The little AU: Rising Spring: Tendrils
The little AU: Rising Spring: Tendrils
slashfairy
~~
It's with great glee that Orlando confesses that the Kiwi boxers he wears were originally Karl's, stolen at some point from the laundry and never returned. She doesn't mind; somehow that enhances his delightfulness in her eyes, that he's so comfortable with them, and so comfortable with her that he'll tell her these things.
That said, it's clear he misses both of them, and his homes in the northern latitudes.
He spends an hour, two, on the phone with Viggo, talking futbol and hockey, extreme sports and filming, talking all around the distance between them and the stretching that might be coming very soon in their relationships. At one point she sees him wipe away tears, turns away so that she isn't stealing from him, stealing his private time with his lover, and smiles to herself that the phrase even crosses her mind before she goes on about her business, trusting him to do likewise with an honest heart.
When will you be done? Orlando asks Viggo.
Three weeks, maybe. Four.
Are you all right? You look so tiny.
Yes, and no. Now we know what I'll look like when I'm old and you have to take care of me.
Don't- well, no, yes, say that, because I want you to get old, and I want to be there for you, with you. But don't borrow trouble, ok?
All right. I won't.
They're quiet then for a few moments, staring down the future while they breathe down the phone with each other, then, slowly, speech returns, and they talk about Karl, about Hunter, about the summer and plans and next movies and small things like what to plant on the trellis Karl's built against the fence of the grey house in Venice Beach, and whether magenta bougainvillea would do well on the bluff road, or if it's too chilly there in the winter.
There's always growth, right up until there's not- little buds that will become tendrils that will become the hold-fasts that keep the vines from falling; seeds in the seedpods; roots seeking new space in the soil even when the branches die back to the ground.
Seasons turn, relationships go through their seasons, too- but there's life until there is not-life, and there's plenty of life left in the love the three men bear each other.
c
slashfairy
~~
It's with great glee that Orlando confesses that the Kiwi boxers he wears were originally Karl's, stolen at some point from the laundry and never returned. She doesn't mind; somehow that enhances his delightfulness in her eyes, that he's so comfortable with them, and so comfortable with her that he'll tell her these things.
That said, it's clear he misses both of them, and his homes in the northern latitudes.
He spends an hour, two, on the phone with Viggo, talking futbol and hockey, extreme sports and filming, talking all around the distance between them and the stretching that might be coming very soon in their relationships. At one point she sees him wipe away tears, turns away so that she isn't stealing from him, stealing his private time with his lover, and smiles to herself that the phrase even crosses her mind before she goes on about her business, trusting him to do likewise with an honest heart.
When will you be done? Orlando asks Viggo.
Three weeks, maybe. Four.
Are you all right? You look so tiny.
Yes, and no. Now we know what I'll look like when I'm old and you have to take care of me.
Don't- well, no, yes, say that, because I want you to get old, and I want to be there for you, with you. But don't borrow trouble, ok?
All right. I won't.
They're quiet then for a few moments, staring down the future while they breathe down the phone with each other, then, slowly, speech returns, and they talk about Karl, about Hunter, about the summer and plans and next movies and small things like what to plant on the trellis Karl's built against the fence of the grey house in Venice Beach, and whether magenta bougainvillea would do well on the bluff road, or if it's too chilly there in the winter.
There's always growth, right up until there's not- little buds that will become tendrils that will become the hold-fasts that keep the vines from falling; seeds in the seedpods; roots seeking new space in the soil even when the branches die back to the ground.
Seasons turn, relationships go through their seasons, too- but there's life until there is not-life, and there's plenty of life left in the love the three men bear each other.
c