LOTRPS: VM/BH: Untitled

my slashababy fic FROM me
For: kimberleigh_
Title: Untitled
Author: hermit9
Pairing: Viggo/Bernard
Rating: Adult
Warnings: Shakespeare
Notes: I am a glutton for punishment.
Disclaimer: Not real, not real people, just made up fictiony type stuff. About people who may happen to resemble real persons, though, of course, not intentionally.



Orlando jumps on Viggo's back as he and Bernard are packing the truck with some borrowed tackle, a tent, should they choose to use it, and an overnight bag a piece. Viggo tries to pretend the heavy, bony, and often horny boy doesn't bother him, and does his best to ignore him while trying to escape the set without any stowaways in the back of the pickup. It's getting dark.

"Pleeeease take me with you," he whines in Viggo's ear and it makes Viggo twitch at the thought, his eyes widen. He doesn't like it when Orlando takes control of his imagination like that. Well, not right now anyway.

"We're going to be gone a day and half. You'll survive," he tells him softly, paternally, he thinks. Bernard watches them with a sober face and waits motionless by the truck.

They do make it out of there eventually, just the two of them, though Viggo may have left most of his bravery back on the set, shaken from him by bawdy taunts from the hobbits, which are a matter of course if you're going to take a castmate on even the most innocuous overnight trip. They both like fishing. Nobody else was interested, not that he asked, not that he had room in his truck. But that doesn't deprive those left behind of the excuse to pretend the liaison is illicit or suspicious or obviously and flagrantly gay.

The lake isn't far, but they get there after dinner on the road and decide to skip the tent, get a double room near the waterfront, and head out early the next morning. After a few hours fishing in tall boots from the waters edge, they stow the boat and walk the rest of the day around the lake and through the trails on the swampy side and get briefly lost in a section of planted forest before heading back.

They head out to the restaurant they spotted on the walk through town, leaving the truck behind once again. They've been on their feet since five this morning, and Viggo is conscious of it, because he's not going for stress, or for discomfort, but Bernard doesn't complain or even seem particularly tired. They're on their feet all the time on set, so really, he doesn't know why he thought it would be a problem. The hotel room, with it's two little beds is less atmospheric than camping out on the trail like he had wanted to do, but more comfortable as well. They work outside most of the time too. They certainly aren't lacking fresh air doing this job nor exercise, so really, the hotel room is probably just fine. The fishing, well, that was another story. No doubts there. Bernard had a smile on his face the whole morning. You'd think he hadn't been fishing in thirty years the way he whooped when that big black whatever-it's-called-fat-New-Zealand-pik

e came shooting out of the water. They didn't even stay out that long. The fish were practically throwing themselves in the boat - well, in Bernard's half anyway. That was twelve hours ago now, and showered and redressed, they're headed to a seafood restaurant of course. So really. What is Viggo worried about?

They eat and talk about filming. About directors and theater. He's all Shakespeare, Bernard. Viggo likes it of course, but he couldn't see himself doing that for life. Immortal stories they may be, but without modernity in film and theater you fail to reach most of the people who live in the real world, the young people who are shaping the future, he thinks, and says so. Then worries he has overstepped his bounds. Bernard smiles with his wine glass distorting his beard to Viggo's eyes and says that the young people can fuck off. He likes his tragic world. Viggo laughs out loud with relief in his cheeks.

Back at the hotel room they aren't patting their stomachs. Seafood restaurants seldom fill you up around here unless it is with bread and potatoes. That place traded filler in for quality, luckily, and Viggo appreciates it now as Bernard stands beside him waiting for him to find his key card in his pockets. An overly full stomach would be uncomfortable under his knotting muscles.

"Vig."

"Hm."

Bernard inhales as a prelude to the question and a finger of electric current zings up Viggo's spine to tell him that Bernard is watching him carefully from behind. His back muscles respond and tighten from bottom to top making him straighten very slightly but awkwardly.

"I know...I know what is happening here...I know what we're doing. But what I don't get, is why."

Viggo gets the door open to the room, turns on the light and steps in. He doesn't reply right away. Instead, he takes his wallet out of his pocket, tosses it gently to the table along with his key card and lets Bernard shut the door behind him. "What do you mean?" he asks finally, finding a little courage to look him in the eye when he says it, because he has his suspicions at least. He thinks he might know what he means, but he doesn't want to assume.

Bernard comes around to his own bed, the further one, and toes his shoes off and sits, propping hands on wide knees, elbows out. He makes a quick gesture. "Why me." he says simply and matter-of-factly.

Viggo blinks a few times, trying to form an answer to a trick question, but Bernard interrupts before he starts.

"Of all the possibilities - and quite a few of us on set come from London theater companies, so there are lots of possibilities - why me? Why not...Ian?"

Viggo smirks. "He's a little old don't you think?"

"...I'm older than Ian."

Viggo shrugs, feeling that sudden chilly insecurity fade away as if warmed by wine he didn't drink. "I like older men. Just not...you know."

"Out?"

"Yeah, I guess."

"That still doesn't tell me why."

Viggo takes his hands out of his pockets and goes and sits on the other little bed facing Bernard. Bernard stops looking so defensive and instead leans on his elbows to mirror Viggo. "You're an honorable man," he says softly. "I trust you."

Bernard's pale eyebrows go up gracefully. Viggo thinks he detects a certain amount of theatrics there but doesn't let the moment die in comic relief. Bernard can be as insecure as he likes, but Viggo isn't going to help perpetuate it. Not when he knows what it feels like. Bernard just looks at him for a while, eyes to Viggo's, Viggo looking back and studying the deep lines around Bernard's.

