rugbytackle | captivation 8: beg

8: beg
Arc: Captivation
Authors:

helens78
Pairing: Viggo Mortensen/Sean Bean
Rating: NC-17
Summary: Sean finds out he can't have everything he wants. And then he makes a mistake.
Disclaimer: Put down the crack pipe. This is fictional. No one's even pretending it's real.

Viggo checks the clock; it's near his usual bedtime, and Sean's too. He's been sitting on the couch, sipping tea and reading the paper quietly. Which, really, is not all that different from what he's been up to all day; it's been quiet, very quiet. He and Sean have exchanged perhaps half the words they normally do, and that's made the day quite introspective, in an unusual kind of way.

Sean has tried desperately to develop an easygoing attitude about the silences. He doesn't really feel ignored; he knows Viggo's aware of his presence. He simply doesn't know how to respond to the lack of... well, there's another problem; he doesn't quite know what's lacking. He's come close to asking permission for a good number of things, come close to simply begging to serve, inspired by all the silence, but he hasn't managed it.

Viggo's eyes flick up to the clock again. He supposes that if he waits much longer, he runs the risk of playing with Sean while he's tired; he suspects he has a little while before that becomes too much of an issue, though.

Another waiting game. Sean is tired of having all his time at Viggo's consist of one waiting game or another. He pulls himself off the end of the couch and moves closer to Viggo, deciding to take a chance and lie down across the couch, tucking his head into Viggo's lap. Innocently. He's not nuzzling into Viggo's crotch, not looking to do anything but rest his head on Viggo's thigh. He's expecting correction for it, but that, at least, will be better than all the silence.

Viggo looks down at him wordlessly for a few moments, then goes back to reading the paper. "Is there something you want?"

"This will do fine, Master," Sean murmurs, snuggling in a little more, getting a bit more comfortable. He's still not making a play for anything more. He means it -- this will do fine. More would be welcome, but this suits him for the moment.

"I'm glad you'd find it fine," Viggo murmurs, "but I don't. Back on the floor."

Sean considers pleading to be allowed to stay; he sighs and goes back to the floor, forearms and knees, at Viggo's feet. His chest tightens a bit. Should have asked. Fuck.

Viggo folds up the paper and rests it on the end table, getting to his feet. He gets as far as the foot of the stairs before murmuring, "Come on."

Sean follows quickly, face burning.

Viggo doesn't hurry, heading up to bed as he always does, only this time he stops at his closet. "Face down on the bed," he says quietly.

Still blushing -- and very quickly getting hard -- Sean goes to the bed and presses his face into the pillows, putting his hands behind his back and lacing his fingers together. He shifts a bit on the covers, getting comfortable, letting his cock rub against the fabric. Nice. But he still managed to fuck up downstairs. He stops squirming, sighing out his breath and going still instead.

Viggo arrives at the bed with a hefty armload of items; first he draws Sean's arms up to cuff him to the headboard with the soft sheepskin cuffs, his touch as gentle as the lining of the cuffs.

Sean hums pleasantly at the touch of Viggo's hands on his arms. He considers thanking Viggo for that, but decides to wait it out; he doesn't want to get ahead of himself.

Viggo grips Sean's ankles and spreads them apart; in contrast to the soft comfort of the cuffs, a hard, wide metal cuff is attached to Sean's left ankle, followed by the soft jingle of keys as Viggo padlocks it on.

Different. Hard. Solid. Cold. Sean's not sure whether he likes it or not, but Viggo's offering it, and Sean reminds himself to be grateful for it. The urge to offer immediate thanks is passing; he doesn't know what's coming anymore.

Another cool metal cuff around Sean's right ankle, and then Viggo fits the spreader bar in the notches provided; a swift twist, and Sean's legs are nearly immobile, held open by steel.

The rigid feel of that definitely bothers Sean, and he holds still, wondering if he can convince his body that the stillness is by choice and not necessity. He exhales, trying to let out some of the tension that's worked its way into his shoulders. It's mostly successful.

Viggo is quiet a long moment, staring at Sean's lean, taut body. Utterly beautiful. Viggo slicks up two fingers and plays them along the crevice of Sean's ass, not working inward, not yet.

Sean arches up into the touch, but that makes his lower body move, and that reminds him how immobile his legs are; he tenses again, and then relaxes entirely, no longer arching up, just waiting.

Sean's responses always fascinate Viggo; their wordlessness intrigues him. Gently, very lightly, he teases the tips of his fingers across Sean's entrance, pressing with great care.

"Hmm." Sean stays still, keeps himself from moving, but lets a small hum of approval go.

"Do you want that?" Viggo asks quietly, fingers still stroking lightly.

"Yes, please, Master," Sean answers immediately.

"Tell me about that," Viggo suggests, using his other hand to spread Sean's cheeks, though it doesn't seem to do anything to get him closer to penetration.

