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.

Thro' A Mirror Clear

for frisbyg
by trianne

Disclaimer: Fiction. No profit is made from this story, nor offence intended.
Pairing: Viggo/Dom
Rating: PG15
Slashababy Challenge - a fic for frisbyg, who wanted "no fluff". I think it's relatively fluff-free. Thanks to blondism for helping me thrash out this story.
AN: The title is from The Lady of Shalott by Alfred Lord Tennyson.
Feedback: Always appreciated.


Viggo let out a deep sigh and slumped back in the driver's seat, one hand on the wheel and the other in his hair. He looked up through the sunroof at the sky and wondered if the dark clouds were genuine portents of rain or an idle threat.

He thought about switching on the engine, making a move, going home. Home? Yeah, that place where all his stuff was. That home. TV and video player and DVD and books, beginnings of expression standing against rented walls; the accumulation of a lifetime and it came down to that? A list of material possessions stored in a rental, and a few daubs? Ah, but there were also the photographs of parents and cousins and, of course, his son. Oh, and someone else he just happened to love.

Fat drops of rain began to spatter on the partially opened sunroof, dripping down on to a Viggo already soaked through with negativity. He smiled at himself in the rear view mirror and then he reached up and closed the sliding panel. Suddenly energised, he turned the key in the ignition and then fumbled around in the CD case for something appropriate; finding nothing that exactly fit the bill, he slid home the tape that meant the most to him, something he had carried around with him for years now.

As the music began to play, Viggo fastened his seatbelt and made a positive gesture, shaking off the bad vibes which had clung to him like a wet cloak.

"You, my friend," he said, staring at himself once more in the mirror before moving off, "need to get a grip."

The Viggo in the mirror seemed to agree.


"You're sure there's no post? Nothing at all?" The girl behind the post office counter shook her head. Dom walked back outside. No letter from home, no parcel. He knew he was being greedy; his mother had sent him a whole load of stuff only a week or so ago. Still...It would have taken his mind off things. He dug his hands in his pockets and thought about calling Liv. It would be so easy to call Liv.

But he didn't.

He did, however, pull out his mobile phone and, after a moment's hesitation, he made the call. The sun had gone behind a bank of grey cloud, leaving Dom in shadow, as the cell phone tringed endlessly. Just when he thought he would get the familiar answer phone voice, the call was accepted.

"Hiya," he said.

"That you, Dom?" the voice at the other end asked, and there was the undeniable sound of sleep, of slumber disturbed. Dom felt no guilt. It was the middle of a Saturday afternoon, for Christ sake, not the middle of the night. Elijah had no business being in bed...

"Yeah, man. Can I come over? I really need to talk to you," Dom said, diving for cover as the rain began to fall - he would never get over how fast the weather could change in Wellington, how the place was a microcosm of the whole world's climate. He sheltered back inside the post office doorway and thought. Of a day when the sun had real power, not just an insipid presence; of a walk in an ancient wood...

At the other end of the line, sleepy and disturbed Elijah coughed and snorted. Now Dom did feel a pang of pity for the guy, who got less time off than anyone. But it was a small one.

"Yeah, sure. Come over," Elijah said, though his usual cheery disposition was absent. Dom wondered which of Elijah's conquests would be booted out of bed before he arrived, but he found he no longer cared and was certainly no longer even remotely jealous. That had passed. No, it was Elijah's advice and friendship he wanted now, nothing else. And seeing as Billy had buggered off with Orlando on some sightseeing trip to the back of beyond, Elijah it must be.


Liv Tyler was having a lovely day. Her best friend and assistant, Maggie, had just dropped by with bags of American magazines ordered specially and the forbidden, very naughty chocolates Liv loved so much; they were lying like little girls on the sheepskin, munching and squeeing over the latest celebrity gossip. Maggie was a godsend, really - she kept Liv grounded and she kept her from feeling the reality of the situation, which was that she was thousands of miles from home and generally a little lost.

The phone ringing was a distraction, but Liv got to her feet and, still laughing at some joke of Maggie's, she reached to answer it.

"Liv? It's Viggo."

Oh fuck. What to do? Liv looked over at her friend, who was still giggling over an article about Bruce Willis. Liv took a deep breath, then replied, "Hi Viggo! How are you?" She endeavoured to smile positively at the handset, while down on the floor, Maggie had stopped her squeeing and was looking with concern at her best friend and employer. Liv mouthed an "it's okay" for her benefit, then she turned away so she could concentrate on Viggo. What to say? What to do?

"Is he there, Liv?" Viggo's voice was so sad, Liv thought. She looked out at the garden, at the rain pitter pattering into the birdbath and sloshing over onto the newly turned soil. So much rain, she thought, simply.

