Dark Muse, Part II
Jan. 21st, 2005 09:34 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
brainofckTitle: Encounters with the Dark Muse, Part 2 (probably of 5, dammit) Part 1 here
Author:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
muck_a_luck
Beta:uisgich (Many, many thanks)
Pairing: SB/VM
Rating: NC-17
Summary: How did Sean get here? And where did Viggo come from?
Content/warnings: Kidnapping. Violence (though not in the sex). Non-con. Various kink. Mostly PWP
Spoilers: None.
Disclaimer: Slash is fiction. So while we may all be demented, slash is basically the author's ownporno script, populated by the individuals she feels would be ideal to fill the various roles if she ruled the universe if she were ever fortunate enough have the opportunity to bring her vision to the screen. *snortle*
Additional disclaimer: In light of the (surprisingly unintended) parallels between my disclaimer and my story, feel I should make an additional disclaimer. I have no real desire to kidnap these people. I am not a stalker. I don't have any intention of trying to make fiction reality. No international sex crime syndicate at my disposal, people!
Archive rights: Would be cool to be archived! www.Rugbytackling.com only, though.
Viggo was awakened by the sound of his phone ringing.
He was disoriented, had only fallen asleep about half an hour before, but he listened with growing attention to the woman on the other end.
He hung up, thought a few minutes, then made a series of increasingly frantic phone calls. He finally hung up the phone in a moment of pure terror, picked it up again, recorded three voice-mails, left a note on the kitchen table, and twenty-five minutes later was sitting in the limo she had sent to get him.
"I promised myself something really special for my thirty-fifth birthday," she said. "It took me a long time to decide, but now I'm very sure."
Sean paced on the other side of the security monitor. Viggo had to struggle not to watch the screen.
"What makes you think I'll have anything to do with this?" he asked, as calmly as he could manage.
"Well," she paused a long time, watching him, gauging him, "I would prefer you to fuck him, but the boys …." Viggo's eyes went involuntarily to the other security monitor, showing another room in the house where the three freakishly huge men sat, the ones who had come to get Viggo in the limo. Viggo had ever seen anything like them outside the stunt industry. "… they’re more than happy to take turns."
"It's up to you. You came, and I'll keep my word. You can take him home in the morning, whether you help me or not."
Viggo shifted and decided. "All right. I have two requirements. I don't want him to know about the cameras. Cover his eyes. And I don't want him to say anything on film. Gag him, too."
She smiled sweetly. "Agreed. My two stage directions. He knows it's you. He gets no explanations."
Viggo took a deep breath. "Agreed."
Viggo Mortensen was bi, in that he was equally attracted to members of both sexes. But he had never been in love with a man. Men were about sex, and more specifically, about getting fucked. Because what really made it worth all the agony and heartache of taking another man to bed was to take advantage of his cock. To go down on him and suck him. To go on hands and knees and take it.
But sometimes, particularly with a straight guy, particularly with a virgin, there was the sweet-tart pleasure of being the first, possibly the only, and sometimes Viggo wanted that. To top, and do it well, and make a straight man beg for something he had never imagined he would ever want.
For both these reasons, Viggo fell for straight guys. And he had wanted to fuck Sean, to suck Sean, to roll over for Sean practically since the day they had first met.
But Viggo had never touched anyone, ever, against their will, had never wanted to, and it was only the memory of the three men waiting somewhere in the house that made him take a deep breath and open the door and step through it into a twisted fantasy of bondage and dominance that he was finding, well…
Startlingly beautiful. Candles everywhere, and a lit fireplace. The room was surprisingly warm.
And Sean, naked by candlelight. He shifted, probably hearing the door open, trying reflexively to what, see? hear? Viggo felt suddenly lightheaded, and slowly let out the breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding.
Before his brain could catch up with the rest of him, he muttered to no one, to himself, "Seeing him change after a day at work is a lot different than seeing him staked out in the firelight waiting for me to fuck him."
