FIC: Water (LotRPS)
Title: Water
Author: caras_galadhon (Galadriel)
Fandom: LotRPS
Pairing: Viggo/Bean
Rating: R
Archive: Lothlorien and sons_of_gondor.
Feedback: Always appreciated.
Disclaimer: These men most certainly don't belong to me, and to the best of my knowledge, everything I have written here is fictitious.
Summary: Sean had asked for this. He had.
Warnings: Highlight to read: Watersports, dubcon.
Author's Note: Written for the 2009 wordsontongue exchange, where helena_s_renn asked for drama, possibly with kink involved, something introspective, and a few dirty thoughts. Helena provided me with an interesting opportunity to try my hand at writing something a little different. Thank you for that! I hope you enjoy this little story. Additionally, many thanks to savageseraph, beta extraordinaire, who also acted as a very patient barometer throughout the writing process. (Story originally posted here.)
Water
By Galadriel
He asked for this.
He did.
And that was what he needed to remember.
Even so, it was hard to ignore the thud of his heart behind his ribs, the tightness in his chest, the cold bead of sweat trickling down the nape of his neck, stopped only by the collar of his shirt. The blindfold was tight, but Sean thanked his lucky stars that the material wasn't so thick that he couldn't see a little bit of light and the occasional shape crossing in front of him. It gave him at least the illusion of the tiniest sliver of control, and that was helping to belay the panic, helping him to shove it down until it was a soft buzz in the background rather than an all-consuming fear.
He asked for this. He formed his lips around the words and asked.
If only the rope was a little less constricting. His shoulder was developing a twinge, and he was certain his lower back was seizing up.
Sean struggled to draw a deep breath, hoping to fight off the tightness creeping up from his chest, tugging at the muscles in his jaw. He swallowed a little, the makeshift gag tugging at the corners of his mouth. Maybe, if he worked at it, he could chew his way through it.
Maybe, if his lips weren't stretched to hell and he had several hours of solitude to kill.
The thought sent another bolt of panic through him, one that resisted tamping down. A little more sweat dripped down his brow, dampening the edge of the blindfold in an entirely unpleasant manner.
It wasn't helping that he'd walked out here, into the great outdoors, all on his own. That he'd carried out one of the kitchen chairs, planted it and sat down, crossed his arms behind his back, and smiled hopefully up at Viggo, suggesting the rope first, then the blindfold. He'd felt a bit cocky in that moment, chest puffed out and ego inflated, pleased at having his kinks catered to, impressed at how easily Viggo had agreed. And as Viggo had knotted the rope, checked its tension, he'd skimmed his palm over Sean's shoulders, sending a shiver of excitement through Sean's veins. It was simple to let himself slowly drift deeper into the right headspace, giving himself over to the experience even as Viggo had covered his eyes. He'd savoured the long, lingering kiss Viggo had gifted him with, and opened his mouth willingly at Viggo's coaxing.
It wasn't until the gag was lodged firmly between his lips, stretching and binding, that the faintest twinge of unease raised goosebumps across his skin. And it wasn't until he felt Viggo straighten up and move away, silence rushing in, settling heavily over Sean's body, that he started to entertain the notion that maybe this wasn't the best idea he'd ever had.
Sean strained his ears for some sound, one word, any word. He was more than a little surprised at how quickly he had lost all sense of time. Maybe he'd been here for ten minutes, maybe an hour. Surely Viggo was still watching him, still within reach. Surely he hadn't wandered off, distracted by something shiny, leaving Sean to stew in the sun for God knows how long?
The sun was warm on his face, and he angled his chin upward, letting the heat soak into his body, hoping it would bring calmness with it. As if in a bid to undercut Sean's hopes, his left knee started to jiggle, betraying the nervousness that simply wouldn't go away.
Where was Viggo?
"You're mine." Sean jumped. The unmistakable low purr of Viggo's voice cut through the buzzing in his ears, made all the worse by the strained silence he'd been left in. "You're mine, and you don't even know it."
Sean shivered, trying to swallow around the lump that was forming in his throat. He moved his head slowly from side to side, up and down, searching for the tell-tale darkness that would separate out Viggo from the rest of the landscape beyond the blindfold. A soft rustle to his right alerted him, and Sean tilted his head up and towards what he only hoped was Viggo and not a tree.
