Pygmalion 1/17 (Vigorli AU)
Jun. 17th, 2005 04:00 pm![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
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vigorliAuthor: zebraljb
Rating: G to definite NC17
Disclaimer: I used them. For this story. Cuz it's unreal. It's fiction.
Summary: AU. Viggo is an artist who has lost his muse. It comes to him in the most unlikely fashion.
“Hello?”
“I know you were awake, sitting with a paintbrush in your hand, waiting for inspiration to hit!” A merry voice said on the other end of the line.
“I knew there was a reason I never wanted a phone,” Viggo Mortensen said with a groan. He rolled over and blinked at the sunlight blazing through his windows. He heard a crash as a bottle rolled from the bed onto the hardwood floor of his loft.
“Viggo, are you still in bed?”
“I dunno if I ever left bed, Dom.” Viggo rubbed at his eyes and felt the sandpaper crust of a hangover. “What do you want?”
“I have two words for you, Viggo. Billy Boyd.”
“Yeah, yeah, yeah.” Viggo sat up and decided that was his major victory for the day.
“Have you painted anything in the last week?”
“My toenails,” Viggo said with a straight face. He could practically see his agent and friend turning red with suppressed anger. “Kidding, Dom, calm down. No, I haven’t.”
“You need to get over that Bean asshole, Viggo. It’s been, what, three weeks now?”
“A month, if you must bring it up. That’s not the reason I’m still in bed.”
“No, the reason you’re still in bed is because you drank yourself to sleep last night. And the reason you did THAT is Sean Bean.” Viggo didn’t answer, and Dominic Monaghan took that as an affirmation. “I knew it. Viggo, when was the last time you picked up a paintbrush? A pen? A musical instrument? This isn’t like you.”
“I’m just not inspired, Dom. Is that a crime?”
“It is when we’re supposed to do a show in Billy Boyd’s gallery in less than a month,” Dom replied. “Do you know how many strings I had to pull for this?”
“Yes, Dom, I DO know, and if you weren’t so straight, I’d kiss you for it.”
“Euww,” Dom said, and Viggo actually chuckled.
“Okay, Dom, just for you I’ll get out of bed, take a shower, and go looking for some inspiration.”
“Turn on the telly, Viggo. Maybe you’ll find something there.”
“I don’t know WHY you bought me that thing.” Viggo scowled at the box sitting in the living area of his loft. The screen seemed to glare back.
“Because it’s about time you at least join the land of the living, if only for the news.”
“Everything on the news is sad.”
“Well, as you’re so intent on proving to everyone, everyday LIFE is sad. Get out of bed.” Dom hung up and Viggo groaned.
He managed to get out of bed and into the shower. He stood under cold water for fifteen minutes, then padded back out of the bathroom in bare feet, wearing only a towel. He made himself tea, and sat on the sofa. He looked at the television set, then down at the remote control. The red button marked ‘power’ seemed the obvious choice, so he pushed it.
“Welcome to WEJW news at noon, the news you can count on,” an over-made up anchorwoman said. “Our top story today is the police action downtown. Yet another prostitution ring has been broken up by the police chief’s new task force. Elisha Summers is on the scene. Elisha?”
Viggo watched yet another over-made up reporter tell the story. Apparently there was a huge prostitution area on the other side of town. Both men and women had been arrested. Viggo blinked hard. He didn’t even KNOW there was prostitution in town, though he wasn’t an idiot or anything. He just rarely noticed things that didn’t immediately involve him. He frowned as he watched the screen. Some of the people being led into police vans didn’t look a day over eighteen. He pushed the power button again, feeling even more depressed.
Viggo walked along the river, his notebook in his back pocket and his camera around his neck. Neither were being used, though. He had his fists jammed in his front pockets as he stared at the mist floating up off the water. The weather was cool enough for a simple long-sleeved shirt and jeans. His favorite kind of weather. The kind of weather that usually found him painting in his loft with the windows open, or sitting on a park bench, sketching. He felt no need to do either of those things. It was hard to create art when your heart was broken.
“Hey, mate, you gotta cigarette?” A young man walked over to him, body long and skinny in a tight t-shirt and jeans. His dark eyes were without emotion, though a smile graced the pretty face.
“Sorry, I don’t smoke.” Viggo smiled apologetically, wondering if the boy was trying to rob him. The only thing of value on his person was his camera, and he’d fight to the death to protect it.