Sean's little whimper nearly sent Viggo running from the room. But it also went straight to his cock, and if he had ever been in any doubt that he could get it up for this "scene," well…
He was standing over Sean before he really understood that he had moved, drawn across the dim room. His eyes fell on the horrible bruise just forming on Sean's back. In his mind's eye, he could imagine the strike, the impact. He reached out carefully to touch it, soothe it, take the pain away. Sean trembled.
"I'm so sorry," Viggo murmured.
But that didn't stop Viggo from touching. From wanting to touch. Why had he never expected Sean's skin to be so soft? smooth? warmed by candlelight? heated by firelight? perfect and golden? Viggo had so quickly lost himself in his meditation upon Sean's flesh that it was Earth-shifting when Sean whimpered again, pushed up against his hand, tugged on the bonds. Viggo nearly choked on the words as he denied his friend, grateful that Sean couldn't ask him…
He couldn't do this, could he?
How could he do this?
But of course, the answer was simple. Simple for both of them, and simply resolved. Viggo sought refuge in lust. He wanted Sean. Had wanted him for weeks. And here he was, laid out for him. Beautiful and glowing. Waiting for him. And all he needed to do was make Sean want it as much as he did.
So the long caress was about possession, and confidence, and arousal. Viggo let his fingers drift to intimate places. Feel the heat of Sean's cleft, the softness of inner thigh, the tenderness and vulnerability of the knee, the firm curve of the calf, the calluses on his feet.
And suddenly Viggo was ready. God, Sean's body called to him, Viggo was desperate to have it, to have him. But first, dammit, he needed things. Lube. Condoms.
The room was full of cabinets and drawers. Drawers full of holy fuck dildos and paddles and clips and, no, he had not agreed to that, no matter what the crazy bitch was hoping. But it was hot as Hell, and he slammed the drawers open and closed, and eventually found half of what he was looking for and gave up on the condoms. He was feeling dizzy again, and took a moment to regroup, closed his eyes, and worked buttons and zipper in the dark, forcing his breathing to slow before he turned around to finish the task at hand.
Viggo crawled up the bed, focused on the body beneath him. He wanted Sean to squirm and rub and whimper. From this position, the best tools for that were teeth and beard and cock. Oh, and Sean was easy, gasping and quivering at the first bite, the first press. Wonderful little thrills vibrating through both of them.
When he put his mouth to Sean's skin, it tasted of blackberries. Under salt and fear and arousal, Viggo tasted blackberries. And honey. He stopped a long time to find and savor the elusive taste. To see if he could turn delicate shivers into something more. To use stubble and teeth to sensitize his lover, to mark him, to draw a flush to the surface of Sean's skin, send blood moving other places.
When Sean was as close to writhing as he could get in his awkwardly bound state, Viggo wickedly moved on to try for more. Pressing his tongue to Sean's entrance was incredible, intoxicating, and Viggo wanted to make Sean scream like that again. He lapped, licked, tasted musk and earth, coarse hair raising a blush again.
Then he found the cock ring. Fucking goddamned bastards! He hadn't agreed to that. And in a flash of anger, Viggo popped the snap. And got his scream. Oversensitized and hard for how long, Sean's body wrenched against the bolster. The scream was helpless, broken. Viggo hadn't thought and in his lust hazed brain, couldn't think. Lost in the moment, Viggo had the horrible, irrational vision that he had somehow hurt Sean, maimed him. Killed him. He wrapped himself around Sean, touching him with trembling hands, whispering pleas for him to come back, not leave. What happened? You're alright. A garbled mix of gentle words slipping off his tongue in confusion.
Then his brain caught up and Viggo recognized the signs. Relaxed muscles under him; heavy, deep breathing; a little groan as Sean started to come 'round. And suddenly Viggo couldn't get his cock inside Sean fast enough.
