FIC: 'THIS TIME, FOR VARIETY' (EPILOGUE)
Apr. 26th, 2005 10:27 pm![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
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rugbytackleFIC: 'THIS TIME, FOR VARIETY' (EPILOGUE)
PAIRING: SB/VM
AUTHOR:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
childeproof
DISCLAIMER: Made up.
DEDICATION: Forandien, as she rightly pointed out things I hadn't noticed about the end of part 5.
NOTE AND SUMMARY: This is a very short epilogue to the fic 'This Time, For Variety', until recently a WIP, now complete. The fic is set during filming, involves Viggo getting cross, Sean behaving extraordinarily badly and setting new standards in paranoid self-loathing, Orli being bemused, seductive and a bit thick, and the hobbits behaving like an infectious disease.
Previous parts are here:
PART ONE
PART TWO
PART THREE
PART FOUR
PART FIVE
When Sean wakes up, it’s dark and the luminous dial on the alarm says 4am. It takes him a minute to register what is different. There are arms around him, warm skin, and the solid nudge of knees tucked in behind his, breathing huffing on his shoulder. For a bit he doesn’t dare move, he looks at the scratches of rain along the window, the slim trees opposite tossing in wind. He plays for time. He’s inadequate, but he can also be practical.
His life has always been fairly incomprehensible, so why would that change? He doesn’t understand his intimate acquaintance, up to and including himself. He never does really, usually, get himself. He baffles himself. Still, it’s nothing to get upset over, is it? He couldn’t explain the stock market, or offer a précis of world news and he still manages to make it through the day.
This is why the sudden clarity of the sentences in his head puzzle him. Certainty has fallen into place, he can nearly feel it drop and run down the back of his neck to his spine, a neat fit.
Hearts and flowers. Birds and bees. Fucking.
His personal definition wouldn’t involve those indelible clichés, hearts and flowers, not roses, hearts with arrows through them, even broken ones. It’s more like the way newly-discovered jungle tribes get killed off by unimportant little diseases that hitch a lift along with civilisation – cold, measles, stuff like that.
He can’t use the word, the important one, because it isn’t his. It is an imprecise word. The Eskimos, or whatever it is you’re supposed to call them now, something else, have fifty two words for snow, apparently, because it’s important to them. There needs to be more words for this. For whatever makes him want to be better than himself, a whole lot better if he’s honest. Like those vocabulary tests. Improve Your Word Power!
Sean rolls over and presses his forehead against Viggo’s, gripping his skull with both hands, the hot skin there under his damp hair.
He waits until Viggo stirs, blurry with sleep, dry-mouthed, tender-eyed, in the brash wash of streetlight through the undrawn curtains. ‘Uh huh?’
‘You should – ‘
‘I should what?’
‘Nothing.’
Viggo frees one hand and starts to mime, sleepy, heavy-lidded, dragging something out of Sean. It’s frightening to see happiness getting a grip on him again, laying him open. Looking at him he gets this wishbone feeling, a stretching, a tension.
God, take away all the bad things except that one of them is me. Some little ostrich-type prayer like that.
Sean says it fast before he can think better of it. ‘You should let the stunt guys do more.’
The head on the pillow cocks to one side, the profile suddenly intent. ‘That’s funny, coming from someone who nearly got his eye ripped out by Harrison Ford.‘
‘I’m serious.’ Sean can hear himself, and it sounds like his voice is appearing without his consent. ‘I’d rather you outlived me.’
Viggo draws in a long breath, hungry and slow, and says nothing for a while, just his hand moving on Sean. ‘You should get some more sleep.’
‘Like, now?’
‘Yeah, why not?’ Viggo makes a soft type of smile and watches him, quiet.
‘Because I’m – ‘
‘What?’ Viggo shifts, rolls up on an elbow, his breath skating warmly over Sean’s cheek.
‘Because I’m happy.’ Sean breathes a bit. ‘And it’d be nice to go on being happy a bit.’ He can’t finish the thought, but it’s there, like a soft growth under the skin. Well, there you have it, Viggo. See what you make of that.
There’s a pause. They’re both thinking the same thing, possibly; it goes back and forth between their eyes. Then –
‘What did you say?’
‘You heard me.’
‘Yeah, I heard you. ’ Viggo says this so quietly Sean has to close his eyes.
Then, keeping his eyes shut, he turns carefully and puts an arm round Viggo, not gently, his knuckles sliding over skin. After a while, Viggo’s hand firms in around his.
---
Billy, in costume, but wearing Converse rather than hobbit feet, leans against the trailer door. ‘Happy now?’
‘Eh?’ Sean bends down to lace his shoes. He has a terrible feeling that some kind of expression is bursting through his default villain face.
Billy sighs, patient. ‘Are we back to normal? I mean, will you be eating in the canteen as usual? Speaking? All the boring old sociable stuff? The happy workplace?’
Sean manufactures an entirely insincere frown. ‘I suppose.’
‘Good.’ Billy pushes off the door, cranes round to see what’s going on outside. ‘Cos if I’d had to spend another week working in, like, Castle Dracula, I’d have gone apeshit.’
PAIRING: SB/VM
AUTHOR:
childeproofDISCLAIMER: Made up.
DEDICATION: For
andien, as she rightly pointed out things I hadn't noticed about the end of part 5. NOTE AND SUMMARY: This is a very short epilogue to the fic 'This Time, For Variety', until recently a WIP, now complete. The fic is set during filming, involves Viggo getting cross, Sean behaving extraordinarily badly and setting new standards in paranoid self-loathing, Orli being bemused, seductive and a bit thick, and the hobbits behaving like an infectious disease.
