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fellowshippers2006-09-25 11:46 am
v-angelique.livejournal.com) wrote in fellowshippers2006-09-25 11:46 am
Fic: Controlled 19/45
Title: Controlled (19/45)
Author: Viktoria Angelique
Email: viktoria_angelique@hotmail.com
Rating: NC-17 for series and for this part
Pairing: Elijah/Viggo
Warnings: BDSM, angst, teeny bit of violence, rimming, rough sex
Disclaimer: If this were true the world might be a better place.
Feedback: I love it!
Summary: A bit of jealousy, a bit of hot.
A/N: Please don't hate me... I don't actually feel this way about a certain person in this chapter, it just worked for the story.
Previous Chapters
The swish of light blue silk against the pale skin of his wrists made Elijah feel vulnerable, little more than a pretty doll in this outfit, dressed up to be taken out and shown off. And he shouldn’t have felt a sense of pride, a glowing sense of purpose when he reminded himself of this fact, but he did nonetheless.
Yes, Elijah enjoyed the luxurious feel of the loose fitting, almost Renaissance-style shirt against his skin, and the chafe of tight stonewashed jeans against his buttocks. He wasn’t wearing anything underneath, because Viggo didn’t ask him to, and Elijah was only wearing what Viggo has chosen that night.
Over the previous two weeks, some ground rules had been established. No PDAs on set. Elijah could handle that one—it made sense, after all, as he was happy for his friends to know that he was with Viggo, that he belonged to Viggo, even, though they technically hadn’t taken it that far. Either way, he’d be damned if he wouldn’t say yes, were Viggo to ask to claim him properly. Yes, he was happy that this was common knowledge, but then there were hundreds of people working on the set, in fact it seemed that Peter had hired the entire fucking island for the production, and it wouldn’t be prurient to every wig designer and his brother to know the details of Viggo and Elijah’s bond. This caution he could appreciate, especially when Viggo still administered firmly reassuring little touches that could be written off as friendly, and when Elijah could watch his eyes go dark every time someone looked at Elijah the wrong way or made a less than appropriate comment about the temptation to corrupt such an innocent soul.
Elijah liked the protectiveness, in fact it made him quite hot if he was being completely honest, but there was another element to it that he wasn’t so sure about. Elijah was not allowed to come without Viggo’s permission.
He had heard of such stipulations before, and his protestations were maybe less than they should have been when Viggo first made this demand of him, but it still made him a little uneasy. Viggo insisted that they still needed to keep their separate spaces; that moving in together would take away privacy for them both that was still important at this stage. Of course, this arrangement also put a lot of cards in Viggo’s deck, for he controlled when and where he and Elijah saw each other, and he put limits on Elijah’s capacity for release. The no-orgasms rule meant that often when Viggo did decide to pay his lover a little visit, Elijah was more than ready for him, impatient and unhappy about having to wait it out, until Viggo pushed him right where he wanted him, and it was at this point that Elijah sunk into a headspace that he wasn’t quite brave enough to analyse just yet. Viggo knew exactly how to drive him to a point at which Elijah would only do what Viggo commanded, and would do anything that Viggo commanded, if only to please his lover. And, lucky for Elijah, what Viggo wanted was pretty much always what Elijah needed, so it worked out for them.
Elijah suspected, somehow, that this rule came inherently from Viggo’s desire not just to control, but to possess. Elijah picked up on this desire early on, and didn’t argue, but he felt it when Viggo came, shaking, growling “Mine” harsh and low into Elijah’s ear, and he felt it in the satisfied smirk that he could hear even over the phone line when he called Viggo at four in the morning, right before he had to be at Feet because he was hard as a rock and really wouldn’t be able to go onto the set like that and could Viggo please let him wank for just a second, just to ease the pressure so that he could work like a normal human being? Oh, he heard the smirk all right, and he knew that this control was what Viggo wanted, what Viggo craved, and what, now that Viggo finally had allowed himself to enter into this relationship, Elijah could give him.
As they entered the dance club, Elijah didn’t miss the gentle pressure of Viggo’s fingertips on the small of his back, or the almost challenging look he directed at strangers when he noticed them looking with too much interest. Soon, even this would be too much, but for now not everyone knew who they were in Wellington and many of those who did didn’t care enough to take much interest in what actor was dating what cast mate. For now, Viggo could do whatever he damned well pleased, and Elijah was all too willing to let him.
The club was dark, sweaty, full of bodies and beers and the thumping of some indie rock track that met with Elijah’s wholehearted approval. He had been there once before, when they were having an over eighteens night, and he was allowed up in the DJ booth, which was pretty sweet, considering. Unlike the house and dance tracks that most clubs were playing, this place was all about the Bright Eyes and Muse and even Nine Inch Nails towards the end of the night when everyone was too sexed up to care how explicit and offensive the lyrics were. It had been Elijah’s idea that the cast come here for their Friday night gathering, instead of the usual pub, and though he had almost been booted out by the bouncer (over twenty-ones only on the weekends, he gruffly explained), a few quick words from Viggo in his all-knowing Aragorn voice had sorted that one out.
