captivation 7: difficulties
Aug. 4th, 2003 09:41 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
helens78 posting in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png){kind=small}
rugbytackle7: difficulties
Arc: Captivation
Authors:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
dragonkal and helens78
Pairing: Viggo Mortensen/Sean Bean
Rating: NC-17
Summary: Viggo's guests arrive, and Sean has difficulty serving them. Sort of.
Disclaimer: Fictional. Not real.
In time, Viggo does up his pants, but does little more; it's nice to sit there with Sean so happily at his feet. The boy seems to have forgotten all about the impending guests that upset him in the first place, and that suits Viggo fine.
He's actually comfortable enough to have nearly drowsed off when a jaunty rap at the door unmistakably announces Bruce's arrival. "Go answer it," he tells Sean, nudging him slightly with his foot.
"Yes, Master." Sean crawls back until he can lift himself to his knees, and then comes up on his feet; he goes to the door and opens it, thinking a bit belatedly that if it's a door-to-door salesman, he's going to be terribly chagrined.
Bruce is built like a football player and knows how to carry it. He takes off his sunglasses and looks Sean up and down at a very leisurely pace. "Well, aren't you very, very naked," he drawls with a grin. "Which is good news for me." Another long, appraising look.
"This boy welcomes you to Viggo's home, Sir," Sean says, lowering his eyes. "Will you come in, please, Sir?"
Bruce nods, his expression slightly impressed as he pockets his sunglasses and steps inside, nodding more certainly when he sees Viggo on the couch. "He has manners, that's a start."
"They come and go," Viggo smiles, turning his gaze to Sean. "Fetch Bruce a glass of ice water."
"Yes, Master." Sean closes the door behind Bruce and heads to the kitchen; he comes back with a glass of ice water and kneels at Bruce's feet to present it.
Bruce takes the glass, seating himself beside Viggo on the couch; he had a good view of Sean's bruises as Sean went into the kitchen. "Nice work," he compliments Viggo.
"He marks up so well," Viggo agrees. "You can see exactly what you're doing on him."
Sean remains on his knees for a moment, then lowers himself to his forearms again and crawls back to Viggo's side. This time he kneels up and rests his head on Viggo's knee, eyes closing for a moment.
Mildly surprised, Viggo eyes that for a little while. "Turn around and show Bruce your bruises," he instructs.
"Yes, Master." Sean turns so his back is to both of them and leans forward onto his forearms again, arse pointed at both of them, bruises clearly visible; he's getting hard, and he rests his head on his forearms for a moment. Relax, he tells himself; his jaw isn't clenching yet, at least, which is something.
Bruce murmurs appreciatively, leaning forward to run a hand over the injured flesh. "Very nice," he approves. "He's the sort you should beat in public, give us all the benefit of seeing that happen."
Sean leans very slightly into Bruce's touch, but otherwise gives no reaction; he doesn't even flush at the words. This afternoon may go badly -- Sean is expecting to be pushed at and prodded until he breaks form in some way -- but it's much too early for that as yet, and so he remains silent, trying to stay calm.
"I might," Viggo shrugs noncommittally. "When he's less unpredictable."
"Ah, you still have some fight in this one?"
"Mm. I wouldn't put it quite that way. We're just still trying to come to terms with each other."
Interesting. That's about how Sean would have put it, too, but hearing it from Viggo is definitely reassuring.
"Who else is coming by?" Bruce asks, sitting back on the couch.
"Just Nancy."
Bruce gives a little chuckle at some inside joke. "Is that all?"
"That's all," Viggo agrees with a smile.
The tone from both of them makes Sean a little nervous, but he stays on the ground, determined not to react. It can only be so bad, he thinks, and whatever it is, I've done worse.
"Go get the belt slapper," Viggo tells Sean abruptly. "The loud little one I used on you yesterday. It's in the top right drawer of the dresser near the bed."
"Yes, Master." Sean pushes himself up onto his feet and heads to the stairs; he tries to steady his breathing as he goes, and makes his way into the bedroom.
He ignores the rest of the toys in the drawer, pulling out the slapper from yesterday, and then heads back down the stairs. The hell with it, he decides, once he's outside the doorway to the living room, and he puts the slapper in his mouth, holding it very gently between his teeth, and goes back to forearms and knees, crawling over to Viggo to present the slapper.
"Well, you're doing something right," Bruce points out with a grin.
Viggo takes the slapper and motions for Sean to turn around. "Go easy," he tells Bruce, handing him the toy. "Those bruises are less than a day old yet."
Sean nods, shivers, turns around, settling onto hands and knees and relaxing, waiting for the first blow to come.
Bruce strokes a hand over Sean's ass first, getting a feel for it, then turns the slapper vertically and levies a sharp but not-too-hard blow right against the spot where buttock becomes thigh.
