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fellowshippers2002-09-06 02:04 pm
nunki.livejournal.com) wrote in fellowshippers2002-09-06 02:04 pm
Story!!!!!
Well, here goes. I finished it.
ROOM 721
Author: Tornado Lin
Rating: NC-17
Pairing: Viggo Mortenson/Marton Csokas
Disclaimer: They ain't mine, and as far as I know, this never happened. Though if it did, I wish they'd videotape it...
Lacey had been the name of the girl who checked Marton in, and he only remembered this because of her reaction to his outfit, which, as he was here for a metal concert tour, was much like the costume they'd put him in to play Yorgi in xXx - leather pants, transparant black shirt, combat boots, and leather jacket (which was damned hot). He also wore (and these had not been part of Yorgi's garb) a nose stud, several heavy hoops in his left ear, a collar, a harness, and (though Lacey could not have known this) a small steel cock-ring.
Eyes wide, she had asked for his name and reservation, then kept staring at him - interested? worried? Whatever. As she handed him the key card, she hesitantly asked (much to the annoyance of the rest of the line); "Um...what do you do, with that uniform?" "Stupid", she thought immediately, you're not even sure if he's safe. Oh...well.
Marton looked up at her, grinned, wolflike. "It's not exactly a uniform, miss. It's bondage gear." She opened her mouth, taken aback, but he continued, seeing her confusion. "In fact, I generally wear it to fuck people up the ass. Now, if you'll let me go - " and he left. Lacey had immediately taken an early lunch, leaving the papers from Marton's check-in blank. To anyone except Marton (and Lacey, if she ever remembered), Room 721 was empty.
Viggo got out of the taxi and groaned. Lucky I don't have to read tonight, with the damn plane so late He never liked the hotels they used for book-signings, but at least they put him up when he travelled. In fact, readings and book-signings never really bothered him that much, despite the ever-present fan contingent. In fact, the only real problems with such fiascos were when an autograph hound was only looking to sell his copy of Viggo's book.
Still, it was late, and the plane trip had been unpleasant. I just want a drink, as he headed into the lobby to register.
"Is that on the top floor?" Viggo asked the woman at the concierge, hoping that it wasn't. "No, sir, it isn't, we've got ten floors here and you're only on the seventh. Only room left, in fact, sir." Viggo took the proffered key card, and got on the elevator. Maybe there won't be any more problems this time, he thought. He could do with some relaxation.
Marton, getting to his room, closed the blinds, threw his bags on the floor, and hung his jacket on the one hanger provided. Fucking economy hotels. "I could use a fucking drink", he muttered to himself. This place - They better have a bar with decent liquor, at least. He was never planning his own trip again, even if it meant telling one more agent how kinky he was. "It's their own fucking problem if they don't wanna hear it." I really need someone to tell me to quit this shit, quit talking to myself. It's the leather speaking. Yeah, fuck New Zealand - Diesel was more fun. Glancing into the mirror, Marton shoved his hair back Yeah, Yorgi had the right idea - Grow the hair longer than the dick - , tugged at his belt, looked at his ass from the side, and left the room, locking the door. "Fucking poetry crowds taking over the whole fucking place", he muttered to the bleach blonde in the elevator. She regarded him as if he were nothing more than an overtired six-year-old. Look at me, here for a concert and I can't get laid. What I wouldn't give to be back in the hobbits' bed...
Viggo, in the elevator, yawned. He had hoped that this place would let him be relatively incognito, but already three women, all dressed in varying degrees of leather, had recognized him. You'd think that women like that wouldn't squeal, but they had. The elevator came to a stop, and Viggo, shaking his head, got out of it.
Getting late now.
Marton, three drinks and an hour later, got in the elevator again. Seventh floor. Door Close. Some fucker once said that seven is a lucky number. In this place, they need all the luck they can get. Wonder why they didn't put in two seventh floors...