So it was with a smile on his face that Elijah finally lowered himself into a corner booth, sliding in next to Dominic with Viggo pressing close in at his thigh. “Cheers, mates!” he exclaimed, raising his glass to the table, and the hobbits cheerily clinked their pints, along with a somewhat amused looking Sir Ian and a new guy, directly across from Elijah, that he had never seen before.
“I don’t believe we’ve been introduced,” the stranger commented in a distinct Kiwi accent when there was a pause between songs. “Karl Urban, playing Eomer,” he said with an outstretched hand, speaking to both members of the couple but keeping his eyes firmly on Elijah.
“Viggo Mortensen,” Viggo replied, taking Karl’s hand first and shaking with a bit of a hard look. Elijah noticed Karl’s slight grimace, and thought to himself ‘oh brother, here we go again,’ but Karl just smiled and returned the handshake with equal strength.
“I’m Elijah,” he muttered, almost uselessly, and his own handshake was much more gentle, in contrast to the tight squeeze of Viggo’s hand on his thigh which was most likely involuntary. He didn’t mind though, not really, as it was a nice feeling to be looked after, and he knew that Viggo liked this new concept, dolling him up and taking him out and showing him off before taking him home again to possess him in just the way Elijah liked. Elijah didn’t mind, not at all, for he knew that he was Viggo’s and it was kind of comforting to know that Viggo wanted everyone else to know this, as well. Especially this Karl fellow, apparently, who seemed nice enough with kind eyes and a charming smile, but wasn’t charming Viggo in the slightest.
After half an hour, the dance floor was really getting crowded, and Elijah recognised the thumping backbeat of a song he liked, an edgier remix of “Tainted Love.” Orli came back from the dance floor all sweaty, tired of the bird he had been with for the last three songs, and reached over Viggo to tug at Elijah’s hands after taking a long gulp of his abandoned beer. Elijah turned to Viggo, and he nodded, smiling, getting up and heading in the opposite direction to pick up another round while Orli dragged Elijah out to the dance floor.
It was fun, dancing with Orlando, because the kid was all arms and legs but he had rhythm and he wasn’t afraid to just grab your hips and manhandle you in whatever fashion he pleased, and Viggo didn’t care if they danced like this because it was just Orlando and everyone knew that it wasn’t Elijah that Orlando would be interested in, if he were to be a poofter. Which he wasn’t. Well, probably not.
Elijah was grinning by the end of the song, the shimmery silver dust on his face and neck highlighting the almost bluish pale of his skin, lovingly applied by Viggo who told Elijah that he was “pretty, like a girl” and deserved to be pampered as such while Elijah blushed and wiggled and occasionally moaned. A thin sheen of sweat was forming on his skin, but the silk of his shirt was cool and he was energized and didn’t want to leave, even when Orli held up his hands, laughing, bowing out due to exhaustion.
And it was just a few beats into the next song when a pair of foreign hands found themselves pressed into either side of Elijah’s waist, and his eyes instinctively darted around for Viggo but the crowd at the bar was thick and he couldn’t spot him.
“Care for a dance, little one?” Karl murmured in his ear, and something in Elijah’s brain was yelling ‘Stop! Wait! No, not with him!’ but his body was somewhat helpless as Karl simply steered him into an embrace that could maybe be friendly but it was questionable, strong arms snaking around his waist and holding him there as they pulsed with the beat and Elijah tried to rationalize that this guy didn’t know him anyway, and was surely straight…
This will come true, help me get through, into you, deep, deep, deep, deep…
It was only when Karl proved his appreciation for Nine Inch Nails by mouthing the lyrics of the second verse against Elijah’s pulse point that Elijah’s eyes started to go wide and panicked, something clicking as the words to the song sank in and his hips instinctively tried to back away into solid forearms, figuring out too late that there was nowhere to go.
“One track, get you on your back, your skin speaks up but your lips can’t say it. Right now, you know somehow, we could take a chance, we could make it right here…”
“No,” Elijah insisted, though his lips simply mouthed the words, eyes comically wide, and no one could hear him over the music. He jerked back into a muscular arm again and was just about to really panic when the wall of Karl’s forearm finally gave way and he stumbled backwards a few steps, righted only by the mass of bodies around him, staring as time stood still, everything becoming a slow motion movie.
Viggo’s eyes, wild as an animal’s and mad as hell.
Karl’s gasp, sensing a challenge, thrown off his game.
A slight parting of the crowd, giving the two men space to confront each other.
Elijah’s own eyes, still wide, dreading what would happen next.
And then, suddenly, everything slammed back into full speed, Viggo’s hand taking a fistful of Karl’s collar and dragging him right up into Viggo’s face so that the bigger man couldn’t quite breathe, flailing slightly like a fish out of water, honey-brown eyes huge with shock.