Sean grunts, eyes closing, body leaning back for it; not as good as having his Master hurt him, but oh, God, it's good all the same. "This slave thanks you, Sir," he murmurs.
Bruce likes that; he switches to the other buttock and gives another snapping slap, alternating back and forth a few times, slowly.
The slow pace is driving Sean mad. He's arching into the blows, moaning softly, wincing as they cover his bruises, growing harder all the time. God, it's nice. It's incredibly nice; he thinks the afternoon might not be so bad after all.
Bruce pauses, running his hand over Sean's ass again, feeling the heat he's brought to the surface. "Nice," he decides, and curves his hand down to feel Sean's cock. "And responsive."
Giving a response here doesn't seem quite appropriate; the compliments seemed more meant for Viggo than for Sean, so Sean remains still, only letting a small breath out when Bruce's hand slides over his cock.
"Very responsive," Viggo agrees. "He's quick to beg."
"Mmm." Reluctantly, Bruce hands back the slapper. "You'll have to consider loaning him out once he's trained."
Both those comments must have been meant to get a rise out of Sean; he swallows his response to them, still thinking that speaking now would be inappropriate. Being loaned out didn't bother him when he was with Pierce and had never even considered the fact that a loan could become a gift; now, though, it would bother him on a serious level. He wonders whether he should bring that up with Viggo later.
"We'll see," Viggo says, noting that a good deal of his responses have been noncommittal. "Go open the door," he tells Sean. "Nancy's here."
"Yes, Master." Oh, God. This should be interesting. Sean heads to the door, eyes on the ground as he pulls it open.
"This slave bids you welcome to Viggo's home, Ma'am. Will you come in, please, Ma'am?"
"You've improved quite a bit since our phonecall," Nancy announces dryly. "Hello, Viggo. Bruce." She enters and points to her boots, knee-high black patent leather buffed to a keen shine. "Kiss them," she orders Sean.
After closing the door behind Nancy, Sean goes to his knees at her feet. "This slave thanks Ma'am for her generosity," he mumbles -- it sounds fairly close to sincere -- and puts his lips at the toe of her boot, kissing first one, then the other.
"Turn around," she orders next. "Show me these bruises of yours."
Viggo grins from the couch; there's no need to take the lead when Nancy's around. She takes control of any situation, and that's just fine with Viggo here.
Sean is finally blushing; he turns, forearms still on the floor, to give her a view of his backside. His head rests on his forearms, and he tries to breathe evenly.
Nancy squats down behind him, her small, cold hands stroking Sean's bruises. "Bruce has already had his chance with you, hasn't he?" she diagnoses.
"Yes, Ma'am," Sean says. The feel of her hands on him is making him uneasy, probably only partly because her hands are dispassionate and cold; he doesn't lean back into her touch, but he doesn't pull away, either.
She gives him a smart little slap before getting to her feet. "Your slaves never ask if I want refreshments," she tells Viggo. "Really, your slaves could use some domestic training."
"I don't keep them for their domestic services," Viggo reminds her with a coy grin. "But Sean'll get you whatever you want."
"Iced tea," she sighs at Sean, seating herself in a nearby chair.
"Yes, Ma'am. This slave apologizes for his lack of attentiveness, Ma'am. Lemon or sugar, Ma'am?"
"Lemon, no sugar," she says without looking at him. "How far will you let me go with him?" she asks Viggo directly.
Viggo shrugs. "As far as you want."
Sean climbs to his feet, not looking back at any of them, and goes to the kitchen. He'll need to slice a lemon for this, and that should give him a little time to calm down.
Rattled. He's very rattled, just because she's here, and Viggo is growing more unsettling by the moment. There was something happening between them, something solid, he thought, and now it's vanishing, under layers of modified behavior and sculpted images.
Sean closes his eyes briefly before pulling a glass out of the cabinet. Get through this, he thinks to himself, very sharply. You'll have ample time to break when they're gone.
He slides a pair of very thin slices of lemon into the tea and then brings it back to Nancy, kneeling to present it. "Your iced tea, Ma'am." As far as you want. He takes another breath. You've done worse. Get through it.
She takes the tea, sips it lightly. No praise comes forward; the lack of correction, from her, is as good as Sean will get. She leans forward, takes Sean's cock in her free hand, strokes it lightly, looking at him with the tiniest little smirk.
Sean doesn't react. It's not a bad sensation, but it's not what normally gets him off. He closes his eyes briefly and tries to come up with something else to think about, something that will get him hard enough to be in the proper mindset.
Ah. There. That'll do. He breathes out and looks at her, eyes focused but not quite seeing her, relaxing into her touch.
She continues to stroke till Sean's erection is respectable; then she rakes her nails lightly up the underside. "You don't like women, do you?" she asks him simply.
"No, Ma'am," Sean whispers, flushing again.
"And why is that?"
What a question. Sean doesn't think he's ever been asked before. "This slave does not find women sexually interesting, Ma'am," he offers, attempting to be as polite with it as possible.
