enchanteresse (enchanteresse) wrote in slashababy,
enchanteresse
enchanteresse
slashababy

  • Mood:

Alcoholic Haze, V/DM, R

Title: Alcoholic Haze
Author: Del
Pairing: Dom/Viggo
Rating: R
Author's Note: This is a present for Dolores who requested this pairing and said I could write anything I wanted. Thanks to Joelle for beta reading the monster.


He woke up that morning with the familiar feeling of a killer hangover, which he was beginning to find comforting.He had gotten used to waking up in strange hotel rooms every day, so the only constant lately was the sweet, sweet feeling of his brain pounding away on the inside of his skull. That always told him that all was right with the world, and if he waited it out long enough, he could drown it under a lot of coffee. Or if he really didn't care much about being productive that day, he could just start drinking again. Most days, he didn't care much about being productive.

He cracked an eye open, still unsure about that whole waking up business. Lately, it just seemed to be more trouble than it was worth. The room finally came into focus, and he frowned. He felt a pang of nostalgia and loss so strong that it took him by surprise, and he rubbed his face again, trying to make sense of it. Why was he suddenly thinking of New Zealand, as clearly as if it had happened yesterday and not two years ago? There were no giant posters on the buildings anymore, no cardboard monstrosities from the movies keeping guard over the roofs. The city had moved on, and it was time for him to do the same.

This didn't feel like a hotel room. At least, the cleaning staff were usually a lot more efficient than that, even if Dom was a bit of a slob himself. But there was such a mess of stuff on the nightstand that it offended even his sensibilities. There was a magic 8 ball on top of a pile of magazines with cut out pictures, flanked on one side by a lava lamp and on the other by little bit of metal that he couldn't identify. There was a cowboy hat on the lava lamp, and on top of the hat someone had thrown a weirdly stripped shirt . There were pieces of paper which had been scribbled all over, paint brushes, and a little plastic elephant. A fat Buddha was leering next to some pictures of a dog. There were a few lego blocks that didn't look like they were made to fit together, a tract against war, a dried rose, change from a country he didn't recognize and a little braided necklace.

He took one look at the floor and slumped back in bed, groaning. This place was a neat freak worst nightmare.

He had never seen this room in his life, but his brain was already hopping around excitedly, trying to tell him something. He was going to listen, any second now, as soon as he figured out why he was clutching a giant stuffed pony in his arms. A blue and red giant pony that was grinning at him with large teeth. No matter how drunk he had been, there was no way in hell he had been getting that affectionate with a stuffed pony. Then he noticed some kind of hugely abstract painting on the wall, with lot of blue and one touch of angry red, and his brain finally spit out the answer.

Viggo.

This was Viggo's bedroom, he was ready to bet his life on it, though he couldn't explain exactly how he knew it. It just was... a very Viggo room.

The next order of business was to figure out how he had ended up in the man's bed, without the man himself in sight, but his brain was already protesting that it had done its quota of work for the day. All answers would come in time, and he told himself smugly that it was a very zen way of thinking.

He peeked outside of the room, made a face and walked back in to find that his sunglasses had been carefully put on a table near the door. Aha, he thought, so I didn't get robbed either. Always good to know. Only then did he venture again into the glaring sunlight of the corridor, past a row of plants growing like crazy octopuses, then another wall covered with pictures from top to bottom. His bare foot making no noise on the floor. With his usual great honing instincts, he found the kitchen almost immediately.

The man himself was also there.

Only then did he realise that he was still wearing yesterday's clothes and that he reeked of cigarette smoke. His stomach rolled around lazily, reminding him not to fuck up or he would pay for it dearly.

"'lo Vig," he mumbled, throwing himself at the counter, almost overbalancing over the stool.

He tried to look cool, as if he had done it on purpose. After all, it was also perfectly normal to see Viggo again, after one year of quasi-silence. Well, there were the weird messages on his answering machine, sure, but Viggo didn't always bother using words.

Viggo was doing something over the oven, and he assumed it somehow involved food. He aimed a distracted smile his way and flipped an egg over while whistling out of tune, so Dom felt perfectly safe ogling Viggo behind his sunglasses. And the man looked damn good. He was apparently in the long period of his hair cycle, which Dom had always preferred over all others. Of course, he was probably going to take a razor and whack off everything soon, but right now, he looked like a scruffy hippie and there were red highlights in there. Dom had long suspected that he liked to walk into random hair salons and ask the stylist to go wild on his hair, do anything they wanted. The only other explanation was that he was actually choosing those styles and spending that much time wondering what to do with his hair, and it was a thought too scary to contemplate for long.

