Valentine's Miscellanea, and some NC-17 EW/DM
Happy Valentine's Day, y'all. What follows isn't exactly a box of chocolates, but it's a collection of something, all right.
First, I want to say how much I've enjoying strangerian's essays on LOTR, both the novels and the movies. Excellent, insightful, intelligent, thoughtful. I've been sadly negligent in commenting in her lj, but she always says something I find fascinating.
Also, lalejandra has written a wonderful essay about a bunch of stuff, but what has really stayed with me are her comments about characterization in RPS. This in particular resonates: Our entire lives are based on speculation; not too much is known for certain when we deal with other people. So we all write these stories about real people in our heads, and sometimes we write them down on paper.
Um, yeah.
~ ~ ~
More thoughts about ROTK
I've been seeing ROTK once a week, every Sunday at noon, with a friend who has seen it many times more. The movie is both a comfort and a diversion, sorely needed these days. I've never seen a movie in a theatre this many times before. Which isn't to say I don't watch some movies obsessively, but I do that at home. Alien, Aliens, Blade Runner, La Belle et la Bete -- I literally cannot count how often I've seen them. FOTR is moving up in the count, and over the holidays I probably watched TTT a dozen times.
But watching a movie at home, on my little television, where I can stop and start whenever I wish, is a very different experience than watching a movie in a theatre. And ROTK is still at a good theatre, with a big screen and fabulous sound, so there's always something new to see or listen to, and every week I walk out of the theatre excited by the beauty and drama and relevance of the movie.
Specifically, every single scene in Minas Tirith has become a pleasure to me; I've decided I want to move there. Last week, I left the theatre wondering if London in the Blitz wasn't part of the inspiration for the night scenes in Minas Tirith, when the Nazgul are attacking and the orcs are catapulting those flaming whatevers into the city. I was reminded of a photo I've seen of St. Paul's Cathedral taken on the night of December 29, 1940 -- scroll down nearly to the bottom to see the photo. The dome rises from the smoke of burning London -- over ninety acres surrounding the Cathedral were flattened that night -- and gleams like a symbol of hope in the night.
Minas Tirith, the White City, gleams in the night as well. I've heard that Peter Jackson's parents emigrated from England after WWII. I'm not sure how old they would have been during the war, but they must've seen or at least heard how damaged London was, and told their son stories about it. Certainly Tolkien knew, and most likely had it in his mind. The survival of St. Paul's gave people hope -- hope was kindled by its continued existence. Surely the citizens of Minas Tirith who survived that terrible night also were relieved to see the city still standing in the morning.
The movie also reminded me of some lines from "Perestroika: Angels in America, Part Two":
Death more plenteous than all Heaven has tears to mourn it,
The slow dissolving of the Great Design,
The spiraling apart of the Work of Eternity,
The World and its beautiful particle logic
All collapsed. All dead, forever,
In starless, moonlorn onyx night.
Because surely that's what the inhabitants of Minas Tirith must have thought was happening to them. And certainly little Pippin did, when he sat with Gandalf and said that he never thought it would end this way.
But Gandalf stole Frodo's dream from his time in Tom Bombadil's home, in which "Frodo heard a sweet singing running in his mind: a song that seemed to come like a pale light behind a grey rain-curtain, and growing stronger to turn the veil all to glass and silver, until at last it was rolled back, and a far green country opened before him under a swift sunrise."
Frodo's dream was, of course, a foreshadowing of his sailing into the west. I have no quibble with Fran and Philippa giving those words to Gandalf, though, because in a very real sense he has already seen that far green country. Only he was brought back to complete his task of unmaking the Ring, even though it meant the "slow dissolving of the Great Design/The spiraling apart of the Work of Eternity/The World and its beautiful particle logic/All collapsed."
The magic and beauty of the Elves will have to leave Middle-Earth if Gandalf succeeds, but he still fights on, and finds time to comfort a small frightened hobbit, and kindle hope in him as well.
