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raincity.livejournal.com) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
fellowshippers2004-03-27 10:22 pm
raincity.livejournal.com) wrote in fellowshippers2004-03-27 10:22 pm
fic: equus (dm/vm)
fic: equus
author:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
raincity
pg-13/light r
feedback: is always appreciated.
disclaimer: none of this happened, etc etc.
"An ugly bottle made up of cloudy gray nail polish and a scratched off logo was waiting for me on my front porch this morning. I thought of you. Having no idea where it came from, I brought it inside anyways. It's sitting on my kitchen counter, in the shadow of a pile of junk-mail looking rather lovelorn." His coffeehouse-mellow voice drifts through the answering machine with no particular purpose or hurry. Dom's eyes go unfocused as he listens. "You should stay with me for a while. I have horses." Dom thinks he hears an attempt to make the prospect of riding sound tempting. After the message beeps to an end, he puts a CD on and does a few embarrassing dance moves into his bedroom where he stuffs a duffel bag with t-shirts and boxer shorts.
+
Dom was giddy when he arrived and found Viggo in the yard drinking beer and doodling horse pictures on a tattered shred of fabric. "Mr. Mortensen!" He called, spreading his arms. "I'm ready for delightful and crazy shenanigans! Sweep me away!" Viggo grinned and laughed and enthusiastically gave Dom a little head-butt before taking him in a hug in true Viggo-style. When Dom glanced down he saw Viggo's toenails were unevenly painted gray.
+
The sky started turning colors around 5:30. Clouds rolled in, the sun shone through them, and the sky went from blue to gray-golden. Dom thought it was the end of the world. Viggo pulled out his camera and murmured paint-color names he could blend to get just that shade. Later in the evening they made cabbage soup with tofu and cornbread and drank Lancer's Rosè. "Used to drink this at college." Viggo remarked. "Oh yeah?" Dom slumped down in his chair, reached for the jug. "Because you were a drunken poet?" Viggo grinned.
"Because it was cheap."
"Yep, drunken poet. You can still get help, Viggo." He leaned forward, earnestly reached a hand across the table to place on Viggo's shoulder and missed by several inches, swiped at air.
They listened to Billie Holiday and Chick Corea, and finished the jug of Rosè. No mention of riding or wild horses, and they fell asleep lying on top of the covers on Viggo's bed.
+
Viggo makes a pot of dark Columbian roast in the morning and both he and Dom drink it black. Dom never admits to Viggo that he usually can't stand it that way, would rather carry his chipped mug outside and sit in the long grass taking tiny, painful sips. "You sure you don't want a little cream for that?" Viggo asks, gathering up halters and tack. "No, man, I'm good." Dom responds, taking a huge swig and making an ugly grimacing smile. "Ah, that hits the spot." He says in an unintentionally robotic voice. Viggo quirks his eyebrows, pretends to believe him.
+
"Whoa there, brother." A low, sympathetic murmur. Viggo wraps an arm around the gelding's neck, firmly stroking his ears, brushing the forelock from his eyes. "I know it's early. But Dom is an imbecile, so give him a nice easy ride."
Dom likes to watch Viggo with his horses. It makes him understand why Viggo is the way he is. The sun illuminates his unwashed hair and brings his deep dark places into focus, and for a moment Dom tilts his head back and can imagine Viggo's adolescent years. His horsemanship is like a rope in time, keeping his young and aging parts together. The gelding pushes his forehead into Viggo's shoulder, bobs his head in a violent attempt to scratch an itch. Viggo gives Dom a searching look, then says "Let's ride."
+
Viggo rode bareback. He demonstrated the different gaits, how to make the horse trot and canter. Most of the technicalities went over Dom's head. He just watched and watched, not thinking anything, absorbing the fluid movement of Viggo's hips, the angle of his hands. He was communicating with the horse, but Dom felt like a lost tourist trying to pick up familiar strains of a tongue that was completely foreign. Viggo's hands and legs were fluent in the language- occasionally Dom would hear a few quiet words mingled with the relentless hooves kicking up turf- but watching almost felt intimate and he didn't want to intrude. Dom studied Viggo's svelte body and the graceful limbs of his horse until they merged into a blur of neutral colors, then motioned his own horse forward to join him.
+
"So Viggo. I don't recall ever you telling me you didn't have..uh..testicles, but as you seem to be fine and I feel like I'll never fuck again, I'm beginning to wonder." Dom lies on his back in the grass with his legs sticking up in the air. Viggo sits a few feet away from him, polishing the massive Western saddle that Dom believes has crippled him for life. Viggo acknowledges this with a laugh, his eyes hidden by clumps hair as he hunches over the saddle.