"Good morning," Viggo told him, as he dumped food on the plate in front of him, looking ready to go wrestle a bull or two already.

Dom scratched his neck, stared at the food, then pondered the mysteries of the universe.

"You eat it," Viggo told him, pushing a fork in his hand.

Dom ate it.

And thought that maybe he should be asking questions, but then, it was still too early in the morning for that. Better to chalk it up to some kind of miraculous event and go on with his life.

"You're probably wondering what you're doing here," Viggo told him, sitting next to him with a fuming mug of some kind of herbal tea.

Dom considered that last sentence, playing with the words in his head before their meaning finally sunk in.

"You're probably wondering why I'm here, actually," he said, then paused. "Where is here?"

"Wellington," Viggo told him, not looking particularly surprised that he had no clue where he was.

Dom blinked a little at him.

"Wasn't I supposed to take a plane back? Like, days ago? I thought I was in England."

Viggo frowned, and Dom thought it was a very sad thing.

"I don't know what you're supposed to be doing, Dominic. I wasn't expecting to find you here. You missed the reunion."

"Oh," Dom said, pushing the food around his plate. "Who was there?"

"Hobbits, Orlando, Miranda, PJ, John," Viggo told him. "Billy ended up crashing on my couch too," he added, vaguely pointing in another direction.

"Oh," Dom could only say, feeling worse than dirt now. "So I was the only missing Hobbit. Nice house, by the way. Since when do you have a house in New Zealand?"

Viggo gulped down more of his tea, acknowledging the compliment with a nod. He had dirt under his fingernails, Dom noticed.

"I bought it six months ago. I decided I wasn't ready to let that part of my life go."

Dom slowly, slowly put down his fork, and Viggo watched him do it, though he didn't say one word about him eating the rest of his breakfast.

"You know, I was actually thinking it was time to let go, actually."

He was a Hobbit sitting hungover in last night's clothes, clothes that reeked of smoke, and he probably looked like he was in dire need of a hairbrush, but he managed to imbue that one sentence with some dignity, if not a sad one.

"I don't understand," Viggo said carefully, as if he was noticing for the first time that he was walking across a minefield, "why you would want to let go of happy things in your life."

"Because the party is over," Dom told him.

Viggo shook his head, but didn't argue with him. He was a nice guy, although he had no sense of boundaries with the way he kept waving his tongue at people, he also wasn't one to push others about their personal pains. It was always that.

"You can take a shower and borrow my clothes if you want. I wasn't sure where you were staying, or I'd try to get your things for you," Viggo told him, suddenly all business.

Dom blinked slowly, and had to admit that he wasn't quite sure where his luggage was at this point. He had paid in advance, he hoped, so he should still have his room. A pity he couldn't remember what the name of the hotel was right now. They had a fountain on one of side of the hotel, that's all he could remember right now.

"How did I get here?" Dom asked him, mostly to find something to say and not because he really cared.

He was here in Viggo's kitchen, and it was a good place to be, so who cared about such details, really. He had learned to become quite detached lately. Viggo watched him over his mug, as if he knew perfectly well that they were was no real curiosity in the question, but he answered him anyway.

"You ended up in a bar that I frequent. One of the waitresses knows me, she recognized you and called me. I stuffed you in my car, and that's all. You must have recognized me, you just followed me like a puppy."

He shrugged a little, and Dom stopped himself before he asked why a waitress had Viggo's actual phone number, and wasn't that a little bit reckless? He decided he didn't want to know. The guy certainly didn't live like a monk, after all. Just because Dom had decided to walk on the path of enlightenment and was incidentally not getting any didn't mean that the rest of the world had to do the same.

"Just tell me you didn't pick up my tab for me."

Viggo's silence was all the answer he needed, and he dug in his pocket for his wallet, opened it and peered inside.

"Erm, I'll pay you back as soon as I go to the bank. I promise," Dom said, slowly replacing the wallet in his pocket, feeling like a complete loser.

"Dominic, don't worry about that. I'm sure you can find some obscure incident where I owed you something."

