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: 2) The Flesh is Weak
Title Series: Enemy Mine
Word Count: @2300
Author: Lady Lorelei the Tarot Goddess [email protected]
Episode Theme Music: No Leaf Clover by Metallica
Viggorli Subgenre: science fiction/space opera
Rating Chapter: PG-13 for nudity and smutly thought bubbles
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 www.fanfic.tarotgoddess.net originally written for vigorleancult on LiveJournal.
2) The Flesh is Weak
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
Viggo followed his master, a Mr. Bloom, through wide marble halls deep within a vast complex of rooms. Walking the appropriate two steps behind and one step to the right of his master, according to Barliwhiten custom, Viggo's eyes were free to roam and note every turn. He memorized their route, knowing it led back to the vehicle park. He could operate all of the vehicles he'd seen, and any of them would get him to the impromptu space port near the slave market. Escape was his only thought, the only thought that made his present position bearable.
Bloom had made the slavemaster hose Viggo down, removing the mud and blood of their one-sided fight. Despair threatened to overwhelm Viggo again.
He couldn't begin to make a move or even let his thoughts show on his face while Bloom was awake. He glanced at the long blonde hair of the man he followed. It was straight and fine and caught up in the intricate caste braids of the Barliwhiten nobility. Viggo dared not snort in disgust. Barliwhiten's only claim to nobility was the bastards gotten on the enslaved noble women taken from other planets. Oligarchy was the best they could claim, and Orlando's braids proclaimed him unmarried and scion of his house. Judging by the cool clean, and grandiose lines of the house they passed through, this was no small thing.
Suddenly the figure ahead of him came to a complete stop. Viggo took the two steps that brought him even with his new master. Unaccountably, a thrill of fear shot through his gut.
"What are you called?" Bloom asked without turning his head.
"Viggo," he replied, daring to look in curiosity toward those amazing black eyebrows. "Viggo Mortensen." And then a question occurred to him and he dared ask as Bloom seemed to be awaiting something else from him. "Do you not name your slaves?" He'd fully expected to have every last bit of humanity and free will stripped and ripped from him, and he had already experienced that in the last three months with the submission chip installed in his head.
Bloom faced him with an indulgent smile. "I hold more than 6,000 slaves, Viggo."
There was something about the voice, something about hearing it say Viggo's own name. He forced his attention back to what Bloom was saying. His continued independence of thought and eventual action depended on keeping Bloom satisfied. He couldn't lose this chance to remain free of the chip's influence.
"I suppose I could come up with names for all of them, but it's simpler to keep the ones they already have." He looked Viggo squarely in the eye, his face a majesty of impassivity. "My name is Orlando. You will only address me directly while in the throes of passion . . . slave." The last was added as an afterthought, but also pointed out to Viggo his function, his job. Passion slave to the Scion of House Bloom.
"Walk with me." With that Bloom strode ahead once again and Viggo kept pace, inwardly disgusted and unaccountably bothered by the silken attractive quality of Bloom's voice until he decided it must have been modified and enhanced too, like everything about the boy.
And then another thought occurred. This was no boy. Owner of 6,000 slaves, authority of a wealthy house. Bloom must have had longevity treatments. He could be hundreds of years old and still look like a fresh faced youth. Viggo's eyes closed briefly in defeat. The odds against escape kept climbing.
Finally they left the cold marble halls appropriate for Barliwhiten's year of intense heat in late summer, and entered a suit of rooms warmed by luxurious tapestries of spider silk on the walls and rebbaten fur rugs across the floor. The colors were deep reds and browns. Bloom stood out like a shining light in a dark night in this setting with his light blonde, hair, pale skin, and powder blue tunic.
"Your room is this way," Bloom said simply, leading the way across what seemed like acres of fur. The expense of the floor covering boggled Viggo's mind.
A man in what Viggo now recognized as Bloom house livery by it's stiff silver lined collar and cherricado blossom insignia on the left breast, stood away from laying out clothes on the simple bedstead. Indirect light gave off a warm golden glow to the deep red furnishings.
"Thank you, Smedding. Bring a supper tray and leave it here." Bloom waved an imperial hand toward the small desk. He caught up black clothing from the bed then continued across the room and through its other door. Viggo followed, unnerved, as he watched Bloom unfasten and roll up his sleeves then start water in the bath.
Viggo calmed his breathing. He could do this. He could bathe the bastard. He could even fuck him, he supposed. He'd topped before, artifact of the physical release in tension after difficult dangerous missions. His heart rate sped even faster as he realized the skinny blonde ponce would probably want to top. Freedom is the goal, Viggo reminded himself. Escape is the means. But Cirnunnos on a crutch! maybe it was better to keep the chip in (parlance for any brain installed hardware/software on and operating). That way he wouldn't be responsible for his own degradation. He sighed watching Bloom flit about the room peering in cupboards and gathering soaps and sponges. At least he could seize his chance when it came. That was the reason he submitted to this horror now. Sooner or later, he'd have a moment alone and a clear line to something he could fly out of this hellhole.
"Disrobe and step in the bath," Bloom said mildly, meeting Viggo's eyes squarely for the first time since they'd entered the suite.
Viggo blinked in surprise. He'd had two baths already today. Granted, the hosing down at the slave market was not in the same category as this gently steaming, richly scented tub. In one swift motion he pulled down his rancid loin-cloth and stepped away from it.
Wrinkling his elegant nose, Bloom picked it up and tipped it into a wall slot.
Viggo wasted no time stepping into the tub and vanishing his body under the water. The clear water. He began the sigh in disappointment that he couldn't hide his private bits, but ended it in a contented groan as the temperature and quality of the water penetrated his muscles and skin.
