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Entry tags:
LOTRips. Motion Blur. EW/VM, EW/DM.
Wrote this last Sunday, beat it up a few times, sent it SK for her to beat up some more, and here it is, traumatized but triumphant. It’s going to end up dragging us on Springer, though, I’m sure of it.
Title: Motion Blur
Fandom: LOTRips
Pairing: EW/VM, EW/DM
Rating: PG13
Summary: Inaction is a form of action.
Notes:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
serialkarma betaed, because she’s cool like that. All remaining mistakes are mine.
Also, this fic is for CM, with snuggles and sheepish grins. Maybe I just forgot how to write het. Sorry this took so long.
nobody broke your heart
you broke your own because
you can't finish what you start
if you're alone it must be you
that wants to be apart
- elliott smith, ‘alameda’
-
Motion Blur
“So,” said Viggo. “What’s up?”
The sky, Elijah almost replied, because his mind had regressed that far. The words he wanted to say were jumbled, and the mental images prepared with painstaking romanticism were all in the wrong order. For example, right now Elijah felt the urge to tell Viggo his new haircut looked horrendous, but that would not be the cool way to greet someone you haven’t seen in over a year. Elijah ought to say something witty or tender or casually profound, but the words refused to be caught, distracted by the mental image of the moment.
The mental image was this: Viggo’s arms around him, wind-chilled hands pressed against Elijah’s back, and Viggo’s lips just a breath away from his own. If there was one thing that Elijah liked more than kissing Viggo, it was the second before kissing Viggo, when their shadows would fall across each other’s faces and the only things in the universe were the spark in Viggo’s sea-blue eyes and the silhouette of his lips.
With chronological order gone down the drain, Elijah didn’t know whether this particular mental image was from the past or future. He wondered if it was possible for it to be from both.
+
The first mental image was not an image, but a touch. It was Viggo saying, “Your foundation’s uneven,” and reaching out to blend the make-up on Elijah’s brow with his thumb.
It was an artless afterthought on Viggo’s part. On Elijah’s part, it was wondering if Viggo noticed the way Elijah held his breath until Viggo stepped back, inspected his work, and said, “Perfect.”
+
It was a hodgepodge of touches, glances, and leftover onscreen chemistry that drew one towards the other until someone decided to do something. It was Elijah who kissed Viggo during an opportune pause in the conversation. Elijah’s lips were parted and Viggo’s were closed and caught unawares.
The silence that followed lasted too long and Elijah bailed before his mistake could fully crystallize in his mind.
It never did.
Mental image number two was Viggo standing on Elijah’s doorstep, a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.
“Hi,” said Elijah, and felt stupid. Then Viggo leaned in and Elijah stepped backwards reflexively. Viggo held his shoulder, held him steady, and suddenly Viggo’s mouth was on his, and. And Elijah was feeling an entirely different thing.
Elijah thought it would be like any other on-set affair: some know to disappear, some become friendships, and some go through a phase of sending awkward seasonal cards/flowers/etc. to him through their agents. Elijah never forgot to thank them. His notes would always be as short, trite, and full of bullshit as theirs, and he would wonder when they would finally get the balls to stop writing.
None of this happened with Viggo, not quite.
+
None of this happened with Dom either. Elijah would say that the first thing was closest to the truth, except that he and Dom happened after filming wrapped up. They couldn’t use the excuse of the on-set affair. All the usual rules and regulations of relationships applied.
No bright lights here. No hiding imperfections (or at least not for long). No orchestrated beauty that leaked off the dailies and onto their skin like so much fairy dust.
Dom was the reason it was so easy to break it off with Viggo. During their tentative goodbyes, Elijah’s eyes were already wandering. “I’m shit with letters,” said Viggo, and out of the corners of Elijah’s eyes, he saw Dom talking to Karl--or was it David?--eyes bright and hands gesticulating as he told his story.
“Don’t feel weird about call--” Viggo began, and was cut off as Dom burst into laughter.
Bit of foreshadowing there, Elijah thought.
No bullshit happened after he and Dom were over. No bullshit happened, because Dom never really left. True, it was Dom, whether he meant to or not, who pulled Elijah away
from Viggo. It was Dom even now was pushing him towards Viggo, even if Dom was miles and miles away.