"No, Viggo. He's not here; that's the truth," she said, softly. There was silence at the other end of the phone, then a forced laugh.

"Okay, Liv. If he does turn up, please ask him to call me. I need to speak with him," Viggo almost whispered.

Liv grimaced. She hated this, this being caught in the middle of something. Dom was her friend, a dear friend who had embedded himself deep in her heart; but Viggo was a friend, too, and a good guy.

Maggie pushed aside the magazines and came to stand at Liv's side, her hand on her friend's shoulder.

"I'll tell him, Viggo. Are you okay?" Liv asked, smiling in gratitude at her friend and rolling her eyes a little.

"Yeah, yeah, I'm fine, Liv. I just really do need to speak to Dom." And then the phone was dead in Liv's hand and Maggie had taken it and replaced it in its cradle.

"Don't let this eat you up, Liv," Maggie said, firmly. "You can't always make everything alright. Much as you want to."


Elijah opened his door to an Dom soaked to the skin, jacketless and shivering. "You crazy?" he cried, pulling his friend inside. "You're wet-through, you moron!"

Dom didn't argue, didn't say anything much.

"You look awful, man. Go put the fire on and I'll make some tea," Elijah herded his friend into the little living area and suppressed a yawn. His eyes came to rest on a pair of boxers tucked down the side of the sofa and when Dom turned to sit and remove his wet boots, he whipped the offending underwear out and behind his back. Discretion was Elijah's middle name, regardless that fans might think it was Jordan.

"Tea would be great, thanks," Dom smiled, placing his boots in front of the gas fire to dry off.

They drank their tea and listened to the rain on the windows. After a while, Elijah put on some music, loud because the neighbours were off somewhere, and they gradually relaxed into companionable silence. Then:

"Seen Viggo lately?" Elijah said, breaking it. Dom shook his head.



"Mmm," Dom said, stretching out his legs and warming his toes in front of the gas fire.

"What the shit is going on with you guys? One minute, you're cosy as hell, next you're a Siberian fucking winter."

"Everything was going great, then it all turned to crap." Dom gestured helplessly.

"Yeah, but why?" Elijah could be a persistent little fucker when he chose, Dom decided.

"Viggo is a force of nature. He's got this whole other-worldliness going on, you know? He connects to stuff on a whole other level," Dom was on his knees now, his face animated and bright. Elijah tried to follow, but it wasn't easy.

"Yeah, go on," he nodded, encouragingly.

"It's not just art and photography, either. It's spiritual and deep and about respect for the world. He's pretty fucking amazing."

"So, why aren't you with him right now? Why are you here with me? Why have you been hiding round at Liv's? Why?" Elijah plonked a can of beer in front of his mate and sat back.

"He doesn't want me." There, said.

"He doesn't want you. And he shows this by ringing all the places you might be; he shows this by hanging around the trailer waiting for you to emerge; he underlines his indifference by taking your picture at every opportunity. You're right, he doesn't want you." Elijah snorted and scratched his balls.

"He's rung here?" Dom asked, surprised. He'd known about Liv, of course.

"Well, yeah! 'Is he there, Elijah?'", Elijah essayed a pretty good Viggo impersonation, though Dom did it way better. Dom smiled and shook his head.

"So, he feels guilty. Means nothing."

"What's he got to feel guilty about, mate? Tell me," Elijah said, moving a little closer.

"Nothing. Forget it," Dom replied. Elijah came round, knelt in front of his friend and waited, eyebrows raised in what passed for interrogation in his family.

Might as well get it over with, save the mauling from the rabid lamb...

"We had a session - a photo session - at his place. He knows some amazing shit, man, incredible things he can do with light and-"

"Yeah. What happened?" Elijah settled on his haunches.

"One minute we were checking out filters and the next we were checking out carpet fibres. You know we did it, it's no big secret."

"I know you did it. Everyone knows you two did it, chrissakes. What I and everybody else can't figure out is what happened next! Three weeks of Viggo and Dom and Dom and Viggo, then kaput."

Elijah reached for his cigs and Dom accepted one. He didn't much like Elijah's brand but he didn't buy his own because he didn't consider himself as really a smoker. He inhaled, resisting the urge to cough because that would delight the little fucker by his side.

"He used to take my picture. I can't tell you what it felt like - I can't. I want to but it'd come out all wrong. He made me feel like I was the centre of everything and he couldn't wait to get his camera set up and capture it, this, this - I told you, can't begin to describe it."

Elijah tapped ash into a tray and waited. He'd had his picture taken by Viggo countless times; he'd felt special, beautiful and somehow clean, as if the lens was removing the filters he'd built up around himself. Shit. Viggo had that effect on a person, making them go all arty and deep. But he was used to having his picture taken, had been photographed by pros since he was seven or eight. He waited.

