vigorli

Title: Beginning, Part 1
Author:

stormatdusk
Pairing: V/O
Beta: Thank you,

rifleman_s. Any remaining errors are my own.
Warnings: BDSM (just a suggestion for now)
Disclaimer: This is only fiction.
A/N: This is a prequel to the drabble "Forgiveness," just posted.

At times, Viggo’s creativity runs rampant. Times when he’s following those seemingly pointless urges, exploring, just going with it. He’s slapping paint on a canvas with no real plan yet, or freely tramping through some woods somewhere with his camera, or bent over his desk scribbling away. He doesn’t know how to name it precisely, but he says it’s always accompanied by a sense of anticipation, and he knows something good could happen at any moment.

He was like that through a lot of the Rings’ shoot. It’s what I first fell in love with about him: that crazy hippie thing he does, when he’s so in love with life and he’s dragging everyone around him right along for the ride. Well, that, and his arse. I think it was a draw.

Other times, though, it’s just… chaos inside him. The exhilaration isn’t there, no joy. He gets choked with this vague, gnawing sense of anxiety about the world and all the shite that’s going on in it. He finds himself obsessing over everything that’s wrong, painful, unjust. He does more for other people than anyone I’ve ever known. But at those times, he can only see everything he’s not able to do, and he gets to feeling helpless in the face of it all. That’s when he needs it. Needs me.

It centres him, gives him one very specific thing to focus on. I take away his hiding places, expose him body and soul. He gives me all his frustration and fear, and we exorcise it all. There’s no way to delay it, to bury it. We bare all the turmoil inside him and we deal with it.

He’s told me that going under for me makes him feel like he’s jumping off a cliff into the ocean. He’s scared, because it’s a little too high. But once he makes the decision and lets himself do it, the exhilaration of the fall makes him feel completely alive. And then there’s that icy plunge, and the fear is gone, evaporated, and suddenly everything is new and fresh and clean, and it’s so, so good.

I’m rambling. I do that, no big news there. But there – see? I don’t do it then, not when we’re playing that way. I’d do this for him even if I didn’t get much out of it, even if it was only a neutral issue for me. But man, it does all kinds of good things for me, too, and the rambling thing is one example. Being in the Master role puts me in this amazing Zen place. For a few hours, I can shut out the madness of what life has become. The rest of the world falls away, and I’m able to focus everything on him. My whole being becomes about how best I can draw out what he needs to give me. I’d be a bloody liar if I denied the lust, of course. He’s so fucking amazing when he’s under, I’d swear I can feel my blood surging in my veins. But it’s so much more than that. It does something for both of us that we don’t – and wouldn’t want to – get anywhere else.

The first time was purely instinct. I hadn’t thought it out ahead of time. I’m not even sure exactly where it came from. Now, I know I should have done some planning, some reading, some surfing on the net – something. But the idea came to me so immediately and so vividly that I just went with it. It worked out okay – fucking better than okay – so regrets would have no point, anyway.

It was about a year ago, and he’d been adrift in that anxiety for a few weeks.

We’d made love one night. He’d been the generous lover he always is, but a part of him wasn’t really there. Afterward, he lay quietly next to me in the dark. Quiet, but not asleep. He was still. No sighing, no tossing and turning, no outward signs that anything was wrong. He never wants to bother me with whatever is making him feel so unsettled, no matter how much I’ve tried to reassure him that he could never be a bother to me. But I knew it was there that night, between us. And lying there with him, something clicked, and I just wasn’t willing to let it go any longer. I remember thinking, Enough.

I stalked to the bathroom, images jumbling in my brain, and rifled through the drawers. There: medical tape from the first aid kit. That would work. And a hairbrush.

I looked in the mirror, and for a brief moment, I realized I should probably feel a little nervous. But I didn’t. I had a purpose, a goal to accomplish, and I was dead sure of my own motivations. Vig had taught me a lot about trusting my own instincts. I didn’t feel any doubt about what I was about to do. I smoothed my fingers through my hair and then tied it back. A deep breath, and it was time to get down to business.

I stopped to light the thick candles on Viggo’s dresser. I needed to be able to see his face for this, whatever this was going to be. He hadn’t moved since I’d left him; he was staring at the ceiling, lost in his thoughts. I sat on the bed next to him, setting the supplies beside me. He shifted his gaze to me and gave me a small smile. But it didn’t reach his eyes. That worried tightness in his forehead didn’t soften. And I decided. Yeah. This is going to happen.

I looked down at him and said, very quietly, “Vig. Give me your hands.”

- tbc -