Forget the lube. Viggo knew what it was like to get fucked after an orgasm that strong. He adjusted and lined up and pressed. Slowly. Carefully. Mercilessly. Panting against Sean's neck, waiting for the give. Sean was making delicious little noises under him, moving and shifting and suddenly pushing back and Viggo was in.
Virgin or not, Sean was tight. Viggo gritted his teeth and stopped. Sean seemed to protest this, growling and squirming, but that was the best way. To let your lover fuck himself. Take it at his own pace. On his own terms. Sean's struggles were easing Viggo in and Viggo tried to hang on, not push.
But no man could hold out forever. Viggo gave an involuntary little twitch. It was just enough. Sean's body jerked and they both moaned and Viggo knew he had the angle. He started slow, carefully listening for little sounds of pain. Palms flat on Sean's ribs, on either side of his spine, feeling for stress, tension. But he didn't find it, and Viggo gained confidence. Setting a long, languid rhythm, dragging over Sean's spot with pumps that pressed in to the hilt, then pulled out to almost nothing.
It couldn't last, of course. Viggo settled the heels of his palms on the rise of Sean's ass and started to fuck him in earnest. Faster, harder, til Viggo was breathing hard, drops of sweat falling from his hair onto the perfect flesh below. His vision was hazing over. He was talking to himself again, but had lost track of what language. One, two, three hard shoves and Viggo came long and hard. Felt the satisfaction of finishing, fertilizing, his body not understanding that it was being cheated. Wrong soil.
He collapsed onto Sean's warm skin. Felt the shudders and the aftershocks trembling through both of them. Breathed in the scent of Sean's hair. Apples? No honeysuckle. Reveled in the feeling of his cock softening inside his friend. Lover. Victim. Let his breath even out into sleep.
Viggo lay awake on his own bed. He'd taken Sean's clothes. Couldn't bear to lose the scent of his friend, his lover his victim. He wondered if Sean would ever speak to him again. Even look at him again. He wondered if Sean would think of him as a rapist or a lover. Or neither. Or both.
His copy of the disk lay on the bed.
The phone rang. He left it on the bed and went to take a shower.
Part III
Originally posted at Rugbytackle
Author:
muck_a_luckBeta:
uisgich (Many, many thanks)Pairing: SB/VM
Rating: NC-17
Summary: How did Sean get here? And where did Viggo come from?
Content/warnings: Kidnapping. Violence (though not in the sex). Non-con. Various kink. Mostly PWP
Spoilers: None.
Disclaimer: Slash is fiction. So while we may all be demented, slash is basically the author's own
Additional disclaimer: In light of the (surprisingly unintended) parallels between my disclaimer and my story, feel I should make an additional disclaimer. I have no real desire to kidnap these people. I am not a stalker. I don't have any intention of trying to make fiction reality. No international sex crime syndicate at my disposal, people!
Archive rights: Would be cool to be archived! www.Rugbytackling.com only, though.
Viggo was awakened by the sound of his phone ringing.
He was disoriented, had only fallen asleep about half an hour before, but he listened with growing attention to the woman on the other end.
He hung up, thought a few minutes, then made a series of increasingly frantic phone calls. He finally hung up the phone in a moment of pure terror, picked it up again, recorded three voice-mails, left a note on the kitchen table, and twenty-five minutes later was sitting in the limo she had sent to get him.
"I promised myself something really special for my thirty-fifth birthday," she said. "It took me a long time to decide, but now I'm very sure."
Sean paced on the other side of the security monitor. Viggo had to struggle not to watch the screen.
"What makes you think I'll have anything to do with this?" he asked, as calmly as he could manage.
"Well," she paused a long time, watching him, gauging him, "I would prefer you to fuck him, but the boys …." Viggo's eyes went involuntarily to the other security monitor, showing another room in the house where the three freakishly huge men sat, the ones who had come to get Viggo in the limo. Viggo had ever seen anything like them outside the stunt industry. "… they’re more than happy to take turns."
