Fic: Interrogation (VigBean) NC-17 - 1/2

[lannamichaels]

 
Title: Interrogation
Authors: lannamichaels and lunasv, originally created as LJ roleplay.
Pairing: Sean/Viggo, OC/OC, Mentions of Sean's torrid past with Branagh, O'Malley, Purefoy, and Terry.
Rating: NC-17 for extreme warnings. Bondage, roleplay, cigarette burns, physical abuse, asphyxiation. Bones are broken. Wrists are sprained. And, in the end, something is solved. Or, at least, a little better than it was before.
Disclaimer: It’s fiction. I’m pretty sure they aren’t seeing each other, and even if they were, I’d bet they don’t do this.
Content: An interrogation roleplay with Viggo on top and Sean ending up in the hospital. We don't exactly think this is good to do very often in real life. Lots of violence. Lots of demeaning talk. This way of working through bad relationships could probably be easily supplanted with therapy and have all the parties better off for it. Like the other fics, there is an existing d/s relationship.
Notes on reality of people reading this: Like "Assume the Position", "What’s On The Other Side?", and "London Calling", the creative process for this was fascinating, and the SeanVig muses led us down expected crevices into their minds. In other words, it kind of just happened.
A Note On Canon: This was written in August. Therefore, Viggo's birthday was a while off. :p
 





Month's shopping over, and Viggo's rummaging through the bags, looking for something he stashed away. He pulls out a small oval package and a square one. "Clothespins. Nylon rope."

Nylon rope Sean can live with. "Abrades a bit more than the cotton, but it is more durable and there won't be any of that breaking in the middle of bondage nastiness."

Viggo blinks. "It's broken before? Sean, dear, just what else have you been hiding from me?"

"Well, there is that new set of handcuffs I was saving for your birthday." Sean's grin is utterly unrepentant wicked.

"My birthday's in October. By then they won't be new." Viggo tosses them onto the kitchen counter. "Anything else?"

"Well, technically, they would still be new, cause I didn't plan on using them till then." Sean's tongue slides out and quickly back in. "But, I'm guessing my plans just got changed."

"You are very correct. So, tell me, boy. Who was to wear these handcuffs?" Viggo raises an eyebrow, crosses arms.

"Why that's a right silly question, Vig." Sean leans against the wall. "I'm much more used to them than you'll ever be." He shrugs hands into jeans pockets. "Unless you're wanting to do a bit of reverse roleplay."

"I notice you didn't answer the question." Viggo slams Sean against the wall, kisses him. "But right now I don't much care. How 'bout you strip and then we can test out how nice these much-lauded handcuffs are?"

Sean ignores the hand crushed between his back and the wall, the fingers that really need to be shaken back into reality. "Losing your touch, Vig," he says, punctuating the questionsentence with a smile and subtle head nod. He wraps his fingers in the hem of the Henley, pulling it up and over his head. "Normally you wouldn't have given me the opportunity to get out of the clothes first." His arms are stretched up the wall, hands balling up the blue cotton.

"Let's just say that I'm tired of finding old clothes for you to wear so I can beat them off you. And while I don't mind it, your nipples taste better without cotton covering them." Viggo backs enough just enough that Sean can't kick him while getting out of his jeans and gives his lover his best leer.

Sean has to smile at the way Viggo backs up. Lack of trust? He throws the wadded shirt in the general vicinity of the hallway, toes out of his trainers and pools the denim somewhere to the left of his feet. "Of course not cotton. It doesn't mix well with the jasmine-scented candle wax you prefer them covered in." In the back of his brain, in that little spot northeast of his libido, he wonders at what point in their relationship did he become so willing to do everything Vig asked, on command.

"There is that," Viggo agrees. "You wouldn't happen to have these handcuffs close on hand, would you?"

"Hall closet, top shelf, blue box." Sean crosses his wrists above his head. "Close enough?"

"Yeah." Viggo takes hold of Sean's wrists and separates them. He brings them down to in front of Sean's waist and begins to pull him towards the hall.

Wrists together, wrapped in Viggo's fingers, slight pressure, just enough to keep Sean from slipping out of the headspace he's gliding into. He hadn't planned on playing tonight, but since Vig's in the mood, he might as well go with the flow.

Viggo leads Sean in front of the closet and drops wrists so he can open the door and take down the dark blue box. It's heavier than he expected. There's obviously more than handcuffs in here. He shakes it around and then hands it to Sean. "Do the honors, if you will."

