captivation 5: struck

[helens78]

5: struck
Arc: Captivation
Authors: dragonkal and helens78
Pairing: Viggo Mortensen/Sean Bean
Rating: NC-17
Summary: Sean earns bruises.
Disclaimer: Fictional. Not real.

Warnings for quite a bit of pain. Which Sean wants, but still.


It's a warm day. A very warm day, and Sean has decided to take advantage of the sun and make tea. He's found a large glass jar, and teabags clearly meant for the purpose of being made into tea, and he's set the jar out in the back yard and taken up a spot on the hammock, where he can watch the house -- in case Viggo should come by or want anything -- and keep an eye on the tea as it darkens.

Sean is cupping his cock through the fabric of his jeans, very idly stroking himself, thinking about the sharp bite Viggo put on his shoulder in the kitchen, the first night he was here. There were marks for a few seconds, and Sean barely glanced at them. He thinks if he were to have another opportunity to see Viggo's marks on him, he'd end up looking quite a lot. And wanting to do more than idly stroke himself through fabric.

Viggo comes down the stairs, fresh from organizing a few necessary items in the master bedroom, and heads outside, striding across the grass toward Sean. He didn't miss that hand looking so casual over Sean's package; he mulls over how to treat it as he walks.

Sean's first instinct is to give himself another hard squeeze, eyes solid on Viggo's, but he doesn't; he takes his hand away and swings out of the hammock, going to his knees.

"That," Viggo drawls, coming right up till his toes touch Sean's kneecaps, "isn't allowed."

"My apologies, Sir," Sean murmurs, and he's halfway between meaning it and being playfully sarcastic. His cock is harder than ever at the correction, though; having a rule set out explicitly feels damned good. "It won't happen again, Sir." And it won't, whether he's liable to get caught or not.

"Let me clarify that," Viggo decides. "You can stroke all you want. Make yourself hard all day long if you want. But I don't want you coming without me. All right?"

That's quite a bit of leeway; Sean nods. "Thank you, Sir," he says. "I... this boy is glad to offer his... to offer Sir his... yes, Sir; I won't be coming without your leave, Sir." Christ, that sounded awful; Sean is utterly mortified by his inability to speak clearly. So many different words were vying for placement in that sentence; he's glad he finally tied it up with something reasonably casual.

Viggo grins sardonically. "If you're always that tongue-tied when you're hard, I'd better keep that gag handy."

"If it pleases you, Sir," Sean says, a bit relieved at getting that sentence out in one piece before realizing it was probably a mistake; Viggo tends to push Sean to have preferences.

"I'd rather hear you cry out," Viggo says with a casual tone completely counter to the words, "but we're young yet; I won't mind using a gag if I have to. For a while."

We're young yet. Sean turns the phrase over in his mind a few times. He thinks he likes that idea -- the idea that he's going to be here long enough to go through phases, to meet challenges, to earn privileges. Thinks he likes it a good deal. He nods. "As you like, Sir, but I shall try to keep my tongue untwisted in the future, save for when it's wrapped around your cock and stroking."

Viggo chuckles lightly, patting Sean's head a little condescendingly. "Let me ask you a question," he says, voice light.

"Yes, Sir?"

"Do you think being clever will really change my mind on anything I have in store for you?"

"No, Sir, but I hope it will give you a better idea of who and what you're dealing with, Sir." Sean raises an eyebrow a bit. "We don't know each other very well, do we, Viggo?"

"No, we don't, Sean," Viggo agrees. "But you're missing a crucial element of the situation."

"And that is...?"

"You're here for me. Not the other way around. We're not here for me to get to know you better."

Sean blinks hard, and nods. "Forgive my presumption, then, Sir." He doesn't know what else to say, and settles for going silent, straightening his posture a bit.

"C'mon," Viggo orders, heading back toward the house.

Sean brushes a bit of dirt off the knees of his jeans and glances at the jar of tea before following Viggo into the house; it needs another hour or two, and if he doesn't get to it by then... well, there's always more tea.

Viggo heads up the stairs without looking back, all the way up into the master bedroom, where he points at the foot of the bed. "Kneel on the floor." The casual, chatty tone is gone; his voice is hard now.

No hesitation; Sean drops to his knees without a word, hands behind his back, back straight. We're not here for me to get to know you better... Sean is stunned, surprised, trembling, hard, just from those words. They felt edged, thorny, and he wonders if Viggo meant them. Pierce would have. Bale would not. It's as if he's trying for a two-of-three coin toss in his mind, and is uncertain where he wants to see Viggo land.

