Redefine Happiness

Author: Minervacat and Insidian
Rating: NC-17
Archiving: Um, if you want it, just ask.
Summary: 40,000 men and women everyday redefine happiness.
Author’s Notes: Various readings were done by farothear, Gina, Melly and Twat before this saw the light of day. They are all more patient and enthusiastic than we deserve. We love all of them.

Reporter: How did you and Viggo happen to meet?
Dom: Is this a trick question?
Reporter: Um, no?
Dom: You have heard of this movie we were in together, right?
Reporter: Lord of the Rings.
Dom: No, no. Before that. Home movie. "Revenge of the Pirate Pants." Huge hit in Cameroon. Not much play in the US.
Reporter: I... I hadn't heard of that one.
Dom: I'm twigging you. Don't worry.
Reporter: Oh.
Dom: No, Veeg and me met in fight rehearsal, but it wasn't so much meeting as "Hello, I'll be your Aragorn for the next three years, stand back while I brandish a sword." But very chill.
Reporter: And when did you two decide to marry in San Francisco?
Dom: Hang on. I need to calculate. What time is it now?


Viggo knew Dom thought it was all a publicity stunt. Some new silly thing that "Mad Viggo" came up with on the spur of the moment to make a point. An idea delivered in deadpan, as Viggo delivered just about everything, funny or serious. They'd been watching the news on the foldout couch. Tangled up in Henry's newly washed "Scenes of the West" sheets, that would need another wash before Henry got home the next day.

"I think we should get married."



"Stick it to 'em, right?"


"Oh. Right then. When do you want to?"

And that was sort of the end of the discussion. Viggo was too taciturn to bring it up, and Dom deflected with humor. It was their thing. It was a pain in the ass.

Later that night, slack from too much sex and too much wine, when Viggo said, "Well, if we leave now we can be in San Francisco by tomorrow morning," he expected Dom to blanch. Do that backpedaling-in-conversation thing that he was so good at - Viggo'd seen Dom remove his foot from his mouth flawlessly on more than one occasion - and laugh in Viggo's face, then shag him through the living room floor.

He hadn't expected Dom to say, "Henry would kill you if he wasn't there, you know." Matter-of-fact, as though they discussed getting married in San Francisco every evening between bedtime and a quick fuck. Dom sounded drowsy but serious and he crawled up so he was lying across Viggo's chest and poked him, just once, right below his collarbone. "He would, Veeg."


"So we should wash his sheets and leave in the morning." Dom rolled off his chest and straight onto the floor with a muffled thump, taking the top sheet with him. He stood up and trailed imperiously down the hallway towards their bedroom.

"Pack that orange tie," Dom called. "That's my favorite."


Reporter: Um ... 12:45. On Tuesday the ... the 15th.
Dom: Right then. 36 hours ago.
Reporter: 36 hours ago?
Dom: We were watching the news, right? And Veeg said, "I think we should get married." And I said, "When do you want to?"
Reporter: So he proposed to you.
Dom: You could look at it that way. Makes me the bird in the relationship, though, doesn't it?
Reporter: Um, no?
Dom: Doesn't matter. I'm far more manly than Viggo is any day. All those pink shirts, who's he think he's fooling?


"Hi, Mom. It's Viggo... Yeah, I know it's everywhere... No, not a joke... Entertainment Tonight? Huh... No, I love him... Of course I do... Not like Exene at all, really... I promise, I'll take you next time, if I'm nominated... Oh, you got it? Did you like the poem I sent? It's about you... Not the one on black paper, the one about flowing stars... I know... I wish you'd been there, too. Henry was there, and we were all thinking about you... I love you too, Ma."