Viggo swiped the key card, pushed open the door. The room was dark, the slatted blinds closed. From its' metal box, the AC hummed. "Dark room, an unexpected discovery/On an evening of hell and - " Viggo's musing was cut short abruptly as he fell over some object in the middle of the room. Cursing, he picked himself up, fumbling carefully over to the wall for the light switch. "Fucking housekeeping help! I could've been hurt! I could sue their asses - " The words "but I'm not going to" were never spoken. Having turned on the light, Viggo realized that if Housekeeping were at blame here, then it was a very odd place indeed.
Two bags sat in the middle of the room, two silver-trimmed black leather bags, one bearing a crude scrawl of the words 'Poison-Ass-Bag'. "Oh-kay," Viggo muttered, and walked over to the closet, opening it to find a black leather jacket hanging there. WHAT THE FUCK?! Viggo blinked. This room, no matter what the concierge girl said, is OCCUPIED. With a groan, Viggo picked up his luggage from where he had dropped it when he fell, put one hand on the doorknob, and prepared to leave the room.
Marton got off the elevator This hallway doesn't look so good. Lucky I'm a thug today, then proceeded to walk around the corner to his door. "721, yeah. Minibar, here I - "
Light was streaming out of his slowly-opening door. Opening from the inside.
"WHAT THE FUCK?!" Striding quickly towards the door, he grabbed the knob and wrenched it open the rest of the way.
"Who - " The door collided with Viggo, who had been emerging. "ow, fuck! What the -"
Viggo stared at the man on the other side of the doorway. Tall, dark, formidably muscular, with shoulder-length black hair, he was dressed in complete bondage gear.
"Marton."
"Viggo-fucking-Aragorn."
Jesus, he's sexual, Viggo thought. He looks like Yorgi. Well, he was Yorgi, but -
Marton licked his lips, revealing a studded tongue and feral grin. "Would you care to tell me what you're doing coming out of my room?"
"Your room? I was assigned this room. The woman downstairs said it was the last room in the city this weekend." Viggo shifted on his feet. Of all the places to run into Celeborn. Celeborn in full bondage, at that. The unbidden - and particularly unneeded - image of a younger, naked Marton entered Viggo's mental eye. He shifted on his feet again.
"So that's your luggage", Viggo remarked. Stupid, he thought. What the hell are you trying to do?
He's sexy when he's intimidated - and I've never seen Aragorn intimidated before. This could be fun. "Only room in the city, eh? Fucking place of sleaze and gambled dreams." Viggo stared at him. "You talk like a writer." "Never said I was." "I can tell the good from the bullshit."
He's getting cocky, Marton thought. He had already decided to get a fuck out of the mixup, and Viggo was definitely up to his standards. Not that my standards are very high - 5'6", to be exact. Marton spoke. "Last time I was in a room this cheap, it was to fuck a girl, and now they don't even have another fucking room. I mean, forget suite, there isn't even another fucking room." Viggo eyed him. Is he playing catty with me? "So what do you plan to do, Bondage Lord?
"I like that", Marton returned, walking closer to Viggo. Viggo backed away - and, once again, fell over the 'Poison-Ass-Bag'. Marton, now above Viggo, grinned wolfishly. "In fact, I like that very much. So much, indeed, that I plan to stay in this very room - and, if you understand, you will stay here as well."
Viggo understood. The games Marton apparantly liked were far more advanced than Orli's puppy tricks, and, frankly, the whole thing was turning him on quite well. The sight of Marton from below didn't hurt, either. For that matter, Marton's outfit really didn't hurt.
"Well?" Marton's patience was short when sex was at hand. He seized Viggo by the shoulders, hauling him up, faces close and bodies closer. The sheer physical electricity of Marton's grip caused Viggo to gasp. The next thing Marton knew, Viggo had pulled him down, on the bed, solidly on top of the other man. He's showing his rough side. Hell, I'm not going to argue. I'll just push him harder, and Marton, half-insane with lust, claimed the open mouth of the other man.
