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savageseraph
Jul. 20th, 2009 03:21 pm![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
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wordsontongueTitle: The House on the Cliff
Author:govi20
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: Highlight to read the warning. BDSM, AU
Beta:mooms
Request: Genres - angst, kink, BDSM, AU; prompt(s) or general mood(s) - fierce, mystery
Disclaimer: Never happened; I made it all up
In the first few days, Sean did not do much more than sleep and eat. He really had been working too hard lately and then that nasty 'flu had hit him hard, bringing him down with a high fever, burning him up from inside. Now his normal strength was returning quickly and he congratulated himself on renting this cottage, at what seemed to be the end of the world.
If he had stayed home, he would have gone back to work already no doubt, nudged by endless phone calls and emails. He had left his phone at home, just bought a new one and had given the number to the few people he trusted with it, telling himself he would phone the office every few days, but so far he hadn't.
The cottage, 'Chy an dowr', which translated as 'House by the water', as the owner had told him, was situated on top of a cliff and had a magnificent sea view on both sides. It was a small house, just a living room, a rather large kitchen, a medium sized master bedroom and a tiny guestroom, but it was more than enough for him alone. This morning, Mrs. Kerrow, who would come and clean twice a week, had shown up for the first time and did a fine job cleaning. She wasn't very talkative and Sean appreciated that; didn't feel like chatting much himself.
He was running out of food, had been living on the supplies he'd brought with him from London and he would either have to go shopping or go out to have both lunch and tea. He offered Mrs. Kerrow a lift to the village, but she looked at him as if he had said something offensive and then refused, saying she always came by bike.
Sean sat at the kitchen table, scribbling down a shopping list and sipping coffee, while she dusted the living room but fled when she came into the kitchen and started cleaning the counter and cabinets.
He was relieved when she was ready, put on her sensible, good-for-all-weathers coat and mounted her bike as if it were a horse. He waited until he was sure she would be long home, then stepped into his car and drove the three miles to the village.
No supermarkets here of course, just a small grocery store that sold a quite amazing variety of goods, a bakery, a butcher and an old fashioned fishmonger, who had large piles of very fresh looking fish on ice shards.
He bought red mullet for tea, and sardines to put on the barbecue for lunch. The butcher sold 'gourmet meals, ready to heat' that he could stock into the big freezer in the utility room and he bought four of those. The woman in the bakery smiled at him and showed him Cornish pasties, still warm from the oven, delicious looking crispy crusted bread and treated him like he was her long lost son, when he spent quite a bit of money in the shop. The grocery store provided him with everything else he could need for the next couple of days. His appetite seemed to have returned, he pondered, as he tried to stuff it all in his car boot but failed and dropped the paper bakery bags on the back seat.
The rich scent of fresh bread spread through the car and by the time he reached the cottage he was starving and ripped off handfuls of still warm bread, while he started the barbecue.
After lunch he lay down on the couch and fell asleep almost immediately for more than an hour. When he woke up, the sun was shining brightly and he decided to go for a long walk on the beach. He took his wind and rain proof jacket and put it in his rucksack, together with an apple, a bottle of water and a can of Coke. The owner of the house, Jeff, had warned him about how easily the weather could turn bad here. As soon as he had descended the path leading down from the cliff he pulled off his shoes and socks and put them in the small rucksack.
He walked to where the sea reached the shore, leaving large footprints in the wet sand. Every now and then a chilly wave washed over his feet and ankles and it felt marvelous. Once or twice he met other people and he scratched the ears of an excited Labrador that came running towards him.
He had just looked at his watch, realizing it was getting late, when he saw the house on the cliff. Perhaps it would have the same view as his lovely little cottage, but that was the only thing the houses had in common. This house was twice as big at least, richly decorated with ornaments and a small tower rose from the roof. For a moment Sean thought he saw the sun reflecting into the tower room, but it was gone before he could have a better look.
He stood a while watching the house, strangely fascinated by it, wondering who would live in a place like that. His stomach rumbling told him he was hungry again and he turned to go back, deciding on investigating later this week. He would go out earlier and bring lunch with him, then have a better look at the house.
Far above him in the tower room, walls all glass like inside a lighthouse, the binoculars were pointed at Sean's slowly disappearing back.