Dom finally abandoned the rest of the food, his stomach lurching uncomfortably, though he had the feeling it had more to do with the conversation than anything else. The fact that Viggo didn't seem about to lecture him, and was even talking to him as if they had seen each other just last week made him feel like squirming in embarrassment. He had expected some pointed looks and comments about his lifestyle, not this kind of acceptance.

"Alright, well, thanks for the help, I should just get back to my hotel and get out of your hair. I'm sure you're doing something important," Dom said, nodding a lot, and carefully putting his fork down on the table.

He was halfway through the kitchen when Viggo cleared his throat, and he froze on the spot.

"Why don't you stay with me for a bit? I missed you."

Fuck.

"Well, you know, I missed you too, but maybe you don't want to be subjected--"

"And maybe we can start talking about why you drink so much and why your best friend in the world had no idea where you were and spent half the evening talking about you."

"Billy did that?" Dom said, feeling guilty for the first time in a long while.

"Yes. He was still talking about that new script you two started together, and how you were supposed to take vacations together but then you stopped calling him."

Dom made a face and slowly retraced his steps, perching himself on the stool again, pretending great interesting in his fingernails. Alright, he could deal with acceptance after all.

"I should send him an e-mail," he said to his fingers.

"Maybe you should even call him," Viggo suggested, inexorably.

"That too," Dom mumbled.

*

When he woke up, he was still clutching the stuffed pony of doom. It had been nowhere in sight when he had collapsed into bed, he had made sure of it, even in his inebriated state. Either Viggo had tiptoed in after he was asleep to put the monstrosity in his arms, or it had crawled into his bed in the middle of the night, plotting to strangle him.

He hoped it was Viggo's questionable sense of humor striking again. Life was too short to deal with animated ponies with murderous intentions.

He dragged himself over to the bathroom, his mouth feeling like a sewer, and noticed that there was a new purple toothbrush laying on the counter, obviously for him. He felt a bit like crying because Viggo was such a nice guy and was looking after him, but he was fairly sure that his was this residual hangover talking. He brushed his teeth and spiked his hair with the help of some water, then decided that maybe he could try to pretend that he was up to facing the day. It was only when he was shuffling along the corridor and spotted the blankets on the sofa that it occurred to him that he had obviously kicked Viggo out of his bed.

He was a rotten friend.

He finally found Viggo doing some mysterious things with pieces of cardboard out on the porch, and after a few minutes of observation, decided that it had to be part of some future exposition. Viggo had branched into more three dimensional work, though he wouldn't go as far as calling them sculptures. He suspected the other man just got bored really, really easily.

"Buenos dias," Viggo told him cheerfully, an old hat balanced on top of his head, his shirt splattered with paint, yet still managing to look sexy enough to make anybody swoon at his feet.

Life just wasn't fair.

"I can sleep on the couch, you know," Dom told him, feeling awkward at the way he was basically looming over Viggo, throwing a shadow right over him.

"No, it's alright. I have more interesting dreams if I sleep in other places than a bed," Viggo assured him, and it was crazy enough to be true.

"So," Dom said, and then cleared his throat nervously, rubbing his nose with his hand," What's with the stuffed pony of doom?"

Viggo paused in what he was doing and squinted up at him.

"What pony?"

"The stuffed thing you keep in your bed that molests me at night?"

"I don't keep any plushies in my bed, Dom. How weird do you think I am?" he asked him, laughing and grinning so widely he was showing all his teeth.

Dom decided that today was a fine day to admit he was slowly losing his mind.

A few hours later, he was ready to admit that maybe life was worth living, but only because he was walking alongside Viggo who had two cameras wrapped around his neck like pythons. The leaves were crunching under their feet, and it felt almost like a real New Zealand wild forest, even though they were too close to the city to get the real effect. He had put on sunglasses again, since the yellow ball in the sky just wasn't too nice to guys who had spent the last two weeks drinking themselves into a stupor. Other than that, he was perfectly happy to follow his friend being his usual artistic, lunatic self. Still, he was keeping track of route markers in case Viggo managed to get them lost.

Viggo stopped to take a picture of a tree trunk, and while Dom had no clue what he was seeing there, he whistled a little tune and waited for Viggo to finish contorting himself in vaguely impossible positions so he could get the exact angle he wanted. He had tried to apologize earlier about being a burden and a fucker who had gotten drunk again and for forcing Viggo to tuck in bed again, but the older man had simply shushed him, and told him that sometimes it was good to take a vacation from his brain. Just like that, Dom had stopped feeling like a total loser. Only Viggo hadn't tried to headbutt him, which was a good thing given the quasi permanent headache he had.

