fic: Hamartia,V/O, NC-17
May. 19th, 2007 10:03 pm![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
loveless-l.livejournal.com posting in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png){kind=small}
vigorliTitle: Hamartia
Pairing:V/O
Rating: NC-17
Summary: A therapist treats a Rock God
Disclaimer: I don't own them, i don't know them, no money is made out of this
Beta: none, for the time being
1.
Despite the luscious sight sprawled on his couch, Viggo had grown tired of the silence and of Orlando ignoring him all evening. From the moment he came into his office, looking like he hadn’t had any sleep for days, the young man claimed possession of the leather couch, and kept stretching and yawning all through what was supposed to be a meaningful therapy session.
He had hardly uttered a word all this time. Viggo watched him in obstinate silence, being caught in this childish game of who was going to make whom speak first. Resolute not to be again the one to force Orlando into some kind of verbal communication, Viggo observed him with fingers pressed together and forming a steeple in front of him. It was his professional pose, used rarely to infuse uneasiness to the misbehaving patient.
Most of the times all he had to do was just be his usual easy-going, thoughtful self and most of his clients, especially the female ones, spilled the beans immediately. Of course he expected it wouldn’t be that easy with Orlando Bloom, who, except from a very disturbed person, also happened to be the front man of one of the most popular Goth-rock bands in the last few years.
As expected from a punk/goth/rock kid being worshipped like a God, Orlando had rushed into Viggo’s office one year ago with an entourage of agents and managers who, as Viggo easily deduced, were the ones who had dragged the boy into therapy. The first impression wasn’t a positive one: the therapist wondered how a person that skinny could actually manage to carry the weight of such an overblown ego.
Well, he pulled it off, and he did it with grace, too. The man you love to hate, the rock magazines had dubbed him. He lived up to his legend, abusing his fans’ worship and manipulating the media. On the stage, he was a demon. If you asked the members of his band, they’d all tell you that Orlando Bloom was actually a very shy, and very charismatic person.
If you asked for Viggo’s professional opinion, he’d tell you it was just another case of a spoiled rock star with illusions of grandeur, the angry white dude type that was the thing to be in the music industry right now.
One year later, he didn’t know what to think.
Orlando raised his arm in the air, and looked at the ceiling through his outstretched fingers, adorned with silver rings of elaborate design. He sighed and pulled it down, resting it upon the patch of tanned belly revealed under the black t-shirt that had been slightly pulled up from the restless shifting of his body.
Viggo decided to break the silence first, after all. He got up, and made the round of his huge cluttered desk. Orlando was momentarily startled by the movement, but then relaxed again into his former poise.
“Let’s talk about what you said at your last interview.”
Orlando shifted his listless gaze onto Viggo, who stood in front of his desk, slightly leaning against it.
“What? That the fans are morons?”
“That suicide is the ultimate form of art.”
This stirred Orlando out of his torpor and into motion again. He got up from the couch and walked towards the wall that displayed a number of beautiful works of photography. The pictures all depicted night scenes, all urban sights, all black and white – they exuded a very powerful sense of desolation and solitude, and Orlando found himself inevitably attracted to them.
“Do you really believe this?” he heard Viggo ask him from behind his back.
Absent-mindedly, Orlando fished his pack of cigarettes out of his pocket, as he continued to study the pictures.
“No smoking,” Viggo reminded him sternly.
Orlando turned round and put the cigarette in his mouth.
“Orlando,” Viggo cautioned. The young man laughed, mocking the sudden tensing of Viggo’s usually relaxed body. Ignoring him, he lit up his cigarette nevertheless.
“Orlando,” the man’s mellow tones were raised to a harsh reprimand, “there are some rules - ”
Before Orlando could do anything but smirk defiantly, Viggo had dashed at him and had wrenched the cigarette out of the shocked mouth. He closed his fist around the cigarette, smashing it to pieces inside his palm. Orlando gawped at him.
“Viggo…” he muttered, his calmness crumpling at Viggo’s unexpected display of temper. “Jesus fucking Christ, Viggo, your hand-”
Orlando took his hand between his own two, showing honest concern for the first time. When Orlando forced Viggo’s palm open, he saw the crushed pieces and the cigarette burn into his hand.