Three days later, Sean packed sandwiches, water, fruit and some chocolate in his rucksack, determined to have a closer look at that strange house. This morning he had asked Mrs. Kerrow about the house and she had told him it had been unoccupied for years. Apart from the usual ghost tales it really was a simple story. The house's owner, a Mrs. Dyer, had lived in a nursing home for ten years before she died and in the meantime refused to sell it. A day after the funeral her heir put it on the market, but the place was in bad shape and nobody bought it.
Then this crazy American showed up and paid a ridiculous amount for the house. Not that she knew how much exactly, Mrs. Kerrow added ruefully, but Mrs. Dyer's son had bought a brand new car, moved to a bigger house and went on one of those Caribbean cruises.
The American had left, but shortly after, workmen had arrived and started renovating the house. Sean could hear the resentment in her voice, when she said the local people obviously weren't good enough to do the job, or the man had something to hide. Not that anyone to his right mind would be very anxious to work on the house, as it was a 'wicked' place she added, refusing to expand on that when Sean asked, but the American should have tried. Nobody had been inside the house and its occupant was almost never there, was certainly not there now. 'More money than common sense,' seemed to be the verdict.
For the last two days, the weather had been foul, but now the sun was shining. It wasn't really warm, but perfect weather for a long walk. Sean planned to walk over to the house like he had done earlier this week, then climb up the path, take a look at the place and walk back through the fields and village.
There was a strong wind in his back and he walked almost effortlessly, enjoying the sound of the waves breaking on the shore. When he caught sight of the house, he sat down behind a small dune, made out of wind-swept sand and had lunch. Even from this distance the house looked impressive and he kept his eyes on it while he ate.
About half an hour later, Sean stood at the foot of the cliff, looking at the path going up. It was quite steep, but he felt well enough to deal with it. He had the wind sideways on now and by the time he reached the top he was breathless and more than a little sweaty. Still, he had made it and he looked down at the beach below triumphantly.
Sean turned to look at the house which was now only half visible, being surrounded by a brick wall covered with ivy. He hadn't expected that and cursed this secretive American, as he would have liked to have had a closer look at the man's property. It was such an out of place building and it strangely fascinated him. He slowly walked along the wall, looking up at the house, but getting no more than a view of closed windows and draped red curtains for his trouble.
Again he cursed when he reached the gate. It was considerably lower than the wall, but made of solid wood and there was a row of glass shards on top of it, as if people would actually try to climb it.
He looked around, scanning the area until his eyes fell upon a large rock on the other side of the road ahead of him. He tried to roll it closer to the gate, but it was too uneven for that and he ended up shoving it forward with force. His muscles trembled and he suddenly felt weak and dizzy; his body reminding him about not being fully recovered yet, but he was almost there, so he ignored the signs.
He climbed on the rock steadying himself by holding one of the walls, almost hitting the button of the built-in intercom. He rose to his toes to look over the gate, and was rewarded by a view of a small front garden, overgrown with wild flowers, almost onto the steps of the front porch. The front door was made of dark wood and he had just tilted his body slightly to the left to see the window next to it, when the door opened.
For a moment Sean gawped incredulously at the man stepping out, and then he jumped off his rock. Like a child, caught at doing something utterly appalling – which was only fair, considering – he blushed ferociously and barely resisted the urge to run away.
He had started walking away when he heard the gate open and then he turned back, his blush deepening.
"Look, I am terribly sorry, but they said there was nobody here, and I liked what I could see, so I was curious to see the rest. I would never have done that, had I known that..." He broke off when the other man grinned and approached him
"Don't worry; I don't mind at all. I am the exploring kind myself." He turned back to look at his house. "It's quite something, isn't it? I fell in love with it right away."
The American drawl was unmistakable, but the man's face, strong jaw and sharp cut cheekbones spoke of a northern inheritance. "Viggo," he said, and proffered his hand which Sean shook. "Sean, Sean Bean, and yes, I do like your house."
"So, why don't you come in and have a drink with me? I can show you around a little if you like." For a moment Sean hesitated, *wasn't there something twisted about that smile?* but then he shrugged the feeling off and smiled back, "I would like that, if you are sure I am not intruding."
"Of course not, step in" and he stepped aside so Sean could enter the gate.
The first thing he saw, coming into the hall, was the large sculpture of a naked male dominating it. It was placed on a pedestal at the foot of broad stairs going up. It was rather beautiful and it seemed as if the artist had been inspired by Michelangelo's David, even though this David's phallus was about three times the size of the famous original.