"You're mine," There was an urgency behind the words that hadn't been there before, as unsettling as it was forceful. Sean felt the chair shift before he heard the creak of wood as Viggo leaned in close, supporting his weight against the frame. The unmistakable scent of Viggo flooded his nostrils: earthy warmth and tobacco, worn denim and an almost acrid hint of acrylics. He was close enough to touch, if Sean was free to touch anything. As it was, the rope bit into Sean's wrists, still firmly bound behind his back, keeping him strapped to the chair, all but immobile, and making the desire to touch all the stronger. His fingers twitched, tracing the remembered curve of Viggo's cheekbone, the plane of his jaw.
Seconds passed with only the ghost of Viggo's breath caressing Sean's cheek. It felt as if every one of Sean's nerves was firing on all cylinders, his senses on overdrive, his skin prickling in anticipation of the next touch, taste, sound or smell. The buzzing in his ears slowly increased to a roar, and for a long moment Sean felt lightheaded. Distantly, he wondered what would happen if he passed out.
He'd asked for this. He really had. He'd begged Viggo to jerk the reins from his hands, and now here they were. This was what he wanted.
"Do you think I don't see?" Viggo exhaled, the faintly grassy scent of maté accompanying a stream of warmth. "Do you think I don't notice how your eyes roam? You're mine, no one else's, and if I have to mark you to make you see, then that's how it'll be."
Sean's mind raced, flipping through their friends, desperately searching for someone, anyone he might have looked at a little too long. He was coming up empty, and his leg jiggled a little harder as his worry ratcheted up another notch. He didn't know what Viggo was playing at; this was not the time to make accusations and air grievances. He shook his head, mumbled a negative as best he could through the gag, and hoped that was enough to satisfy Viggo.
A moment passed, long and drawn out, and suddenly Viggo's shadow retreated, his heat withdrawing a heartbeat before Sean heard the unmistakable hiss of a zipper opening. He moaned softly in the back of his throat, swallowing in anticipation. This was firm, familiar ground. Sean took a deep breath, letting the tension roll out of his muscles. Viggo had to have been teasing, and now Sean would get what he asked for. A little fear to soften him up, followed by a thick cock slipping between his lips. He shifted, his jeans growing tighter as blood rushed to his dick.
This was what he wanted. This was what he asked for.
When moments passed and the gag still wasn't removed from Sean's mouth, he found himself squinting to see beyond the blindfold. What was Viggo up to? The anticipation wasn't doing much for him: his cock was starting to soften, and the cramp between his shoulder blades was making itself known all over again. He rolled his shoulders and sighed, wishing suddenly for a way to safeword out of boredom.
An answering sigh was the first clue that something else was going on.
At first, Sean thought it had begun to rain; the first few drops hit his jeans in a soft patter, the sound preceding any sense of wetness at all. The droplets became a steady stream, and belatedly, Sean realized that the moisture seeping solely into the crotch of his jeans couldn't be rain. Viggo had meant it when he said he'd mark Sean.
This wasn't what he'd asked for.
Sean winced as the smell of ammonia hit his nose. He shook his head, squirming against the chair even as Viggo's piss soaked into his underwear, spreading slowly over his cock. A whimper caught between tongue and gag as, to his horror, Sean realized the heat, the warmth, the wet was coaxing his cock back to life.
How much could there possibly be in Viggo's bladder? Had he been downing water all this time, just for this?
The stream went on, seemingly unending in volume, as Sean's dick filled and pressed against his fly. He could hear Viggo shifting, the occasional grunt, and the tell-tale sound of Viggo's breath quickening. He'd tried to piss with a hard-on before, and from the noises Viggo was making, it was becoming clearer that Viggo was fighting arousal even as he was emptying his bladder.
The thought that Viggo was enjoying this, that he was marking Sean, making Sean his was enough to help Sean settle long enough to take in what was happening. The slow spread of warmth, the teasing trickle along the length of his dick, the stiffening of the denim encasing him as it absorbed Viggo's water. It was dirty, it was wrong, and as his balls tightened and filled, Sean was struck by how right it was, by how much he wanted to see this to its end.