"Sure you want it now." Sean looks from the box to Vig's face. "It was supposed to be your birthday prezzie." In that naughty little region of his brain, he's praying Vig says yes cause he sure as hell's in the mood to play and he fucking well can go buy another gift tomorrow.

"I've never been big on waiting," Viggo says and then taps the top of the box. "So, open. Let's see what you got me."

Sitting the box on the floor, Sean kneels in front of it. He'd started collecting the gift weeks earlier, adding things as he saw them. He tilts the lid off to the side and pulls out the expected first. "Regulation issue," he says, holding two pair of handcuffs up to Viggo. "Double locking." Rather painful, Sean doesn't add.

"Good start." And they already have some furred cuffs that Viggo keeps locked around the bottom of the bed, so Viggo figures he'll be able to spread-eagle Sean with little fuss. "What else did you get me?"

Sean lifts out a smaller box, opens it and pours the contents partially into his hand. Two candles and a vial of lotion. "Beeswax, of course," he says. "The oil's a sweet almond." Sean had just the least bit of hesitancy on showing Vig the last of the box's contents.

Viggo likes the juxtaposition of the oil and the candles. So far, so good. "And?" He prompts, knowing that there's at least one more thing left.

Sean takes in a deep breath and reaches back into the box. He pulls out a thick, heavy roll of black electrical tape that's tangled in an olive drab t-shirt. Sean holds them up, one in either hand. "I was thinking ..." He shifts the tape into the hand with the shirt and pulls out a long length of heavy black cloth, jaggedly cut just the perfect width to be doubled over for a blindfold. "You might, uh, like a little roleplay."

"Do horses like water?" Viggo grins and takes the tape from Sean. He balances it on his knuckles, throws it up, and catches it. "This is going to be fun. What did you have in mind?"

"Interrogation." Sean blurts out the single word without thinking. Actually, he's been thinking a lot about it. That word. That act. What Viggo could do to him. Would do. He looks up, letting the smile, the hint of tongue between teeth convey the unspoken desires.

Viggo freezes. His mouth makes a little 'o' of surprise. He hadn't known Sean, er, swung that way. Viggo puts the electrical tape down with exaggerated care and then straightens. He stretches in front of Sean's face, arching his back, pleased by the sounds of Sean's obvious reaction.

Viggo pops his back and then piles the supplies back in the box. He keeps the shirt out, however, and throws it at Sean's chest. "Put that over your neck, take the box, and follow me."

"Yes, sir," Sean snaps. He pulls the shirt on just as Viggo'd instructed, picks up the box and stands, following his lover's lead. Be careful what you wish for, he silently cautions himself as the arousal of fantasy become reality courses through his body.

"Drop the 'sir'," Viggo orders. "And just what shall I be questioning you about, boy? Your continual lack of respect? Your infatuation with the idea that you don't deserve happiness?"

"Whatever suits your fancy, Vig. Don't expect I'll be answering." Sean pauses, just a few steps behind Viggo. "And if you're going to complain about my continual lack of respect, why tell me not to call you sir?"

"Because bad boys are surly. And I'm going to need a reason to punish you afterwards." Viggo turns the corner into the master bedroom. "How far do you want to go? Until I rip your safeword from you?"

Surly. Punish. The words echo in Sean's brain, rattling lose old emotions as he follows Viggo into the bedroom. He deposits the box on the bed's edge without asking permission. Surly enough for you? "Far enough for a safeword." Sentence flavored with a touch of disbelieving bravado. Stance just cocky enough to be insubordinate. "You can try, Vig."

"Trying is overrated. I prefer to do." The bedroom usually doubles as their playroom, but Viggo still finds it difficult to hunt up a suitable chair. He finally finds a wooden straight-back hidden in the closet. He places it on the wrong side of the bedtable and then places the box within easy reaching distance. He glances from Sean to the chair, wondering if words are really necessary at this point.

No words required. Sean knows what to do, the position. He's been there before, long ago and far away in a different headspace altogether. He sits down, legs spread slightly apart. He anticipates the pain. Or rather the physical pain. Prepares for it. He rotates his neck, loosening the muscles and tendons, and shrugs his shoulders up and back before settling into what would be the most natural position, hands palms up against the chair back. Takes a deep breath, centers himself as much as he can for the assault to come.

Viggo pulls the shirt down and manipulates Sean's arms so that it hangs more or less naturally. Viggo rummages in the box for a few moments then takes the double locking cuffs from the box and handcuffs Sean's wrists behind his back. He uses the electrical tape the bind Sean's ankles to the legs of the chair and then, laying a layer of gauze from the First Aid kit first, he binds Sean's cock to his left thigh.

