see.
Author: elf_skitzo
Rating: PG-13
Summary: for LotR RPS challenge #10
Author's Note: song lyrics in the title of "yellow" belong to Coldplay; lyrics at the beginning of the part belong to The Calling.
Feedback: I will be eternally grateful; constructive criticism is welcomed.
A smile flickered across his lips when the couch squeaked. Viggo glanced over his shoulder, seeing the blanket slip further along the young man's body, exposing the small of his back and a smudge of purple paint. Viggo wasn't certain what time Orlando had arrived last night, but it hadn't exactly mattered then. Orli had surprised him in his studio, and they hadn't left it since then, sleeping on the couch in there instead of making the painfully long migration down the hallway and to his bedroom.
Viggo had known Orlando for five years, and every day he looked at him he saw another colour. He could categorize their relationship in colours, could see them as clearly as he felt them. On that thought he picked up a brush, wanting to finish the piece he had started the night before, allowing his mind to wander over their history together as he worked.
White Eyes
Everything starts white: canvases, photograph paper, notebook pages, lives. Everything was white until one started to colour it, started to live and interact with other people, getting colours from them as well, adding dimensions, shades, hues, words to the once-blank beginning. Orlando was by no means blank when Viggo first met him, but he had been white. He had been new and glowing, brilliant and young; though sometimes Viggo would see the young man smiling through his eyes and he seemed older than he was.. but... Even then he seemed to look at the world with innocent wonder. Viggo had never been able to leave well enough alone, especially when he was intruiged.
Orlando was a fathomless mystery, seeming flat at first until one actually touched the surface, only to realise how deep he could actually go. He was innocent despite his age, as if he would always be smiling, always seeing the best... but Viggo's silver-lined vision of the beautiful boy would not always remain so. White was made to be covered up, different shades would pass over Viggo's eyes whenever he looked at the young man until he found the right one.
Cold Embrace and Green Claws
And it then burned in him. A sickly green that began to consume the entire piece - not even the artist's will could stop it now. What had started as a speck, a mere twinge, had now spread across the canvas of their love. The brush fell from numb fingertips when he realised what he had done; the beautiful art that he had ruined. Sighing he stepped back from the canvas, frowning as he stared at it. Orlando's photographed image turned coyly away from him in the far corner, now looking out at the jealous landscape. He let the paint dry, already mixing another colour in hopes of fixing the piece, refusing to let such an irrational emotion - colour - spoil it. It had been beautiful before he had even touched it, but it hadn't been his. He had never been able to leave well enough alone.
Blue Smiles
Sorrow drifted across the beautiful face, the shade alone making his heart ache. There weren't many people that saw the sadness lingering behind such a beautiful smile... but he could. He saw the heartbreak, the cold lonelieness of a young man growing up before the very eyes of the public, too private to let them see what they were stealing. The dispiritedness floated across the piece and immediately he feared another ruined work. A desolate and broken piece, reflected back by a shattered mirror. It was set aside immediately and he felt strangely shaken after seeing his own fractured reflection beside the beautiful face on the canvas, as if he had somehow caused the unhappiness, the remorse and the regret.
"I'm drowning, please don't let me go..."
He hadn't let him go, he couldn't.
Roses Are Red
Pounding, rushing, overwhelming, driving, heat... irrational, unpredictable and demanding. It was every thing or nothing, it was red. One could see red when they were angry, one could feel it in lust. Because it wasn't all jealousy and sadness. Neither of them would have been there if not for the passion: it was what drove the artist on, made him unable to let go. It was the throbbing rush of blood; bodies tangled together on the bed - kissing, loving, inseperable. It was the overwhelming mixture of sex, frustration, anger, and posession. It was unforgiving, it was love.
It was in the curve of those lips, a secret smile just for him. It was the anger he felt when he saw it flashed to another, the irrational fear and the primal urge to grab what was his and his alone. It was the frustration he felt when he saw Orlando flirting, however innocently. It was the love he felt, the lust and the passion when he had the young man pinned down beneath him, a moaning and writhing creature. You're beautiful for me.
All of it was dashed across the canvas in fleeting expressions.
... and they were all Yellow
Within the darkness you are the light. He was all warmth on the soft cushions, glowing there like the sun on the couch in his studio. His smile, as gentle an expression as it was, was brilliant and blinding - he couldn't bring himself to look away. A sweep of yellow flew across the layered colours on the canvas, flying free of the dark ground and above every other shade that wove through the piece. His sun, his happiness - his Orlando.
"Hey there..." The gentle voice purred in his ear and Viggo could only smile, his hands lifting to smooth over Orlando's forearms draped over his shoulders. "You're getting paint all over me, old man."
"We can wash it off later, yellow looks good on you."
"Lucky it's my favourite colour."
Just like you're mine, no matter what shade you make me see.
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