NEW SERIES START
May. 24th, 2004 10:05 pm![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
sadness1986.livejournal.com posting in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png){kind=small}
rugbytackleTITLE: LIKE A CHILD Part1
SERIES: Like a child
AUTHOR: Sadness1986
PAIRING: SB/VM
RATING: NC-17
WARNING: angst, masturbation
DISCLAIMER: It's fiction.
SUMMARY: Viggo knows everything about pain, knows his heart isn't save under son's pillow. It's free and untamed, now a feisty lump of dull ache in his chest, that weighs him down.
NOTES: I started to write this series last year, but I couldn't get the beginning right. That's my last try. *sighs*
Did I mention, that I'm an angsty girl? *grins evilly*
TITLE: LIKE A CHILD Part1
SERIES: Like a child
AUTHOR: Sadness1986
PAIRING: SB/VM
RATING: NC-17
WARNING: angst, masturbation
DISCLAIMER: It's fiction.
SUMMARY: Viggo knows everything about pain, knows his heart isn't save under son's pillow. It's free and untamed, now a feisty lump of dull ache in his chest, that weighs him down.
NOTES: I started to write this series last year, but I couldn't get the beginning right. That's my last try. *sighs*
Did I mention, that I'm an angsty girl? *grins evilly*
Viggo looks at his hands, looks at the calluses and the cuts, blood seeping slowly in angry red lines from his torn knuckles over his fingers before they drip slowly onto the carpet.
He knows everything about pain, knows his heart isn't save under son's pillow. It's free and untamed, now a feisty lump of dull ache in his chest, that weighs him down.
He is so tired, all strength left him like a marionette with all strings cut.
Just sleeps in his little time off. Just wants to sleep into oblivion, but he still can't run away, can't run away from himself.
He stares at himself in the mirror, such a perfect image of him.
Art made with rage, anger and hatred. His naked mirror-self stares back, broken into thousand shards, cut parts of him that don't bleed.
And then behind the grey of his eyes, he sees something else breaking, that leaves him trembling.
He stumbles backwards until he hits the bed with the back of his knees and doesn't even recognise glass crunching under his bare feet.
His sleep is always like falling. Like closing his eyes and let himself fall backwards from a steep shore into the roaring black mass of nightly sea and when he awakes, he has finally sunken to the ground and tons of water press down on him, and he doesn't dare to breathe.
He dreams about they sea, always, always about green-bluish depths swallowing him until he chokes, until he breaks.
This time he is a bird. A tiny one. Fluffy. More feathers than flesh and bone, so light, so fragile, that the storm carries him away, swallows his thin little voice.
But gentle big hands catch him, hold him softly, barely touching.
And he feels save and warm and he breathes freely the clean sea-air.
Then another set of hands covers those gentle ones and they press down until the palms clamp down on him like walls of velvet steel.
He can't even scream.
Viggo darts up from a troubled sleep with a voiceless scream. He can't make even the tiniest sound, they are stuck in his throat and he feels like choking since a month.
The others didn't even recognise, that he didn't speak a word since April. But Aragorn talks, talks all the time in his head, talks and talks about Boromir and says his text and smiles and jokes, leaving Viggo behind, mute and defeated.
But Viggo screams colours and shapes at canvases and photo-paper, screams until he collapses, trying to clutch the agony in his chest, trying to scream it away.
But he can't.
There are deep wounds, that can't heal because everyday they are torn open again, when he sees how Sean smiles, smiles at Orlando and doesn't see him anymore. Then he wants to scream, to leave pride behind him and to fall down on his knees, to beg for attention, for a gentle word, for a touch.
But he can't. Aragorn refuses to kneel.
Alone in his house again the walls are closing like the hands of his dream. He curls up even tighter on his side and squeezes his eyes shut.
But in the dark behind his eyelids night is loud, its sounds echo through his emptiness until he gets mad and his eyes snap open again. His body is oversensitive. It's love-starved, longing for tenderness.
His own shaky hands ghost shyly over pale bronze skin, over his chest, fingertips almost accidentally brushing a nipple, then further downwards, dipping into his navel, resting there, hesitating.
He closes his eyes again. Darkness darkening, leaving space for imagination.
Smooth golden skin, muscles rippling like liquid steel, hot and hard under velvet, creating shadows and highlights. Strong hands exploring the shapes of Viggo's body. Lovingly, considerately, respectful to his desires, to his need for comfort, to be worshipped and tended.