This last time I saw ROTK, I also took notes while watching, which provided a different kind of pleasure for me. I'm not sure I'll do it again, but I'm glad I did, because reading over them brings back moments from the movie that I love. For example, I love book-Faramir, and although he was missing almost entirely from the movie, there was enough that I could see Pippin learning to love him, and why Pippin named his son after Faramir. I love the way David Wenham's eyes fill with tears as he watches his father send him away to certain death, and the look on Pippin's face as he observes them.
I went to a lecture about LOTR this week and while listening thought how every single member of the Fellowship has a moment in which he decides to go on, even though he's persuaded he cannot live through it. Frodo and Sam, most notably, but Aragorn, Legolas, and Gimli taking the Paths of the Dead; Merry fighting with the Witch King of Angmar; they all fight on, no matter what, for something greater than themselves. I love that so much; it's as beautiful as the embroidery on Theoden King's cloak, or the stylized version of the White Tree found throughout Minas Tirith.
The lecture also gave me a line from Tolkien's essay on Fairy-stories that I just love, and that describes both the novels and the movie for me: "Joy beyond the walls of the world, poignant as grief."
Have I mentioned that I just love this movie? I can't wait to go again this Sunday.
~ ~ ~
Finally, a few days ago, folks were posting WIPs. I didn't participate because the story I've been wrestling with for several months is complete; it's just not very good, and I'm afraid it's doomed. But I really liked parts of it, and I think the ending is the best sex scene I've ever written. So maybe I could have some amnesty for this excerpt?
The story was called "Lost a Little Further." It's set in New York, in the not-too-distant future, at a sort of mini-reunion of the LOTR cast when they gather to celebrate Viggo receiving an award for one of his books. This scene, the final in the story, is set immediately after the awards ceremony, when they've returned to their hotel rooms. "Lost a Little Further" is not only the title of my story, it's the title of a (non-existent) book that also won an award, the author of which shared a small apparently supernatural experience with Elijah, which has left him rattled.
This is for the empress_wu, who deserves more and better.
Lost a Little Further: excerpt
Dom was in the room when he finally let himself in, lying in bed, one arm across his face. Elijah hung up his jacket, kicked off his shiny shoes, and shimmied out of his trousers. "Shove over," he said, and curled up next to Dom. "Hey," he said quietly.
"Hey, you." Dom rolled onto his side so he faced Elijah, and Elijah scooted even closer to him. Dom was warm, always warm, and he felt good in the air conditioned cool of the room. "Sean okay?"
Elijah shrugged; he didn't want to go into that now. Instead, he kissed Dom, and almost instantly, Elijah felt the tension leave his shoulders. He relaxed into Dom, running his hands up Dom's body, under his shirt, tickling at his navel and massaging his pectorals. Dom suddenly rolled on top of him, and Elijah opened his legs, wrapping himself around Dom. They rocked gently together, not really making love, but reaffirming who they were to each other, that they had the right to touch each other in these intimate ways.
Dom rested his head against Elijah's shoulder, sighing, and Elijah kissed his gel-coated spiky hair. "Step one," Elijah whispered to him. "Take a deep breath." Dom obeyed, and Elijah felt the gust of warm air rush against his throat. "Step two," he said even more quietly; "Repeat step one." Dom took another deep breath, raised his head, and looked steadily into Elijah's eyes. Elijah was reminded of the man staring at him downstairs, the man who couldn't have been there, or on the street earlier. He stroked Dom's face tenderly. "I don't want to lose you," he said, his voice thick with emotion.
Dom lowered his head and gently kissed Elijah, soft little kisses, and Elijah hummed with pleasure, kissing him back, licking at his lips until Dom opened his mouth to him, and their kisses slowed into one long, luxurious kiss. "God," Elijah breathed, pushing his hips up, clenching Dom's back and ass. He began to unbutton Dom's shirt while Dom struggled to slide off his shoes, rolling off Elijah so they could get his trousers off, until at last they lay nude together in the big bed. "You're so beautiful," Elijah told him, admiring his body, kissing his biceps, shoulder, throat. "I really want to fuck you."
Dom made a tiny sound that Elijah took as assent, and he smiled, confident, almost predatory. He was jealous of Billy; he admitted that to himself, although never to Dom or Billy, but Billy didn't have this part of Dom's life. This privilege was his alone, and Elijah was smug about this perquisite. Billy and Dom had something that he would never have with either of them, but nonetheless, Dom had been waiting in his bed for him, was opening beneath him, would accept this only from him.
