DISCLAIMER: This is fiction.
SUMMARY: A portrait of the artist.
NOTES: Wait for it...
None of the words are mine; all of them belong to someone else.
Now there is this to tell.
Can I never be alone in the endless babble inside my own head?
Who am I? Who aren't you? He whispered to me in sleep and dreams and waking; there is no difference now, there is no end.
I can't stop mysef from thinking
Even if I wanted to.
They offer no inspiration.
He stares back at me from the empty page and
I have nothing to say.
You see, when one looks closely...
(You idiot man can't you see the joy the wonder the beauty theyweyou could be together and the possibility ah endless just come linger stay whiper let me be bound together our limbs perfect lines of lust and delight fingers travel they fly tempt him I watch tell me won't you?
...when one looks closely, you see.
Haven't you been here before? Haven't I seen these eyes a hundred times in dreams?
You have to take the long way round every time.
all meaningless idiocy; I can see why... I can tell you secrets you've never guessed. Isn't it right? Should it be, watching him so lithe so perfect we know the truth. Your body would move in time with mine.
If you never were to take me.
Make me. Let him tease you with an elegant twist of the brush, a touch. The hunter and hunted; she will not let me snap the trap on you, though he trembles with it. No
for a hidden audence, sleek and demanding. A thirst never slaked. The burning of his skin on his. Mine and yours, our fingers tangle together;
innocent... not always.
You will lead me to him if I spill forth under your fingers. Breadcrumbs on the path; white pebbles in the moonlight. Yes. A hiss, an exultation. He's moaning in the dark a name, your name.
Then he knows:
Indifference may yet be overturned.
Follow - trapped me deep inside your web of hints and lies and don't you
need to know
will he? am I? watch you
take the big step. Invitation. Acceptance.
Sigh of relief.
He tastes the risk with your sweat. Golden lamplight screenglare bite my lip and close your eyes, hands on skin fingers sure bring it forth. I know this
may be reckless and unwise.
I know it like the words behind her tongue you pour out upon his skin.
You turn under my hands like art. Like the epitome of fiction climb inside another's skin and be, and be, and be... flushed with excess success he and him, me and you and you. Can't they feel it?
I'm only surrendering all.
I am (God) a slave. You tear through my brain, his body, they slide together in sweat-slicked ecstasy.
My skin knows
this moment, will remember it always, your cock and his body, their watchin geyes on my bestowed intent, we shiver
and you know what comes next.
I wake you with a kiss him and let dawn (noun) dawn (verb). From one artist to another he appreciates the divide; sky and earth, night and day, the crowded bed and the emptiness inside where the possibilities play endless loops around skulls.
Could be. I slide my hands along his limbs the limned the sunlight gleams along your body that we worship with his tongue. Still now, hushed, they have lost excitement.
What have I gained?
So helpless in the morning.
When you shatter apart under (the possibilities) his tongue and I watch him slide back into your skin.
They've held me now.
We know what happens, in his mind and infinitely, on into the vague distance where hehimIweyouthey mingle and meld, fingernails bunched into muscle and the sinuous intwine, the trembling arch, the undefined never after the end.
They've left you for dead
there in the white-space wasteland.
(Will you tell me how it...?
Will he tell you?)
Are we finishing?
Are we finished?
(...and knows when it is done.)
Everything will answer
with the passing of time
and nothing will be revealed for certain, for keeps, an endless round of question and question.
You know what you know;
layer of loose associations.
this incessant tampering.
So you start all over again.
PAIRING: Viggo/Orlando, Viggo/author, Viggo/fandom, author/fandom, author/story. All of the above.
SUMMARY: A portrait of the artist.
NOTES: I resist explaining too much. Feel free to discuss. Feel free to dismiss. This work was heavily inspired by and samples heavily from Viggo Mortensen's Signlanguage, strained through my own perceptions.
DISCLAIMER: Everything described above happened. Just like that.
Disclaim by dee
All stories are works of fan-fiction by Dee. "Fan-fiction" means that she does not own any of the core creative concepts and characters, but she does heap adulation, appreciation and awe upon those people who do hold the intellectual property rights to those concepts and characters. Further, any instances of real people are fictional, and the author does not wish to suggest any truth should be attached to the actions, emotions and words attributed to them in these fictional stories.