The Heart of the Maze

A LITTLE STORY FOR CINZIA, WITH LOVE AND SMOOCHES AND SCHNOOGLES, JUST BECAUSE!

Title: Stimulus/Response
By: Ithiliana
Pairing: Sean/Viggo
Warnings: LOTR/RPS, NC-17, dominance/submission content, use of riding crop and not on Brego or Hidalgo eek OMG that would be animal cruelty!.
Notes: This story is written for cinzia so in a sense (if she likes it!), it's sort of AU or "Cinziaverse"!Sean/Viggo, AU *only* in the sense that it's an alternate thread/characterization than my other fics about teh boys.
Disclaimer: So totally made up, nothing to do with 'reality' which often sucks!
Feedback: always welcome! In fact, it's the sort of response that keeps me writing, snicker.
Added Later when slight changes made in story after talking to Galadriel: Many thanks to the lovely caras_galadhon who was invaluable resource when it came to question of Sean and riding crops! *snicker*



"You want me to what?"

Sean told himself what he was feeling was shock as he sat cross-legged on the bed watching Viggo who was lying on his side, propped on one arm, attempting to seem relaxed. Sean thought that tension showed in the way the faint lines around his blue eyes seemed more distinct, the way his hand, resting next to the riding crop that lay between them on the dark blue sheets, curled.

"You heard me," said Viggo, voice low. The lamp behind him, the only light in the room, limmed him, streaking gold in the hair which fell to his shoulders, painting highlights on his skin. He had pulled his shirt off on the way into the bedroom, had tugged Sean down onto the bed and then rolled away from him to pull...this...from under the bed.

"Holy shit, Vig..." Sean's voice trailed off. He didn't know what to say.

Last weekend had been the first time. An insane first time which had apparently been building for a while, Sean thought. At a party at Lijah's, he and Viggo stepped outside to get away from the loud music the hobbits loved. Sean wasn't opposed to loud music on principle, but it bothered him he could not understand the lyrics. The conversation had turned into one of their mock fights which had then turned into something else when Sean had shoved Viggo against the side of the building.

Instead of responding to the shove, Viggo had pulled Sean close, wrapping strong arms around him, not to wrestle, but to hold him still for a kiss.

Afterwards, without talking they'd left, slept and then plunged back into the nonstop ride down the rapids that the shoot had become. The past week had been worse than many. Sean had nearly lost any grip he had on his character at Philippa's directions for a scene on a riverbank.

The scene should have been simple, one in which Boromir and Aragorn argue about what direction the Fellowship should take after they leave Lothlorien, as they sleep beside the Anduin.

But her direction had been to act like lovers having their first fight. Sean had hardly been able to look Viggo in the eyes for most of the day. The scene had required more takes than usual which meant a horrifying number. And Sean was sure that they'd finally just decided to give up, that his work had been bad enough to make sure the scene would never make it into the film.

Sean told himself again that he was shocked. But on another level he heard no conviction in what he was saying. Watching Viggo lying next to him on the large bed, Sean felt as if some confusion was finally leaving him. As if some mystery was finally made clear.

The riding crop lay between them like--Sean firmly rejected the first analogy that came to mind. Viggo was fixated enough on the bloody sword. Sean wasn't going to go there as well.

He tried to start again. "I don’t, didn't know..."

"What?"

Sean had been in New York and London, had gone to some clubs with friends who had dared him, had seen some of what went on and had heard about more. But he'd never been asked by a lover for anything like this. Sean reached out, touched the crop lightly. It was satin smooth against his hand, rolled away as he pressed down. He wondered when he'd begun to think of Viggo as his lover.

"God, Viggo, I didn't know you were into pain."

"I'm not." Viggo rolled over onto his back, arms crossed above his head. His blue eyes, intent on Sean's face, darkened as he spoke. "It's not about what you call pain."

"But you want me to hit you," Sean protested. His hand tightened around the crop.

Viggo's eyes shifted down from Sean's face. Smiling faintly, Viggo reached out, placing his hand on top of Sean's. "No," he said. "That's not what I want."

The touch of Viggo's hand, Sean's memory of how that hand had held him before, flashed through Sean's body. He felt himself harden, shifted uneasily, feeling exposed.

"Let me show you."

"You're not hitting me."

Shaking his head, Viggo smiled widely, teeth flashing white against the short beard. Only his hand moved. The warm calloused palm slid up Sean's wrist, then around his forearm, fingers wrapping around the arm. Sean swallowed, hardening even more as Viggo tugged gently.

"Lie down."

Sean uncrossed his legs, turned and let himself be pulled down next to Viggo.

"Stretch out."