Dom loved listening to Viggo talk. It was so understated. He wasn't trying to prove that he was strong, or clever, or funny, or straight or anything. He just was Viggo. It helped that he was talking to his mum. Who puts on a show for their mum? Speaking of, Dom had been avoiding his phones. Not the publicist one, and that had been ringing off the hook lately. No, he was avoiding his home phone and his private cell. The ones with truly terrifying voicemail build-ups. He knew his mum was on both of them. Probably into double digits with the messages on both. Triple, maybe. And Billy and Lij and the Seans and maybe even Orli and Ian and PJ with congratulations and surprise.

Mostly surprise. The reporters were easy to bat off. A little humor, a little sincerity, they were off your back and onto Paris Hilton. He didn't want to answer the serious questions from his family and friends. He wasn't sure of the questions. He wasn't sure he could answer them without asking Viggo about it first. But every time he thought up a question to ask, he looked at Viggo and the words evaporated. He knew Viggo didn't take him seriously, not really. That didn't matter when fingers were thrumming down his ribs, converging on his cock. It didn't matter when he clung to Viggo so hard he felt his own bones crunch. It didn't matter when they were quiet and there were lips working their way across his shoulder blades like whispers.

But then, those weren't the sorts of things his mother would ask about.

It wasn't that his mother didn't love him. Dom knew very well that she did, even when he was more trouble than one set of parents should ever have to deal with. But it was different than with Viggo. Expectations. A nice girl. Grandchildren. Viggo's mother already had her grandchild, after all. She had hers and she just wanted her son to be happy. And it was, "Do you love him?" and "Is he good to you?", not "Oh, Dom," and "You know that the Church ..." and "Can't you ever stay out of trouble?"

As though Viggo was trouble. Viggo, Dom knew, was anything but. Not that his mother would see that. And not, he was afraid, that she would even try. That's what got him every time he stopped and thought about it.

When Viggo hung up the phone, Dom had lined both of his cell phones up on the coffee table and was peering at them warily. Both were showing that he had new voicemail, and the one on the left, the publicity phone, was doing a strange little shimmy on the table as it vibrated: new call.

"You'll have to call everyone eventually," Viggo said, crossing away from the phone to stand beside him. Dom looked at the phones. Viggo looked at Dom.

"Mmmmmm," said Dom, and leaned into Viggo's thigh. When the dancing cell phone stopped dancing, he reached out one hand and prodded at it, and it started dancing again: another new call.

"No one will love you less," said Viggo.

"It's not that easy for me."

"It could be," Viggo said in that aging hippie understated way of his, the one that didn’t usually drive Dom mad. "You just have to do it. Man the torpedoes, full speed ahead."

The cell phone stopped ringing and Dom twisted his hands in his lap to keep from poking it again. He stared down at them, cheek resting on the soft warmth of Viggo's jeans. The ring on his left hand looked like it was made to match all his others.

"Call," said Viggo.

"Mmmmm," said Dom.


Reporter: Pink shirts?
Dom: Yeah, Veeg’s got a whole closet full of them. It was only a matter of time before he, um, came out with them. Heh.
Reporter: I suppose so.
Dom: So what else have you got for me, hmmmm? Some kind of interview this is. I’m asking all the questions!
Reporter: Oh, um. Um. Where were we?
Dom: When we decided to get married.
Reporter: Why did you decide to get married?
Dom: We love each other. Same as straight people who decide to get married. ‘Cept we were shagging first, and I hear some of them wait ‘til God says they can before doing it. Shame, really. Shagging a bloke like Viggo’s one of the most fun things in the world.
Reporter: Um. I don’t think we can publish that.
Dom: It’s okay, you can’t publish a lot of what Viggo says in bed, either.


"Leave a message after the beep or I will hunt you down with my pack of trained marmosets. Cheers!"
"Dommie? This is your mother speaking. I haven't heard from you in days. Are you okay? Call me. I love you."
"DOOOOOOOM! What's going on? It's Sean. I know you and Veeg have been holed up for a while, but Army of Freshmen are playing at Bombay tonight at 9. Maybe 10. Wanna go? Call me at home! WOOOOOO!"
"Hey, Dom. It's Elijah. Sean and I are going to the Freshmen show. Are you coming? Cell phone."

