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fellowshippers2004-03-16 06:20 pm
bibliotech.livejournal.com) wrote in fellowshippers2004-03-16 06:20 pm
FIC: Angel of the Silences, PG, EW/VM
Title: Angel of the Silences
Author: Aralinde
Email: here
Site: Tooken
Pairing: Elijah/Viggo (I've never written this pairing before. I've never written Viggo before. So, wow. Here goes.)
Rating: PG
Summary: He just wanted to be lost. At least for a little while.
Disclaimer: This is a work of FICTION. Fiction means “not-real events”. Don’t sue; I own NOTHING and NO ONE.
Notes: The title is from a Counting Crowes song of the same name.
Note the second: Thank you,![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
vegetariansushi for the lovely betawork!
Note the third: X-posted toaralinde, ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
fellow_shippers, and hobbit_slash
He didn’t want any declarations of love. No romantic evenings or meaningful conversations. He just wanted to be lost. At least for a little while.
No more phone calls, no e-mails. Just…silence.
Viggo is calm and thoughtful as he runs his fingers through his hair. Hands him a cup of coffee—two sugars, no milk—and leaves. Knows exactly what he needs.
And later, when he flips him on his back, his words are so quiet, almost invisible. Close enough to silence for Elijah to close his eyes. Nods slowly. Deep breath.
**
Sometimes he does answer the phone. It’s Dom. Or Billy. Or Orlando. Wanting to know what he’s doing. How’s New York? Dom asks, shouting to be heard over the music. What have you been up to? From Orli, moving from set to scene to country. When are we going to see you? Asks Billy, from Scotland to LA and back again.
You’re coming to LA soon, right? Sean says absently through the wire.
It’s great. Not much. I’ll see you soon. Promise.
He knows that eventually there will be more calls and more questions. But eventually is a long ways away. Right now is this apartment, and Viggo humming softly to himself as he writes, hunched over on the couch. Elijah sits next to him, puts his head on his shoulder. He can do that here.
He can’t do that in eventually.
They speak volumes in words that they don’t say; conversations they never have. It’s understood that this is what it is, for as long as it is. Some days they sleep late, until the sun is damn near in the center of the sky and breakfast has come and gone. Some days they’re up early, when dawn is cold and feels gray against Elijah’s skin.
Sometimes they stay in. Sometimes they go out. But they always come back. To this place. Silent, fumbling with the lock, with clothes, with skin.
**
Quick flights to LA take nothing away from the silences. If anything, LA’s noise makes him more anxious to come home. Although he wonders if it’s New York that he wants, or Viggo’s presence. Then puts it out of his mind, because it’s not like that—they aren’t like that—and it doesn’t matter where or when or what’s happening, as long as it happens. For the moment.
Viggo comes and goes, as well—they both have other plans, other places to be—but sometimes Elijah will find him there when he returns. No word. No calls. Just Viggo, in his kitchen, on his couch, in his bed. A half-smile and a wave. No words.
Sometimes he feels as though his skin is translucent; if he holds up his hand, he imagines that he can see mother-of-pearl. He feels tight; stretched. It takes a greater effort to smile.
Viggo’s hand rests lightly on his shoulder. Without looking back, he places his hand over it, lacing their fingers. Saying nothing.
Author: Aralinde
Email: here
Site: Tooken
Pairing: Elijah/Viggo (I've never written this pairing before. I've never written Viggo before. So, wow. Here goes.)
Rating: PG
Summary: He just wanted to be lost. At least for a little while.
Disclaimer: This is a work of FICTION. Fiction means “not-real events”. Don’t sue; I own NOTHING and NO ONE.
Notes: The title is from a Counting Crowes song of the same name.
Note the second: Thank you,
vegetariansushi for the lovely betawork!Note the third: X-posted to
aralinde, fellow_shippers, and hobbit_slashHe didn’t want any declarations of love. No romantic evenings or meaningful conversations. He just wanted to be lost. At least for a little while.
No more phone calls, no e-mails. Just…silence.
Viggo is calm and thoughtful as he runs his fingers through his hair. Hands him a cup of coffee—two sugars, no milk—and leaves. Knows exactly what he needs.
And later, when he flips him on his back, his words are so quiet, almost invisible. Close enough to silence for Elijah to close his eyes. Nods slowly. Deep breath.
**
Sometimes he does answer the phone. It’s Dom. Or Billy. Or Orlando. Wanting to know what he’s doing. How’s New York? Dom asks, shouting to be heard over the music. What have you been up to? From Orli, moving from set to scene to country. When are we going to see you? Asks Billy, from Scotland to LA and back again.
You’re coming to LA soon, right? Sean says absently through the wire.
It’s great. Not much. I’ll see you soon. Promise.
He knows that eventually there will be more calls and more questions. But eventually is a long ways away. Right now is this apartment, and Viggo humming softly to himself as he writes, hunched over on the couch. Elijah sits next to him, puts his head on his shoulder. He can do that here.
He can’t do that in eventually.
They speak volumes in words that they don’t say; conversations they never have. It’s understood that this is what it is, for as long as it is. Some days they sleep late, until the sun is damn near in the center of the sky and breakfast has come and gone. Some days they’re up early, when dawn is cold and feels gray against Elijah’s skin.
Sometimes they stay in. Sometimes they go out. But they always come back. To this place. Silent, fumbling with the lock, with clothes, with skin.
**
Quick flights to LA take nothing away from the silences. If anything, LA’s noise makes him more anxious to come home. Although he wonders if it’s New York that he wants, or Viggo’s presence. Then puts it out of his mind, because it’s not like that—they aren’t like that—and it doesn’t matter where or when or what’s happening, as long as it happens. For the moment.
Viggo comes and goes, as well—they both have other plans, other places to be—but sometimes Elijah will find him there when he returns. No word. No calls. Just Viggo, in his kitchen, on his couch, in his bed. A half-smile and a wave. No words.
Sometimes he feels as though his skin is translucent; if he holds up his hand, he imagines that he can see mother-of-pearl. He feels tight; stretched. It takes a greater effort to smile.
Viggo’s hand rests lightly on his shoulder. Without looking back, he places his hand over it, lacing their fingers. Saying nothing.
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That little phrase fit in so well with the Viggo you had conjured here-- it came at the end of the fic but underlined the characterizationt that was consistant throughout. Seems eerie and surreal yet real at the same time.
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Sometimes he does answer the phone. It’s Dom. Or Billy. Or Orlando. Wanting to know what he’s doing. How’s New York? Dom asks, shouting to be heard over the music. What have you been up to? From Orli, moving from set to scene to country. When are we going to see you? Asks Billy, from Scotland to LA and back again.
You’re coming to LA soon, right? Sean says absently through the wire.
It’s great. Not much. I’ll see you soon. Promise.
Great work and you wrote a very interesting Viggo too :)
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(And you did just fine with Viggo *g*)
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Just Viggo, in his kitchen, on his couch, in his bed. A half-smile and a wave. No words.
I see that so clearly.
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As am I. The pairing has sucked my brain.
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I'd love to read more of your stuff. (And by that I mean Elijah/Viggo. Elijah's the only hobbit I'll read. I'm primarily a Man and Elf kind of girl. *g*)
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Anyway, I liked your story a lot:)
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