In the back of Elijah’s mind, he understood that this somehow didn’t add up, but it did make the world a bit easier to go through.
+
Mental image number six wasn’t really number six. It didn’t have a place in this chronology. Mental image number six was not really supposed to be here and it stuck out like a sore thumb: the blond hair, the long fingers, the ever-present smirk. The accented voice that sometimes called him Lij, and the lips that didn’t need to call out anything at all because they had their own sirensong.
This was not welcome here, not anymore, but every time Elijah tried to throw it out, he realized he didn’t quite know how to.
+
Viggo was in London for a weekend, for reasons that had to do with work, though Elijah wasn’t sure if work meant acting or photography or music or poetry or what. The two agreed to meet in Regent’s Park and here they were. They faced each other with their hands in their pockets, as if the town clock would strike high noon to signal the final duel.
“How’s Henry?” Elijah finally said. It wasn’t a glorious beginning to a conversation by any means, but considering the (non-)state of his mind, Elijah supposed it would have to do.
Viggo nodded. “He’s fine.”
Elijah gestured in a random direction: did Viggo want to go for a walk?
Viggo’s reply was a smile, which thrilled Elijah, because all he’d seen of Viggo lately was Aragorn on his extended DVDs back home. And Aragorn, he wasn’t much of a smiler. Viggo began talking about work, about Henry, about the next movie he might do. Much to Elijah’s relief, all he had to do was listen, watch, and smile back.
+
Elijah believed that nothing in life was set in stone. After all, it had been an easy slide from friends to lovers and back again. Lately Elijah had been thinking about Viggo and how maybe they could slide back. If things were as fluid as he thought, then how hard could it be?
Nothing in life was final, which was good and bad. Viggo and Elijah didn’t have to stay just friends. Alternately, maybe they’d end up not being friends at all. Either way, Viggo would have to make the first move this time, for all sorts of reasons. On Elijah’s part, he was tired of being the initiator of everything and seeing it all turn to shit.
If someone else was calling the shots, then they could be blamed for the mess and Elijah could get away scot-free.
+
They had exchanged emails, phone calls, and--if Viggo was feeling particularly inspired--handwritten letters with weird illustrations and collages that reminded Elijah of Nick Bantock books. Experimental calligraphy that switched back to Viggo’s chicken-scratch hand halfway down the page because Viggo had gotten bored with it.
Mental image number eleven was not an image, but a voice. Viggo’s voice, soft and gentle and worlds away, saying, “I miss you,” in a way that tugged at Elijah’s heart. With one phone call, finality had snuck out the door and unrequited indecision stumbled in and made itself at home.
As he reread Viggo’s letters, the three words echoed in his head. (Mental image number six, a flash of white teeth, a familiar smile, and gone as quickly as he appeared. Elijah had taught himself not to think about Dom for very long at all.)
“I miss you,” Viggo said in Elijah’s head, and Elijah discovered new ways to read between the lines.
+
Sometimes it jumped to the forefront of Elijah’s mind for no reason at all:
(False: it did that was because it was true.)
Dom’s last words to Elijah were, “I have never made you do anything you didn’t want to do.”
+
In Regent’s Park, they walked at an easy pace, holding an easy conversation. They approached a grove of trees. When Viggo walked towards it and disappeared between the trees, Elijah followed.
“Stand against that one,” said Viggo, pointing to a tree near the center of the grove.
“Why?” Elijah asked, already moving into position. He leaned back against the trunk and watched Viggo watching. “What is it?”
A slow and subtle smile appeared on Viggo’s face. “Your hair’s the same color as the bark,” he said. “I thought so.”
“You’re insane.”
Viggo approached him and moved his hand as if to touch Elijah’s face, and hesitated. Just for a moment, half a moment, quarter of. A slight faltering in the fingers, and a sudden flicker in the eyes. And it was gone. Viggo traced Elijah’s hairline and held a curl or two against the bark.
“I wouldn’t put that past me,” he said softly.
They were quiet when they stepped out of the trees, walking side by side as if making a conscious effort to make it seem like neither was leading the other. Someone--they wouldn’t remember who--started up the conversation, and with enough effort and good humor from both parties, the afternoon resumed, as best as it could.
