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fellowshippers2005-05-01 01:34 am
slashfairy.livejournal.com) wrote in fellowshippers2005-05-01 01:34 am
(no subject)
Fiction. Untrue, to the best of my knowledge.
Viggo sorts photos from a visit to Orli in Morocco.
VigOrli, R, with fluff, cos I like it like that.
From this picture, on the set of Kingdom of Heaven
For![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
xchasingtailsx, because.
I held your bracelets and your watch while you were filming, The sand got everywhere, in our eyes, our asses. We didn't care. We rode the horses on the days you weren't filming, not many of those, and each other when we could. The muscle you put on made you even older, somehow, made you not you but some other you, some person I had to learn all over again. I loved it, following the line of vein over strength with my fingers, my tongue, learning every new inch, every drop of sweat evincing new images of you working, riding, fighting, fucking.
In the mornings you woke early, eager to start the day, leaving me to find the coffee and a shower in my own greying time. I love that about you, your eagerness to get going, your kindness to we who are not so excited by every second of the shooting day anymore.
What I loved most was finding you being you, feet in the air, or playing, kissing the camel, the horses, the crew, the craft service people for keeping you in water and meat. Slumped in a chair, sword between your open thighs, pretending I wouldn't take that picture, knowing I would.
But this one, this is the one that makes me smile. You, on the trailer steps, waiting for me to come back from some side trip for photos and writing, half in your gear, and half in your self, just having heard there'd be no more takes, you could get undressed now, stop being Balian, and be you.
You, working on your model car, sock puppet from Lij and the boys hanging from your lap, looking up as I approach, the little smile you keep for me forming on your lips as you still your tool hand and begin to change into my Orli.
The camera doesn't show how I took your bracelets from my pocket and slipped them on my wrist, how you put the model and tools away, the puppet on the double bed in your trailer, your costume on the table just inside the door so your guy could pick it up while you slept, make it right for the next day. It missed how you showered with me, no need to waste water in the desert, how we soaped and rinsed and kissed and fucked each other there, then fell onto the bed and did it again, tongues rough like beasts on each others' dry skin, hot lips, cracked fingers, hard cocks. How you woke me in the night with cool water, and sucked me dry, saying "You can't leave, you can't go, I need you here," even as you knew I had only one more day, one day to take my photos and tastes of you, before life got in the way.
You had to go extra early, some problem needing your attention, you in every scene almost. I woke to more water, a note, and the puppet: "Viggo, I love every inch of you, every taste, every hair, every moment. Stay until I get back, please?" I know what that cost you, every letter in place, slowly put in an order that still escapes you when you are excited, impassioned, hot. As I opened the water my cell rang-you. "You're staying, right? An hour. I only need an hour."
"Yes, I'll stay, I'll be here." Call the airlines, the hotel, my agent, the gallery, change everything. An hour of you worth 48 hours of an opening in Copenhagen. Drift into dreams of tired sex in the rain at Helm's Deep, all-night fights ending in leisurely fucks behind styrofoam rock walls, man and elf, fingers tangled in each others' ruined wigs, looking for the real hair woven through. Was that real?
is this?
"Hi." Soft southern tones in my ear. "Sorry, I fell asleep." "Don't be. You're here. That's all that matters. I brought you something." "No, you don't need to-" "But I did. Got one for myself, too." You slip a silver band on my wrist, and show me one on yours. "WIth this ring, I thee wed, Viggo Mortensen." And when I got teary, and silly, and not manly and masculine at all, but vulnerable and quiet and let you fuck me like no one has ever, ever done, after, you put the puppet in the crook of my arm, and said, "I love you, Viggo," and curled up next to me like life itself.
It opens tomorrow. We're going, together. Bracelet, two among the many. But we know. And that's enough. Old and young, man and boy. Together, And that's enough.
Viggo sorts photos from a visit to Orli in Morocco.
VigOrli, R, with fluff, cos I like it like that.
From this picture, on the set of Kingdom of Heaven
For
xchasingtailsx, because.I held your bracelets and your watch while you were filming, The sand got everywhere, in our eyes, our asses. We didn't care. We rode the horses on the days you weren't filming, not many of those, and each other when we could. The muscle you put on made you even older, somehow, made you not you but some other you, some person I had to learn all over again. I loved it, following the line of vein over strength with my fingers, my tongue, learning every new inch, every drop of sweat evincing new images of you working, riding, fighting, fucking.
In the mornings you woke early, eager to start the day, leaving me to find the coffee and a shower in my own greying time. I love that about you, your eagerness to get going, your kindness to we who are not so excited by every second of the shooting day anymore.
What I loved most was finding you being you, feet in the air, or playing, kissing the camel, the horses, the crew, the craft service people for keeping you in water and meat. Slumped in a chair, sword between your open thighs, pretending I wouldn't take that picture, knowing I would.
But this one, this is the one that makes me smile. You, on the trailer steps, waiting for me to come back from some side trip for photos and writing, half in your gear, and half in your self, just having heard there'd be no more takes, you could get undressed now, stop being Balian, and be you.
You, working on your model car, sock puppet from Lij and the boys hanging from your lap, looking up as I approach, the little smile you keep for me forming on your lips as you still your tool hand and begin to change into my Orli.
The camera doesn't show how I took your bracelets from my pocket and slipped them on my wrist, how you put the model and tools away, the puppet on the double bed in your trailer, your costume on the table just inside the door so your guy could pick it up while you slept, make it right for the next day. It missed how you showered with me, no need to waste water in the desert, how we soaped and rinsed and kissed and fucked each other there, then fell onto the bed and did it again, tongues rough like beasts on each others' dry skin, hot lips, cracked fingers, hard cocks. How you woke me in the night with cool water, and sucked me dry, saying "You can't leave, you can't go, I need you here," even as you knew I had only one more day, one day to take my photos and tastes of you, before life got in the way.
You had to go extra early, some problem needing your attention, you in every scene almost. I woke to more water, a note, and the puppet: "Viggo, I love every inch of you, every taste, every hair, every moment. Stay until I get back, please?" I know what that cost you, every letter in place, slowly put in an order that still escapes you when you are excited, impassioned, hot. As I opened the water my cell rang-you. "You're staying, right? An hour. I only need an hour."
"Yes, I'll stay, I'll be here." Call the airlines, the hotel, my agent, the gallery, change everything. An hour of you worth 48 hours of an opening in Copenhagen. Drift into dreams of tired sex in the rain at Helm's Deep, all-night fights ending in leisurely fucks behind styrofoam rock walls, man and elf, fingers tangled in each others' ruined wigs, looking for the real hair woven through. Was that real?
is this?
"Hi." Soft southern tones in my ear. "Sorry, I fell asleep." "Don't be. You're here. That's all that matters. I brought you something." "No, you don't need to-" "But I did. Got one for myself, too." You slip a silver band on my wrist, and show me one on yours. "WIth this ring, I thee wed, Viggo Mortensen." And when I got teary, and silly, and not manly and masculine at all, but vulnerable and quiet and let you fuck me like no one has ever, ever done, after, you put the puppet in the crook of my arm, and said, "I love you, Viggo," and curled up next to me like life itself.
It opens tomorrow. We're going, together. Bracelet, two among the many. But we know. And that's enough. Old and young, man and boy. Together, And that's enough.
no subject
"WIth this ring, I thee wed, Viggo Mortensen."
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Thank you for sharing it. :)
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Lillie
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