Viggo begins to lay out implements on the bed, lined up in front of Sean: a small leather quirt; a rectangular wooden paddle with holes; a flogger with ten-inch tails and a handle clearly meant for penetration; and something that looks like half a belt doubled over and set into a wooden handle. At the top of the bed, near the pillows, Viggo carefully places a perfectly coiled, well-oiled, clearly well-used but even more well-maintained single-tail whip.

God. Sean has had some of these sorts of things used on him over his time with Pierce; others he's seen but never felt. He is suddenly quite hungry for all of it, but he's also confused; pain is a reward here, or so Viggo keeps saying, and Sean doesn't know that he's done anything to warrant pain on this sort of level.

"You've done better than most boys," Viggo admits quietly, walking behind Sean. "By this time, most of them do something appalling."

As has happened so frequently, there seems no good response to that; Sean simply remains still, breathing relaxed.

"So now it's time to see how you handle a good beating," Viggo explains. "This is the kind of getting to know each other I'm interested in."

It certainly interests Sean, but that will become obvious sooner or later; sooner, likely. He lowers his head in a small, accepting nod.

"Get up and take off your clothes," Viggo says quietly, picking up the quirt and giving it a few experimental strokes into thin air.

Sean stands and quickly slides out of his clothing, folding it quickly but neatly and dropping it in piles on the floor. The room is quiet enough that he can hear, or is imagining he can hear, the quirt slicing through the air; he has to let out a long breath before he feels steady again. He stays on his feet, waiting for more direction.

"Lean over the foot of the bed," Viggo says, exchanging the quirt for the flogger.

Sean walks around and leans over, putting his forearms on the bed, blowing out another breath. His eyes close; he almost doesn't want to know what's coming. Wants a moment of fierce surprise worked in along with the initial pain of contact.

Viggo shakes out the tails of the flogger; it's a little heavy for a warm-up, but then Sean's not exactly a novice. He adjusts Sean's stance slightly, then takes up his own position, carefully chosen, and lets the tails come down with a slight snap against the tops of Sean's buttocks.

Arousal washes over Sean, as if he weren't feeling it enough already; his head comes forward, but he doesn't make a sound.

Viggo aims the next strike down toward the meat of Sean's ass, enjoying the way the flogger resounds against Sean's skin, the way Sean's skin is already beginning to pink up.

More drawn breaths, a harsh panting groan; Sean still doesn't allow himself a deeper reaction. It feels good. It feels very good, and the thud is a welcome sensation, but he finds himself wanting to stay quiet as long as possible, just to prove he can.

Viggo smiles at the sound; he likes these little things Sean reluctantly gives him in the beginning, sounds that feel like they're squelched with a blush immediately afterward.

He switches his grip a little and strikes across Sean's shoulders, fairly lightly, sensation play more than pain.

"Ohh--" And Sean cuts that noise off, choking it into the back of his throat. It sounded far too much like a plea to his ears; he's not ready to plead yet.

"Mmm." Viggo smiles, stroking the flogger's soft tails up and down Sean's back. "Liked that one."

Hell. "Yes, Sir," Sean murmurs.

Viggo backs up a little and gives Sean the same kind of stroke again, just to watch the reaction.

It's harder to guard this one now that Sean knows how closely Viggo's watching him; he arches back into it, and moans, low in his throat, covered by his teeth.

"Sensualist," Viggo murmurs. "I'm surprised." He comes around to the side of the bed, stretching the flogger out in the same place he picked it up from, and takes up the doubled-belt slapper. He strikes the edge of the bed near Sean's left hand, grinning at the way the leather gives a sharp cracking sound as it meets itself.

The sound is a bit shocking; Sean lets out another breath and holds himself steady, keeping relaxed.

Viggo drags the rigid leather over Sean's shoulder, over the skin sensitized by the flogger, and settles himself off to one side, quite close to Sean; the toy's too short to have much distance. He brings the slapper down on Sean's left cheek first; its sensation is just as fierce as its cracking punctuation.

That draws a grunt out of Sean; he relaxes into the blow, but it surprises him, throws him off just enough to unmask his reaction. Good, but slightly shocking.

Viggo slips into a slightly faster rhythm with this than he had with the flogger; he alternates between the left and right buttocks, steady for now.