Finally he gets up again, looking baffled still, a touch exasperated, but then turns and begins undressing quickly. He turns back to Viggo when he is just in shorts and black socks, and the funny blue striped shorts are tented obviously. Viggo can't help but smirk now, realizing he really had no need to worry at all that he wouldn't interest him, or that he'd be tired after the day out, or that his senses were deluding him, or the million other things he found to worry about. He's wiggling his toes in his shoes.

"Well don't just stand there looking smug," Bernard gripes.

Viggo grins and starts pulling things off. Never one to feel naked enough in underwear and socks, he gets down to nothing and stands in front of him for a quick moment before approaching him. Bernard immediately puts a hand to his shoulder, and it's as warm as any man's, not cold like the domineering statue he appears to be. Bernard makes a noise, like half a syllable that he cut off before it had a chance to become a word, then pauses, shakes his head and moves to take Viggo in close to kiss him. Bernard has his hands up around Viggo's face which feels so damned strange and unexpected. He kisses back, deepens it slightly when Bernard seems willing and works his fingertips under the band of his shorts and lets his cock rub Bernard's belly, and Bernard's rub his through the thin damp cloth. Bernard just keeps kissing him like this, lovely, long kisses, impassioned and swept up by Bernard's hands in his hair, and it's just so surprising that at a certain point, Viggo can't kiss him anymore because he is smiling too big. Bernard pulls back and scowls at him.

"Now what?"

"What?" Viggo purrs and reaches for him again, tries to pull him back in with coy eyes.

"What are you grinning about you...Scandinavian slag?" Bernard breaks up though before he finishes the question and insult. Viggo chuckles and tries, unsuccessfully, to nip at his ear.

"I didn't think you'd be such a fan of kissing. Thought you'd be more down to business. I'm surprised."

"I'm an actor," Bernard says, head in the air now and eyes closed, letting Viggo nibble up his neck. "I love to kiss."

Viggo is laughing again. "I don't think I ever made the connection between actors and kissing. Why do you suppose we do?" he asks partially patronizing. It sounds to him like Bernard just wants to keep talking.

But Bernard is full of surprises still, and knocks Viggo down easily to the bed, crawls up, straddles him and kisses him soundly and deeply, kisses the smile right off his face. Viggo opens his eyes and has to blink to straighten the view. "Because we don't get the real thing all that often, just teasing. Or we get to watch everyone else do it. Like you and the elf."

Realization dawns on Viggo suddenly and he lets Bernard see it in his smile. He reaches his fingers down into Bernard's shorts and watches that hard face melt with his confident stroke. "Is that what this is about? Why you? Why not him?"

"He wouldn't tell a soul if you asked him not to," Bernard breathes, pants. "And he's so god-damned beautiful. I don't know how you resist him."

Viggo shrugs. "How do you resist him?"

Bernard looks a little annoyed at that, or else Viggo's hand on his cock has completely severed his control over his face. Bernard pulls the band of his own shorts down under his balls with one hand just then to give Viggo better access.. "I don't need to resist him. He doesn't want me."

"How do you know? How do you know he and I don't have a bet going to see which of us could get you into bed first?"

Bernard huffs a little laugh. Now Viggo is just talking nonsense of course. Orlando has been quite clear to Viggo exactly what he was willing to do for him. Has never mentioned Bernard, really. It's possible Orlando never even considered Bernard as competition. And yes, Viggo has been tempted, but those fantasies at least he knows are delusions, because a pliant young man is not really what he wants. At heart, that is what Viggo is. That is perhaps why they have so much fun together. Shame, really, that it couldn't be more than just fun. But Viggo smiles again, because Bernard has had enough of watching Viggo lay there in self-reflection while torturing him manually, and backs off and bodily flips Viggo over to his stomach. He leans in heavily on Viggo's shoulders securing him to the bed and notching his hips against Viggo's ass. His bare cock rests between the cheeks. Orlando isn't the only one who knows how to have fun.

"How do you know," Bernard asks then," that Orlando and I don't have the same bet about you?"

Viggo cackles because Orlando never had a chance. Though if Orlando was older, more experienced, he would have known not to look to Viggo in the first place - that Bernard has what they both want. Some things only get better with age, with confidence, and with experience.

Bernard pulls his shorts and socks off and pulls Viggo's hips up in the air with little fanfare and sighs. "I forgot what a young ass looks like. Do you mind if I just..."

"Mmm, please do. Please do anything you want, I mean." Viggo hums to him and throbs.

Bernard's weight comes off the bed and Viggo turns his head and watches him go to his suitcase on the floor, smiles when he sees him bend over. Yes, Young Ass has it's merits, but Viggo isn't shallow like young men. The fact that he realizes it, though, could be paradoxical, or at the least, self deluding once again. He turns back around, feels Bernard return to the bed, then cool wetness touch him followed by hot thickness inside of him.

Viggo sweats like rain during sex no matter how small his physical role may be. Bernard, on the other hand, gets only a glossy dew all over him and pinked cheeks and chest despite how long and how hard he keeps it up. It's astounding and fantastic, and when he turns him over again so they breathe face to face, their skin sliding wetly, and Viggo finds himself bent and folded on himself and held there by powerful hands, Viggo has more appreciation for Bernard's youthful vitality now than he did after all the fishing and hiking and all the scenes over the past few months of riding for hours on end and falling off of horses and growling and snarling at imaginary orcs and running through cut after cut of hacking and slashing. When Bernard comes, hanging onto Viggo's wet skin with hands like vice grips, Viggo is grateful and absolutely humbled.

Bernard collapses on half of the tiny bed and breathes hard for a moment while Viggo does the same. The sheet is wet beneath him. Bernard only rests a moment though, and despite Viggo's admittedly half-hearted dismissal, he rolls over and takes Viggo into his mouth. He doesn't get to appreciate it very long.