That makes Nancy smile. "Well. Never let it be said that you aren't upfront."
Oh, but he really isn't; the rest of the answer is not going to be forthcoming unless it's dragged out of him. Sean simply lowers his head and lets out a small breath; her statement wasn't a question, so he doesn't need to respond to it.
"At least you aren't utterly disgusted," she sighs, leaning back in her chair to sip on her tea. "I've met some of Viggo's boys who were."
Sean's eyes lift to Viggo with curiosity, but he quickly lowers them again. He files it away mentally with the other details he's managed to collect on Viggo's other boys, and wonders how many there've been. From the tone of her voice, it could be a great many.
"So," she purrs, "if I told you to suck on my fingers..." She holds out two, with short, manicured, red-painted nails. "...your response would be?"
"This slave would be glad to, Ma'am," Sean answers. There's a hint of confusion in his voice; orders are orders.
"Then set to it," she orders.
Sean goes to work on her fingers, sucking them into his mouth with quiet but determined abandon; it's a performance, yes, and he's doing it to please Viggo, mostly, but he also tries to gauge her responses, looking for the right combination of lips and tongue to satisfy her. It's not the least bit arousing, but he does feel compelled to do a good job.
She gives him nothing to work with, not the slightest expression or change in breath. "Now turn around."
Sliding his mouth away from her fingers, Sean turns, keeping his posture neutral -- hands behind his back, kneeling as Viggo prefers. He's not overly rigid, nor is he insubordinately relaxed; he's simply there.
Nancy presses on his shoulder impatiently, urging him to bend over.
Back to forearms and knees, then; Sean bends obediently and presses his head to the floor.
Nancy's fingers pry into him; she parts his bruised buttocks carefully with her free hand when she meets resistance.
Oh, God. Sean has to exhale hard to keep from clenching; her hands are small, her fingers are still wet from his mouth, but he's suddenly nervous, unpleasantly nervous. Relax.
"I know Viggo's bigger than this," she chides, struggling against Sean's tense muscles. "Come on."
"I wouldn't know, Ma'am," Sean blurts out, and then winces hard, tensing further. "My apologies, Ma'am," he continues, sounding somewhat strangled, and this time he does manage to relax, if only a bit.
Nancy laughs merrily at that, continuing to work her fingers in, very slowly. "You are still in training, aren't you," she agrees. "Poor boy. I think you'll like him, once you have him." At last, her fingers are in deeply enough; she crooks them, playing them expertly over Sean's prostate.
Fuck, she's good; Sean's body responds, humming with uncomfortable, tense arousal. ...once I have him? Sean thinks, distracted thoughts hitting him in a rush. The sensations are all too odd and nervewracking to let him relax; he works on steadying his breathing, trying not to take his breaths in too quickly.
"That's it," she murmurs, "relax. It's not going to stop."
Sean doesn't know whether to find that alarming or comforting. He settles a bit more, sighing out another breath; it's good, it's very good, and he stops questioning the way he's responding to it.
Nancy begins a slow, rhythmic stroke deep inside Sean and slaps the side of his buttock with her other hand, finding a rhythm between the two stimulations, slow and inexorable.
It would be cheating to pretend it's someone else behind him; Sean knows exactly what's happening to him, and he doesn't flinch away from it now. He closes his teeth over his sounds -- low, aching moans -- and leans into her hands, relaxing and letting himself enjoy it.
"You have a pretty boy there, Viggo," Bruce comments, watching idly.
"Yes," Viggo agrees, "I do."
Nancy continues the rhythm. "Think you can stain your Master's carpet if I keep this up?" she asks.
Sean pants a few times; the compliment from Viggo has him desperately wanting to make the best showing possible here. "Yes, Ma'am, if this slave's Master will permit it," he manages.
Nancy glances up at Viggo, but she hardly needs to; "Your Master allows it" is already coming out of Viggo's mouth, even as his hand reaches down to cup his cock lightly.
Sean can't see Viggo from his position on the floor, but the words are everything to him; he leans more fully into her hands, the strikes and the fierce rhythm in his body making him moan, no clenched teeth now. He has a brief moment where he wonders who else has stained his Master's carpet this way, and he closes his eyes; one of many, he thinks, the idea miserably arousing.
It doesn't take long before words are arcing out of his throat: "Please, Ma'am, this slave begs to come." This, after telling her Viggo had hardly made him beg at all; his eyes squeeze tight at the humiliation of the scene, and he gasps as another sharp wave of pleasure hits him.
Her wicked grin is audible in her voice. "I think I'd like to watch this slave come for me," she decides, rubbing her fingers just ever so slightly harder, adjusting the angle of her slaps against Sean's bruises.
Pain on top of pain, pleasure on top of pleasure; Sean emits a strangled little groan and his head drops forward as he comes, tensing around her fingers, groaning softly and panting for breath as the jets hit the carpet.
