Many go fishing all their lives without knowing that it is not fish they are after. -- Thoreau

I. All the Clothes Which Outward Nature Wears

Sometimes Dom remembered with fondness the old days of being Indistinguishable Hobbit #2.

It wasn't that he was ungrateful -- no, not that, especially considering the long, dry time when he'd first arrived in L.A. and secretly doubted that he'd ever work again, short of guest roles on celebrity Jeopardy! He loved the new attention that Lost brought, to be sure. But being on every day was tiring. Being a clown always was. It wasn't enough, to Dom's way of thinking, to sign the autographs and have done with it. Each time he's recognized he feels the need to dazzle, cut loose with some bit of sparkles that will make them remember.

Considering how often he'd been recognized lately, Dom was exhausted.

Viggo's phone call couldn't have come at a better time. He'd rung Dom up just as filming was wrapping for a brief Thanksgiving break. It was a Sunday, and Dom had abandoned the idea of catching some morning surf for the rare luxury of a lie-in. Outside the sliding-glass door the ocean came and went, the gentle blue noise just sending Dom back to sleep when the ringer yanked him right back.

"H'lo?" Dom mumbled, eyes still closed, clinging to retreating sleep.

"Wanna go fishing?"

"Viggo?" Eyes open now. "Long time no speak to. What, now? Where are you?"

"Yellowstone."

Dom sat up, all thoughts of sleep gone now. "Hate to break it to you, Vig, but that's a bit of a walk. With scuba gear."

"Fly out Tuesday. That's when the fish are set to start running. I'm just here scouting things out right now."

From somewhere above the patio, a honeycreeper was singing its odd, squeaky song. It put Dom in mind of The Twilight Zone, but he'd long ago ceased to be surprised at Viggo. You just had to ride the curves, Viggo no more predictable than when the next wave would roll in.

And just as much fun.

The honeycreeper filled the silence while Dom turned the idea over. On the face of it, it was a good one. No one in Yellowstone this time of year, except for the park rangers and the odd angler -- the crowds were definitely gone. Even the bears were asleep, dreaming bearish dreams. The chances of being recognized were very low, unless the trout wanted an autograph.

"What should I bring?"

II. In Vain I Look For Change Abroad

"You fucking bastard, it is cold," Dom said, hands shoved deep down in his pockets. "What was all that bullshit about thermals trapped by the rocks?"

Viggo grinned. "You're just going soft in luau-land."

"Sounds like la-la land."

"Exactly."

Dom gave up the effort at bitching and dragged another heavy duffel from Viggo's Jeep. Since getting in late yesterday night he'd had approximately four hours of sleep, and it wasn't doing much for his mood. Still, he had to admit, the view was incredible. Viggo had found a tidy little clearing near the Firehole river (and if Dom hadn't been so exhausted, he'd have had something to say about that, fuck yeah) where rainbow trout were catch and release, and brown trout could be kept, two to an angler. A stand of pines served as a natural windbreak, cutting the worst of the biting chill from the campsite, and a few hundred yards away, the river was deep, cold blue winding through the snow-mottled grass. The horizon rose sharply, mountains touching paler blue sky, and the air was so clean Dom thought his teeth were squeaking somehow.

The sight of Viggo in faded Levi's bent over pounding tent pegs into the frozen ground wasn't exactly hard on the eyes, either.

Oh, just stop it, Dom chided himself as he dropped the duffel with a heavy whump and went to retrieve the tackle boxes. It's been a long time. Can't go expecting, like. He remembered another fishing expedition, in another country, the time so fixed in his memory as then that it was a country unto itself. It was a great time for firsts -- the rainbow trout, Viggo's strangely shy kiss, as if he were testing the waters.

Viggo's kisses weren't at all like Billy's, which made Dom's head feel funny, like he was going daft from lack of oxygen, or like he might just explode from love (and he'd said that to Billy once, and gotten that's bloody disgusting for his pains). No, Viggo's kisses just went straight to his cock, semaphore, do not pass the brain, do not collect two hundred dollars.

But that was then, and in New Zealand they'd had the day in, day out ease of knowing just what to say to each other. In the crisp silence, punctuated by the ringing of Viggo's hammer, Dom realized he was out of practice. He squatted down and opened his tackle box, retrieved from the back of his closet. Several flies were still laid out along the top row: a yellow Edson tiger, several white marabou flies (You're even a poofter when you're fishing, Billy had said with a snort), and one remaining Little Rainbow trout fly, green and pink streaming from it. That one was a little lumpy, but he'd tied it himself. Its twin had landed his first rainbow, a not-at-all-shabby six pounder.

The ringing fell silent. Dom looked around in time to see Viggo standing over him.

"Still got some good ones?" he said, and the sun behind Viggo's head wasn't any brighter than his smile.

"Yeah, I think I do."

III. And Can No Difference Find

"Motherfucker."

"Problem?" Viggo asked, amused. He didn't look at Dom, didn't see the fly that had flipped back at mach one to catch in Dom's hair. He just kept casting, smooth perfect back cast and a crisp laydown. Dom grunted.

"No, no problem at all." He extricated the fly, grateful that it hadn't caught him in the eye or hooked his lip, or wound up seriously embedded in his scalp. He tried another cast, and it was a little better, but still jerky, the throw a little too far behind.

"Your timing's off," Viggo helpfully supplied. "It's driving the line down."

"Tell me something I don't know." Dom bit his lip, felt something brush the fly.

"Orli wears camouflage thongs."