In the morning they head back to real life, or as real as movies get, the weekend over, but when Viggo sees Orlando on set the next day, the boy leers at him, squints, and looks generally silly with all that makeup and hair combined with a childish, suspicious sneer. So he knows, somehow, though he doesn't think he is acting any different, or looks any different. He doesn't feel much different, just happy and relaxed. But when Orlando begins his daily routine of flirtation mixed with irritation, it becomes obvious how he knows. Bernard looks at them from across the lunch table; Viggo calmly picking pickles off of his sandwich with dirty fingers and Orlando perched and eagle-eyed over his shoulder, playing with his hair. Bernard smiles warmly with his cup near his lip and then stands and suddenly catches Ian in a toast. Bernard in bits of armor and Ian in smock over his white cloak, everyone stops, even Orlando, and watches Bernard bloom before them with spontaneous verse to which Ian gratefully supplements with a smile.

"O, beware, my lord, of jealousy;

It is the green-eyed monster which doth mock

The meat it feeds on; that cuckold lives in bliss

Who, certain of his fate, loves not his wronger;

But, O, what damned minutes tells he o'er

Who dotes, yet doubts, suspects, yet strongly loves! "

"O misery!" Ian chuckles.

"Poor and content is rich and rich enough,

But riches fineless is as poor as winter

To him that ever fears he shall be poor.

Good heaven, the souls of all my tribe defend

From jealousy!"

we're back

I gained 8 pounds and spent ridiculous amounts of money, but it was worth it.

So. We're back from our vacation. We took a cruise, our first. Seven days on the Norwegian Gem out of New York to Port Canaveral, Great Stirrup Cay, New Providence (Nassau), and Grand Bahama Island. Damn did I need a vacation. The week before we left was hellish at work, and while I had and will always have my little anxious moments when it comes to traveling, this one really did me some good I think (despite the havoc wreaked upon waist lines and bank accounts). And since I have now been on a total of one (1) cruises I am now an expert on them and shall impart my wisdom upon you. So if you've never been on a cruise and were thinking about it, you may learn hither. Obviously I can only talk about the one cruise I've been on, but I imagine it's pretty representative.

My parents gave us ride from our place down to New London to catch a train to Penn Station. We were there a good hour early so mike and I hoisted our Giant Backpacks (we decided to pack light and not take luggage so we could get on and off the boat quicker. Having done it that way once, I'm bringing the fucking rolling bags next time.) on our shoulders and wandered around the vicinity of the Amtrak station a while. They apparently don't believe in salt in New London. We walked maybe a half mile, Mike did a Scooby-Doo on the ice, with his Giant Backpack and actually didn't die, but we saw the warning therein and decided not to go to the hospital instead of the Bahamas that day.


This is the boat we went on, the one in the middle there. The Norwegian Gem was instantly hailed as the gayest-looking cruise ship in the world by it's peers the moment it got it's rudders wet. It is expected to hold this title for many years to come, or at least until Princess Cruise Lines christens their Princess Prissy-Pants oceanliner in August of 2010. You think the outside is gaudy, you should see the neon carpeting all over this thing.

I didn't take any pictures of our room since there really wasn't room for us and the camera to be in the room at the same time. Ok, I exaggerate. It was tiny, but ship-efficient, clean, very nice actually. It had double beds that they moved together for us, which was fine, but they always slipped apart again and one of us always ended up in the crevice. :P

A couple random shots....

Now about cruises in general, if you've never been, as we hadn't. A cruise is basically an unprecedented week-long opportunity for on-board and affiliated port merchants to sell you crap. However, you can have a lot of fun and find what you're looking for with just a little preparation and creativity. It's really all about getting the most bang for your buck on board and on the islands so you don't leave feeling ripped off. That was kinda how I felt when we went on our last vacation and one of the reasons I was cautious with this one.

So, by category, what we did and what was worth it:

Shows. Our boat had a big theater with air conditioning built into the seats. I image the acts would vary greatly from ship to ship and cruise line to cruise line. We went to a show four or five times, and only decided it wasn't worth our time once. (they were free, so you know that one was bad.) Some of them were embarrassing to watch; embarrassing on behalf of the players and on behalf of myself as a consumer of artistic garbage, and some were genuinely entertaining, such as the comedian they had there, Ross Bennett, and the magician, Duck Cameron. (yeah I don't know.) Hit or miss I guess. The other place to look for entertainment is at the bars. During the evening there were musicians in two or three of them almost constantly. This little Philippino man is named Ariel Jacobe (again, no idea about the name. I wanted to make a Little Mermaid crack or ask him to play “Part of that World” but I thought better of it.) This man sounds more like Frank Sinatra than Frank Sinatra did. He was fantastic, and me and the hubb practically followed him around the boat. He was amazing on the piano as well.

Shore Excursions. We purchased three. Having done so – not sure I would do it again. Again, seriously overpriced, especially the last one. The first one was cheap to begin with, it was just a shuttle from port Canaveral to Cocoa Beach for $15 per person, and they give you a discount coupon to a local restaurant and to Ron Jon's. That one was actually probably worth it since we ended up using the coupon to Ron Jon's, but presumably, you could get a cab ride there for less. The next one was the snorkeling on Norwegian's private island Great Stirrup Cay. That was a bit of a rip-off. The island was nice enough I guess, nice beach, the fish were really cool, the rip tide a little scary when you got way out towards the rocks, but there are lifeguards, but really, $40 per person to rent snorkeling equipment? Yes it's yours for the day and you'll be there several hours, but that's the only difference between you and the people who didn't buy the excursion package. It's their private island and all the food is free. If you bring your own mask and goggles (and they require that you wear a life vest out there, and I understand why, the current really pulls you out in the deeper areas) then it wouldn't cost you a dime extra. On a side note, if you ever go to this island, don't go to the lighthouse, it's really not worth the mile long walk in the seriously dry heat. Though there are cool iguanas to look at if you go, the lighthouse is sorta stumpy and dumpy and you'll need a liter of water for the trip. It's like Nevada there. So dry the sweat evaporates off you before you can feel it, so you never feel hot or thirsty until you're in danger of dehydration.