Elijah didn’t quite catch Viggo’s words, as they were uttered in a deathly quiet whisper that only Karl could hear over the thumping bass, but he did try to read lips and caught the phrase “…. if you ever…” Elijah could guess what kind of threat Viggo was making and what exactly Karl was never to do. When he finally let go, there was a few seconds’ stare down, and then Karl gracefully returned to the table and the fresh round waiting there while Elijah calmly slipped an arm around Viggo’s waist, leading him to a corner where they could talk.
“What exactly happened just now?” Elijah asked when they were away from the dance floor, Viggo leaning against a wall and slumped slightly so that he was eye level with Elijah. “Are you all right?” he asked, quieter, brushing an absent hand across Viggo’s temple to push aside an errant hair.
Viggo laughed, though it was a strangled sound, and nodded belatedly. “Yeah, I’m fine. I should be asking you the same question, though.”
Elijah shrugged. “I’m fine. You know I didn’t…”
“Of course,” Viggo whispered, his finger rising to Elijah’s lips, an intense look in his eye. “You would tell me if you did,” he added, and Elijah just nodded, honest. That was the deal. Anything significant, even just a little attraction or a fleeting crush, Elijah could feel free to tell Viggo. Was going to tell Viggo. That was just the way they worked.
“What did you say to him?” Elijah asked, gently, positioning himself on the wall next to Viggo, pretending to be watching the crowd.
“Gave him the benefit of the doubt. Told him that since he’s new here, I know he doesn’t know how things are yet. Told him, how things are.”
Elijah just smiled at Viggo’s subtle machismo, squeezing his hand briefly between them. Viggo was the most non-violent, rational person Elijah knew, but he would always stick up for the little guy. Whether it was the rainforest or an endangered species or, god forbid, his Elijah, if someone wanted to unfairly press an advantage Viggo would be there, fists swinging if necessary to protect the disadvantaged party. Elijah smiled, and leaned up, and kissed Viggo’s cheek. He loved that about Viggo.
“Come on, gloomy gus. You want to get back to the party?” Elijah asked, wriggling his eyebrows and his hips suggestively as he stepped backwards away from the wall, tugging on Viggo’s hand as he went.
Laughing, Viggo bridged the step between them and grabbed Elijah tight around the waist, looming over him with a possessive gleam in his eye. Elijah gulped, more from anticipation than fear, and his eyes fluttered shut as Viggo growled in his ear. “I’m thinking of having my own party with you, little hobbit. Say your goodbyes and meet me at the car,” he commanded, and Elijah unsurprisingly rushed back to the table, despite the fact that they had only been there 45 minutes, saying his apologies and explaining that Viggo had suddenly come down with a stomach ache, studiously avoiding Karl’s eyes. The others bought it, with a bit of good-natured ribbing of course, and Elijah was back at the car in two and a half minutes flat.
“Get inside,” Viggo growled, swinging the passenger-side door open. If Elijah didn’t know any better, he would think Viggo was angry with him, but he knew that wasn’t it and was therefore unconcerned as he climbed into the seat and buckled up. In fact, Elijah thought with a smirk as Viggo walked around to the driver’s side, Karl’s presumptuousness had created a side effect that Elijah couldn’t be more pleased by. Though Viggo was very unlikely to ever completely lose control, a possessive Viggo meant a creative Viggo, and Elijah was sure he wouldn’t be going to bed alone tonight.
Sure enough, as soon as Viggo had gotten Elijah safely inside, he pulled him into a long, hungry kiss, his hands sliding up immediately under Elijah’s loose shirt and stroking warmly over his back. “So beautiful,” he murmured, and Elijah sighed as one hand gently caressed his cheek, the other grasping his wrists together behind his back as Viggo looked deep into his eyes. “Mine, Elijah… this is mine,” Viggo murmured, trailing his hand from Elijah’s face down his neck and chest, finally landing at the bulge in Elijah’s jeans and squeezing lightly.
“Yesss,” he hissed, trying to arch into Viggo’s grasp, make it harder. He knew that Viggo was deeply possessive, and he had tried to control these urges before, wanting to be fair to Elijah, but Elijah loved it when he let that monster free. He loved to be claimed by Viggo, and he didn’t mind if it hurt a bit. “More, please,” Elijah muttered, rocking between the hand on his wrists and the hand on his crotch. “Take me, Viggo. Make me yours,” he urged. Viggo just growled, nipping Elijah’s bottom lip and catching his gaze at close range, their foreheads against each other as they both panted in anticipation, chests heaving.
“Already mine,” Viggo responded, twisting Elijah around unexpectedly by the wrists and yanking them upward, Elijah’s torso bent forward slightly so that his forehead hit the wall. “And if anyone wants to disagree with that, they can come to me,” he added, flicking Elijah’s fly open with one hand and tugging his jeans and boxers down in one move.
“No one else, Viggo… wouldn’t let anyone else… ahh, God… no one else could do what you do to me,” Elijah murmured heatedly as Viggo wet his finger and jammed it into Elijah’s body, still holding his wrists up at an angle that put a mildly uncomfortable pressure on his shoulders. “No one knows me like you do, Vig.”
