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fellowshippers2004-12-16 07:27 am
blankversesfic.livejournal.com) wrote in fellowshippers2004-12-16 07:27 am
FIC: Homecoming, A prelude (1/?)
Title: Homecoming, A prelude (1/?)
Pairing: EW/VM
Rating: PG-13 (for angstiness)
Disclaimer: I can't say that I've ever met them, because if I had I'd probably still be squeeing. This is all my imagination.
Once again he found himself driving over empty roads in the middle of nowhere, letting the wind choose his direction. Cigarette pressed firmly between his fingers, black polish chipping off his bitten-down nails, he brings hand to mouth and drags deeply, relishing the harshness of the smoke in his throat. He has lost the capacity to appreciate the simpler, gentler sensations of pleasure; only pain can reach him now. And his body craves anything that can stimulate him into a semblance of feeling.
*You made me feel, once, when you held me in your arms and shut out the world. You knew every nerve, every thought, every whisper that was me, and you loved me for all of them. You got inside of me and turned the bits of me that were lead into gold. And I, the fool, let fear rip me away from you.*
The night deepens, and he is driving now over roads that hold the hint of familiarity. The trees, heavy branches hanging down over the road as though longing to touch the passersby, shade even the gentle light of the full moon from him as he drives along, pressing down unconsciously on the gas pedal as his heart begins to beat a little faster. This is where he had been heading for the past three days, after all, although he hadn’t allowed himself to know it consciously until he rounded the last bend leading up to the driveway.
*Are you calling me, luring me back? Is that why I’m here? All the searching a waste of time, all the empty hours without you in them . . . *
He parked his car next to the house, barely able to breathe as a light turned on in the second story, shining from the bedroom window. Time stood quietly by the wayside, and he moved not just through the darkness but through the years, traveling back into the world as it had been before. When it was good. When he relied on that strength outside his own, when the world narrowed for a moment and split in two to the time of his lover’s heartbeat, when he lingered in the moment between the breaths that came, rough and ragged, when they were in bed, lived for the breath that held his name.
*“Elijah,” Viggo would sigh, exploding inside him, and his world would fill with sweetness. A sweetness so bitterly sharp, that he wondered sometimes if Viggo felt it. If the man who could cause such a lovely pain with one word could ever possibly feel the same about Elijah as he felt about him. And he had allowed that wonder to turn into fear, fear that he was nothing more than a pastime. And the fear had frozen something inside him, the best parts inside of him, until he had nothing left inside of him that was touchable, no matter how hard Viggo tried to reach him.*
He stands for a long moment in the cold, gathering his courage. Three long years since he’s been here, but nothing has changed, and he stubs his cigarette out on the ground and mounts the porch steps, knees trembling, and partway up the stairs his courage gives out. He flings out a hand, grabbing the railing for support, but he still falls forward, landing hard on the porch. He stands quickly, and flings himself at the door. The front door bursts open, and warm arms gather him in, warm skin wet with tears pressing against his face, lips eagerly searching his own.
“Oh, Elijah,” Viggo whispers, as Elijah begins to cry. “Welcome home.”
EDIT: Pardon my dumbness earlier, I had thought that this was behind a cut when I posted it this morning.
Pairing: EW/VM
Rating: PG-13 (for angstiness)
Disclaimer: I can't say that I've ever met them, because if I had I'd probably still be squeeing. This is all my imagination.
Once again he found himself driving over empty roads in the middle of nowhere, letting the wind choose his direction. Cigarette pressed firmly between his fingers, black polish chipping off his bitten-down nails, he brings hand to mouth and drags deeply, relishing the harshness of the smoke in his throat. He has lost the capacity to appreciate the simpler, gentler sensations of pleasure; only pain can reach him now. And his body craves anything that can stimulate him into a semblance of feeling.
*You made me feel, once, when you held me in your arms and shut out the world. You knew every nerve, every thought, every whisper that was me, and you loved me for all of them. You got inside of me and turned the bits of me that were lead into gold. And I, the fool, let fear rip me away from you.*
The night deepens, and he is driving now over roads that hold the hint of familiarity. The trees, heavy branches hanging down over the road as though longing to touch the passersby, shade even the gentle light of the full moon from him as he drives along, pressing down unconsciously on the gas pedal as his heart begins to beat a little faster. This is where he had been heading for the past three days, after all, although he hadn’t allowed himself to know it consciously until he rounded the last bend leading up to the driveway.
*Are you calling me, luring me back? Is that why I’m here? All the searching a waste of time, all the empty hours without you in them . . . *
He parked his car next to the house, barely able to breathe as a light turned on in the second story, shining from the bedroom window. Time stood quietly by the wayside, and he moved not just through the darkness but through the years, traveling back into the world as it had been before. When it was good. When he relied on that strength outside his own, when the world narrowed for a moment and split in two to the time of his lover’s heartbeat, when he lingered in the moment between the breaths that came, rough and ragged, when they were in bed, lived for the breath that held his name.
*“Elijah,” Viggo would sigh, exploding inside him, and his world would fill with sweetness. A sweetness so bitterly sharp, that he wondered sometimes if Viggo felt it. If the man who could cause such a lovely pain with one word could ever possibly feel the same about Elijah as he felt about him. And he had allowed that wonder to turn into fear, fear that he was nothing more than a pastime. And the fear had frozen something inside him, the best parts inside of him, until he had nothing left inside of him that was touchable, no matter how hard Viggo tried to reach him.*
He stands for a long moment in the cold, gathering his courage. Three long years since he’s been here, but nothing has changed, and he stubs his cigarette out on the ground and mounts the porch steps, knees trembling, and partway up the stairs his courage gives out. He flings out a hand, grabbing the railing for support, but he still falls forward, landing hard on the porch. He stands quickly, and flings himself at the door. The front door bursts open, and warm arms gather him in, warm skin wet with tears pressing against his face, lips eagerly searching his own.
“Oh, Elijah,” Viggo whispers, as Elijah begins to cry. “Welcome home.”
EDIT: Pardon my dumbness earlier, I had thought that this was behind a cut when I posted it this morning.
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HEE HEE HEE
Please write again soon!
Saklani
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