Twelve days of Christmas: Day five
The little AU: Twelve Days of Christmas: Day Five
slashfairy
G
They reach a saturation point of being together, and decide to take a day apart. Karl goes to comic shops, game shops, looks around at the people and wonders what it'd be like to live here full-time, in London, then stops himself because of course they're all going back to the house on the bluff road, right? He picks up trinkets for Hunter, things the boy can clip to his belt, his backpack, or hang on his wall. He wonders if Hunter and Orli would get on, wishes he could pull the parts of his life together so he didn't feel so spread out, thanks the world for giving him not one, but two lovers who are so good to him, and finds himself in a motorcycle shop: heaven.
Orlando goes to an old friend's house, hangs out for the day, trading stories, catching up. He seems less tense than last time the friend had seen him, less tense, and ... less well, or at least, less sunshine-illy healthy. "Just tired, mate," Orli says, shrugging it off, but when they're halfway through a movie the friend notices Orli's eyes closing, his head nodding. Pulling the throw off the back of the sofa the friend shifts a now-sleeping Orlando to a more comfortable position, earning a "Thanks, Vig, but 'm fine" before Orli melts completely into sleep. Just tired, mmhmm, his friend mutters to himself, settling on the floor to watch the rest of the film and listen to Orlando breathe.
Viggo goes to a couple small galleries, then a bookstore, then finds a park, a ramble, really, and walks through it with his camera at waist-height, snapping not-quite-randomly as he takes in the scents, the wintry air, the way the light bounces off the windows of modern London on one side and the stone of Old London on another, diffused by the busy lives that move on streets audible but not visible from the paths inside the ivy-covered fence. He sits on an old green-painted metal bench, writes, scribbles out, writes some more, draws a line drawing of Karl's profile, closes his book, and puts it in his jacket pocket before picking up the camera and walking back out to the street to find a cab so he can go pick Orli up and meet Karl for dinner.
The day stretches to accommodate them, tightens to pull them all close after a quiet meal and a long soaking shower/bath; turns taken at bringing each other to lazy languid orgasms melt into tangles of limbs under the hotel duvets, curls and arms and smiles drifted over the pillows in the soft London night.
previously:
next: day six
slashfairy
G
They reach a saturation point of being together, and decide to take a day apart. Karl goes to comic shops, game shops, looks around at the people and wonders what it'd be like to live here full-time, in London, then stops himself because of course they're all going back to the house on the bluff road, right? He picks up trinkets for Hunter, things the boy can clip to his belt, his backpack, or hang on his wall. He wonders if Hunter and Orli would get on, wishes he could pull the parts of his life together so he didn't feel so spread out, thanks the world for giving him not one, but two lovers who are so good to him, and finds himself in a motorcycle shop: heaven.
Orlando goes to an old friend's house, hangs out for the day, trading stories, catching up. He seems less tense than last time the friend had seen him, less tense, and ... less well, or at least, less sunshine-illy healthy. "Just tired, mate," Orli says, shrugging it off, but when they're halfway through a movie the friend notices Orli's eyes closing, his head nodding. Pulling the throw off the back of the sofa the friend shifts a now-sleeping Orlando to a more comfortable position, earning a "Thanks, Vig, but 'm fine" before Orli melts completely into sleep. Just tired, mmhmm, his friend mutters to himself, settling on the floor to watch the rest of the film and listen to Orlando breathe.
Viggo goes to a couple small galleries, then a bookstore, then finds a park, a ramble, really, and walks through it with his camera at waist-height, snapping not-quite-randomly as he takes in the scents, the wintry air, the way the light bounces off the windows of modern London on one side and the stone of Old London on another, diffused by the busy lives that move on streets audible but not visible from the paths inside the ivy-covered fence. He sits on an old green-painted metal bench, writes, scribbles out, writes some more, draws a line drawing of Karl's profile, closes his book, and puts it in his jacket pocket before picking up the camera and walking back out to the street to find a cab so he can go pick Orli up and meet Karl for dinner.
The day stretches to accommodate them, tightens to pull them all close after a quiet meal and a long soaking shower/bath; turns taken at bringing each other to lazy languid orgasms melt into tangles of limbs under the hotel duvets, curls and arms and smiles drifted over the pillows in the soft London night.
previously:
next: day six