“Damn right, they don’t,” Viggo muttered, suddenly letting go of Elijah’s wrists and dropping to his knees. “Hands on the wall, Elijah. I want you just like this,” he urged, and Elijah’s breath came fast and heavy as he brought his sore arms forward, palms flat on the wall to either side of his head as if he were doing a perverted push-up.
He knew how he must look like this, bending over with his pale arse presented to Viggo, flowing shirt drenched with sweat and encasing his torso like a particularly debauched angel.
Nothing mattered, however, when strong fingers took his hips in a bruising grasp and a warm wet stab forced Elijah’s hole to open and yield.
“Fuck!” Elijah yelled, unintentionally, and then rested his head back against the wall, panting as Viggo withdrew. “Sorry, sorry… please, don’t stop,” he murmured, and after a warning squeeze with his hands, Viggo went back to what he was doing, licking Elijah open as he moaned wantonly, his eyes sliding closed as he surrendered to the invasion. He wondered briefly if maybe he were a bit dirty for liking this quite so much, but Viggo’s tongue was talented enough to make a greater man crumble, and he had after all showered before they went out. It wasn’t that strange, he reasoned, and God did it feel good.
After a few minutes, when Elijah was fairly convinced that Viggo was going to do this until he came, the older man’s tongue suddenly withdrew. Elijah found himself panting heavily, not daring to move from where Viggo had put him, until Viggo stood again and pulled him up by the shoulders, spinning him around. “On your knees, hobbit,” he ordered, eyes gleaming, and Elijah’s knees hit the carpet almost before the sentence was finished. His cock ached something terrible, slapping lewdly against his belly, but Elijah moved forward eagerly when Viggo unzipped his own jeans, offering his own erection to Elijah with one hand, the other fisting in Elijah’s hair to control his speed.
“Mmm, so gorgeous like that. So beautiful,” Viggo cooed, pressing Elijah back and forth in a steady rhythm, his other hand still moving in tinny strokes on the base of his cock. “So pretty you are, Elijah, sucking my cock,” Viggo murmured, and Elijah felt a deep blush creep into his cheeks. He hadn’t quite gotten used to the subtleties of this action yet, and felt a bit awkward as he tried to take as much as possible into his throat, but he found the taste strangely alluring. Elijah was sure he was quite a sight, his face highlighted by sweat and glitter, flowing fabric of the shirt ending just above his swollen erection. He kept his eyes on Viggo, though, letting him guide his movements for another few minutes before Viggo finally withdrew from his mouth, pulling him to his feet and practically shoving him into the living room.
“Over that footstool there,” he ordered, and Elijah was quick to follow, hoping that he was going to get fucked and soon. The footstool was low enough for him to bend over, presenting his arse, and keep his elbows and forearms holding his weight on the floor. Viggo took his time in approaching Elijah, apparently admiring the view, but when he finally knelt down and took him, Elijah gasped at the lack of preparation. Until now, Viggo had been meticulous every time in getting him ready, but now with nothing but Viggo’s saliva to ease the burn, Elijah found the friction sweet and painful in the best possible way. He groaned loudly, pressing back into Viggo’s thrusts, trying to urge Viggo to take him further in, and knowing that no matter how hard he tried Viggo would still set the place. He fucking loved it.
“God, yes, Elijah, just like that… so fucking pretty around my cock, so fucking amazing…” Viggo’s groans increased in urgency, and Elijah gasped as he felt one hand smooth over the pale flesh of one arse cheek, a finger dipping to press firmly at the ring where Viggo’s cock impaled him. Two hands palmed his arse now, spreading him wider, opening him up to Viggo’s assault, and he knew that Viggo was watching—watching his cock disappear into Elijah’s body, watching the way Elijah clenched and flexed and arched, watching just how Elijah took him in. A keening cry issuing from his lips, Elijah tried his best to make the show worth it, wanting to convince Viggo that Elijah was worth it, that Elijah would never leave him and Elijah was worth it enough not to leave. These thoughts frightened him slightly—when did we start talking about forever, here?—but at the same time excited him, fuelling his moans and finally his scream when Viggo forced him over the edge without so much as a single stroke to his cock.
Less than a minute later, Viggo growled and held Elijah absolutely still as he thrust one, two, three more times into him, spilling his seed and then finally withdrawing to roll over and land on the floor next to Elijah, rubbing the younger man’s back gently as he caught his breath.
“Jesus,” Elijah groaned. “That was…”
“Too much?” Viggo whispered, looking almost uncertain, and Elijah grinned, scooting back onto his knees to kiss Viggo.
“No… no,” he replied in a low tone, shaking his head. “Not too much. Good,” he affirmed, and Viggo smiled into the next kiss. “Maybe a little scary, in the way that it’s good, but…”
“We’ll talk about this,” Viggo promised, sliding a hand through Elijah’s hair. “We’ll talk about this later, I promise. When I’m not so fucking exhausted.”
