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rugbytackleTITLE: The Orange Grove (26/32): Reprieve
AUTHOR: Cinzia and Gloria
Full headers here
In the end, the scenes that Viggo had scheduled for the afternoon were cancelled due to the poor lighting conditions.
It was Sarah who gave them the news, while they were finishing their lunch. She smiled down at Sean before leaving: it was kind of a weird, cool smile, but Sean couldn't bring himself to care. He was still feeling Viggo's warmth pressing into his back, Viggo's hands caressing his arms, Viggo's chin in the crook of his shoulder. He had trouble, it seemed, thinking of anything else for more than a couple of minutes at a time -- he just kept coming back to those few moments, again and again.
Viggo was making him think thoughts that he hadn't had in close to twenty years. And more than that, he realised: Viggo was making him want to have those thoughts. For the first time in... forever, it felt like.
"Well, that's nice," Viggo said. He was looking out of the tent, at the grey sky. It wasn't raining yet, but the light was more like late afternoon than noon. "Looks like I get a free day, after all. You?"
"I'm free," Sean said, and tried not to think of what that meant. Free, both of them; free to go home; free to...
To what, exactly? Yesterday, on the couch... that had been nice. But then nothing else had happened, Viggo hadn't showed any signs he'd wanted anything else -- anything more -- to happen, either; and Sean wasn't sure. What was this all about? What were they doing? Suddenly, the thought of going home was confusing the hell out of him. He wanted to be alone with Viggo: wanted to feel Viggo in his arms again, to taste him again, to...
To kiss him again.
But it all felt very strange, as if he were on top of the world one minute, wandering around in the dark the next. It was unsettling. He didn't have any sense of direction, didn't know the boundaries any more.
And Viggo. What did Viggo want? Sean would have liked to ask, but he couldn't -- not right now. He couldn't put all this in words yet, whatever 'this' was. It was all too new for that. Too soon. He needed time. He needed...
"Hey." Viggo's voice made him look back up. Viggo was tracing a scratch on the wooden table top with his thumb. "There's this place that Pe-- that I heard about, a little old church, on the coast."
Sean blinked. Viggo didn't add anything else, just looked at him, waiting. Expecting Sean to read his mind, most likely. Sean blinked again. For a moment, he thought of the book he'd taken with him on the plane, almost as a way to reconnect with the friend he hadn't seen in so long and who was waiting for him on a new set -- he thought of unlit Anglican doors and night air; he thought of Viggo's arms, holding him...
"Is it far?"
"Not very." Viggo grinned, suddenly looking ten years younger. "Shall we go, then?"
"Hell, yeah." Sean wasn't sure it was relief, what he felt. Reprieve, maybe. "Been here almost a month, I've hardly seen the place. It's a shame."
"So let's fix that," Viggo said. His eyes were smiling, and he was already getting up. "I've got my camera in the car, I need to take pictures. It's got to be gorgeous, the vista on the bay: church's up on a cliff, I think..." And he kept going on about it all the way to the car.
"Oh, and by the way," he casually added once they were on the road, "what did you do to Val this morning? She said you were being impossible -- again."
"Me?" Sean spluttered with indignation, deciding to ignore Viggo's smirk. "Bloody woman's been baiting me all day!"
"Baiting?"
"Eh, never mind," Sean said, colouring a little. He didn't feel like explaining to Viggo about yesterday morning, how he'd tried it on with her and how well that'd gone -- there were things that Viggo really didn't need to know. Though, thinking of it, it wasn't such a surprise that Valeria was taking the piss: he supposed he deserved that, if not worse.
Having her look speculatively at him and, when talking of Athina's and Harrington's blooming love story, drop hints about how method acting didn't work for everyone (here she always pursed her lips, for all the world looking more as if she was waiting for a kiss than just in thought) then consolingly patting his arm or (damn woman) his head was kind of annoying, but in a sort of funny way, he supposed. He could tell she was having fun at his expense, but she wasn't actually cross; or, not too much.
