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fellowshippers2006-10-30 08:40 am
v-angelique.livejournal.com) wrote in fellowshippers2006-10-30 08:40 am
Fic: Controlled 28/45
Title: Controlled (28/45)
Author: Viktoria Angelique
Email: viktoria_angelique@hotmail.com
Rating: NC-17 for series, PG for this part
Pairing: Elijah/Viggo
Warnings: BDSM, but not in this chapter, sap
Disclaimer: If this were true the world might be a better place.
Feedback: I love it!
Summary: Viggo and Elijah go to a concert. This one is quite short, I know, but I was listening to the music mentioned and it pulled up a very evocative, but brief picture for me. I hope the intent justifies the brevity.
Previous Chapters
Before the break ended, Viggo took Elijah to see the Buena Vista Social Club guys perform in Wellington. It was an outdoor venue, and not quite warm, but still not chilly enough to obviate outdoor concerts. They hadn’t been able to find anyone else who wanted to come, so it was strangely romantic, an evening alone in a crowd of several thousand people. Elijah wore a fisherman’s hat tugged low in the front, but no one really seemed to notice.
A song started up, midway through the concert, that Elijah recognised as the first track of the album, “Chan Chan.” Viggo tugged him tighter back against his chest from where he sat behind Elijah, the younger man between his legs. “No one’s watching us. Dance with me, lover,” he whispered, and Elijah felt a chill that had nothing to do with the air.
Viggo led Elijah easily through a slow, sexy salsa. Elijah spun and swayed and was passed back and forth under Viggo’s arm, and it occurred to him as an afterthought that Viggo had grown up in Venezuela and Argentina, that this spicy, sexy music was almost in his blood. As he picked up the steps, and their dance become more and more sensuous, more seductive, Elijah longed to meet the Viggo of those days, the teenager who had run loose in the hills of South America, barefoot, making friends with the goats and the occasional wild horse.
In his head, he associated the rhythm of the drums and the patterns of the guitar with images—an old woman, pounding tortillas; a group of children, kicking around a soccer ball; verdant hills and dusty roads. The images didn’t come from life; they were probably a collage of bits and pieces Elijah had seen on TV and in films, but they were no less real. He associated the teenaged Viggo with these dream-images, a barefoot boy with a pad and a set of paints, capturing the scenes around him. He wanted, suddenly, desperately, to see these things through Viggo’s eyes, to let Viggo instruct Elijah in his own reality.
“I want to travel with you one day,” Elijah whispered low in Viggo’s ear, twisting slightly to be heard as they settled back on the lawn at the end of the song.
Viggo looked slightly surprised, but he stroked Elijah’s cheek affectionately nonetheless. “Isn’t that what we just did?”
Elijah smiled and shook his head, kissed Viggo’s jaw open-mouthed, bold. “I want you to show me the places that mean something to you. I want you to show me South America, Denmark, New York. Anything that evokes memories, for you. I want to experience it all.”
Viggo smiled fondly, perhaps at Elijah’s innocence, and gently cupped his bent knees through his cargo trousers.
“Why this now, love?” His tone was genuinely curious. Elijah sighed and leaned more heavily into his arms, the music an enticing drug that swept around them, weaving a safe cocoon in which to build new memories.
“I know I can’t get your childhood back, and I don’t want to. But it’s a part of you, Vig. I want to learn those parts—who you were then, what you saw, how you loved. It’s important to me.” Elijah laid a palm on Viggo’s chest, feeling the steady thump of his heart beneath the fabric. He lifted Viggo’s wrist, gently, and created a mirror of the movement. He kissed Viggo’s lips, lightly. “I’ve never loved quite like this.”
Viggo smiled and pressed their foreheads together, not shifting his hand or his body. Elijah could feel Viggo’s warm breath across his lips, smell the hint of beer and the spicy tikka masala he had eaten for dinner. “I love you with all my heart, Elijah. No one has ever asked me to share these things… but for you, I will. We have time.”
“If I could give you all the time in the world, I would,” Elijah confessed, stroking a single strand of grey at Viggo’s temple. “But I wouldn’t take back the times you’ve already seen. Our histories connect us, you know. They make us who we are, together. I respect that.”
“You’re wiser than your years, hobbit.”
Elijah smiled, and kissed Viggo’s nose, whispering roughly. “You’re as beautiful as yours.”
That night, they made slow, sweet love under the covers where nothing and no one could reach them.