Mouths meeting, and the thrusting of Marton's tongue in his mouth, exploring back as Viggo explored, kisses becoming wilder, harder, and the hardness of muscle and cock becoming evermore impossible to ignore. Marton growled, thrusting his solid hardness into Viggo's denim-clad crotch, until the only thought left in either of their minds was to get rid of the clothing.
This is damn good. I wish Revolution had allowed Diesel and me to get it on for the camera. flashed through Marton's mind - but onyl briefly, as the mater now at hand - at mouth - was far more important.He slid down Viggo's body, tearing clothes as he went, until the other man lay exposed and sweaty, sexual, beautiful, before him.
oh yeah. And Marton, pausing to strip off his own shirt, revealing a broad, tanned, muscular chest, wasted no time in undoing the fly of Viggo's jeans and taking him into his mouth.
Forget subtlety! as Viggo felt the immediate deepthroat of the other man, growling around his mouthful. Marton, expertly bringing Viggo near to the edge, slid off him as Viggo nearly climaxed.
"You fucker!" "What, I don't get a turn, Asshole Poet?"
In fewer than several seconds, Viggo had located condoms and lube from the harness pocket that Marton had discarded. In less time still, Marton had rolled over. "As you're not a virgin - " and Viggo, smoothly and hotly, pushed straight into him, feeling the resistance - and then the blessed fullness.
"Oh, fuck, yeah", and Marton, constantly noisy, talked, growled, faster, more indecipherably, as Viggo's hand found his swollen member and pumped it.
Look, we're the gay male power pumps of popular erotica - and then no thoughts were possible, as Viggo exploded inside the other man, triggering Marton - and triggering a Marton-yell that cuould probably be heard by the concierge. Maybe they'll think I killed him, and Viggo, laughing, looked over at an equally satiated, sweaty, Marton.
"What's so fucking funny?"
"I was thinking - Maybe you should sleep on the floor, or in the shower", Viggo suggested mischeviously.
"What the fuck! I'll stay right here, though it seems to me that we have far more interesting things than sleep to do...though, if it's the shower you wish to utilize, I would rather relish that," returned Marton,
and the two looked at each other with another grin more devilish than the one before.
ROOM 721
Author: Tornado Lin
Rating: NC-17
Pairing: Viggo Mortenson/Marton Csokas
Disclaimer: They ain't mine, and as far as I know, this never happened. Though if it did, I wish they'd videotape it...
Lacey had been the name of the girl who checked Marton in, and he only remembered this because of her reaction to his outfit, which, as he was here for a metal concert tour, was much like the costume they'd put him in to play Yorgi in xXx - leather pants, transparant black shirt, combat boots, and leather jacket (which was damned hot). He also wore (and these had not been part of Yorgi's garb) a nose stud, several heavy hoops in his left ear, a collar, a harness, and (though Lacey could not have known this) a small steel cock-ring.
Eyes wide, she had asked for his name and reservation, then kept staring at him - interested? worried? Whatever. As she handed him the key card, she hesitantly asked (much to the annoyance of the rest of the line); "Um...what do you do, with that uniform?" "Stupid", she thought immediately, you're not even sure if he's safe. Oh...well.
Marton looked up at her, grinned, wolflike. "It's not exactly a uniform, miss. It's bondage gear." She opened her mouth, taken aback, but he continued, seeing her confusion. "In fact, I generally wear it to fuck people up the ass. Now, if you'll let me go - " and he left. Lacey had immediately taken an early lunch, leaving the papers from Marton's check-in blank. To anyone except Marton (and Lacey, if she ever remembered), Room 721 was empty.
Viggo got out of the taxi and groaned. Lucky I don't have to read tonight, with the damn plane so late He never liked the hotels they used for book-signings, but at least they put him up when he travelled. In fact, readings and book-signings never really bothered him that much, despite the ever-present fan contingent. In fact, the only real problems with such fiascos were when an autograph hound was only looking to sell his copy of Viggo's book.
Still, it was late, and the plane trip had been unpleasant. I just want a drink, as he headed into the lobby to register.