"I think that one was Astin being hung-over after the show."

"I think I got the same message. Did it end in 'Gaaaaah'?"

"Yup. I think I'm done for now."

Dom hit "cancel" and slid the personal phone across the table with a little too much force. It fell off the end and onto the rag rug. Viggo shrugged Dom out of his lap and retrieved it, then attempted to resettle Dom into their former position, shoulders and head cradled in his lap so Dom couldn’t escape to flush his phones down the toilet as he’d threatened earlier, but Dom was having none of it and spread-eagled the couch, clutching the sides in mock desperation.

"NO! I'm done! You can't make me do it!"

Viggo sighed. He put the phone antenna between his teeth, sat on Dom's stomach, and pinned his arms. Then through teeth clenched around the antenna, "Yeh're gernnna call ervery shingle pershen ind yehr voicshmaierl, er I'm neherver gehtttin urp."

"You make that sound like a bad thing."

Viggo leaned more of his weight into Dom's stomach and dropped the phone onto his chest.

"This isn't a game, Dom. We're married. I love you. Get over it. Tell people." He let the pressure up abruptly and leaned back to see what Dom would make of it.

It took a while for him to answer, but Viggo was patient. Dom looked away from him, as though he was in pain. This was an odd development and Viggo suddenly lost his easy confidence; he felt heavy and strange, not himself, as Dom turned slowly back to him and asked, "Why did you ask me to marry you?"

"Well, it was because I thought Henry needed another strong male role model and I ought to make a honest man out of you, but Henry calls his mother back when she phones, so apparently he's doing alright on his own."

Dom sniffled pathetically and shoved his face into the couch cushions.

Viggo winced; humor had been all wrong. Dom was serious - he was absolutely terrified to call these people back. Their friends. His family. Was it because he was afraid Viggo wasn't committed? Didn't really mean it? This insecurity was unsettling and uncharacteristic. Or maybe it wasn’t. He didn’t know. And that was more unsettling. Viggo reached out and tangled a hand in Dom's hair and tugged until Dom was looking at him, albeit suspiciously and not without a few tear-tracks on his face. "I asked you because I love you, you moron. Because you're funny and smart and a desperately good fuck, and you're nice to Henry and even to Exene, and you're a really fantastic cook, and you can always find my car keys when I can't. Because sooner rather than later the American government is going to tell us that my loving you counts less than my loving Exene, and I think that's bullshit because if anything it counts for more. So we should take advantage of it while we can."

"Oh," said Dom. "Really?" And then he picked up the phone, twisting it in his hands and staring at Viggo, looking much younger than his 27 years. Viggo was struck by an urge to ask why Dom had agreed to marry him, but he let it go - filed it away for later. More important was getting Dom to stop being terrified of the people who loved him, including Viggo.

"Yes. Call Billy." Viggo twisted off Dom's stomach onto the other end of the couch and watched Dom consider the keypad of the phone. He pressed the "3" down firmly and lifted the phone to his ear slowly, as though Billy could leap out of the ear piece and straight into Viggo's living room.

"Bills? Yeah, it's me ... no, it's true. I told you everything on Entertainment Tonight was true ..." Dom was silent for a long moment and Viggo could hear the lilt of Billy's voice if not the words. He sounded pleased, though, and suddenly Dom's face broke into a tentative grin. He poked Viggo with his foot and said, "Billy says that he's going to remove my bollocks with nail clippers if he doesn't get to be best man next time, Veeg."

"Tell Mr. Boyd that I have something to say about that suggestion."