Still, he should do something nice for her, to apologise. Flowers, possibly. He'd read somewhere that there were the most beautiful orchids in Crete. He thought he'd seen some lovely ones in the village market.
He concentrated on thinking about that, resolutely not noticing Viggo's raised eyebrow and amused expression. Sometimes he felt like the man could read him like an open book. It was almost annoying.
Almost.
They had to leave the car a way back, on the side of the road, to make their way up the rocky path climbing the cliff, among Mediterranean pine trees and short, squat cedars. Bright yellow flowers showed in patches among the pine needles littering the ground, and the scent of the sea was everywhere.
Occasionally a gust of wind reached them, but mostly the air felt heavy and humid, and the sky was a leaden grey colour, great black clouds massing low on the horizon. A lonely seagull cried out from the rocks from time to time, and Sean could see white specks flying high against the dark sky, transported by the currents. It was almost too hot for October.
He followed Viggo up, until they came out on top of the cliff, waves splashing some forty feet below against the sharp rock walls. Not surprisingly, they were the only people around.
The church was really no bigger than a chapel, with low white-washed walls and a rounded roof, upon which was a somewhat rusty crucifix. A little bell rested in a niche just above the entrance, and a waist-high white fence enclosed the building. A plaque -- in Greek and English -- listed hours and days for the masses... for the tourists, Sean suspected.
He suddenly remembered standing outside the small church in the village, two nights ago. Looking for peace, expecting nothing. Finding...
Sean sighed, rubbed the bridge of his nose, and turned to look at Viggo, who was standing there against the leaden sky, light blue shirt and white cotton trousers, his eyes roaming over the bay. He looked like the only bright thing in the darkening day.
Viggo looked down at his camera, frowning a little. The wind had picked up, and the light seemed to dim a little more. "Shall we go in?" Viggo said, gesturing towards the entrance. Sean nodded. The simple iron gate opened under his hands, and Viggo followed him inside.
There wasn't much to see: it was a little space, no more than six rows of wooden pews before a simple altar. A small, narrow altar-piece, its gilding flaking loose in a few spots, stood upon the altar between two tall yellow candles: a Byzantine Madonna -- a Panagia it was called, Sean vaguely remembered from his Art classes -- with very large eyes, dark and sad, looked out from it, a little Baby Jesus perched on her lap like a not so cute, shrivelled doll.
Other paintings, presumably of saints, decorated the four walls, but they didn't look as old as the altar-piece. On the floor, in the empty space between the pews and the altar, a mosaic showed a ship riding a dark blue wave, a hand made of golden tassels coming out from a silver-blue cloud to steer it to safety among rays of light and choruses of angels.
Viggo crouched down, and took several pictures of the hand. It made Sean smile.
He knew Viggo would take a while to inspect everything, so he sat down on one of the pews, content to just be there, to look around, and wait.
They would go home soon enough -- he could already feel mild panic growing again inside him, the want and the need and the fear all mixed together: not knowing any more where he was, where they were; or why. Everything felt upside down, as if he were out on the enraged sea, being tossed about by the wind.
On his left there was a tall window. The simple ironwork decorating the colourless glass left his eyes free to look at the world outside, an amazing vista of the sea many feet below, and of the livid, dark grey sky. He could hear the wind blow, raising the waves, and he suddenly saw why people would come to places like this to mourn those who had died at sea: he could look out for miles and miles over the ocean, an endless expanse of water and sky, no land in sight.
It was a sad, somewhat frightening place -- but it also felt, strangely, filled with hope. People came here to mourn -- and to pray. He thought of the golden hand taking the foundering ship to a safe harbour, and it didn't seem that amusing any more.
"Hey." Viggo was beside him, his voice so soft it could've been the wind, sighing. His camera rested on the polished dark wood of the pew, so out of place -- a slick silvery thing catching the last light before the storm.
Sean felt Viggo's arm slide around his waist, and he took a long, deep breath. Sea, and candle-wax, and wood. And Viggo.
Viggo's hand was firm and warm against Sean's waist. In the dying light, in the shadows, it looked golden.
