horseboykarl (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
horseboykarl) wrote2005-02-27 07:44 am
horseboykarl) wrote2005-02-27 07:44 am
These Deepened Wounds
I laze around in bed like a contented cat, watching the morning sunlight play over the floor, feeling absurdly pleased with myself. Eric is coming over later and we have the whole day to play. Maybe we’ll hit the beach and then he’ll come back here for dinner and maybe . . . Well, I don’t know, but after I shower, I make sure there are fresh sheets on the bed. I poke through the refrigerator and I realize I need to pick up a few things before he gets here, besides, shopping will be a good distraction until he arrives.
I’m getting into the truck when my cell phone goes off. Eric. I flip it open, “Hey you!”
But his voice stops me cold. “I’m sorry Karl, there’s been a break in at the store, they trashed it. I can’t make it over there today.”
“What? What happened?”
“I dunno, the police think it’s that same gang that’s been causing all the trouble these past weeks.”
An icy rage settles into my brain and I can’t see straight. Fuck that. Those punks are going to pay. They’ve been causing trouble since I got back to Wellie and I’m going to end it.
I take a couple of breaths, not wanting to scare Eric. “Look, I was on my way out anyway, I’ll come down and help out. I’ll see you in a bit.”
We ring off and I sit there for a moment, trying to think. I go back to the house and get Gúthwinë. After what they did to John, if I’m going after these fanboys, I’d rather be armed. I slide the sword in its sheath carefully behind the seats of the truck and drop a cloth over it. I’m not fond of guns, but suddenly I wish I owned one . . . or a flamethrower. That would suit me perfectly right now.
I pull up in front of Moby Dickens and stare in shock. The display window has been torn apart, the manikins hacked to pieces and the stuffing pulled out of the furniture. My rage turns briefly to hurt. I loved that display window, loved the warmth of its owner that it reflected, loved that little glimpse into his mind. I feel like they have attacked me personally.
I push both feelings away and concentrate on finding Eric. I see several employees moving numbly through the destruction, picking things up absently. I find him in the back on the phone, with what I gather is his insurance company. I walk behind him and wrap my arms around his waist, pulling him to me. He tenses for a moment, but then relaxes against me and I hold him quietly.
He finishes the phone call and I turn him around for a hug. “What did they say?”
He snorts. “They tried to claim it was an ‘act of god’ since the destruction was so complete. I threatened to sue them, since the police said it was a gang. The adjuster will be here tomorrow around noon.”
I have an uneasy feeling that the insurance company has a better grasp of what is really going on here, but I keep that to myself. “Let me help you, surely you could use another pair of hands?”
He nods tiredly and brushes a brief kiss across my lips. “Thank you. I’ve sent out for some industrial strength trash bags for the debris. Any store merchandise you should set aside so we can check it against the inventory. We have to see what’s missing and what’s destroyed.”
I start at the window, feeling like I’m mourning a friend. I set the books to the side and when one of the girls gives me a trash bag, I put the pieces of the manikins in the bags. I look hard at the furniture and realize that most of it can probably be salvaged, the gashes repaired and the cushions re-stuffed. I shift one of the couches out of the way and stare in shock at the wooden floor beneath. There’s an orc blade stuck into the floor by its spikes.
I pull on it, but it’s in there tight. Finally I rock it back and forth and it comes loose. It looks like it came from WETA, but . . . there’s a sigil painted on the blade that I don’t recognize. Wait . . . I saw this on the cricket bat from the fight at the Firkin. I didn’t know what Gareth meant, but now that I see it, I remember. I have seen this before . . . on the bat that Jay threw to me.
“Eric!” He turns and comes over. “What did the police say about this?”
“They must have missed that . . . where was it? That’s a really strange looking thing . . . I’ll take it, I’m sure they would want to see it.”
I pull it back. The blade is making me uneasy and I don’t want him touching it, besides . . . “The police have no fucking idea what this is about, but I know people that can help with this. This came from WETA workshop, I’ll talk to them.”
I wrap the blade in one of the bags and take it to my truck. I open the door and lift the seat, intending to put it there with Gúthwinë, but I hesitate. Éomer may be as amoral as a cat, but no darkness has ever touched his soul, as far as I can tell. It seems . . . wrong . . . to put this abomination near his sword, even though he’s never held it, in some way it is his. The boundaries between reality and fiction are blurring again.
I growl and throw the blade in the bed of the truck. Somebody better give me some answers!
When I come back in, I have to ask, “What about your Tolkien works, what happened to them?”