“God, Viggo, you’re absolutely mad…”
Viggo released the debris onto the floor and let Orlando scrutinize the damage in his hand. Orlando’s fingers fluttered tenderly around the burned spot, as if he believed that his touch alone could soothe the sting. It didn’t – it made it worse, but at the same time, it felt good.
“Does it hurt?” Orlando asked in a hushed voice. “Do you have a first-aid kit somewhere?”
Viggo smiled. Orlando’s arrogance had vanished; his usual taunting behavior had given its place to fear, and concern. Expressing concern for another human being…that was surely a breakthrough, and to think it was brought forth by such a reckless, almost desperate act.
Only it wasn’t an act. It wasn’t something Viggo had planned. It wasn’t some kind of psychological trick or a case of reverse psychology, in order to elicit a reaction out of the patient. Indeed, Viggo sometimes used such “tricks” of the trade to help patients transcend limits, when he thought they could handle it. But this was a reaction born genuinely out of his own inability to handle the situation; it was born out of his frustration, his disappointment, his despair even. He had simple lost control and snapped. And it had worked; because suddenly Orlando revealed a face he had never shown him in the past years.
He was capable of feeling compassion, after all.
Viggo pulled his hand abruptly away, causing Orlando to look up at him with brown eyes, wide and deep and full of wonder and worry and awe. He looked so young at that moment, so vulnerable. Like Viggo’s pain had also burnt a hole into him as well.
“Are you happy now, Orlando?”
It was the worst possible time for an experienced therapist like Viggo to lash out on his patient; he knew better than to kick his patients when they were down, but this time he couldn’t help it. After one year of seeing Orlando’s face frozen and expressionless as if carved in stone, Viggo experienced a wild joy in witnessing this side of him, and an even wilder pleasure in being given the opportunity to manipulate it. It was rotten of him to seek revenge, but Orlando’s scornful, overconfident behavior over the last year had, as it was now evident, affected him more than he knew.
“What are you talking about?” Orlando’s usually acrid tones were now subdued.
“That’s what you’ve always wanted, right? Make me lose it? Make me just snap? Provoking me all the time? Challenging me to cross the limits. Well, here it is. You win. That’s what you wanted, wasn’t it? To win? To prove you’re superior to me, to prove I have no control over you?”
Orlando took in a trembling breath. It was one of the rare times he didn’t know what to say; he usually was the one attacking, but now he found himself flinching in defense and in shame.
“Your hand, Viggo,” he begged.
“Forget about my hand. Do you want to kill yourself?” Viggo demanded. It felt good to cross the line, after all. Push the little bastard, corner him, show him he’s not the hot-shot smartass he thinks he is, show him he’s no better than anyone else. Push *his * limits. Maybe then he’ll tell you the truth.
“I …I …” Orlando glanced up at Viggo. His brown eyes held nothing of the coldness and detachment with which Orlando used to look down on the entire world. His mask was fractured, his composure fell apart, piece by piece. All the hateful haughtiness gone, at last!
“I didn’t mean it like this,” he defended himself. He squirmed inside, trapped like a fish in its hook. “Why does it even matter?” he finally shouted at Viggo, who now looked absolutely calm and back in control of the situation. “Why do you care? Why does anyone care?”
On the verge of tears that had been gathering inside him for years, Orlando felt like everything he’d been working for so hard were suddenly falling apart. No! He wouldn’t allow himself be beaten so easily. He wouldn’t allow himself to show any weakness.
They say that the better defense is offence, and nobody knew that better than Orlando. And the best way to stop a man from speaking ugly truths is to shut his mouth. Orlando knew the most effective way to do this.
He lunged forwards and caught Viggo’s mouth between his teeth. The man moaned; was it in disbelief, in shock maybe? Whatever it was, Viggo allowed Orlando to put his hands on his face, to steady his head and soothe the first violence with his mouth and his lips.
Orlando expected Viggo to push him back, to stop him somehow. He was pleasantly surprised to feel Viggo not only reciprocating the kiss, but also holding Orlando’s face firmly in place, drawing the assaulting tongue deeper into his willing mouth.
Moaning and breathing hard as their mouths refused to separate, Viggo grabbed Orlando from the collar of his T-shirt. He span him around, and, entwined as they were, took the few steps towards Viggo desk. Viggo shoved his greedy hands inside Orlando’s baggy trousers. Two fingers eagerly, impatiently dipped inside his crack, traced it with fervor, causing Orlando to buck and moan throatily.