The lack of recovery time sends Sean into fast, panted breaths, alternating between moaning and grunting and simply holding on. The rhythm is good, almost perfect; harder would be even better. He wants his eyes to sting from this, and so far it's not happening.

Viggo leans over Sean's shoulder, dropping the slapper and picking up the quirt. He slaps Sean's ass lightly with it, just a testing stroke to startle Sean and perfect his aim, then follows with a stroke just this side of the maximum heft he can offer with this tool -- which is no small amount.

"God-- God," Sean gasps, eyes squeezing shut; he can still feel that last one, can still feel the heat of it, the ferocity of the leather cracking across his skin. His hands are trembling now, but his back and his legs are steady; he resettles into his position with eyes that are, oh yes, beginning to sting.

"Mmm." Viggo holds the quirt at rest at his side, running his free hand over the stripe already beginning to color, gripping it tightly. "There. Yeah." He gives the stripe a light slap, pleased.

"Mmmnnn." Sean winces; the pain sends a jolt through him followed by a warm rush of aching, intense pleasure; he has to let his mouth fall open so he can pant through it.

Viggo steps back and gives Sean several more strikes, all with an intensity just slightly less than the one that made Sean gasp, six of them, in a fast, steady rhythm.

Sean can manage the first four with little more than full-bodied, rough, loud gasps, but the fifth and six have him crying out, two sharp, hard cries that come ripping out of his throat with a tremor.

Viggo hums in the back of his throat, pleased, and kneels down behind Sean, resting the quirt on the floor so he can run both hands over the battered skin, squeezing it ruthlessly.

Sean's gasps are building up to moans, full-out moans, some of them near-sobs, others completely delighted; regardless, he leans back into Viggo's hands, wanting more. It doesn't matter what; just more.

Sean's skin marks up beautifully; Viggo understands, now, what drove Bale to give him such a hard beating so early in their arrangement. He leans forward and levies a sharp, wide bite against one particularly lovely patch of skin.

"Please--" The word gets out before Sean can stop it; Viggo's teeth are so sharp, and Sean can feel the imprint of every single one of them on his skin. It feels like he's being torn, scraped raw, and it's good, oh God it's good.

Viggo grins, rubbing his thumb over the spot where his teeth left their mark. "Please what?" he asks, breath hot against Sean's skin.

"Please, Sir, bite me hard enough to bruise me; please, Sir, mark me," Sean whispers.

Viggo smiles wider at that; getting to his feet, he switches out the quirt for the wooden paddle. It's a switch, and one he planned, one he hoped would be useful at this point; the effect won't be nearly as sharp, but he plans on driving that sensation all the way through Sean's body with the blunt thud of the paddle.

The switch gives Sean a few seconds to breathe; badly-needed seconds. He doesn't even look up; whatever happens now, it's going to hurt and it's going to make him want Viggo until he can't stand it. It's going to be something he can feel all night, distracting him and making it all but impossible to sleep.

Viggo brings the paddle down hard, aiming it square in the middle of Sean's buttocks; the holes make it whistle in the air, allowing him to move it much faster, to make the strike all the more devastating.

"Ohfuck--" It all comes out in one explosive breath, and Sean's fingers dig into the covers and hold on. He tenses, but only for a moment; I can do this, he thinks, and I can manage this for as long as I need to, for as long as he wants to see me hurt. It's probably false bravado, but it feels good to think it, so he doesn't give himself any grief for the untried confidence.

Sean's reaction is very satisfying; Viggo suppresses a smile as he brings the paddle down again, four more times.

Dear Christ, Viggo hits hard; Sean grits his teeth together, but relaxes his jaw fast as soon as he realizes it's making him tense through his shoulders, and probably down his back, too. "Fuck," he whispers, in between the first two blows, each blow in turn pulling a pained, harsh grunt out of him, and then, after the fourth one, "fuck, yes."

Viggo hisses lightly, running his hand over Sean's ass again; it's vivid red now, hot to the touch; he gives it a few more slaps with his hand.

Sean's groans are starting to have an undertone of real agony mixed in with the acceptance and the pleasure and the initial shock. He's still arching back for the slaps, but he's hurting, badly, and a small part of him is wanting to beg Viggo to stop, to slow down, something. He's not going to ask; not yet, at least. It's taken too long to get here; he doesn't want it to end too soon.

Viggo suspects that Sean thinks his time with the wooden paddle is over; he's wrong. Viggo straightens and gives another half-dozen strikes with it, harder than before, faster than before.