In the morning, Viggo began a new painting. It was full of midnight blues, stars, and hope.
Author: Viktoria Angelique
Email: viktoria_angelique@hotmail.com
Rating: NC-17 for series, PG for this part
Pairing: Elijah/Viggo
Warnings: BDSM, but not in this chapter, sap
Disclaimer: If this were true the world might be a better place.
Feedback: I love it!
Summary: Viggo and Elijah go to a concert. This one is quite short, I know, but I was listening to the music mentioned and it pulled up a very evocative, but brief picture for me. I hope the intent justifies the brevity.
Previous Chapters
Before the break ended, Viggo took Elijah to see the Buena Vista Social Club guys perform in Wellington. It was an outdoor venue, and not quite warm, but still not chilly enough to obviate outdoor concerts. They hadn’t been able to find anyone else who wanted to come, so it was strangely romantic, an evening alone in a crowd of several thousand people. Elijah wore a fisherman’s hat tugged low in the front, but no one really seemed to notice.
A song started up, midway through the concert, that Elijah recognised as the first track of the album, “Chan Chan.” Viggo tugged him tighter back against his chest from where he sat behind Elijah, the younger man between his legs. “No one’s watching us. Dance with me, lover,” he whispered, and Elijah felt a chill that had nothing to do with the air.
Viggo led Elijah easily through a slow, sexy salsa. Elijah spun and swayed and was passed back and forth under Viggo’s arm, and it occurred to him as an afterthought that Viggo had grown up in Venezuela and Argentina, that this spicy, sexy music was almost in his blood. As he picked up the steps, and their dance become more and more sensuous, more seductive, Elijah longed to meet the Viggo of those days, the teenager who had run loose in the hills of South America, barefoot, making friends with the goats and the occasional wild horse.
In his head, he associated the rhythm of the drums and the patterns of the guitar with images—an old woman, pounding tortillas; a group of children, kicking around a soccer ball; verdant hills and dusty roads. The images didn’t come from life; they were probably a collage of bits and pieces Elijah had seen on TV and in films, but they were no less real. He associated the teenaged Viggo with these dream-images, a barefoot boy with a pad and a set of paints, capturing the scenes around him. He wanted, suddenly, desperately, to see these things through Viggo’s eyes, to let Viggo instruct Elijah in his own reality.
“I want to travel with you one day,” Elijah whispered low in Viggo’s ear, twisting slightly to be heard as they settled back on the lawn at the end of the song.
Viggo looked slightly surprised, but he stroked Elijah’s cheek affectionately nonetheless. “Isn’t that what we just did?”
Elijah smiled and shook his head, kissed Viggo’s jaw open-mouthed, bold. “I want you to show me the places that mean something to you. I want you to show me South America, Denmark, New York. Anything that evokes memories, for you. I want to experience it all.”
Viggo smiled fondly, perhaps at Elijah’s innocence, and gently cupped his bent knees through his cargo trousers.
“Why this now, love?” His tone was genuinely curious. Elijah sighed and leaned more heavily into his arms, the music an enticing drug that swept around them, weaving a safe cocoon in which to build new memories.
“I know I can’t get your childhood back, and I don’t want to. But it’s a part of you, Vig. I want to learn those parts—who you were then, what you saw, how you loved. It’s important to me.” Elijah laid a palm on Viggo’s chest, feeling the steady thump of his heart beneath the fabric. He lifted Viggo’s wrist, gently, and created a mirror of the movement. He kissed Viggo’s lips, lightly. “I’ve never loved quite like this.”
Viggo smiled and pressed their foreheads together, not shifting his hand or his body. Elijah could feel Viggo’s warm breath across his lips, smell the hint of beer and the spicy tikka masala he had eaten for dinner. “I love you with all my heart, Elijah. No one has ever asked me to share these things… but for you, I will. We have time.”
“If I could give you all the time in the world, I would,” Elijah confessed, stroking a single strand of grey at Viggo’s temple. “But I wouldn’t take back the times you’ve already seen. Our histories connect us, you know. They make us who we are, together. I respect that.”
“You’re wiser than your years, hobbit.”
Elijah smiled, and kissed Viggo’s nose, whispering roughly. “You’re as beautiful as yours.”
That night, they made slow, sweet love under the covers where nothing and no one could reach them.
In the morning, Viggo began a new painting. It was full of midnight blues, stars, and hope.