When Viggo's other arm came up, encircling him, Sean turned only a little, letting himself relax back against Viggo's chest. He took another deep breath -- and then, he let it go. He let Viggo's hand anchor him, and let everything else go.
And it felt...
He turned his head, bumping his nose lightly against Viggo's cheek, covering Viggo's hand on his waist with his own.
"Safe," he murmured.
Viggo tightened his grip, brushed a kiss on Sean's forehead, his lips lingering, caressing.
Safe.
They stayed like that for while, just looking out at the sea; and then Sean tugged at Viggo's hand and said, "Let's go home."
From Viggo's poem, Communion:
THIS AFTER SEEING YOU
LAST NIGHT, FIRST TIME
SMELLING YOU WITH
PERMISSION: SHOULDERS TO
WONDER OPENLY AT
AS CAREFULLY KISSED
AS THOSE ARMS
WAITED IMPOSSIBLY ON.
THEY'VE HELD ME NOW
AND YOUR BREATH
DOWN MY BACK
SENT AWAY NIGHT AIR
THAT HAD ME SHAKING
IN THE UNLIT ANGLICAN
DOORWAY.
AUTHOR: Cinzia and Gloria
Full headers here
In the end, the scenes that Viggo had scheduled for the afternoon were cancelled due to the poor lighting conditions.
It was Sarah who gave them the news, while they were finishing their lunch. She smiled down at Sean before leaving: it was kind of a weird, cool smile, but Sean couldn't bring himself to care. He was still feeling Viggo's warmth pressing into his back, Viggo's hands caressing his arms, Viggo's chin in the crook of his shoulder. He had trouble, it seemed, thinking of anything else for more than a couple of minutes at a time -- he just kept coming back to those few moments, again and again.
Viggo was making him think thoughts that he hadn't had in close to twenty years. And more than that, he realised: Viggo was making him want to have those thoughts. For the first time in... forever, it felt like.
"Well, that's nice," Viggo said. He was looking out of the tent, at the grey sky. It wasn't raining yet, but the light was more like late afternoon than noon. "Looks like I get a free day, after all. You?"
"I'm free," Sean said, and tried not to think of what that meant. Free, both of them; free to go home; free to...
To what, exactly? Yesterday, on the couch... that had been nice. But then nothing else had happened, Viggo hadn't showed any signs he'd wanted anything else -- anything more -- to happen, either; and Sean wasn't sure. What was this all about? What were they doing? Suddenly, the thought of going home was confusing the hell out of him. He wanted to be alone with Viggo: wanted to feel Viggo in his arms again, to taste him again, to...
To kiss him again.
But it all felt very strange, as if he were on top of the world one minute, wandering around in the dark the next. It was unsettling. He didn't have any sense of direction, didn't know the boundaries any more.
And Viggo. What did Viggo want? Sean would have liked to ask, but he couldn't -- not right now. He couldn't put all this in words yet, whatever 'this' was. It was all too new for that. Too soon. He needed time. He needed...
"Hey." Viggo's voice made him look back up. Viggo was tracing a scratch on the wooden table top with his thumb. "There's this place that Pe-- that I heard about, a little old church, on the coast."
Sean blinked. Viggo didn't add anything else, just looked at him, waiting. Expecting Sean to read his mind, most likely. Sean blinked again. For a moment, he thought of the book he'd taken with him on the plane, almost as a way to reconnect with the friend he hadn't seen in so long and who was waiting for him on a new set -- he thought of unlit Anglican doors and night air; he thought of Viggo's arms, holding him...
"Is it far?"
"Not very." Viggo grinned, suddenly looking ten years younger. "Shall we go, then?"
"Hell, yeah." Sean wasn't sure it was relief, what he felt. Reprieve, maybe. "Been here almost a month, I've hardly seen the place. It's a shame."
"So let's fix that," Viggo said. His eyes were smiling, and he was already getting up. "I've got my camera in the car, I need to take pictures. It's got to be gorgeous, the vista on the bay: church's up on a cliff, I think..." And he kept going on about it all the way to the car.