"Mmm." Nancy strokes him till it's just on this side of pain and withdraws slowly. "That was rather nice," she tells Viggo, sitting back.
Sean stays bent over, head resting on his forearms, until he can catch his breath. He can't seem to make himself move, not even to beg permission to clean his come off the carpet or to turn back to Viggo and rest at his feet.
"Enjoyable," Nancy judges. "Needs work. But then you always have liked the fixer-uppers, haven't you, Viggo?" She laughs mirthlessly, draining her iced tea.
Bitch. Sean's posture tightens. "Needs work." Christ, he's not perfect, not by any means, and Pierce certainly didn't do much to polish him, but... it's the fact that it seems to discount all the work Bale did with him that bothers Sean the most.
"Easy," Viggo murmurs to her. "Needs work, sure, but he was a damn sight better than some of my boys the minute he walked through the door."
And he is going to do his best to live up to your faith, Sean swears to himself, still quiet on the floor. Praise. This is not at all like the last time his Master brought friends over to see his new boy. Viggo is not Bale -- not at all -- and he has his own particular merits.
She's right. I will like him once I have him, Sean thinks, and then can't help following it with, how the hell do I get him?
"Boy," Viggo murmurs, his voice very slightly sharp. "Get to your knees."
Sean comes up on his knees and turns, facing Viggo and his guests, putting his hands behind his back and straightening. "This slave thanks Ma'am for her kindness," he murmurs. "This slave asks if there is anything else he might do for his Master or his guests."
Viggo's eyes flick to Nancy's, a silent kind of challenge to stack Sean's behavior up against any other boy's. "I think they've had a decent look at you," Viggo decides. "I think it's time for you to usher them out."
Nodding, Sean climbs to his feet. He guides Viggo's guests to the door and murmurs, "This slave thanks Sir and Ma'am for their presence here today." He stops short of saying ...and hopes to see you again. He's not sure he does hope for that, and doesn't want to make an invitation he'll have to live up to later.
Viggo exchanges the usual pleasantries as they make their way out; when Sean closes the door behind them, Viggo's attention turns entirely to Sean, his gaze heavy.
Sean looks up at Viggo, blushing red. He drops to his knees and crawls over to Viggo's feet, head to the floor. "Master," he whispers, voice breaking over it; it's all he can get out.
"What is it?" Viggo asks softly, leaning down to stroke Sean's hair in long, unhurried passes.
The touch feels wonderful just now; Sean sighs into it for several seconds, and then whispers, "Your slave found that... difficult, Master."
"Why?" Inobtrusively, Viggo's touch becomes long, comforting strokes up and down Sean's back.
"Your slave has difficulty with women, Master. And your slave did not like his Master having to defend him."
"I didn't have to defend you. I wasn't, really. I was just telling her what I'd seen in you." He smiles a little, still petting Sean. "And your difficulty with women comes from...?"
Sean shakes his head. "It was several years ago, Master. Your slave will do better in the future."
"Time doesn't matter much if it's still bothering you."
"Perhaps not, Master. Your slave is determined to do better in the future."
"I think my slave is, for the most part, determined not to tell me."
Sean lets out a breath. "Yes, Master," he murmurs. Not the right answer, but truthful.
"Well?" Viggo presses lightly.
"Pierce kept a girl, Master, for a number of months," Sean mumbles into the carpet.
"Mm. ...and?"
"...and it was terribly humiliating being asked to perform with her, Master. For both of us, Master."
"Why?"
"Your slave is not sexually attracted to women, Master, and Pierce's girl was not happy in her contract, and less happy at being contracted to a Master with divided attentions."
"I see." Viggo tilts his head, considering.
Sean closes his eyes; his stomach hurts from this conversation, and having to think about Pierce's girl is never pleasant.
"I was very pleased with your behavior," Viggo murmurs.
The shift rocks Sean a bit; he lets out a breath and says, "Thank you, Master."
"You're welcome, boy," Viggo murmurs. "You're free for now."
Further rocked by the offer for freedom, Sean squirms closer to Viggo and nuzzles against his ankle. "This slave would prefer to be by his Master's side, if his Master will permit it," Sean whispers.
"I will permit it," Viggo agrees, sitting back comfortably, finding a good spot to rest his shoulders just so. "I'll stay here a while."
Sean kneels up and rests his cheek on Viggo's knee. He would prefer to be wrapped up around Viggo, body stretched out against his Master's, able to rest and take comfort in Viggo's kindness -- but asking for that seems far beyond his abilities now. His lips form words, cheek moving slightly against Viggo's knee, and he lets out a very long breath.
"What are you saying?" Viggo asks quietly, curious.
Sean sighs; he knew better. He did. He sighs again and raises his voice. "Someday I'll beg for your kindness without allowing it to hurt me," he murmurs.