“No problem. Bloody nasty habit, that,” the boy agreed. “You a tourist?”
“What? Oh, no.” Viggo looked down at the camera. “Photographer.”
“You’re not one of them arseholes from the news, are ya?” The boy asked, stepping back. “They’ve been crawling all around here.”
“No. I’m an artist.”
“Ah, THAT kinda photographer.” The smile was back again. The boy ran a hand through his curly dark hair. “You wanna take my picture?”
“Sorry. I usually do still life work.” Viggo couldn’t help but admire the boy from an artistic point of view, however. He was a neat mixture of soft curves and pointed joints. Shadows hovered under his eyes, yet his smile sparkled.
“I can be still.” The boy stroke a pose, stuffing his hands into his back pockets, hip cocked to the side. Viggo smiled.
“Sorry.” He started to walk again. “Have a good day.”
“I can be anything you want.”
Viggo froze and slowly turned around. He couldn’t believe this. “Excuse me?”
“I can be anything you want, for a price.” The boy stood, hands on his hips. This stretched the t-shirt even tighter, and Viggo could see the tight stomach underneath.
Viggo laughed out loud, running a hand through his own short hair. “I…you…what makes you think I’d be interested?”
“You’re not the only one with an experienced eye, mate,” the young man said. “I’m good at seeing what’s what. I saw you checking me out.”
“If I was to take you up on this oh-so-kind invitation…how much would it cost me?” Viggo was intrigued, and he felt a stirring of something he thought long dormant.
“Since you’re obviously new to all this, and you’ve got an eye for what’s beautiful…” Here the boy stretched proudly. “Twenty for a blowjob, fifty for an hour, two hundred for the rest of the day.”
“Two hundred?”
“I’m cutting you a break, mate, but if you’re not interested, that’s fine, too.” The young man tipped an imaginary hat and began to walk away.
Viggo stared after him. The man WAS beautiful, that was true. Add to that the cocky attitude and British accent…
“Wait.” Viggo’s voice stopped the man. “The rest of the day. I live nearby.”
The young man grinned and walked back to him. “Great. My name’s Orlando.”
Rating: G to definite NC17
Disclaimer: I used them. For this story. Cuz it's unreal. It's fiction.
Summary: AU. Viggo is an artist who has lost his muse. It comes to him in the most unlikely fashion.
“Hello?”
“I know you were awake, sitting with a paintbrush in your hand, waiting for inspiration to hit!” A merry voice said on the other end of the line.
“I knew there was a reason I never wanted a phone,” Viggo Mortensen said with a groan. He rolled over and blinked at the sunlight blazing through his windows. He heard a crash as a bottle rolled from the bed onto the hardwood floor of his loft.
“Viggo, are you still in bed?”
“I dunno if I ever left bed, Dom.” Viggo rubbed at his eyes and felt the sandpaper crust of a hangover. “What do you want?”
“I have two words for you, Viggo. Billy Boyd.”
“Yeah, yeah, yeah.” Viggo sat up and decided that was his major victory for the day.
“Have you painted anything in the last week?”
“My toenails,” Viggo said with a straight face. He could practically see his agent and friend turning red with suppressed anger. “Kidding, Dom, calm down. No, I haven’t.”
“You need to get over that Bean asshole, Viggo. It’s been, what, three weeks now?”
“A month, if you must bring it up. That’s not the reason I’m still in bed.”
“No, the reason you’re still in bed is because you drank yourself to sleep last night. And the reason you did THAT is Sean Bean.” Viggo didn’t answer, and Dominic Monaghan took that as an affirmation. “I knew it. Viggo, when was the last time you picked up a paintbrush? A pen? A musical instrument? This isn’t like you.”
“I’m just not inspired, Dom. Is that a crime?”
“It is when we’re supposed to do a show in Billy Boyd’s gallery in less than a month,” Dom replied. “Do you know how many strings I had to pull for this?”
“Yes, Dom, I DO know, and if you weren’t so straight, I’d kiss you for it.”
“Euww,” Dom said, and Viggo actually chuckled.
“Okay, Dom, just for you I’ll get out of bed, take a shower, and go looking for some inspiration.”
“Turn on the telly, Viggo. Maybe you’ll find something there.”
“I don’t know WHY you bought me that thing.” Viggo scowled at the box sitting in the living area of his loft. The screen seemed to glare back.