Sean blinked, and then tried to look away, but his host took him by the elbow and led him closer. Viggo smelled nice, something he couldn't really place, but nice enough to draw Sean's attention more to him than the well endowed perfection in front of him.
"Do you like art, Sean?" He didn't wait for an answer but stretched out his hand, stroking the smooth looking marble thigh. "Isn't it amazing?"
"It is, yes, never seen anything like it," Sean murmured truthfully.
"I call him Goliath. I am sure you can see why."
Sean grinned and Viggo winked at him, "I feel art can be all sort of things and I think this one, apart from being beautiful, is mostly fun. Let me show you my collection."
Again he grasped Sean's elbow and turned him to the left where a door stood slightly ajar. "It's in here. This used to be the dining room. Maybe because there are no windows in it, it is absolutely perfect for my paintings."
He pressed a button on the wall and the room that had been rather dark was suddenly bathed in soft yellowish light. For the next half hour, Viggo showed him various paintings, smaller sculptures and even some hand-painted china. Sean really was interested in art and even though he didn't appreciate all he saw he was captured by Viggo's enthusiasm and obvious knowledge about the subject.
Still, he felt a bit tired and he was glad when Viggo suggested going to the living room and having a drink. In contrast to the art room the living room was very bright, mainly because of the sliding glass doors that took up the entire wall. Sean walked through the large room and admired the magnificent view. There was a large, paved lounge area, with several deckchairs, a round table and something that looked like a hot tub. Behind all this you could see a small part of the beach and then the sea that seemed to seamlessly melt into the sky.
"That is marvelous Viggo. I envy you," Sean said without turning around.
"It is. It's also very private. I like sunbathing in the nude and here I can; not a soul that can see me. It's a shame your English climate doesn't allow me to do that often. I sit outside as much as I can, but the wind is too strong today, so we can't, unfortunately. Now would you join me for a glass of wine?"
Truth to be told Sean would have preferred beer, but he didn't want to offend his host so he agreed and sat on the couch Viggo pointed out to him. Viggo went out of the room to come back almost immediately carrying a tray with a bottle of wine and two glasses. He opened the bottle and poured two generous glasses of a burgundy coloured wine. To Sean's surprise he didn't sit on one of the big armchairs, but sat down quite close beside Sean on the couch. Somehow it got to him, a warm feeling of anticipation fluttering in his stomach and interest stirring below his stomach.
"To you Sean; you're my first visitor here, so I am obliged to spoil you" and they clinked glasses.
"Cheers mate." *Spoil me? Hmmm...*
The wine was soft, velvety smooth on his tongue and Sean hummed appreciatively.
"An excellent wine, isn't it? It's a 1982 Chateau Lafitte."
"It's lovely, but I am afraid I am not too knowledgeable about wine. You seem quite a connoisseur."
Viggo grinned, baring gappy white teeth. "I am, Sean, and not just of wine."
Sean didn't know how to react to that, so he just took another sip of the really very nice wine. Before he knew it his glass was empty and Viggo had poured him another. Sean, who could normally hold his drink very well, shook his head when he felt the room tilting after his second glass. Still, he felt pleasant and Viggo kept up the conversation, so he just relaxed into the very comfortable couch and sipped his wine.
Vaguely he remembered he should be going, that he had no right to take up more of Viggo's time, Viggo who was a lovely host and quite a good looking one too, as Sean now admitted to himself. He was very tired though, exhausted really. He leaned his head against a cushion and looked at Viggo, who smiled serenely at him and seemed perfectly happy with him being there.
Sean felt he should at least make an effort at conversation and he searched his fogged brain. *Ah, yes!*
"You live here alone, Viggo?"
Again that wide grin, "You think I have a wife and kids hidden somewhere? No Sean, just like you I am into men, and very much alone at the moment."
"How did you know... I mean..."
"Come on Sean, I told you I was a connoisseur, didn't I?"
He poured Sean another glass and even though he realized Viggo was still sipping his first, Sean drank greedily, if only to hide his blush. After that the room seemed to spin around him and he closed his eyes for a second, remotely aware of Viggo's soothing voice.
He woke up some time later, opening his eyes just to look at his own reflection in the mirrored ceiling. His mouth was dry, but luckily he didn't have a headache. Only when he wanted to sit up he noticed he couldn't, that his arms and legs were restricted somehow. He was clueless, but too tired and sleepy to panic. It was probably all just a dream, so he closed his eyes again.