"Then, we had an incredible day. Just an amazing day. Tired each other out... He was sleeping finally. He finds it hard to get to sleep, unlike you," he smiled at Elijah, who could fall asleep on a washing line strung across the Grand Canyon. Elijah shrugged, agreeably. "Anyway, he'd fallen asleep and I woke up. We were at his place, cos it was more convenient... I needed a piss..."

He hesitated, checking out Elijah's reaction. He didn't think Elijah had ever had a real thing with Viggo, but he couldn't be sure; there was mutual attraction there, it was obvious, but he believed Viggo when he said nothing had actually happened. Elijah had the correct look of friendly concern on his face, wasn't mocking him, so he continued.

"I was heading back to the bathroom and I saw one of his portfolios, just tucked behind the sofa. It was the old, battered one, Lij, the one he seemed to treasure. Whenever he showed me the pics he'd taken of me, they were in a new case, one he'd bought here... I was curious to see what he kept in this old one, this special one. So..."

"So you looked. Well, yeah. I would've, too," Elijah said, lighting another cigarette. He offered the pack to Dom, who shook his head; he was already feeling a bit off-colour.

"Yeah, I looked. It's a beautiful old thing, bit like its owner," Dom smiled weakly at his own wit. "I opened it up, laid it out on the sofa... such images, Lij, such incredible images. Bits of collage, rubbings from gravestones, scraps of everything you could think of... And photos, of course. Of Henry, lots of him; and many photos of places he'd been and seen, that meant something to him. I handled each one with care, turning it over and trying to make it all out in the moonlight, afraid to switch on the light and disturb him down the hall."

Elijah shifted, settling with his back against the sofa, drawing on his cigarette and listening.

"I didn't expect to see any of me; this was where he kept his most private stuff. I started to feel guilty. I began to put it all back... And then I saw..."

"Photos of Orlando?" Elijah asked, softly. Dom, who had been visualising the scene, turned to him, surprised.

"How did you know?" he asked, suddenly wary.

"It was pretty obvious, Dom. Sorry, carry on," Elijah laid a reassuring hand on his friend's arm.

"Not to me. Not at the time. But yeah, photos of Orlando; the only subject not a family member. And they were so beautiful, Elijah, I mean achingly beautiful."

"Well, when you've got a talented guy behind the camera and a more-than-averagely good-looking guy in front of it..." Elijah shrugged. Dom looked at him and nodded; he appreciated Elijah's honesty, hurtful as it was.

"I found the pics of me, the ones in the new folder, and compared 'em. The style was different; the ones of Orlando weren't new, that was obvious, 'cos I knew all the locations and when we'd been there. They were... different."

"Were they better?" Elijah asked, with genuine curiosity. Dom thought, "he's wondering where his photographs are..."

"Not better, just different. But they were in there with Henry's, Lij. You could tell by looking, that the photographer was in love with the subject."

Elijah grunted. "You could tell that by looking? At a set of photos - black and white, I bet, yes? - thought so. Just by looking, you could tell he was in love with the Elf?"

Dom stood up. "Yeah! Orlando's images were all lyrical and shadowy and soft... mine were all gritty and in your face."

Elijah stood up, too. He ground out his second cigarette and kicked the packet away to avoid temptation. Dom noticed for the first time the love bite on Elijah's neck, just low enough for it not to cause any problems on-set.

"So what did you do?" the nibbled one asked. Dom sighed.

"I put everything back and got back in bed. And in the morning I went home."

Elijah blinked, then laughed. "That's it? End of story?"

Dom pulled on his boots, slightly drier than they were a half- hour ago.

"Well, we had a big row first, then I left. I told him he was scraping the barrel, taking photographs of me, wasting his precious film." Dom searched in his pocket for his keys, a bit of displacement activity that didn't fool his friend. Elijah put his arms around him and held him, not too tightly, just close enough.

"And now you're avoiding him? Just because he had the audacity to take photos of Orlando before he took photos of you? And they were soft-focus?" Elijah's words were blunted by the gentleness of his voice. Dom allowed himself to be held.

"You're forgetting they were in the special folder, Lij," he said, quietly. Even as the words left his mouth, enunciating them made them seem what they truly were - crap.

"Yeah, I forgot. The special folder. Fuck, I cannot believe you've been killing yourself over this!" Elijah held on, even when Dom tried to pull out of his embrace. "No, stay. You had what I take it was mind-blowing sex? With Viggo?"

Dom inhaled; he liked Elijah's smell, even it was obviously mingling with someone else's. "Best. Ever." He nodded.

"And he was teaching you so much stuff about art and life and shit?" Elijah continued. Dom nodded again.