When it came time to part ways, they shared a taxi and the first stop was Viggo’s hotel. The goodbyes were said, Viggo climbed out, and before he closed the car door Elijah said, “I had a good time. Didn’t you?”
Viggo just smiled.
“You didn’t?” said Elijah.
“I did.”
“Good.”
“Have you heard from Dom lately?”
“What?” Elijah said, and suddenly he didn’t know where to look. At the driver. At his hands. At Viggo. “No. Why do you ask?”
“I’ve lost touch with him, somewhat,” said Viggo distantly. “So. Do us a favor, friend. When you get the chance, call Dom and tell him that…”
“Tell him what?”
Viggo closed the car door but didn’t leave. He leaned against the side of the car, framed by the open window, and looked at Elijah and said, “Tell him old friends miss him.”
“Oh. Oh. Sure,” said Elijah, and nearly jumped when he felt Viggo’s fingers alighting softly on his cheek.
“Look at me,” said Viggo. “Tell him, Elijah.”
“I already said--”
“No,” said Viggo firmly and looked into his eyes. “Tell him.”
Viggo traced Elijah’s cheekbone with his thumb as if wiping away a tear, though there were none. He stepped back onto the pavement and his fingers lingered on Elijah’s lips as if promising a kiss, but there was none of that either.
Elijah rushed to the window. “Viggo, wait--”
Viggo smiled resignedly and knocked twice on the driver’s window, a signal to go. The taxi pulled away from the curb and Elijah was still looking out the window at Viggo, trying to find some equilibrium. For a moment Viggo didn’t move or look away, and when he did, Elijah thought he did so with reluctance.
“You best watch your head, sir,” said the driver.
Elijah slumped back in his seat. So that was it. Nothing happened, true, but at least that meant no one was responsible. No one fucked anything up.
“Where to now?” the driver asked, and Elijah told him the address of his hotel.
I did it, said a growing chorus in his head. I didn’t fuck up. I did it. I did it right.
“I didn’t…” Elijah started to say, and trailed off, and just back and stared out the window at the city blurring by.
[end.]
Title: Motion Blur
Fandom: LOTRips
Pairing: EW/VM, EW/DM
Rating: PG13
Summary: Inaction is a form of action.
Notes:
serialkarma betaed, because she’s cool like that. All remaining mistakes are mine.Also, this fic is for CM, with snuggles and sheepish grins. Maybe I just forgot how to write het. Sorry this took so long.
you broke your own because
you can't finish what you start
if you're alone it must be you
that wants to be apart
- elliott smith, ‘alameda’
Motion Blur
“So,” said Viggo. “What’s up?”
The sky, Elijah almost replied, because his mind had regressed that far. The words he wanted to say were jumbled, and the mental images prepared with painstaking romanticism were all in the wrong order. For example, right now Elijah felt the urge to tell Viggo his new haircut looked horrendous, but that would not be the cool way to greet someone you haven’t seen in over a year. Elijah ought to say something witty or tender or casually profound, but the words refused to be caught, distracted by the mental image of the moment.
The mental image was this: Viggo’s arms around him, wind-chilled hands pressed against Elijah’s back, and Viggo’s lips just a breath away from his own. If there was one thing that Elijah liked more than kissing Viggo, it was the second before kissing Viggo, when their shadows would fall across each other’s faces and the only things in the universe were the spark in Viggo’s sea-blue eyes and the silhouette of his lips.
With chronological order gone down the drain, Elijah didn’t know whether this particular mental image was from the past or future. He wondered if it was possible for it to be from both.
+
The first mental image was not an image, but a touch. It was Viggo saying, “Your foundation’s uneven,” and reaching out to blend the make-up on Elijah’s brow with his thumb.
It was an artless afterthought on Viggo’s part. On Elijah’s part, it was wondering if Viggo noticed the way Elijah held his breath until Viggo stepped back, inspected his work, and said, “Perfect.”
+
It was a hodgepodge of touches, glances, and leftover onscreen chemistry that drew one towards the other until someone decided to do something. It was Elijah who kissed Viggo during an opportune pause in the conversation. Elijah’s lips were parted and Viggo’s were closed and caught unawares.
The silence that followed lasted too long and Elijah bailed before his mistake could fully crystallize in his mind.
It never did.