The next time he opened them, Viggo was sitting at the foot of the bed and looking at him without a trace of a smile. He seemed very different to the amiable host he had been earlier. His hair was slicked back; the comfortable jeans were gone, replaced by black leather pants and he was shirtless. Vaguely remembering something Sean looked up at the ceiling, his reflection making clear that his shirt was gone too and he was tied to the four posts of what seemed a very sturdy, wrought iron bed.
"What the fuck is going on?" he blurted out, pulling at his bonds with no result. "How dare you? Untie me immediately!"
Viggo reached out to rest his hand on Sean's knee. "I thought you might react like that, but you'll have to hear me out. If you still want me to let you go after that, I will."
"I'll listen to you after you've untied me, not like this."
"Such a delicious, stubborn man you are," Viggo sighed and the hand lifted from Sean's knee to stroke upwards, until it reached naked skin and lingered there. "I am afraid I can't untie you, not yet and you will have to listen to what I have to say. But first, I will get you some water; you must be thirsty."
He stood up and left the room climbing up a flight of stairs at the far end, leaving Sean annoyed and puzzled. He looked around him at the rather big room. There were no windows in the brick walls, which carried strange contraptions, large pictures and paintings. *It's a cellar,* and then he had a better look at the painting hanging close to the bed and he paled. *Fucking hell, it's a dungeon.*
He startled when Viggo descended the stairs, carrying a tray. Sean watched him putting it down on a strange looking wooden bench and pouring a glass of water. Closing his mouth like a stubborn child he shook his head when Viggo's hand slid behind his head tilting it and held the glass to his mouth.
"Don't be silly, boy," Viggo said, "You don't want me to pinch your nose, do you? Come on, drink!" and his eyes made very clear he meant it.
Sean shivered, not sure whether it was that word 'boy' or the threat that made him comply, but he opened his mouth and drank cool, sparkling water.
"Good. Now, be still and let me explain why you are here. From the moment we met there was an attraction, and we both knew."
"If that's so then why tie me up?"
"Be silent, you're pushing your luck. I have ways to make you listen, believe me. Now look here Sean; I could have picked the easy way and we would have ended up in my bedroom instead of here, I would have fucked you and that would have been nice, but also the end of it. I recognised something far more interesting in you, a need I want to address and play with. You know what I mean, don't you?"
Sean said nothing, but a steady glow was warming his body, as if a candle was lit inside of him and he was hard, enough to make it show through his worn out jeans. Viggo bent over, his face close to Sean's, "Don't tell me it's not what you want, not what you are thinking about, because I know it is." Sean stared into those piercing eyes and swallowed, relieved when Viggo pulled back a little.
"Don't tell me you want this..." Viggo's hand came up and stroked a soft nipple slowly and tenderly to life, "rather than this," and his fingers grabbed the now stiff bud, tugged and tweaked it harshly.
"Ah.....Christ," Sean cried out, red hot pain and lust shooting straight to his groin.
"I thought so," Viggo said, his hand back to stroking the abused flesh. "This was just a teaser, but I could give you so much more, Sean."
Sean swallowed, forcing himself to look Viggo in the eyes, "Even if I were... Interested, how do I know I can trust you when I don't even know you?"
"Mm... Good question. I can only tell you I am experienced at this, I will take good care of you, but you have no way of knowing it's true. I guess sometimes a man just has to jump and fuck the consequences, Sean. One exciting day in both our lives; it's up to you."
The hand that had been on his nipple now stroked Sean's belly, making his skin tingle and yield, already consenting to whatever Viggo wanted to do to him, and he knew his choice was made. He said nothing, just arched up into Viggo's touch.
"I'll take that as a 'yes', so lie still and be good."
Viggo quickly untied Sean's ankles, and then crouched down between his spread legs. One hand started working on Sean's fly, while the other slid over his chest, rough fingertips and the scratch of blunt nails against an already sore nipple.
He took his time taking off Sean's jeans and then his undershorts, as if he was unpacking a precious gift, looking at Sean's body with obvious approval.
"You have a lovely body, beautiful and strong; I find it difficult to choose what to play with first."
He took Sean's already hard cock in his hand, stroking it and Sean closed his eyes, pressing his head into the pillow.
