Slashababy 2004 Stories

  FANFICTION: This story depicts real-life public figures engaged in completely fictional, false and untrue activities. It never happened, it never will happen. This story is a work of fantasy and satire which in no way professes to express the truth about the life, thoughts, feelings, desires, opinions, beliefs, activities or sexual orientation of any person mentioned herein.

A Series of Social Occasions

for algernonthemous
by 2am_optimism

Viggo can hear the muffled heartbeat of the music through the wooden walls. It sounds like it's flowing down into his ears through the wrong end of a drainpipe, and he can't make out any words from where he's standing outside, looking at the lights of Wellington rising in gentle swathes around him. A hand touches him lightly from behind, palm resting on the base of his spine. A friendly gesture among their clan, but Viggo oddly has to concentrate to stop himself from arching back into it like a cat. He breathes, listens to his pulse move in time to the bass floating up from below. His head is light, and he feels fizzy from alcohol and crowds.

One. Two. Three. There.

He turns his head. Casual. "Oh, it's you."

Dom snorts, "You knew who it was."

"Maybe." he moves forward, turning slightly so Dom's hand slides warmly round before dropping off his hip like a ledge.

Dom's smile is a little predatory. Or maybe it's just the light -- shadows falling heavily from the bare bulb overhead in little black pools around their bare feet.

Dom moves forward, and Viggo can smell the sickly malt-sweet aroma of cocktails chasing beer. Dom is standing at the balcony railing now, staring out into the night like it's a solid breathing entity to be wary of.

If Viggo turns his head just a little to the left, he could probably reach Dom's mouth with his. He considers this seriously for a second, the notion shocking in its novelty, then takes a long draw from his bottle to divert the impulse into something less dangerous. Dom sucks in a sandpaper breath, holds it, and then chuckles beside him as the moment passes. It's odd having him standing so still, so close -- it feels like he's deaf on the other side. Viggo holds his cloudy brown bottle up to the light, just to check how much he's actually drunk.


It was Bean who pointed out that Viggo had been singled out for special attention.

Dom had thoughtfully redecorated Viggo's trailer -- plastered the walls with images from bondage gear catalogues and stuck a mirror to the ceiling above his bed. He must have had help for this, although he hoped Dom had shut Lij's eyes for the more...exotic...articles on sale.

Viggo had just assumed that everyone else was getting the same treatment. Hard to keep up with everyone anyway, what with the shooting schedules. He felt he'd been playing catch-up since his late start at the beginning of filming, a sensation that still persisted even now, well over the halfway mark.

He retaliated by hijacking a goat from the Hobbiton ex-cast and leaving it in Dom's trailer. Apparently it got a fair way through Dom's underwear drawer (which everyone flatly denied leaving open) before he came back and found it. Dom took this with better grace than he had thought he would. At least until a couple of days later, when everyone pitched up on set wearing pins. 'Free Henry', 'Aragorn -- Ranger Yes! King No!', 'Merry for King', 'Viggo -- Animal? Vegetable? Mineral?', 'Prevent art crime -- ban Viggo.'


At the stroke of midnight Elijah finds them sitting in the dry and empty bath, both barefoot and passing a joint back and forth between them. Viggo gets giggly when he's toked, and Dom just gets mellow. It's an interesting reversal of roles, and Dom lies back and looks like he's soaking in Viggo's stream of consciousness. His trousers are rolled up Huck Finn-style above the knees, and his toenails are painted a shocking electric blue.

"What the fuck are you guys doing?"

The two of them look at him, then look at each other and go off into peals of laughter. Elijah is a little put out at first, then laughs himself. He shuts the door gently behind him as he leaves in search of Orlando and alcohol and linear conversation.

However, the next morning when Elijah wakes up, it's his couch Dom's sleeping on, fully dressed and still barefoot. The soles of his feet are dark and stained, like he walked home without shoes, or at least down the road looking for a cab.