"It... feels very good, Master," Sean says, and he arches up again; again, it draws his attention to the rigid metal keeping his legs apart, and he relaxes back down immediately. "Your slave would very much enjoy having your fingers in him, Master."

"You're fighting it," Viggo murmurs. "Don't fight it." He slides his fingers in slowly, achingly slowly, letting each centimeter come so slowly it almost seems like no progress at all.

"Ohhh..." It comes out as barely a breath; Sean's mouth opens, his body relaxing and feeling as if it's melting into the bed. For a moment, it's as if the restraints on his wrists and ankles are holding him together rather than weighing him down, and he goes boneless, aching for more from his Master.

"Better," Viggo approves, continuing to press in till his fingers are sheathed completely. "Move for me," he whispers.

Sean's hands clench; his body tightens around Viggo's fingers for a moment before he does just that, moves for him. He rocks back against Viggo's fingers, then lets himself fall back into the bed; by the time he's done it twice, he's too aroused to think about the way he's bound. A third time has him gasping, even though he's barely moving a fraction of an inch back and forth.

"Good," Viggo breathes, and as a reward begins to thrust in and out, gently at first, then more passionately, the friction mounting quickly.

"Yes -- please -- Master," Sean whispers, and arches back, very quickly forgetting everything else, just concentrating on the feel of Viggo's fingers, fucking him. He gasps, presses his face further into the pillow, taking his own breath away, and simply enjoys the sensations.

Viggo adds a third finger, thrusting in with a twist now, knowing it rubs Sean in all the right ways. His free hand grips Sean's thigh now, helping Viggo balance as he leans over the edge of the bed to get better leverage.

Sean gasps, then lets his breath out; it's good, fantastic, and he knows he could come this way if Viggo ordered him to do it. He presses his face harder into the bed, the difficulty in breathing both a distraction and an additional reason to be nearly mad with arousal.

Viggo digs his fingers into Sean's thigh, hanging on as he fucks Sean with three fingers, thrusting hard now, just as he would if it were his cock, in hard and gentler out. Viggo finds it hard to breathe himself, lost in the tightening, shivering planes of Sean's muscles and the soft sounds from the head of the bed.

Utterly determined not to come yet, wanting to hold on to the sensations as long as he can, Sean lets his desire out through more muffled groans, burying them in the pillows; the rhythm is unbearably good, and he wants to keep feeling it until Viggo's arm is tired.

Caught between feeling impressed and slightly frustrated by Sean's resolve, Viggo kneels up on the bed -- a difficult prospect with the spreader bar in the way, but he soon finds a way to kneel between Sean's legs, giving his arm muscles a rest in the new position. Still his fingers corkscrew in and out; his free hand grips Sean's left buttock, kneading it lightly.

A strangled moan makes its way out from the pillows; Sean chokes it off and keeps pressing back against Viggo's fingers, letting out harsh, solid breaths every time Viggo's fingers snap into him, taking in soft, stifled gasps as his fingers slide out.

"Beg for it," Viggo instructs at last, his voice hoarse with arousal.

Another strangled moan; Sean doesn't need to beg yet, doesn't think he can beg yet. But God, that tone in Viggo's voice -- he needs to hear more of that. Needs it, badly. Sean stays silent, only letting out soft, strangled moans in rhythm with Viggo's thrusts.

Viggo slows his strokes, thrusting in hard and deep and then sliding out slowly, till his fingertips tease Sean's entrance, then thrusting in hard again. "Beg for it," he repeats, determined to hear it from Sean's mouth.

Oh, God. Sean's breath shudders out of him, and he closes his teeth together. He's being stubborn -- this is an order, it's what he's wanted all damn day, and there's no reason not to give in. He's begged before. He'll beg again in the future. He can't think of any reason why he isn't doing it now, but he can't seem to make himself do it. His moans, though, are starting to plead for him; low, full-bodied sounds that are coming out in long, escalating hums from the center of his chest.

Viggo stops. He doesn't even stop at the end of a thrust; just stops with his fingers half-buried inside Sean. He doesn't repeat himself; Sean knows what to do, if he wants to.

For a few agonizing moments, Sean can't decide. It's the halfway mark that gets to him; the way Viggo's fingers stopped just short of where Sean could clench around them and, in all likelihood, make himself come. He lifts his head off the pillow and whispers, "Please, Master, this slave begs you to continue... please."

"More." Viggo's fingers don't move.

"Master, please," Sean moans, "please, anything, please slide your fingers into me, please fuck me with your hand--" Even asking for that makes Sean nearly dizzy with arousal; he pants out a few breaths before going on. "Please, Master, this slave begs you to fuck him; begs you to let him come."

That gets Viggo moving again; immediately he resumes the deep, twisting thrusts that Sean found so satisfying, though no permission to come seems tied to it.

Now that he's started, there seems little reason to stop; Sean keeps begging, voice low. "Please, Master -- oh, God, Master, so good -- please -- oh, God, Master, please fuck me, please let me -- please let me come for you..." He'll realize later that formal voice is slipping again; for now, all he can think is pleasepleaseplease and moremoremore. And it feels good to think both.

