Chain Lightning
folder
Lord of the Rings Movies › General › Lord of the Ring Stars
Rating:
Adult ++
Chapters:
21
Views:
6,072
Reviews:
16
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Category:
Lord of the Rings Movies › General › Lord of the Ring Stars
Rating:
Adult ++
Chapters:
21
Views:
6,072
Reviews:
16
Recommended:
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.
A Low Grade Fever
Chapter two
A Low Grade Fever
In the forest I'm burning, struck down by the blast,
The fever is churning, and the heat rises fast.
And those standing nearest can show their concern,
But I swear, if they touch me that they too will burn.
They fear for their lives for death will soon dwell
In the warmth of your love is the fire of hell.
It's like chain lightning, this love that I feel.
Who knows where it strikes or when it will hit,
How long it will last, or when it will quit.
Fucking Viggo and his fucking camera. His fucking camera and his fucking photos, and his fucking artistic temperament. He would do this, wouldn’t he, whip out his newest batch of photos and they were wonderful, they truly were, but did he have to show him that one? And now Viggo was looking at him, Viggo was looking at Sean looking at that photo of Billy looking like he fell out of the sex tree and hit every branch on the way down. Billy with his big and remarkably bright green eyes and that little cupid’s bow of an upper lip and his hands, those small hands that looked so sensitive that they could count freckles in the dark, and that small but perfect little body of his that made Sean feel like he had a low-grade fever.
“Bloody hell.” Sean muttered under his breath.
“Hmmm? Didn’t quite catch that.” Viggo said. And he had this damned look on his face, studying Sean’s face, fucking reading him like a breeder reads a horse.
“Nothing.”
“It’s an interesting shot, don’t you think?”
“Bloody hell!”
“What? Speak up.”
“Nothing.”
“I like the way he tips his head back like that. And that nose, when he laughs. Have you ever seen such a laugh?”
“Fuck! Fucking bloody hell.”
“Beg your pardon?”
“Oh, fuck you, Viggo!” Great. Fucking great. Viggo had guessed it. Viggo had put his fucking artistic fingers right on it, in fact, put his bloody artistic fingers right on the very heartbeat of it, right there on the left side of his chest where the cutting is easy.
“Fuck me?” Viggo grinned, grinned like a fucking shark. “No, I don’t think so. I’m not the one you want to fuck.”
“I do not want to…oh Christ. Fuck!”
“Sean? Don’t tell me… no!” And now Viggo was still grinning like a shark but there was something else, too, something like a dawning comprehension in his eye. Sean couldn’t bear that look, he couldn’t bear it, so he looked back down at the photo of Billy, Billy looking like he fell right out of the sex tree and hit every branch on the way down.
“He’s got wonderful…teeth. Don’t you think?”
“Viggo, just drop it. Alright? Just fucking drop it.”
“And those pants, those little hobbit breeches. Just does things for him, don’t you think?”
“God damn you.”
“Nice little ass, isn’t it? Just this perfect little bubble of an ass.”
“God damn you to hell.”
“Makes you want to pinch it, just to see if it would pop.”
“Viggo…” and then Sean heard it in his own voice, a note, and sharp note, so sharp it could cut, cut him right on the left side of his chest where the cutting is easy and best. It was sharp, sharp and green, green as Billy’s eyes, green like the color of jealousy, and what the hell was he doing, thinking like this, feeling like this?
“Don’t tell me you’ve never…?”
“Shut up!” Sean barked, his voice more than sharp, now, his voice sounding positively dangerous in his own ears.
“You’ve never had a man?”
“Bloody fucking hell!”
“What? Didn’t quite catch that.”
“Fuck you, Viggo, just fuck you, fuck you to hell and back!”
Sean stood and tossed back his drink, gripping the photo of Billy looking like he fell out of the sex tree and hit every branch on the way down. Sean looked into his now empty glass. Single malt? Single malt? Billy’s favorite drink?
“Fucking artists!” Sean said. He knew what Viggo had done, he knew Viggo knew he knew what he had done. He had made Sean a drink of Billy and watched as Sean had drunk Billy down, single malt in a single gulp. Sean slammed the empty glass down on the table and stalked out to his car. He didn’t realize until he was halfway home that he still gripped the photo of Billy in his sweaty hand, Billy looking like he fell out of the sex tree and hit every branch on the way down.