He shivered, rocking in the chair, desperate to create a little more friction between cock and denim. His ears were filled with Viggo's groans and his own stifled moans as each small movement brought him closer and closer to the edge. If he could just rub himself a little harder, a little faster against the cloth, if he could just arch upward a little more, feel the stream against naked skin rather than interfering clothes, he was sure he could come. He strained against his ropes, biting down around the gag, his whole body curving up and away from the seat, towards Viggo, toward what Viggo offered, every muscle vibrating with want and need and a thick, dark desire against his tongue.
And all of a sudden, just as Sean felt the twinge low in his body, the flicker of need just before fulfilment, the stream simply... stopped.
Sean moaned, his body unbending, sagging in his seat. His cock ached, his balls thrummed, the promise of satisfaction so quickly snatched away. He struggled to draw in breath, his chest tightening, every muscle groaning in disappointment. So close, so very, very close, and it was all for naught. He could feel his jeans cooling, the piss slowly drying against his skin, a gentle tickle a warning of the itch to come.
And then Viggo's hand was in his hair, stroking lightly as the knots in the rope loosened and came free. Sean let his hands drop to his sides as his circulation was restored, blood prickling its way to almost-numb fingers. The gag slid from his mouth and Viggo's fingers slipped under his chin, guiding him into a kiss.
Lost in lips, teeth and tongue, Sean found he didn't much care that his skin itched, his cock ached and he was sitting in a pool of Viggo's urine.
He gasped when Viggo finally broke away. With barely a thought, Sean leaned forward, searching for one more taste. But instead of another kiss, a large palm pressed against his fly, cupping, grinding, making him arch into the touch.
"You liked that, hmm?" Sean didn't have to see to sense the smile in Viggo's voice. He bit his lip, muffling a whimper as he nodded in response. "Then it only seems fair that we take care of this." Viggo's palm pressed more firmly against Sean, promising deeper, dirtier pleasures to come. He encouraged Sean's arms around his neck, leaving the blindfold in place, helping him up and steering him towards the house.
As Sean took his first few unsteady steps, his jeans slowly separated from his skin, the remaining moisture cupping him even as the stiffer cloth rubbed. He groaned, his cock responding even as they made their slow way across the lawn.
Thank God he'd asked for this.
END
(July 12, 2009)
Crossposted to sons_of_gondor, rugbytackle, fellow_shippers.
Author: caras_galadhon (Galadriel)
Fandom: LotRPS
Pairing: Viggo/Bean
Rating: R
Archive: Lothlorien and sons_of_gondor.
Feedback: Always appreciated.
Disclaimer: These men most certainly don't belong to me, and to the best of my knowledge, everything I have written here is fictitious.
Summary: Sean had asked for this. He had.
Warnings: Highlight to read: Watersports, dubcon.
Author's Note: Written for the 2009 wordsontongue exchange, where helena_s_renn asked for drama, possibly with kink involved, something introspective, and a few dirty thoughts. Helena provided me with an interesting opportunity to try my hand at writing something a little different. Thank you for that! I hope you enjoy this little story. Additionally, many thanks to savageseraph, beta extraordinaire, who also acted as a very patient barometer throughout the writing process. (Story originally posted here.)
Water
By Galadriel
He asked for this.
He did.
And that was what he needed to remember.
Even so, it was hard to ignore the thud of his heart behind his ribs, the tightness in his chest, the cold bead of sweat trickling down the nape of his neck, stopped only by the collar of his shirt. The blindfold was tight, but Sean thanked his lucky stars that the material wasn't so thick that he couldn't see a little bit of light and the occasional shape crossing in front of him. It gave him at least the illusion of the tiniest sliver of control, and that was helping to belay the panic, helping him to shove it down until it was a soft buzz in the background rather than an all-consuming fear.
He asked for this. He formed his lips around the words and asked.
If only the rope was a little less constricting. His shoulder was developing a twinge, and he was certain his lower back was seizing up.
Sean struggled to draw a deep breath, hoping to fight off the tightness creeping up from his chest, tugging at the muscles in his jaw. He swallowed a little, the makeshift gag tugging at the corners of his mouth. Maybe, if he worked at it, he could chew his way through it.
Maybe, if his lips weren't stretched to hell and he had several hours of solitude to kill.
The thought sent another bolt of panic through him, one that resisted tamping down. A little more sweat dripped down his brow, dampening the edge of the blindfold in an entirely unpleasant manner.