He makes breakfast for the both of them and bites his tongue about last night when he sees Dom's expression -- distracted and twitchy -- like he's poking at a broken tooth inside his brain. A couple of times Dom starts to say something and then stops, which is not like him at all. Elijah figures if it's something he needs to know, he will, and makes a mental note to give Billy a quick call once Dom leaves. He wonders what Viggo's doing this morning.


When Dom puts on the wig and feet, he's the member of the cast who has the least trouble crying. He just sinks into the role, but doesn't let it consume him. Viggo likes that about him -- that he's so continuously surfaced. He's totally within himself, not standing back a few paces and critiquing like most people -- he's just there, in the moment. It's how Dom prefers to approach most things in life, from what Viggo's observed. It works for him. He's so there, so within himself that he's like a gravity well, drawing those around him into his field. Billy's there too, as are Elijah and Orlando. Viggo's not so sure though. He thinks he likes the idea of charting his own course.


It's movie night at Orlando's, and the couch is stuffed to bursting with hobbits. As host, Orlando has rudely snaffled the comfy chair and is valiantly defending it from raids and incursions. Viggo has curled up on the floor in a muddle of cushions and Orli's duvet, stolen while he was distracted earlier by complex and random drinks orders. Dom and Billy keep claiming that Orli's getting the requests wrong, ('for an elf you're a really shite barman') and thus have managed to accumulate a rainbow of cocktail glasses on the wooden side-tables by the couch.

Dom is sitting on the end of the couch nearest Viggo, but is preoccupied with his and Billy's combined guerrilla assaults on Elijah's ribs. They make a good tag-team, and Elijah is reduced to fits of giggles that everyone periodically tries to hush. Dom and Billy tend to shush him the loudest when they're actually tickling him.

Dom hasn't said a word to Viggo about anything since they arrived, which Viggo finds interesting.

He grabs Dom's ankle, sprawled near Viggo's hip, turns it over, "Is that a new drawing?" It's a rough squiggle, which could be a dagger, or a sword, or an elongated leaf, "looks elvish."

Dom snatches his foot away like Viggo's hands are a furnace. He mumbles, "S'nothing. Just a doodle." He doesn't pull his eyes away from the screen.

Sensing a break in concentration, Elijah takes the opportunity to escape the couch. He springs off with a gleeful "Ha!" and hotfoots it to Orli's chair while Billy, who is Not Watching either Dom or Viggo, makes a half-hearted attempt to grab him. Elijah plops himself down on the squishy arm and then wriggles his way down into the narrow wedge of chair next to Orli.

"Oy! Get your own!" Orlando's almost giggling too, face flushed from sampling the drinks in the kitchen already.

"Can't. Won't. I'm being victimised by my nearest and dearest. You're my only hope." He bats his eyes and looks as pathetic as he can. Orli restrains himself to just one dig in the ribs and then subsides, looking content and just a little smug


Problem is, Dom's not serious. Viggo can see, knows this fact -- for him it's the challenge of breaking boundaries, pushing at limits, being his age. He can't be one for the slow meshing and blending and testing that Viggo prefers.

Well... maybe it's not that he prefers it so much as that he's used to it. Something to consider, at any rate.


The last notes of the credits died away a while ago, and the only light in the room is coming from the snow on the screen. Dom tried to half-heartedly toe the TV off earlier but missed and no one can be bothered to search for the remote among the cushions.

Languid discussion soon turns into an argument on whether Rick was right to stay behind. Billy and Viggo are for, Dom and Orlando against, while Elijah forms his own radical splinter group by declaring that Viktor and Rick should have headed off into the sunset together and left Ingrid Bergman behind to face the music.

He's shouted down loudly by Dom and Billy, who do that thing they do where they close ranks and unite against a common foe.

"Bogey and Bacall, man, now they were the classic pair. Viktor's got the sense of humour of a plank -- - duty and nobility coming out of his arse if you ask me." Dom slurs his S's just a little, tongue thickened from the succession of Red Corvettes that he'd made Orli do the straws properly for ('has to be on the side of the glass, man -- that's the stripe. S'not a corvette without the stripe').