Oh, God. Sean thinks he's going to break from this. Thinks he's going to beg for it to end. He forces himself to breathe, even though the breaths are turning into sobbing, panting gasps; he's still not ready to beg yet.

Viggo slides his hand down over Sean's flesh again, this time with no violence to it, just feeling it. He reaches over Sean's shoulder again, leaves the paddle on the bed, takes up the flogger once more. This time, however, it's the other end, the handle, that gets the attention now. Viggo slicks it quickly and teases the rounded end between Sean's buttocks.

Sean's tense -- maybe a little too tense, because this hurts, and it shouldn't, he thinks. "Please," he whispers. He'll figure out how to back up his begging with something more concrete if Viggo asks; part of him is hoping Viggo simply rolls right over the plea and fucks him; fucks him with the end of the flogger, with another dildo, just fucks him, here, hard, fast.

Viggo nudges the end further in, pressing it just past Sean's resistance; it's more difficult than he expected, and another piece falls into place -- Sean must not be familiar with this, with beatings and fuckings so intertwined. He curves a hand around Sean's hip, holding him still, automatically counting the pulse that beats beneath his middle finger.

"Please," again, and this time it's something else; Sean wants to push back, wants to feel more, and that one hand on his hip is holding him from doing it -- not because of the grip; just because it's there. That's enough.

Viggo slides the handle in with one smooth, slightly forceful push, the tails of the flogger teasing the bruised skin of Sean's ass. Sean, he notes with some amusement, seems to have gotten over his clumsiness with words.

That or he's simply forgotten what words are; Sean doesn't think he could come up with a word now if he were held at knifepoint -- which around here doesn't seem so out of the question. Instead, he's making soft, moaning noises, and whimpering lightly when the tails brush against his skin.

Viggo lets go of the flogger; the tails are heavy enough to pull the handle to a slightly downward angle, and picks up the belt slapper again.

"Oh, God, please--" Sean sees the slapper disappear from the bed and tilts his head down again, bracing himself. Please, yes... please, no... just please, oh God, please...

Viggo smiles a quiet little smile and holds the flogger in place with one hand; he brings the belt slapper down hard on Sean's right buttock with the other.

Sean's muscles tighten around the handle of the flogger, and he gasps. "Sir, please, stop -- or wait, or -- a moment, please, Sir," Sean pants; he's too close to take much more of this all at once.

"Why?" Viggo demands sharply, rocking the handle of the flogger a little.

"God -- close -- Sir," Sean pants.

"So? What do you want?" Viggo's tone is quite a bit sharper than he's used with Sean before; he rubs the rough edge of the slapper against Sean's ass.

"I... God, I want to come," Sean moans, "but I want to come when you want it, Sir." He has to stop to pant for a few more seconds, the sensation of the slapper's edge warring with the tone in Viggo's voice for what's going to send Sean flying into orgasm first.

"I want you to come," Viggo rasps, voice hoarsened by arousal, "when you've begged me for it enough to make me want to give it to you."

"Oh, Christ," Sean moans; the voice, definitely. He lets out a long breath. It should be easy to beg. He spent most of his month with Bale begging, almost from the beginning. This should be easy. It's not. He can't; not quite yet.

Viggo hits him again with the slapper, hard.

"Fuck," Sean explodes; not a plea, not even by accident.

Not begging. Viggo hits the very same spot, just as hard.

"Fuck."

Viggo twists the handle inside Sean. "That's not it and you know it." And he hits Sean again.

The perfect comeback here would be Fuck you, and Sean has to bite it back. "Please," he hisses out through clenched teeth. The tone isn't a plea; it's another curse.

"Hmm-mm," Viggo disagrees, and places a strike on the opposite buttock.

Sean goes silent for this one; he grunts, but he doesn't speak.

Viggo shakes his head and gives Sean three more slaps in quick succession, nudging the handle of the flogger as well.

God -- he could keep this up all night. And I couldn't. Sean takes a deep breath and steadies himself. "Please," he whispers. No more cursing it; it's genuine this time.

"That's a start." Six more sharp strikes, levied at the tender flesh where Sean's buttock meets his thigh.

The pain from that is sharp and so perfect Sean shudders into the bed; Viggo's hitting at one of Sean's hot spots. "Please," he begs, "oh, God, please, Sir, let me come."

"Better." Four more, ending with a severe little twist to the flogger's handle.

Sean sees stars; when the blows stop he nearly collapses into the bed. "Please," he whispers, "please, Viggo, let me come for you. Need it. Love the way you're hurting me; want to come from it. Please."