It wasn't helping that he'd walked out here, into the great outdoors, all on his own. That he'd carried out one of the kitchen chairs, planted it and sat down, crossed his arms behind his back, and smiled hopefully up at Viggo, suggesting the rope first, then the blindfold. He'd felt a bit cocky in that moment, chest puffed out and ego inflated, pleased at having his kinks catered to, impressed at how easily Viggo had agreed. And as Viggo had knotted the rope, checked its tension, he'd skimmed his palm over Sean's shoulders, sending a shiver of excitement through Sean's veins. It was simple to let himself slowly drift deeper into the right headspace, giving himself over to the experience even as Viggo had covered his eyes. He'd savoured the long, lingering kiss Viggo had gifted him with, and opened his mouth willingly at Viggo's coaxing.
It wasn't until the gag was lodged firmly between his lips, stretching and binding, that the faintest twinge of unease raised goosebumps across his skin. And it wasn't until he felt Viggo straighten up and move away, silence rushing in, settling heavily over Sean's body, that he started to entertain the notion that maybe this wasn't the best idea he'd ever had.
Sean strained his ears for some sound, one word, any word. He was more than a little surprised at how quickly he had lost all sense of time. Maybe he'd been here for ten minutes, maybe an hour. Surely Viggo was still watching him, still within reach. Surely he hadn't wandered off, distracted by something shiny, leaving Sean to stew in the sun for God knows how long?
The sun was warm on his face, and he angled his chin upward, letting the heat soak into his body, hoping it would bring calmness with it. As if in a bid to undercut Sean's hopes, his left knee started to jiggle, betraying the nervousness that simply wouldn't go away.
Where was Viggo?
"You're mine." Sean jumped. The unmistakable low purr of Viggo's voice cut through the buzzing in his ears, made all the worse by the strained silence he'd been left in. "You're mine, and you don't even know it."
Sean shivered, trying to swallow around the lump that was forming in his throat. He moved his head slowly from side to side, up and down, searching for the tell-tale darkness that would separate out Viggo from the rest of the landscape beyond the blindfold. A soft rustle to his right alerted him, and Sean tilted his head up and towards what he only hoped was Viggo and not a tree.
"You're mine," There was an urgency behind the words that hadn't been there before, as unsettling as it was forceful. Sean felt the chair shift before he heard the creak of wood as Viggo leaned in close, supporting his weight against the frame. The unmistakable scent of Viggo flooded his nostrils: earthy warmth and tobacco, worn denim and an almost acrid hint of acrylics. He was close enough to touch, if Sean was free to touch anything. As it was, the rope bit into Sean's wrists, still firmly bound behind his back, keeping him strapped to the chair, all but immobile, and making the desire to touch all the stronger. His fingers twitched, tracing the remembered curve of Viggo's cheekbone, the plane of his jaw.
Seconds passed with only the ghost of Viggo's breath caressing Sean's cheek. It felt as if every one of Sean's nerves was firing on all cylinders, his senses on overdrive, his skin prickling in anticipation of the next touch, taste, sound or smell. The buzzing in his ears slowly increased to a roar, and for a long moment Sean felt lightheaded. Distantly, he wondered what would happen if he passed out.
He'd asked for this. He really had. He'd begged Viggo to jerk the reins from his hands, and now here they were. This was what he wanted.
"Do you think I don't see?" Viggo exhaled, the faintly grassy scent of maté accompanying a stream of warmth. "Do you think I don't notice how your eyes roam? You're mine, no one else's, and if I have to mark you to make you see, then that's how it'll be."
Sean's mind raced, flipping through their friends, desperately searching for someone, anyone he might have looked at a little too long. He was coming up empty, and his leg jiggled a little harder as his worry ratcheted up another notch. He didn't know what Viggo was playing at; this was not the time to make accusations and air grievances. He shook his head, mumbled a negative as best he could through the gag, and hoped that was enough to satisfy Viggo.
A moment passed, long and drawn out, and suddenly Viggo's shadow retreated, his heat withdrawing a heartbeat before Sean heard the unmistakable hiss of a zipper opening. He moaned softly in the back of his throat, swallowing in anticipation. This was firm, familiar ground. Sean took a deep breath, letting the tension roll out of his muscles. Viggo had to have been teasing, and now Sean would get what he asked for. A little fear to soften him up, followed by a thick cock slipping between his lips. He shifted, his jeans growing tighter as blood rushed to his dick.