Elijah laughed out loud at that statement and slid happily into Viggo’s arms, content just to cuddle on the floor for a moment until his lover got his strength back.
Author: Viktoria Angelique
Email: viktoria_angelique@hotmail.com
Rating: NC-17 for series and for this part
Pairing: Elijah/Viggo
Warnings: BDSM, angst, teeny bit of violence, rimming, rough sex
Disclaimer: If this were true the world might be a better place.
Feedback: I love it!
Summary: A bit of jealousy, a bit of hot.
A/N: Please don't hate me... I don't actually feel this way about a certain person in this chapter, it just worked for the story.
Previous Chapters
The swish of light blue silk against the pale skin of his wrists made Elijah feel vulnerable, little more than a pretty doll in this outfit, dressed up to be taken out and shown off. And he shouldn’t have felt a sense of pride, a glowing sense of purpose when he reminded himself of this fact, but he did nonetheless.
Yes, Elijah enjoyed the luxurious feel of the loose fitting, almost Renaissance-style shirt against his skin, and the chafe of tight stonewashed jeans against his buttocks. He wasn’t wearing anything underneath, because Viggo didn’t ask him to, and Elijah was only wearing what Viggo has chosen that night.
Over the previous two weeks, some ground rules had been established. No PDAs on set. Elijah could handle that one—it made sense, after all, as he was happy for his friends to know that he was with Viggo, that he belonged to Viggo, even, though they technically hadn’t taken it that far. Either way, he’d be damned if he wouldn’t say yes, were Viggo to ask to claim him properly. Yes, he was happy that this was common knowledge, but then there were hundreds of people working on the set, in fact it seemed that Peter had hired the entire fucking island for the production, and it wouldn’t be prurient to every wig designer and his brother to know the details of Viggo and Elijah’s bond. This caution he could appreciate, especially when Viggo still administered firmly reassuring little touches that could be written off as friendly, and when Elijah could watch his eyes go dark every time someone looked at Elijah the wrong way or made a less than appropriate comment about the temptation to corrupt such an innocent soul.
Elijah liked the protectiveness, in fact it made him quite hot if he was being completely honest, but there was another element to it that he wasn’t so sure about. Elijah was not allowed to come without Viggo’s permission.
He had heard of such stipulations before, and his protestations were maybe less than they should have been when Viggo first made this demand of him, but it still made him a little uneasy. Viggo insisted that they still needed to keep their separate spaces; that moving in together would take away privacy for them both that was still important at this stage. Of course, this arrangement also put a lot of cards in Viggo’s deck, for he controlled when and where he and Elijah saw each other, and he put limits on Elijah’s capacity for release. The no-orgasms rule meant that often when Viggo did decide to pay his lover a little visit, Elijah was more than ready for him, impatient and unhappy about having to wait it out, until Viggo pushed him right where he wanted him, and it was at this point that Elijah sunk into a headspace that he wasn’t quite brave enough to analyse just yet. Viggo knew exactly how to drive him to a point at which Elijah would only do what Viggo commanded, and would do anything that Viggo commanded, if only to please his lover. And, lucky for Elijah, what Viggo wanted was pretty much always what Elijah needed, so it worked out for them.
Elijah suspected, somehow, that this rule came inherently from Viggo’s desire not just to control, but to possess. Elijah picked up on this desire early on, and didn’t argue, but he felt it when Viggo came, shaking, growling “Mine” harsh and low into Elijah’s ear, and he felt it in the satisfied smirk that he could hear even over the phone line when he called Viggo at four in the morning, right before he had to be at Feet because he was hard as a rock and really wouldn’t be able to go onto the set like that and could Viggo please let him wank for just a second, just to ease the pressure so that he could work like a normal human being? Oh, he heard the smirk all right, and he knew that this control was what Viggo wanted, what Viggo craved, and what, now that Viggo finally had allowed himself to enter into this relationship, Elijah could give him.
As they entered the dance club, Elijah didn’t miss the gentle pressure of Viggo’s fingertips on the small of his back, or the almost challenging look he directed at strangers when he noticed them looking with too much interest. Soon, even this would be too much, but for now not everyone knew who they were in Wellington and many of those who did didn’t care enough to take much interest in what actor was dating what cast mate. For now, Viggo could do whatever he damned well pleased, and Elijah was all too willing to let him.
The club was dark, sweaty, full of bodies and beers and the thumping of some indie rock track that met with Elijah’s wholehearted approval. He had been there once before, when they were having an over eighteens night, and he was allowed up in the DJ booth, which was pretty sweet, considering. Unlike the house and dance tracks that most clubs were playing, this place was all about the Bright Eyes and Muse and even Nine Inch Nails towards the end of the night when everyone was too sexed up to care how explicit and offensive the lyrics were. It had been Elijah’s idea that the cast come here for their Friday night gathering, instead of the usual pub, and though he had almost been booted out by the bouncer (over twenty-ones only on the weekends, he gruffly explained), a few quick words from Viggo in his all-knowing Aragorn voice had sorted that one out.