At the same moment Viggo bit down on Orlando’s earlobe, eliciting another harsh moan.
“How long have you been waiting for this, Orlando?” Viggo hissed in his ear, before lapping it with his tongue. Orlando just shivered and tightened his grip around Vggo’s shoulders.
“Tell me something, Orlando. You like to boss people around, don’t you? Because you’re so much better, you’re so superior, and you demand people do what you say. You want to handle them; to rule them. No?”
The hot breath and low threatening voice whispering against his ear thrilled him and made Orlando’s cock leak with anticipation. He threw his head back, uncharacteristically inarticulate, and let Viggo’s boisterous mouth bruise his neck with teeth and tongue and lips. The young man rocked shamelessly against Viggo, pushing forward to meet the man’s equally hard erection, pushing back onto Viggo’s probing fingers.
“You know what? It seems to me like you’re the one *begging * to be ruled.”
Viggo underlined his discovery with a firm rubbing of his fingers over the ring of muscles protecting Orlando’s entrance. Orlando almost came undone, suppressing another loud moan by biting down on his lip and rubbing fervently into Viggo’s groin.
Suddenly Viggo pulled away entirely, leaving Orlando trembling and panting against the edge of the desk. Viggo smirked at the usually eloquent star’s flushed face:
“What’s the matter, Orlando? Cat got your tongue?” Another kiss, dipping inside the young mouth. Viggo then brought his two fingers under his nose, and inhaled deeply.
“Mmm, you smell * good*,” he said huskily. He dragged the fingers down Orlando’s face, down his cheek and finally pressed them inside Orlando’s mouth that opened eagerly around them.
Viggo watched Orlando suck his fingers, eyes half-shut, the tongue and wet membranes of his mouth clinging to them with unhurried relish, teeth scraping softly at the knuckles. Viggo guided them deeper, until his fingertips slid down the back of Orlando’s tongue. Orlando closed his eyes entirely and sucked intently, making Viggo reach the conclusion:
“Yes; definitely begging to be ruled.”
Viggo withdrew his digits. Orlando leaned further back into the desk, pushing some documents on the floor. He licked his lips and slowly opened his eyes that were now veiled and pliant.
Viggo smiled and leaned to whisper in his ear:
“The next time it’s my cock in your mouth. But now let’s hear you beg.”
He was surprised to see Orlando smile again; it wasn’t the familiar sneer but a rather charming smile full of childish mischief.
“Beg? I don’t beg. At least not in the first date. What kind of slut do you think me for?”
Viggo let out a chuckle. He reached for Orlando’s trousers and undid them, taking Orlando’s cock in his hand and getting his fingers all coated with precum.
“The worst kind,” he replied. “I don’t have any lube or condoms,” Viggo admitted.
Orlando reached to brush a finger down Viggo’s cheek.
“Being the worst kind of slut, I don’t care. I like it bare and rough,” he whispered deeply, pulling Viggo for another passionate kiss. “Do you trust me?”
When Viggo didn’t answer, Orlando smiled at him and turned around, clearing the desk with a brush of his arm and bending over it, in an eloquent gesture of submission. He looked over his shoulder at Viggo, who was taking his cock out.
“I * love * to submit, Viggo. Especially to those who are really worthy to rule me,” he said, wild-eyed.
Viggo tugged Orlando’s trousers down, revealing his ass. He nudged his legs apart, as much as the fabric tightening around his calves permitted.
“Yesss…”Orlando hissed when he felt Viggo’s hand brushing coarsely up his cleft. Viggo felt overwhelmed with power. But also he was angry at Orlando for manipulating him like this, causing him to lose control and bringing him where he wanted him. it was easy at this point, since he had already crossed the boundaries, to push a bit further, seek retaliation perhaps. Things were already spinning out of control, and he couldn’t will himself to stop. Not with that beautiful ass in front of him, all open and brazenly inviting.
Viggo placed his palms against Orlando’s silky, firm butt cheeks and pulled them apart. He let his own dripping, erect cock slide up Orlando’s crack. The younger man let out a prolonged, hoarse moan –its deep sensuality shot straight into Viggo’s groin. More precum flowed from Viggo’s cock as he brushed his shaft up and down, some getting smeared over Orlando’s skin. Teasingly, Viggo rubbed the moistened head in circles against Orlando’s hole and felt him shudder.