In Nassau we didn't pick out an excursion package because none of them really looked all that good, and I'm glad we didn't. I read between the lines a little in their description of one particular package, and by the sounds of it, we would be paying the cruise line $120 to get driven around the island on a bus while a lady dressed like a pirate narrated. It also included stops at Fort Charlotte and a pirate museum. And that was the best they had to offer in our price range, so we abstained. We walked probably 8 miles or so that day (tiring like wow) but only because Mike is a guy and won't ask directions. Fort Charlotte was easy to find, right on the main drag on West Bay street just outside of town. The Pirate Museum was also really close by, but we missed the road three times. The pirate museum would be great for kids. For adults (relatively speaking) who already have a working knowledge of pirates, it was a little dull and not worth the $20 or whatever it was, rather a lot. The exhibits were nice, and I know I would have loved it as a kid. The gift shop had a bunch of cool piratey things, and we got a big, antique-looking map of the Caribbean there. Admission to Fort Charlotte is only $5 per person and was way cooler. Lots of cannons and underground tunnels to explore. Watch out for the cannon's though. They won't go off, but you never know what you'll find inside them. Our last excursion was the “Junkanoo Beach Party” and is the main reason I would advise looking very critically at what you buy from them. It was $130 and involved a 15 minute bus ride to a privatish beach with broken glass all over at 9AM followed by an irritating woman nagging us all to play kids party games, tug of war, musical chairs, and an egg toss with rotten eggs. The winners of these games got prizes. The prizes were bahama mamas which is just a tropical fruit punch with a squirt of rum. Everyone got a ticket for a free one as part of the package, and you could win more by playing the games, but who the eff wants to play stupid games and drink rum at 9am? Then there was the guy on the beach trying to sell us weed and/or teeshirts. Lame. There has to be other things to do on an island that big. I'm sorry we missed them.

At Sea Days. Are kinda boring. Unless you like to gamble, drink all day, stand in front of the buffet and graze all day, listen to people trying to sell you watches and jewelery, auctions, or bingo, there isn't much to do. (The pool would presumably be a good option, but it was a bit chilly for that on our trip, and Mike won't even go in the pool or hot tub if there are other people in it at the same time, he's that shy.) There were other things to do of course, things that would have been fun if I was on my own or if we had gone with friends, card tables and the library and such, so maybe for the rest of the world, at-sea days are perfectly fine, but if Mikey and I go on another cruise, we're probably going to avoid them.

Food. Norwegian is one of only two of the major cruise lines that offers eat-whenever-you-want type of dining. It isn't quite as “freestyle” as they make is sound, but hearing from other people, it's way better than the fixed dinner times they give you on other cruise lines. On this boat they have one food place open 24 hours and one that is always completely dress-casual, though oddly, they're not the same place. All other places can often require or at least they recommend a reservation. You eat when they can squeeze you in, and that might not be until tomorrow. So you may end up eating at the buffet more often than not. And certainly that's no real downer. They have a nice selection of stuff, though I was concerned almost every day by the temperature at which their food was kept and served. Presumably it doesn't stay at such mediocre temps for very long considering the rate at which they go through food on these boats, but still. Also, I don't know what kind of preservatives (definitely a lot of salt) they use in their buffet food, but my allergies did not appreciate it, so beware of that. The food at the specialty restaurants was freaking fantastic. Our first night there we ate at Tepanyaki which is named for the style of Japanese cooking on a hot iron plate. (Basically a big griddle) I had shrimp and steak and all kinds of great stuff. Would have eaten the rest of it, but they served edemame and miso soup and fried rice, which I love but can't have anymore because of the soy allergy, but I'm sure it was fantastic as well. We got some impromptu entertainment at that place, not so much from the cooks, though they tried to be entertaining, but from the other customers. We were sat around the griddle with a family from Poland, and a young couple from New York. The impatient Polish father was impatient for his beer, but not obnoxious at least, and he kept trying to talk to the cook, a Philippino named Domingo and kept insisting that Domingo must speak Spanish because his name is Domingo. Furthermore, though he claimed to have lived in the US for a decade or two, he seemed unacquainted with the fact that Americans don't really have a cultural identity, and instead refer to the culture of their ancestors, or the country of origin of the first in their family to hit Ellis Island. So when he asked the New Yorker where he was from, and the New Yorker said he was Italian, he assumed that he would speak Italian as well. When the New yorker explained, that no, he doesn't speak Italian, the increasingly impatient Polish man tried speaking German to him. He asked him, “Sprechen Sie Deutsches?” To which the retarded Italian New Yorker replied, “Do I speak Dutch? No, I don't speak Dutch, man.”

We also ate at the French restaurant which came with our anniversary package. (again watch what you buy from these people, and ask specific questions about what you're getting for your money. This one was only probably worth what we paid for it.) I had the duck a l'orange. Flambe, which is surprising to see on a cruise ship since they are real touchy about open flames on boats. That was excellent, mike had the beef, also super good, and the chocolate fondue for dessert....ho boy was that good.

And finally, the hardest thing to squeeze a good value out of at sea....