He tried to stay quiet, he really did, but then his traitorous tongue started talking for him, and then Viggo was just nodding along with him and not acting shocked in the least, which loosened his tongue even more. Damn the man anyway.

"My agent had found this nice part, but at the last second they told me it wasn't going to work out. Financing problems, don't you know. But it was an indie film so it didn't seem that implausible, after all those things are held together by a few strings and a prayer. Then I heard that the movie was still going ahead and they had picked someone else for my part. My agent finally admitted that the director had decided I couldn't carry the part. Have you ever heard of agents coddling you about the reasons you don't get a part?"

He had paused then to let Viggo answer him, but the other man had made a non-commital sound and he had kept going.

"After that, I started thinking, fuck it, the best parts I had were when I was younger, and I'm getting old and it's just going to go downhill from there. No offense."

Viggo had grinned then, and had taken a picture of a bird perched on a branch.

"So I figured, fuck it, I might as well be working at McDonald's for all the good this career is doing me. All my best scenes are on the extended DVD, did you know that? And I don't want to sound like I'm complaining, I really don't, I really respect PJ and his artistic vision and I know he cut some of the scenes you were really attached to, I'm not the only one. But it's hard to get parts based on those things, particularly when a lot of people think I'm Billy and vice versa. But Billy has his theater work, at least, so he doesn't care like I do."

They walked on in silence. Dom was a little out of breath to have said all of this in one shot. He usually put so much effort into pretending that he was fine and putting up a good front of his family and friends.

"So you started drinking," Viggo said, not sounding the least bit judgmental.

"Well, the plan was to travel a bit, see the world, but then it turned into seeing the inside of the bars in different countries. So yeah. Not my best plan ever," Dom mumbled, kicking a rock out of his way. "And now I missed the reunion, and I had been looking forward to that for months."

"We can do another one in six months," Viggo said, patting his shoulders. "We don't need excuses for them."

"So, were you shagging the waitress?" Dom asked him, and Viggo just about choked while he was laughing. "What, it was a valid question, you know."

*

He opened his eyes in the middle of the night. He wasn't quite sure if it was because he hadn't drunk himself into oblivion the evening before, but he was wide awake suddenly. There was the ticking of a clock somewhere in the room, and the pile of stuff on the bedside table was making fantastical shapes in the dark. The pony was leering at him from the other pillow, and he slowly and carefully crawled away from it, then dumped all the covers on top of it, moving slowly in case it jumped at his throat and tried to drink his blood.

He padded to the kitchen barefoot, feeling like looking around in the fridge, not because he was really hungry but because it was what one was supposed to do when one awoke in the middle of the night. Only Viggo's fridge was a scary place, and he had to admit that he wasn't quite sure if some of the things in there were food or art supplies. He would of course find out once he was in the emergency room, but he thought he had created enough drama already. And it wasn't fun to be dramatic without the other Hobbits around, anyway.

He stopped in front of the couch where Viggo was blissfully snoring away, and there was a sudden mischievious grin on his face.

Viggo awoke from a perfectly sound sleep by the need to levitate from the couch, since blunt fingers were now exploring his more ticklish areas, and he flailed a little, making someone go "ow!" before he managed to right himself.

"Oh, sorry, did I hit you?" he said with heavy sarcasm, clearly implying that it was all Dom deserved.

"You scream like a girl," Dom calmly informed him, looming over him in the darkness.

Viggo considered that it was the equivalent of having a Hobbit taunting an Uruk Hai in full armor when you are snack size. He pounced, dragging Dom over his lap and smacked his ass hard enough to make him curse and squirm, trying to free himself.

"Ow, Viggo, you kinky fucker, leave my ass alone!"

"I think," Viggo said, and he was talking in such a way that Dom started expecting some pearl of wisdom, "I think you're much more kinky than I could possibly ever be. I've been told I only have weird sex, not kinky sex."

Dom wiggled and crawled, managed to get off of Viggo's lap, and then instantly regretted it. After all, it wasn't such a bad place to be.

"What do you mean, weird sex? Not that I want details or anything," he added.

Please, please, please, do give me details, he pled inwardly.

"I suspect it's one of those things that one should experience, not be told about," Viggo simply said, his fingers somehow managing to find their ways under his shirt again, tickling.