“Do it already,” Orlando demanded breathlessly. “Give it to me.”
Viggo leaned over the bent frame and brushed some curls away from his neck. He pulled at the collar of his tee so hard that the stitched were ripped, revealing the tender flesh between neck and shoulder.
“I am not one of your minions to order me around,” and made sure Orlando remembered this always by biting down on the juncture. Orlando shouted. His cock twitched, precum got smeared all over the edge of the desk. Orlando was panting heavily, not daring to say something that would prolong the torture.
Viggo gathered his precum in his fingers and used it for lubrication. Orlando’s hole resisted even the entering of the index. Heat gripped once in, and Viggo groaned appreciatively. When he withdrew, to add a second finger in, he felt Orlando’s tight hole stretching slowly around them. soft pants filled Viggo’s ear like music and sweat ran down Orlando’s backside, some drops trickling lower and disappearing in the beginning of his crack. Viggo almost came with the thought of how Orlando’s hole would feel, slowly giving in around his big cock.
Pushing in and out, he finally felt the muscles loosen. He pulled his fingers away and spat in his hands. He felt Orlando brace himself as Viggo positioned the swollen head of his cock against the sore hole.
“It’s going to hurt,” he panted, grabbing hold of Orlando’s narrow lips.
“Just do it already,” Orlando replied hoarsely and took a white-knuckled hold of the edge of the desk.
“You’re so tight,” Viggo groaned beside him, struggling to push the head in.
“I don’t… usually…bottom…” Orlando informed him in between low moans.
Viggo’s palm caressed Orlando’s sweaty back, trying to soothe him into relaxing a bit.
“Right. You only yield to those worthy to dominate you.”
A dreamy smile stretched across Orlando’s lips.
“You should be honoured,” he breathed. The smile was quickly wiped off his face by a loud cry of pain when, without a warning, Viggo slammed inside him.
Orlando tightened around him, gritting his teeth. Viggo was only half- way in, and stopped to give Orlando a moment to adjust. Orlando opened his eyes; in front of him, the door-to-ceiling windows of Viggo’s office offered him an image of complete, almost poetic (as Orlando saw it) debauchery: him, bent over the desk, ass naked and t-shirt lifted above the waist and ripped at the shoulder; his hair disheveled, some loose strands falling in front of his eyes; and behind him this beautiful man, almost fully dressed, mouth half-open around sharp breaths as he pushed deeper in. Orlando gave a soft cry when Viggo finally buried himself inside him.
Viggo’s eyes met Orlando’s in the glass windows, which, with the night pressing against them, had turned them into perfect mirrors.
“Vain little bastard,” Viggo teased. But he also found it too erotic to take his eyes away from. As he started thrusting inside Orlando, he felt that the young body was receiving him eagerly now. His moans also came to attest this.
Viggo sank his fingers in Orlando’s hips- he’d surely leave marks on the smooth skin. Guided by Orlando’s throaty moans of pleasure, Viggo started fucking him in earnest. Roughly pulling out and pushing in with such momentum that each thrust drove Orlando hard against the desk. Orlando’s cock, caught between the side of the desk and the two rocking bodies suffered in the most delicious way, sending mixed jolts of pleasure and pain, until Orlando became frantic, writhing and moaning.
“I’m gonna…gonna cum,” he gasped, trying not to close his eyes to their reflection.
“Tell me,” Viggo asked between his own pants, “what do you want?”
“I want you to…fuck me…tell me what a slut I am…”
Viggo saw the man mirrored in the window smirk; he saw that man leaning and grabbing a handful of hair; he saw the slender man underneath him snap his head back and moan as the words effortlessly left his mouth:
“You’re a fucking dirty whore- you like watching yourself get fucked in the ass, don’t you? You’re no fucking Rock God, you’re a cheap whore, you’re-”
“Yes, yes, Viggo…” Orlando cried out, coaxing him. The man in the reflection opposite grabbed his hair harder, yanking Orlando’s head back as he shoved inside him, one, two, three powerful thrusts that made them both tremble.
“- you’re * my * whore…You’re *my * whore.”
TBC
Pairing:V/O
Rating: NC-17
Summary: A therapist treats a Rock God
Disclaimer: I don't own them, i don't know them, no money is made out of this
Beta: none, for the time being
1.