Eric sighs. “As far as I can tell, everything we had by Tolkien was completely destroyed, the books, the games, the collector’s items.”
I ponder that as I continue bagging debris. With my hands busy my brain starts churning. John gave me the key to all of this. He says the bowl's got to come back. Hugo. What do I do about it? Eric has never been involved in the films, he’s truly an innocent bystander, but I care because he happens to be close to me. But Wellington is full of thousands of people who didn’t ask for any of this. People I’ll never know are getting hurt by Morgoth’s rage. And then there’s the rest of the world . . . but it makes my head hurt to think of things that large in scope. I concentrate on Wellie.
So the question is do I inflict the shifts on my friends again or do I hope that someone finds a way to stop Morgoth before anyone else gets hurt. The good of the many I don’t know against the good of the few that I truly care about. My own well-being . . . these weeks without having to worry about Éomer have steadied me and my growing relationship with Eric has seemed to be repayment for over a year of hell. I’m in too deep to lose Eric now . . . but how can he be in my life if Éomer is a factor? I don’t want horseboy back.
Okay, Urban, pros and cons. First con, I’ll get blondie back, but worse than that, I’ll get Théodred trying to run my life again. I sigh. I don’t know what to make of them. Maybe I dreamed the truth . . . . The only answer to that is to make my own peace with Éomer. First pro, innocent people will stop suffering from Morgoth’s wrath. The only problem with that is Morgoth is still out there, and if we find one way to thwart him, he’ll try something else. But that argument won’t work. I can’t refuse to act on the grounds that it won’t solve the problem permanently, I have to deal with what I’ve got. Second con, my friends will get their shifts back. I ache for John and Gareth and perhaps even Viggo, for surely his troubles must be shift related. But people have already died and how many more will suffer? Much as I’ve hated Éomer in the past, he’s never killed innocents . . . he may have fucked them half to death, but that’s a different story . . . I shake my head wryly. I never thought that I would consider the blonde bastard the lesser evil, but . . . it seems that he is. If I do this, I’ll have to find a way to co-exist with him that hurts neither of us.
Second pro . . . there is nothing else. There’s all of Wellington versus a handful of actors.
John said Hugo was waiting for something . . . but I’ve had enough of waiting.
Hours later, the sun has set and Eric has sent his employees home. Most of the trash has been picked up and we have been going around with scanners entering bar codes. Eric is hollow-eyed and I decide that we’ve both had enough. I pull the scanner out of his hand and lead him to a chair.
“It’s time to stop, you’re on the verge of collapsing. Come home with me tonight. No strings, I promise, I have a guest bed that you can sleep in.”
He smiles wanly. “You don’t have to do that, I can go home.”
“No, you can’t be by yourself tonight, I know they hit you someplace vulnerable. It’s no trouble. Do you like Asian? There’s a great Asian fusion take-out on the way home, we’ll stop, it’ll be dead easy.”
Finally he agrees and I walk him out to the truck. We get a selection of meals and then head out for the house. I find that I’m ravenous and Eric seems to be hungry as well. Soon we’re relaxing with full bellies.
“It’s late, let me show you the guest room.”
He stops me with a hand on my arm. “No . . . let me sleep with you.” He runs his hand up my arm under the sleeve of my shirt. “I want you.”
I hesitate, not sure if this is a good idea, I know Eric has to be stressed out of his mind and adding sex into the mix . . . . but his eyes are begging me and I nod and pull him in for a kiss. “Okay, but here . . . you can use this bathroom, there’s fresh toothbrushes in the basket under the window. My room is just there, I’ll see you in a minute.”
I go to my own bathroom off my bedroom and stand staring blankly at my reflection for a moment. I want him, I do . . . I just wish the circumstances were different. I snort at my image. What are you wanting, Urban? Candlelight and flowers? Eric clearly needs this, needs the forgetfulness of flesh against flesh after what’s happened. And I want him, I’m half crazy wanting him sometimes. So what if this isn’t ideal? He’s gorgeous, he wants me. Enough already. Finally, I finish brushing my teeth and turn away to locate the condoms and lube. When I walk back into the room, he is lying sprawled on my bed, naked, already hard, his skin glowing against my sheets. He has a tattooed armband of Celtic knotwork ending in a raven’s head on one end and a wolf’s head on the other. It suits him.
I quickly shed my clothes and join him. Our mouths and fingers explore each other and every time he pulls on that nipple ring, it seems it is connected directly to my balls. The sensation is making me dizzy, but I refuse to lose control. Finally, I sink slowly into his warmth and he wraps himself around me as we move together.