But Dom was thick skinned, and used to friends who liked to tickle him until he pleaded for mercy, so he merely shivered.

"You know what the problem is with us?" Dom asked Viggo.

"No?"

"We fuck around so much that I'm at the point where I have no idea if you're just taking the piss or you're hitting on me, because you do that to pretty much everybody else, and well, I never saw you sleep with any of them."

There was a long moment of silence, and then fingers were travelling up the bumps on his vertebra, or maybe he was thinking about ways to use Dom's ribcage in his next showing. You just never knew with the guy.

"I'm mostly just playing around. Of course, if any of you had decided to drag me into bed, I wouldn't fight them too hard."

"Slut," Dom told him.

"I just like to experience different people. Besides, as I told you, I like weird sex."

"Viggo," Dom said, carefully enunciating the name. "What in the love of all that is holy do you mean by weird sex, and does it involve vegetables or chains or what?"

"I told you, I'd need to show you."

"Fine," Dom said, wiggling back to his feet and grabbing Viggo's arm. "Fine," he said again as he started dragging him towards the bedroom and the disturbing stuffed pony. "Show me then."

Dom wasn't used to having sex with people he considered as friends. He had thought it would be easier than just picking a stranger in a bar and try to figure out what he liked, but in fact, this was a lot more disconcerting. He already knew what Viggo looked like naked, thanks to cramped trailers and the fact that the man had no bloody personal space. He had a pretty good idea of what it felt like to have that kind of intensity directed his way. There was a reason everybody was always attracted to Viggo, after all, even on the day that he didn't happen to look stunningly beautiful and just looked odd.

Apparently, what Viggo had meant by weird sex was that he was willing to put his tongue pretty much anywhere. It wasn't so strange because Dom himself tended to be pretty orally obsessed. But he never had a lover who would do such thing to him with his mouth, that he was gasping for breath and twisting the sheets in his hands, and then would suddenly stop to just LOOK at him. He almost asked Viggo if he was taking pictures in his mind or what, and that maybe if he actually reached out for his camera it would be faster and he could go back to what he was doing. He was beginning to think that having naked pictures of him on Ebay would be worth it if he could just fucking come now, thank you very much.

In the end, it turned out that Viggo actually wanted to get fucked, and after Dom stared in bemusement, loudly announced to the world that Viggo just wasn't fooling anyone and he was just gay, gay, gay, he finally collapsed on his back, totally spent.

That damn plushy pony was staring at them from on top of the night table, too.

The day after that, he managed not to get drunk off his ass, mostly because Viggo tackled him in the middle of the living room when he started making noises about the insufferability of life and totally wiped all thoughts from his brain.

The day after that, he loudly announced that he needed some booze just so Viggo would bend him over the kitchen table and do unspeakable things to him with honey.

After a while, he stopped looking for excuses and just started tackling Viggo when he was horny, since he never seemed to mind the interruption. And little by little, he started to notice that a few days had gone by without waking up with a pounding headache and a bad taste in his mouth, and he started wandering out by himself just to go to concerts and buy groceries and act like a human being, and the big yellow ball in the sky wasn't trying to kill him anymore. One particular Friday night, he even picked up the phone to call Billy, and somehow found himself agreeing to go meet him somewhere in Paris because his friend happened to be busy over there filming a movie for some weird reason.

"You're filming a French movie?" Dom had asked with a totally incredulous voice, strongly implying that Billy was getting depraved enough to start having sex with lapdogs next.

"It's not in French, it just happened to be in Paris," Billy had told him. "Nobody understands my accent when I try to speak French," he had added forlonly.

And somehow he ended up at the airport, clutching all his tickets in his hands and his luggage miraculously back at his sides, with Viggo hugging him and even groping him a little, telling him to take care of himself and to call once in a while in a strange imitation of his mother, and Dom had laughed and hugged him back.

He had the stuffed pony tucked under one arm, and he was grinning like a loon while waving goodbye to Viggo and walking away, not minding for once that one couldn't do the tearful goodbyes at the gate anymore.

Life was good again.
Subscribe

  • Post a new comment

    Error

    default userpic

    Your reply will be screened

    Your IP address will be recorded 

    When you submit the form an invisible reCAPTCHA check will be performed.
    You must follow the Privacy Policy and Google Terms of use.
  • 14 comments