"Again, something I don't know." The fish brushed at the fly again, but didn't bite, and Dom sighed and pulled back for another go. It fell seriously short.

They'd finished setting up camp, and even though it was late afternoon, Viggo hadn't wanted to wait, so Dom had struggled into his waders and braved the cold water. After twenty or so minutes Viggo had snagged one brown trout (too small to keep) and Dom had realized that this wasn't at all like riding a bike. Everything felt strange, and he was sure he remembered how to do this, if only his arm would be so kind as to remember, too.

"You know what, Vig, I just -- 's not working for me now," Dom said, pulling his line in. "I'm too bloody tired for this."

"You sure?" Viggo turned around now, looking at Dom in that strange way Viggo had, where Dom couldn't be sure if he was laughing at him or not. "I have a feeling they'll be biting soon."

"Yeah, I'm sure. I'll just go see about the fire, maybe have a quick lie-down."

"All right," Viggo said, but he'd already turned his attention back to the pressing matter of the elusive trout, and Dom sloshed back to the bank, scowling, inexplicably hurt.

IV. The Murky Night Is Gone

Some time later, Dom awoke shivering in the dark.

He'd laid up the firewood and gotten it started, and then he'd crawled into the tent and laid down on the air mattress. Just a few minutes, he'd thought, don't want to leave Vig alone, but the thoughts were already coming syrupy thick and slow and he was asleep before he could finish that one.

Viggo had been exceedingly proud of his new tent, a Four Seasons with two layers for insulation and a small vestibule, and he'd sworn it would keep them warm enough to use the air mattress and blankets in lieu of sleeping bags. Now, though, Dom was cold and disoriented. He had no idea how long he'd been asleep, but judging from the heavy stiffness when he moved, it was several hours.

He rolled over, pulling the fleece blanket tighter, and bumped into a warm, solid body. Viggo, lying on his back, asleep and still. Without thinking, Dom snuggled up, grateful for the heat, and slipped back into sleep with Viggo's soft, haylike scent in his nostrils.

The next time he woke up, Dom wasn't cold at all, except his nose.

He opened his eyes in grey half-light and guessed that dawn must be close. Sometime during the night Viggo had rolled over, and now he was spooned up tight behind Dom, his arm thrown over him, radiating heat like an organic furnace. The air outside the blankets was still chilly, which accounted for Dom's nose, but the blanket had folded the two of them into a hot cocoon. Dom actually felt his back sweating a bit.

He also felt the thick ridge of Viggo's erection pressing against his ass.

Dom pressed back, groaning at the feel of the hard length through Viggo's sweats. His own cock woke up promptly at this silent reveille, but then his brain caught up to the proceedings.

Just cause he's got morning wood doesn't mean he wants you to do anything about it, Dom scolded himself. He wanted to, sure, but what if Viggo woke up and said no, Dom, that was a long time ago, or what if he thought that was the only reason Dom had come on the trip?

No, best to take care of this himself. Dom tried to roll away from Viggo, moving carefully so as not to wake him, and managed to get all of six inches away when Viggo pulled him back, flush-tight.

"Morning," Viggo whispered in Dom's ear, and the sound was melting icicles dripping in the sun, and Dom pushed back again, and he could feel an answering throb.

"Morning yourself," he managed to croak, and then Viggo's hand slid down his stomach and oh, into his pants, Viggo's hand a map of marvelous calluses that remembered their way across Dom's flesh, back and forth in perfect smooth motions, and they began to rock together, sweet rhythm. Dom caught his breath, reached his hand up to tangle it in Viggo's hair, and it was good, so fucking good, their breath mingling in a cloud of steam that punctuated the slow grind.

The light was coming up in the tent, and coming up brighter behind Dom's eyelids, Viggo squeezing and twisting, and when Viggo reached down to cup Dom's balls Dom started to shake, and then the air rushed in cold when he kicked out, shattering.

A moment later Viggo had retrieved the blanket and pulled it back up over the both of them, and Dom could see something besides little black spots. He wondered for a moment if Viggo had come, too, but then he felt the spreading wet soaking through against his ass. Bugger, Dom thought, going to have to wash these now, and then he laughed.

"What?" Viggo smiled and laughed, too, apparently not caring that he didn't know what was so funny. Looking up over his shoulder, Dom remembered how much he liked the way Viggo's eyes crinkled when he laughed, and the sharp little points of his eyeteeth that showed then.

"Nothing. Everything. 'S a good morning. Even if it's cold."

"I think you woke the bears up with that scream."

"Well, maybe Yogi was already awake. Banging Boo-Boo, eh?"

"Pervert." Viggo reached between them, scratching himself thoroughly.

"So, are we going to get up and fish? You could help me work on my timing."

"Mmm." Viggo paused a moment, apparently considering. "I think your timing's all right, really, except when you think about it too much. That's your problem. You overthink things."

"Yeah, I guess I do, sometimes." Dom stretched luxuriously. Outside the tent the birds were calling, and he could just hear the river, faintly in the distance. Everything else was silence, except for Viggo rustling in the blankets against him, and the world seemed like clear, cool water. Like a perfect cast in the Waiau river, fish flashing rainbow-dappled all around. "Maybe not so much anymore." He rolled over to face Viggo with a grin.

"Good," Viggo said, propping himself up on his elbow. "You know, there's more to life than fish."

"So you don't want to go fishing, then?"

"I didn't say that," Viggo replied, but then he leaned over and kissed Dom, and when Dom closed his eyes, the rainbows were still there. "But they'll keep."

And they did.

End.

Slashababy 2004 Stories