Arena: Chapter 22: Homecoming, Final
Title/Chapter: Homecoming, Final
Author: muck-a-luck, posting in brainofck
Pairing: SB/VM (other pairings in later chapters)
Rating: NC-17
Summary: Viggo is somewhere else, where everyone and no one is the same
Content/warnings: AU. Violence.
Spoilers: None.
Disclaimer: Slash is fiction. So while we may all be demented, slash is basically the author's own porno script, populated by the individuals she feels would be ideal to fill the various roles if she ruled the universe if she were ever fortunate enough have the opportunity to bring her vision to the screen. *snortle*
Archive rights: www.rugbytackling.com, Green Opals, if they're interested, and my journals muck_a_luck and brainofck
Further Disclaimer: Any resemblance to Ancient Rome mostly incidental. I have never seen any gladiator flick. Ever. Honest. Not even Gladiator, which I have been informed did not steal FOTR's Oscar, as it won the Oscar the year prior. I still blame Russell Crowe, though. *glares*
Blame: uisgich, for encouraging me
NOTE: You will note a major continuity error in this chapter. For an explanation about my new continuity error policy, please go here. Thank you! :)
The Arena Homepage
Chapter 21: Homecoming, Part IV
Sean's heart pounded as Viggo stood before him. His. Safe. His...
Nothing in his life had ever quite felt like this.
Viggo was his. Belonged to him. To do with as he would. To keep. To protect. To love. To use.
Viggo still wore the collar of all Sennet's fighting slaves.
A narrow leather collar, carved intricately. The designs were meant to be painted gold, but the paint wore off over time.
Sean remembered the torture and anticipation of Viggo reapplying the gold paint to the designs on the night before a fight. Remembered the odd mixture of pride and possession and guilt he would feel when he painted Viggo's.
The rattle of the bar across the door woke Sean from his light nap. He untangled himself from Viggo and the coverlet and cursed under his breath. The man had only just fallen asleep. Now what?
The Weapons Master stood at the door. When Sean saw what the old man held out to him, he just shook his head. Of course, Viggo would wear the collar, but Sean didn't want any part of it.
"Sennet has to do that," Sean protested, vehemently, but in a near whisper, despite the fact that Viggo had stirred and was no doubt awake already.
The Master kept his voice low, unusually deferential to Sean's example. He was very interested in training Viggo, Sean knew, and Sean suspected he was worried about Viggo's ultimate reaction to the branding and collaring.
"He'll take it more easily if you do it."
Viggo's voice close behind him startled him. Viggo had slipped out of bed and quietly crossed the small distance to the door. Now he reached around Sean and took the collar into his own hands.
The Master and Sean watched Viggo examine the thing carefully. Viggo noted the gold fittings, particularly the clasp, which wasn't a tie or a buckle, but a cleverly crafted rivet, that once set in place wouldn't open again. The collar was meant to be worn constantly. No reason for a complicated way to take it on and off. Viggo raised his eyes to meet Sean's. Then, with a few quietly spoken words, he handed the collar to Sean, turned, and knelt in the middle of the floor between the fireplace and the sleeping platform.
Sean stepped forward and drew the collar snugly around Viggo's throat.
Viggo sat straight-backed on the high stool.
Sean behind him with the fine horsehair brush in one hand, the tiny pot of gilt in the other.
Expensive gold paint was for the crowd in the tiers, not everyday wear in the barracks. So now, the day before his first trip to the arena as Sennet's slave, it was time to paint Viggo's collar.
Trust Viggo to make it as difficult as possible.
Viggo wore his hair long. Longer than any of the other men in the barracks, anyway. Much too long, in Sean's opinion, just brushing his shoulders. Sean couldn't understand how he could stand to fight that way, with it always in his eyes, on his neck. Now that they were talking and Sean could ask him about it, Viggo just muttered something about someone named Aragorn and refused to discuss possibly cutting it.
In any case, at the moment it was plenty long enough to get in Sean's way.