After he sleeps, I lie awake staring at my peaceful woods. I can’t let anyone else suffer because I selfishly want to keep my life to myself and not share it with Éomer. And I realize that my decision is made.
I’m getting into the truck when my cell phone goes off. Eric. I flip it open, “Hey you!”
But his voice stops me cold. “I’m sorry Karl, there’s been a break in at the store, they trashed it. I can’t make it over there today.”
“What? What happened?”
“I dunno, the police think it’s that same gang that’s been causing all the trouble these past weeks.”
An icy rage settles into my brain and I can’t see straight. Fuck that. Those punks are going to pay. They’ve been causing trouble since I got back to Wellie and I’m going to end it.
I take a couple of breaths, not wanting to scare Eric. “Look, I was on my way out anyway, I’ll come down and help out. I’ll see you in a bit.”
We ring off and I sit there for a moment, trying to think. I go back to the house and get Gúthwinë. After what they did to John, if I’m going after these fanboys, I’d rather be armed. I slide the sword in its sheath carefully behind the seats of the truck and drop a cloth over it. I’m not fond of guns, but suddenly I wish I owned one . . . or a flamethrower. That would suit me perfectly right now.
I pull up in front of Moby Dickens and stare in shock. The display window has been torn apart, the manikins hacked to pieces and the stuffing pulled out of the furniture. My rage turns briefly to hurt. I loved that display window, loved the warmth of its owner that it reflected, loved that little glimpse into his mind. I feel like they have attacked me personally.
I push both feelings away and concentrate on finding Eric. I see several employees moving numbly through the destruction, picking things up absently. I find him in the back on the phone, with what I gather is his insurance company. I walk behind him and wrap my arms around his waist, pulling him to me. He tenses for a moment, but then relaxes against me and I hold him quietly.
He finishes the phone call and I turn him around for a hug. “What did they say?”
He snorts. “They tried to claim it was an ‘act of god’ since the destruction was so complete. I threatened to sue them, since the police said it was a gang. The adjuster will be here tomorrow around noon.”
I have an uneasy feeling that the insurance company has a better grasp of what is really going on here, but I keep that to myself. “Let me help you, surely you could use another pair of hands?”
He nods tiredly and brushes a brief kiss across my lips. “Thank you. I’ve sent out for some industrial strength trash bags for the debris. Any store merchandise you should set aside so we can check it against the inventory. We have to see what’s missing and what’s destroyed.”
I start at the window, feeling like I’m mourning a friend. I set the books to the side and when one of the girls gives me a trash bag, I put the pieces of the manikins in the bags. I look hard at the furniture and realize that most of it can probably be salvaged, the gashes repaired and the cushions re-stuffed. I shift one of the couches out of the way and stare in shock at the wooden floor beneath. There’s an orc blade stuck into the floor by its spikes.
I pull on it, but it’s in there tight. Finally I rock it back and forth and it comes loose. It looks like it came from WETA, but . . . there’s a sigil painted on the blade that I don’t recognize. Wait . . . I saw this on the cricket bat from the fight at the Firkin. I didn’t know what Gareth meant, but now that I see it, I remember. I have seen this before . . . on the bat that Jay threw to me.
“Eric!” He turns and comes over. “What did the police say about this?”
“They must have missed that . . . where was it? That’s a really strange looking thing . . . I’ll take it, I’m sure they would want to see it.”
I pull it back. The blade is making me uneasy and I don’t want him touching it, besides . . . “The police have no fucking idea what this is about, but I know people that can help with this. This came from WETA workshop, I’ll talk to them.”
I wrap the blade in one of the bags and take it to my truck. I open the door and lift the seat, intending to put it there with Gúthwinë, but I hesitate. Éomer may be as amoral as a cat, but no darkness has ever touched his soul, as far as I can tell. It seems . . . wrong . . . to put this abomination near his sword, even though he’s never held it, in some way it is his. The boundaries between reality and fiction are blurring again.
I growl and throw the blade in the bed of the truck. Somebody better give me some answers!
When I come back in, I have to ask, “What about your Tolkien works, what happened to them?”
Eric sighs. “As far as I can tell, everything we had by Tolkien was completely destroyed, the books, the games, the collector’s items.”
