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TITLE: Release
AUTHOR: Jo (jo @
ORIGINAL STORY: Remix of this untitled ficlet by Kilts and Lollies.
PAIRING: Dom/Viggo
SUMMARY: Dom needs a release

DISCLAIMER: The author makes no claims or inferences to reality or truthfulness. Moreover, this story is based upon the work of another author and recognises their creation.

* * * * *

"Damn perfectionist wankers," Dominic mutters as he stalks back to the trailer. An innocent rock gets in his way, and he kicks it. So what if it messes up the feet. Not like they're not going to be shredded just as soon as he's unglued.

It's been a shit day, a long day, with everyone flubbing lines and missing marks. Even Ian, who makes few mistakes, has fallen prey to the rotten luck plaguing cast and crew today. If Peter gets anything usable out of it, Dominic thinks, fingers yanking at buttons and ties, it'll be a miracle. The entire cast is in a bad mood, but Dominic is pretty sure his mood is the worst.

He slams into the trailer, glad for once that everyone else's foul temper means that he won't have to deal with Elijah's incessant chatter and high-pitched giggles. The other three hobbits, almost finished with their post-shoot ritual, clearly feel no need to strike up a conversation, and that's even better as far as Dominic is concerned.

As he begins to wiggle out of his costume, padding and all, Sean and Elijah murmur some excuse or other and vanish, door banging shut behind them. Billy takes longer, lingering to give Dominic several long, pointed looks, but then he, too, is gone.

Well and good.

Not like Dominic is any mood to talk or be sociable. He's even got a dark look for the next person through the door, some poor sod from Feet. "'Bout time," he mutters under his breath, but climbs up on the little box like a dutiful hobbit-type actor. The sooner he's out of these things, the sooner he can clear the hell out of here.

They're just finishing up when the door opens yet again. Viggo this time. Just freaking peachy. Dominic's in no mood for Viggo's incomprehensible babble and tells Viggo so. Viggo just smiles -- as he's wont to do -- and flops in Billy's chair to watch as Dominic drags on his clothes. Cheeky wanker. Restless fingers run through short hair, spiking it until the sun-kissed strands look like some sort of weird scrubbing pad for the kitchen.

It's almost enough to make Dominic grin.

"Any plans tonight?"

Plans? After their day? Viggo's got to be daft. Still looking in the mirror, Dominic peers at Viggo and shakes his head. "Safest place for me is bed," he says. Between one word and the next, the long day catches up to him, and exhaustion slams into him with the force of a freight train. Dominic sighs, turns to face Viggo. "And a week without people," he continues. "Or Feet. Or fucking catering food. Or cellphones. Or --"

"Okay," Viggo says, and Dominic peers at him again, convinced the wanker is laughing at him. But Viggo just nods. "Let me drive you home."

Hmmm. It's tempting. Sure beats the walk back to his place, anyway. Dominic's not entirely sure he's in a good enough space mentally to be around Viggo and all his existentialism and esoteric ramblings. But the ride would be quicker. Dominic shrugs and hoists his bag up over his shoulder, gesturing for Viggo to lead the way. Maybe there won't be any talking.

He's disabused of that notion as soon as they're settled in Viggo's Jeep and on the road. Damn. Dominic looks out the window, wishing Viggo would just shut up. Doesn't look like he's going to oblige, though. Viggo keeps prodding and poking, and really. It's not like Dominic hasn't been looking for any excuse to vent.

"It's fucking Sean, man. Everything has to be so perfect, on the first go, every time." The second the words are out of his mouth, Dominic knows they're unkind, but he won't take them back. Sean's a great guy, but his nitpicking of every single scene today has made Dominic borderline psychotic. And Viggo's still listening. "He just -- I dunno. He doesn't get that improv is the best part of acting, sometimes."

Pausing to take a breath, Dominic looks over. Viggo's eyes are focused on the road, but he nods. One hand leaves the steering wheel to gesture for Dominic to continue. "Not like Billy," Dominic continues, stretching his legs out, slender fingers tapping along one thigh. "He'll just go with whatever I give him, and it's fantastic. Bloody brilliant, even."

Dominic's on a roll now, and he's not about to stop. Instead, he plows ahead, full steam, ring the bell and all that. His brain is working about two beats faster than his mouth, but he still manages to get all the words out as they come to him. "And Elijah, Christ. I don't get enough lines with him." Is he whining? "He's so damn good. They're all good. I mean, I know I'm not bad, but they're really good, Vig, and days like today I just want to walk away, don't you? I mean --"

"Let it go."