Sean sighed in irritation and put the brush and paint down again on the top of the carved chest. It had been hard enough to get Viggo to sit still for this. The anger was visible in every line of his still back and shoulders, the tension in his long arms, the occasional flex of the muscles in his thigh. Sean shook his head.
He crawled over the bed to the windowsill. Viggo had left a string of leather there. One of the ones he used to hold the hair out of his face as he practiced. Now Sean trailed it through his fingers and stood behind Viggo again.
To his amazement, Viggo hadn't moved. Just sat still and quietly, waiting. The anger was pouring off him. He was nearly vibrating with it. But apparently he had decided that there was no point in resisting this.
Sean laid the strand of leather over Viggo's shoulder, and reached out tentatively to touch Viggo's hair. Sean began to gather the silky strands carefully, running his fingers over Viggo's forehead and temples, collecting the loose hair methodically, holding the strands carefully tucked in his left palm as he ran the fingers of his right hand around the edge of Viggo's ear, down his neck, pulling the strands together to tie at the top of his head. Then again on the left. But Viggo's hair wasn't really long enough to do this, and Sean really didn't know what he was doing, so when he had it all drawn together and ready to tie, he couldn't figure out how to get the strand of leather around and knotted without losing his grip on the whole process.
The silken strands slipped loose, and suddenly Sean was back at the beginning. He cursed under his breath and started over. Running fingers over forehead, temple, ear, neck, raking them through the strands, careful to be gentle, so as not to pull. Sean's pulse rate was climbing. The whole thing was far too intimate, his fingers caressing and stroking… When it all came falling down a second time, he kicked his heel back against the carved trunk in frustration and dropped the leather strand into Viggo's lap.
"Here, you do it," he snarled. It didn't help his mood when he heard Viggo laugh under his breath.
Zara freed the men one by one as they were brought to her from the platform. First she unbound their arms. Then she slipped her small, sharp belt knife under the collars and cut them. Finally, she offered each man his own sword. She and Sean had bought those earlier in the day and were ready. A smith, of course, would be needed to finish the job - to apply the brand that would mark them as freed. But it was a simple as that really.
"You can't free a free man," Viggo stated quietly, as Sean reached out and caught a finger under his collar.
"But you aren't a free man anymore," Sean replied, his hand trembling as he reached to his belt for his knife. "I said the binding words over you. You were free until I said them, but the words and the brand made you a slave."
Viggo caught his wrist and gave him that crazed, toothy grin. Suddenly Sean couldn't breathe.
"I've been your slave for a long time, then, and you've hardly gotten any benefit from it," Viggo replied.
His eyes were bright with mischief and anticipation.
Then the glimpse of Viggo's motives was hidden as he dropped his eyes, properly subservient for a slave.
"You should get at least a day's work for all your investment."
Sean swallowed hard on the strange and unexpected feeling of power and lust that swept over him at Viggo's very correct bow and lowered eyes.
"If my master wills it, I am ready to escort him home," Viggo murmured. A bit forward for a slave, but then, this slave was accustomed to a high ranking and important place of leadership in his former household. A valuable warrior and manager.
"Viggo," his whispered hoarsely. "I'm not sure I should play this game."
"If it's only a game," Viggo returned just as quietly, "Then what harm can it do?"
"Viggo," he pleaded. And found that he was unexpectedly crying. "I can't do this." And suddenly he was wrapped in Viggo's arms. That familiar voice in his ear, hushing him, a soft palm smoothing over his hair.
"I'm sorry. Shhhhh. It's alright. Sean, I'm sorry. Stop. Please. I shouldn't have. I should have thought. Here..."
Viggo pulled away a little and reached down between them to draw the knife from Sean's belt. He pressed the hilt into Sean's hand, and tilted his head to the side.
Sean reached forward to brush Viggo's hair back from his cheek, tucking it behind his ear. Then, concentrating on steadying his hand, he slipped the finely sharpened edge between flesh and leather and cut the bond away. As the scrap of leather fell to the ground between them, Viggo lifted his eyes and something about his gaze made Sean's heart stutter.
"Let's find the smith," Viggo said quietly.
