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: 3 Minimalist

Title Series: Enemy Mine

Word Count: @2400

Author: Lady Lorelei the Tarot Goddess [email protected]

Episode Theme Music: No Leaf Clover by Metallica

Viggorli Subgenre: science fiction/space opera

Rating Chapter: NC17 for fellatio

Rating Series: NC17

Warning: slash, non-con, slavery

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


Enemy Mine

3) Minimalist


And it feels right this time
On this crash course we're in the big time
Pay no mind to the distant thunder
Beauty fills his head with wonder, boy....

~~~ No Leaf Clover by Metallica





"You asked us to inform you when the new slave left his quarters, m'lord." The voice sounded in Orlando's ear through the wireless connection in his mastoid implant.


Thank Goddess! he thought to himself, pulling his hard cock out of the pleasure slave beneath him. Loose as that hole is you'd think she'd had a baby through it! He'd made the mistake of entering her ass while facing her. Perhaps if he'd had her face down he could have imagined she was someone else . . .


Aloud, he said, "Urgent business, Marguerite. I must go." Subvocally to his security officer, "Good. Let me know when he reaches the vehicle park. Don't hurt him too bad. And don't let him hurt my Lamb'!"

"Yes m'lord."


Marguerite gazed up at him in fear and confusion, afraid she'd displeased him, yet trying to maintain a lusty provocative expression. He sighed and tried to be gentle. "Get your clothes on and go. Something's come up." It wasn't her fault her body no longer pleased him.


Orlando stepped into the sonic scrubber. In ten seconds he stepped out, clean, to the ministrations of his waiting dressers. Amba began gently tearing out his braids while Teri presented suitable clothing.


"Mmm, something darker, more formal," Orlando said waving away his normal light blue tunic and silver trousers. Subvocally, "Can you feed me video?"

"Yes m'lord!"

And he saw in a small projection to the lower left of his vision field, that new passion slave, one Viggo Mortensen, striding purposefully down a marble hall. Confident, as though he owned the place.


Orlando chuckled to himself. He sat back and relaxed while Amba reassembled the clan, rank, and station braids out of his long straight blonde hair. After he dressed, Orlando swept into his office and began dealing with the day's messages and data feeds. He called up a small window in the corner of his workspace to focus on and follow Viggo's movements through House Bloom. As a Special Ops officer, he knew Viggo would 'case' the whole manse. Orlando concentrated on the huge amount of work he needed to get done. He allowed himself a day at the market once in a while when he felt a melancholy descend upon his soul. He shopped for little treats. Six bolts of differing shades of purple spider silk he had no idea how he would use. A pretty new passion slave with eyes to melt through the cold ice surrounding his jaded indifferent heart . . .



"He's entered the vehicle park, m'lord." The security officer's voice drew him out of his absorption in the fluctuating prices of the hardwood market.


He clicked the small window to full screen and watched Viggo slow his walk as he neared Orlando's private cars and flitters. Orlando smiled, then laughed outright as Viggo stopped in front of the Lamborghini surface to space flitter.



"No, you can't have that, my pretty," Orlando murmured to himself. "But I might let you fly me 'round in it." Then he tongued the cue to his security man. "If he attempts to fly out, ground the car quickly. I don't want any of them destroyed. Or him either."

"Of course, m'lord," the guard sounded hurt, as if he was insulted that Orlando could doubt his competency.


In time, Viggo left the vehicle park and headed outside into the early morning sunshine, and Orlando returned to work.


Late in the day, when Orlando was about to shut down his workstation and go out for air and exercise, a new message popped in with a red flashing urgent flag on it. He frowned and reached to re-engage his messenging service, but his security officer's voice stopped him.


"M.lord, we've lost him. He can't have gone far. He - "

"What do you mean, lost him?" Orlando's flat voice bit back at his servant. Orlando's eyes watched three more red flagged messages appear.

"He was inspecting the wine cellar, just minutes ago."

Orlando smiled in relief. "He's found a way into the sewers," he said mildly.

"Oh shit! Get down there right away! Now!" the security man was speaking to someone else, although he was shouting in Orlando's ear. "Get a medic!"

"What's happened?" Orlando asked softly, although he had a pretty good idea.