"So, great sex; companionship; free tuition... But you don't want any of that anymore 'cos he might have fucked Orlando before he definitely fucked you? And I thought I was the insecure one!"

Now it was Elijah releasing, moving away; he got down on his knees to fish out his cigarettes from under the sofa. Dom appreciated the view whilst replaying the counsel in his head. When Elijah emerged triumphant, pack in hand, Dom had gone.


He had a key, of course.

It was mostly collage now and not much glass. He stuck on the flap from one of Elijah's clove packets and moved it around a little; it was entirely coincidental it came to rest right next to a snapshot of Dave Wenham. Well, almost.

He stood back. His fingers were tacky from the glue.

It was a work of art, this make-up mirror. He looked again, saw his own reflection amidst the disjointed lips and eyes and scraps of tinsel... Looked again. He smiled into the mirror.

"Hello, stranger," he said to the glass.

"Viggo," the mirror replied. He turned. Dom leaned against the counter, casual, yet coiled; Viggo resisted the urge to move towards him. He pulled out a wad of tissue from a dispenser and began to clean his hands.

"I missed you around," he said, finally.

"Ah well, I missed you, too," Dom said, pushing away from the counter and falling into one of the makeup chairs.

"You were avoiding me; there's a difference," Viggo said, balling up the tissue and dropping it into the bin.

"I'm sorry. I've had a chance to think and I realise I overreacted," Dom said. He tapped his foot nervously on the trailer floor. Viggo had missed that pent-up energy more than he would have believed. They all had it to a certain degree, these young guys, of course.

"You did a little," Viggo said, smiling. He didn't want to antagonise the guy, but he didn't believe in sweeping things under the carpet, either. "You said something I didn't understand at the time and I still don't: you said I was in love with beauty. What did you mean, Dom?"

He watched his friend pull at a loose thread in the arm of the chair, crossing and re-crossing this legs... "I meant that you must be in love with perfection; you took so many photos of Orlando... it's obvious when you look a them that you love him. He's special to you, like Henry. And I don't blame you, and I don't - no, let me finish - I don't want to make a big thing of this. Just, you know, if I'm never going to be in that league, I'd rather you told me, is all."

Viggo frowned. He took the chair next to Dom's and straddled it, for something to do while he thought things through. He looked up.

"You saw those pictures... You said you'd seen special pictures..."

"Yes. I'm sorry. I was being nosey and I looked through your old portfolio. I shouldn't have, I know that... I saw." Dom looked miserable; Viggo wished he had his camera to hand.

"You saw, but did you see?" He leaned forward in his chair.

Dom laughed, bitterly. "I saw enough!"

"You saw something, that's for sure. You saw Orlando?"

"Well, yes. Would've been hard to miss him."

"In the forefront, yeah. Did you bother to look beyond that?"

Viggo laid out his defence and waited for the verdict.

"I don't follow," Dom began. Viggo saw that he was visualising the pictures, seeing them in all their black and white, arty glory, close-up of Orlando taken at various locations. Orlando looking so eerily beautiful, hobbits in the background, an occasional wizard... Hobbits. A hobbit.

And that was why Viggo wanted his camera. To capture the moment misery turned to surprise and then to something else entirely.

"I didn't want to just straight out take your picture, just out of the blue. Not to begin with. I liked the idea of capturing you unawares. But you're there, in nearly every one."

"How can I be? I don't remember seeing myself... well, maybe in a couple, with Billy and Elijah. But in nearly every one? That can't be right, Viggo," Dom sounded desperately like a man wanting to believe.

Viggo knew then why he loved him.

"You don't have a clue, do you?" He closed the gap between them, cupping Dom's face in his hand. Dom shook his head. "You're beautiful."

"Right, yeah," Dom replied, but he didn't move away, or resist when Viggo's arms came around him, pulling him close.

"See this?" Viggo held him while he pointed to his handiwork on the trailer wall. "See, there." This was Dom in snow, his hair cropped very short. "And this." Dom obviously talking to someone, perhaps Billy, his eyes shining bright. "And there." Dom, head down, reading, one hand behind his head...

"I have an interesting face," Dom began. Viggo gave an exasperated sigh. "Be told. You're what I want. In my viewfinder. In my portfolio. In my bed."

Viggo felt the resistance leave Dom's body, felt him move closer. He kissed him then, for what else was there to do? After a few moments, he pulled away and sighed. "I missed you."

He wanted to make love to Dom there, in the trailer, in front of the mirror; he wanted to watch them in the glass... But somehow he knew that would be wrong.

"Let's go home," Dom said, and Viggo considered those three words the best he'd heard in months.

As they turned out the trailer lights, Viggo caught his reflection in the mirror.

He might have imagined it winked at him.

The End


Slashababy 2004 Stories