Viggo says nothing, stroking the backs of his fingers slowly over Sean's cheek, once.
Arc: Captivation
Authors:
dragonkal and helens78Pairing: Viggo Mortensen/Sean Bean
Rating: NC-17
Summary: Viggo's guests arrive, and Sean has difficulty serving them. Sort of.
Disclaimer: Fictional. Not real.
In time, Viggo does up his pants, but does little more; it's nice to sit there with Sean so happily at his feet. The boy seems to have forgotten all about the impending guests that upset him in the first place, and that suits Viggo fine.
He's actually comfortable enough to have nearly drowsed off when a jaunty rap at the door unmistakably announces Bruce's arrival. "Go answer it," he tells Sean, nudging him slightly with his foot.
"Yes, Master." Sean crawls back until he can lift himself to his knees, and then comes up on his feet; he goes to the door and opens it, thinking a bit belatedly that if it's a door-to-door salesman, he's going to be terribly chagrined.
Bruce is built like a football player and knows how to carry it. He takes off his sunglasses and looks Sean up and down at a very leisurely pace. "Well, aren't you very, very naked," he drawls with a grin. "Which is good news for me." Another long, appraising look.
"This boy welcomes you to Viggo's home, Sir," Sean says, lowering his eyes. "Will you come in, please, Sir?"
Bruce nods, his expression slightly impressed as he pockets his sunglasses and steps inside, nodding more certainly when he sees Viggo on the couch. "He has manners, that's a start."
"They come and go," Viggo smiles, turning his gaze to Sean. "Fetch Bruce a glass of ice water."
"Yes, Master." Sean closes the door behind Bruce and heads to the kitchen; he comes back with a glass of ice water and kneels at Bruce's feet to present it.
Bruce takes the glass, seating himself beside Viggo on the couch; he had a good view of Sean's bruises as Sean went into the kitchen. "Nice work," he compliments Viggo.
"He marks up so well," Viggo agrees. "You can see exactly what you're doing on him."
Sean remains on his knees for a moment, then lowers himself to his forearms again and crawls back to Viggo's side. This time he kneels up and rests his head on Viggo's knee, eyes closing for a moment.
Mildly surprised, Viggo eyes that for a little while. "Turn around and show Bruce your bruises," he instructs.
"Yes, Master." Sean turns so his back is to both of them and leans forward onto his forearms again, arse pointed at both of them, bruises clearly visible; he's getting hard, and he rests his head on his forearms for a moment. Relax, he tells himself; his jaw isn't clenching yet, at least, which is something.
Bruce murmurs appreciatively, leaning forward to run a hand over the injured flesh. "Very nice," he approves. "He's the sort you should beat in public, give us all the benefit of seeing that happen."
Sean leans very slightly into Bruce's touch, but otherwise gives no reaction; he doesn't even flush at the words. This afternoon may go badly -- Sean is expecting to be pushed at and prodded until he breaks form in some way -- but it's much too early for that as yet, and so he remains silent, trying to stay calm.
"I might," Viggo shrugs noncommittally. "When he's less unpredictable."
"Ah, you still have some fight in this one?"
"Mm. I wouldn't put it quite that way. We're just still trying to come to terms with each other."
Interesting. That's about how Sean would have put it, too, but hearing it from Viggo is definitely reassuring.
"Who else is coming by?" Bruce asks, sitting back on the couch.
"Just Nancy."
Bruce gives a little chuckle at some inside joke. "Is that all?"
"That's all," Viggo agrees with a smile.
The tone from both of them makes Sean a little nervous, but he stays on the ground, determined not to react. It can only be so bad, he thinks, and whatever it is, I've done worse.
"Go get the belt slapper," Viggo tells Sean abruptly. "The loud little one I used on you yesterday. It's in the top right drawer of the dresser near the bed."
"Yes, Master." Sean pushes himself up onto his feet and heads to the stairs; he tries to steady his breathing as he goes, and makes his way into the bedroom.
He ignores the rest of the toys in the drawer, pulling out the slapper from yesterday, and then heads back down the stairs. The hell with it, he decides, once he's outside the doorway to the living room, and he puts the slapper in his mouth, holding it very gently between his teeth, and goes back to forearms and knees, crawling over to Viggo to present the slapper.
"Well, you're doing something right," Bruce points out with a grin.
Viggo takes the slapper and motions for Sean to turn around. "Go easy," he tells Bruce, handing him the toy. "Those bruises are less than a day old yet."
Sean nods, shivers, turns around, settling onto hands and knees and relaxing, waiting for the first blow to come.
Bruce strokes a hand over Sean's ass first, getting a feel for it, then turns the slapper vertically and levies a sharp but not-too-hard blow right against the spot where buttock becomes thigh.
Sean grunts, eyes closing, body leaning back for it; not as good as having his Master hurt him, but oh, God, it's good all the same. "This slave thanks you, Sir," he murmurs.