The burn in his deltoids is quick, almost comforting, as his shoulders adjust to the locked position. And he'd expected the tape on his ankles. Only natural to secure them, he thinks through; wouldn't want to be kicking out. But it is Vig's unexpected use of the binding electrical tape that catches in Sean's chest, along with the term fucking bastard, left silent in his throat. he straightens his back, shifting the discomfort out along his spine, waiting to see where Vig plans to take him.

Viggo watches Sean's reaction, then nods. Pretty good for improvisation. "Do you know why you're here?"

Sean tilts his head back, lets out a breath and then straightens again. "Got caught." Simple. Snarky. Oh, the game is going to be so much fun.

"If this had been anything more than a training exercise, 17, it wouldn't be me here. And they sure as hell wouldn't be as gentle as I am. You cannot allow yourself to get caught. Not only is it unprofessional," Viggo leans back and grabs Sean's jaw, forcing him to look him in the eye, "it's stupid. Now. Tell me what you did wrong."

Sean laughs. Gentle lasts all of six seconds as his head is snapped up. He stares at Viggo, unflinching. Too early in the game, training exercise or not. "Didn't avoid the trap. Should've turned left instead of right. Something like that." The words came out clipped with Viggo's hand holding Sean's jaw.

"'Something like that'," Viggo mocks. "You discharged your weapon at an inanimate objectt. You failed to make the bridge rendezvous. And then you had the unfortunate luck to fall into my hands." Viggo drops Sean's jaw abruptly. "You disgust me."

"So what's new, LT?" Sean's sarcasm is as thick as Viggo's mock disgust. He shakes his head, shifts his shoulders, knows from experience to take every opportunity to stay ahead of kinked muscles. "Can't recall the last time I didn't disgust you."

"Oh," Viggo says delicately, touching his tongue to his upper lip. "I can. Christmas training, two years back. You remember, don't you?" Viggo leans down so he's face to face with Sean, and leers. "You were all. Over. Me."

"Sorry, LT. Wasn't me what started it." Viggo's closeness ratchets up the game's discomfort level, Sean's cock stiffening against its gauze and tape confines. But that doesn't deter the smirk on Sean's lips on the carefully enunciated words. "I was just responding to your initiation of fraternization."

"You tripped me," Viggo replies. "I fell on top of you. That does not constitute an invitation." Viggo shakes his head. "Old history. You may be sucking my dick later tonight, 17, but I can assure you, it won't be because you want to."

Sean stays in character, bites back the retort that he'd like to be doing just that, right now. "Don't recall cocksucking being part of special ops training. Must've dozed during that part of the briefing."

"Shut it, 17. You remember the training. What happens if you get caught?" Viggo doesn't wait for an answer. "No. Mercy. If I want you sucking my cock, you'll suck my cock. If I want you to beg, you'll beg. And if I want you to hurt, you'll hurt. Clear?"

"Crystal," Sean spits out. "Name. Rank. Serial number. You want it in order?"

"No. First I want to hear you scream. Then I want to hear you curse. And once you're hoarse from begging me to stop, then I'll ask for your stats. Not before." Viggo kicks Sean hard just below the knee, aiming more for the muscle part of his leg rather than the bone.

The pain jolts through Sean's leg, leaving a nice throbbing sensation as Sean clamps down on his reaction, not willing to give Vig the satisfaction of knowing just how hard he hit. Definitely not screaming or cursing or saying much of anything.

"Well, 17? Too little?" Viggo sneers as he watches Sean's facial muscles work to contain whatever Sean was going to say or do. Viggo repeats the assault on Sean's other leg, increasing the force only slightly. "Too much? Think about what I can do to you. You're bound and at my tender mercies. How much will it take to make you flunk this course and walk out? Weaklings aren't allowed much further in, 17. It's time for you to decide just how much you can take."

Shit. While it isn't a heavy boot, Viggo's kicks are putting a dent in Sean's flesh. And that last one bypasses muscle to crack against bone, or at least that's the way it feels as the pain radiates out and up Sean's leg. "Fuck it. I can take every minute of what you give me." It's like a role. Play it through. "If you want me out of this unit so bad, LT, you're gonna have to a helluva lot worse than that." For the moment, Sean forgets admonitions of being careful what you wish for. He's too wrapped in the moment, too mesmerized by what he's pulling out of Viggo.

"So that's what you want, eh? Never pegged you for a glutton for punishment, 17. But with the way you smoke, I shouldn't be surprised." This time the kick is delivered to Sean's midsection.

"Now, I'm only going to ask you once. Who's your commanding officer?"