"It's up to you. You came, and I'll keep my word. You can take him home in the morning, whether you help me or not."
Viggo shifted and decided. "All right. I have two requirements. I don't want him to know about the cameras. Cover his eyes. And I don't want him to say anything on film. Gag him, too."
She smiled sweetly. "Agreed. My two stage directions. He knows it's you. He gets no explanations."
Viggo took a deep breath. "Agreed."
Viggo Mortensen was bi, in that he was equally attracted to members of both sexes. But he had never been in love with a man. Men were about sex, and more specifically, about getting fucked. Because what really made it worth all the agony and heartache of taking another man to bed was to take advantage of his cock. To go down on him and suck him. To go on hands and knees and take it.
But sometimes, particularly with a straight guy, particularly with a virgin, there was the sweet-tart pleasure of being the first, possibly the only, and sometimes Viggo wanted that. To top, and do it well, and make a straight man beg for something he had never imagined he would ever want.
For both these reasons, Viggo fell for straight guys. And he had wanted to fuck Sean, to suck Sean, to roll over for Sean practically since the day they had first met.
But Viggo had never touched anyone, ever, against their will, had never wanted to, and it was only the memory of the three men waiting somewhere in the house that made him take a deep breath and open the door and step through it into a twisted fantasy of bondage and dominance that he was finding, well…
Startlingly beautiful. Candles everywhere, and a lit fireplace. The room was surprisingly warm.
And Sean, naked by candlelight. He shifted, probably hearing the door open, trying reflexively to what, see? hear? Viggo felt suddenly lightheaded, and slowly let out the breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding.
Before his brain could catch up with the rest of him, he muttered to no one, to himself, "Seeing him change after a day at work is a lot different than seeing him staked out in the firelight waiting for me to fuck him."
Sean's little whimper nearly sent Viggo running from the room. But it also went straight to his cock, and if he had ever been in any doubt that he could get it up for this "scene," well…
He was standing over Sean before he really understood that he had moved, drawn across the dim room. His eyes fell on the horrible bruise just forming on Sean's back. In his mind's eye, he could imagine the strike, the impact. He reached out carefully to touch it, soothe it, take the pain away. Sean trembled.
"I'm so sorry," Viggo murmured.
But that didn't stop Viggo from touching. From wanting to touch. Why had he never expected Sean's skin to be so soft? smooth? warmed by candlelight? heated by firelight? perfect and golden? Viggo had so quickly lost himself in his meditation upon Sean's flesh that it was Earth-shifting when Sean whimpered again, pushed up against his hand, tugged on the bonds. Viggo nearly choked on the words as he denied his friend, grateful that Sean couldn't ask him…
He couldn't do this, could he?
How could he do this?
But of course, the answer was simple. Simple for both of them, and simply resolved. Viggo sought refuge in lust. He wanted Sean. Had wanted him for weeks. And here he was, laid out for him. Beautiful and glowing. Waiting for him. And all he needed to do was make Sean want it as much as he did.
So the long caress was about possession, and confidence, and arousal. Viggo let his fingers drift to intimate places. Feel the heat of Sean's cleft, the softness of inner thigh, the tenderness and vulnerability of the knee, the firm curve of the calf, the calluses on his feet.
And suddenly Viggo was ready. God, Sean's body called to him, Viggo was desperate to have it, to have him. But first, dammit, he needed things. Lube. Condoms.
The room was full of cabinets and drawers. Drawers full of holy fuck dildos and paddles and clips and, no, he had not agreed to that, no matter what the crazy bitch was hoping. But it was hot as Hell, and he slammed the drawers open and closed, and eventually found half of what he was looking for and gave up on the condoms. He was feeling dizzy again, and took a moment to regroup, closed his eyes, and worked buttons and zipper in the dark, forcing his breathing to slow before he turned around to finish the task at hand.