Bruce likes that; he switches to the other buttock and gives another snapping slap, alternating back and forth a few times, slowly.
The slow pace is driving Sean mad. He's arching into the blows, moaning softly, wincing as they cover his bruises, growing harder all the time. God, it's nice. It's incredibly nice; he thinks the afternoon might not be so bad after all.
Bruce pauses, running his hand over Sean's ass again, feeling the heat he's brought to the surface. "Nice," he decides, and curves his hand down to feel Sean's cock. "And responsive."
Giving a response here doesn't seem quite appropriate; the compliments seemed more meant for Viggo than for Sean, so Sean remains still, only letting a small breath out when Bruce's hand slides over his cock.
"Very responsive," Viggo agrees. "He's quick to beg."
"Mmm." Reluctantly, Bruce hands back the slapper. "You'll have to consider loaning him out once he's trained."
Both those comments must have been meant to get a rise out of Sean; he swallows his response to them, still thinking that speaking now would be inappropriate. Being loaned out didn't bother him when he was with Pierce and had never even considered the fact that a loan could become a gift; now, though, it would bother him on a serious level. He wonders whether he should bring that up with Viggo later.
"We'll see," Viggo says, noting that a good deal of his responses have been noncommittal. "Go open the door," he tells Sean. "Nancy's here."
"Yes, Master." Oh, God. This should be interesting. Sean heads to the door, eyes on the ground as he pulls it open.
"This slave bids you welcome to Viggo's home, Ma'am. Will you come in, please, Ma'am?"
"You've improved quite a bit since our phonecall," Nancy announces dryly. "Hello, Viggo. Bruce." She enters and points to her boots, knee-high black patent leather buffed to a keen shine. "Kiss them," she orders Sean.
After closing the door behind Nancy, Sean goes to his knees at her feet. "This slave thanks Ma'am for her generosity," he mumbles -- it sounds fairly close to sincere -- and puts his lips at the toe of her boot, kissing first one, then the other.
"Turn around," she orders next. "Show me these bruises of yours."
Viggo grins from the couch; there's no need to take the lead when Nancy's around. She takes control of any situation, and that's just fine with Viggo here.
Sean is finally blushing; he turns, forearms still on the floor, to give her a view of his backside. His head rests on his forearms, and he tries to breathe evenly.
Nancy squats down behind him, her small, cold hands stroking Sean's bruises. "Bruce has already had his chance with you, hasn't he?" she diagnoses.
"Yes, Ma'am," Sean says. The feel of her hands on him is making him uneasy, probably only partly because her hands are dispassionate and cold; he doesn't lean back into her touch, but he doesn't pull away, either.
She gives him a smart little slap before getting to her feet. "Your slaves never ask if I want refreshments," she tells Viggo. "Really, your slaves could use some domestic training."
"I don't keep them for their domestic services," Viggo reminds her with a coy grin. "But Sean'll get you whatever you want."
"Iced tea," she sighs at Sean, seating herself in a nearby chair.
"Yes, Ma'am. This slave apologizes for his lack of attentiveness, Ma'am. Lemon or sugar, Ma'am?"
"Lemon, no sugar," she says without looking at him. "How far will you let me go with him?" she asks Viggo directly.
Viggo shrugs. "As far as you want."
Sean climbs to his feet, not looking back at any of them, and goes to the kitchen. He'll need to slice a lemon for this, and that should give him a little time to calm down.
Rattled. He's very rattled, just because she's here, and Viggo is growing more unsettling by the moment. There was something happening between them, something solid, he thought, and now it's vanishing, under layers of modified behavior and sculpted images.
Sean closes his eyes briefly before pulling a glass out of the cabinet. Get through this, he thinks to himself, very sharply. You'll have ample time to break when they're gone.
He slides a pair of very thin slices of lemon into the tea and then brings it back to Nancy, kneeling to present it. "Your iced tea, Ma'am." As far as you want. He takes another breath. You've done worse. Get through it.
She takes the tea, sips it lightly. No praise comes forward; the lack of correction, from her, is as good as Sean will get. She leans forward, takes Sean's cock in her free hand, strokes it lightly, looking at him with the tiniest little smirk.
Sean doesn't react. It's not a bad sensation, but it's not what normally gets him off. He closes his eyes briefly and tries to come up with something else to think about, something that will get him hard enough to be in the proper mindset.
Ah. There. That'll do. He breathes out and looks at her, eyes focused but not quite seeing her, relaxing into her touch.
She continues to stroke till Sean's erection is respectable; then she rakes her nails lightly up the underside. "You don't like women, do you?" she asks him simply.
"No, Ma'am," Sean whispers, flushing again.
"And why is that?"
What a question. Sean doesn't think he's ever been asked before. "This slave does not find women sexually interesting, Ma'am," he offers, attempting to be as polite with it as possible.