Mental image number two was Viggo standing on Elijah’s doorstep, a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.
“Hi,” said Elijah, and felt stupid. Then Viggo leaned in and Elijah stepped backwards reflexively. Viggo held his shoulder, held him steady, and suddenly Viggo’s mouth was on his, and. And Elijah was feeling an entirely different thing.
Elijah thought it would be like any other on-set affair: some know to disappear, some become friendships, and some go through a phase of sending awkward seasonal cards/flowers/etc. to him through their agents. Elijah never forgot to thank them. His notes would always be as short, trite, and full of bullshit as theirs, and he would wonder when they would finally get the balls to stop writing.
None of this happened with Viggo, not quite.
+
None of this happened with Dom either. Elijah would say that the first thing was closest to the truth, except that he and Dom happened after filming wrapped up. They couldn’t use the excuse of the on-set affair. All the usual rules and regulations of relationships applied.
No bright lights here. No hiding imperfections (or at least not for long). No orchestrated beauty that leaked off the dailies and onto their skin like so much fairy dust.
Dom was the reason it was so easy to break it off with Viggo. During their tentative goodbyes, Elijah’s eyes were already wandering. “I’m shit with letters,” said Viggo, and out of the corners of Elijah’s eyes, he saw Dom talking to Karl--or was it David?--eyes bright and hands gesticulating as he told his story.
“Don’t feel weird about call--” Viggo began, and was cut off as Dom burst into laughter.
Bit of foreshadowing there, Elijah thought.
No bullshit happened after he and Dom were over. No bullshit happened, because Dom never really left. True, it was Dom, whether he meant to or not, who pulled Elijah away
from Viggo. It was Dom even now was pushing him towards Viggo, even if Dom was miles and miles away.
In the back of Elijah’s mind, he understood that this somehow didn’t add up, but it did make the world a bit easier to go through.
+
Mental image number six wasn’t really number six. It didn’t have a place in this chronology. Mental image number six was not really supposed to be here and it stuck out like a sore thumb: the blond hair, the long fingers, the ever-present smirk. The accented voice that sometimes called him Lij, and the lips that didn’t need to call out anything at all because they had their own sirensong.
This was not welcome here, not anymore, but every time Elijah tried to throw it out, he realized he didn’t quite know how to.
+
Viggo was in London for a weekend, for reasons that had to do with work, though Elijah wasn’t sure if work meant acting or photography or music or poetry or what. The two agreed to meet in Regent’s Park and here they were. They faced each other with their hands in their pockets, as if the town clock would strike high noon to signal the final duel.
“How’s Henry?” Elijah finally said. It wasn’t a glorious beginning to a conversation by any means, but considering the (non-)state of his mind, Elijah supposed it would have to do.
Viggo nodded. “He’s fine.”
Elijah gestured in a random direction: did Viggo want to go for a walk?
Viggo’s reply was a smile, which thrilled Elijah, because all he’d seen of Viggo lately was Aragorn on his extended DVDs back home. And Aragorn, he wasn’t much of a smiler. Viggo began talking about work, about Henry, about the next movie he might do. Much to Elijah’s relief, all he had to do was listen, watch, and smile back.
+
Elijah believed that nothing in life was set in stone. After all, it had been an easy slide from friends to lovers and back again. Lately Elijah had been thinking about Viggo and how maybe they could slide back. If things were as fluid as he thought, then how hard could it be?
Nothing in life was final, which was good and bad. Viggo and Elijah didn’t have to stay just friends. Alternately, maybe they’d end up not being friends at all. Either way, Viggo would have to make the first move this time, for all sorts of reasons. On Elijah’s part, he was tired of being the initiator of everything and seeing it all turn to shit.
If someone else was calling the shots, then they could be blamed for the mess and Elijah could get away scot-free.
+
They had exchanged emails, phone calls, and--if Viggo was feeling particularly inspired--handwritten letters with weird illustrations and collages that reminded Elijah of Nick Bantock books. Experimental calligraphy that switched back to Viggo’s chicken-scratch hand halfway down the page because Viggo had gotten bored with it.
Mental image number eleven was not an image, but a voice. Viggo’s voice, soft and gentle and worlds away, saying, “I miss you,” in a way that tugged at Elijah’s heart. With one phone call, finality had snuck out the door and unrequited indecision stumbled in and made itself at home.
