Moments of childlike innocence you want to destroy with him lying limply sprawled over your lap, ass bare, your belt in your hand.
Such soft skin, such soft voice, soft pleas and whimpers...
Never demanding but ever "no"...
It makes you wanna hate him, break him.
Sex is a battle, love is war.
He's lying face-down on the bed, wrists handcuffed behind his back, fastened to the restraints holding his ankles together, spine forced into a tight bow.
He's even unable to squirm without sending agony through his abused body. Thighs forced apart by his own strained frame, that still refuses to settle into a position like this, leaving him open, vulnerable, eyes becoming wet.
"Why?", circles constantly in his head and "How can anybody take pleasure in other's pain?"
HE can, Viggo just recognised too late, that there was more than passion burning in those intense eyes, that those big hands are strong enough to force him into any thing HE wants.
There was sweetness first, flirting, laughing, kisses and touches gentle. But then HE took him on journey through HIS darkest fantasies.
Viggo is scared about the open sight of cruelty in them.
Eyes watering, he tries to find a more comfortable position, but fails.
When HE takes him like this, it always hurts most: his muscles and hamstrings aching, his thighs unable to press together, to close, to hide his vulnerability; his insides tense, making him even tighter, his whole frame unwilling to be penetrated, to have something that hard and big forced inside.
So wrong. Viggo had ever been aware of his bisexuality, he'd been with men before. But it never went further than kisses, maybe handjobs - till he met HIM. HE could coax him into anything, HE wanted. Opened his mouth for anything, HE wished him to swallow. HIS cock, HIS cum and when HE wasn't pleased with Viggo's behaviour even HIS piss.
Then HE would shove himself into his ass, so strange, so wrong, so painful. How could anybody enjoy this? Is it that, what a woman feels? To be taken, forced into submission by being filled mercilessly, selfishly and brutal again and again, just thinking: "Please finish it off, please stop, it hurts, hurts so bad...Please, please..."
The mattress tilts under HIS weight and HIS cool hands run slowly over Viggo's shivering, twisted frame. He can hear his own camera taking pictures of his forced apart thighs and of between them. Never his face. He's reduced to his body.
Then he feels in horror something hard against his entrance and immediately tenses. It's smooth but dry.
"Lube, please", he whispers, his voice small in the silence. Whatever it is, it's pressed even harder against him. Defeated he tries to relax, knowing, it would hurt ever more if he doesn't.
Slowly, so slowly. Long burning slide into his ass, his body violated, desperately trying not to tense. Fails, grits his teeth, feels tears welling up. It's big, too big, even bigger than HE is, so deep inside him, his unprepared body protesting as he feels something tear. It's too much, but even more pressure is added, forcing that thing through any resistance.
Viggo tries again, trembling in pain and fear: "Please, stop..." His voice small and pained, all male raspiness gone, leaving it bare, smooth, boyish.
Finally HE responds: "Shut up and take it, it's just halfway in." Defeated he whimpered and surrendered.
A loud shattering noise startled Viggo out of his flashback. Agony crept up his spine and he shook violently. Staring down at the shards of one of Sean's teacups on the floor, he frantically clawed at the edge of the kitchen table, as his knees seemed to give out. His heart hammered violently against his breastbone. The world spun to fast around him and he cried out weakly before he fell over as darkness blinded his vision, claiming him before his face hit the table.
Sean had darted up from his dozing on the couch as he'd heard the sound of china shattering from his kitchen. Puzzled and sleepy he managed to get into a sitting position, rubbing his eyes and trying to stifle a yawn. But then an odd, strangled sound emerged from the other room and a loud "thud". Bloody hell. Viggo wasn't ruining his kitchen by making some tea, was he?
Sean got up quickly and ran into the other room, almost tripping over sprawled long legs. Viggo's legs. He lay limply on the tiles, his face bruised, nose bloody and he discovered a matching crimson smear on the table. Fuck.
Crouching down he gently turned the unconscious man on his back, carefully cradling his injured head in one hand. "Viggo?", he whispered, concern furrowing his brow. Gently he reached for his nose, testing the bone. Not broken, thank god.
Sighing in relief he sat down next to him - and froze as his breath caught. He saw beauty for the first time, saw Viggo for the first time. Brushing some strands of silky hair from his features, he recognised his delicateness, his rather boyish features behind that scruffy beard. He looked so young and far too innocent. Like a child.