Blindly, he reaches over to the night-stand and grabs the bottle of lube, he placed there deliberately. Slicking his fingers he trembles nervously, shame burning behind his eyelids with unshed tears.
Almost shyly he strokes himself, then further between his legs, forefinger pressing against the tight entrance to his body, slowly pushing in.
He whimpers, squirms. I t feels strange, wrong to be penetrated in such a way
But he craves it, needs it to not to feel empty anymore.
Shame and guilt will haunt him for days, but now he doesn't care, slides his finger in, deeply, all the way, pauses, shivers all over. Dropping all defences, baring himself, he spreads his legs wider before pushing a second finger in.
He feels the tightness, vise like and hot and clenching around the invasion.
Virgin besides his own touch.
He'd never been with a man, just in his fantasies in dark nights and loneliness.
Curling his fingers, he brushes his prostate, bucks up, hips moving on their own, finally his mind is clear from every thought, there's just pleasure, pure rapture and the sweet ache of his painfully hard, leaking cock.
Moaning softly, he reaches for it to relieve the tension, working on matching strokes.
Then he can see it, the face of his beloved smiling softly down on him and Viggo weeps and its enough to send him over the edge.
He comes hard enough, that he blacks out.
When he awakes again, he rolls on his side, arms and knees together, pretending to be hold.
SERIES: Like a child
AUTHOR: Sadness1986
PAIRING: SB/VM
RATING: NC-17
WARNING: angst, masturbation
DISCLAIMER: It's fiction.
SUMMARY: Viggo knows everything about pain, knows his heart isn't save under son's pillow. It's free and untamed, now a feisty lump of dull ache in his chest, that weighs him down.
NOTES: I started to write this series last year, but I couldn't get the beginning right. That's my last try. *sighs*
Did I mention, that I'm an angsty girl? *grins evilly*
TITLE: LIKE A CHILD Part1
SERIES: Like a child
AUTHOR: Sadness1986
PAIRING: SB/VM
RATING: NC-17
WARNING: angst, masturbation
DISCLAIMER: It's fiction.
SUMMARY: Viggo knows everything about pain, knows his heart isn't save under son's pillow. It's free and untamed, now a feisty lump of dull ache in his chest, that weighs him down.
NOTES: I started to write this series last year, but I couldn't get the beginning right. That's my last try. *sighs*
Did I mention, that I'm an angsty girl? *grins evilly*
Viggo looks at his hands, looks at the calluses and the cuts, blood seeping slowly in angry red lines from his torn knuckles over his fingers before they drip slowly onto the carpet.
He knows everything about pain, knows his heart isn't save under son's pillow. It's free and untamed, now a feisty lump of dull ache in his chest, that weighs him down.
He is so tired, all strength left him like a marionette with all strings cut.
Just sleeps in his little time off. Just wants to sleep into oblivion, but he still can't run away, can't run away from himself.
He stares at himself in the mirror, such a perfect image of him.
Art made with rage, anger and hatred. His naked mirror-self stares back, broken into thousand shards, cut parts of him that don't bleed.
And then behind the grey of his eyes, he sees something else breaking, that leaves him trembling.
He stumbles backwards until he hits the bed with the back of his knees and doesn't even recognise glass crunching under his bare feet.
His sleep is always like falling. Like closing his eyes and let himself fall backwards from a steep shore into the roaring black mass of nightly sea and when he awakes, he has finally sunken to the ground and tons of water press down on him, and he doesn't dare to breathe.
He dreams about they sea, always, always about green-bluish depths swallowing him until he chokes, until he breaks.
This time he is a bird. A tiny one. Fluffy. More feathers than flesh and bone, so light, so fragile, that the storm carries him away, swallows his thin little voice.
But gentle big hands catch him, hold him softly, barely touching.
And he feels save and warm and he breathes freely the clean sea-air.
Then another set of hands covers those gentle ones and they press down until the palms clamp down on him like walls of velvet steel.
He can't even scream.
Viggo darts up from a troubled sleep with a voiceless scream. He can't make even the tiniest sound, they are stuck in his throat and he feels like choking since a month.
The others didn't even recognise, that he didn't speak a word since April. But Aragorn talks, talks all the time in his head, talks and talks about Boromir and says his text and smiles and jokes, leaving Viggo behind, mute and defeated.
But Viggo screams colours and shapes at canvases and photo-paper, screams until he collapses, trying to clutch the agony in his chest, trying to scream it away.