WIP. Something to read while you wait?
Author: muck-a-luck, posting in brainofck
Pairing: SB/VM (other pairings in later chapters)
Rating: NC-17
Summary: Viggo is somewhere else, where everyone and no one is the same
Content/warnings: AU. Violence.
Spoilers: None.
Disclaimer: Slash is fiction. So while we may all be demented, slash is basically the author's own porno script, populated by the individuals she feels would be ideal to fill the various roles if she ruled the universe if she were ever fortunate enough have the opportunity to bring her vision to the screen. *snortle*
Archive rights: www.rugbytackling.com, Green Opals, if they're interested, and my journals muck_a_luck and brainofck
Further Disclaimer: Any resemblance to Ancient Rome mostly incidental. I have never seen any gladiator flick. Ever. Honest. Not even Gladiator, which I have been informed did not steal FOTR's Oscar, as it won the Oscar the year prior. I still blame Russell Crowe, though. *glares*
Blame: uisgich, for encouraging me
NOTE: You will note a major continuity error in this chapter. For an explanation about my new continuity error policy, please go here. Thank you! :)
The Arena Homepage
Chapter 21: Homecoming, Part IV
Sean's heart pounded as Viggo stood before him. His. Safe. His...
Nothing in his life had ever quite felt like this.
Viggo was his. Belonged to him. To do with as he would. To keep. To protect. To love. To use.
Viggo still wore the collar of all Sennet's fighting slaves.
A narrow leather collar, carved intricately. The designs were meant to be painted gold, but the paint wore off over time.
Sean remembered the torture and anticipation of Viggo reapplying the gold paint to the designs on the night before a fight. Remembered the odd mixture of pride and possession and guilt he would feel when he painted Viggo's.
The rattle of the bar across the door woke Sean from his light nap. He untangled himself from Viggo and the coverlet and cursed under his breath. The man had only just fallen asleep. Now what?
The Weapons Master stood at the door. When Sean saw what the old man held out to him, he just shook his head. Of course, Viggo would wear the collar, but Sean didn't want any part of it.
"Sennet has to do that," Sean protested, vehemently, but in a near whisper, despite the fact that Viggo had stirred and was no doubt awake already.
The Master kept his voice low, unusually deferential to Sean's example. He was very interested in training Viggo, Sean knew, and Sean suspected he was worried about Viggo's ultimate reaction to the branding and collaring.
"He'll take it more easily if you do it."
Viggo's voice close behind him startled him. Viggo had slipped out of bed and quietly crossed the small distance to the door. Now he reached around Sean and took the collar into his own hands.
The Master and Sean watched Viggo examine the thing carefully. Viggo noted the gold fittings, particularly the clasp, which wasn't a tie or a buckle, but a cleverly crafted rivet, that once set in place wouldn't open again. The collar was meant to be worn constantly. No reason for a complicated way to take it on and off. Viggo raised his eyes to meet Sean's. Then, with a few quietly spoken words, he handed the collar to Sean, turned, and knelt in the middle of the floor between the fireplace and the sleeping platform.
Sean stepped forward and drew the collar snugly around Viggo's throat.
Viggo sat straight-backed on the high stool.
Sean behind him with the fine horsehair brush in one hand, the tiny pot of gilt in the other.
Expensive gold paint was for the crowd in the tiers, not everyday wear in the barracks. So now, the day before his first trip to the arena as Sennet's slave, it was time to paint Viggo's collar.
Trust Viggo to make it as difficult as possible.
Viggo wore his hair long. Longer than any of the other men in the barracks, anyway. Much too long, in Sean's opinion, just brushing his shoulders. Sean couldn't understand how he could stand to fight that way, with it always in his eyes, on his neck. Now that they were talking and Sean could ask him about it, Viggo just muttered something about someone named Aragorn and refused to discuss possibly cutting it.
In any case, at the moment it was plenty long enough to get in Sean's way.
