horseboykarl: (red sweater)
The weather is cooling off . . . mid-April is one of my favorite times of year, yeah, I'm fucking weird, I like winter. But I've got other reasons for liking it now. My green-eyed blonde Brit was born this month. And I've gone completely sappy, fuck. . .

I grin, though, not too upset by the way he's gotten into my life and under my skin. My life's a whole heaps better since the day he showed up on my doorstep. And that's what tonight's about.

The box is on the seat beside me, green cloth decorated with cavorting lovers. This is more of a present for both of us, and I hope he enjoys it. Hell, his other present is for both of us too. And now my grin has gone even wider . . . thinking of the fun we'll have with both his presents.

He decided on a quiet night for his birthday tonight, although I was fucking tempted to call of our mutual friends and throw him a party, there's enough of 'em lurking around Wellie. But this is what he wanted, and I'm highly in favor of giving him whatever he wants.

But I did want to do a few things to make it special, so I ran out to the bakery to get a Pavlova and now I’m on the way back to his house.

I park the truck in his drive, and gather up the Pav, and the green box, and the other thing. )


NC-17
horseboykarl: (closed eyes smile)
It’s after midnight and I rake my hands through my hair in frustration. I’m on my own for once, due to Sean and I having appointments in different directions this afternoon. I miss him, my body squirming, aching for his touch, but that’s not the bloody reason for my frustration.

I’m sprawled out on my bed with my laptop, madly hunting around the Net. He’s got a birthday coming up and I don’t have a fucking clue what to get him. I don’t know shit about footie, just enough to follow a game, but just barely. His beloved Blades are on the other side of the world . . . that thought distracts me with a vivid sense-memory of tasting his tattoo, carefully licking the skin to see if it tastes different from the rest of him.

I'm easily distracted . . .  )
R
horseboykarl: (fileg happy)
OOC note: takes place immediately after Viggo leaves.

Watching Viggo leave, I decide I'm keeping the fuck out of their private lives, no fucking way am I telling Orli if I think Viggo's cheating on him. That's their problem.

Mine is sitting here beside me, and I pull away my hands, and nervously fiddle with the label on the bottle that Viggo left, wondering how much trouble I'm in. I can't remember ever going alpha like that on anybody. Never found the need to stake my claim so clearly, and I can't decide if Viggo brought it on or you. I've always thought I've been a pretty easy-going lover, not demanding a whole heaps. I was certainly that way with Eric. Never cared that his customers flirted with him, didn't think twice when he drew stares when we were out.

But those old rules are out with you. I feel more with you, somehow, the passion between us is more intense, the trust is deeper, everything is just . . . more.

"I'm in over my head here, Sean." I turn in my seat so I can face you, so we can see each other's eyes. And you can see how much I need you to help me.

I'm not like that, not usually. )
NC-17
horseboykarl: (karl close)
Sean and I agreed to meet at the Firkin for drinks and a relaxing game of darts, but instead Sean runs into Viggo and I go little alpha . . .
horseboykarl: (half smile)
We are cautiously feeling our way through this, one thing at a time. It's strange, I want to trust him so much, and I do trust him, and it feels so bloody good to be with someone like that. But we're both trying so hard to do the right thing, and that usually ends us up in bed. I smirk. We decided the next step was to actually get out of bed and go out in public together. A date.

I told him I'd collect him, and I'm doing my best to be on time, but getting dressed for this proved to be more of a fucking ordeal that I'd have guessed. There's no question that I'd be wearing the vest he gave me, but I didn't have anything to go under, and so I had to make an emergency shopping trip this afternoon. And he doesn't bloody know what a fucking deal it is for me to go clothes shopping. I roll my eyes, it's another thing to add the ever-lengthening list of things I don't normally do, but that he gets me doing.

The shirt I found is silk, thin as anything, woven like a T-shirt, short sleeved. It's blue, but as if someone painted watercolors and then left them in the rain. The blue is washed out nearly white in places, others it's still dark. It's so thin that it shows everything under it. My nipple ring is obvious, at least to me. But it looks incredible under the vest, as far as I can tell. I debate the leather pants, but decide they're too much, especially since the place we're going is fairly laid-back. Nothing fancy this time, cause I think I'd have a nervous breakdown if I had to pick out a suit. This is heaps worse than a premiere.

I pull on jeans, wiping my hands on them. Yeah, fuck, I'm nervous. )

NC-17
horseboykarl: (celebration)
That shoot is finally over, and somehow I don't care if that film never sees the light of day. Not that I don't think it's good, but any memories of what we did there are poisoned. But it's behind me now, and the future looks bloody good as I get out of the cab.

There's a beautiful blonde in my bed.

NC-17
horseboykarl: (bedraggled)
I wake up screaming, sweaty, tangled up in the sheets. Fuck. I thought they were done . . . despite my warning to Sean, I hadn't had any the entire time we were together for Christmas. But this one was different, and I curse the utter predictability of my psyche. This time when that fanboy lifted the iron bar up to bash my head in, he changed into Dylan just when my sword connected with his throat.

Don't know what the fuck to do. Someone pounds on my door, asking if I'm all right. "Nightmare!" I yell and they go away, cause I'm bloody sure that just about everybody's sleeping poorly tonight. No one here I can talk to about it, no one I can tell that seeing Dylan like that brought back my most horrific memories.