I ponder that as I continue bagging debris. With my hands busy my brain starts churning. John gave me the key to all of this. He says the bowl's got to come back. Hugo. What do I do about it? Eric has never been involved in the films, he’s truly an innocent bystander, but I care because he happens to be close to me. But Wellington is full of thousands of people who didn’t ask for any of this. People I’ll never know are getting hurt by Morgoth’s rage. And then there’s the rest of the world . . . but it makes my head hurt to think of things that large in scope. I concentrate on Wellie.
So the question is do I inflict the shifts on my friends again or do I hope that someone finds a way to stop Morgoth before anyone else gets hurt. The good of the many I don’t know against the good of the few that I truly care about. My own well-being . . . these weeks without having to worry about Éomer have steadied me and my growing relationship with Eric has seemed to be repayment for over a year of hell. I’m in too deep to lose Eric now . . . but how can he be in my life if Éomer is a factor? I don’t want horseboy back.
Okay, Urban, pros and cons. First con, I’ll get blondie back, but worse than that, I’ll get Théodred trying to run my life again. I sigh. I don’t know what to make of them. Maybe I dreamed the truth . . . . The only answer to that is to make my own peace with Éomer. First pro, innocent people will stop suffering from Morgoth’s wrath. The only problem with that is Morgoth is still out there, and if we find one way to thwart him, he’ll try something else. But that argument won’t work. I can’t refuse to act on the grounds that it won’t solve the problem permanently, I have to deal with what I’ve got. Second con, my friends will get their shifts back. I ache for John and Gareth and perhaps even Viggo, for surely his troubles must be shift related. But people have already died and how many more will suffer? Much as I’ve hated Éomer in the past, he’s never killed innocents . . . he may have fucked them half to death, but that’s a different story . . . I shake my head wryly. I never thought that I would consider the blonde bastard the lesser evil, but . . . it seems that he is. If I do this, I’ll have to find a way to co-exist with him that hurts neither of us.
Second pro . . . there is nothing else. There’s all of Wellington versus a handful of actors.
John said Hugo was waiting for something . . . but I’ve had enough of waiting.
Hours later, the sun has set and Eric has sent his employees home. Most of the trash has been picked up and we have been going around with scanners entering bar codes. Eric is hollow-eyed and I decide that we’ve both had enough. I pull the scanner out of his hand and lead him to a chair.
“It’s time to stop, you’re on the verge of collapsing. Come home with me tonight. No strings, I promise, I have a guest bed that you can sleep in.”
He smiles wanly. “You don’t have to do that, I can go home.”
“No, you can’t be by yourself tonight, I know they hit you someplace vulnerable. It’s no trouble. Do you like Asian? There’s a great Asian fusion take-out on the way home, we’ll stop, it’ll be dead easy.”
Finally he agrees and I walk him out to the truck. We get a selection of meals and then head out for the house. I find that I’m ravenous and Eric seems to be hungry as well. Soon we’re relaxing with full bellies.
“It’s late, let me show you the guest room.”
He stops me with a hand on my arm. “No . . . let me sleep with you.” He runs his hand up my arm under the sleeve of my shirt. “I want you.”
I hesitate, not sure if this is a good idea, I know Eric has to be stressed out of his mind and adding sex into the mix . . . . but his eyes are begging me and I nod and pull him in for a kiss. “Okay, but here . . . you can use this bathroom, there’s fresh toothbrushes in the basket under the window. My room is just there, I’ll see you in a minute.”
I go to my own bathroom off my bedroom and stand staring blankly at my reflection for a moment. I want him, I do . . . I just wish the circumstances were different. I snort at my image. What are you wanting, Urban? Candlelight and flowers? Eric clearly needs this, needs the forgetfulness of flesh against flesh after what’s happened. And I want him, I’m half crazy wanting him sometimes. So what if this isn’t ideal? He’s gorgeous, he wants me. Enough already. Finally, I finish brushing my teeth and turn away to locate the condoms and lube. When I walk back into the room, he is lying sprawled on my bed, naked, already hard, his skin glowing against my sheets. He has a tattooed armband of Celtic knotwork ending in a raven’s head on one end and a wolf’s head on the other. It suits him.
I quickly shed my clothes and join him. Our mouths and fingers explore each other and every time he pulls on that nipple ring, it seems it is connected directly to my balls. The sensation is making me dizzy, but I refuse to lose control. Finally, I sink slowly into his warmth and he wraps himself around me as we move together.
After he sleeps, I lie awake staring at my peaceful woods. I can’t let anyone else suffer because I selfishly want to keep my life to myself and not share it with Éomer. And I realize that my decision is made.