"Don' unnerstan' what she saw in him though." Orlando counters, "S'always puzzled me... I mean, she was nineteen and fucking gorgeous, man. Must have been like snogging her dad." He's now got his arm draped around Elijah's shoulders in the half-dark of the room. Viggo notices his hand is absently playing with the frayed sleeve-edge of Elijah's t-shirt. From the look on Elijah's face, he'd be purring if he could.

"That's crap, man -- - the age thing means fuck-all. You find a connection, you do your damnedest to keep it." Dom's tone is heated, and he's half-sitting up on the couch. His brows are drawn down and he's looking with dark eyes at Orlando, who's drawn back a little in surprise at the sudden vehemence.

Orlando's hand curls unconsciously (and a little protectively) around Elijah's shoulder. Next to him, Dom's toes are curled too, digging into the carpet like he's getting traction for a sudden surge forward.

"Didn't he end up an alcoholic? I thought they broke up eventually." Viggo doesn't know where that came from, or even if it's true.

Dom throws his hands up in the air, "Well, fuck you very much." He glares angrily down at Viggo, and then pushes himself up sharply from the couch. "I need some air. 'Night guys." He stumbles over the mess on the floor, kicking the coffee table hard enough to make the glasses ring. The slam of the door punctuates the conversation in a very final way and startles Elijah from his doze.

Viggo doesn't look around, but he can feel Billy's eyes boring into the back of his neck. It feels like he's being pricked with a toasting fork. He's not going to be the next person up though. That would be too obvious. And Dom's a big boy, he can look after himself. Must learn to, if he hasn't already. Viggo's not responsible for him. Hell, Viggo finds it hard enough to be responsible for Viggo. Dammit.

"What happened? What'd I miss?" Elijah yawns and scrubs at his eyes with the heel of a hand.

"Nothing, Lij. Dom's just tired, so he's gone home." Billy stretches, arching his arms overhead and scrunching up his face. "Actually, I'm knackered too, so I think I'll be following him. Thanks for the evening, Orli -- - see you lads tomorrow."

Viggo follows Billy out the door, after a brief hunt for his shoes, with a thanks and farewell.

In the street Billy's dawdling, obviously waiting for him to catch up. He looks up at Viggo, face carefully neutral, but doesn't say anything. This is something he and Billy are usually both good at, this being quiet. They walk in companionable silence all the way to Dom and Billy's place, but Viggo has to keep quashing the urge to explain things. Even though he's sure that what Dom thinks he's experiencing has got to be much more about Dom than about Viggo.

The lights are off. They both stop at the front gate, and Billy looks questioningly at Viggo. Viggo pauses, considers. Doesn't feel right to him though, not tonight, if ever. He needs to be on an even keel to think these things through and Dom just unbalances him.


Billy cocks his head and purses his lips. Throws him a casual salute before turning and trudging up the stairs to the front door.

When he gets home Viggo stares at his latest canvas for a long time, but can't bring himself to pick up a brush.


He thinks maybe he's been underestimating Dom. Then he worries that what he, Viggo, is experiencing now is more about Viggo than about Dom.


It's South Island, it's the middle of winter, and someone's throwing a pool party. Everyone who's currently not in Wellington is there, and it's an odd-looking gathering indeed, with everyone dressed up in skiing outfits and winter woollies with bikinis and sarongs over the top. Most of the bikini-clad aren't even female. There's a huge bonfire next to the pool, and a couple of brave souls in wetsuits are paddling around among the floating candles.

Viggo gratefully accepts a mug of hot chocolate complete with little umbrella and the obligatory cherry-on-a-stick poking out. He's keeping an eye on the sweet-and-sour kebabs caramelising lazily on the grill, coals warming his face in hot burnt-sugar gusts.

A figure bumps into him from behind, and it's Dom, apologising politely before pushing past, lips blue and the water drops on the neoprene flicking out odd copper gleams from the fire. Viggo watches him as he enters the house, stopping to high-five and backslap and arm-clasp a clump of crew just released from P.J.'s loving tyranny.