Sean sighed in irritation and put the brush and paint down again on the top of the carved chest. It had been hard enough to get Viggo to sit still for this. The anger was visible in every line of his still back and shoulders, the tension in his long arms, the occasional flex of the muscles in his thigh. Sean shook his head.
He crawled over the bed to the windowsill. Viggo had left a string of leather there. One of the ones he used to hold the hair out of his face as he practiced. Now Sean trailed it through his fingers and stood behind Viggo again.
To his amazement, Viggo hadn't moved. Just sat still and quietly, waiting. The anger was pouring off him. He was nearly vibrating with it. But apparently he had decided that there was no point in resisting this.
Sean laid the strand of leather over Viggo's shoulder, and reached out tentatively to touch Viggo's hair. Sean began to gather the silky strands carefully, running his fingers over Viggo's forehead and temples, collecting the loose hair methodically, holding the strands carefully tucked in his left palm as he ran the fingers of his right hand around the edge of Viggo's ear, down his neck, pulling the strands together to tie at the top of his head. Then again on the left. But Viggo's hair wasn't really long enough to do this, and Sean really didn't know what he was doing, so when he had it all drawn together and ready to tie, he couldn't figure out how to get the strand of leather around and knotted without losing his grip on the whole process.
The silken strands slipped loose, and suddenly Sean was back at the beginning. He cursed under his breath and started over. Running fingers over forehead, temple, ear, neck, raking them through the strands, careful to be gentle, so as not to pull. Sean's pulse rate was climbing. The whole thing was far too intimate, his fingers caressing and stroking… When it all came falling down a second time, he kicked his heel back against the carved trunk in frustration and dropped the leather strand into Viggo's lap.
"Here, you do it," he snarled. It didn't help his mood when he heard Viggo laugh under his breath.
Zara freed the men one by one as they were brought to her from the platform. First she unbound their arms. Then she slipped her small, sharp belt knife under the collars and cut them. Finally, she offered each man his own sword. She and Sean had bought those earlier in the day and were ready. A smith, of course, would be needed to finish the job - to apply the brand that would mark them as freed. But it was a simple as that really.
"You can't free a free man," Viggo stated quietly, as Sean reached out and caught a finger under his collar.
"But you aren't a free man anymore," Sean replied, his hand trembling as he reached to his belt for his knife. "I said the binding words over you. You were free until I said them, but the words and the brand made you a slave."
Viggo caught his wrist and gave him that crazed, toothy grin. Suddenly Sean couldn't breathe.
"I've been your slave for a long time, then, and you've hardly gotten any benefit from it," Viggo replied.
His eyes were bright with mischief and anticipation.
Then the glimpse of Viggo's motives was hidden as he dropped his eyes, properly subservient for a slave.
"You should get at least a day's work for all your investment."
Sean swallowed hard on the strange and unexpected feeling of power and lust that swept over him at Viggo's very correct bow and lowered eyes.
"If my master wills it, I am ready to escort him home," Viggo murmured. A bit forward for a slave, but then, this slave was accustomed to a high ranking and important place of leadership in his former household. A valuable warrior and manager.
"Viggo," his whispered hoarsely. "I'm not sure I should play this game."
"If it's only a game," Viggo returned just as quietly, "Then what harm can it do?"
"Viggo," he pleaded. And found that he was unexpectedly crying. "I can't do this." And suddenly he was wrapped in Viggo's arms. That familiar voice in his ear, hushing him, a soft palm smoothing over his hair.
"I'm sorry. Shhhhh. It's alright. Sean, I'm sorry. Stop. Please. I shouldn't have. I should have thought. Here..."
Viggo pulled away a little and reached down between them to draw the knife from Sean's belt. He pressed the hilt into Sean's hand, and tilted his head to the side.
Sean reached forward to brush Viggo's hair back from his cheek, tucking it behind his ear. Then, concentrating on steadying his hand, he slipped the finely sharpened edge between flesh and leather and cut the bond away. As the scrap of leather fell to the ground between them, Viggo lifted his eyes and something about his gaze made Sean's heart stutter.
"Let's find the smith," Viggo said quietly.
WIP. Something to read while you wait?