"You'll get used to it soon."
Dom grunts and mumbles, "Give me poor boys some healing time."
Viggo begins to hum a few minutes later. Dom watches clouds sweep over the sun and listens to Viggo's low vocals and the incessant rub of the rag on leather. He smells the dry bitterness of tiny droplets of rain hitting warm dust. He shifts, stretches his legs out, closes his eyes. Viggo's noises fade softly away, and he realizes Viggo has put aside the saddle. Dom opens his eyes again. Viggo is sitting close to him, looking down into his face.
"You're quite the horse whisperer." Dom murmurs at him. Viggo shakes his head.
"I think anyone could understand a horse if they just took a moment to think about it. How it would respond to something based on its instincts." His voice meanders. "You've got a nice seat, Dominic." Dom laughs. "Naaahh, man. I felt like a rather ungraceful bag of onions." Viggo smiles.
Something in the air feels familiar and sweet. Viggo puts his fingers on Dom's forehead and makes them do a little dance. Dom reaches up and takes Viggo's hand in both of his. His fingers feel calloused, and Dom suddenly gets an inexplicable wave of nervous adrenaline. He guides Viggo's hand down his chest, over his belly, causing Viggo to shift to follow him. He stops at the rim of his jeans.
"There," he jokes, "You can rub some life back into my manly bits." Dom feels strange, like he's spontaneously slipped into a different language and he isn't fully sure of what he's saying. He watches Viggo, whoseouth twists at the joke, his fingertips barely touching denim. Dom sees Viggo's pupils dilate slightly before he feels strands of unwashed hair falling against his forehead. Viggo leans down, their faces close, nuzzles Dom with his nose and Dom finds he's straining to nudge back. Viggo kisses the side of his mouth, and the sensation of their stubble meeting sends prickles into Dom's scalp. And then Viggo's hand has finally slid between Dom's legs, his thumb moving over the ridge of denim. Every verbal thought in Dom's mind dies until he's running on ineffable instinct and nature. From his position on the ground he can see horses grazing far away behind Viggo.
author:
raincitypg-13/light r
feedback: is always appreciated.
disclaimer: none of this happened, etc etc.
"An ugly bottle made up of cloudy gray nail polish and a scratched off logo was waiting for me on my front porch this morning. I thought of you. Having no idea where it came from, I brought it inside anyways. It's sitting on my kitchen counter, in the shadow of a pile of junk-mail looking rather lovelorn." His coffeehouse-mellow voice drifts through the answering machine with no particular purpose or hurry. Dom's eyes go unfocused as he listens. "You should stay with me for a while. I have horses." Dom thinks he hears an attempt to make the prospect of riding sound tempting. After the message beeps to an end, he puts a CD on and does a few embarrassing dance moves into his bedroom where he stuffs a duffel bag with t-shirts and boxer shorts.
+
Dom was giddy when he arrived and found Viggo in the yard drinking beer and doodling horse pictures on a tattered shred of fabric. "Mr. Mortensen!" He called, spreading his arms. "I'm ready for delightful and crazy shenanigans! Sweep me away!" Viggo grinned and laughed and enthusiastically gave Dom a little head-butt before taking him in a hug in true Viggo-style. When Dom glanced down he saw Viggo's toenails were unevenly painted gray.
+
The sky started turning colors around 5:30. Clouds rolled in, the sun shone through them, and the sky went from blue to gray-golden. Dom thought it was the end of the world. Viggo pulled out his camera and murmured paint-color names he could blend to get just that shade. Later in the evening they made cabbage soup with tofu and cornbread and drank Lancer's Rosè. "Used to drink this at college." Viggo remarked. "Oh yeah?" Dom slumped down in his chair, reached for the jug. "Because you were a drunken poet?" Viggo grinned.
"Because it was cheap."
"Yep, drunken poet. You can still get help, Viggo." He leaned forward, earnestly reached a hand across the table to place on Viggo's shoulder and missed by several inches, swiped at air.
They listened to Billie Holiday and Chick Corea, and finished the jug of Rosè. No mention of riding or wild horses, and they fell asleep lying on top of the covers on Viggo's bed.
+
Viggo makes a pot of dark Columbian roast in the morning and both he and Dom drink it black. Dom never admits to Viggo that he usually can't stand it that way, would rather carry his chipped mug outside and sit in the long grass taking tiny, painful sips. "You sure you don't want a little cream for that?" Viggo asks, gathering up halters and tack. "No, man, I'm good." Dom responds, taking a huge swig and making an ugly grimacing smile. "Ah, that hits the spot." He says in an unintentionally robotic voice. Viggo quirks his eyebrows, pretends to believe him.