So it was with a smile on his face that Elijah finally lowered himself into a corner booth, sliding in next to Dominic with Viggo pressing close in at his thigh. “Cheers, mates!” he exclaimed, raising his glass to the table, and the hobbits cheerily clinked their pints, along with a somewhat amused looking Sir Ian and a new guy, directly across from Elijah, that he had never seen before.
“I don’t believe we’ve been introduced,” the stranger commented in a distinct Kiwi accent when there was a pause between songs. “Karl Urban, playing Eomer,” he said with an outstretched hand, speaking to both members of the couple but keeping his eyes firmly on Elijah.
“Viggo Mortensen,” Viggo replied, taking Karl’s hand first and shaking with a bit of a hard look. Elijah noticed Karl’s slight grimace, and thought to himself ‘oh brother, here we go again,’ but Karl just smiled and returned the handshake with equal strength.
“I’m Elijah,” he muttered, almost uselessly, and his own handshake was much more gentle, in contrast to the tight squeeze of Viggo’s hand on his thigh which was most likely involuntary. He didn’t mind though, not really, as it was a nice feeling to be looked after, and he knew that Viggo liked this new concept, dolling him up and taking him out and showing him off before taking him home again to possess him in just the way Elijah liked. Elijah didn’t mind, not at all, for he knew that he was Viggo’s and it was kind of comforting to know that Viggo wanted everyone else to know this, as well. Especially this Karl fellow, apparently, who seemed nice enough with kind eyes and a charming smile, but wasn’t charming Viggo in the slightest.
After half an hour, the dance floor was really getting crowded, and Elijah recognised the thumping backbeat of a song he liked, an edgier remix of “Tainted Love.” Orli came back from the dance floor all sweaty, tired of the bird he had been with for the last three songs, and reached over Viggo to tug at Elijah’s hands after taking a long gulp of his abandoned beer. Elijah turned to Viggo, and he nodded, smiling, getting up and heading in the opposite direction to pick up another round while Orli dragged Elijah out to the dance floor.
It was fun, dancing with Orlando, because the kid was all arms and legs but he had rhythm and he wasn’t afraid to just grab your hips and manhandle you in whatever fashion he pleased, and Viggo didn’t care if they danced like this because it was just Orlando and everyone knew that it wasn’t Elijah that Orlando would be interested in, if he were to be a poofter. Which he wasn’t. Well, probably not.
Elijah was grinning by the end of the song, the shimmery silver dust on his face and neck highlighting the almost bluish pale of his skin, lovingly applied by Viggo who told Elijah that he was “pretty, like a girl” and deserved to be pampered as such while Elijah blushed and wiggled and occasionally moaned. A thin sheen of sweat was forming on his skin, but the silk of his shirt was cool and he was energized and didn’t want to leave, even when Orli held up his hands, laughing, bowing out due to exhaustion.
And it was just a few beats into the next song when a pair of foreign hands found themselves pressed into either side of Elijah’s waist, and his eyes instinctively darted around for Viggo but the crowd at the bar was thick and he couldn’t spot him.
“Care for a dance, little one?” Karl murmured in his ear, and something in Elijah’s brain was yelling ‘Stop! Wait! No, not with him!’ but his body was somewhat helpless as Karl simply steered him into an embrace that could maybe be friendly but it was questionable, strong arms snaking around his waist and holding him there as they pulsed with the beat and Elijah tried to rationalize that this guy didn’t know him anyway, and was surely straight…
This will come true, help me get through, into you, deep, deep, deep, deep…
It was only when Karl proved his appreciation for Nine Inch Nails by mouthing the lyrics of the second verse against Elijah’s pulse point that Elijah’s eyes started to go wide and panicked, something clicking as the words to the song sank in and his hips instinctively tried to back away into solid forearms, figuring out too late that there was nowhere to go.
“One track, get you on your back, your skin speaks up but your lips can’t say it. Right now, you know somehow, we could take a chance, we could make it right here…”
“No,” Elijah insisted, though his lips simply mouthed the words, eyes comically wide, and no one could hear him over the music. He jerked back into a muscular arm again and was just about to really panic when the wall of Karl’s forearm finally gave way and he stumbled backwards a few steps, righted only by the mass of bodies around him, staring as time stood still, everything becoming a slow motion movie.
Viggo’s eyes, wild as an animal’s and mad as hell.
Karl’s gasp, sensing a challenge, thrown off his game.
A slight parting of the crowd, giving the two men space to confront each other.
Elijah’s own eyes, still wide, dreading what would happen next.
And then, suddenly, everything slammed back into full speed, Viggo’s hand taking a fistful of Karl’s collar and dragging him right up into Viggo’s face so that the bigger man couldn’t quite breathe, flailing slightly like a fish out of water, honey-brown eyes huge with shock.