Despite the luscious sight sprawled on his couch, Viggo had grown tired of the silence and of Orlando ignoring him all evening. From the moment he came into his office, looking like he hadn’t had any sleep for days, the young man claimed possession of the leather couch, and kept stretching and yawning all through what was supposed to be a meaningful therapy session.
He had hardly uttered a word all this time. Viggo watched him in obstinate silence, being caught in this childish game of who was going to make whom speak first. Resolute not to be again the one to force Orlando into some kind of verbal communication, Viggo observed him with fingers pressed together and forming a steeple in front of him. It was his professional pose, used rarely to infuse uneasiness to the misbehaving patient.
Most of the times all he had to do was just be his usual easy-going, thoughtful self and most of his clients, especially the female ones, spilled the beans immediately. Of course he expected it wouldn’t be that easy with Orlando Bloom, who, except from a very disturbed person, also happened to be the front man of one of the most popular Goth-rock bands in the last few years.
As expected from a punk/goth/rock kid being worshipped like a God, Orlando had rushed into Viggo’s office one year ago with an entourage of agents and managers who, as Viggo easily deduced, were the ones who had dragged the boy into therapy. The first impression wasn’t a positive one: the therapist wondered how a person that skinny could actually manage to carry the weight of such an overblown ego.
Well, he pulled it off, and he did it with grace, too. The man you love to hate, the rock magazines had dubbed him. He lived up to his legend, abusing his fans’ worship and manipulating the media. On the stage, he was a demon. If you asked the members of his band, they’d all tell you that Orlando Bloom was actually a very shy, and very charismatic person.
If you asked for Viggo’s professional opinion, he’d tell you it was just another case of a spoiled rock star with illusions of grandeur, the angry white dude type that was the thing to be in the music industry right now.
One year later, he didn’t know what to think.
Orlando raised his arm in the air, and looked at the ceiling through his outstretched fingers, adorned with silver rings of elaborate design. He sighed and pulled it down, resting it upon the patch of tanned belly revealed under the black t-shirt that had been slightly pulled up from the restless shifting of his body.
Viggo decided to break the silence first, after all. He got up, and made the round of his huge cluttered desk. Orlando was momentarily startled by the movement, but then relaxed again into his former poise.
“Let’s talk about what you said at your last interview.”
Orlando shifted his listless gaze onto Viggo, who stood in front of his desk, slightly leaning against it.
“What? That the fans are morons?”
“That suicide is the ultimate form of art.”
This stirred Orlando out of his torpor and into motion again. He got up from the couch and walked towards the wall that displayed a number of beautiful works of photography. The pictures all depicted night scenes, all urban sights, all black and white – they exuded a very powerful sense of desolation and solitude, and Orlando found himself inevitably attracted to them.
“Do you really believe this?” he heard Viggo ask him from behind his back.
Absent-mindedly, Orlando fished his pack of cigarettes out of his pocket, as he continued to study the pictures.
“No smoking,” Viggo reminded him sternly.
Orlando turned round and put the cigarette in his mouth.
“Orlando,” Viggo cautioned. The young man laughed, mocking the sudden tensing of Viggo’s usually relaxed body. Ignoring him, he lit up his cigarette nevertheless.
“Orlando,” the man’s mellow tones were raised to a harsh reprimand, “there are some rules - ”
Before Orlando could do anything but smirk defiantly, Viggo had dashed at him and had wrenched the cigarette out of the shocked mouth. He closed his fist around the cigarette, smashing it to pieces inside his palm. Orlando gawped at him.
“Viggo…” he muttered, his calmness crumpling at Viggo’s unexpected display of temper. “Jesus fucking Christ, Viggo, your hand-”
Orlando took his hand between his own two, showing honest concern for the first time. When Orlando forced Viggo’s palm open, he saw the crushed pieces and the cigarette burn into his hand.
“God, Viggo, you’re absolutely mad…”
Viggo released the debris onto the floor and let Orlando scrutinize the damage in his hand. Orlando’s fingers fluttered tenderly around the burned spot, as if he believed that his touch alone could soothe the sting. It didn’t – it made it worse, but at the same time, it felt good.
“Does it hurt?” Orlando asked in a hushed voice. “Do you have a first-aid kit somewhere?”
