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stormatdusk.livejournal.com) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
fellowshippers2008-09-18 01:27 am
stormatdusk.livejournal.com) wrote in fellowshippers2008-09-18 01:27 am
Entry tags:
fic: Supposed To Be (Viggo/Orlando, adult)
title: Supposed To Be
by:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
stormatdusk
pairing: viggo/orlando
warnings: angst, no happy ending
words: 308
disclaimer: this is only fiction; it's not true and i don't know these people at all.
a/n: written to the pictures below the cut, formistry89, who regularly brightens my day.
This was supposed to be about vengeance.
About how he left you. That he left you. And about making him very, very sorry for it.
Who knows better than you how visual he is, how his soul is fed so well through his eyes? He'd spend hours with his camera on you, trying to capture your spirit in a split second of light and shadow. He loves - - loved - - to pour over the pictures, lay them out on the bed with your naked body, drink them in, drink you in. Make love to you right there amidst the ink and paper declarations of his devotion.
Now you know: devotion had its limits. After too much (time apart), too many (other priorities), too hard (to be your secret), it was, finally, for him, too late.
So you're here, in front of the camera. Half naked. Hair wild, like he loved. Smoking something he could've rolled himself. You discussed it with the photographer: you want these pictures to be something different. Sensual. No, more than that. Overtly sexual.
Something to make him regret it.
Yeah, here you are. Trying to tune out the people milling about touching up your hair, adjusting the lighting. Act the part. Focus on the fantasy, the thrill of riding a beautiful lover, of wanting someone so much, of being wanted so much. Think of how it'll kill him, once he sees these. And not in private, no; he'll see them splashed across the pages just like everyone else will. He's not special anymore.
Instead, with every click of the shutter you feel the ghost of his hands on your body. You hear the murmur of his passion, smell the scent of his skin. All you can taste is ache, and regret, and emptiness.
This is not how this was supposed to be.
-end-
by:
stormatduskpairing: viggo/orlando
warnings: angst, no happy ending
words: 308
disclaimer: this is only fiction; it's not true and i don't know these people at all.
a/n: written to the pictures below the cut, for
mistry89, who regularly brightens my day.This was supposed to be about vengeance.
About how he left you. That he left you. And about making him very, very sorry for it.
Who knows better than you how visual he is, how his soul is fed so well through his eyes? He'd spend hours with his camera on you, trying to capture your spirit in a split second of light and shadow. He loves - - loved - - to pour over the pictures, lay them out on the bed with your naked body, drink them in, drink you in. Make love to you right there amidst the ink and paper declarations of his devotion.
Now you know: devotion had its limits. After too much (time apart), too many (other priorities), too hard (to be your secret), it was, finally, for him, too late.
So you're here, in front of the camera. Half naked. Hair wild, like he loved. Smoking something he could've rolled himself. You discussed it with the photographer: you want these pictures to be something different. Sensual. No, more than that. Overtly sexual.
Something to make him regret it.
Yeah, here you are. Trying to tune out the people milling about touching up your hair, adjusting the lighting. Act the part. Focus on the fantasy, the thrill of riding a beautiful lover, of wanting someone so much, of being wanted so much. Think of how it'll kill him, once he sees these. And not in private, no; he'll see them splashed across the pages just like everyone else will. He's not special anymore.
Instead, with every click of the shutter you feel the ghost of his hands on your body. You hear the murmur of his passion, smell the scent of his skin. All you can taste is ache, and regret, and emptiness.
This is not how this was supposed to be.
-end-
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thank you for reading. ♥
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I really like how you spun something so dark and smoky -- like the pictures themselves -- out of this photo shoot.
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