Casual 1-5/?

Fandom: LotRips
Pairing: Marton Csokas/Viggo Mortensen
Rating: PG13 (for the moment)
Notes: Hours 1-5 of the drabble marathon.
Disclaimer.

Marton laughed as he studied Viggo, all imperceptible lines and placid surfaces.

"You can't be serious."

It was evident, just how serious he was. Serious as fuck, and that was appropriate, seeing as a fuck was what was at the core of the question.

Just a fuck. Colliding flesh and sweat-worn sheets. Men with their harsh fineness and demanding sensuality.

Marton laughed as he studied Viggo, but he couldn't laugh off the question outright. He knew the answer to this one, exactly how friends weren't there for fucking.

That night, as he looked at Viggo, the why became inconveniently elusive.

***

"This friendship's important to me, Viggo."

"Me too."

Marton tried to work out if Viggo was disappointed with him, if the rejection had stung a little. He'd had a moment of doubt, of insecure terror introducing the possibility that Viggo was after something less than the enduring amity that he himself was quite comfortable with. The idea crossed his mind as some careless smudge of charcoal, resented and shameful.

The proposition had been unexpected, typically Viggo. It had been artistically unsubtle, and now Marton felt the need to pick at its layers.

"I really don't think it's a good idea."

***

It didn't matter. Marton kept telling himself that it didn't matter, repeatedly, until he was sick of the thought, incessantly wittering in his head. Viggo hadn't changed, and Marton hadn't changed, and if Marton had been able to kick out that voice prompting him to forget an easy conversation held in a specific bar, then the friendship wouldn't have changed either.

As it was, Marton felt the discomfort that had been so lacking at the time. It should have felt like a strange conversation back when they spoke it, but the reaction slipped by, even as time now chased it.

***

Apparently, some already considered them some bizarre variation on a couple even back then. This altogether mystified Marton for longer than he kept track of, but even though it never amused him the same way it did Viggo, it didn't particularly bother him. Peripheral mocking, easily ignored.

They carried on the same as ever, and although Marton mentally still took out the conversation to try to dissect it but a little more, it was like trying to read the bottom layer of a paint-splattered collage.

Viggo first kissed Marton on a night of warm beer, jokingly affectionate, soft-lipped and familiar.

***

They began the casual touching without thinking. It didn't mean anything; lacked tension, guile or anything physically subversive of rational decisions. Maybe not quite innocent, though.

Their closeness was impressionist, a blurred palette of contact and absent-minded caress. The lines blurred and receded, leaving an amalgamation of friendly exchanges, flavoured but not shaped by an echoing development of tangible presence.

If Marton had stopped to think, it might have occurred to him that it was slightly unusual for two such people to be so tactile. But it was unlooked for soothing at the time, and relaxed into mindlessly once begun.

Posted by Missiedith at February 27, 2004 5:23 PM | TrackBack