Viggo smiled. Orlando’s arrogance had vanished; his usual taunting behavior had given its place to fear, and concern. Expressing concern for another human being…that was surely a breakthrough, and to think it was brought forth by such a reckless, almost desperate act.
Only it wasn’t an act. It wasn’t something Viggo had planned. It wasn’t some kind of psychological trick or a case of reverse psychology, in order to elicit a reaction out of the patient. Indeed, Viggo sometimes used such “tricks” of the trade to help patients transcend limits, when he thought they could handle it. But this was a reaction born genuinely out of his own inability to handle the situation; it was born out of his frustration, his disappointment, his despair even. He had simple lost control and snapped. And it had worked; because suddenly Orlando revealed a face he had never shown him in the past years.
He was capable of feeling compassion, after all.
Viggo pulled his hand abruptly away, causing Orlando to look up at him with brown eyes, wide and deep and full of wonder and worry and awe. He looked so young at that moment, so vulnerable. Like Viggo’s pain had also burnt a hole into him as well.
“Are you happy now, Orlando?”
It was the worst possible time for an experienced therapist like Viggo to lash out on his patient; he knew better than to kick his patients when they were down, but this time he couldn’t help it. After one year of seeing Orlando’s face frozen and expressionless as if carved in stone, Viggo experienced a wild joy in witnessing this side of him, and an even wilder pleasure in being given the opportunity to manipulate it. It was rotten of him to seek revenge, but Orlando’s scornful, overconfident behavior over the last year had, as it was now evident, affected him more than he knew.
“What are you talking about?” Orlando’s usually acrid tones were now subdued.
“That’s what you’ve always wanted, right? Make me lose it? Make me just snap? Provoking me all the time? Challenging me to cross the limits. Well, here it is. You win. That’s what you wanted, wasn’t it? To win? To prove you’re superior to me, to prove I have no control over you?”
Orlando took in a trembling breath. It was one of the rare times he didn’t know what to say; he usually was the one attacking, but now he found himself flinching in defense and in shame.
“Your hand, Viggo,” he begged.
“Forget about my hand. Do you want to kill yourself?” Viggo demanded. It felt good to cross the line, after all. Push the little bastard, corner him, show him he’s not the hot-shot smartass he thinks he is, show him he’s no better than anyone else. Push *his * limits. Maybe then he’ll tell you the truth.
“I …I …” Orlando glanced up at Viggo. His brown eyes held nothing of the coldness and detachment with which Orlando used to look down on the entire world. His mask was fractured, his composure fell apart, piece by piece. All the hateful haughtiness gone, at last!
“I didn’t mean it like this,” he defended himself. He squirmed inside, trapped like a fish in its hook. “Why does it even matter?” he finally shouted at Viggo, who now looked absolutely calm and back in control of the situation. “Why do you care? Why does anyone care?”
On the verge of tears that had been gathering inside him for years, Orlando felt like everything he’d been working for so hard were suddenly falling apart. No! He wouldn’t allow himself be beaten so easily. He wouldn’t allow himself to show any weakness.
They say that the better defense is offence, and nobody knew that better than Orlando. And the best way to stop a man from speaking ugly truths is to shut his mouth. Orlando knew the most effective way to do this.
He lunged forwards and caught Viggo’s mouth between his teeth. The man moaned; was it in disbelief, in shock maybe? Whatever it was, Viggo allowed Orlando to put his hands on his face, to steady his head and soothe the first violence with his mouth and his lips.
Orlando expected Viggo to push him back, to stop him somehow. He was pleasantly surprised to feel Viggo not only reciprocating the kiss, but also holding Orlando’s face firmly in place, drawing the assaulting tongue deeper into his willing mouth.
Moaning and breathing hard as their mouths refused to separate, Viggo grabbed Orlando from the collar of his T-shirt. He span him around, and, entwined as they were, took the few steps towards Viggo desk. Viggo shoved his greedy hands inside Orlando’s baggy trousers. Two fingers eagerly, impatiently dipped inside his crack, traced it with fervor, causing Orlando to buck and moan throatily.
At the same moment Viggo bit down on Orlando’s earlobe, eliciting another harsh moan.
“How long have you been waiting for this, Orlando?” Viggo hissed in his ear, before lapping it with his tongue. Orlando just shivered and tightened his grip around Vggo’s shoulders.