Sean rolled onto his back, stretching his legs, then relaxing. By chance or intent, he was lying on the riding crop which reassured him. Viggo released him, turned and rose to brace himself on one arm, shifting until he was half-sitting, half-lying, legs pressed against Sean's left side, his hand pressing down on Sean's chest.

Viggo's shadow fell across Sean's face.

Slowly, Viggo unbuttoned Sean's shirt, folded the two sides back. Trailed his fingers up Sean's belly, then across his chest, moving from one side to the other. Sean closed his eyes, breath deepening as careful strokes hardened his nipples. Gentle at first, the pressure increased, the length of the caresses decreasing, movement shifting to his right side. Finally, warm fingers pressed down as Viggo's thumb teased at sensitive flesh in firm circles.

Sean arched his back , tried to slide his hand inside his slacks which were becoming uncomfortably tight, binding him. Viggo's other hand gripped his wrist.

"No, Sean. Please."

Sean let Viggo push his hand down to the bed, tried to lie still, confused.

"I had a lover once, years ago, who could come after about ten minutes of this. What about you?"

Sean opened his eyes to see Viggo's face closer to his, lips parted.

"What about me?"

"Could you come? Just from this?"

"Doubt it," said Sean. He was confused about what was really going on with Viggo, but he was sure about that.

Viggo smiled, his hand still against Sean, and leaned down to kiss him, just a brush of lips. "I thought so when your hand moved. And another lover would push me away after a minute or two. Their responses to the same stimuli were different. You know this. What works with one lover, bores another, and a third hates it."

"All right," said Sean. "But I don't see what this has to do with you asking me to hit you."

Viggo tilted his head, nodded. "Then let's try this." His hand moved down Sean's chest, then over his belly. Sean was disappointed when Viggo's hand went over cloth not under it, but he grunted with satisfaction when the hand pushed down, then slid between his legs. Better.

Viggo's other arm went under Sean who raised his head slightly, then rested against the firm flesh. Leaning over Sean, Viggo slid one leg over both of Sean's. "Don't move, don't try to touch me, or yourself, don't do anything, love," said Viggo, his breath warm against Sean's face. "Just let me show you."

Breath catching in his throat, Sean closed his eyes, nodded. He was still confused, but he thought he was beginning to see, and who could complain about Viggo being pressed against him, the resonance of his voice sounding against Sean's chest, the warmth and scent of Viggo that surrounded Sean.

Viggo's hand moved gently against Sean's cock.

"Is that painful?" Viggo's amusement sounded clearly in his voice.

"No. Harder would be good."

The fine wool of Sean's slacks was not as heavy as the denim Viggo always wore, but the material still blunted sensation. Sean spread his legs slightly, hitched his hips.

"Like this," said Viggo, pressing down harder, stroking from tip to root, again and again.

Sean nodded, muscles tight in his belly, and enjoyed the rhythm, sure and steady, not too fast. A pause, and then the stroking lightened. Sean thrust up, and Viggo responded, hand curling around Sean's cock, the strong grip creating pressure, tightness, heat, all more satisfying than the flattened hand earlier. Harder and faster.

Muscles in Viggo's arm shifted against Sean, hand gripping his shoulder, Viggo's leg restraining him. Sean gripped the bedding with both hands, resolving not to move although when Viggo's hand released him to slide between his legs, fingers pressing against him, he could not help it. Viggo contained Sean's movement, returned to gripping and stroking his cock.

Head tilting back, Sean felt his body tense, the gathering weight in his balls, the rhythm in his body building, needed more from that skilled hand. Held his breath as Viggo gripped him harder, harder, no gentleness any more, the pressure finally pulling the climax from Sean's center.

Some time later, Sean opened his eyes, licked dry lips. Viggo still bent over him, hand pressed between his legs, the wet wool rasping against Sean. He winced, and Viggo's hand moved away.

"More?"

Sean shook his head.

"It's all about stimulus and response. What people call the pain threshold is different for everyone. And can vary for the same people at different times."

"I see." Sean frowned. "Maybe. But still, equating sex and pain.."

Viggo's hand, damp, smelling of sex and Sean, pressed against his mouth. "It's not just sex. It's another way of making love. Another way of touching, of pleasuring. Are you willing to try?"

Silence. Viggo's hand dropped away, and he moved away from Sean.

"Yes," said Sean. "But I want to clean up first."

Viggo nodded.

"Will you tell me what to do?"

Pushing himself up, Viggo sat next to Sean without speaking for a few moments.

"Keep away from the spine, the neck, the belly and groin. This crop is fairly light, but there are some, as well as some canes, floggers and whips, that can cause real injury."

Chilled, Sean spoke more roughly than he intended. "Shit, that's sick."