Drinking. Going on a cruise is great if you like to get drunk now and then or you have a taste for certain kinds of drinks and end up getting drunk in the name of gustatory pursuits. There's no need to worry about getting too hammered to get home, drunk drivers, hookers, etc. The problem, at least on this boat, is that you either need to be very wealthy, a total lightweight, or you have to know somebody behind the bar to get drunk enough to appreciate the freedom. Mixed drinks will cost you eight to ten bucks on average (a top shelf margarita? Try $18.65!!!). And the alcohol content of these is dubious at best. They taste good but good luck getting a buzz. But with a little sneakery and creativity, you can successfully get drunk. Since the cruise line makes huge amounts of money from you from alcoholic drinks purchased on board and they don't want to give up that income, they strictly regulate the alcohol coming on board. Which means you can't have any. Even if you purchase it on the boat in the duty-free shop, you're not allowed to have it until the end of the cruise. So this is whatcha do. Before you get on the boat you get yourself a bottle or two of booze. Make sure its something you like cuz it's going to be with you for the rest of the week. Also, clear booze is probably easier to smuggle than, say, goldschalger, or pucker, things in weird colors. The other thing you need is an empty water bottle, either something that you reuse like a sports drink bottle or perhaps even more clevar, a couple of those big evian or aquafina bottles. That's what we used. You drink or dump out the water, put in your water-colored alcohol, and it passes right through under the noses of the greedy authorities. Then you purchase your very tasty $10 drinks and simply take them back to your room for a little embellishment. And no, there is no reason whatsoever for you to feel you are robbing them of vital income. Cruise lines purchase entire islands for their own private use to sell you more overpriced and under-spiked drinks. Those few of us on the low low end of the financial spectrum on the boat being thrifty is not going to hurt them at all.

The other thing I strongly suggest is examining the bang-for-your-buck you are getting from the drinks you do buy from them. Mixed drinks, as I've said before, are variable and not to be trusted unless you're mixing them yourself, but beer and wine and straight liquors are hard to fake. Also, check their expanded beer list. Many of the bars on the boat have just a handful available but at least on our boat two of the bars had about 50 different beers available if you just ask. Some of the more obscure brews were at almost-reasonable pub prices and may have upwards of 8% alcohol such as the Bavarian Celebrator Doppelbock. One of the ones I drank on the boat was an English ale called Boddington's. It comes in 16oz cans for the same price as a 12oz of another brand though it's only 4.5% alcohol or thereabouts. It's very mild tasting but sort of creamy, and when you pour it out, it looks like an amber-colored Guiness. Very yummy and pretty. Also, check out the “tastings” the various bars offer. We went to a margarita tasting and got four, 4oz glasses of four different margaritas (v. good) for $15, made and presented by an adorable little Philippino man named Ramil. (Everybody on this boat is from the Philippines, I'm not sure why or what that means.)


Lessons learned:

1.If you've been on other boats before, presumably smaller ones than the 93,000 ton monster we were on, do not suppose that getting your sea legs will be the same or even easier because the craft is so huge and will therefore have much gentler swaying motion. Yes, the motion is more subtle, but don't' forget that you will spend much of your time on the boat indoors such that you can't see the water or horizon or anything not moving. This means that you can't tell when, how much, or in what direction the floor is going to move under you at any given time. We spent much of the first evening when everyone was out on the deck and in the lounges partying, laying in our bed being dizzy and going....whoooaaaaahhh....this is soooo weeeeiiiird. Also, expect to be swaying for a couple of days once you're back on dry land too.
2.Keep track of your “do not disturb” signage, and use it basically any time you're in the room. You never know when one of your extremely attentive attendants will decide to check up on you and show you how attentive he can be.*
*yes.
3.It is almost impossible to get a hangover on a cruise ship.
4.If a guy carrying a tray full of identical girly drinks in fruity flavors with nice umbrellas and things sticking out of it approaches you and offers you a drink on the spot, politely refuse. Find your own alcohol. And find drinks with a reliable alcohol content like beer, wine, shots, stuff they can't water down, and make sure you watch the bartender and make sure he knows you're watching him.
5.Columbia Crest Grand Estates Cabernet Sauvingnon is disgusting.
6.When going to the Caribbean, either have very short hair, no hair, or already have your hair braided into perfect corn rows otherwise you will be propositioned 2,672 times a minute to get your hair braided by one of the locals. You have a hat or a bandanna? You don't need your hair braided, nor do you need a sunburn on your scalp. In fact, no matter what they are offering it's best not to make eye contact and just ignore them. They are no different from the guys in suits on the ship trying to sell you a new Swiss watch or emerald except that they make a lot less money than the guys actually working on the ship. Which is unfortunate, but really, don't waste your time swatting them away politely, you'll burn your whole day doing it, and your time on the islands is short.

So that's it. We're back, rested but not tan. Fatter but not really any worse for wear.... It only took me two months to lose that eight pounds before...*sob* lol.

oops, another one

moar funny pictures

I made a lol

moar funny pictures

Hi-ho.

I haven't hung out here much lately, mostly cuz I have been building up my Insane Journal. Just deleted my Live Journal finally. We'll see if it stays that way. Also been doing nanowrimo. 2 days left. almost done. then I have slashababy to do which I'm not really excited about doing actually... wow firefox is going really effing slow right now. I can't wait for the new less leaky one to come out... but anyway. I'm feeling hermity. And Blogger is lonely and hermity, so I thought I'd stop in here. Maybe....maybe when I have some time in the nearish future I'll work on this thing again since I've more or less shriveled up in journaldom, but blogging is forever you know? No one to tell you your content is deleterious to society or anything. Well, I suppose they could still tell you that, but there aren't too many people listening who care.