"Is that on the top floor?" Viggo asked the woman at the concierge, hoping that it wasn't. "No, sir, it isn't, we've got ten floors here and you're only on the seventh. Only room left, in fact, sir." Viggo took the proffered key card, and got on the elevator. Maybe there won't be any more problems this time, he thought. He could do with some relaxation.
Marton, getting to his room, closed the blinds, threw his bags on the floor, and hung his jacket on the one hanger provided. Fucking economy hotels. "I could use a fucking drink", he muttered to himself. This place - They better have a bar with decent liquor, at least. He was never planning his own trip again, even if it meant telling one more agent how kinky he was. "It's their own fucking problem if they don't wanna hear it." I really need someone to tell me to quit this shit, quit talking to myself. It's the leather speaking. Yeah, fuck New Zealand - Diesel was more fun. Glancing into the mirror, Marton shoved his hair back Yeah, Yorgi had the right idea - Grow the hair longer than the dick - , tugged at his belt, looked at his ass from the side, and left the room, locking the door. "Fucking poetry crowds taking over the whole fucking place", he muttered to the bleach blonde in the elevator. She regarded him as if he were nothing more than an overtired six-year-old. Look at me, here for a concert and I can't get laid. What I wouldn't give to be back in the hobbits' bed...
Viggo, in the elevator, yawned. He had hoped that this place would let him be relatively incognito, but already three women, all dressed in varying degrees of leather, had recognized him. You'd think that women like that wouldn't squeal, but they had. The elevator came to a stop, and Viggo, shaking his head, got out of it.
Getting late now.
Marton, three drinks and an hour later, got in the elevator again. Seventh floor. Door Close. Some fucker once said that seven is a lucky number. In this place, they need all the luck they can get. Wonder why they didn't put in two seventh floors...
Viggo swiped the key card, pushed open the door. The room was dark, the slatted blinds closed. From its' metal box, the AC hummed. "Dark room, an unexpected discovery/On an evening of hell and - " Viggo's musing was cut short abruptly as he fell over some object in the middle of the room. Cursing, he picked himself up, fumbling carefully over to the wall for the light switch. "Fucking housekeeping help! I could've been hurt! I could sue their asses - " The words "but I'm not going to" were never spoken. Having turned on the light, Viggo realized that if Housekeeping were at blame here, then it was a very odd place indeed.
Two bags sat in the middle of the room, two silver-trimmed black leather bags, one bearing a crude scrawl of the words 'Poison-Ass-Bag'. "Oh-kay," Viggo muttered, and walked over to the closet, opening it to find a black leather jacket hanging there. WHAT THE FUCK?! Viggo blinked. This room, no matter what the concierge girl said, is OCCUPIED. With a groan, Viggo picked up his luggage from where he had dropped it when he fell, put one hand on the doorknob, and prepared to leave the room.
Marton got off the elevator This hallway doesn't look so good. Lucky I'm a thug today, then proceeded to walk around the corner to his door. "721, yeah. Minibar, here I - "
Light was streaming out of his slowly-opening door. Opening from the inside.
"WHAT THE FUCK?!" Striding quickly towards the door, he grabbed the knob and wrenched it open the rest of the way.
"Who - " The door collided with Viggo, who had been emerging. "ow, fuck! What the -"
Viggo stared at the man on the other side of the doorway. Tall, dark, formidably muscular, with shoulder-length black hair, he was dressed in complete bondage gear.
"Marton."
"Viggo-fucking-Aragorn."
Jesus, he's sexual, Viggo thought. He looks like Yorgi. Well, he was Yorgi, but -
Marton licked his lips, revealing a studded tongue and feral grin. "Would you care to tell me what you're doing coming out of my room?"
"Your room? I was assigned this room. The woman downstairs said it was the last room in the city this weekend." Viggo shifted on his feet. Of all the places to run into Celeborn. Celeborn in full bondage, at that. The unbidden - and particularly unneeded - image of a younger, naked Marton entered Viggo's mental eye. He shifted on his feet again.