Elijah straddled Dom, looking down at him almost sternly, and then lay flat on him, stroking him, pushing against him, loving him. He's here, he's with me, he's mine, Elijah thought, sliding down Dom's body to push open his legs; he's not lost to me. Not yet. He teased at Dom's dick and balls with his lips and tongue, and then licked past them, into his perineum, kissing and sucking and licking at his asshole before sliding his fingers in, firm and assertive. Something tapped at his forehead and he looked up, a bit cross, until he saw Dom smiling at him, small bottle of lubricant in his hand. He wrapped his hand around Dom's, holding on for a moment while sucking at Dom's balls. He watched Dom's face change, his eyes close, and felt Dom's hips tilt up toward him. The lube was cold, so he warmed it in his hands first, because Dom was warm and deserved only warmth and love and pleasure.
"Ahh," Dom cried out as Elijah moved into him; he had to close his eyes at the intensity of it all. So powerful, to do this act, so forbidden and so desirable, to touch Dom where no one else did and wring these noises from him. Dom was Dom: unique, fiercely guarded, independent, angry, and yet in Elijah's hands he was pliable, dropping his defenses and opening to him emotionally as well as physically.
Elijah was sweating now; this was work, it really was, because he wanted to make it so good for Dom that he'd never think of any one else. He was aware he was frowning when Dom suddenly opened his eyes and smiled up him, rolling his head back. Elijah gripped Dom's ass, pushing him up and back, pressing Dom's legs into his chest; he loved this, loved this more than anything.
Elijah's climax was building. He shut his eyes against the sight of Dom straining for his own orgasm, his dick pressed between them. Just before he came, Elijah bent down awkwardly, kissed Dom, and gasped, "I want to suck you now." As he'd known he would, Dom jerked wildly; he loved fellatio, loved Elijah's mouth on him, and that sudden motion pulled the orgasm from Elijah so he was moaning in relief and pleasure and exhaustion.
When he'd gently pulled out and disposed of the condom, Dom was lying on his side, watching him almost anxiously. Elijah kissed him again, hard, and seized his dick. "How do you want me?" he whispered, and Dom groaned, and pushed Elijah onto his back, then knelt over him, and Elijah opened his mouth, licking at and then sliding his mouth over Dom's cock. Dom was hot and hard, his thighs trembling, and when Elijah began to suck at him, massaging his balls, playing with his asshole, slick from lubricant and Elijah, Dom cried out and came almost instantly.
Elijah continued to gently suck at his softening dick; he was, after all, famously orally-fixated, and he loved the flavor and fullness of Dom in his mouth. At last, Dom shuddered, and Elijah released him, moving up to the head of the bed and pulling the sheets over them.
Dom looked sleepy and at peace for the first time that day. "I should fuck you more often," Elijah decided, pushing the sweaty hair off Dom's forehead.
Dom captured his hand and pulled it under the sheet. "Go to sleep," he murmured. "Lots of time till we have to meet the boys."
Elijah pulled Dom to him, craving his warmth, his body, his undeniable existence in his arms and bed and life. Never enough of this.
He remembered the woman downstairs, sitting alone, and held Dom even tighter. Go home, he'd told her. Be with the people who love you, he'd said, as if he knew anything. Except he did. He knew that he was able to put a face to the voice that was always home. He kissed Dom, who murmured in his sleep. If anything happened to Elijah, he thought he too would be unable to leave this plane of existence, not without making sure Dom was okay. He too would haunt Dom's life, powerless perhaps but at least present, watching, loving.
He was glad they'd be seeing Viggo again later than night. Maybe he'd have some answers about what they'd seen. If anyone would, Viggo would. And tomorrow he'd tell Sean, and do his best to comfort Sean in return.
In the meantime, he cradled Dom's sturdy body, thinking of their friends, their life, the times apart and the times together.
Lost a Little Further, Sean had said the woman's book was called. From a Beth Orton song, Elijah knew, because that was the sort of thing he always knew. You better keep what is precious hidden under the floor, the song went, or you better treat it so good it will never want for more.