Dom's been quieter, calmer lately, but most of the cast have put it down to not having Billy around, missing the energy of their double-act that usually coils his springs. Viggo doesn't know what to think about it. He's honest enough with himself to admit that he's missed the pranks and Dom's constant presence that just seemed to be a given. He's found himself watching Dom now, circling around unobtrusively (he hopes) to find out what makes this boy so special.

He's seen how Dom externalises, reflects. For a long time he'd thought it was just Dom upping the energy that was already there between them all; broadcasting the cast vibe at a higher frequency level. It's only now that he really looks, he sees that he got it wrong. Dom's not a black hole, or a gravity-well or anything absorptive like that. He's a sun, a constellation. And those who orbit round him do so for the light and the gladness and the gratitude and the sheer fucking character that radiates from inside him. It's not like he's an angel or anything, Viggo's not blind, but it's taken him this long to really see how Dom's somehow kept his heart closer to his skin than most people ever manage.


Which is why, when he sees Dom disappear into the lit doorway, he follows him, weaves through the crowds, avoiding potted palm trees, sandaled feet and sticky patches of coconut-flavoured carpet. He rounds the corner into the hall just in time to see Dom disappear into a room, presumably to change. Viggo says a small prayer under his breath to the local kami for good luck and pushes the door cautiously open.

Dom turns his head round briefly to see, then goes back to tugging the sleeve of his wetsuit off. "Oh, it's you."

Viggo scratches the back of his neck. "Yeah, it does seem to be." He speaks quietly to the damp hair plastered in a sleek curve over Dom's skull.

Dom's worried both sleeves off now, and he's pulled down the top half of his suit to his waist. He picks up a towel off the bed and starts rubbing at his head. Viggo can see goosebumps prickling across the pale skin of his back. Muscles bunch and stress with Dom's movements, and Viggo permits himself a small moment of aesthetic appreciation.

"I wanted to apologise."

Dom towels a little more vigorously, and doesn't answer for a moment.

"Nothing to apologise for, really. Don't worry about it." Dom's voice is as taut as his spine.

He pulls off the last bit of the suit, peeling it over a foot that's now scrubbed chlorine-clean. He unselfconsciously takes his time drying himself off and wraps the towel around his waist. He still hasn't turned round to look at Viggo.

"No. There is. I... want things to be... better between us again."

Dom's rooting around in a bag on the floor for some clean clothes. "Listen, if this is about Orli's, then I'm sorry I lost my temper. Things are just peachy between us, really, and I don't feel the need to discuss anything deep and meaningful right now, or, in fact, at all." He frowns as he says this to a pair of boxers that he fishes out.

Viggo wants to say 'I miss you' but that would sound irredeemably cliched and sentimental.


Dom pulls on jeans and a top deliberately, adjusting his watch and smoothing down his shirt. He checks his hair in the mirror and ruffles it.

"I miss you."

Dom finally turns round at this. "Come on man, you've got to be able to do better than that. Shit -- - you've been jerking my chain (the Americanism sounds odd with that delicious Northern twist of his) for how long now? Since even before your party. I'm sorry I misconstrued whatever I thought there was between us. But forgive me if I'm having a little trouble resuming normal programming here." His voice is low and harsh, and Viggo winces a little.

Viggo searches for the words to salvage this. "Yeah. I really fucked up, didn't I?" his tone is rueful, but he's aiming for calming, reaching inside for some of what he uses to soothe a fractious horse, or Henry when he's in a temper.

"I..." was blind, didn't realise, didn't understand, "...couldn't see beyond myself to who you were. Fuck, that sounds pretentious." Viggo sees that somehow he's still got Dom's attention, forges ahead, "To tell you the truth, I took you for granted. And for that I'm truly sorry."