Then his lashes fluttered open, exposing vulnerable dull grey eyes. Sean could look right through them. He saw pain and fear until they became blank again, just reflecting their surroundings, but shielding like mirrors. His reflection in them gazing back at him had him shivering.
"Viggo, what happened?", he heard himself say, his own voice far away as he found himself caught in a horrible emptiness as the other mans mask shattered because of the tears breaking through all mental barriers outside.
It almost broke Sean's heart and he reached out to offer the comfort of his arms. Viggo tensed, tensed so much that his whole frame quivered, eyes filled with horror, but not trying to struggle, just passive, involuntary.
Sean knew, that the Half-Dane often claimed, that he was that drained and exhausted -mentally and physically, that he hallucinated, but his eyes told of a different truth. He hid himself behind Aragorn, hid in Tolkien's world, hid from something, that scared him deep enough to agonise him unbearably.
Searching for traces of what that could be, his eyes fixed on Viggo's left wrist, exposed by a ridden up sleeve, fixed on the red and purple bruise he found matching ones on his other wrist and on his ankles.
"Jesus! How...", Sean began, but then realisation hit him. Those were no injuries you get on a battlefield, at least not on a battlefield as it was considered as by Tolkien. Bondage. Handcuffs digging into tanned skin. As this raced through his mind, he changed his question and hissed in barely surpressed rage just one word: "Who?"
Viggo shivered violently and his eyes widened as he saw fire in the green of Sean's eyes. They had be so gentle, reminding him of sun-warmed meadows, of peace and golden light of the consistence of honey, drawing out every second into eternity. Now fury burnt everything into ashes.
Realising his mistake, Sean backed away. "Sorry", he mumbled and offered a hand, helping Viggo to get up, not releasing his gentle but firm grip: "Tell me, please."
Viggo shook his head and said almost inaudible: "I can't." And stormed out of Sean's house, leaving it emptier than it ever was.
Viggo ran, ran through the wood, just ran - right into HIS arms.
Sean cursed, grabbed his keys and hurried after him, following his instinct, as he couldn't locate him in the growing dark. A shriek, unearthly, resonating in his heart, forcing it to feel the pain, the utter horror. Slowing down he could see two shapes on a clearing. Then he heard a familiar voice: "Where have you been, you fucking little slut? You don't have to tell me, I can smell him all over you. What have you been up to? Did you let him fuck you? Did you suck him off? You are mine, mine completely, you know that and fucking stop crying! I will punish you. This time you won't run to Sean. You like him? Love him? Because he's all British and nice? Because he doesn't hurt you, like I do? Because he doesn't complain, if you just want to curl up and sleep?"
And suddenly Sean remembers all those nights like this one. At not usual and polite times Viggo would pop up from nowhere, standing barefoot and panting on his doorstep, eyes haunted, whispering: "I can't sleep. May I stay with you?" And he'd always been unable to say 'no', had let him in, had let him climb under the covers, a curled up form next to him on the king-sized bed, never touching, but a quiet presence as small as his voice in the dark: "Good night, Sean" before his eyes closed and he fell asleep instantly.
He was always gone before Sean awoke, leaving his unique scent lingering on the sheets. Sean would snuggle into them, feeling Viggo's fading warmth still caught in the fabric and the memory of a feather-light touch on his cheek.
As he heard Viggo whimper he leaped out of the shadow of the trees, rage burning inside him again, fed with hatred for somebody, who could harm this soft-spoken, shy man, that searched his comfort almost every night since two weeks. And Sean was angry at himself, for not recognising earlier, what caused Viggo's sleepless nights.
The taller figure had let go of Viggo and was about to draw back into the woods, but Sean wouldn't let HIM flee, before he knew HIS identity.
Leaping at HIM, he knocked HIM down, HE was no match at all for him and he rose, dragging HIM into the moonlight.
Shocked, he almost choked on HIS name: "Karl..."
But the man just grinned: "So you want him all for yourself? I can understand you. I can't get enough of his marvellous body. He's still so tight, after everything I tried on him. Can't get enough of his pathetic sobs and pleas."
"Shut up!", Sean yelled, unable to bear, unable to believe, what Karl was telling him. But he ignored him: "But you know this already, I'm sure."