Viggo's soft voice halts Dominic in his tracks. His mind keeps working, though, replaying what he's just said. God, is he really such a whinging cunt? Sure sounds like it. Dominic slumps, closes his eyes. The seconds stretch out in silence before he can speak again. "Sorry," he mumbles.

Viggo glances over and smiles. "Today was over an hour ago. They've all forgotten it. It's your turn now. Let it go."

He's right, and Dominic knows it. There's not a thing he can do to change everything that went wrong today, but that doesn't mean he has to dwell on it. Still, though, he knows he'll be up half the night fretting. But he just nods and looks back out the window. Full dark out now, and he hopes the night can relax him, calm the turmoil that are his thoughts.

When Viggo turns left, instead of right, Dominic sits up straight and blinks. "Oi, Vig, m'place is that way," he says, and points as he turns an accusing look on Viggo.

"I had an idea." Viggo's voice is calm, but Dominic can see the devilish gleam in those blue eyes. Then Viggo looks over, waggles his eyebrows.

"Ah, fuck you," Dominic snorts, trying to hold in his laughter. "Seriously."

"Well, no. After today, I don't think you've got it in you, frankly, and therefore I'd rather not have it in me," Viggo drawls, grinning when Dominic lets out a short burst of laughter. "When have I steered you wrong?"

"Oh, let me count the ways." There are enough that Dominic isn't sure where to begin. "Let's start with the fish --"

"Whoa, whoa, that wasn't my fault," Viggo is quick to say, raising a finger to halt Dominic's words. "I told Orlando --."

Dominic wrinkles his nose at the memory. The damn fish had stunk up his trailer for days. "I was up all fucking night --"

"Like you aren't anyway," Viggo said with something suspiciously close to a sigh. "Here we are."

They were? "Where are we?" Peering out the window, Dominic tries to get his bearings. Then he sees the house and wonders if his sharp inhalation is audible. Christ, the damn thing's straight out of a Friday the Thirteenth movie. The only thing missing is the psychotic, machete-wielding murderer. At that thought, Dom jerks and turns wary eyes on Viggo. "You brought me to an abandoned house in the middle of nowhere at night. Jeez, Vig, just make it quick, alright? Whatever it was I did, mate, just make it clean and --"

Viggo doesn't smile, but Dominic can hear the laughter. "Much as I like that idea, didn't bring you here to kill you." What? What's that supposed to mean? "Come on."

Of course, the house just has to be at the top of a hill. Dominic bitches the entire way up, convinced he's going to stumble in the dark and break his neck. Viggo will be sorry then. Just wait and see. He'll have to go right back into town and explain to Peter how he's just managed to murder one of Peter's hobbits. That won't go over well with Mr. Director type God-like person. Serve Viggo right.

Dominic's still grumbling as he follows Viggo through the house. Awful lot of work to put a bloke through if all you're going to do is kill him, Dominic thinks. Then every single thought is blown right out of his head when Dominic gets his first look out the nearest window.

The city of Wellington is spread out beneath them, and Dominic gasps, breath stolen by the view. The sky overhead is so dark, stars twinkling like tiny, cold, white pinpricks in black velvet. But the city...

Dominic darts from window to window, not speaking, eyes wide as he takes in everything. Fucking gorgeous, that's what it is. The whole city, lit up with thousands and thousands of lights, each a warm, yellow glow that draws him in and begins to relax him.

He can hear Viggo moving around behind him, can see the reflection of camping lanterns bloom in the window, but none of that matters. Nose pressed against the window, breath fogging the glass, Dominic continues to stare down the hill. The window is dirty, tiny motes of dust and debris acting as prisms to fracture some of the lights. But Dominic doesn't care. He can't remember the last time he saw something Lame description, but it's all Dominic can think of at the moment.

Finally, a quiet sound draws him out of his reverie, and he turns. There's an easel in the middle of the room now, clean pad of paper propped on it, and a small table nearby with brushes and paint and rags. Dominic wonders if Viggo comes here to paint often. Then Viggo gestures, and Dominic's feet drag him forward, away from the window, because he's curious. His fingers curl around a paintbrush, then Viggo moves away.

As Viggo reaches for the latch on a window, Dominic looks down at the brush, then back up to Viggo. "What -- what do I do?" he asks, voice hushed, almost reverent.