Dom's got his jaw clenched, mouth twisted in a belligerent curl. "Great, yeah, okay. Thanks. For what it's worth, I'm almost as angry at myself for being so stupid as I am at you, so if you could just leave me alone for a bit, then I think life can go back to something approaching normal eventually."

He makes as if to step forward. Viggo mirrors him, gets between him and the door. "Listen, I know it's probably too late for this, but I have to try. You...we...." I thought you were a black hole is probably not going to go down well here. He grinds his fingernails into his palms in his frustration at being so inarticulate.

Dom sidesteps him. Reaches for the door handle.

"I need you."

"Wha...?" Dom's not expecting that, obviously. He's brought up short.

"I do, it's just taken me this long to realise it because I am old and stupid and blind. I need you and I want you and yeah this sounds so fucking stupid that I'm embarrassed on my own behalf. But now you know."

Dom's suspicious. He turns round and steps away from the door, right up to Viggo's face. "Did Billy put you up to this? Because I'll murder the bastard, I really will..."

Viggo shakes his head. Dom just looks at him like he's calculating how much he'd get for Viggo-by-the-pound on eBay.

"So. What am I supposed to do with this?" Dom's challenging, sure, but he's not leaving. Yet, Viggo amends silently to himself. His chest feels tight, and he's shaking slightly like the room's twenty degrees colder than he knows it is. He folds his arms across his chest to stop his hands giving him away.

"Whatever you want. I don't think I have rights at the moment to expect things of you. I just wanted to let you know, and..." he unfolds his hands to give a helpless shrug.


They've managed to crawl out the tub, driven by the siren-song of the refrigerator downstairs. To both their surprise, they're the last ones left. The music is still going in an empty room, the thud of the bass making the empty crockery on the table sing in time. Viggo dives into the fridge to dig out leftovers -- anything that's not actually petroleum-based is fine by him, although in the state he's in even the fridge magnets are starting to look tasty.

When he turns back round, his hands full of oil-stained Chinese takeaway boxes, Dom's standing right there, looking a little wall-eyed, and swaying slightly.

"Hey man, you okay?" Viggo reaches for Dom without letting go of the food, and Dom steps forward, into the circle of his arms and sorta tilts his head up and Viggo gets a faceful of him, warm and smoky lips pressing on his. He's taken aback -- not that he doesn't like it, but something isn't ready yet, hasn't settled right inside him.

Viggo turns away, falls back out of reach. He's not neat or classy or elegant about it, and Viggo regrets being clumsy and smoke-stupid as soon he's done it.

Dom reels back, holds up his hands.

"Sorry, man, I thought -- Shit." He turns and flees, still barefoot, and Viggo can only stare stupidly at the door swinging shut behind him.


There's a long pause. Then-

"Shit. Your timing really sucks, man." Dom seems a little calmer -- calmer with maybe a hint of calculation in his stare.

Viggo nods humbly.

"Because you know Orli's naked and waiting for me in the hot tub right about now..."

Now it's Viggo's turn to be taken aback. Dom just looks at him, and he's forced to hold his gaze.

"Naah, just shitting you, man. But don't think you're going to get off this lightly. Just because you've finally discovered what an irresistible bloke I really am, don't think you can just sweet-talk me into forgiving you just like that." He snaps his fingers under Viggo's nose.

Viggo's grinning at him in relief. He nods humbly. "And my penance would involve....?"

"Dinner -- on you. And when I say 'on you', I mean you're paying."

"Any preference?"

"Anything but Chinese, man."

Dom heads out the door and gets quickly absorbed into the melee of light and sound. Viggo stays behind; balances himself against the doorframe while he adjusts his centre of gravity.

A breathing space later, he stares down at Dom's kitbag with a thoughtful expression on his face. More specifically, at Dom's cellphone, which he can see peeping coyly out of a half-zipped side pocket. And really, by his own admission, Dom had admitted he was all for making connections, as it were.

Several somewhat abusive text messages to various hobbits and one new ring-tone later, Viggo saunters out to join the party. Dom said something about a hot-tub?



Slashababy 2004 Stories