Viggo crawled up the bed, focused on the body beneath him. He wanted Sean to squirm and rub and whimper. From this position, the best tools for that were teeth and beard and cock. Oh, and Sean was easy, gasping and quivering at the first bite, the first press. Wonderful little thrills vibrating through both of them.
When he put his mouth to Sean's skin, it tasted of blackberries. Under salt and fear and arousal, Viggo tasted blackberries. And honey. He stopped a long time to find and savor the elusive taste. To see if he could turn delicate shivers into something more. To use stubble and teeth to sensitize his lover, to mark him, to draw a flush to the surface of Sean's skin, send blood moving other places.
When Sean was as close to writhing as he could get in his awkwardly bound state, Viggo wickedly moved on to try for more. Pressing his tongue to Sean's entrance was incredible, intoxicating, and Viggo wanted to make Sean scream like that again. He lapped, licked, tasted musk and earth, coarse hair raising a blush again.
Then he found the cock ring. Fucking goddamned bastards! He hadn't agreed to that. And in a flash of anger, Viggo popped the snap. And got his scream. Oversensitized and hard for how long, Sean's body wrenched against the bolster. The scream was helpless, broken. Viggo hadn't thought and in his lust hazed brain, couldn't think. Lost in the moment, Viggo had the horrible, irrational vision that he had somehow hurt Sean, maimed him. Killed him. He wrapped himself around Sean, touching him with trembling hands, whispering pleas for him to come back, not leave. What happened? You're alright. A garbled mix of gentle words slipping off his tongue in confusion.
Then his brain caught up and Viggo recognized the signs. Relaxed muscles under him; heavy, deep breathing; a little groan as Sean started to come 'round. And suddenly Viggo couldn't get his cock inside Sean fast enough.
Forget the lube. Viggo knew what it was like to get fucked after an orgasm that strong. He adjusted and lined up and pressed. Slowly. Carefully. Mercilessly. Panting against Sean's neck, waiting for the give. Sean was making delicious little noises under him, moving and shifting and suddenly pushing back and Viggo was in.
Virgin or not, Sean was tight. Viggo gritted his teeth and stopped. Sean seemed to protest this, growling and squirming, but that was the best way. To let your lover fuck himself. Take it at his own pace. On his own terms. Sean's struggles were easing Viggo in and Viggo tried to hang on, not push.
But no man could hold out forever. Viggo gave an involuntary little twitch. It was just enough. Sean's body jerked and they both moaned and Viggo knew he had the angle. He started slow, carefully listening for little sounds of pain. Palms flat on Sean's ribs, on either side of his spine, feeling for stress, tension. But he didn't find it, and Viggo gained confidence. Setting a long, languid rhythm, dragging over Sean's spot with pumps that pressed in to the hilt, then pulled out to almost nothing.
It couldn't last, of course. Viggo settled the heels of his palms on the rise of Sean's ass and started to fuck him in earnest. Faster, harder, til Viggo was breathing hard, drops of sweat falling from his hair onto the perfect flesh below. His vision was hazing over. He was talking to himself again, but had lost track of what language. One, two, three hard shoves and Viggo came long and hard. Felt the satisfaction of finishing, fertilizing, his body not understanding that it was being cheated. Wrong soil.
He collapsed onto Sean's warm skin. Felt the shudders and the aftershocks trembling through both of them. Breathed in the scent of Sean's hair. Apples? No honeysuckle. Reveled in the feeling of his cock softening inside his friend. Lover. Victim. Let his breath even out into sleep.
Viggo lay awake on his own bed. He'd taken Sean's clothes. Couldn't bear to lose the scent of his friend, his lover his victim. He wondered if Sean would ever speak to him again. Even look at him again. He wondered if Sean would think of him as a rapist or a lover. Or neither. Or both.
His copy of the disk lay on the bed.
The phone rang. He left it on the bed and went to take a shower.
Part III
Originally posted at Rugbytackle