+
"Whoa there, brother." A low, sympathetic murmur. Viggo wraps an arm around the gelding's neck, firmly stroking his ears, brushing the forelock from his eyes. "I know it's early. But Dom is an imbecile, so give him a nice easy ride."
Dom likes to watch Viggo with his horses. It makes him understand why Viggo is the way he is. The sun illuminates his unwashed hair and brings his deep dark places into focus, and for a moment Dom tilts his head back and can imagine Viggo's adolescent years. His horsemanship is like a rope in time, keeping his young and aging parts together. The gelding pushes his forehead into Viggo's shoulder, bobs his head in a violent attempt to scratch an itch. Viggo gives Dom a searching look, then says "Let's ride."
+
Viggo rode bareback. He demonstrated the different gaits, how to make the horse trot and canter. Most of the technicalities went over Dom's head. He just watched and watched, not thinking anything, absorbing the fluid movement of Viggo's hips, the angle of his hands. He was communicating with the horse, but Dom felt like a lost tourist trying to pick up familiar strains of a tongue that was completely foreign. Viggo's hands and legs were fluent in the language- occasionally Dom would hear a few quiet words mingled with the relentless hooves kicking up turf- but watching almost felt intimate and he didn't want to intrude. Dom studied Viggo's svelte body and the graceful limbs of his horse until they merged into a blur of neutral colors, then motioned his own horse forward to join him.
+
"So Viggo. I don't recall ever you telling me you didn't have..uh..testicles, but as you seem to be fine and I feel like I'll never fuck again, I'm beginning to wonder." Dom lies on his back in the grass with his legs sticking up in the air. Viggo sits a few feet away from him, polishing the massive Western saddle that Dom believes has crippled him for life. Viggo acknowledges this with a laugh, his eyes hidden by clumps hair as he hunches over the saddle.
"You'll get used to it soon."
Dom grunts and mumbles, "Give me poor boys some healing time."
Viggo begins to hum a few minutes later. Dom watches clouds sweep over the sun and listens to Viggo's low vocals and the incessant rub of the rag on leather. He smells the dry bitterness of tiny droplets of rain hitting warm dust. He shifts, stretches his legs out, closes his eyes. Viggo's noises fade softly away, and he realizes Viggo has put aside the saddle. Dom opens his eyes again. Viggo is sitting close to him, looking down into his face.
"You're quite the horse whisperer." Dom murmurs at him. Viggo shakes his head.
"I think anyone could understand a horse if they just took a moment to think about it. How it would respond to something based on its instincts." His voice meanders. "You've got a nice seat, Dominic." Dom laughs. "Naaahh, man. I felt like a rather ungraceful bag of onions." Viggo smiles.
Something in the air feels familiar and sweet. Viggo puts his fingers on Dom's forehead and makes them do a little dance. Dom reaches up and takes Viggo's hand in both of his. His fingers feel calloused, and Dom suddenly gets an inexplicable wave of nervous adrenaline. He guides Viggo's hand down his chest, over his belly, causing Viggo to shift to follow him. He stops at the rim of his jeans.
"There," he jokes, "You can rub some life back into my manly bits." Dom feels strange, like he's spontaneously slipped into a different language and he isn't fully sure of what he's saying. He watches Viggo, whoseouth twists at the joke, his fingertips barely touching denim. Dom sees Viggo's pupils dilate slightly before he feels strands of unwashed hair falling against his forehead. Viggo leans down, their faces close, nuzzles Dom with his nose and Dom finds he's straining to nudge back. Viggo kisses the side of his mouth, and the sensation of their stubble meeting sends prickles into Dom's scalp. And then Viggo's hand has finally slid between Dom's legs, his thumb moving over the ridge of denim. Every verbal thought in Dom's mind dies until he's running on ineffable instinct and nature. From his position on the ground he can see horses grazing far away behind Viggo.
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He was communicating with the horse, but Dom felt like a lost tourist trying to pick up familiar strains of a tongue that was completely foreign. Viggo's hands and legs were fluent in the language- occasionally Dom would hear a few quiet words mingled with the relentless hooves kicking up turf- but watching almost felt intimate and he didn't want to intrude. Dom studied Viggo's svelte body and the graceful limbs of his horse until they merged into a blur of neutral colors, then motioned his own horse forward to join him.
Beautiful imagery, and very realistic Viggo, very few people can pull that off but you have. Excellent job ;)
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Liked this: "So Viggo. I don't recall ever you telling me you didn't have..uh..testicles, but as you seem to be fine and I feel like I'll never fuck again, I'm beginning to wonder." ...made me laugh...
and the whole end part was v. sexeh!!
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