Elijah didn’t quite catch Viggo’s words, as they were uttered in a deathly quiet whisper that only Karl could hear over the thumping bass, but he did try to read lips and caught the phrase “…. if you ever…” Elijah could guess what kind of threat Viggo was making and what exactly Karl was never to do. When he finally let go, there was a few seconds’ stare down, and then Karl gracefully returned to the table and the fresh round waiting there while Elijah calmly slipped an arm around Viggo’s waist, leading him to a corner where they could talk.
“What exactly happened just now?” Elijah asked when they were away from the dance floor, Viggo leaning against a wall and slumped slightly so that he was eye level with Elijah. “Are you all right?” he asked, quieter, brushing an absent hand across Viggo’s temple to push aside an errant hair.
Viggo laughed, though it was a strangled sound, and nodded belatedly. “Yeah, I’m fine. I should be asking you the same question, though.”
Elijah shrugged. “I’m fine. You know I didn’t…”
“Of course,” Viggo whispered, his finger rising to Elijah’s lips, an intense look in his eye. “You would tell me if you did,” he added, and Elijah just nodded, honest. That was the deal. Anything significant, even just a little attraction or a fleeting crush, Elijah could feel free to tell Viggo. Was going to tell Viggo. That was just the way they worked.
“What did you say to him?” Elijah asked, gently, positioning himself on the wall next to Viggo, pretending to be watching the crowd.
“Gave him the benefit of the doubt. Told him that since he’s new here, I know he doesn’t know how things are yet. Told him, how things are.”
Elijah just smiled at Viggo’s subtle machismo, squeezing his hand briefly between them. Viggo was the most non-violent, rational person Elijah knew, but he would always stick up for the little guy. Whether it was the rainforest or an endangered species or, god forbid, his Elijah, if someone wanted to unfairly press an advantage Viggo would be there, fists swinging if necessary to protect the disadvantaged party. Elijah smiled, and leaned up, and kissed Viggo’s cheek. He loved that about Viggo.
“Come on, gloomy gus. You want to get back to the party?” Elijah asked, wriggling his eyebrows and his hips suggestively as he stepped backwards away from the wall, tugging on Viggo’s hand as he went.
Laughing, Viggo bridged the step between them and grabbed Elijah tight around the waist, looming over him with a possessive gleam in his eye. Elijah gulped, more from anticipation than fear, and his eyes fluttered shut as Viggo growled in his ear. “I’m thinking of having my own party with you, little hobbit. Say your goodbyes and meet me at the car,” he commanded, and Elijah unsurprisingly rushed back to the table, despite the fact that they had only been there 45 minutes, saying his apologies and explaining that Viggo had suddenly come down with a stomach ache, studiously avoiding Karl’s eyes. The others bought it, with a bit of good-natured ribbing of course, and Elijah was back at the car in two and a half minutes flat.
“Get inside,” Viggo growled, swinging the passenger-side door open. If Elijah didn’t know any better, he would think Viggo was angry with him, but he knew that wasn’t it and was therefore unconcerned as he climbed into the seat and buckled up. In fact, Elijah thought with a smirk as Viggo walked around to the driver’s side, Karl’s presumptuousness had created a side effect that Elijah couldn’t be more pleased by. Though Viggo was very unlikely to ever completely lose control, a possessive Viggo meant a creative Viggo, and Elijah was sure he wouldn’t be going to bed alone tonight.
Sure enough, as soon as Viggo had gotten Elijah safely inside, he pulled him into a long, hungry kiss, his hands sliding up immediately under Elijah’s loose shirt and stroking warmly over his back. “So beautiful,” he murmured, and Elijah sighed as one hand gently caressed his cheek, the other grasping his wrists together behind his back as Viggo looked deep into his eyes. “Mine, Elijah… this is mine,” Viggo murmured, trailing his hand from Elijah’s face down his neck and chest, finally landing at the bulge in Elijah’s jeans and squeezing lightly.
“Yesss,” he hissed, trying to arch into Viggo’s grasp, make it harder. He knew that Viggo was deeply possessive, and he had tried to control these urges before, wanting to be fair to Elijah, but Elijah loved it when he let that monster free. He loved to be claimed by Viggo, and he didn’t mind if it hurt a bit. “More, please,” Elijah muttered, rocking between the hand on his wrists and the hand on his crotch. “Take me, Viggo. Make me yours,” he urged. Viggo just growled, nipping Elijah’s bottom lip and catching his gaze at close range, their foreheads against each other as they both panted in anticipation, chests heaving.
“Already mine,” Viggo responded, twisting Elijah around unexpectedly by the wrists and yanking them upward, Elijah’s torso bent forward slightly so that his forehead hit the wall. “And if anyone wants to disagree with that, they can come to me,” he added, flicking Elijah’s fly open with one hand and tugging his jeans and boxers down in one move.
“No one else, Viggo… wouldn’t let anyone else… ahh, God… no one else could do what you do to me,” Elijah murmured heatedly as Viggo wet his finger and jammed it into Elijah’s body, still holding his wrists up at an angle that put a mildly uncomfortable pressure on his shoulders. “No one knows me like you do, Vig.”