That makes Nancy smile. "Well. Never let it be said that you aren't upfront."
Oh, but he really isn't; the rest of the answer is not going to be forthcoming unless it's dragged out of him. Sean simply lowers his head and lets out a small breath; her statement wasn't a question, so he doesn't need to respond to it.
"At least you aren't utterly disgusted," she sighs, leaning back in her chair to sip on her tea. "I've met some of Viggo's boys who were."
Sean's eyes lift to Viggo with curiosity, but he quickly lowers them again. He files it away mentally with the other details he's managed to collect on Viggo's other boys, and wonders how many there've been. From the tone of her voice, it could be a great many.
"So," she purrs, "if I told you to suck on my fingers..." She holds out two, with short, manicured, red-painted nails. "...your response would be?"
"This slave would be glad to, Ma'am," Sean answers. There's a hint of confusion in his voice; orders are orders.
"Then set to it," she orders.
Sean goes to work on her fingers, sucking them into his mouth with quiet but determined abandon; it's a performance, yes, and he's doing it to please Viggo, mostly, but he also tries to gauge her responses, looking for the right combination of lips and tongue to satisfy her. It's not the least bit arousing, but he does feel compelled to do a good job.
She gives him nothing to work with, not the slightest expression or change in breath. "Now turn around."
Sliding his mouth away from her fingers, Sean turns, keeping his posture neutral -- hands behind his back, kneeling as Viggo prefers. He's not overly rigid, nor is he insubordinately relaxed; he's simply there.
Nancy presses on his shoulder impatiently, urging him to bend over.
Back to forearms and knees, then; Sean bends obediently and presses his head to the floor.
Nancy's fingers pry into him; she parts his bruised buttocks carefully with her free hand when she meets resistance.
Oh, God. Sean has to exhale hard to keep from clenching; her hands are small, her fingers are still wet from his mouth, but he's suddenly nervous, unpleasantly nervous. Relax.
"I know Viggo's bigger than this," she chides, struggling against Sean's tense muscles. "Come on."
"I wouldn't know, Ma'am," Sean blurts out, and then winces hard, tensing further. "My apologies, Ma'am," he continues, sounding somewhat strangled, and this time he does manage to relax, if only a bit.
Nancy laughs merrily at that, continuing to work her fingers in, very slowly. "You are still in training, aren't you," she agrees. "Poor boy. I think you'll like him, once you have him." At last, her fingers are in deeply enough; she crooks them, playing them expertly over Sean's prostate.
Fuck, she's good; Sean's body responds, humming with uncomfortable, tense arousal. ...once I have him? Sean thinks, distracted thoughts hitting him in a rush. The sensations are all too odd and nervewracking to let him relax; he works on steadying his breathing, trying not to take his breaths in too quickly.
"That's it," she murmurs, "relax. It's not going to stop."
Sean doesn't know whether to find that alarming or comforting. He settles a bit more, sighing out another breath; it's good, it's very good, and he stops questioning the way he's responding to it.
Nancy begins a slow, rhythmic stroke deep inside Sean and slaps the side of his buttock with her other hand, finding a rhythm between the two stimulations, slow and inexorable.
It would be cheating to pretend it's someone else behind him; Sean knows exactly what's happening to him, and he doesn't flinch away from it now. He closes his teeth over his sounds -- low, aching moans -- and leans into her hands, relaxing and letting himself enjoy it.
"You have a pretty boy there, Viggo," Bruce comments, watching idly.
"Yes," Viggo agrees, "I do."
Nancy continues the rhythm. "Think you can stain your Master's carpet if I keep this up?" she asks.
Sean pants a few times; the compliment from Viggo has him desperately wanting to make the best showing possible here. "Yes, Ma'am, if this slave's Master will permit it," he manages.
Nancy glances up at Viggo, but she hardly needs to; "Your Master allows it" is already coming out of Viggo's mouth, even as his hand reaches down to cup his cock lightly.
Sean can't see Viggo from his position on the floor, but the words are everything to him; he leans more fully into her hands, the strikes and the fierce rhythm in his body making him moan, no clenched teeth now. He has a brief moment where he wonders who else has stained his Master's carpet this way, and he closes his eyes; one of many, he thinks, the idea miserably arousing.
It doesn't take long before words are arcing out of his throat: "Please, Ma'am, this slave begs to come." This, after telling her Viggo had hardly made him beg at all; his eyes squeeze tight at the humiliation of the scene, and he gasps as another sharp wave of pleasure hits him.
Her wicked grin is audible in her voice. "I think I'd like to watch this slave come for me," she decides, rubbing her fingers just ever so slightly harder, adjusting the angle of her slaps against Sean's bruises.
Pain on top of pain, pleasure on top of pleasure; Sean emits a strangled little groan and his head drops forward as he comes, tensing around her fingers, groaning softly and panting for breath as the jets hit the carpet.