As he reread Viggo’s letters, the three words echoed in his head. (Mental image number six, a flash of white teeth, a familiar smile, and gone as quickly as he appeared. Elijah had taught himself not to think about Dom for very long at all.)
“I miss you,” Viggo said in Elijah’s head, and Elijah discovered new ways to read between the lines.
+
Sometimes it jumped to the forefront of Elijah’s mind for no reason at all:
(False: it did that was because it was true.)
Dom’s last words to Elijah were, “I have never made you do anything you didn’t want to do.”
+
In Regent’s Park, they walked at an easy pace, holding an easy conversation. They approached a grove of trees. When Viggo walked towards it and disappeared between the trees, Elijah followed.
“Stand against that one,” said Viggo, pointing to a tree near the center of the grove.
“Why?” Elijah asked, already moving into position. He leaned back against the trunk and watched Viggo watching. “What is it?”
A slow and subtle smile appeared on Viggo’s face. “Your hair’s the same color as the bark,” he said. “I thought so.”
“You’re insane.”
Viggo approached him and moved his hand as if to touch Elijah’s face, and hesitated. Just for a moment, half a moment, quarter of. A slight faltering in the fingers, and a sudden flicker in the eyes. And it was gone. Viggo traced Elijah’s hairline and held a curl or two against the bark.
“I wouldn’t put that past me,” he said softly.
They were quiet when they stepped out of the trees, walking side by side as if making a conscious effort to make it seem like neither was leading the other. Someone--they wouldn’t remember who--started up the conversation, and with enough effort and good humor from both parties, the afternoon resumed, as best as it could.
When it came time to part ways, they shared a taxi and the first stop was Viggo’s hotel. The goodbyes were said, Viggo climbed out, and before he closed the car door Elijah said, “I had a good time. Didn’t you?”
Viggo just smiled.
“You didn’t?” said Elijah.
“I did.”
“Good.”
“Have you heard from Dom lately?”
“What?” Elijah said, and suddenly he didn’t know where to look. At the driver. At his hands. At Viggo. “No. Why do you ask?”
“I’ve lost touch with him, somewhat,” said Viggo distantly. “So. Do us a favor, friend. When you get the chance, call Dom and tell him that…”
“Tell him what?”
Viggo closed the car door but didn’t leave. He leaned against the side of the car, framed by the open window, and looked at Elijah and said, “Tell him old friends miss him.”
“Oh. Oh. Sure,” said Elijah, and nearly jumped when he felt Viggo’s fingers alighting softly on his cheek.
“Look at me,” said Viggo. “Tell him, Elijah.”
“I already said--”
“No,” said Viggo firmly and looked into his eyes. “Tell him.”
Viggo traced Elijah’s cheekbone with his thumb as if wiping away a tear, though there were none. He stepped back onto the pavement and his fingers lingered on Elijah’s lips as if promising a kiss, but there was none of that either.
Elijah rushed to the window. “Viggo, wait--”
Viggo smiled resignedly and knocked twice on the driver’s window, a signal to go. The taxi pulled away from the curb and Elijah was still looking out the window at Viggo, trying to find some equilibrium. For a moment Viggo didn’t move or look away, and when he did, Elijah thought he did so with reluctance.
“You best watch your head, sir,” said the driver.
Elijah slumped back in his seat. So that was it. Nothing happened, true, but at least that meant no one was responsible. No one fucked anything up.
“Where to now?” the driver asked, and Elijah told him the address of his hotel.
I did it, said a growing chorus in his head. I didn’t fuck up. I did it. I did it right.
“I didn’t…” Elijah started to say, and trailed off, and just back and stared out the window at the city blurring by.
[end.]
no subject
I love the complicated interweaving of Elijah's relationships with Viggo and with Dom, the blurred lines of friendship that keep getting harder to read.
Awesome. I'm glad that worked for you. :)
The words are oddly static, and we feel the tension shimmering just underneath the surface, fault lines that shift and change with every moment.
it isn't hearts and flowers, it's a bad haircut and too much silence.
Haha, the feedback's prettier than the story. Thank you! I'm glad you liked it.
no subject
I shall look forward to reading more from you. :)
no subject
no subject
no subject