"So that's your luggage", Viggo remarked. Stupid, he thought. What the hell are you trying to do?
He's sexy when he's intimidated - and I've never seen Aragorn intimidated before. This could be fun. "Only room in the city, eh? Fucking place of sleaze and gambled dreams." Viggo stared at him. "You talk like a writer." "Never said I was." "I can tell the good from the bullshit."
He's getting cocky, Marton thought. He had already decided to get a fuck out of the mixup, and Viggo was definitely up to his standards. Not that my standards are very high - 5'6", to be exact. Marton spoke. "Last time I was in a room this cheap, it was to fuck a girl, and now they don't even have another fucking room. I mean, forget suite, there isn't even another fucking room." Viggo eyed him. Is he playing catty with me? "So what do you plan to do, Bondage Lord?
"I like that", Marton returned, walking closer to Viggo. Viggo backed away - and, once again, fell over the 'Poison-Ass-Bag'. Marton, now above Viggo, grinned wolfishly. "In fact, I like that very much. So much, indeed, that I plan to stay in this very room - and, if you understand, you will stay here as well."
Viggo understood. The games Marton apparantly liked were far more advanced than Orli's puppy tricks, and, frankly, the whole thing was turning him on quite well. The sight of Marton from below didn't hurt, either. For that matter, Marton's outfit really didn't hurt.
"Well?" Marton's patience was short when sex was at hand. He seized Viggo by the shoulders, hauling him up, faces close and bodies closer. The sheer physical electricity of Marton's grip caused Viggo to gasp. The next thing Marton knew, Viggo had pulled him down, on the bed, solidly on top of the other man. He's showing his rough side. Hell, I'm not going to argue. I'll just push him harder, and Marton, half-insane with lust, claimed the open mouth of the other man.
Mouths meeting, and the thrusting of Marton's tongue in his mouth, exploring back as Viggo explored, kisses becoming wilder, harder, and the hardness of muscle and cock becoming evermore impossible to ignore. Marton growled, thrusting his solid hardness into Viggo's denim-clad crotch, until the only thought left in either of their minds was to get rid of the clothing.
This is damn good. I wish Revolution had allowed Diesel and me to get it on for the camera. flashed through Marton's mind - but onyl briefly, as the mater now at hand - at mouth - was far more important.He slid down Viggo's body, tearing clothes as he went, until the other man lay exposed and sweaty, sexual, beautiful, before him.
oh yeah. And Marton, pausing to strip off his own shirt, revealing a broad, tanned, muscular chest, wasted no time in undoing the fly of Viggo's jeans and taking him into his mouth.
Forget subtlety! as Viggo felt the immediate deepthroat of the other man, growling around his mouthful. Marton, expertly bringing Viggo near to the edge, slid off him as Viggo nearly climaxed.
"You fucker!" "What, I don't get a turn, Asshole Poet?"
In fewer than several seconds, Viggo had located condoms and lube from the harness pocket that Marton had discarded. In less time still, Marton had rolled over. "As you're not a virgin - " and Viggo, smoothly and hotly, pushed straight into him, feeling the resistance - and then the blessed fullness.
"Oh, fuck, yeah", and Marton, constantly noisy, talked, growled, faster, more indecipherably, as Viggo's hand found his swollen member and pumped it.
Look, we're the gay male power pumps of popular erotica - and then no thoughts were possible, as Viggo exploded inside the other man, triggering Marton - and triggering a Marton-yell that cuould probably be heard by the concierge. Maybe they'll think I killed him, and Viggo, laughing, looked over at an equally satiated, sweaty, Marton.
"What's so fucking funny?"
"I was thinking - Maybe you should sleep on the floor, or in the shower", Viggo suggested mischeviously.
"What the fuck! I'll stay right here, though it seems to me that we have far more interesting things than sleep to do...though, if it's the shower you wish to utilize, I would rather relish that," returned Marton,
and the two looked at each other with another grin more devilish than the one before.