"Fuck you." Sean rasps out the curse in a breathless gasp. The pain in his stomach doesn't hurt nearly as much as the sudden jerk of his left shoulder from being forced to bend forward and then jerking back up too soon.

"Not an acceptable answer, 17. Even an idiot like you knows which consequences go with which actions. Why, I could almost start to believe you like being hurt."

"And you get off on hurting me." Sean slurs out the words. He straightens up, pushing his back against the chair. "So we're pretty much alike, aren't we, LT?"

"Don't compare me to you, 17," Viggo says frostily. "I passed this course. I didn't get caught in infrared."

"Wasn't my fucking fault intell was faulty." Sean's cock picks that inopportune time to remind him exactly where he is and who he's with and what he wants. He winces at the double-edged arousal. He takes a deep breath, centers himself, refocuses on the mission. "Getting here undetected was just part of the mission. I ain't flunked yet."

Viggo's ears prick up. "What was that I just heard? A prisoner giving away free information to his captor?" Viggo laughs shortly and cuffs Sean behind his ear. "Dig yourself in deeper, 17. There's no rule that says I have to let you out of that chair."

Sean shakes off the light blow. "Didn't tell my captor," he says the word with exaggerated sarcasm, "one godfuckingdamned thing he didn't already know. Intell's always faulty." Smiles slightly. "And what kind of mission would it be if my only objective was getting to this hovel?" Shifts, ignores the burn in his groin and the fact that Viggo's last statement has him just a little more concerned than any threat of violence. The chair's uncomfortable at best.

"But you weren't supposed to be getting to this hovel. The path you were following led in the complete other direction. You can't even manage to fuck up properly, can you, 17?"

Ever think I might've fucked up on purpose, LT? Just so I could get fucked over by you? The thought careens through Sean's brain, but he stops the words just short of falling off his tongue. Slides the unspoken words off into a smirk. "I think I fucked up rather well." Sean shrugs his shoulder back an inch or so, stretching out the kinking muscle. He doesn't know why that left shoulder if bothering him so, wonders if he's about to dislocate something.

Viggo slaps Sean hard, forcing him back into the chair. "Of course you did. It's the only thing you have talent for, isn't it? All you do is fuck up. But I would have thought you could have curbed your habit in the face of a live-fire zone!" Viggo finds himself shouting and forces himself to slow his breathing. "You could have been killed out there, trainie! This is not a place for fucking up. You want to do that, you could have stayed in your old unit. No one made you volunteer for this. But seeing as how you did, I expect the best from you.

"And I repeatedly haven't got it."

Bad boys are surly. Wasn't that what Viggo said? Before he recovers completely from the slap, Sean cocks his head, looks up at his captor. "Ah, you care." The blow isn't hard enough to knock him over. That's a good thing. And not hard enough to draw blood, Sean realizes as he works his tongue over teeth and inside cheek. Hard enough to leave a bruise, though, and he smiles at that thought. Nasty one, too, but Sean's sure it's only one of many his body'll have by the end of the night. "What do you want from me? Screaming? Begging? Ain't gonna do it, LT. Not just to prove how good I am."

"Of course I care. Do you have any idea how much time and money is invested in every single one of you worthless, pathetic worms? Your kind disgusts me. You think you can just cruise through this without putting in any effort. I know your type. You think that if you just sit there and take this abuse, then in a few hours, it'll be over. So let me clue you in, 17. It don't work like that around here.

"I'm your trainer. In my hands are the power of life or death, not just pass or fail. So you better start showing a little respect!"

"Ain't got much choice, now, do I, 'cept to sit here and take the abuse. You got me taped to the damned chair." And work real hard to ignore the arousal. Sean moves his left leg as much as the tape will allow, shifts his hip slightly. "You want respect? Pull it out of me."

"Whole point of this exercise," Viggo mutters, then louder, "I suspect the only respect I would get from you that way is the grudging kind. I'm not asking for loyalty, or even trust. But I've done shit you could never do. 'S not a dare, it's a fact." Viggo kicks the bottom of the chair and then walks around to Sean's left side to bend over and whisper in his ear. "So at least act like you give a shit, or you're never getting out of this. I wonder how long it would take for you to waste away to a skeleton. Cruel and unusual punishment doesn't stretch this far."

The kick jars the chair, jumps it back a nudge, enough to startle Sean. Not enough, he says a silent prayer in thanks for, to tilt it, topple him backwards or sideways. Viggo's not pushing the envelope quite that far. Yet. Sean stays silent rather than blasting out with expletives, contemplates just how far he wants to push his lover. "Fuck off, LT," Sean spits out. And as Vig leans closer, he whips his head around, connecting with Vig's jaw. The headache is instant, albeit not intense. "That giving enough of a shit for you?"