"Oh, and by the way," he casually added once they were on the road, "what did you do to Val this morning? She said you were being impossible -- again."
"Me?" Sean spluttered with indignation, deciding to ignore Viggo's smirk. "Bloody woman's been baiting me all day!"
"Baiting?"
"Eh, never mind," Sean said, colouring a little. He didn't feel like explaining to Viggo about yesterday morning, how he'd tried it on with her and how well that'd gone -- there were things that Viggo really didn't need to know. Though, thinking of it, it wasn't such a surprise that Valeria was taking the piss: he supposed he deserved that, if not worse.
Having her look speculatively at him and, when talking of Athina's and Harrington's blooming love story, drop hints about how method acting didn't work for everyone (here she always pursed her lips, for all the world looking more as if she was waiting for a kiss than just in thought) then consolingly patting his arm or (damn woman) his head was kind of annoying, but in a sort of funny way, he supposed. He could tell she was having fun at his expense, but she wasn't actually cross; or, not too much.
Still, he should do something nice for her, to apologise. Flowers, possibly. He'd read somewhere that there were the most beautiful orchids in Crete. He thought he'd seen some lovely ones in the village market.
He concentrated on thinking about that, resolutely not noticing Viggo's raised eyebrow and amused expression. Sometimes he felt like the man could read him like an open book. It was almost annoying.
Almost.
They had to leave the car a way back, on the side of the road, to make their way up the rocky path climbing the cliff, among Mediterranean pine trees and short, squat cedars. Bright yellow flowers showed in patches among the pine needles littering the ground, and the scent of the sea was everywhere.
Occasionally a gust of wind reached them, but mostly the air felt heavy and humid, and the sky was a leaden grey colour, great black clouds massing low on the horizon. A lonely seagull cried out from the rocks from time to time, and Sean could see white specks flying high against the dark sky, transported by the currents. It was almost too hot for October.
He followed Viggo up, until they came out on top of the cliff, waves splashing some forty feet below against the sharp rock walls. Not surprisingly, they were the only people around.
The church was really no bigger than a chapel, with low white-washed walls and a rounded roof, upon which was a somewhat rusty crucifix. A little bell rested in a niche just above the entrance, and a waist-high white fence enclosed the building. A plaque -- in Greek and English -- listed hours and days for the masses... for the tourists, Sean suspected.
He suddenly remembered standing outside the small church in the village, two nights ago. Looking for peace, expecting nothing. Finding...
Sean sighed, rubbed the bridge of his nose, and turned to look at Viggo, who was standing there against the leaden sky, light blue shirt and white cotton trousers, his eyes roaming over the bay. He looked like the only bright thing in the darkening day.
Viggo looked down at his camera, frowning a little. The wind had picked up, and the light seemed to dim a little more. "Shall we go in?" Viggo said, gesturing towards the entrance. Sean nodded. The simple iron gate opened under his hands, and Viggo followed him inside.
There wasn't much to see: it was a little space, no more than six rows of wooden pews before a simple altar. A small, narrow altar-piece, its gilding flaking loose in a few spots, stood upon the altar between two tall yellow candles: a Byzantine Madonna -- a Panagia it was called, Sean vaguely remembered from his Art classes -- with very large eyes, dark and sad, looked out from it, a little Baby Jesus perched on her lap like a not so cute, shrivelled doll.
Other paintings, presumably of saints, decorated the four walls, but they didn't look as old as the altar-piece. On the floor, in the empty space between the pews and the altar, a mosaic showed a ship riding a dark blue wave, a hand made of golden tassels coming out from a silver-blue cloud to steer it to safety among rays of light and choruses of angels.
Viggo crouched down, and took several pictures of the hand. It made Sean smile.
He knew Viggo would take a while to inspect everything, so he sat down on one of the pews, content to just be there, to look around, and wait.
They would go home soon enough -- he could already feel mild panic growing again inside him, the want and the need and the fear all mixed together: not knowing any more where he was, where they were; or why. Everything felt upside down, as if he were out on the enraged sea, being tossed about by the wind.
