FanFiction by Lady Lorelei the Tarot Goddess

Warning: Please note that some stories may be rated NC17. If you are under the legal age of adulthood in your country of residence, or if you are offended by the idea of slash (stories containing male/male sex) or adult themes, including BDSM and other sexual kinks, please go and find something else to read.

Title Chapter: 1) Slave Market

Title Series: Enemy Mine

Author: Lady Lorelei the Tarot Goddess

Episode Theme Music: No Leaf Clover by Metallica

Viggorli Subgenre: science fiction

Rating Chapter: PG, Word Count: 1100

Rating Series: NC17

Warning: slash, non-con tho' not exactly rape ( "I did not have sex with that woman.")

Disclaimer: I thank Viggo and Orlando for making the world a better place.

Summary: Two very strong men, emotionally scarred, thrown together by circumstance are unable to deny the fascination and attraction between them.

Feedback: will sustain me and encourage continuation of the series. Also, if the prose is too techno, I'll be happy to add a glossary. Constructive criticism is always welcome, and praise dearly craved.

Archive: my fanfic site originally written for vigorleancult on LiveJournal.



Then it comes to be that the soothing light at the end of your tunnel
is just a freight train coming your way

~~~ No Leaf Clover by Metallica

Enemy Mine

1) Slave Market


"That one," Orlando's cultured tones rang out through the slave pen. "Take his chip out." The pen was really an iron cage, one of many dotting the vast dusty landscape of the slave market. Cheaper slavemasters kept their goods in long lines of chains, but Renolds provided a superior product, and kept it in a cage, where they were fed twice a day and hosed off every morning.


The slavemaster glanced along the direction the delicate finger with the well-manicured nail indicated, down the line of loin-cloth clad males. "Oh no sir. Mr. Bloom. I'll not be taking the chip out of that one. Wild as a bugbot. Imperial Special Forces training, that one. Picked up attempting a raid a few months back."



"Please, Renolds," the blonde Barliwhiten aristo strode along the line of freshly washed male slaves. His tone was exasperated. "You know I won't buy it till I've seen it without the chip." He stopped in front of a man of medium height and build with light brown hair to his shoulders. Nothing remarkable really. They were all well built. All cleaned up well. But this one, there was something sparkling in the blue green eyes . . . something Orlando wanted to see more clearly without the dulling interference of the submission chip, something he wanted to possess. Utterly.


With a heavy sigh, Slavemaster Renolds began herding the males out of the cage, into the dusty thoroughfare. He'd have to spray them off again. But he knew Mr. Bloom only bothered when he intended to make a purchase. All were completely subdued by their computer chip implants that controlled and programmed their behavior. The cage was a protection rather than a prison.


"Ready, Mr. Bloom?" the Slavemaster called with an anxious wince.

"Certainly, Goodmaster Renolds," Orlando called back confidently.

Passersby stopped to watch.

Renolds touched a nob on his belt and flexed his tongue, sending the appropriate 'disable' command to his own computer interface.




Viggo felt the icy clarity of mental perception wash over him like a frigid waterfall. In two seconds he could grab the vibroknife from the blonde's belt, flip it on, and use it to rip a hole through the steel mesh of the cage. Then he'd slice his way through anyone foolish enough to try to stop his escape. He'd run out toward the west where even now small surface-to-space flitters departed, steal a ship, and be home in a week.


Even as his hand reached for the knife and his body surged toward the aristo with long blonde hair, he felt iron fingers grab his wrist and sweep his arm behind him. Thirty years of Ichi-ban-bhumi training and experience took over. Viggo planted his feet in the stance known as solid mountain, then he brought his free hand over to grab the blonde's other hand in preparation for the fullover counter throw. Instead his free hand was grabbed and he suddenly found himself spun on his feet and immobilized by his own arms crossed over his chest and pulled so tightly that he felt his shoulder sockets wrenching.


"Never in a million years will you best me," a soft voice purred in his ear, "Neither physically, nor mentally, nor with weapons. Never."

Viggo felt despair punch him in the gut. The raid had gone all wrong. They had good intelligence on the location of the Ambassador's children. It was to be a quick insertion and extraction. Grab the two kids and get the hell out. But no, Mr. Murphy showed up on time in all his FUBAR glory. The kids weren't there and 15 armed houseslaves were. Viggo slammed into the wire of the cage with more force than he could comprehend. Still the ancient berserker inside him refused to give up. Like HELL he'd submit to this trumped up little shit. Quicker than thought, he spun and charged. Diving in low to force the blonde off his balanced feet.


Viggo's hands were caught and he was swung around, full body, and slammed into the mud. He rose quickly and circled warily, then saw an opportunity to lunge for the blonde's hands once again.


And once again Viggo found himself slammed into the rapidly drying mud. But this time his hands were gripped behind and his face was pushed into the mud so that he could hardly breathe.


"What am I?" came the silken tones. The brat wasn't even winded.

"You're a genetic fucking freak!" Viggo snarled. Then his face was held down so hard, that he couldn't breathe. Mud slid into his nose and mouth.

"Ah good. So you understand. I posses the latest genetic modifications. The very best nano and chip programming as well," the dulcet tones snickered.

Viggo's head was lifted so that he could spit out the mud and drag in a desperate breath. He struggled and pulled with his arms and pushed with his legs, but his hands were caught in an iron vice. Another vice held his neck, and a sharp knee pinned his lower back immovably to the ground.

"What am I?" the voice purred again.

"Nothing but a spoiled little rich kid that wants a play toy."

The surprised snort of an open laugh was Viggo's reply.

"Your choice, slave," the voice seemed to skim over Viggo's heated skin like the coolest satin, "submit to me utterly now and forever, or I put the chip back in." He paused and let that sink in. "Now, tell me, who am I?"


Hopelessness washed over Viggo with a wave of sadness. His protocol was to cooperate in order to keep himself alive so that one day he could escape. He relaxed in defeat. He had no way to fight someone with superior gene mod. He could never afford the topline mental/physical upgrades on a Captain's salary and extensive gene mod had to be done before birth. "You are my master," he whispered.


He felt the pressure on his back and neck ease off slowly. His hands were released. Just as slowly, Viggo rose and then sat back on his heels, knees spread, chest out, hands held behind, inner wrists touching, head down in a classic passion slave pose.

"Oh very good," he heard the silken voice murmur in satisfaction. "Very, very good."









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