Previous parts are here:
PART ONE
PART TWO
PART THREE
PART FOUR
PART FIVE
When Sean wakes up, it’s dark and the luminous dial on the alarm says 4am. It takes him a minute to register what is different. There are arms around him, warm skin, and the solid nudge of knees tucked in behind his, breathing huffing on his shoulder. For a bit he doesn’t dare move, he looks at the scratches of rain along the window, the slim trees opposite tossing in wind. He plays for time. He’s inadequate, but he can also be practical.
His life has always been fairly incomprehensible, so why would that change? He doesn’t understand his intimate acquaintance, up to and including himself. He never does really, usually, get himself. He baffles himself. Still, it’s nothing to get upset over, is it? He couldn’t explain the stock market, or offer a précis of world news and he still manages to make it through the day.
This is why the sudden clarity of the sentences in his head puzzle him. Certainty has fallen into place, he can nearly feel it drop and run down the back of his neck to his spine, a neat fit.
Hearts and flowers. Birds and bees. Fucking.
His personal definition wouldn’t involve those indelible clichés, hearts and flowers, not roses, hearts with arrows through them, even broken ones. It’s more like the way newly-discovered jungle tribes get killed off by unimportant little diseases that hitch a lift along with civilisation – cold, measles, stuff like that.
He can’t use the word, the important one, because it isn’t his. It is an imprecise word. The Eskimos, or whatever it is you’re supposed to call them now, something else, have fifty two words for snow, apparently, because it’s important to them. There needs to be more words for this. For whatever makes him want to be better than himself, a whole lot better if he’s honest. Like those vocabulary tests. Improve Your Word Power!
Sean rolls over and presses his forehead against Viggo’s, gripping his skull with both hands, the hot skin there under his damp hair.
He waits until Viggo stirs, blurry with sleep, dry-mouthed, tender-eyed, in the brash wash of streetlight through the undrawn curtains. ‘Uh huh?’
‘You should – ‘
‘I should what?’
‘Nothing.’
Viggo frees one hand and starts to mime, sleepy, heavy-lidded, dragging something out of Sean. It’s frightening to see happiness getting a grip on him again, laying him open. Looking at him he gets this wishbone feeling, a stretching, a tension.
God, take away all the bad things except that one of them is me. Some little ostrich-type prayer like that.
Sean says it fast before he can think better of it. ‘You should let the stunt guys do more.’
The head on the pillow cocks to one side, the profile suddenly intent. ‘That’s funny, coming from someone who nearly got his eye ripped out by Harrison Ford.‘
‘I’m serious.’ Sean can hear himself, and it sounds like his voice is appearing without his consent. ‘I’d rather you outlived me.’
Viggo draws in a long breath, hungry and slow, and says nothing for a while, just his hand moving on Sean. ‘You should get some more sleep.’
‘Like, now?’
‘Yeah, why not?’ Viggo makes a soft type of smile and watches him, quiet.
‘Because I’m – ‘
‘What?’ Viggo shifts, rolls up on an elbow, his breath skating warmly over Sean’s cheek.
‘Because I’m happy.’ Sean breathes a bit. ‘And it’d be nice to go on being happy a bit.’ He can’t finish the thought, but it’s there, like a soft growth under the skin. Well, there you have it, Viggo. See what you make of that.
There’s a pause. They’re both thinking the same thing, possibly; it goes back and forth between their eyes. Then –
‘What did you say?’
‘You heard me.’
‘Yeah, I heard you. ’ Viggo says this so quietly Sean has to close his eyes.
Then, keeping his eyes shut, he turns carefully and puts an arm round Viggo, not gently, his knuckles sliding over skin. After a while, Viggo’s hand firms in around his.
---
Billy, in costume, but wearing Converse rather than hobbit feet, leans against the trailer door. ‘Happy now?’
‘Eh?’ Sean bends down to lace his shoes. He has a terrible feeling that some kind of expression is bursting through his default villain face.
Billy sighs, patient. ‘Are we back to normal? I mean, will you be eating in the canteen as usual? Speaking? All the boring old sociable stuff? The happy workplace?’
Sean manufactures an entirely insincere frown. ‘I suppose.’
‘Good.’ Billy pushes off the door, cranes round to see what’s going on outside. ‘Cos if I’d had to spend another week working in, like, Castle Dracula, I’d have gone apeshit.’
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
no subject
Date: 2005-04-26 09:47 pm (UTC)Happiness it's only a moments of live, but we are live for those moment. Good that after complicated, emotional drained romance, you can manage to write that full of expectation conclusion.
no subject
Date: 2005-04-28 02:15 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2005-04-27 06:08 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2005-04-28 02:16 pm (UTC)Your icon is fabulously suggestive.
no subject
Date: 2005-04-27 07:29 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2005-04-28 02:17 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2005-04-28 04:57 pm (UTC)It's going to be lovely weather over the weekend they have absolutley promised!
no subject
Date: 2005-04-28 05:21 pm (UTC)I am stranded here for weekend because a plan to go with The Beloved to Barcelona has fallen through for sundry complex business reasons, and am meditating where best to head locally.
no subject
Date: 2005-04-28 06:44 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2005-04-29 11:07 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2005-04-27 10:44 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2005-04-28 02:19 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2005-04-28 12:55 am (UTC)so cute! even the default is lovely :D
I’d have gone apeshit.
LOLOL!!!
i love the part when they were whispering and staring in bed.. and i love this whole arc so much... thank you for sharing this with us!
<33
no subject
Date: 2005-04-28 02:20 pm (UTC)Thanks!
no subject
Date: 2005-04-28 11:55 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2005-04-29 11:08 am (UTC)