Good advice, he thought, before drifting off to sleep.
First, I want to say how much I've enjoying strangerian's essays on LOTR, both the novels and the movies. Excellent, insightful, intelligent, thoughtful. I've been sadly negligent in commenting in her lj, but she always says something I find fascinating.
Also, lalejandra has written a wonderful essay about a bunch of stuff, but what has really stayed with me are her comments about characterization in RPS. This in particular resonates: Our entire lives are based on speculation; not too much is known for certain when we deal with other people. So we all write these stories about real people in our heads, and sometimes we write them down on paper.
Um, yeah.
~ ~ ~
More thoughts about ROTK
I've been seeing ROTK once a week, every Sunday at noon, with a friend who has seen it many times more. The movie is both a comfort and a diversion, sorely needed these days. I've never seen a movie in a theatre this many times before. Which isn't to say I don't watch some movies obsessively, but I do that at home. Alien, Aliens, Blade Runner, La Belle et la Bete -- I literally cannot count how often I've seen them. FOTR is moving up in the count, and over the holidays I probably watched TTT a dozen times.
But watching a movie at home, on my little television, where I can stop and start whenever I wish, is a very different experience than watching a movie in a theatre. And ROTK is still at a good theatre, with a big screen and fabulous sound, so there's always something new to see or listen to, and every week I walk out of the theatre excited by the beauty and drama and relevance of the movie.
Specifically, every single scene in Minas Tirith has become a pleasure to me; I've decided I want to move there. Last week, I left the theatre wondering if London in the Blitz wasn't part of the inspiration for the night scenes in Minas Tirith, when the Nazgul are attacking and the orcs are catapulting those flaming whatevers into the city. I was reminded of a photo I've seen of St. Paul's Cathedral taken on the night of December 29, 1940 -- scroll down nearly to the bottom to see the photo. The dome rises from the smoke of burning London -- over ninety acres surrounding the Cathedral were flattened that night -- and gleams like a symbol of hope in the night.
Minas Tirith, the White City, gleams in the night as well. I've heard that Peter Jackson's parents emigrated from England after WWII. I'm not sure how old they would have been during the war, but they must've seen or at least heard how damaged London was, and told their son stories about it. Certainly Tolkien knew, and most likely had it in his mind. The survival of St. Paul's gave people hope -- hope was kindled by its continued existence. Surely the citizens of Minas Tirith who survived that terrible night also were relieved to see the city still standing in the morning.
The movie also reminded me of some lines from "Perestroika: Angels in America, Part Two":
Death more plenteous than all Heaven has tears to mourn it,
The slow dissolving of the Great Design,
The spiraling apart of the Work of Eternity,
The World and its beautiful particle logic
All collapsed. All dead, forever,
In starless, moonlorn onyx night.
Because surely that's what the inhabitants of Minas Tirith must have thought was happening to them. And certainly little Pippin did, when he sat with Gandalf and said that he never thought it would end this way.
But Gandalf stole Frodo's dream from his time in Tom Bombadil's home, in which "Frodo heard a sweet singing running in his mind: a song that seemed to come like a pale light behind a grey rain-curtain, and growing stronger to turn the veil all to glass and silver, until at last it was rolled back, and a far green country opened before him under a swift sunrise."
Frodo's dream was, of course, a foreshadowing of his sailing into the west. I have no quibble with Fran and Philippa giving those words to Gandalf, though, because in a very real sense he has already seen that far green country. Only he was brought back to complete his task of unmaking the Ring, even though it meant the "slow dissolving of the Great Design/The spiraling apart of the Work of Eternity/The World and its beautiful particle logic/All collapsed."
The magic and beauty of the Elves will have to leave Middle-Earth if Gandalf succeeds, but he still fights on, and finds time to comfort a small frightened hobbit, and kindle hope in him as well.
This last time I saw ROTK, I also took notes while watching, which provided a different kind of pleasure for me. I'm not sure I'll do it again, but I'm glad I did, because reading over them brings back moments from the movie that I love. For example, I love book-Faramir, and although he was missing almost entirely from the movie, there was enough that I could see Pippin learning to love him, and why Pippin named his son after Faramir. I love the way David Wenham's eyes fill with tears as he watches his father send him away to certain death, and the look on Pippin's face as he observes them.