Viggo flinches a little too late to avoid the contact. He knows it'll hurt Sean more than it hurt him, but that doesn't help the pain any. "No." Viggo says mildly and then kicks the chair over onto its side. "That was stupid, 17. You never antagonize the one who could easily kill you." Viggo takes a step forward and positions himself so the chair, and Sean, are between his legs. "Remember your training, you idiot. You got caught. What's your number one goal after that?"

Now that hurt. "Bloody hell," Sean mutters. He knew it was coming, but he wasn't quite ready for the intensity of the pain ricocheting through his body as that damned shoulder takes a good bit of the fall's force. "Escape," he blurts out. The cuffs tighten as his wrists slam against the chair back. "Or not getting myself killed," he adds under his breath.

Until he safewords, Viggo reminds himself sternly. This isn't real. Sean can stop this any time he chooses. "'Escape'," Viggo repeats. "Yes. But what first?"

Sean searches his brain for the answer Viggo wants. He isn't fucking SAS, he reminds himself, so what does he know. He starts rambling out what he thinks training would've given him, low mutters, audible but almost to himself. "Assess situation. Determine liability. Routes of escape. Maintain focus." The weight of his body and the chair are pressing on his shoulder, along the upper arm muscles pinned under the wood. "Everyone gives in on the third day." He laughs as the last thought comes to him, a line from Sharpe.

And that sets off a chain reaction, brain processing time and place, body recalling what others' hands subjected him to, soul reclaiming the exact moment he knew he was addicted to the pleasure-laden pain. The moan is buried in a sigh as all the memories race through his bloodstream, straight to his restrained, the fact of which suddenly aggravates him considerably, cock.

Viggo didn't expect such a heated reaction to his words, but ignores the surprise. "Misinformation," he says slowly, stressing every syllable. "So, 17, I ask again. Who is your commanding officer?"

Mis-in-for-ma-tion. Sean silently mouths the words and mentally slaps himself. "Sharpe," he says resolutely. "No, wait. He got promoted. Must be Harper." Okay, have some fun with it. "You did mean immediate superior?"

"Yes," Viggo says, word clipped and angry. "Who is your commanding officer? It's not a difficult question, prisoner. It's not going to harm your chain of command."

Sean smiles, winces, settles on a half-smirk. The exchange would be more fun if his shoulder weren't hurting so damned much. And his cock wasn't so damned hard. But he's not nearly in enough pain to want to safeword out of the situation. In fact, he's guessing it's only going to get more interesting.

"Well, that's a problem. Can't recall his name. I remember the face. Handsome bugger at that." He swallows back whatever's tempting to come out of his throat. Laugh. Moan. Whimper. He's not sure. But he's damned if it's getting a voice.

Viggo's not sure if he should be pleased or pissed. As Sean's commanding officer, at least in this scenario, that would paint him handsome. But, of course, Sean's supposed to be lying. Viggo settles for grabbing the front of Sean's shirt in one hand and the back of the chair in the other and lifting it back up. "So what do you call him? 'Sir'? Hardly believe that. You don't strike me as the sort to actually be polite."

"Fuck." Sean reacts to the sudden change in position. He was just getting used to being on the floor. His head spins from the blood rush. "Oh, I call him Sir. To his face," he says, shaking his head clear of the pressure change. "He'd prefer master, but he's not getting it." Pain tolerable. Viggo's jerking him up may've actually solved that left shoulder problem. Still the major hard-on to zone out of his brain. "Now, behind his back ..."

"Well?" Viggo prompts. "What do you call your superior behind his back?" He's actually somewhat curious. In a roundabout way, Sean's talking about him.

Sean turns his head up, stares at Viggo, enunciates each word carefully. "Arrogant. Demanding. Right proper bastard he is." He slicks his tongue over his lips. "Course, he'd take that as a bloody compliment."

Oh. Well, then. Viggo lets out a breath. Nothing he hadn't heard before in screams and curses when he's had Sean tied and at his mercy. Not a compliment, but it doesn't kill the mood. "Those aren't names, you fool. Stop talking around it and tell me what the fuck is the name of your superior!"

Sean takes in a deep breath, lets it out, trying to redistribute the tension building in his shoulders and across his pecs, wondering exactly how long one has to sit still before legs go numb, knowing that he's not anywhere near that far gone. He expected his response to agitate Viggo more than it did. "You want a name? Sure." Sean pauses. "Mortensen. Like it?" Sean's not sure if that's the way to go, but it's a different tactic.