“Tell me something, Orlando. You like to boss people around, don’t you? Because you’re so much better, you’re so superior, and you demand people do what you say. You want to handle them; to rule them. No?”
The hot breath and low threatening voice whispering against his ear thrilled him and made Orlando’s cock leak with anticipation. He threw his head back, uncharacteristically inarticulate, and let Viggo’s boisterous mouth bruise his neck with teeth and tongue and lips. The young man rocked shamelessly against Viggo, pushing forward to meet the man’s equally hard erection, pushing back onto Viggo’s probing fingers.
“You know what? It seems to me like you’re the one *begging * to be ruled.”
Viggo underlined his discovery with a firm rubbing of his fingers over the ring of muscles protecting Orlando’s entrance. Orlando almost came undone, suppressing another loud moan by biting down on his lip and rubbing fervently into Viggo’s groin.
Suddenly Viggo pulled away entirely, leaving Orlando trembling and panting against the edge of the desk. Viggo smirked at the usually eloquent star’s flushed face:
“What’s the matter, Orlando? Cat got your tongue?” Another kiss, dipping inside the young mouth. Viggo then brought his two fingers under his nose, and inhaled deeply.
“Mmm, you smell * good*,” he said huskily. He dragged the fingers down Orlando’s face, down his cheek and finally pressed them inside Orlando’s mouth that opened eagerly around them.
Viggo watched Orlando suck his fingers, eyes half-shut, the tongue and wet membranes of his mouth clinging to them with unhurried relish, teeth scraping softly at the knuckles. Viggo guided them deeper, until his fingertips slid down the back of Orlando’s tongue. Orlando closed his eyes entirely and sucked intently, making Viggo reach the conclusion:
“Yes; definitely begging to be ruled.”
Viggo withdrew his digits. Orlando leaned further back into the desk, pushing some documents on the floor. He licked his lips and slowly opened his eyes that were now veiled and pliant.
Viggo smiled and leaned to whisper in his ear:
“The next time it’s my cock in your mouth. But now let’s hear you beg.”
He was surprised to see Orlando smile again; it wasn’t the familiar sneer but a rather charming smile full of childish mischief.
“Beg? I don’t beg. At least not in the first date. What kind of slut do you think me for?”
Viggo let out a chuckle. He reached for Orlando’s trousers and undid them, taking Orlando’s cock in his hand and getting his fingers all coated with precum.
“The worst kind,” he replied. “I don’t have any lube or condoms,” Viggo admitted.
Orlando reached to brush a finger down Viggo’s cheek.
“Being the worst kind of slut, I don’t care. I like it bare and rough,” he whispered deeply, pulling Viggo for another passionate kiss. “Do you trust me?”
When Viggo didn’t answer, Orlando smiled at him and turned around, clearing the desk with a brush of his arm and bending over it, in an eloquent gesture of submission. He looked over his shoulder at Viggo, who was taking his cock out.
“I * love * to submit, Viggo. Especially to those who are really worthy to rule me,” he said, wild-eyed.
Viggo tugged Orlando’s trousers down, revealing his ass. He nudged his legs apart, as much as the fabric tightening around his calves permitted.
“Yesss…”Orlando hissed when he felt Viggo’s hand brushing coarsely up his cleft. Viggo felt overwhelmed with power. But also he was angry at Orlando for manipulating him like this, causing him to lose control and bringing him where he wanted him. it was easy at this point, since he had already crossed the boundaries, to push a bit further, seek retaliation perhaps. Things were already spinning out of control, and he couldn’t will himself to stop. Not with that beautiful ass in front of him, all open and brazenly inviting.
Viggo placed his palms against Orlando’s silky, firm butt cheeks and pulled them apart. He let his own dripping, erect cock slide up Orlando’s crack. The younger man let out a prolonged, hoarse moan –its deep sensuality shot straight into Viggo’s groin. More precum flowed from Viggo’s cock as he brushed his shaft up and down, some getting smeared over Orlando’s skin. Teasingly, Viggo rubbed the moistened head in circles against Orlando’s hole and felt him shudder.
“Do it already,” Orlando demanded breathlessly. “Give it to me.”
Viggo leaned over the bent frame and brushed some curls away from his neck. He pulled at the collar of his tee so hard that the stitched were ripped, revealing the tender flesh between neck and shoulder.