"All the way under now, "Bloom said with a smile of delight. "Get your hair wet."
Viggo gladly complied. Taking a deep breath he slid all the way down into the sizable tub and shook his head, thoroughly wetting himself. He briefly contemplated breathing in, but no, not only was suicide against his mission parameters, it wouldn't be effective. Bloom would revive him in seconds and put the chip in.
He rose blowing, but resisted the urge to snap the wet hair out of his eyes. Bloom reached a gentle hand to smooth Viggo's wet hair back. "Lean back," he said softly. And Viggo rested his head on the softly padded edge. He felt Bloom begin to lather his head. He let go and relaxed. It really did feel fine.
"What's that smell?" he asked curiously. Then added, "Master," in a quick stab of fear.
Bloom answered as if he hadn't noticed any slip in protocol. "Why, cherricado oil of course." He sounded amused. "We use it for everything, you know. Don't waste a bit."
Viggo inferred that house Bloom made it's profits from a large cherricado plantation. Much as he wanted to sample the fruit, he'd prefer to be gone when they ripened in another 6 months. Whether the relaxing influence of the herbal bath, or the gentle scalp massage, Viggo felt his mind wandering. Fruit of the Goddess it was called. Some varieties bore fruit up to 20 pounds, like a huge watermelon, but with the oil and creamy consistency of an avocado and the taste of black cherry. Available on no other planet due to the odd 5-year 'year' of Barliwhiten.
"There's also a myrrh and some other things," Bloom's soft voice swept across his senses like a silk scarf. "This is my personal blend. Oh, are you cold already?" Bloom sounded concerned, responding to the involuntary shiver his voice caused.
"Mmm, tickled a little," Viggo mumbled in confusion.
"All right then. I'll stop." He removed his hands, swishing them in the water. "Down you go again, and rinse well." Once Viggo had done so, Bloom commanded, "Lie back and relax again. Close your eyes and I'll work on your face."
It seemed surreal, the slave owner performing this level of personal bodily service on the slave. Viggo laid his head back and relaxed. Bloom's hands were almost clinical as they lightly massaged his face, stroking against gravity, smoothing out the tension in his jaw. Almost clinical, but not quite, Viggo was too aware of Bloom's every motion. An involuntary twitch moved the water as he realized that Bloom was merely training him for his own future service. He's showing me what he likes.
The tiniest frown marred the perfection of the smooth elven-like face leaning over Viggo in the bath tub. He allowed Viggo to duck under the water again to rinse his face. Then he took up a natural sponge and began scrubbing Viggo's back and arms. It felt divine. Viggo remembered paying for such service once, a long time ago. Seemed a bit prissy, but it sure felt good.
"Lay back and give me your foot," Bloom demanded in barely a whisper. Viggo complied readily and searched the other man's face. Bloom didn't meet his eyes. Viggo laid back and enjoyed getting his leg thoroughly exfoliated. And then the other. But when Bloom moved back up his body and began rubbing his chest with the sponge and soap, Viggo tensed. The sponge moved back and forth across his chest and around his sides. He never felt the touch of Bloom's fingers like he had on his face and scalp. Back and forth across his nipples, inching lower across his chest and then his stomach. He kept his eyes closed and his breath caught and he felt himself harden. Traitorous body. And Bloom knew exactly what he was about. Viggo listened intently but Bloom's breath still came soft and steady. The sponge brushed across one inner hip and then the other, and then Bloom's foamy fingers circled his cock and he gasped, but refused to allow any other reaction. His cock was thoroughly soaped, then his balls received the same treatment. Then the hands were gone and he was hard as a rock.
He refused to react. So what, he got hard. Men got hard all the time, especially when bathing. But Viggo knew Bloom was toying with him, forcing his own body to betray him. It didn't matter what Bloom forced him to do, all that mattered was that he had his wits about him when the time came to escape.
"Come."
Viggo's head snapped around and he saw Bloom standing holding a luxurious towel. He took a shaky breath as he climbed out of the tub and stood while Bloom briskly rubbed him down, feeling like a horse that had just run a mile. Bloom knelt down to reach his ankles and feet. Viggo bit back a groan as wisps of soft blonde hair blew across his hardened flesh. He resisted a sudden urge to bury a fist in that hair and bury his cock in that face. And then he very nearly did groan at the feelings conjured up by that mental image.
Bloom handed him the pants, black silk drawstrings, and returned to Viggo's bedroom. Dressed as much as allowed, Viggo followed him and took the seat facing him across the small table laden with steaming food and iced drinks.
"Eat. Go ahead, enjoy." Bloom gestured with a steaming forkful before bringing it to his mouth. Viggo found himself staring as pink lips surrounded the fork and sucked off the food.
He forced himself to look down and start eating. Neither spoke. Somehow, Charming weather we're having! didn't cut it.
Abruptly, Bloom stood and moved toward the door. "You are free to explore the house and grounds. You may not leave or take out a flitter. Guards will warn you. Smedding will see to your needs in the morning."
"Rest well, Viggo," he said as he left.
Viggo blew out a breath he didn't remember holding. He felt like screaming, What do you want of me? But he knew only too well that it was all a game of control and manipulation that he was probably too thick to understand anyway. He had to get out of here before things became any more confusing. Quickly, he crossed to the door to check it. Unlocked. Good.
He settled himself in the bed and programmed himself to awake in 6 hours, during the deepest part of the night. What he didn't count on was the hardon he woke up with, and the dream memory of long yellow hair.
"Just a combat hardon. Nothing to do with anything," he lied to himself as he dressed in the clothes he found.
He left the room and strolled throughout the vehicle park and grounds in search of data, anything that might provide a way out.
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