On his left there was a tall window. The simple ironwork decorating the colourless glass left his eyes free to look at the world outside, an amazing vista of the sea many feet below, and of the livid, dark grey sky. He could hear the wind blow, raising the waves, and he suddenly saw why people would come to places like this to mourn those who had died at sea: he could look out for miles and miles over the ocean, an endless expanse of water and sky, no land in sight.
It was a sad, somewhat frightening place -- but it also felt, strangely, filled with hope. People came here to mourn -- and to pray. He thought of the golden hand taking the foundering ship to a safe harbour, and it didn't seem that amusing any more.
"Hey." Viggo was beside him, his voice so soft it could've been the wind, sighing. His camera rested on the polished dark wood of the pew, so out of place -- a slick silvery thing catching the last light before the storm.
Sean felt Viggo's arm slide around his waist, and he took a long, deep breath. Sea, and candle-wax, and wood. And Viggo.
Viggo's hand was firm and warm against Sean's waist. In the dying light, in the shadows, it looked golden.
When Viggo's other arm came up, encircling him, Sean turned only a little, letting himself relax back against Viggo's chest. He took another deep breath -- and then, he let it go. He let Viggo's hand anchor him, and let everything else go.
And it felt...
He turned his head, bumping his nose lightly against Viggo's cheek, covering Viggo's hand on his waist with his own.
"Safe," he murmured.
Viggo tightened his grip, brushed a kiss on Sean's forehead, his lips lingering, caressing.
Safe.
They stayed like that for while, just looking out at the sea; and then Sean tugged at Viggo's hand and said, "Let's go home."
From Viggo's poem, Communion:
THIS AFTER SEEING YOU
LAST NIGHT, FIRST TIME
SMELLING YOU WITH
PERMISSION: SHOULDERS TO
WONDER OPENLY AT
AS CAREFULLY KISSED
AS THOSE ARMS
WAITED IMPOSSIBLY ON.
THEY'VE HELD ME NOW
AND YOUR BREATH
DOWN MY BACK
SENT AWAY NIGHT AIR
THAT HAD ME SHAKING
IN THE UNLIT ANGLICAN
DOORWAY.
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no subject
Date: 2003-11-14 11:26 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2003-11-15 02:03 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2003-11-15 03:40 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2003-11-15 03:55 pm (UTC)Thank you! :D
no subject
Date: 2003-11-14 12:41 pm (UTC)He turned his head, bumping his nose lightly against Viggo's cheek, covering Viggo's hand on his waist with his own.
"Safe," he murmured.
*sighs* How lovely....how truly wonderful. I love the whole church bit, reminds me of 'Communion' all the way! You girls are just doing a beautiful, beautiful job.
no subject
Date: 2003-11-15 02:06 pm (UTC)*loves your icon to pieces* :)
no subject
Date: 2003-11-14 01:08 pm (UTC)Absolutely fabulous. I'm melting.
Is it Monday yet?
no subject
Date: 2003-11-15 02:08 pm (UTC)Erm, no. But sssoon... ;)
Thank you! :D
no subject
Date: 2003-11-14 01:43 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2003-11-15 02:09 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2003-11-14 04:04 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2003-11-15 02:10 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2003-11-14 06:33 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2003-11-15 02:11 pm (UTC)Re: *wow*
Date: 2003-11-15 02:18 pm (UTC)*purrs back happily*
no subject
Date: 2003-11-15 04:39 am (UTC)Merci.
no subject
Date: 2003-11-15 02:19 pm (UTC)Wow.
Thank you! :D
no subject
Date: 2003-11-15 05:52 pm (UTC)And much as we've wanted Vig to push, he was right to wait, to let Sean settle into his own discovery. So very good.
no subject
Date: 2003-11-16 06:00 pm (UTC)Lucifer or notafter all... *pets him* ;)Thanks again for reading! :)
no subject
Date: 2003-11-23 03:42 pm (UTC)Dang, y'all are good. ;) This whole thing was poetry. Just gorgeous. :does happy dance enjoying S/V:
no subject
Date: 2003-11-25 01:57 pm (UTC)