Reporter: Ah. So you met working on Lord of the Rings, and you decided to get married on Sunday night because you love each other. Are you worried at all that this will have an affect on your careers?
Dom: Well, Veeg would rather paint and tromp about in nature and write artsy poetry than act, honestly –
Viggo: (in background) What are you saying about me?
Dom: - no, really, he would, don’t listen to him, and J.J.’s already got me filming for Lost, so we’re not worried right now. Not yet. J.J. even sent us flowers! Besides, I’d rather be happy and in love than working as an actor. Normal would be nice for a change.
Reporter: You’re two very high profile men marrying in San Francisco. I’d say normal is right out.
Dom: Ah, well. At least we’ve got our friends. They thought we were mad before this, so nothing’s really changed at all.


"No, no! Lies! All lies! … Okay, the thing about freaking out the clerk by asking him to marry me and Henry is true. Thank you so much for the flowers, too. They're lovely. … We've planted them in the garden with the rest … Give my best to PJ … Bye!"

It was easy. Viggo had been right. All of their friends were perfectly okay with it, or if they weren't, were putting up great fronts of support. And that took care of just about everybody except his agent, his Cousin Franklin who had called from a pay phone in Uzbekistan or somewhere and was unreachable, Bean, and his mother.

"Sex break!"

Viggo looked at him like Dom had grown a third ear.

"What?" Dom tried to look innocent and sexy and hungry at the same time. He was certain he ended up with something more like "I smell fish" but thought he deserved an A for effort. For the first time in ages, Dom was feeling excellent. He wasn't even pretending to feel excellent. Viggo had married him, and everybody knew it now, and if he could just distract Viggo from noticing that his mother was as yet uncalled, he might never have to deal with her. He could live an unmothered life. He had a husband now. A very maternal guy. A guy who loved him. Hopefully a forgetful guy.

"Call your mother first." It's like he was psychic or something. Maybe marrying him wasn't a good idea. Psychics would kill you. "I'm not psychic. You look guilty. Call her. She'll still love you."

Viggo had started reading some massive book while Dom was making the calls. It was early evening now, and the California sun was glinting off the reading glasses Viggo only pulled out at home. A man supremely at home with himself, Viggo still had his little vanities and it was part of what Dom loved about him. That's what he'd talk to his mother about. Viggo's glasses. No. That wouldn't work.

All the voicemail from her had been terse. Loving, maybe, but definitely terse. "Call me. I saw the TV." "I love you sweetie, but we need to talk." "Dommie, I need to talk to you." "Dominic Monaghan, you will call me this instant." Topping out at 47 messages combined from the home and the private cell phones. And three of them on the publicity phone.

"Call her, or I'll tie you up and dial it for you."

A mischievous grin played on Dom's face. "Yes, please."

"Okay, call her or I won't tie you up." Viggo hadn't even looked up from his book.

"Can we have dinner first?"

"No more stalling, or there will be no dinner, no sex, and no tying up." Still in his book.

"I think I'll just call Domino's." No response. "I'm calling for pizza now. You'd better stop me!" No response. "I mean it! Tackle me or we're having greasy pepperoni!" Nothing.

Dom sighed and dialed. 1-001-535...

"Mum? It's me.... I want you to know that I'm happy and in love and Viggo is the most wonderful thing to happen to me since I left home. I love you very much and I'll see you soon. Bye."

Viggo looked up from his book. "Did you call time and temperature?"

"No. Answerphone. On my honor."

"Order the pizza, then."


Reporter: Did you intend to make a statement with this marriage?
Dom: Nope. Er, well, everything’s a statement, isn’t it? So yes. But no.
Reporter: Yes but no?
Dom: No. The answer’s no. No statements. I told you already, mate. Love.
Reporter: Right. Not a statement through love?
Dom: No statements, mate. We love each other.
Reporter: Ah. Um. Okay. Um.
Dom: Anything else? Can I go now? I’d like to shag my husband through the floor of our hotel room.
Reporter: Um. What’s your favorite thing about Viggo?