"Uh . . . we've found your slave, m'lord. He's caught in the filters. Uh, he's shorted out the bacteriological filter."

"Really?" Orlando's interest was piqued. "You mean that during the time you lost him, he made it through all the mechanical filters?"

"Apparently so, m'lord."

Orlando smiled. "Nearly got out, didn't he?"

"Uh, I wouldn't go so far as that, m'lord."

Orlando laughed as he shut down his data center. The red flags would just have to wait. The escape attempt signaled his passion slave was ready for his next level of training. He grinned in anticipation.




"Drop him there and get out," he heard. Viggo's head felt like it was splitting open and a filthy stench attacked his nose. Then he remembered. He'd been swimming out the sewage drainage tube. This place was sealed up tight as a vacuum lock on an intergalactic bioweapon ship.


He opened his eyes at the touch of fingers on his shirt buttons.


"And I'd just got you clean," Viggo's owner and master sighed above him.


Viggo gripped at the hands instinctively. A low growl of warning died in his throat. He noted an answering dilation of the black pupils above his own. The boy's eyes were dark brown really, not black, like he'd thought. Viggo loosened his grip. Coherency came back in fits and starts. Not a boy, a man, perhaps hundreds of years old, master of a slave-owning House on Barliwhiten.


"I can undress myself." Viggo tried to soften the tone of his insubordination. "Master," he added as an afterthought as he began undoing the slime covered buttons of this shirt.


"Stop," Orlando commanded. "You have tried to escape, you must be punished. In all things, Viggo, you must learn to do as I say. First, you will do nothing until you are told. Is that clear?"


"Yes, master. " Viggo breathed. His very life depended on the whim of this sick fuck, now daintily unfastening the buttons on the shirt he'd left Viggo to wear.


"Can you stand? The Stim-U-Right should be kicking in about now."


Viggo struggled upright and Orlando continued undressing the ruined clothes from him. Viggo was feeling better and more alert by the moment.


"There now," Orlando said as he gathered up the noxious clothes and carried them to the wall slot for trash. "Into the scrubber with you." He indicated the back cubicle with a wave of his noble, beautifully proportioned head.


Viggo stopped staring and with a scowl for himself and his traitorous confused thoughts, took himself into the scrubber.


"Shake your head and turn around!" Orlando called after the cycle started on him. He complied and immediately felt better with the removal of the filth and slime.


"Stand here, Viggo Morton's son, the chemicals will have hurt your skin." Viggo was back in the main bathroom again, facing Orlando, near the tub, where they'd been less than a day earlier.


"I'm sorry," Viggo began, but Orlando's "Shhhhh," cut him off.


"Don't waste the air between us with lies," Orlando said softly. "It's your desire and your duty to try to escape and return to whatever world it was you came from. A few attempts are necessary to convince you it is impossible."


But I nearly did, Viggo thought rebelliously. And it must have showed on his face.


"Oh Viggo. Surely you know we were watching you, my guards and I. Taking bets on what you'd try. I lost 5 gold on the Lamb. You liked my Lamb, didn't you?"


"The Lamborghini flitter?" Viggo asked in surprise. "Oh yeah!" Their eyes met and they shared a boy-n-toys moment of empathy.


"No one bet you'd try to kill yourself in the filtration system," Orlando muttered. He faced Viggo and took hold of his right arm, lifting it and slipping his own hand, palm down, under Viggo's hand, so that Viggo had a comfortable armrest while Orlando slowly and very very delicately spread the thinnest film of oil along Viggo's arm. Orlando seemed to be studying the minutia of Viggo's skin with a strange intentness. Viggo was bewildered as to what could be so fascinating. He allowed himself to stare at the fine features now so close to his own. His nudity forgotten as he followed the sweep of the finely arched eyebrow, so dark against pale olive skin that saw too little sun. A stark contrast to the rich butter yellow hair above the shell-curved ear.



"I don't understand what you want of me," Viggo tried again.


Brown eyes snapped to his. A line of dark brow arched. "Don't you?" Orlando let their arms fall and moved around, now stroking with the lightest touch down Viggo's back. "You knew perfectly well in the market. You chose that particular pose for a reason. You knew it's what I want."