Viggo makes himself take a full breath at that. "Come for me," he agrees, and begins thrusting the handle in and out of Sean in a fast, hard rhythm, striking him with the slapper as well, rhythmic, inviting slaps.

The fast rhythm sends Sean into a dizzying spiral, up, and then up again, until he's hanging on the edge by his fingertips, waiting to go over until he sees stars and can hardly breathe -- oh, God, yes, there. He squeezes his eyes tight and comes with a series of harsh, solid grunts, hips jerking involuntarily, coming until he's shaking and exhausted from it.

Viggo strokes Sean's ass with a firm, knowing touch, letting Sean recover for long moments before gently working the handle of the flogger out. He takes the opportunity to recover a little himself; there had been a moment where he was uncertain Sean would let him get in that far, but Christ...Love the way you're hurting me. Viggo will remember that for a long time.

Sean sighs at the loss of contact; he could have stayed there under Viggo's hand for much longer than the time Viggo graced him with. "Beautiful," he murmurs, "thank you, Sir." If he could turn to face Viggo, he'd have more to say; as it is, he's exhausted and can barely keep himself from collapsing onto the bed.

"You're welcome," Viggo murmurs, and once he has the toys back up on the bed he continues to stroke Sean, pleased by the heat that rolls off his skin. He's not quite sure if Sean will welt; he'll bruise, certainly, though, and that will be pretty enough.

Sean sighs, leaning into Viggo's touch. It's good to be here, he thinks. It's different here.

I miss Christian.

His eyes blink open, and he tightens his expression. No. That's a regret, or something like it, and Sean doesn't bother with regrets. He leans further into Viggo's touch, and wishes he could truly, completely relax here.

Viggo waits a little longer, hoping for Sean's muscles to unknot, to indicate a certain level of trust between them; it's too soon, and Viggo eventually lets himself cede to that. He gives Sean a smart slap on the ass as punctuation to the end of his care, beginning to gather up the toys.

That last slap breaks him, finally; Sean's eyes close again, and his shoulders shake hard as tears come. He's here, and it's different and good and painful. He has a new Master. Something is missing, and he doesn't know what, and the absence hurts.

Viggo lets Sean have the first few in peace, tucking away the toys that don't need to be cleaned and setting aside the ones that do before sitting down on the bed, a good distance from Sean. "What's in your head, boy?" he asks softly.

Sean draws in a few shuddering breaths before he tries to speak. "I miss my Master," he whispers. "I think I could grow to love it here."

Viggo blinks, parsing out the reply; the two statements seem almost contradictory, but Viggo knows well enough there's a connection. "I expect you to miss him," he replies after a few moments.

"I used to hate it when he was kind to me," Sean says, wiping at his tears with a frustrated, impatient gesture. "It doesn't hurt so much when it's you, and I don't know why, and I don't know whether to appreciate it or hate it."

"Maybe the change isn't so much the difference in your Masters," Viggo offers, "but a change in your perception." They are close to the end of what Viggo will discuss with Sean; he feels a real need to keep distance between them, likely because of Sean's apparent interest in the same, and if that means leaving Sean to hurt alone, Viggo will allow it up to a point.

It's something for Sean to turn over in his head when he's on his forearms and knees in the morning. There have been a good number of things that fall into that category. "It's possible," Sean concedes. He does relax, then, finally. "Your... whatever-in-fuck-I-am-to-you thanks you for your attention and your pain and your kindness, Sir."

"There's that cleverness again," Viggo murmurs, but his lips turn faintly upward, and there's no rebuke attached. "You're welcome."

Sean pushes himself off the bed with a slight groan; everything hurts, in a lovely, pleasant fashion. "Is there anything else, Sir?" he asks.

"Mm-hmm," Viggo indicates, remaining seated on the bed.

Sean goes to his knees on the floor just in front of Viggo. "Please, Sir, allow me to serve you," he murmurs; he's too distracted for it to be as heartfelt as it's been at times before, but he still means it.

"Bring me some of that tea you're brewing in the backyard," Viggo orders with a slight smile.

Surprised, Sean rears back a little. "Of course, Sir," he says, and heads off to the backyard to fetch it in.

Of course, Sir. Viggo likes the sound of that; it sounds very genuine coming from Sean's mouth. Good.

He thinks he might have Sean clean the toys this evening. It would likely do some good in cementing what Sean has learned today, and Viggo's sure he'll enjoy watching the show.