The best thing about modern technology, Dom thought, besides porn on the internet, was the ability to program your cell phone to ring different tones for everyone who called you. It made it easy to avoid your phone calls. Not that he did that very often. But sometimes. Like most of last week. Elijah and Sean both rang with Howard's theme for the hobbits. Bean got whatever noisy pop song Viggo hated at that moment, and Orlando didn't call more than once a month so he shared his ringer with Dom's publicist. Billy was an off-key tonal rendition of that Britney Spears song, because all those girls shrieking for him on Sharon's silly show had been the best laugh Dom'd had in months.

Well, before that interview in San Francisco. That was the best laugh Dom'd had in months. But Billy singing that silly blonde's silly song was close to it, and he knew it drove Billy starkers. So he kept it.

After the 47 messages from his mother, Dom switched his parents' ring tone to "Don't Fear The Reaper". It seemed appropriate.

So when Blue Oyster Cult started drifting from the pair of jeans tangled around the left bedpost at the foot of Viggo's bed, Dom freaked out a little bit. It didn't help that he was, currently, tied naked to that bed and about to be fucked stupid by his husband. He absolutely, positively didn't want to talk to his mother right now. He wanted to be fucked. And he didn't want to hear the phone ring until it went to voicemail because Blue Oyster Cult was killing his lust, and fast.

"Um, Viggo, could you ...?"

But before he could finish the sentence, Viggo was up off the bed, fishing in the pockets of Dom's jeans for the phone, and ... answering it?

Oh, shit.

"Hello? No, this is Viggo, Aureen ... well, thank you. We wish you and Austin and Matthew could have been there, but it was all so sudden ... my son, Henry, but that was it ... yes, he's right here. Hold on." Dom was attempting to wave his hands at Viggo, tell him that no, talking to his mother while tied up and sporting a raging hard-on was the last thing he wanted to do, like, ever, but here Viggo was, holding the phone to his ear and looking as innocent as a naked man possibly can.

"I hate you," he told his husband, and he heard his mother gasp. Oh, this wasn't going to be easy.


"Hi, Mum. I married into some grandchildren for you … No, Mum, I don't actually hate you. I was talking to Viggo ... Nothing! He just did something, um, stupid... Fine, we'll talk about it... uh-huh... yes... God NO! It's not a publicity stunt!... I know it's everywhere... I'm sorry Weekly World News is calling you, Mum, I really am... NO!"

Viggo was bored. Bored isn't the right word. It wasn't that he would be unable to hold the phone to Dom's ear indefinitely, it was that it wasn't... fun. He cast about for something to free him from phone holding duty. He'd thrown out the little earpiece that had come with Dom's phone because it creeped him out to see Dom talking into nothing, but that was singularly unhelpful now. Drawers in the nightstand, maybe?

Ah-HAH! Ace bandage from Dom's wrist sprain last month. Perfect.

"I'm sorry I didn't call you earlier, Mum... Of course I love you... Henry's going to love you... I know he's not your own blood, but he's good as mine... Fine, Mum, we'll artificially inseminate some gutter punk with my sperm and adopt the little meatloaf... Well what do *you* suggest?... Very funny..."

There. Phone was bandaged to Dom's head. Viggo stood back to admire his handiwork. Dom looked like the victim of a bizarre phone-related head injury, what with the mouth-piece and antenna sticking up from the bandages, and now that Viggo was free, Dom looked a little anxious to end his conversation. Excellent. This would be fun.

"Yes, Miranda *was* a lovely girl, but not exactly my cup of tea, as you may have gathered... I think you've seen the movies too many times. It's fiction, and- hang on a sec, Mum. Viggo? What the hell are you doing?"

Nope. Not here. Not going to interrupt. Viggo was just going to run his fingers over his favorite bits. He smirked to himself and thought, "Let's deal with the magically disappearing hard-on, shall we?" And he ran fingertips up Dom's inner thighs, palms back down, and started to trace his way, torturously slow, up the same track with soft kisses. As Dom tried to shift out of the way, Viggo pressed Dom's hips down forcefully, and drifted fingers over the shape of the bones.

