Posted: June 2004
Title: Three Decembers
Author: Helena Snow-Renn
Type: RPS
Characters: Elijah Wood/Viggo Mortensen
Rating: R
Disclaimer: As always, this is fiction. It never happened.
Warnings: Slash, Angst Lite, AU (disregard to actual dates and birthday, Part III in the near future, as of date written), inter-generational
Summary: Three quick looks. It's been a long five years
Author's Note: Anorien's story "Waiting," and Brenda's "Welcome to the Playground" series. Although theirs are much better. There, I have credited. No disrespect is intended. On the contrary.

*****

I. December, 1999

"How old are you again?"

"Old enough."

"Yeah, that's what I'm afraid of. Now how old are you, Elwood?"

A defeatist sigh . "Seventeen."

"That's what I thought I heard. The child star. The prodigy. The statutory story."

"Oh, fuck that. I'm almost eighteen."

"Which isn't to say that you ARE eighteen."

"I can drink legally here. Surely their age of consent…"

"Don't even bother. You're American. I'm American. I don't think place of service matters."

"So which one of us is getting serviced? "

Viggo rolled his eyes. "Do you realize I'm forty-one? I'm not discussing top and bottom with a seventeen-year-old, especially not when I am supposedly one party and said seventeen-year-old is the other. Come back and see me in five years." His gap-toothed evil-twin grin made an appearance. "If I can still get it up at that advanced age."

Right. It was fucking torture, the boy reflected, specifically because ‘it' had no problems in the present, or so he imagined. The things he had heard… Viggo and Orlando. Viggo and Sean. And Karl. Dom and Billy, but those two were inseparable. Half the stunt crew, apparently, though that bunch of crazies tended to blow everything out of proportion. Good god, the man good-naturedly, passive-aggressively wormed his way into everyone's bed and heart eventually. And why not? He was so… kind, in a nutty way; funny, if you liked physical abuse; and so goddamn sexy.

Though Elijah was no virgin and was not interested in wracking up numbers just for the sake of it, having to hear these little bits of things and not being allowed... Some of his attraction was a form of hero-worship. He knew that from long years of experience in this field. He'd never met anyone quite like Viggo though. God, he wanted him, if only for one night. The things that man could teach him…

II. December, 2001

Opening night. Elijah was too happy to see everyone again to even care whether Viggo noticed him or not. After his umpteenth round of ‘see you in five years,' he'd discovered other delights for himself. Orli. Dom and Billy. Andy, of all people. That had been enough, more than enough. He hadn't needed to make the rounds after them. That they'd also made the rounds with Viggo was irrelevant to his times together with them. At least they meant something.

So tonight, there they were again, maybe for the last time, an entity unto themselves. Elijah pondered from the depths of the hobbit/elf huddle, that it was too bad Seanie-the-senator was totally straight. The two of them were practically soul mates and Elijah had cried on his shoulder many, many times.

He shook Viggo's hand and let the man hug the breath out of him, as was his way. Then the nineteen-year-old backed away uncertainly. Oh, he was legal now, but… Viggo had grown even more feral and wild-looking since he'd seen him last, even though his hair was neatly combed and he didn't smell like Aragorn tonight. Elijah watched Viggo stare at his mouth. He'd actually been thinking of the time they'd thrown him in the river because he'd been too in character for a four-day stretch to shower. But when those sharp, sparkly blue-grey eyes alighted on the boy's lips and the older man licked his own in unconscious answer, Elijah knew that for once, he would be the one to dangle the bait. If he so decided. Yes.

"Three." That was all he needed to say.

It took Viggo a minute. "Three," he answered.

III. December, 2004

Eliajh took him at his word.

It took some doing, but eventually Viggo's house was pinpointed. Elijah simply showed up on a Tuesday afternoon and rang the bell. Viggo appeared in his own good time, shirtless, barefoot, hands smeared in blue and brown paint.

"Frodo!" And he was engulfed in a typical Viggo hug so sudden and fierce he barely kept his feet.

"Not anymore." ‘ Lij backed up two steps. He didn't want to be found stiff and quivering, not yet.

"What are you doing here, anyway?"

"I believe we have an appointment."

"Huh?"

" Five years. Or, maybe I should say, ‘None.'"

Viggo was stumped. "You lost me."

"Do you remember how old was I five years ago?"

"Seventeen, I reckon…" It dawned. Elijah saw the memory and its connotation make its way to the surface.

"Well." Viggo looked down, then up ‘ Lijah's small frame with agonizing slowness.

He combed his reddish hair back with one hand, looking puzzled. ‘ Lij noticed deeper lines around his eyes, more silver mixing into his hair, even a few in the mat of fur on his bare chest. On the other hand, he still looked the same poured into those jeans. Elijah couldn't help but notice that. Must be one of those left-over hippie things, wearing his jeans so tight all the time.

Elijah drooled. Even now, his expression made it clear; now a world-wise and well-traveled twenty-two-year-old, saliva or not, he was still drooling.

Finally the artist leaned one hip against his doorframe and crossed his arms.

"Cunt!" Viggo said, the filthiest look of lust Elijah had ever seen suddenly naked on his face. "I can't believe you."

"That was my line."

"Forget lines and scripts and schedules already. I have." Never breaking the double-blue gaze-lock, Viggo gestured vaguely at the cool, dark interior of his house. "Bedroom's that way."

*****

THE END

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