Sean felt sick. Sean felt absolutely awful. Like he had a low-grade fever.
A Low Grade Fever
In the forest I'm burning, struck down by the blast,
The fever is churning, and the heat rises fast.
And those standing nearest can show their concern,
But I swear, if they touch me that they too will burn.
They fear for their lives for death will soon dwell
In the warmth of your love is the fire of hell.
It's like chain lightning, this love that I feel.
Who knows where it strikes or when it will hit,
How long it will last, or when it will quit.
Fucking Viggo and his fucking camera. His fucking camera and his fucking photos, and his fucking artistic temperament. He would do this, wouldn’t he, whip out his newest batch of photos and they were wonderful, they truly were, but did he have to show him that one? And now Viggo was looking at him, Viggo was looking at Sean looking at that photo of Billy looking like he fell out of the sex tree and hit every branch on the way down. Billy with his big and remarkably bright green eyes and that little cupid’s bow of an upper lip and his hands, those small hands that looked so sensitive that they could count freckles in the dark, and that small but perfect little body of his that made Sean feel like he had a low-grade fever.
“Bloody hell.” Sean muttered under his breath.
“Hmmm? Didn’t quite catch that.” Viggo said. And he had this damned look on his face, studying Sean’s face, fucking reading him like a breeder reads a horse.
“Nothing.”
“It’s an interesting shot, don’t you think?”
“Bloody hell!”
“What? Speak up.”
“Nothing.”
“I like the way he tips his head back like that. And that nose, when he laughs. Have you ever seen such a laugh?”
“Fuck! Fucking bloody hell.”
“Beg your pardon?”
“Oh, fuck you, Viggo!” Great. Fucking great. Viggo had guessed it. Viggo had put his fucking artistic fingers right on it, in fact, put his bloody artistic fingers right on the very heartbeat of it, right there on the left side of his chest where the cutting is easy.
“Fuck me?” Viggo grinned, grinned like a fucking shark. “No, I don’t think so. I’m not the one you want to fuck.”
“I do not want to…oh Christ. Fuck!”
“Sean? Don’t tell me… no!” And now Viggo was still grinning like a shark but there was something else, too, something like a dawning comprehension in his eye. Sean couldn’t bear that look, he couldn’t bear it, so he looked back down at the photo of Billy, Billy looking like he fell right out of the sex tree and hit every branch on the way down.
“He’s got wonderful…teeth. Don’t you think?”
“Viggo, just drop it. Alright? Just fucking drop it.”
“And those pants, those little hobbit breeches. Just does things for him, don’t you think?”
“God damn you.”
“Nice little ass, isn’t it? Just this perfect little bubble of an ass.”
“God damn you to hell.”
“Makes you want to pinch it, just to see if it would pop.”
“Viggo…” and then Sean heard it in his own voice, a note, and sharp note, so sharp it could cut, cut him right on the left side of his chest where the cutting is easy and best. It was sharp, sharp and green, green as Billy’s eyes, green like the color of jealousy, and what the hell was he doing, thinking like this, feeling like this?
“Don’t tell me you’ve never…?”
“Shut up!” Sean barked, his voice more than sharp, now, his voice sounding positively dangerous in his own ears.
“You’ve never had a man?”
“Bloody fucking hell!”
“What? Didn’t quite catch that.”
“Fuck you, Viggo, just fuck you, fuck you to hell and back!”
Sean stood and tossed back his drink, gripping the photo of Billy looking like he fell out of the sex tree and hit every branch on the way down. Sean looked into his now empty glass. Single malt? Single malt? Billy’s favorite drink?
“Fucking artists!” Sean said. He knew what Viggo had done, he knew Viggo knew he knew what he had done. He had made Sean a drink of Billy and watched as Sean had drunk Billy down, single malt in a single gulp. Sean slammed the empty glass down on the table and stalked out to his car. He didn’t realize until he was halfway home that he still gripped the photo of Billy in his sweaty hand, Billy looking like he fell out of the sex tree and hit every branch on the way down.
Sean felt sick. Sean felt absolutely awful. Like he had a low-grade fever.