“I am not one of your minions to order me around,” and made sure Orlando remembered this always by biting down on the juncture. Orlando shouted. His cock twitched, precum got smeared all over the edge of the desk. Orlando was panting heavily, not daring to say something that would prolong the torture.
Viggo gathered his precum in his fingers and used it for lubrication. Orlando’s hole resisted even the entering of the index. Heat gripped once in, and Viggo groaned appreciatively. When he withdrew, to add a second finger in, he felt Orlando’s tight hole stretching slowly around them. soft pants filled Viggo’s ear like music and sweat ran down Orlando’s backside, some drops trickling lower and disappearing in the beginning of his crack. Viggo almost came with the thought of how Orlando’s hole would feel, slowly giving in around his big cock.
Pushing in and out, he finally felt the muscles loosen. He pulled his fingers away and spat in his hands. He felt Orlando brace himself as Viggo positioned the swollen head of his cock against the sore hole.
“It’s going to hurt,” he panted, grabbing hold of Orlando’s narrow lips.
“Just do it already,” Orlando replied hoarsely and took a white-knuckled hold of the edge of the desk.
“You’re so tight,” Viggo groaned beside him, struggling to push the head in.
“I don’t… usually…bottom…” Orlando informed him in between low moans.
Viggo’s palm caressed Orlando’s sweaty back, trying to soothe him into relaxing a bit.
“Right. You only yield to those worthy to dominate you.”
A dreamy smile stretched across Orlando’s lips.
“You should be honoured,” he breathed. The smile was quickly wiped off his face by a loud cry of pain when, without a warning, Viggo slammed inside him.
Orlando tightened around him, gritting his teeth. Viggo was only half- way in, and stopped to give Orlando a moment to adjust. Orlando opened his eyes; in front of him, the door-to-ceiling windows of Viggo’s office offered him an image of complete, almost poetic (as Orlando saw it) debauchery: him, bent over the desk, ass naked and t-shirt lifted above the waist and ripped at the shoulder; his hair disheveled, some loose strands falling in front of his eyes; and behind him this beautiful man, almost fully dressed, mouth half-open around sharp breaths as he pushed deeper in. Orlando gave a soft cry when Viggo finally buried himself inside him.
Viggo’s eyes met Orlando’s in the glass windows, which, with the night pressing against them, had turned them into perfect mirrors.
“Vain little bastard,” Viggo teased. But he also found it too erotic to take his eyes away from. As he started thrusting inside Orlando, he felt that the young body was receiving him eagerly now. His moans also came to attest this.
Viggo sank his fingers in Orlando’s hips- he’d surely leave marks on the smooth skin. Guided by Orlando’s throaty moans of pleasure, Viggo started fucking him in earnest. Roughly pulling out and pushing in with such momentum that each thrust drove Orlando hard against the desk. Orlando’s cock, caught between the side of the desk and the two rocking bodies suffered in the most delicious way, sending mixed jolts of pleasure and pain, until Orlando became frantic, writhing and moaning.
“I’m gonna…gonna cum,” he gasped, trying not to close his eyes to their reflection.
“Tell me,” Viggo asked between his own pants, “what do you want?”
“I want you to…fuck me…tell me what a slut I am…”
Viggo saw the man mirrored in the window smirk; he saw that man leaning and grabbing a handful of hair; he saw the slender man underneath him snap his head back and moan as the words effortlessly left his mouth:
“You’re a fucking dirty whore- you like watching yourself get fucked in the ass, don’t you? You’re no fucking Rock God, you’re a cheap whore, you’re-”
“Yes, yes, Viggo…” Orlando cried out, coaxing him. The man in the reflection opposite grabbed his hair harder, yanking Orlando’s head back as he shoved inside him, one, two, three powerful thrusts that made them both tremble.
“- you’re * my * whore…You’re *my * whore.”
TBC
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Date: 2007-05-21 01:51 pm (UTC)i liked this a lot. The sex was hot and all but i like the story it self. the vain rock star who is full of self hate but has it masked in sarcasim. i like viggo's part in it and i like that there is a depth to it. orli only bottoms for those worthy of topping him, that was a great line. more soon please--hammy
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Date: 2007-05-22 10:22 am (UTC)Thanks for reading and reviewing; such reviews are always a great help to the author.