"Open your eyes, look at me, look at yourself," Viggo's voice was fierce, expecting nothing else but obedience and Sean's eyes flew open, watching himself squirm underneath those strong, relentless hands. He moaned when Viggo bent over him and lapped at a nipple, then bit down sharply, his voice breaking when he tried to speak.
Sean kept clinging to the bed head as if it was a safe haven, even when Viggo freed his hands, resisting only a little when he was urged to turn over, then giving in to the pressure of Viggo's hand pushing his head down.
He rubbed his cock against the mattress, trying for friction now that he had lost Viggo's hand on him. A stinging blow on his rear was the result and another one when he didn't react quickly enough.
"Stop that, or you'll be sorry," Viggo said and then something was wrapped around Sean's face, taking away every bit of light. Sean, who tended to be claustrophobic, had always expected to panic in a situation like this, but instead the blindfold made him calm down and settle on the bed. He could hear doors open and close, footsteps and then a command, softly spoken, but still a command.
"Kneel up."
He did what he was told, slightly wavering because of the blindfold. Something soft closed around one wrist then around the other and he was pulled forward and curled his hands around what was probably the bed head. A clanking of steel and his wrists were secured, his head pressed forward until it rested between them. He tried to imagine what he looked like right now, head resting against the bed, on his knees, arse and back exposed and he moaned softly.
He shivered when something trailed over his spine, something deceptively smooth, almost ticklish, but then it was gone. There was no test blow, whatever it was Viggo used on him hit him hard, spreading liquid heat over his back. Five times he counted, tried to keep some control but then he lost track, was in a place where he could let go and just feel.
His body was on fire when it finally stopped, pain and heat and lust woven into the scream he let out when Viggo's hand reached around him and tugged and pulled a nipple.
If you were mine I'd put rings on you," Viggo growled and Sean moaned, arching up under Viggo's hand, desperate for more. He pushed back shamelessly when he felt a slick finger slipping into his body, twisting inside him sharply and then another one entered, making quick work of opening him up. Hearing the tearing of foil, Sean moved on the bed, trying to open his knees even wider, groaning when sharp teeth bit down on his burning arse.
Viggo felt huge, as he relentlessly pushed into Sean's body. His hands bit into Sean's hips, pulling his rump up and closer and then he was all the way in. Just a few brief moments of respite and then he started fucking Sean with long deep thrusts, his left hand back on Sean's nipple, twisting and pinching in rhythm with his thrusts.
Sean wanted to beg for more, say that he needed to come, but he couldn't find words, instead his body moved in one continuous plea. He cried out when a hand closed around his cock and stroked it. A sharp bite on his shoulder and he came in a shuddering release that seemed to last for hours and left him sobbing against his restrained hands. Sean was faintly aware of Viggo spurting inside him and then slumping onto his heated back.
Some time later his hands were freed and a cool substance was carefully dabbed on his backside. Viggo's soothing voice told him to keep his eyes closed to get slowly used to the light while he removed the blindfold and then he was on his side, Viggo crawling next to him and holding him close. He felt safe and warm, marvelous but exhausted and he passed out almost immediately.
He opened his eyes and blinked to fading daylight and a strange face, aware that he'd been shaken awake. He shook his head, realizing he was somewhere outside, fully dressed but lying on a small patch of grass on the side of a small road with his rucksack next to him...
"Are you all right, Sir?" The man bending over him looked worried and seemed to scan Sean's face. He was about fifty and had a round face with clear brown eyes, his upper class English branding him as not Cornish.
Sean sat up and looked around in confusion, "Where am I? How did I get here?"
"I don't know, Sir. I just happened to see you lying there when I drove past from the village."
"I don't get it. I was... visiting someone and now all of a sudden..."
"Who were you visiting, Sir? Perhaps I could drive you back there," the man said politely.
Sean scrambled to his feet and looked around him. "There," he pointed out triumphantly, "that house on the cliff there; I visited someone called Viggo."
The man stepped back and looked at Sean suspiciously, "I am afraid that is not possible Sir."
"Why the hell not? You think I am lying?"
"You're mistaken at the least Sir; that's where my wife and I now live. Mr. Mortensen, the owner, has hired us from a London agency, and we arrived yesterday. My name is Crawford. I am a butler and my wife is a cook. There's nobody living there but us. Mr. Mortensen is in America and won't be here until August."