"Mmm." Nancy strokes him till it's just on this side of pain and withdraws slowly. "That was rather nice," she tells Viggo, sitting back.
Sean stays bent over, head resting on his forearms, until he can catch his breath. He can't seem to make himself move, not even to beg permission to clean his come off the carpet or to turn back to Viggo and rest at his feet.
"Enjoyable," Nancy judges. "Needs work. But then you always have liked the fixer-uppers, haven't you, Viggo?" She laughs mirthlessly, draining her iced tea.
Bitch. Sean's posture tightens. "Needs work." Christ, he's not perfect, not by any means, and Pierce certainly didn't do much to polish him, but... it's the fact that it seems to discount all the work Bale did with him that bothers Sean the most.
"Easy," Viggo murmurs to her. "Needs work, sure, but he was a damn sight better than some of my boys the minute he walked through the door."
And he is going to do his best to live up to your faith, Sean swears to himself, still quiet on the floor. Praise. This is not at all like the last time his Master brought friends over to see his new boy. Viggo is not Bale -- not at all -- and he has his own particular merits.
She's right. I will like him once I have him, Sean thinks, and then can't help following it with, how the hell do I get him?
"Boy," Viggo murmurs, his voice very slightly sharp. "Get to your knees."
Sean comes up on his knees and turns, facing Viggo and his guests, putting his hands behind his back and straightening. "This slave thanks Ma'am for her kindness," he murmurs. "This slave asks if there is anything else he might do for his Master or his guests."
Viggo's eyes flick to Nancy's, a silent kind of challenge to stack Sean's behavior up against any other boy's. "I think they've had a decent look at you," Viggo decides. "I think it's time for you to usher them out."
Nodding, Sean climbs to his feet. He guides Viggo's guests to the door and murmurs, "This slave thanks Sir and Ma'am for their presence here today." He stops short of saying ...and hopes to see you again. He's not sure he does hope for that, and doesn't want to make an invitation he'll have to live up to later.
Viggo exchanges the usual pleasantries as they make their way out; when Sean closes the door behind them, Viggo's attention turns entirely to Sean, his gaze heavy.
Sean looks up at Viggo, blushing red. He drops to his knees and crawls over to Viggo's feet, head to the floor. "Master," he whispers, voice breaking over it; it's all he can get out.
"What is it?" Viggo asks softly, leaning down to stroke Sean's hair in long, unhurried passes.
The touch feels wonderful just now; Sean sighs into it for several seconds, and then whispers, "Your slave found that... difficult, Master."
"Why?" Inobtrusively, Viggo's touch becomes long, comforting strokes up and down Sean's back.
"Your slave has difficulty with women, Master. And your slave did not like his Master having to defend him."
"I didn't have to defend you. I wasn't, really. I was just telling her what I'd seen in you." He smiles a little, still petting Sean. "And your difficulty with women comes from...?"
Sean shakes his head. "It was several years ago, Master. Your slave will do better in the future."
"Time doesn't matter much if it's still bothering you."
"Perhaps not, Master. Your slave is determined to do better in the future."
"I think my slave is, for the most part, determined not to tell me."
Sean lets out a breath. "Yes, Master," he murmurs. Not the right answer, but truthful.
"Well?" Viggo presses lightly.
"Pierce kept a girl, Master, for a number of months," Sean mumbles into the carpet.
"Mm. ...and?"
"...and it was terribly humiliating being asked to perform with her, Master. For both of us, Master."
"Why?"
"Your slave is not sexually attracted to women, Master, and Pierce's girl was not happy in her contract, and less happy at being contracted to a Master with divided attentions."
"I see." Viggo tilts his head, considering.
Sean closes his eyes; his stomach hurts from this conversation, and having to think about Pierce's girl is never pleasant.
"I was very pleased with your behavior," Viggo murmurs.
The shift rocks Sean a bit; he lets out a breath and says, "Thank you, Master."
"You're welcome, boy," Viggo murmurs. "You're free for now."
Further rocked by the offer for freedom, Sean squirms closer to Viggo and nuzzles against his ankle. "This slave would prefer to be by his Master's side, if his Master will permit it," Sean whispers.
"I will permit it," Viggo agrees, sitting back comfortably, finding a good spot to rest his shoulders just so. "I'll stay here a while."
Sean kneels up and rests his cheek on Viggo's knee. He would prefer to be wrapped up around Viggo, body stretched out against his Master's, able to rest and take comfort in Viggo's kindness -- but asking for that seems far beyond his abilities now. His lips form words, cheek moving slightly against Viggo's knee, and he lets out a very long breath.
"What are you saying?" Viggo asks quietly, curious.
Sean sighs; he knew better. He did. He sighs again and raises his voice. "Someday I'll beg for your kindness without allowing it to hurt me," he murmurs.
Viggo says nothing, stroking the backs of his fingers slowly over Sean's cheek, once.