"It'll do." Viggo allows, and then slaps Sean across the face. "Trainie, just who told you to tell the truth?"

The sting of Viggo's hand is exquisite, perfect pain. "Who says I told you the truth?" Sean laughs. "You asked for a name. I gave you one."

"Because you were too casual about it, 17. Like you were trying to make me believe it was a lie. Dammit, trainie, if you can't lie convincingly this far into your life...!" Viggo leaves the sentence unfinished and pulls Sean's hair back so that Sean's looking him straight in the eyes. "Now. Interrogation continues, and you better make me believe your lies. If you haven't realized by now how invaluable this practice is, 17, then I despair of you ever passing."

"Yes. Sir." Sean grates out the words, his throat stretched out by the position Viggo has him in. Gazing into Viggo's eyes, he sees just how far into the roleplay his lover is sinking. Oh, this was too good to wait till his birthday.

"Good." Viggo tightens his grip. "So. Where are you Headquarters?"

"Hereford. Unit's deployed out of Culdrose." The half-truth trips off Sean's tongue, a mangling of SAS with Royal Navy realities into a new, non-existent unit, a lie that should please his trainer.

"Wrong. You gave me that too easily. Even a blind man could see that you haven't been broken or hurt enough to stop struggling, so it's an obvious lie. How do you expect to survive in the field if you can't convince them that you know enough to be worth keeping alive?"

"Fuck it, LT." Sean pulls his head forward, forcing Viggo to either let go or grip harder. Much easier to work off a script, he thinks, than try to play it for real, but he goes on instinct and gut feelings. "I stall and that's not enough. I supply a quick answer and that's not enough either. Goddamned, I'm doing this right. You said misinformation. My captor wouldn't know Hereford from Culdrose from bloody friggin Sheffield. What the hell do you want from me?" He gasps for a breath after the long rambling.

Viggo drops Sean's head and looks down at in him disgust. "Oh, no. You're not doing it right until I tell you you're doing it right! Yes, you stalled, but your final answer was too pat. And just because your captors are idiots, don't think they're too stupid to use a map. C'mon, 17, think for a goddamned moment. Then we'll try this again. We'll do this until you get it right, and then we'll do it again. And if they have to scrape you off the floor by that time, well, it's no skin off my back. Clear?"

Sean doesn't say anything for the longest time. Doesn't feel it requires a response. Even bites back the smile creeping up at the thought of being scraped off the floor. Drops his head, lets his neck roll, stretch out the creases. Assesses the situation. Being smart-assed hasn't done it. It's pushing some of Viggo's buttons, but not quite all of them. "Clear, LT," he says finally. "Pure as crystal."

"Good." Viggo puts a knee into Sean's stomach, being very careful to avoid the vital bits. "Now. Name, rank, serial number."

The pressure isn't too bad. Sean's tempted to tell Vig to move his knee just a little lower and rub a bit, but he's sure that wouldn't be received well. Might as well make myself an officer. "Bean, Sean. Sub-Lieutenant. RN81493." Snapped out in precise POW-training monotone.

"Very well." Viggo's quite enjoying watching Sean's reactions. They're very...entertaining. Viggo's sure that it says something very perverted about him that he's more turned on by this than anything he and Sean've done in, oh, the past week. "So, Mr. Bean, just where were you born?"

"Hospital." Information not required by the rules of war, Sean remembers from somewhere in the recesses of his brain. And since misinformation didn't work so well, he's opting for no information. Or as close as he can get to it. He shrugs his shoulders, twisting wrists in the cuffs, which haven't started biting too badly into his flesh, though Sean can feel the start of a nice ligature left from the fall to the floor.

Viggo's having none of it. "Which hospital?"

"One closest to me mum's, I reckon."

Viggo lets it go. "You have a father, Mr. Bean?"

"Must have." Sean's enjoying it way too much, playing the snarky POW, knowing just how much he's infuriating Viggo. He wonders why they haven't tried this before. "Kinda takes one of each."

"Ever heard of test tube, slu-," Viggo stops himself, then grins. "Mr. Bean, if you can't keep a respectful tongue in your head, I'm going to have to fill it with something else."

"Respectful," Sean repeats. "Would that be like 'fuck you, sir?" At some point, Sean realizes very well, he's going to reap the whirlwind otherwise known as Viggo's patience limit. And he's so looking forward to it. So much so it hurts. Mostly along the nerve endings in his leg, which are echoing from the blood trying its damnedest to pulse through his cock.