Viggo shivered. Not because of the heat and intensity of the voice so near his ear. Not because he'd never felt such a light sensitive touch on his body. And most definitely not because he wanted nothing more than to return that touch. Most definitely not.


"Are you cold? You seem to shiver when I'm around." Orlando said.


"No. Not cold," Viggo mumbled and tried to keep his breathing even. "Okay, so I'm a passion slave. But I don't know how to make you feel passion. I don't know what you like."


"Oh Viggo," Orlando breathed like a sigh of extreme satisfaction. "You have no idea the depths of passion you stir in me." He moved once again to take Viggo's left arm in his, and still lightly touched the oil to Viggo's skin. "But don't confuse the Pleasure slave with the Passion slave. Anyone can be a pleasure slave. I've done so myself on a lark. You merely submit and allow the master to take his pleasure. But passion . . . " he trailed off seemingly absorbed in the way the light hair of Viggo's arm curled. Orlando touched it again and again with his fingertip. Viggo held himself back from squirming.


"Passion is what the master gives to the slave. And it is the slave's sincere passion that incites passion in the master."


Now Orlando stood, fully clothed in front of Viggo, fully nude, and met his eyes. "As for my passion," he began applying the oil where Viggo's neck met his collar, lightly stroking with the barest touch over the collar bones and shoulders, and down Viggo's chest. "I suppose my first hundred years were spent trying out every combination of sexual partner and position I could find and think of, in pursuit of passion. I've done every kink, every perversion you could name, and came up with a few new ones myself. My second century, I repeated the experiences I'd enjoyed. I even tried abstinence for a while in my third century. It was round about then that sex became nothing more to me than a bodily function, like taking a shit, and I looked for passion in other ways. The military arts, business and finance, research. My empire is coming along nicely."


Orlando's hands stopped and Viggo looked at Orlando inspecting his half erect cock. Orlando ignored it and knelt down to spread the oil ever so slowly along Viggo's legs, front and back.


"As far as passion, I suppose some would call me a minimalist." And Viggo suddenly understood what all this light touching was about. Orlando was seducing him, very slowly. The light feathery touch was incredibly erotic. His cock stiffened more.


"I don't agree, however." Orlando drew a single fingertip up the length of Viggo's leg. "I see that it's the long climb that reaches the highest peak, you know. And only from such great heights, the view is pure ecstasy."


With that, Viggo suddenly found his cock surrounded by Orlando's warm wet mouth and his backside held firmly by his arm. He gasped at the feeling. But then nearly screamed as Orlando continued to take him in, deep throating him, and began swallowing repeatedly, rhythmically. He couldn't hold back the groans at the extreme sensation. His cock felt stretched and squeezed, like it was being gripped and pulled by the most perfect sex machine.


Thoughts flashed through his mind as blood drained from his brain and into his throbbing cock. An image of the drill instructor, "No matter how hard it gets! Behind enemy lines, bug bitten, filthy, no sleep; always remember, it's better than what you'll get here in Ranger School!" Viggo smiled and nearly laughed aloud. The DI hadn't meant anything of this sort. Then he began gasping as climax approached.


A cry was wrenched from him as a vice surrounded his balls. Viggo, clenched fists at his sides, back arched in physical need, strained to look down. Orlando continued to swallow his cock with ferocity. It felt he was being eaten alive, and it felt so incredibly good. But his other hand gripped Viggo's balls around the base, preventing their natural release. Dear God, Viggo thought. He was stretched out between pain and pleasure, balanced on the head of a pin, strangling somewhere between heaven and hell. He heard a whimper in time with the continuous swallows against his cock. Then he realized that sound came from his own throat and the whimpers became words, "please . . . please . . .please," high pitched and utterly helpless.


The vice gripping his balls released and Viggo came with a shout. Strong arms held him up against the convulsions bucking his body. And the swallowing continued until he was spent. Finally he could breathe again. Viggo found his balance on his feet and felt Orlando moved away. He looked up, trying to focus, but only saw dark cloth sweep from the room. He let go and landed in a heap, leaning against the tub, filled with an overpowering urge to sob.






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