This was what he wanted. This was what he asked for.
When moments passed and the gag still wasn't removed from Sean's mouth, he found himself squinting to see beyond the blindfold. What was Viggo up to? The anticipation wasn't doing much for him: his cock was starting to soften, and the cramp between his shoulder blades was making itself known all over again. He rolled his shoulders and sighed, wishing suddenly for a way to safeword out of boredom.
An answering sigh was the first clue that something else was going on.
At first, Sean thought it had begun to rain; the first few drops hit his jeans in a soft patter, the sound preceding any sense of wetness at all. The droplets became a steady stream, and belatedly, Sean realized that the moisture seeping solely into the crotch of his jeans couldn't be rain. Viggo had meant it when he said he'd mark Sean.
This wasn't what he'd asked for.
Sean winced as the smell of ammonia hit his nose. He shook his head, squirming against the chair even as Viggo's piss soaked into his underwear, spreading slowly over his cock. A whimper caught between tongue and gag as, to his horror, Sean realized the heat, the warmth, the wet was coaxing his cock back to life.
How much could there possibly be in Viggo's bladder? Had he been downing water all this time, just for this?
The stream went on, seemingly unending in volume, as Sean's dick filled and pressed against his fly. He could hear Viggo shifting, the occasional grunt, and the tell-tale sound of Viggo's breath quickening. He'd tried to piss with a hard-on before, and from the noises Viggo was making, it was becoming clearer that Viggo was fighting arousal even as he was emptying his bladder.
The thought that Viggo was enjoying this, that he was marking Sean, making Sean his was enough to help Sean settle long enough to take in what was happening. The slow spread of warmth, the teasing trickle along the length of his dick, the stiffening of the denim encasing him as it absorbed Viggo's water. It was dirty, it was wrong, and as his balls tightened and filled, Sean was struck by how right it was, by how much he wanted to see this to its end.
He shivered, rocking in the chair, desperate to create a little more friction between cock and denim. His ears were filled with Viggo's groans and his own stifled moans as each small movement brought him closer and closer to the edge. If he could just rub himself a little harder, a little faster against the cloth, if he could just arch upward a little more, feel the stream against naked skin rather than interfering clothes, he was sure he could come. He strained against his ropes, biting down around the gag, his whole body curving up and away from the seat, towards Viggo, toward what Viggo offered, every muscle vibrating with want and need and a thick, dark desire against his tongue.
And all of a sudden, just as Sean felt the twinge low in his body, the flicker of need just before fulfilment, the stream simply... stopped.
Sean moaned, his body unbending, sagging in his seat. His cock ached, his balls thrummed, the promise of satisfaction so quickly snatched away. He struggled to draw in breath, his chest tightening, every muscle groaning in disappointment. So close, so very, very close, and it was all for naught. He could feel his jeans cooling, the piss slowly drying against his skin, a gentle tickle a warning of the itch to come.
And then Viggo's hand was in his hair, stroking lightly as the knots in the rope loosened and came free. Sean let his hands drop to his sides as his circulation was restored, blood prickling its way to almost-numb fingers. The gag slid from his mouth and Viggo's fingers slipped under his chin, guiding him into a kiss.
Lost in lips, teeth and tongue, Sean found he didn't much care that his skin itched, his cock ached and he was sitting in a pool of Viggo's urine.
He gasped when Viggo finally broke away. With barely a thought, Sean leaned forward, searching for one more taste. But instead of another kiss, a large palm pressed against his fly, cupping, grinding, making him arch into the touch.
"You liked that, hmm?" Sean didn't have to see to sense the smile in Viggo's voice. He bit his lip, muffling a whimper as he nodded in response. "Then it only seems fair that we take care of this." Viggo's palm pressed more firmly against Sean, promising deeper, dirtier pleasures to come. He encouraged Sean's arms around his neck, leaving the blindfold in place, helping him up and steering him towards the house.
As Sean took his first few unsteady steps, his jeans slowly separated from his skin, the remaining moisture cupping him even as the stiffer cloth rubbed. He groaned, his cock responding even as they made their slow way across the lawn.
Thank God he'd asked for this.
END
(July 12, 2009)
Crossposted to sons_of_gondor, rugbytackle, fellow_shippers.