“Damn right, they don’t,” Viggo muttered, suddenly letting go of Elijah’s wrists and dropping to his knees. “Hands on the wall, Elijah. I want you just like this,” he urged, and Elijah’s breath came fast and heavy as he brought his sore arms forward, palms flat on the wall to either side of his head as if he were doing a perverted push-up.
He knew how he must look like this, bending over with his pale arse presented to Viggo, flowing shirt drenched with sweat and encasing his torso like a particularly debauched angel.
Nothing mattered, however, when strong fingers took his hips in a bruising grasp and a warm wet stab forced Elijah’s hole to open and yield.
“Fuck!” Elijah yelled, unintentionally, and then rested his head back against the wall, panting as Viggo withdrew. “Sorry, sorry… please, don’t stop,” he murmured, and after a warning squeeze with his hands, Viggo went back to what he was doing, licking Elijah open as he moaned wantonly, his eyes sliding closed as he surrendered to the invasion. He wondered briefly if maybe he were a bit dirty for liking this quite so much, but Viggo’s tongue was talented enough to make a greater man crumble, and he had after all showered before they went out. It wasn’t that strange, he reasoned, and God did it feel good.
After a few minutes, when Elijah was fairly convinced that Viggo was going to do this until he came, the older man’s tongue suddenly withdrew. Elijah found himself panting heavily, not daring to move from where Viggo had put him, until Viggo stood again and pulled him up by the shoulders, spinning him around. “On your knees, hobbit,” he ordered, eyes gleaming, and Elijah’s knees hit the carpet almost before the sentence was finished. His cock ached something terrible, slapping lewdly against his belly, but Elijah moved forward eagerly when Viggo unzipped his own jeans, offering his own erection to Elijah with one hand, the other fisting in Elijah’s hair to control his speed.
“Mmm, so gorgeous like that. So beautiful,” Viggo cooed, pressing Elijah back and forth in a steady rhythm, his other hand still moving in tinny strokes on the base of his cock. “So pretty you are, Elijah, sucking my cock,” Viggo murmured, and Elijah felt a deep blush creep into his cheeks. He hadn’t quite gotten used to the subtleties of this action yet, and felt a bit awkward as he tried to take as much as possible into his throat, but he found the taste strangely alluring. Elijah was sure he was quite a sight, his face highlighted by sweat and glitter, flowing fabric of the shirt ending just above his swollen erection. He kept his eyes on Viggo, though, letting him guide his movements for another few minutes before Viggo finally withdrew from his mouth, pulling him to his feet and practically shoving him into the living room.
“Over that footstool there,” he ordered, and Elijah was quick to follow, hoping that he was going to get fucked and soon. The footstool was low enough for him to bend over, presenting his arse, and keep his elbows and forearms holding his weight on the floor. Viggo took his time in approaching Elijah, apparently admiring the view, but when he finally knelt down and took him, Elijah gasped at the lack of preparation. Until now, Viggo had been meticulous every time in getting him ready, but now with nothing but Viggo’s saliva to ease the burn, Elijah found the friction sweet and painful in the best possible way. He groaned loudly, pressing back into Viggo’s thrusts, trying to urge Viggo to take him further in, and knowing that no matter how hard he tried Viggo would still set the place. He fucking loved it.
“God, yes, Elijah, just like that… so fucking pretty around my cock, so fucking amazing…” Viggo’s groans increased in urgency, and Elijah gasped as he felt one hand smooth over the pale flesh of one arse cheek, a finger dipping to press firmly at the ring where Viggo’s cock impaled him. Two hands palmed his arse now, spreading him wider, opening him up to Viggo’s assault, and he knew that Viggo was watching—watching his cock disappear into Elijah’s body, watching the way Elijah clenched and flexed and arched, watching just how Elijah took him in. A keening cry issuing from his lips, Elijah tried his best to make the show worth it, wanting to convince Viggo that Elijah was worth it, that Elijah would never leave him and Elijah was worth it enough not to leave. These thoughts frightened him slightly—when did we start talking about forever, here?—but at the same time excited him, fuelling his moans and finally his scream when Viggo forced him over the edge without so much as a single stroke to his cock.
Less than a minute later, Viggo growled and held Elijah absolutely still as he thrust one, two, three more times into him, spilling his seed and then finally withdrawing to roll over and land on the floor next to Elijah, rubbing the younger man’s back gently as he caught his breath.
“Jesus,” Elijah groaned. “That was…”
“Too much?” Viggo whispered, looking almost uncertain, and Elijah grinned, scooting back onto his knees to kiss Viggo.
“No… no,” he replied in a low tone, shaking his head. “Not too much. Good,” he affirmed, and Viggo smiled into the next kiss. “Maybe a little scary, in the way that it’s good, but…”
“We’ll talk about this,” Viggo promised, sliding a hand through Elijah’s hair. “We’ll talk about this later, I promise. When I’m not so fucking exhausted.”
Elijah laughed out loud at that statement and slid happily into Viggo’s arms, content just to cuddle on the floor for a moment until his lover got his strength back.