The Little AU: Vignettes: Calm after the storm
The Little AU: Vignettes: Calm after the storm
slashfairy
G
Reshoots, LOTR: NZ
Part two of two
Part one
Calm
Nineteen months later, gathered in Fangorn Forest for the group shots, after reshoots. Separated by Elijah, joined in mirrored poses, relaxed, eyes shadowed, my forearms scrubbed clean, your hands still dirty with Fangorn dust.
You've been in the Carribean, sailing over the seas with Johnny. I've been in Morocco, learning from Omar, and riding before the wind. Text messages, postcards--not enough, and everything. You sent me white sand from the islands, I sent you red dust from the desert, we talked for an hour that day, separated by nothing except time and space, each willing the other's package to arrive, knowing it would be days before our hands would join across these bits of earth.
Everyone looked different, changed, changing. Dom and Billy not apart a day unless forced to be; Elijah and Sean not together a minute, unless required. Ian quiet, pensive, holed up with Peter, or off alone, thinking. Liv on the phone with her sweetie, happy, calm, mature, beautiful. Harder-working than most will ever know. Admirable. Andy and John, hours and hours in different ADR studios, Gollum and Treebeard, invisible and essential. A call from Bean, Craig and Karl coming in and going out, back and forth from Australia to Wellington, working when they could, playing when they might.
And you, and I, quiet. Hours, just sitting, enjoying the time together, walks, talks, little things, picking up clothes shed at odd moments, trading t-shirts to take each others' scent with us, waking naked under cool sheets, warm enough in each other. Making breakfast, eating dinner, dozing, fucking, all the things lovers do when time is not an issue, space not a problem.
This day we got to set early, mostly publicity going to happen, but a few things to be blocked out for reshoots the next day. My corduroy jacket found a home on the forest floor, such a huge set, the center invisible from the edges, our 'real' forest. You lay beside me, unconscious of how first the sleeves, then the back, of your sweater, jumper, ridiculous loose soft cushiony piece of clothing, picked up wood chips and leaves as we touched each other's face, held each other's gaze, kissed, and fondled, and finally threw caution to the winds and sucked and fucked for what seemed like forever in the ancient-forest-that-never-was.
"What if, what if I can't do this?" The same question, this time over a rumor of a film, a big one, a huge director, a leading role. "What if I can't carry it, and he loses because of me?"
"What if you can?" I ask, picking twigs and moss out of your hair, settling the collar of your leather jacket over the cowl of that, my favorite of all your foolish clothes, that button-up cloud, sleeves ruffled with looseness of too-often wearing, hem stretched with all the times I've not taken it off you, just slid it up to find your wings, your nipples, you. "What if you can?" I ask again, taking, giving, one last kiss before we decide my jacket will be better served by staying in the forest proper than by coming dirty and crumpled to the now-waiting cameras. "What if, what if you can?" I ask, one more time, loving your smile even though I know it means more time, maybe years, apart.
"What if I can?" you say, and pull me in. "I did this, and it turned out pretty well," you say, kissing me.
"Yes, it did. It did, indeed," I say, smiling at you smiling back. Forest-center kiss, mirrored in forest-edge smiles. "It turned out very well."
~~
slashfairy
G
Reshoots, LOTR: NZ
Part two of two
Part one
Calm
Nineteen months later, gathered in Fangorn Forest for the group shots, after reshoots. Separated by Elijah, joined in mirrored poses, relaxed, eyes shadowed, my forearms scrubbed clean, your hands still dirty with Fangorn dust.
You've been in the Carribean, sailing over the seas with Johnny. I've been in Morocco, learning from Omar, and riding before the wind. Text messages, postcards--not enough, and everything. You sent me white sand from the islands, I sent you red dust from the desert, we talked for an hour that day, separated by nothing except time and space, each willing the other's package to arrive, knowing it would be days before our hands would join across these bits of earth.
Everyone looked different, changed, changing. Dom and Billy not apart a day unless forced to be; Elijah and Sean not together a minute, unless required. Ian quiet, pensive, holed up with Peter, or off alone, thinking. Liv on the phone with her sweetie, happy, calm, mature, beautiful. Harder-working than most will ever know. Admirable. Andy and John, hours and hours in different ADR studios, Gollum and Treebeard, invisible and essential. A call from Bean, Craig and Karl coming in and going out, back and forth from Australia to Wellington, working when they could, playing when they might.
And you, and I, quiet. Hours, just sitting, enjoying the time together, walks, talks, little things, picking up clothes shed at odd moments, trading t-shirts to take each others' scent with us, waking naked under cool sheets, warm enough in each other. Making breakfast, eating dinner, dozing, fucking, all the things lovers do when time is not an issue, space not a problem.
This day we got to set early, mostly publicity going to happen, but a few things to be blocked out for reshoots the next day. My corduroy jacket found a home on the forest floor, such a huge set, the center invisible from the edges, our 'real' forest. You lay beside me, unconscious of how first the sleeves, then the back, of your sweater, jumper, ridiculous loose soft cushiony piece of clothing, picked up wood chips and leaves as we touched each other's face, held each other's gaze, kissed, and fondled, and finally threw caution to the winds and sucked and fucked for what seemed like forever in the ancient-forest-that-never-was.
"What if, what if I can't do this?" The same question, this time over a rumor of a film, a big one, a huge director, a leading role. "What if I can't carry it, and he loses because of me?"
"What if you can?" I ask, picking twigs and moss out of your hair, settling the collar of your leather jacket over the cowl of that, my favorite of all your foolish clothes, that button-up cloud, sleeves ruffled with looseness of too-often wearing, hem stretched with all the times I've not taken it off you, just slid it up to find your wings, your nipples, you. "What if you can?" I ask again, taking, giving, one last kiss before we decide my jacket will be better served by staying in the forest proper than by coming dirty and crumpled to the now-waiting cameras. "What if, what if you can?" I ask, one more time, loving your smile even though I know it means more time, maybe years, apart.
"What if I can?" you say, and pull me in. "I did this, and it turned out pretty well," you say, kissing me.
"Yes, it did. It did, indeed," I say, smiling at you smiling back. Forest-center kiss, mirrored in forest-edge smiles. "It turned out very well."
~~