Viggo shrugs, working at the latch to open it. "Anything you want," he says. "You like it, take it. If not --" He shrugs. "Leave it, torch it, whatever."

Torch it? The lanterns are awful close, and Dom frowns at them. Suddenly, this doesn't seem like the smartest thing he's ever done. Or the smartest thing he's ever allowed Viggo to talk him into doing. "Place isn't gonna burn down, is it?"

"Maybe, maybe not," Viggo laughs as he shoves the window up. It scrapes in the sash, and sticks halfway, but Viggo perseveres, and a cool breeze washes over the room. "Probably isn't safe to even be here," Viggo continues, turning to face Dominic, lips curved in a grin. "Since when do you care if it's safe or not?"

"When I'm personally involved." Even to his own ears, the protest sounds weak, and Dominic frowns when Viggo just laughs. Bloody wanker. "I've had a shit day," he says, as if either one of them needs to be reminded, "but it doesn't need to end in a blaze of glory, y'know."

Going out in a blaze of glory is all well and good for those silly spaghetti Westerns that Bean's so fond of watching, but Dominic doesn't think it sounds like such a good thing. Sounds rather painful, really, if you ask him. Not that anyone is, but still, it's the principle of the matter. The very last way he wants to die is in a big bonfire in New Zealand.

Well, alright, perhaps not the last way, but it comes pretty damn close.

"Just paint," Viggo says, still laughing. He really is a wanker. "Promise I'll be fair divvying up your things after you're gone."

Of course he will, Dominic thinks, sparing another glare for Viggo before turning his attention to the brush in his hand. Probably just wants to keep all Dominic's stuff for himself. Or give it to Elijah. Which reminds him...

"Elijah gets nothing, y'hear?" He glares at Viggo again, thrusting his chin out. "Nothing. Except maybe my CD's." But only because a good quarter of Dominic's current collection belongs to Elijah anyway.


"Seriously." Dominic emphasizes his point by jabbing the brush in Viggo's direction. Silly American bugger better not think he's joking. He's not. "Nothing but the CD's, and Elijah should be damn glad to get those."

"Cross my heart," Viggo says in a voice thick with laughter. Then he turns back to the window. "Paint."

This has to have been Billy's idea. He's always nattering on about how Dominic needs therapy, and Dominic's not convinced that Billy's always joking. Probably isn't. He's a wanker, too. Picking up the first tube of paint, Dominic reads the label, all the while muttering. So what if Viggo hears him. That's the whole point of bitching, innit?

But Viggo just ignores him and stares out at the skyline lit up below them. At least Dominic thinks Viggo's staring at skyline. Hell, he could be sleeping on his feet for all Dominic knows. Certainly wouldn't put it past him.

Simple as that.

He loses himself in the flow of paint, the sweep of the brush across the paper. Everything inside him just flows out, blurring until it's a soft mesh of colors that almost seem to breathe. Dominic can't remember why he discarded the brush, but he thinks it's because the brush doesn't give him the same control that his fingers do. His right hand is covered in paint, spatters of it trailing up his forearm. There's something about finger-painting that draws him back to his childhood when there were no worries, no stress.

Maybe this is what Viggo had in mind. Smart man, Viggo.

Stepping back, Dominic cants his head to the right, studies the painting. The colors are vibrant, surrealistic, almost animalistic in their wild streaking across the paper. But it's still missing something. Without looking, Dominic reaches out for another tube of paint.

Within minutes, there are six little circles -- two each of a bright blue, a grassy green, and an earthy brown -- marching across the paper in a precise, almost mathematical column. More of the brown on his finger, then Dominic scrawls the words "let go" across the bottom of the paper.

He steps back again. Nods. Perfect.

Even if it makes no sense to anyone else, he knows. And he knows there's no way he'll let Viggo torch this. Smiling at nothing in particular, Dominic wipes his hands on a rag and sits on the floor. The tarp beneath the easel lets out a little crinkle sound as he does so, but he pays it no mind. It's not important. He looks up at the painting, but something about it is still bothering him.

So he rolls to his side, curling up as the tarp crinkles again. There. Now it's just right. Dominic smiles, lets his eyes follow the swoop and sweep of the colors that still gleam wetly in the lantern light. At some point, his breathing slows and his eyes slip closed, and Dominic falls asleep to dream about colors that flow around him, surround him, and wrap him up only to let him go again.

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