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LotRiPS fanfic, Drive
Title: Drive
Author: Sárka
Pairing: Vigorli
Rating: NC-17
Feedback: Is always welcome to come over for tea.
Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction. It never happened.
Warning: Very slight BDSM.
Author's notes: Inspired by the song "Drive" by Melissa Ferrick
This story is for![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
salixbabylon.
“I’ll give you whatever you want – but you’re going to have to ask.”
Orlando whimpers under his hands, back already arched into a nearly impossible curve, his body seeking out for the touch that he is denied.
“Just say it, Orlando. What do you want?”
Viggo feels the smile tug at the corners of his mouth, and he strokes softly – too softly – down Orlando’s thigh, a brief ghost of a touch that makes Orlando moan out loud and every muscle in his body strain towards Viggo’s hands, fingers twisting into the sheets, the smooth leather cuffs at his wrists gleaming despite the lack of light.
“I... Vigg... oh. I just want... touch...”
“Ask for it.” Viggo smiles when Orlando moans and strains against his bonds. This is his weakness, and both Orlando and Viggo know it. It’s the only thing that Orlando will not do unless Viggo has spent half the night driving him towards it, and therefore doing just that is Viggo’s new favourite pastime.
“I... touch me, Viggo. Fuck me. I want to feel you inside me. Viggo. God.”
Viggo smirks at his words.
“I said ask for it” he whispers, darting a hand underneath the arch of Orlando’s back, stroking softly down his spine, the words spoken close enough to Orlando’s skin for him to feel Viggo’s breath on his abdomen and Viggo can watch the goose bumps rise on his arms, the sun tattoo on Orlando’s hip flickering with the slight movement of muscle while Orlando’s body tries to decide whether to lean into the stroke on his back or to arch further into the breath on his stomach.
“I... oh, God...” And Viggo watches Orlando’s resolve fall apart, holding his breath because he lives for this moment. This is better than sex, better than orgasm, knowing he can do this, that Orlando will abandon his rules for him, that Orlando wants him enough to beg for it.
“Please, Viggo, please. Touch me. Take me. Just... please...”
Viggo leans down to lick at the sun tattoo, moving his hands up to stroke Orlando’s hips, the touch almost reverent, because Orlando is the most beautiful person he’s ever met, and he’s still amazed that he is allowed to do this to him. Orlando moans beneath him, and Viggo feels his limbs relax, not having to seek the touch anymore, and the arch of Orlando’s back smoothes out slowly, until Orlando’s lying on the sheets, hips trembling, feet scrambling for purchase on the smooth cotton.
Viggo takes a second to marvel at the beautiful man that’s stretched out on his bed, before moving up, mouth moving across the contours of Orlando’s body, across the curves of his stomach and sides, pausing to lick at a nipple before continuing upwards, and finally their mouths meet, and Orlando tastes like the words he’s been whispering ever since he broke, ’please’ and ’Viggo’ and touch me, and he’s pliant beneath Viggo, his legs open, willing to take anything that Viggo is willing to give.
”Please, Viggo, I want...” he whispers brokenly, and Viggo knows that he’s ready, he’s been ready for him for hours, because Viggo’s been driving him towards this, and when Viggo thrusts into the heat of his body, Orlando moans and arches his back towards him, and now their positions are reversed, because it’s Orlando who’s driving Viggo, moving his hips in counterpoint to his thrusts, forcing Viggo to drive himself deeper and deeper into the oblivion of Orlando’s body.
They’re moaning in unison, their mingled erratic breaths echo in the dark room, Orlando’s bound body arching as much as it can under Viggo’s weight and Viggo’s thrusts becoming more powerful and more erratic with every passing moment, Orlando’s moving and writhing beneath him driving towards his orgasm, and despite wanting to take it slow, the heat is just too delicious.
“Orlando” he whispers, and the young man under him moans as Viggo works a hand between their bodies to stroke his cock. “Come for me, Orlando” he whispers, and Orlando does, every muscle strained to breaking point, and Viggo wants to live forever in that moment, between ecstasy and completion, watching the rapture dart across Orlando’s face, feeling his body contract around him, bringing him to his own orgasm.
Afterwards, when they’re still hardly able to move and their breathing hasn’t evened out yet, they lie in each other’s arms, Orlando’s wrists freed from their constraints and his ankles untied, and Viggo tells Orlando how much he loves him, and even if Orlando doesn’t answer with words, Viggo can feel hands entangling in his hair, and the arms around him tighten in response, and that is good enough, because Viggo doesn’t always feel the need to drive Orlando to say the things he’d rather not say out loud.
