by Nunki

Yawn, stretching, pale skin showing as your shirt rides up, taut belly rippled slightly, but not built. Never wanted to spend your life working out, no, that's not how you came to be what you are, how you built your career to this point. Odd words those; your career. Your. Career. As if, in your twenties, you've set yourself afloat on a seastream tide where you'll be the rest of your life.
Of course, though, that depends on how long your life ends up being. Before New Zealand, it seemed as if there was a never-ending turn of thought, an expected path that led you from mystery television to small film roles, to - what? House, kids, wife? A shack on the beach and a surfboard? Maybe. Not. They never said that fame was good for anything except money.
Yawn, as you shuffle over to the window, blinking at a sunrise streaked with gold and opalescence, a sunrise that looked like other you've seen in the past months - but different, because, after all, you're inside and it is outside. It's morning, and for the first time in weeks, Peter has not called for midnight shooting. This is a good thing... camping was fun the first few times, with the other Hobbits and Orli, but sometimes you just want to sleep in a bed. Bed... An image, unbidden and unheeded, of Viggo and Sean asleep, sinewly limbs twined close, enters your mind, and you blink, trying to figure just where the hell that came from.

True, it was Elijah who first found them, sneaking off after Amon Hen, and thought it was just a grand joke. It's not as if the five of you haven't done things, experiments as Billy called them, an escape from the emotional and mental journies as you prefer to think of it - sometimes, in the dark, all that matters is having people to hold, having people who hold you with care and clumsy tenderness. You don't want to admit you think of more, don't want to admit to yourself that while Lij might just be playing the whole thing as a game, that you're beginning to think of others.

And, maybe, it makes sense - few girls on set, none who understand the intensity of this game when you do get into towns, men who are talented and beautiful and deadly intense near you. Laugh, thinking of horses, sweat, mud - it seems far for some reason, far away, even though Helm's Deep only wrapped two days ago. Now is the time to film Gondor, to think about going into service, to work on maturation of the bond you have with Pippin. Stop thinking about Viggo and Sean, stop it. It's not as if they'd notice. Why the hell is your mind choosing this time, this topic? Maybe you need more sleep. Yes. Sleep. Forget the breakfast, leave the bread on the table - someone else will want to make toast at some point, you're sure, what with the Fellowship all in the house last night.
Viggo, running - sand giving way under bare feet, ocean lapping occasionally. Maybe he didn't really need a workout, this morning, but - the sea was grey, the opalescence of sunrise has given way to thin high clouds, and it was warm, wild. Beautiful. And fucking lonely. He came to an abrupt stop, scowling. *No way in hell I want to do this, not right now. Maybe one of the Hobbits will have decided they want breakfats by now...I'm going home.* The appetites of the four had become something of a joke; it had started as a canon reference and then become very real. *Why none of them have slow metabolisms, I don't know... Sean has to keep eating to stay fat, dammit, and Liv is always starving* Viggo's brain was never really connected in the morning.
Mmm... slow hands, caressing, smooth muscle like water under your skin, the gentle tease of soft hair on rougher skin., the warm bulk of another person holding you, the coldness of an unused pillow - What? Dom, sitting up, blinked, hair haywire and eyes puzzled. Oh. Dreaming again. A bitter feeling washed over him, and he sighed. *I'd go play with Lij, but he's always sleeping*...Dom didn't like to think about it, but sometimes he just wnated to be held. Didn't want to play the fucking games of commitment, but didn't want the sexplay games the five of them always got into either.
The patio door squeaked, and Dom, breaking from reverie again, looked up from his nest on the couch. Forget bed; there weren't really wnough in the house - He had opted to sleep on the couch, and he was content with it actually. Anyway, this way he'd wake up if someone wanted to know who had left breakfast uneaten on the table. The question of who it was at the door entered his mind, and he looked up - then nearly jumped out of his skin. Forget someone being on the porch; the door had apparantly been opened while Dom's brain drifted.
Viggo sat on a stool, watching Dom, just studying him. Cheekbones, eyes, blond hair messy. *He looks haunted*, Viggo thought, abstractly trying to figure out why. Dom stared at him, barechested, running shorts and bare feet, nothing else really - *Why would he, though, it's seven in the morning and it's fucking warm out.*
"Dom?" Viggo's voice, low, quiet, broke the silent staring.
It was too much. Dom didn't know why he did it, but with a lunge, he had his arms aroudn the older man, face buried in Viggo's neck, holding on for all he was worth, holding, feeling. "Dom?" Viggo, surprised, began stroking Dom's back, lithe skin and muscle under, the boy taut and warm. "Dom?" Pulling back, grey eyes watching grey eyes, communications and questions passing between the two, and in unspoken agreement, lips met, soft touches at first, growin playful, a slight tug at Dom's lower lip, and Viggo's tongue wormed its' way into the other man's mouth. Dom, responding like lightnening, attacked Viggo, mouth searing with kisses, hands ravishing skin, sweat, hands pulling Viggo's frame closer, begging with soul and body for more, more, more.
Heat rising, and both were blind - only lust driving them now, as Viggo wrested clothing off Dom, mouth sliding lower to taste and tease a dusky nipple, biting it gently - then finding himself flipped, quite effortlessly, onto his back on the couch. The naked, panting Dom stood above him, grinning. "You didn't expect that, did you?" "I didn't - expect - any of this", Viggo returned, then shut up fast as Dom's mouth closed over him, as his hands found places they had never felt on the boy, as forms hesisted, danced, asked, and slid into a dance of primal heat, writhing, thrusting, moaning. Viggo had not expected this, had not expected Dom would need him with such pain, not expected the boy to insist on taking him - but then thoughts were lost, and sweat and fire ruled both.
The clock chimed, waking a startled Viggo, who opened his eyes - warmth, skin, and softness underneath him. Dom. Dom was asleep, naked, on him, and he was on the couch. Viggo looked at the clock. The rest might be stirring soon... "Dom?"
"Viggo. " Pause. "...Wow, thanks. I didn't - " "Neither did I, but the rest are going to wake up pretty damn soon..." "I don't want Lij to see this." "Then we should move." "Your room?" Viggo nodded. "Sean's away."
They crept, taking clothes and blankets with them, to the second floor bedroom, a large unslept-in bed staying terminal to the fact that Viggo, unlike Dom, had not slept lately. Mouths met again, and with unspoken agreement, both launched themselves bodily at the bed. Later, they slept again, releiving months of exhaustion.


"What, Lij?"

"Where're Vig an' Dom?"

"Dunno...somewhere." Billy never mentioned the fact that he had woken, earlier, and come into the kitchen only to find the two aforementioneds sleeping on the couch. He'd gone back to bed, figuring they didn't need to be disturbed, and whe he had come down this time, they had gone. Where, it didn't matter. He was hungry.


"Shut up, Lij."