So maybe I'll post my latest stories here sometime soon, just to keep it up to date, so that if I do abandon the journals altogether, I'll still have a home.

Ow

I just pulled a muscle at the gym in a place I didn't knwo I had a muscle to pull.

ST:DS9 Black Bottle Interlude: First Taste

Title: Black Bottle Interlude: First Taste

Author: Hermit9

Characters: Elim Garak, Julian Bashir

Rating: PG

Summ:  In the Black Bottle Universe, but has no bearing on the plot really.

Warnigns: None.

    The station is dark this early in the morning, most of the night shift is still on, though the hour of the changing of the guard is at hand.  Tired security officers stand at their posts, bored, checking the time.  Engineers in pairs or quads slump home after a full shift of conduit spelunking.  The cafeteria is just opening, steam rising from clean ovens, dampening the sleepy faces of the cooks.  On Terok Nor, these officers and workers would not be so oblivious to the messages they send.  On the Romulan home world, he wouldn't be able to set foot anywhere near a terminal that could access restricted information.  But on a Federation Starbase, Elim's job is much easier.

    There are good times to complete a mission and bad times.  Catching people at their most apathetic, the very beginning of their day when they may or may not be awake, or at the very end when an emergent situation could potentially be regarded as someone else's problem, are some very good times.  Another good time is at night, whatever time the local "night" happens to be.  In short, the timing couldn't be better, but that is certainly no guarantee of success.  Regardless of the Federation's lax security on Starbase 375, he is still a Cardassian in enemy territory.  One slip and he can kiss his career goodbye, maybe his life.

    It's really hard to breathe.  The breathing apparatus, while fantastically realistic, (he managed to find one that would actually produce a visible vapor, and in a children's holosuite costuming catalog of all places) actually hinders the deep breaths he is taking as adrenaline starts to build up and bubble in his veins.   The rest of the Benzite disguise is actually quite comfortable.  Human-run stations being generally too cold for Cardassians, the rubbery false skin is a shield holding in a little heat and moisture that his skin surely appreciates.  Though moving naturally is difficult.

    Natural is going to be crucial in these final seconds.  He has what he came for, but they will figure it out shortly when the computer goes through its next cycle of security iterations.  When that happens it will discover the substituted data rod.  Then he will need to call upon some good fortune to facilitate his exit.

    It is only another moment as he tries to walk calmly toward the docking ring when the alarm sounds.  He turns in the direction of the sound like the few other souls awake at this hour, but unlike them, he moves away from the sound instead of toward it.  The security guards roused from their end-of-shift pining take off at a sprint toward the operations center and Elim trots down the corridor and ducks into a dark patch of shadow.  He hears barked orders and the dark sound of charging weapons.  Elim crouches in his spot and looks frantically around.  He hopes good luck strikes very soon.

    To his right is a strangely large duct with a light grating over it, probably a maintenance conduit that gets used too frequently to warrant putting locks on it.  Without a second thought he pulls the grate off, climbs inside and closes it behind him.  Footfalls like drums pass him at a run and he can see phaser-rifle muzzles streak by.  His heart is pounding hard.  Feels good actually, exhilarating.  This had turned out to be a bit more dangerous than he had expected, but with elevated risks, the potential for rewards also increases. 

    "When I find that lizard I'm going to slit his throat!" he hears someone say in the distance amongst the commotion.  So they know already.  Good for them.  Elim smiles behind his rubberized facade and pulls the data rod from his clothes.  Desperate for more air he then pulls his mask off, no point to it now if they know they are looking for a Cardassian.  He inspects the rod for scratches then places it carefully back into his pocket.

    It is at this time that something, almost nothing, catches his attention, and he looks to his right, down the dark pit of the conduit, and sees that he is not alone.  Wide eyed, a little boy stares at him from just a meter away.  Elim stops breathing a moment because for that first instant he thought he was looking at a Bajoran child, which could be bad.  Bajoran children are brought up knowing what to do when confronted with a Cardassian - but he is missing the nose and the earring, and he doesn't appear terribly frightened, maybe a little.  Certainly Elim is more afraid.  What he thought was good luck could end up being quite poor in light of this.

    "What are you doing here?"  Elim wihspers, still trying to nail down a species.  Maybe Betazoid?  No.  He is very small so it is difficult to be sure.  The child doesn't answer, but tries to tuck away something in his hand from Elim's view.  Smells like some kind of sweet, unless that is the child he smells.  A warm sweet smell like some variety of spicy flowers dripping nectar in the sun.  As a rule, aliens don't' smell all that sweet to Elim.  He guesses it is whatever the child licks from his lips and tries to hide.  Elim catches his breath a moment more, a bit more relaxed since it seems the child has no inclination to cry or yell for help.  As if he had nothing to fear except the loss of his candy.  "You shouldn't be here you know.  This is no place for a child."  More soldiers jog past the duct with their armor and weapons clinking loudly with each step.  Elim prays they don't fire in here.  This little thing doesn't deserve to die just because of him, and not for such a useless errand as this.  Chances are they won't get anything more useful from the data rod this time than they did last time.  He's going to end up going to Romulus, he knows it.  He really doesn't want to be a gardener.  Elim certainly has creative inclinations, but gardening was never how he liked to use them.  Elim sighs and waits.  "Ever have one of those days when it seems like the whole world is out to get you?" he asks the child who again does and says nothing, just squats and watches him, peers out of the dark portal.  Then suddenly there is a tiny hand in front of Elim holding a curious thing, a brown square, the sweet he had been hiding from Elim only a moment ago is now offered him.  Elim stares at the child in disbelief.  He is far too young to be devious enough to try to poison him, and he was eating it himself recently, he can smell it on his breath too, warm and sweet and...something else unidentifiable.  Elim takes it between two grey fingers and places it in his mouth.  Elim isn't terribly warm right now, but the exertion and adrenaline have notched up his temperature enough it seems as the candy melts in his mouth, and even a little eon his fingers which he licks away.  Maybe it's because he is alive and not dead now as he should be considering the number of people who want to kill him suddenly, but the strange melty thing in his mouth is one of the best things he's ever tasted.  The child just looks at him with large brown eyes the color of the candy and Elim sighs.  Elim smiles a little at him, which he returns shyly.  "Thank you," he says, and peeks out of the grate again.  The way is clear for the moment, and it may be the only chance he gets.  He flashes the child a last triumphant smile and slips out of the duct and away into the station being sure to leave the grate closed loose enough that the child can escape when he chooses to.