Author: Sárka
Pairing: Vigorli
Rating: NC-17
Feedback: Is always welcome to come over for tea.
Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction. It never happened.
Warning: Very slight BDSM.
Author's notes: Inspired by the song "Drive" by Melissa Ferrick
This story is for
salixbabylon. “I’ll give you whatever you want – but you’re going to have to ask.”
Orlando whimpers under his hands, back already arched into a nearly impossible curve, his body seeking out for the touch that he is denied.
“Just say it, Orlando. What do you want?”
Viggo feels the smile tug at the corners of his mouth, and he strokes softly – too softly – down Orlando’s thigh, a brief ghost of a touch that makes Orlando moan out loud and every muscle in his body strain towards Viggo’s hands, fingers twisting into the sheets, the smooth leather cuffs at his wrists gleaming despite the lack of light.
“I... Vigg... oh. I just want... touch...”
“Ask for it.” Viggo smiles when Orlando moans and strains against his bonds. This is his weakness, and both Orlando and Viggo know it. It’s the only thing that Orlando will not do unless Viggo has spent half the night driving him towards it, and therefore doing just that is Viggo’s new favourite pastime.
“I... touch me, Viggo. Fuck me. I want to feel you inside me. Viggo. God.”
Viggo smirks at his words.
“I said ask for it” he whispers, darting a hand underneath the arch of Orlando’s back, stroking softly down his spine, the words spoken close enough to Orlando’s skin for him to feel Viggo’s breath on his abdomen and Viggo can watch the goose bumps rise on his arms, the sun tattoo on Orlando’s hip flickering with the slight movement of muscle while Orlando’s body tries to decide whether to lean into the stroke on his back or to arch further into the breath on his stomach.
“I... oh, God...” And Viggo watches Orlando’s resolve fall apart, holding his breath because he lives for this moment. This is better than sex, better than orgasm, knowing he can do this, that Orlando will abandon his rules for him, that Orlando wants him enough to beg for it.
“Please, Viggo, please. Touch me. Take me. Just... please...”
Viggo leans down to lick at the sun tattoo, moving his hands up to stroke Orlando’s hips, the touch almost reverent, because Orlando is the most beautiful person he’s ever met, and he’s still amazed that he is allowed to do this to him. Orlando moans beneath him, and Viggo feels his limbs relax, not having to seek the touch anymore, and the arch of Orlando’s back smoothes out slowly, until Orlando’s lying on the sheets, hips trembling, feet scrambling for purchase on the smooth cotton.
Viggo takes a second to marvel at the beautiful man that’s stretched out on his bed, before moving up, mouth moving across the contours of Orlando’s body, across the curves of his stomach and sides, pausing to lick at a nipple before continuing upwards, and finally their mouths meet, and Orlando tastes like the words he’s been whispering ever since he broke, ’please’ and ’Viggo’ and touch me, and he’s pliant beneath Viggo, his legs open, willing to take anything that Viggo is willing to give.
”Please, Viggo, I want...” he whispers brokenly, and Viggo knows that he’s ready, he’s been ready for him for hours, because Viggo’s been driving him towards this, and when Viggo thrusts into the heat of his body, Orlando moans and arches his back towards him, and now their positions are reversed, because it’s Orlando who’s driving Viggo, moving his hips in counterpoint to his thrusts, forcing Viggo to drive himself deeper and deeper into the oblivion of Orlando’s body.
They’re moaning in unison, their mingled erratic breaths echo in the dark room, Orlando’s bound body arching as much as it can under Viggo’s weight and Viggo’s thrusts becoming more powerful and more erratic with every passing moment, Orlando’s moving and writhing beneath him driving towards his orgasm, and despite wanting to take it slow, the heat is just too delicious.
“Orlando” he whispers, and the young man under him moans as Viggo works a hand between their bodies to stroke his cock. “Come for me, Orlando” he whispers, and Orlando does, every muscle strained to breaking point, and Viggo wants to live forever in that moment, between ecstasy and completion, watching the rapture dart across Orlando’s face, feeling his body contract around him, bringing him to his own orgasm.
Afterwards, when they’re still hardly able to move and their breathing hasn’t evened out yet, they lie in each other’s arms, Orlando’s wrists freed from their constraints and his ankles untied, and Viggo tells Orlando how much he loves him, and even if Orlando doesn’t answer with words, Viggo can feel hands entangling in his hair, and the arms around him tighten in response, and that is good enough, because Viggo doesn’t always feel the need to drive Orlando to say the things he’d rather not say out loud.