Viggo shook his head, pushed hair back from his face. "Sean, think. It's possible to kill a person with your hands. But we can also stroke our lover's face. People can hurt others intentionally, or through ignorance. In any situation. You wouldn't do anything intentionally. And you obviously don't want to through ignorance either. So what's the problem?"

Sean pushed himself up, needing to leave the room, half inclined to leave for good.

Viggo said nothing, sat quietly, his hands relaxed on his thighs. Looking into the blue eyes, Sean was sure Viggo was able to read how Sean felt. In that pause, Sean glimpsed something of how important this moment was. All Viggo had done was ask. But that he had asked, at this time, meant something, Sean was sure.

Drawing a deep breath, Sean spoke. "You don't want me to hurt you." He had to be sure.

Viggo nodded.

"If I do, you'll tell me?"

"Yes. And when I say stop, that means to stop. Trust me."

Viggo grinned as he spoke, but Sean did not return the smile.

"I do," he said. And stood. "I'll be back."

* * * * * * *

Sean took a deep breath before opening the bathroom door. He'd stripped off his pants, hung them on the hook on the door, used the toilet, and washed. And now he was going back to Viggo.

Back in the bedroom, Sean saw that Viggo had changed positions. He was lying face down on the bed, closer to the edge than the center, skin pale against the dark blue of the sheets, his head cradled on his arms, hair hiding most of his face. The only movement Sean could see was his breathing.

The riding crop was next to him.

When Sean picked it up, he was surprised how light it felt in his hand. The grip was smooth, fit naturally into his palm. He swung it a time or two to get the feel of it. He remembered carrying one in some of the scenes in Sharpe and watching riders who used crops and how they had never struck the horses, communicating through taps. As Sharpe, he'd used it as a weapon. And threatened to do so in Scarlett. This was different.

He stood beside the bed, wondering what he was supposed to do now. Viggo was still wearing his jeans. Was he supposed to be? Was Sean supposed to do something?

Sean remembered his first date, this same feeling of panic as if there were some rules nobody had told him about. Then the later panic when he realized that not only were there no rules but that everybody else felt the same way most of the time.

Sliding his hand under Viggo's waistband, Sean tugged. The waistband was loose. Viggo had obviously undone the jeans before lying down. Shifting his hips, Viggo made it easy for Sean to tug the jeans down one-handed. Sean pulled them down Viggo's thighs, stepped closer to the bed, running a hand over Viggo's ass. Holy shit. Sean felt his cock twitch, spoke roughly, "Can I fuck you sometime?"

"We can talk about it," said Viggo. "Later." But he thrust up against Sean's hand while speaking.

Sean's hand tightened on the crop. He knew what he wanted, but even if he could do anything about it now, Viggo wanted something else. Sean took his other hand off Viggo.

Lifting the crop, Sean hesitated. He couldn't just start. He had to know something first. He opened his other hand, and, feeling like a character in a bad war movie, struck himself on the palm, not as hard as he could but not lightly. The blow stung, but Sean couldn't call it painful. Reassured, he shifted position, wanting a better angle. And raised the crop.

The first blow was light, more a tap. Sean continued, reassured to see no response beyond muscles shifting under the skin. He continued, seeing the pale skin flush, how Viggo's breathing quickened. Sean made sure none of the blows fell twice in the same place.

"Harder would be good."

Hesitating, Sean bit his lip. Then brought the crop down with greater strength. The sound Viggo made deep in his throat might have scared Sean except that the way Viggo's back arched, the way he thrust his hips up, immediately communicated pleasure without words.

Again. And again.

Watching Viggo's response to each blow, hearing the slap of crop against flesh, feeling how each strike resonated back through the leather to his hand, Sean felt his breathing grow shallow. He slowed the blows, wanting to savour each one, his vision narrowing to the body below him, the marks that rose, the rhythm moving up his arm. Inhaling deeply as he raised the crop, Sean breathed out on the downward swing. Waited. Then moved again. Felt a thrill deep inside.

"Stop." Viggo was panting, but his voice was strong.

Shocked, Sean dropped the riding crop, dropped to his knees beside the bed, trying to get his arms around Viggo. "Did I hurt you?"

Viggo turned in Sean's arms, hugging him, pulling him down on top of Viggo. "God, no, no, you didn't, not at all."

Sean could feel the tremors in Viggo's body, could feel him shaking. Shaking Viggo slightly, Sean demanded, "Are you sure? You said to stop!"

"Yes." Viggo hugged him harder. "But not because it hurt. It was incredible. But…enough. For now."

Sean relaxed, leaning forward, feeling Viggo's body under his. This position wasn't the most comfortable in the world, the edge of the bed pressing uncomfortably against his erection, the angle putting a strain on his lower back. But despite all that, Sean felt wonderful. And that was enough. For now.

~finis~