"Keep begging," Viggo breathes, gently sliding his fingers out of Sean altogether.

"Please," and his voice is disappearing into a harsh, raspy growl as all ability to think leaves him, "Master -- please, need to come, want to... oh, God, need you, Master, please, hurt me, fuck me -- please -- hurt me, break me, fuck me, love me, God, please, please."

Viggo's been stroking himself since he extricated himself from Sean, and now -- Christ, now, to the sound of that desperate voice and the words he hadn't expected to pull from Sean for days, weeks, Viggo gives a small, startled cry and comes across Sean's back, shuddering.

Sean feels the splash of come across his back and bucks forward, hips grinding into the bed; the cry that comes out of Viggo's mouth is all he needs to go over the edge himself, and he jerks, hard, gasping, and comes into the bedcovers, strangling his cries in the pillow.

Panting, Viggo backs up on the bed, his feet tangling momentarily in the spreader bar before he remembers how to get up and off without upsetting it. He is well and truly dazed, and it takes long moments of standing upright for his head to clear.

Alright. Coming on Sean's back was planned. Coming so hard because Sean broke through was not. And though it was possibly one of the best orgasms Viggo's ever had that wasn't buried inside someone, it did not escape him that he has a very disobedient boy in his bed now.

Sean is blinking into the pillow, trying to catch his breath. He forces his head out of its warm, half-strangled spot in the bed, and licks his lips; he pants for several seconds before he can even begin to make the journey back to a place where he can think.

"What did you just do?" Viggo asks. His voice, thankfully, sounds like a rough approximation of his normal tone.

"I..." And it hits him: shit. Not for the first time, his Master's orgasm has sent him over without permission. "Your slave is sorry, Master," Sean whispers. "For coming without permission, Master," he elaborates.

"I haven't given you many rules," Viggo points out, "but that was one of them."

"Yes, Master. Your slave begs forgiveness, Master." Sean's immobility is worse, now; he can't move, can't turn to show Viggo how sorry he is. "Master, please, your slave meant no disrespect to his Master nor his rules. Forgive me, Master. Please."

"Disobeying is disrespect," Viggo points out. He fishes out his keys, begins to open the padlocks on the ankle cuffs.

"Please, Master," a note of desperation clearly working its way into Sean's voice, "may I... may your slave do anything to atone for his disobedience, Master?"

"Don't do it next time," Viggo replies somewhat ironically, pulling the cuffs free of Sean's ankles without bothering to disassemble the spreader bar from them first.

"No, Master; your slave is sorry, Master," Sean whispers. Having his legs free is good, but he's not sure what else he should say, what else to do. He can't tell if Viggo is angry -- his tone implies nothing.

Viggo comes around the side of the bed, unbuckling the sheepskin cuffs; there's no rubbing of Sean's wrists this time, just what little touch must be given to free the toys, which Viggo immediately packs away.

Sean pulls up onto his forearms and lets his head sink down; this is bad. This is very, very bad, and he doesn't know what to do to make up for it. Viggo's moving around too much for Sean to throw himself at his Master's feet; he stays still and lets his breath shudder out sharply, trying not to lose control over himself altogether and break again.

"Go back downstairs," Viggo says softly, back still turned as he puts away the toys. "You sleep on the main floor tonight."

Oh, God. Sean nods, and pulls himself off the bed; he can feel Viggo's come drying on his back, and it makes him wince. He barely opens his eyes, just enough so he can see where he's going, and he goes downstairs, looking around briefly, wondering where he should curl up to sleep. He settles for just off to the side of the staircase; out of the way, but as close to Viggo as he can get. He curls up on his side, one arm bent under his head to cushion it slightly, knees tucked up to his chest. It hurts. It's not comfortable at all. He's not going to be able to sleep anyway, though.

Viggo sighs, realizing he'll have to swap comforters now that this one is wet with Sean's come. That gives him an idea, and he folds the offending item loosely, going out to the head of the stairs. "Boy?" he calls.

Sean sits up immediately, crawling around to the stairs and kneeling up. It takes a great deal of effort to keep his voice from shaking. "Yes, Master?" he calls back.

Viggo tosses the comforter down the stairs. "Sleep on that."

"...yes, Master," Sean whispers. He looks at the comforter for a moment; it's going to remind him of his mistake all night, which is of course the point. He crawls back to his spot out of the path of the stairs, and spreads out the blanket, curling up in it, feeling the sticky spot of his come against his back, against the sticky spot on his back where Viggo's come has been drying. He closes his eyes and shakes for a while, and ends up impatiently wiping away tears. This should not be happening to him. He should not be so affected by getting something wrong. It should not feel like he's had someone reach into his chest and squeeze with cold, icy fingers. This shouldn't hurt nearly as much as it does.