Shaking and sweating, I get a glass of water from the bathroom, trying to calm down, but knowing I'll never get back to sleep tonight, knowing that every time I close my eyes, I'll see nothing but visions of gruesome death. Fuck, I can't go back into that hole again. Can't.

The clock says that it's just a little after midnight. Feels a hell of a lot later. I sit on the bed, drawing my knees up and staring at my cell phone on top of the telly.

my door's always open, all right?

I need you. )
horseboykarl: (interview face)
I've left Wellington again and I'm down in the South Island and it seems like filming will never end. For the first time in a long while, I'm aching to get home, aching for him . . .

NC-17
horseboykarl: (fileg happy)
OOC note: takes place Christmas morning, the morning after this.

I open my eyes and see that it's still dark outside, and I'm disoriented for a moment, wondering why I'm awake. But then fingers twitch on my ribs again, tickling slightly and I remember. Sean. Still in bed with me, and I turn my head, and he's there, a bulky shape in the darkness of the room. I can just barely see his eyes moving under his eyelids and I guess he's dreaming, and I'm hoping it's a good one if it involves his hands moving and I remember his hands moving last night, and fuck, I'm aching for him again.

I wonder if he'd appreciate my hard-on as an early Christmas present, but it's not even dawn yet and he looks so peaceful. I roll over and pull him closer, smiling against his sunny hair. Aunt June had pretended like she didn't know who he was, despite her threats when I called her. Treated him like any other ex-pat Brit living in Zid. And went to bed early.

And now, somehow, despite us still not talking about what we expect from each other, I can't fret about it anymore. He knows the worst thing about me, and it doesn't bother him. Whatever this is that we've got, it's something good, something peaceful and comfortable, in between times of almost uncontrollable lust. I'll just let it be, let us be, take whatever this is without worry or fear.

Warm and content, I slide back into sleep. )

NC-17
horseboykarl: (ceasar lust 1)
Christmastime. I'm paying my neighbor's kid to feed Smokey this week and I've come to the farm with Ire. It’s Christmas Eve and I’m getting ready to spend Christmas with my favorite relly. Have a nice quiet Christmas, then the local bonfire for Boxing Day. Nice little vacation, away from work and all, out here in the back of beyond. Peace and quiet. Dead normal, nothing going on here.

Right, Urban. Tell another one. )

NC-17
horseboykarl: (straight on)
I don't know exactly what we're doing, I just know I want it to keep going.

And I spend the night exactly where I want to be.
horseboykarl: (celebration)
The small regional jet lifts off from Te Anau, bound back to Wellington. It’s courtesy of the production company and I’m surprised the small wilderness runway can accommodate it, but no matter, I’ve got a week of downtime for the moment while the crew shifts everything back to the North Island. I can put up with yet another hair-raising plane ride.

But this wholesale packing up and moving the film gives me a feeling of fond nostalgia remembering Pete and his satellite directing and his multiple second units. And can you even call it a second unit when you’ve got six or seven of them? It seemed like every corner of New Zealand had a crew from Rings back then. I have to admit that some part of me still misses that, no matter what evil came after it. This movie is nowhere near that scale. Fuck, not many movies will ever be like that again.

I’m bloody knackered, hiking around in the wilderness for two weeks, making like a Viking wannabe, carrying a fuckload of gear. I’d like to get in something relaxing like rock climbing or surfing, but my contract this time prohibits me from indulging in any dangerous sports, up to and including both of those. And bungee jumping, which is weird, cause I’m not into that so much. Must have me confused with Orli. I snort. Not fucking likely.

Something relaxing . . . thinking of Rings puts me in mind of Weta Workshop and maybe I’ll go bother them when I get back, although I’m sure they’ve got their hands full with that Narnia thing and of course, Pete’s little monkey project.

There’s somebody else that said I could bother him, but I don’t know him well enough to know whether he was just trying to be nice, or whether he really wouldn’t mind me. I’m still leery of hanging around Dave too much after the last debacle, but spending time with someone who seems to have the makings of a good friend . . . sounds like fun.

I stay home for a couple of days, taking Smokey out for a long trail ride, Ire tagging along. I deal with some other things around the house and garden that won't wait, and then pick up my phone, scrolling for the number I saved.

We'll see where we land, yeah? )
horseboykarl: (Karl loves NZ)
Aunt June let me wallow for about three days, then she put me to work. I had no idea grapes were so labor intensive in the spring. After slogging through the early spring mud and wrestling grapevines all day, I usually fell into bed each night too tired to think about anything. Aunt June's famous cure to a broken heart . . . work your ass off.

But then she had kicked me out after two weeks, saying that my heart wasn’t broken, just my ego and to get the hell on with my life. Aunt June always favored a surgical strike as a method of healing wounds. So I left and came back here.

And it looks like I’ll be around Wellie the whole summer this year, so I can make some real plans for my garden. I had wanted to put in an herb garden to satisfy Eric’s gourmet skills, but fuck, I’m a decent cook and I decided I like the idea. So I’m doodling with some graph paper and books, trying to come up with a design. Because it seems that half of herbs isn’t so much what you grow as it is how you set the bloody thing up. All the pictures I’ve seen are formal layouts and they don’t seem to go with the half-wild nature of my property, so I’m working on something a little more free-form. Never was much of a fucking artist. Should see if Viggo or Paris would help me.

Shit, at least I can get the bed prepared anyway, save the planting for later. So I pull on a pair of old camos and my workboots and grab a shovel.

I had no idea you were around Wellie. )

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horseboykarl

February 2011

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