I went to a lecture about LOTR this week and while listening thought how every single member of the Fellowship has a moment in which he decides to go on, even though he's persuaded he cannot live through it. Frodo and Sam, most notably, but Aragorn, Legolas, and Gimli taking the Paths of the Dead; Merry fighting with the Witch King of Angmar; they all fight on, no matter what, for something greater than themselves. I love that so much; it's as beautiful as the embroidery on Theoden King's cloak, or the stylized version of the White Tree found throughout Minas Tirith.
The lecture also gave me a line from Tolkien's essay on Fairy-stories that I just love, and that describes both the novels and the movie for me: "Joy beyond the walls of the world, poignant as grief."
Have I mentioned that I just love this movie? I can't wait to go again this Sunday.
~ ~ ~
Finally, a few days ago, folks were posting WIPs. I didn't participate because the story I've been wrestling with for several months is complete; it's just not very good, and I'm afraid it's doomed. But I really liked parts of it, and I think the ending is the best sex scene I've ever written. So maybe I could have some amnesty for this excerpt?
The story was called "Lost a Little Further." It's set in New York, in the not-too-distant future, at a sort of mini-reunion of the LOTR cast when they gather to celebrate Viggo receiving an award for one of his books. This scene, the final in the story, is set immediately after the awards ceremony, when they've returned to their hotel rooms. "Lost a Little Further" is not only the title of my story, it's the title of a (non-existent) book that also won an award, the author of which shared a small apparently supernatural experience with Elijah, which has left him rattled.
This is for the empress_wu, who deserves more and better.
Lost a Little Further: excerpt
Dom was in the room when he finally let himself in, lying in bed, one arm across his face. Elijah hung up his jacket, kicked off his shiny shoes, and shimmied out of his trousers. "Shove over," he said, and curled up next to Dom. "Hey," he said quietly.
"Hey, you." Dom rolled onto his side so he faced Elijah, and Elijah scooted even closer to him. Dom was warm, always warm, and he felt good in the air conditioned cool of the room. "Sean okay?"
Elijah shrugged; he didn't want to go into that now. Instead, he kissed Dom, and almost instantly, Elijah felt the tension leave his shoulders. He relaxed into Dom, running his hands up Dom's body, under his shirt, tickling at his navel and massaging his pectorals. Dom suddenly rolled on top of him, and Elijah opened his legs, wrapping himself around Dom. They rocked gently together, not really making love, but reaffirming who they were to each other, that they had the right to touch each other in these intimate ways.
Dom rested his head against Elijah's shoulder, sighing, and Elijah kissed his gel-coated spiky hair. "Step one," Elijah whispered to him. "Take a deep breath." Dom obeyed, and Elijah felt the gust of warm air rush against his throat. "Step two," he said even more quietly; "Repeat step one." Dom took another deep breath, raised his head, and looked steadily into Elijah's eyes. Elijah was reminded of the man staring at him downstairs, the man who couldn't have been there, or on the street earlier. He stroked Dom's face tenderly. "I don't want to lose you," he said, his voice thick with emotion.
Dom lowered his head and gently kissed Elijah, soft little kisses, and Elijah hummed with pleasure, kissing him back, licking at his lips until Dom opened his mouth to him, and their kisses slowed into one long, luxurious kiss. "God," Elijah breathed, pushing his hips up, clenching Dom's back and ass. He began to unbutton Dom's shirt while Dom struggled to slide off his shoes, rolling off Elijah so they could get his trousers off, until at last they lay nude together in the big bed. "You're so beautiful," Elijah told him, admiring his body, kissing his biceps, shoulder, throat. "I really want to fuck you."
Dom made a tiny sound that Elijah took as assent, and he smiled, confident, almost predatory. He was jealous of Billy; he admitted that to himself, although never to Dom or Billy, but Billy didn't have this part of Dom's life. This privilege was his alone, and Elijah was smug about this perquisite. Billy and Dom had something that he would never have with either of them, but nonetheless, Dom had been waiting in his bed for him, was opening beneath him, would accept this only from him.
