The little AU: Spring Rains: Comfort
The little AU: Spring Rains: Comfort
slashfairy
~~
It's hardest when he can't find words anywhere. He knows he'll need them, but they won't come, not in English nor Danish, nor Rioplatense, nor French nor Russian nor Lakota nor German nor poetry nor painting nor the ache in his eyes, and he depends on them, then, to read him, because he cannot read himself.
Each of them reads him differently, and it's different again depending on if they're all together, or one alone with him. And it is alone with, when it's like this, because he might as well be in another country, on another world, as in the bed with them.
He might as well be under the highest mountain's snow, in the depths of the sea, at the far edge of the driest desert.
But they do read him, and it saves him, every time.
So Karl (for it is Karl tonight, Orlando being away, busy, traveling, holding them in his heart as he shows himself for the good of some cause or another, even if it's "just" the cause of enjoying life)- so, Karl makes the meal, Karl fills the hot tub. Karl washes his back in the shower, scraping off the dirt of some day-long hike in the mud of the foothills, for what cause he knows not, nor does he expect to. Karl runs his hands through his hair, combing it with his fingers, and shaves the bit that's being shaved, Freud's beard taking shape on Viggo's face, the grey and white even, nearly, matching the photos that've begun to show up around the house.
Karl lets him lean, lets him be unable to relax, at first, lets him turn away and lay his cheek on the tile while Karl washes his buttocks, his thighs, his calves, his feet. Karl's learned over the years, all these years of being together, of being apart, to let Viggo have these moments, these weeks; learned they don't mean he's leaving, don't mean he's left, only that he's away someplace, and that if Karl can get there, he can visit for a little while before it's too much, and he's let to come back to this world while Viggo stays there, where the words won't come.
(tbc, but I must away to ship books. sorry for the break in flow.) (also, i'm not sure, but this might be the first WIP bit of the little AU i've ever posted. but it asked, so i said yes.)
slashfairy
~~
It's hardest when he can't find words anywhere. He knows he'll need them, but they won't come, not in English nor Danish, nor Rioplatense, nor French nor Russian nor Lakota nor German nor poetry nor painting nor the ache in his eyes, and he depends on them, then, to read him, because he cannot read himself.
Each of them reads him differently, and it's different again depending on if they're all together, or one alone with him. And it is alone with, when it's like this, because he might as well be in another country, on another world, as in the bed with them.
He might as well be under the highest mountain's snow, in the depths of the sea, at the far edge of the driest desert.
But they do read him, and it saves him, every time.
So Karl (for it is Karl tonight, Orlando being away, busy, traveling, holding them in his heart as he shows himself for the good of some cause or another, even if it's "just" the cause of enjoying life)- so, Karl makes the meal, Karl fills the hot tub. Karl washes his back in the shower, scraping off the dirt of some day-long hike in the mud of the foothills, for what cause he knows not, nor does he expect to. Karl runs his hands through his hair, combing it with his fingers, and shaves the bit that's being shaved, Freud's beard taking shape on Viggo's face, the grey and white even, nearly, matching the photos that've begun to show up around the house.
Karl lets him lean, lets him be unable to relax, at first, lets him turn away and lay his cheek on the tile while Karl washes his buttocks, his thighs, his calves, his feet. Karl's learned over the years, all these years of being together, of being apart, to let Viggo have these moments, these weeks; learned they don't mean he's leaving, don't mean he's left, only that he's away someplace, and that if Karl can get there, he can visit for a little while before it's too much, and he's let to come back to this world while Viggo stays there, where the words won't come.
(tbc, but I must away to ship books. sorry for the break in flow.) (also, i'm not sure, but this might be the first WIP bit of the little AU i've ever posted. but it asked, so i said yes.)