"Ohhh, pissshitFUCK! NO MUM! Nothing, noth- Viggo, quit that!... He's just, uh, moving, uh, fuHURniture and dropped something...I should HELP himohjesus-"

Viggo had reached the base of Dom's now erect cock and licked slowly from base to top. When he reached the top, he looked at Dom for effect. Angry blue eyes met his affectedly nonchalant expression, but Dom still looked ridiculous with his head-bandage. Viggo couldn't help grinning at what he had created, and that made Dom look even angrier. Viggo settled down on Dom's stomach, just in front of Dom's insistent dick, and started investigating the various sorts of things nipples would do when teased.

"I CAN'T hang up on you, Mum... I just... um, PLEASE can I call you baAAACK... WE AREN'T HAVING SEXohshit." Viggo bit down, just a little bit, and Dom choked. "Hold on, Mum."

Viggo paused in his licking and looked up at Dom. He was trying to wedge the phone into his shoulder so that the mouthpiece was covered, and was failing rather spectacularly. Viggo's fingers continued thrumming a pattern across his chest and Dom looked down at him and hissed, "If you do not stop that right this instant, Viggo Mortensen, I am going down to the Orange County courthouse - OH! - in the morning and divorcing you. They let gay blokes divorce anywhere, you know!" Viggo was nonplussed by this. And Dom's nipples were interesting. He waved a lazy hand at Dom as to say, "Yes, well, whatever you want, you're the one tied to the bed talking to your mother," and went back to his licking. And sucking. And possibly a little bit of biting.

"No, Mum, sorry. Viggo's not being helpful in this converJESUSsation ... yes, Mum, I told you, I love him. Even when he's being an, an, ohsweetlord, an irritating git ... no, not often. Just on rare - STOP IT! - occasions. Mum, really, please, HANG UP ... WE'RE NOT HAVING SEX, MUM!"

Viggo, having exhausted the possibilities of nipples, covered Dom’s chest with his own, trapping his erect cock between their bodies, and went to work on Dom's neck.

"Liv's married, YESRIGHTTHERE, Mum ... IT'S JUST A MOVIE, I sweardon'tstop ... Mum, ohpleasepleaseplease, half an hour, I'll call you ohshit right back, VIGGO STOP THAT OR HANG UP THIS DAMN PHONE RIGHT NOW!"

Time for the big guns, Viggo decided, and slid back down Dom's body to his cock, which was throbbing with want by this point. He swiped a broad stripe on the underside of Dom's cock with his tongue and Dom's breathing sped up.

"Mum, oh, I promise, I love him ... ohdon'tstop ... nothing, ah, Mum, nothing, really ... no, I didn't do this to upset Da, ofohshitcourse not ... Viggo's, ah ah yes, an equal opportunity sort of bloke ..." Viggo slid his mouth around the head of Dom's cock and slurped. Noisily. For effect. And then wrapped a hand around the base, pinned Dom's twitching hips to the bed with the other, and continued about his business. The way Dom was shaking, it wasn't going to take long. "No, it just means he - ohohyes - loves who he loves, Mum, and he loves ME ... yesrightthere ... I'm SORRY, Mum ... we'll adopt if we GOD! have to ... ohviggo ... ah, um, he's still moving - ah! - furniture, Mum, it's NOISY ... we'll visit, I PROMISE ... soon, soon, soon, yes, Mum, YES!" Viggo could feel Dom's balls tightening under him and gave his cock two quick twists and a final, obscenely loud slurp and Dom, still assuring his mother that they'd visit (and rather at the tops of his lungs, too), came spurting into the back of his throat. Dom collapsed tonelessly against the bedspread and hummed his pleasure at Viggo.