But he can't.
There are deep wounds, that can't heal because everyday they are torn open again, when he sees how Sean smiles, smiles at Orlando and doesn't see him anymore. Then he wants to scream, to leave pride behind him and to fall down on his knees, to beg for attention, for a gentle word, for a touch.
But he can't. Aragorn refuses to kneel.
Alone in his house again the walls are closing like the hands of his dream. He curls up even tighter on his side and squeezes his eyes shut.
But in the dark behind his eyelids night is loud, its sounds echo through his emptiness until he gets mad and his eyes snap open again. His body is oversensitive. It's love-starved, longing for tenderness.
His own shaky hands ghost shyly over pale bronze skin, over his chest, fingertips almost accidentally brushing a nipple, then further downwards, dipping into his navel, resting there, hesitating.
He closes his eyes again. Darkness darkening, leaving space for imagination.
Smooth golden skin, muscles rippling like liquid steel, hot and hard under velvet, creating shadows and highlights. Strong hands exploring the shapes of Viggo's body. Lovingly, considerately, respectful to his desires, to his need for comfort, to be worshipped and tended.
Blindly, he reaches over to the night-stand and grabs the bottle of lube, he placed there deliberately. Slicking his fingers he trembles nervously, shame burning behind his eyelids with unshed tears.
Almost shyly he strokes himself, then further between his legs, forefinger pressing against the tight entrance to his body, slowly pushing in.
He whimpers, squirms. I t feels strange, wrong to be penetrated in such a way
But he craves it, needs it to not to feel empty anymore.
Shame and guilt will haunt him for days, but now he doesn't care, slides his finger in, deeply, all the way, pauses, shivers all over. Dropping all defences, baring himself, he spreads his legs wider before pushing a second finger in.
He feels the tightness, vise like and hot and clenching around the invasion.
Virgin besides his own touch.
He'd never been with a man, just in his fantasies in dark nights and loneliness.
Curling his fingers, he brushes his prostate, bucks up, hips moving on their own, finally his mind is clear from every thought, there's just pleasure, pure rapture and the sweet ache of his painfully hard, leaking cock.
Moaning softly, he reaches for it to relieve the tension, working on matching strokes.
Then he can see it, the face of his beloved smiling softly down on him and Viggo weeps and its enough to send him over the edge.
He comes hard enough, that he blacks out.
When he awakes again, he rolls on his side, arms and knees together, pretending to be hold.
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no subject
Date: 2004-05-24 01:24 pm (UTC)Almost forgot I usually am not a big Vig fan ( will read anything Bean though :) ) so caught up I got in the dripping angst, yup angst obsessed here too.
More soo please ?
*smiles*
Date: 2004-05-24 01:37 pm (UTC)Thank you. I wish I couldn't. Because that's what I'm feeling inside.
#Almost forgot I usually am not a big Vig fan ( will read anything Bean though :) ) #
you are not? Well. I was first viggobsessed. Then I saw them together. And I was in love.
#so caught up I got in the dripping angst, yup angst obsessed here too.#
Yeah. Angst. The Rum in my personal Cuba Libre.
#More soo please ? #
Patience, please. I have a problem with the next part. Third part is finished...
Re: *smiles*
Date: 2004-05-24 01:39 pm (UTC)just expecting Bean to pop in *bites nails*
no subject
Date: 2004-05-24 01:34 pm (UTC)Poor Vig...
*grins evilly*
Date: 2004-05-24 01:40 pm (UTC)Thank you, dear.
#Poor Vig...#
Oh yeah. and it will get even worse in the next parts. *teases*
no subject
Date: 2004-05-24 02:11 pm (UTC)Noooo!
Date: 2004-05-26 01:37 pm (UTC):)
Date: 2004-05-24 02:46 pm (UTC)Re: :)
Date: 2004-05-26 01:38 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2004-05-25 01:49 am (UTC)*squee*
Date: 2004-05-26 01:42 pm (UTC)Okay. Okay. Next part. But it's a short one. Still have Problems with plot holes. and a lack of stamina and a lack of self-discipline... *blushes*
Re: *squee*
Date: 2004-05-26 04:57 pm (UTC)Lack of stamina and self-discipline - I understand that well!!! When I was writing "Frankie", I left it unfinished for ages and even wrote chapt one of "Seeing Sean" inbetween! {{hugs}}