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Flying	By : agelessdrake Category: Lord of the Rings Movies > General > Lord of the Ring Stars Views: 868 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: This is work of fiction! I do not know the celebrity(ies) I am writing about, and I do not profit from these writings.

Chapter List
- 1-Flying
- 1
Title: Flying
Author: Xiang
Fandom: LotR RPONT>ONT>
Pairings: implied VM/OB
Rating: R
Spoilers: nope
Warnings: mild language, implied slash

~

In New Zealand, it is Winter in July.

"I'm telling you, I shouldn't be wearing shorts and a tank top when I'm supposed to be decorating a Christmas tree," he muttered, looking towards me. I smirked a little.

"So you would rather run around in a parka?"

"Well, nah... Personally, I'd rather not be wearin' anything at all, but I think PJ might have a word with me." I smiled at that, because I knew he wanted to see me smile. That was why he'd said it.

"I'd have a few words with you as well."

We were standing a roof of a building that I didn't know, but he aparently did. I didn't mind, though I worried about him. He'd never say it, but we all knew that he was scared of heights now, after his fall. Scared of anything higher than three stories; we'd all noticed it when he refused to be in hotel rooms that high. But we never said anything.

He said he would come up to the rooves of buildings to feel the wind, said he wanted to feel what it was like to be a bird. And so he would stand there, the wind ruffling his shirt and whipping around him, and then he would spread his arms, and tilt his head back, like he were some sort of idol, like he would fly away.

Some days, when I come up with him, I think he will fly away, or simply fall. But he has already, he must have, because he is far too perfect to be human. And some times, when he spreads his arms, it's almost like he has wings that nobody can see except for him. I suppose he does have wings, big ones, that have carried him along on a whirlwind that he wasn't entirely prepared for. A whirlwind that should be called love, but it more properly referred to as an affair of sorts.

Then, with his arms still spread, he'll look at me with those big brown eyes. And I think of my childhood when he does, of a boy who lived down the street and would call to me as I past him on the street.

"Vigs!" the boy would call, because he couldn't say my name. We weren't friends, exactly. But we knew each other. He had the same big, soulful chocolate brown eyes, pools into his mind. Even then, when I was a child, I loved those eye. And sometimes I wonder if that's what drew me to him in the first place.

He crooks a finger and beckons me towards him, and it's like the devil is calling me. A devil with an angel's face. He is Lucifer, and now he wants to play, even if we are on top of a building. There's a smile on his lips, very faint and wistful, as I slowly walk towards him.

He drops his arms as I move up beside him, and leans against me, sighing, his eyes slipping closed. I am at once infinately ellated to be rid of that racking glance and mournful to see those deep pools hidden, nevermind how much I love those long lashes of his. I wrap an arm around his waist when he snuggles closer, and we stand like that for a long while.

But soon, he's out of my grasp, and has moved behind me, and I thank whatever god or goddess made his body fit so perfectly against mine whe doe does that. Because now he's running his long, perfect hands over my shoulders, down my arms, gently grabbing my wrists, and lifting my arms slowly. I'm reminded of a line from a movie I only saw because my son Henry wanted to see it.

I still don't know why he wanted to. It was a dumb movie. But the movement is the same, and the way the wind suddenly whips around us, smelling very dully of engine exhaust and oil and - yes, there it is - the ocean, makes me think of it.

I'm flying. Or I would be, on the wings of everything life has given me, if he wasn't holding me carefully down. Once again, I am conflicted, at once glad to be hampered and held, and at the same time straining to loose myself over into the skies above, or simply plummet, like he did as he stupidly tried to jump.

But here, there is no window, no dark brown surgery scar, nothing except the expance of rooves around us and the wind that is striving to throw us off our own.

He fits perfectly to my back as he rests his chin on my shoulder. My arm's are longer than his, so he simply moves his supple fingers over the back of my wrists, my pulse, subtle little movements that make me wish we weren't on a roof, because he's doing those little movements on purpose, and they're driving me mad.

I know, when this is over, he'll go back to England, and most likely meet a nice girl and settle down and have a nice house with kids and that girl and his dog. But right now, that is as far away as thoughts of the boy who lived down the street, and that window he jumped out of, trying to get to a loft across the alley before he fell and nearly killed himself.

"Penny for your thoughts?" His voice is sweet, delicate in my ear, and I shiver a little. The wind picks up just as I open my mouth, and I wait for it to settle back to it's normal tempo before I try again.

"They aren't worth quite that much."

"Tell me anyways." I chuckle at his order, and twist in his grasp. Suddenly, I'm facing him, our hands twisted together in almost a knot between our chests as I smile at him. We're almost the same height, though I'm still bigger than him. He smiles up at me, his eyes twinkling, and I'm reminded not of the boy down the street, but of my exwife, when I first met her. But her eyes were a different color. And she, like the boy, is long gone from my life.

Like he will be when this is over.

"Kiss me," I whisper, and I know I sound like a needy old man whenay tay that, but he smiles anyway, and kisses me. It is not tender like her's were, and that makes me feel slightly better, as he disentangles his hands from mine and wraps his arms aroung my neck and buries his long fingers into my hair, tugging and petting gently.

And that is all that's gentle about him. But I don't mind. Because it's Summer in December in New Zealand, and this is my Christmas gift.
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Flying