"No, Mum," he said wearily as Viggo crawled up beside him and unwound the bandage from his head, cradling Dom against him and holding up the phone again. "It's really that simple: I'm bisexual, Viggo's bisexual, we're in love, and we got married ... I know, he looked sort of dirty and imposing when you met him in New Zealand, but I promise, you'll love him. He'll love you ... yes, and everyone will love Henry. Henry's lovable ... Viggo's the King of Men, Mum. He's good people ... yes, I love you too, and Da and Matthew ... yes, I'll call back when Viggo's stopped moving the furniture. Tomorrow, okay, Mum? ... yes, Mum ... Goodnight." Viggo thumbed the "End" button on the phone and tossed it onto the end table. Dom was sprawled across him and his own cock was insistently hard.

"You," Dom said as he jabbed an elbow into Viggo's solar plexus as best he could, still being tied to the headboard, "are an utter, utter bastard. I love you." Viggo kissed him.


Dom: Undoubtedly, his sense of humor. He’s bloody mad, he is.







"Now you're just being ridiculous."

Henry liked it all, so it wasn't left up to him. Just as well. Dad and Dom liked arguing like this, sort of light-hearted and not important. And Henry'd gotten pretty used to their ending it with a kiss or hug or assgrab. At first, Dom had been uncomfortable touching Dad with Henry being around, and with Dom, discomfort manifested itself by doing more touching, which led into more discomfort, and so on and so forth in a disconcerting spiral. Fortunately, Henry had taken him out for coffee and hashing out before all Dom could do around Henry was hang on Dad's shoulder. Dad was useless for that sort of thing, trying to solve things through silence and practical jokes. Henry was a better arbitrator. Now the house was a touch-encouragement zone for all parties, and that was a good thing to Henry's mind.

"Hen, what do you think?"

"I think we should have ordered Thai."


"I like Thai."

"Son, don't you like my cooking?"

"That's a loaded question, Faaaather."

Dad chucked a grin at him and Henry thought about other ways to goad him. Maybe call him Daddykins. Or Pater. Or Paparama. Dad usually called him silly thing like Son of Mine, Fruit of My Loins, or, once for no apparent reason, Almighty Everlasting Prince of Pizza. It had gotten worse since Henry'd gained an inch on Viggo and several on Dom, and it was Viggo’s way of reminding him who was in charge around here.

Dom was always just Dom. It was just one of those things.

Tonight was pretty mellow; nothing really different from the other nights Dom had been in while Henry was home. Still, it seemed somehow more homelike. Dom wandered over from the kitchen to flop on the couch and his cell phone started to tremble across the coffee table. Dom aimed his finger at it.


Henry waited until he knew the ringer had only a second left and aimed his own finger.


And the phone stopped jiggling immediately.

"You're a terrible shot, Dom."

"Thank God we've got you, Henry. Thank GOD."

That got smiles all around. Dad was fishing through the drawers for Thai menus, but kept coming up with Domino’s menus. Dom started skipping through the tracks on the CD playing in the background. Henry just watched them. They looked happy. They looked just the same as before, but. somehow moreso. Henry thought about the couples he knew would never break up; mostly friends of the family, people he’d known forever. When they moved around rooms, you could still tell they were connected even when they weren’t together, that they belonged with each other. They did their thing, they laughed and talked and socialized separately, but there was a force between them that said "Together". Months ago, Dom had been doing some ridiculous aura research project and talked at Henry about how there are energy fields that could go from one person to another. Dom dropped it after about a week, but Henry remembered. If there were aura energy connection things, there was one passing through him right now connecting Dad and Dom. He could feel it. It was ... warm.

"Hey, Dom. I liked that song. Go back."

"Wish, command, et cetera, Hen Old Chap."


He grinned, and wondered if he should bring up his rather faded sheets.

No. Probably best to let it slide. Dom had never been a great hand at laundry.


Reporter: Mortensen declined comment but Monaghan spoke briefly with the Los Angeles Times following the ceremony, insisting that the marriage wasn’t “a statement of any sort”, that the two men “really are in love” and ended the interview with his trademark cheeky grin and the comment, “Bet all you birds are sorry you missed out on Viggo. He’s a right good shag.” For Entertainment Tonight, this is …

feedback always welcome.