“Because it’s about time you at least join the land of the living, if only for the news.”
“Everything on the news is sad.”
“Well, as you’re so intent on proving to everyone, everyday LIFE is sad. Get out of bed.” Dom hung up and Viggo groaned.
He managed to get out of bed and into the shower. He stood under cold water for fifteen minutes, then padded back out of the bathroom in bare feet, wearing only a towel. He made himself tea, and sat on the sofa. He looked at the television set, then down at the remote control. The red button marked ‘power’ seemed the obvious choice, so he pushed it.
“Welcome to WEJW news at noon, the news you can count on,” an over-made up anchorwoman said. “Our top story today is the police action downtown. Yet another prostitution ring has been broken up by the police chief’s new task force. Elisha Summers is on the scene. Elisha?”
Viggo watched yet another over-made up reporter tell the story. Apparently there was a huge prostitution area on the other side of town. Both men and women had been arrested. Viggo blinked hard. He didn’t even KNOW there was prostitution in town, though he wasn’t an idiot or anything. He just rarely noticed things that didn’t immediately involve him. He frowned as he watched the screen. Some of the people being led into police vans didn’t look a day over eighteen. He pushed the power button again, feeling even more depressed.
Viggo walked along the river, his notebook in his back pocket and his camera around his neck. Neither were being used, though. He had his fists jammed in his front pockets as he stared at the mist floating up off the water. The weather was cool enough for a simple long-sleeved shirt and jeans. His favorite kind of weather. The kind of weather that usually found him painting in his loft with the windows open, or sitting on a park bench, sketching. He felt no need to do either of those things. It was hard to create art when your heart was broken.
“Hey, mate, you gotta cigarette?” A young man walked over to him, body long and skinny in a tight t-shirt and jeans. His dark eyes were without emotion, though a smile graced the pretty face.
“Sorry, I don’t smoke.” Viggo smiled apologetically, wondering if the boy was trying to rob him. The only thing of value on his person was his camera, and he’d fight to the death to protect it.
“No problem. Bloody nasty habit, that,” the boy agreed. “You a tourist?”
“What? Oh, no.” Viggo looked down at the camera. “Photographer.”
“You’re not one of them arseholes from the news, are ya?” The boy asked, stepping back. “They’ve been crawling all around here.”
“No. I’m an artist.”
“Ah, THAT kinda photographer.” The smile was back again. The boy ran a hand through his curly dark hair. “You wanna take my picture?”
“Sorry. I usually do still life work.” Viggo couldn’t help but admire the boy from an artistic point of view, however. He was a neat mixture of soft curves and pointed joints. Shadows hovered under his eyes, yet his smile sparkled.
“I can be still.” The boy stroke a pose, stuffing his hands into his back pockets, hip cocked to the side. Viggo smiled.
“Sorry.” He started to walk again. “Have a good day.”
“I can be anything you want.”
Viggo froze and slowly turned around. He couldn’t believe this. “Excuse me?”
“I can be anything you want, for a price.” The boy stood, hands on his hips. This stretched the t-shirt even tighter, and Viggo could see the tight stomach underneath.
Viggo laughed out loud, running a hand through his own short hair. “I…you…what makes you think I’d be interested?”
“You’re not the only one with an experienced eye, mate,” the young man said. “I’m good at seeing what’s what. I saw you checking me out.”
“If I was to take you up on this oh-so-kind invitation…how much would it cost me?” Viggo was intrigued, and he felt a stirring of something he thought long dormant.
“Since you’re obviously new to all this, and you’ve got an eye for what’s beautiful…” Here the boy stretched proudly. “Twenty for a blowjob, fifty for an hour, two hundred for the rest of the day.”
“Two hundred?”
“I’m cutting you a break, mate, but if you’re not interested, that’s fine, too.” The young man tipped an imaginary hat and began to walk away.
Viggo stared after him. The man WAS beautiful, that was true. Add to that the cocky attitude and British accent…
“Wait.” Viggo’s voice stopped the man. “The rest of the day. I live nearby.”
The young man grinned and walked back to him. “Great. My name’s Orlando.”
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no subject
Date: 2005-06-17 11:22 pm (UTC)LOL I needed that.
Well, this and The Curse are already finished...The House Always Wins is new...so you're just lucky.
no subject
Date: 2005-06-18 09:50 am (UTC)