"It might. Your fate is in your hands, 17. What do you think? Or do you think? Pretty blonde like you, I know it's a strain."

"I think you're more interested in fucking me than other way 'round, sir. And that the outcome of this training has less to do with how I respond than with how I perform." Sean pauses, cocks his head. "But I could be wrong. Sir."

That hurt. "You're very wrong," Viggo says coldly. "Especially if you think I'll violate my professional integrity just to get laid. I understand that you probably won't pass unless you do offer your ass to everyone who matters, but I don't need a whore. And I don't fuck my subordinates. Ever."

The hurt cuts back just as quickly. "I haven't offered my ass to anybody, despite what you might think happened, and I'm not about to offer up to you without a damned good fight first." Sean licks too-dry lips. "And fucking ain't just physical, is it?" Maybe that was over the line. Maybe not. Sean's vision of where the line is drawn tonight is growing blurrier by the minute.

"Don't delude yourself. Fucking is nothing but physical. Fucking is pain. It's a way of asserting dominance. All animals do it. Why should we think humans are above that? But you're a marine, goddammit, albeit not a very good one.

"So shut up, buck up, and let me get on with my job."

so shut up Sean does that, closes his mouth against the words that wanted to come out, the retaliation, the argument against Viggo's lie. fucking is nothing but physical Sean turns himself inward. Thinks. Analyzes. Hell, fucking is everything but physical some days. It's a mind game. He knows. He has played it himself. Both sides. But no one, not any of the lovers who have broken and molded him over the years, plays it as well as Viggo. it's a way of asserting dominance Sean rationalizes ... no, he understands ... that's why he's where he is, bound to a chair, cock pounding with heat and desire, raging against restraint, unwilling and unwanting to stop the downward spiral. It's the reason for the whole game, the lesson he'd learned years ago in Daragh's hands. Dominance belongs to the submissive who refuses to safeword until the final line has been crossed.

Viggo nods as Sean says nothing. Good, so he can take a hint. But Viggo isn't done. "What did you think it would be? 'Don't worry, it's only kinky the first time' and then being ordered to do it or I'll confiscate your dog tags?" Viggo laughs bitterly. "You stupid stupid fool."

"No." One syllable uttered almost inaudibly. A single word with too much meaning. No, Sean doesn't think that's the way it is, either in or out of character. No, he's not stupid. Too stubborn for his own good sometimes. But never stupid. He rolls his head backward, feigns boredom. Pushes his shoulders up, arches back, forces the cuffs to shift down a notch, weigh almost too heavily against his hands.

"Good. So you're not as far gone as I had thought." Viggo watches as Sean settles himself more into the chair, counts several heartbeats, and then kicks the bottom of the chair again, this time only slightly harder. Just enough to shake Sean up.

The vibration rattles through Sean's hips, careens up his spine and shakes his neck loose. He lurches forward, movement that only serves to strain his deltoids, jar that already aching left shoulder and rub his forearms against the chair back. He grimaces, grits his teeth against the instinctive cry of sudden pain and steels himself into what can only be seen as a glare. No, he's not that far gone, he thinks. Not by a long shot.

Oh, that's a nice reaction. Viggo can't help but reach out to pet Sean's head and stroke his hair. "Shall we continue?"

"Don't see what choice I have." For an instant, Sean hurts with the desire to push his head into Viggo's touch. He fights the urge, refusing to give into the emotion. "Not as if I'm going anywhere."

"If this were an actual interrogation, 17, this is where they would begin working towards Stockholm Syndrome. By the end of the first week, you would be eating out of their hands and loving every minute of it. Everybody breaks. Your objective is merely to break too late for their uses. Consider it your only goal in life until you get out of here."

Sean lets out a long breath. "Don't worry, LT. I plan on making you work for it."

"A true artist wouldn't even need to break a sweat. It's fairly easy, once you know the basics. You merely find the one thing the subject fears over all else.

What do you fear, Mr. Bean?"

"Very little." The truth. Other than the hatred of flying, Sean had outgrown most of his fears. Most of the ones he had now centered on his girls, but he and Viggo had agreed at the beginning the kids were off-limits when it came to their games. He'd even shed the fear that'd plagued him early on in their relationship, that Viggo wouldn't stay.

"Spiders? Heights? Blindness? Enclosed spaces? Come now, Bean. Surely there's something."