Elijah straddled Dom, looking down at him almost sternly, and then lay flat on him, stroking him, pushing against him, loving him. He's here, he's with me, he's mine, Elijah thought, sliding down Dom's body to push open his legs; he's not lost to me. Not yet. He teased at Dom's dick and balls with his lips and tongue, and then licked past them, into his perineum, kissing and sucking and licking at his asshole before sliding his fingers in, firm and assertive. Something tapped at his forehead and he looked up, a bit cross, until he saw Dom smiling at him, small bottle of lubricant in his hand. He wrapped his hand around Dom's, holding on for a moment while sucking at Dom's balls. He watched Dom's face change, his eyes close, and felt Dom's hips tilt up toward him. The lube was cold, so he warmed it in his hands first, because Dom was warm and deserved only warmth and love and pleasure.
"Ahh," Dom cried out as Elijah moved into him; he had to close his eyes at the intensity of it all. So powerful, to do this act, so forbidden and so desirable, to touch Dom where no one else did and wring these noises from him. Dom was Dom: unique, fiercely guarded, independent, angry, and yet in Elijah's hands he was pliable, dropping his defenses and opening to him emotionally as well as physically.
Elijah was sweating now; this was work, it really was, because he wanted to make it so good for Dom that he'd never think of any one else. He was aware he was frowning when Dom suddenly opened his eyes and smiled up him, rolling his head back. Elijah gripped Dom's ass, pushing him up and back, pressing Dom's legs into his chest; he loved this, loved this more than anything.
Elijah's climax was building. He shut his eyes against the sight of Dom straining for his own orgasm, his dick pressed between them. Just before he came, Elijah bent down awkwardly, kissed Dom, and gasped, "I want to suck you now." As he'd known he would, Dom jerked wildly; he loved fellatio, loved Elijah's mouth on him, and that sudden motion pulled the orgasm from Elijah so he was moaning in relief and pleasure and exhaustion.
When he'd gently pulled out and disposed of the condom, Dom was lying on his side, watching him almost anxiously. Elijah kissed him again, hard, and seized his dick. "How do you want me?" he whispered, and Dom groaned, and pushed Elijah onto his back, then knelt over him, and Elijah opened his mouth, licking at and then sliding his mouth over Dom's cock. Dom was hot and hard, his thighs trembling, and when Elijah began to suck at him, massaging his balls, playing with his asshole, slick from lubricant and Elijah, Dom cried out and came almost instantly.
Elijah continued to gently suck at his softening dick; he was, after all, famously orally-fixated, and he loved the flavor and fullness of Dom in his mouth. At last, Dom shuddered, and Elijah released him, moving up to the head of the bed and pulling the sheets over them.
Dom looked sleepy and at peace for the first time that day. "I should fuck you more often," Elijah decided, pushing the sweaty hair off Dom's forehead.
Dom captured his hand and pulled it under the sheet. "Go to sleep," he murmured. "Lots of time till we have to meet the boys."
Elijah pulled Dom to him, craving his warmth, his body, his undeniable existence in his arms and bed and life. Never enough of this.
He remembered the woman downstairs, sitting alone, and held Dom even tighter. Go home, he'd told her. Be with the people who love you, he'd said, as if he knew anything. Except he did. He knew that he was able to put a face to the voice that was always home. He kissed Dom, who murmured in his sleep. If anything happened to Elijah, he thought he too would be unable to leave this plane of existence, not without making sure Dom was okay. He too would haunt Dom's life, powerless perhaps but at least present, watching, loving.
He was glad they'd be seeing Viggo again later than night. Maybe he'd have some answers about what they'd seen. If anyone would, Viggo would. And tomorrow he'd tell Sean, and do his best to comfort Sean in return.
In the meantime, he cradled Dom's sturdy body, thinking of their friends, their life, the times apart and the times together.
Lost a Little Further, Sean had said the woman's book was called. From a Beth Orton song, Elijah knew, because that was the sort of thing he always knew. You better keep what is precious hidden under the floor, the song went, or you better treat it so good it will never want for more.
Good advice, he thought, before drifting off to sleep.