    Jules scoots up to the grate and wraps his fingers through the holes.

    "Jules!  Where have you been?  I've been looking all over for you!  We have to get going, child.  We'll be late for our transport."  His mother is clearly more worried than she would be if they were simply running late, but she has been like that since they left on vacation.  She glances about over her shoulder and hoists him to her hip.  Julian's father joins them a moment later and ushers them at a run through the docking ring toward their ship. 
    Julian's parents have been promising him all week that they would get to see lots of aliens when they arrived on Adigeon Prime.  Betazoids and Vulcans and Bajorans, they said.  He doesn't know which kind that one was, but he likes them already.

BWAHAHAHAHA

http://my.opera.com/Mathilda/albums/show.dml?id=81578

Rec: Ring Pull by Dee LOTRPS: OB/DM PG13ish

http://viscerate.com/efiction/viewstory.php?sid=61

LOTRPS: DM/EW: untitled narcotic fic.

title: untitled narcotic fic
fandom: lotrps
pair: ew/dm
rating: adult
warnings: drugs, sex
notes: for kissing_athelas just because. This...well. I thought I was just going to write something funny, but it didn't want to stay funny.

"And this guy. He had three of 'em."

"Three of what?"

"Them. The. Oh fuck." Elijah drops the lit nub between his knees and it disappears into the carpet.

"Lij," Dom says with half-hearted irritation and reaches over Elijah's bare knee to paw for it with one hand, glancing over the bony knee in question, then around it, between it and the coffee table, then over it again, and back to the screen where his guy is standing in a back alley with a laser scope sniper rifle waiting for Dom to stop fucking around and steal another pink Caddie. Lij starts to snicker.

Dom finds the dead roach under Elijah's heel after bodily lifting it off the floor. Elijah is laughing soundlessly, the only indication being a slight shaking all over him, that and his pink face turned purple in the light from the TV.

Dom looks at his friend with bared skepticism. "I thought you said you smoked before."

"I do," he says after a small wheeze. "But this isn't American pot. This is something else."

Dom just shakes his head, puts the tiny roach back between his lips and cocks his head to try to relight it. The tip glows and is quickly too hot so he pulls it away with his fingernails and winces on the exhale. "Wanker. It's all the same plant. I don't care where you are. You don't think people carry it all over the world and cross breed it?"

"So like people." Elijah's breath is piny and nice, and he's breathing it too close to Dominic, looking right at him for no reason. "Oh," he says, and his eyes refocus on Dom's face instead of a vague point near Dom's shoulder where they were. "So I was at that coffee place and there was a guy there that looked like my Dad. And he had three 'em."

"Three of what?" Lij is smiling kinda weird he thinks, but he also thinks he said that once before, or he just missed something again but that happens.

A sound punches through Dom's fog. A punching sound actually. Someone is being punched, and Dom smirks a little too, then stops. "Oh shit." Dom fumbles the playstation controller back into his hands upside down, then right side up, and shoots a couple of angular thugs that were beating him up in the alley. He takes their cash.

"My dad used to watch this show."

"What?" Dom says absently, trying to drag a guy out of an El Camino, and he realizes there was a bit of a lag there between the question and the answer. No. Wait. The other way around.

How did the answer come before the question?

"This show. He used to watch it. When I was a kid."

"Oh." Not important. Whatever it was he missed it. The El Camino drives off into the night. Dom is careful to obey the traffic laws, though it's difficult to turn that thing around those tight corners. And for some reason everyone else gets to drive on the wrong side of the road. Or maybe its the right side of the road here, cuz they're upside down.

"Dom are you peeing?"

Dom ignores this.

"Dom are you peeing?"

Dom turns his head briefly to his right because he suspects Elijah is peeing. He doesn't know why he thinks that, but he does. "No. Where?"

"Oh. You're beer."

"Shit."

The bottle has bumped over in the scuffle for the playstation controller or at any point thereafter. It is dribbling into a wet spot on the carpet. Dom picks it up and starts to slide across himself laughing. "I pee beer," he says and starts to suffocate laughing. Elijah seems to be in the same state, though belatedly. Dom takes a breath and catches Elijah's attention with a wide-eyed grin. "And I shit cakes of light!"

Elijah cackles and falls back on the sofa.

Dom looks at the puddle on the carpet and listens to Elijah's stuttering, ticking laughter behind him. Looks at his own hands. Everything is blue from the TV. He stands up and pulls his shorts down, (cock is blue, ha!) folds them neatly and places them over the blue carpet puddle, steps delicately onto it to soak it up. He hears Elijah sigh and breathe again finally, and looks back to see him sitting up again.

"You're naked."

Dom looks down at himself. "No 'm not."

"You have a shirt on."

"Yeah, and-" Oh.