"How should I know? I didn't touch him and never considered to ... use him like this! We're friends!", Sean hissed.
Karl mocked him: "How cute! Friends?! Just friends sleeping every night in the same bed without sinful thoughts?"
"Yes", confirmed Sean before he hit the bastard hard enough to break his nose. Karl slumped down at his feet, protecting his face with his hands. Kicking him just for a good measure Sean growled: "Who's pathetic now?" before deciding Karl wasn't worth even to be spat on.
Turning around he faced Viggo. Tear-streaked and horrified, shame and fear blending together on his features. He was afraid, afraid, that Sean would be repulsed by him, would push him away, push him out of his life. But the Brit just steadily met his gaze and said words, Viggo never dared to dream of: "You can stay with me as long as you want."
Back home again, he tucked a slightly bewildered Viggo into his bed again, lying down beside him. There was time enough for questions in the morning.
As usually he curled up next to him, facing him, still wearing his shirt and sweatpants, bare feet peeking out under the cover, one hand resting on the blanket, the other loosely curled, open, the bared palm vulnerable, defenceless, trusting.
But Sean couldn't find sleep. Spellbound by the sleeping beauty in his bed, he just couldn't. Viggo looked so cute asleep, his hair a tousled halo on the pillow, lips slightly parted. He wanted to touch him, touch him like the cool moonlight, tenderly, respectful, discovering the shapes of Viggo's light body without harming.
Sean reached out, barely touching his cheekbone and his eyes snapped open, focusing on him and widening in horror about this betrayal.
As he moved just the slightest bit, trying to confirm, he had not meant to, Viggo frantically clutched the blankets and flinched away, crawling backwards to the headboard. His beautiful eyes accused him silently: "Traitor!"
Sean had lost his trust.
He felt sorry about his foolish attempts and was afraid, so afraid to loose Viggo, he had to try: "Please, I just, I didn't intend to do anything to you, you don't want. I'm sorry. I know, I shouldn't take advantage of you, when you're asleep. But I couldn't help..., you looked so beautiful. I just wanted to touch your face, touch your beauty, feeling your warmth... Shall I sleep on the sofa?"
Viggo shook his head and whispered, slightly confused but firm: "Please, stay. I overreacted. It's just... I hate being touched, I can't stand it, not since HE..." The rest drowned in tears, that rolled over his cheeks. He cried wide-eyed, unbelievingly, not quite sure he still had tears left.
Sean helplessly sat up, reaching out for Viggo, giving him room to decide. He still trembled in fear as he shyly crawled towards Sean's offer and a shuddery sigh escaped his lips as he sank into the gentle embrace of strong arms. His body reacted with small spasms, it had forgotten how gentleness felt, how the safety of Sean's physical presence felt.
They lay down again, still snuggled together, listening to each others heartbeat with their bodies, feeling it vibrating, resounding in each others chest, finally matching in rhythm and strength as they fell asleep.
Next morning Sean woke by silky tufts of hair tickling his nose. Fighting the urge to yawn and to sneeze at the same time he blinked in irritation at the tousled mess of dark strands. Then he remembered last night. Viggo stayed. Sean smiled happily at his sleepy expression and the little smile tugging on the man's lips. As Viggo rubbed one of his tired eyes with the back of his hand, Sean was about to melt. The Half-Dane had no clue, how adorable he looked. Like a child just woken up, content, not really awake yet.
Smoothing the oddest spikes on Viggo's head with his fingers, he wriggled his toes at the other man's, purring: "Good morning, beauty." And Viggo was sure, his toes blushed.
"'m not beautiful, don't mock an old grumpy geezer", he protested, to keep his toes' dignity, still half asleep, it made sense - even if it was just logical for him alone.
"You're neither old nor grumpy. Just your cute self. And you are beautiful", Sean insisted.
"Wotever 'y say. Brain's dead without maté", Viggo mumbled and the Brit shook his head and couldn't help but laugh.
There was light on the horizon. Hope.
Summary: Sex is a battle. Love is war.
Rated: G
Categories: Actor RPS Pairing: Sean/Viggo
Warnings: BDSM, Non-con, ViolenceChallenges:
Series: NoneChapters: 1 Completed: No
Word count: 2459 Read: 1021
Published: 15 Aug 2009 Updated: 15 Aug 2009