"No," he says quickly, cataloguing and ignoring spiders, heights and closed spaces. Sean laughs, recalling Brosnan's intense claustrophobia and how much he'd tortured him with it. Blindness? He didn't like being blindfolded. Had truly forced himself into the right headspace when it was required for Bravo. But not liking something didn't really qualify as a fear. Did it? He was thinking, tongue perched lightly against upper lip. A trained soldier wouldn't let on to his fear, even if he had one. "Can't say any of those really bother me."

"Castration, then? Bones breaking, mouth bleeding, teeth on the floor in front of you? Or does that turn you on?"

Sean shifts, just shy of a full squirm, at the first word. Maybe a fear. Definitely a dislike. Bones breaking don't bother him. Nor bleeding. He knows Vig well enough to know the teeth threat is empty, because he wouldn't do that much damage to his face. "Hmm. Tough options. Does making me bleed turn you on?"

"No," Viggo replies easily and moves his hand to cover Sean's balls. He squeezes them lightly. "But it seems it does something for you."

Whimper. Tiny moan escapes throat. Sean immediately sits up straighter, not altogether sure if he's pressing into Vig's hand or pulling back from it. That definitely does something for me.

Wonderful sound. Viggo gives Sean's balls another squeeze and then pats the electrical tape covering Sean's cock. "You like this, don't you? Turns you on? You'll be easier to Stockholm than I ever imagined."

Body's natural reaction, Sean lies to himself in-character. In reality, he wonders how he's lasting this long, why he's not screaming for Viggo to just fuck him into the floor. "Not as much as you'd like to think," he manages to get out, nearly choking on the words as Viggo's familiar touch burns through tape and gauze.

"Oh?" He keeps his hand flat on Sean's thigh, palm covering Sean's cock. "I think you're lying."

"And I think you're hard up for a fuck, LT." Sean fights the damned obvious arousal, lets the smirk curl up the corner of his mouth, wonders just how long Viggo will let him get away with a level of snarkiness he'd been slapped down for numerous times before. "Training exercise or not, you ain't exactly my type."

Viggo stands and places a well-aimed kick at the side of Sean's left thigh. "I told you already. I don't go for that shit. If you're having trouble remembering that, I seriously doubt your that mental aptitude is enough that I can in good conscience recommend they keep you in the Royal Navy, let alone joint NATO operations. So stop playing the fool, or I'll go for something you'll be feeling for a long time."

"Do it already," Sean lashes out. The kick hurt, but not so badly as to stop playing. "So far, I'm not impressed with my captor. All he's done is bore me." Sean closes his eyes, breathes, reopens them. Stares directly at Viggo. "Go ahead, Mortensen, do what you want. I'm not breaking." He pauses. "And I'm not safewording out of it," he adds in a lower, softer voice.

Viggo bites his lip at the last. "If I can't trust you to safeword when it gets too much, then we're stopping now."

"Vig, we've had this talk before." Sean shakes his head. "I'll stop you before you hurt me too badly. We both know how high my threshold for this. We agreed on the limits before we ever started playing our games. I want you to hurt me just as much as you want to do it. So, give me a kiss, get back in character and let's see if you can make this trainee want to do anything to please his captor."

Viggo nods. It's not that he was doubting Sean, but the reassurance is still nice. Viggo leans over and kisses Sean as thoroughly as he can.

"I know you hate safewording, and I know why. But I don't want you to let that be a deterrent. If I find out later that you would have but you didn't for any reason, we're not going to do anything more and until you change your safeword. All right?"

That's more like it. There's a small part of Sean that wishes his hands were free, so he could clutch at Viggo, hold him in the kiss till they both gasped for air. But it's overridden by the pleasure core that wants his lover to attend to the less refined points of their game.

His breath catches as Viggo talks. His safeword and its history and why he's never changed it ... they aren't subject they talk about easily. "Yes, sir," he whispers. "Agreed."

"Good boy." Viggo backs up, turns around, and takes a deep breath to get himself back in role. He calms himself down forcefully and immerses himself in the character he's created for himself.

Then he turns back towards Sean and pulls all the bastards he's ever played into this one Bastard. He looks Sean up and down like he's not impressed at all, hooks his foot under the chair, and topples it backwards without any warning.



Part two may be found here.

 
 
 

Comments

[jenmstar.livejournal.com]

Oh damn, I have to leave for a meeting. Will spend the whole time wanting to read part two.

"It might. Your fate is in your hands, 17. What do you think? Or do you think? Pretty blonde like you, I know it's a strain."
HeHeHe.... Love that. It's always great when it's about guys instead of girls. *giggles*

[lannamichaels]

*g* Definitly. Wonderful to stick the dumb blonde tag on a guy this time. (even if they weren't being entirely serious)

Thanks for reading!