Elijah starts to titter again, but then stops when Dom's cock twitches in front of him.
Dom sits back down on the couch next to Elijah and picks up his game controller. He looks at the screen, waits for his eyes to refocus, and finds that he is dead. "Shit."

"Fuck," says Elijah.

Dom looks his way and his eyes are freakish and huge, and for some reason he isn't laughing anymore. He's been laughing for twelve hours straight it seems. Why stop now? He follows his gaze back to himself and looks down. He is faintly surprised to see a hard cock between his legs. And doesn't that look pretty laying right there. He knows it is his own, but he's still surprised when it twitches again. Elijah is looking at him bug-eyed still, but fuck that. He doesn't have to explain himself. Three of them?...

Dom turns his body and leans back to lay his head on the arm of the sofa and swings one leg over Elijah's head which he follows with his (giant blue in blue spice addicted) eyes to lay behind him and takes his cock loosely in his hand. If Elijah wants to stay there, fine.

Elijah does stay. And so do his eyes. He is sitting there twisted, feet on the floor, one arm braced on the couch seat keeping his upper body turned and facing Dom down the couch. His left knee brushes Dom's, and brushes Dom's as his hand works. Elijah is breathing funny, or laughing? No, he's not smiling all gap-toothed and squinty, so the movement in his shoulders is breathing. Quick up and down. Faint whistle between his lips. Dom smirks.

Then Elijah is moving, slow as a rabbit. Slow as something. Like he's trying to move without Dom noticing, so, generously, he makes it easy on him and closes his eyes. He can still feel him moving, a little shift and pull here and there on the couch, disorienting, really, because the ground is moving under him.

"I feel the Earth, move, under my feet," he sings a moment and then stops because it hurts with his throat all hoarse and his neck bent back. Cock feels good though. Silky smooth in his hand, throbbing and pulsing comfortable little bubbles through his veins. Eventually he notices that Elijah isn't moving anymore and opens his eyes. Again it takes forever for them to sort out what they're seeing, but when the haze does clear - as much as can be expected - he sees pretty much what he was expecting to see. He's there with his cock in his hand, gently running it through it's daily routine. His legs are not in use, haphazardly left unattended to either side of Elijah's. He hadn't noticed when Elijah got there. But he can't feel his feet so much right now, which would explain why he didn't notice they were on either side of Elijah's bare hips. He runs a toe up and down one of them and thinks he'd quite like to feel that, but it's no good. Can't.

Elijah has a funny cock. Dom smirks a little but realizes that isn't the nicest thing to do and stops. It's really purple. But it's kind of dark and hard to make anything out so Dom reaches behind him and turns on a lamp. Now it's red. Elijah has an arm up over his head and his eyes are still bugging out watching Dom as he rubs himself with only three fingers. It's kind of a big cock. He wonders why the three fingers. Three of 'em.

"Mmm, nice," Dom hears himself murmur and snuggles down into the crook of the sofa. He's happy, his cock is happy. Elijah is happy.

Something warm and wet touches his cock and his hips writhe without him telling them to do so. Elijah is upon him, his cock dangling between his legs. He didn't even feel him move. Elijah does it again, dips down and licks his cock head. Dom makes a funny owlish sound of surprise and enjoyment and takes the curly head in his hands. He backs up, though, out of reach and sits on his heels, his teeshirt only covering half of his cock.

Dom smiles at him then, picks at his fingers by his side. "What. You shy now?"

"No."

"Do you want it?" he whispers.

Elijah doesn't answer except to swallow hard.

"Come on. Do you want to suck me or do you want me to fuck you?" Dom has to repeat that in his head to make sure it was correct.

Elijah's chest is going up and down fast now. He looks around the room for a second, takes Dom's half-dumped beer off the table and downs it.

Dom doesn't wait for an answer, he knows what he wants anyway. He'll take what he can get but if he gets to decide, then. Dom rolls himself off the couch and pads dazedly to his bedroom. He's back in a moment and Elijah has barely moved, just slid further into his corner of the couch, curled up. Dom squeezes a gob of lube in his hand as he approaches and palms it over his cock, hums in pleasure. The tube goes to the table next to his beer and the playstation controller, and he knee-walks over to Elijah who has the biggest fucking eyes in the world.

"Um," he says, and tries to push himself up to face Dom, his ankles crossed in front of him.

"C'mere."

"Um," he says again.

"Come on."

Dom takes his knees away from his body and insinuates himself there against him. Elijah is still breathing like a race horse - or is that peeing - he laughs out loud again, has to lean his head on Elijah's shoulder a moment because the laugh is threatening to bowl him over, and Elijah is fighting him. He's pushing like he doesn't understand what Dom is trying to do with him, just get his knees up. Elijah makes a weird sound like a whine and defeats Dom. He gets his legs down under them both so Dom is laying on top of him. Elijah's arms go up around his shoulders and pull Dom down to him tightly, so tight Dom can't push himself back up. His mouth is near Dom's ear and he can hear the breath rushing in and out of him. Then he whispers. "I don't think I'm high anymore."

Dom reaches down with his wet hand and takes Elijah's cock in hand, rubs his own against him, takes both of them in hand the best he can and grinds forward. Elijah makes a funny noise and Dom feels his cock pulse and then eject warmth into his palm. He makes a few high-pitched sounds as he comes and then lays there silently below Dominic.

Dom lays there too and breathes. He can't move for the fierce grip Elijah has on him, doesn't have the motivation to try suddenly. Can hear and feel Elijah's rabbity heartbeat through his teeshirt.

He takes a deep breath and lets it out on a shaky sigh that smells sweet and smoky. Dom gets the impression he has missed something again, like before.

"You never kissed me," Elijah says.