They kept talking back and forth for some time but the man seemed so determined and clearly honest, that Sean simply stopped arguing and stepped into the Bentley to let himself be driven home.
He didn't waste any time but picked up his phone to call his office immediately. Handing out some orders he poured himself a glass of whiskey and waited until he was called back. Thirty minutes later he was in his bathroom, pulling off his sweater. June, his secretary, had told him 'Mr. Mortensen' was indeed Mr. Viggo Mortensen, a well known businessman in New York. She had found a picture of him and described him over the telephone, leaving no doubt that this was the man.
Sean shivered while he inspected the welts on his back in the large bathroom mirror, thinking about her words. "I made up some excuse and called him. I spoke to him over his office line and he is definitely in the U.S. Sean, I am sure of that." She had sounded curious, but Sean wasn't planning on making her any wiser about his reasons.
He shivered as her voice trailed off with her last words, "He was polite, but very, very cautious. A bit of a mystery man I guess."
Author:
govi20Rating: NC-17
Warnings: Highlight to read the warning. BDSM, AU
Beta:
moomsRequest: Genres - angst, kink, BDSM, AU; prompt(s) or general mood(s) - fierce, mystery
Disclaimer: Never happened; I made it all up
In the first few days, Sean did not do much more than sleep and eat. He really had been working too hard lately and then that nasty 'flu had hit him hard, bringing him down with a high fever, burning him up from inside. Now his normal strength was returning quickly and he congratulated himself on renting this cottage, at what seemed to be the end of the world.
If he had stayed home, he would have gone back to work already no doubt, nudged by endless phone calls and emails. He had left his phone at home, just bought a new one and had given the number to the few people he trusted with it, telling himself he would phone the office every few days, but so far he hadn't.
The cottage, 'Chy an dowr', which translated as 'House by the water', as the owner had told him, was situated on top of a cliff and had a magnificent sea view on both sides. It was a small house, just a living room, a rather large kitchen, a medium sized master bedroom and a tiny guestroom, but it was more than enough for him alone. This morning, Mrs. Kerrow, who would come and clean twice a week, had shown up for the first time and did a fine job cleaning. She wasn't very talkative and Sean appreciated that; didn't feel like chatting much himself.
He was running out of food, had been living on the supplies he'd brought with him from London and he would either have to go shopping or go out to have both lunch and tea. He offered Mrs. Kerrow a lift to the village, but she looked at him as if he had said something offensive and then refused, saying she always came by bike.
Sean sat at the kitchen table, scribbling down a shopping list and sipping coffee, while she dusted the living room but fled when she came into the kitchen and started cleaning the counter and cabinets.
He was relieved when she was ready, put on her sensible, good-for-all-weathers coat and mounted her bike as if it were a horse. He waited until he was sure she would be long home, then stepped into his car and drove the three miles to the village.
No supermarkets here of course, just a small grocery store that sold a quite amazing variety of goods, a bakery, a butcher and an old fashioned fishmonger, who had large piles of very fresh looking fish on ice shards.
He bought red mullet for tea, and sardines to put on the barbecue for lunch. The butcher sold 'gourmet meals, ready to heat' that he could stock into the big freezer in the utility room and he bought four of those. The woman in the bakery smiled at him and showed him Cornish pasties, still warm from the oven, delicious looking crispy crusted bread and treated him like he was her long lost son, when he spent quite a bit of money in the shop. The grocery store provided him with everything else he could need for the next couple of days. His appetite seemed to have returned, he pondered, as he tried to stuff it all in his car boot but failed and dropped the paper bakery bags on the back seat.
The rich scent of fresh bread spread through the car and by the time he reached the cottage he was starving and ripped off handfuls of still warm bread, while he started the barbecue.
After lunch he lay down on the couch and fell asleep almost immediately for more than an hour. When he woke up, the sun was shining brightly and he decided to go for a long walk on the beach. He took his wind and rain proof jacket and put it in his rucksack, together with an apple, a bottle of water and a can of Coke. The owner of the house, Jeff, had warned him about how easily the weather could turn bad here. As soon as he had descended the path leading down from the cliff he pulled off his shoes and socks and put them in the small rucksack.
He walked to where the sea reached the shore, leaving large footprints in the wet sand. Every now and then a chilly wave washed over his feet and ankles and it felt marvelous. Once or twice he met other people and he scratched the ears of an excited Labrador that came running towards him.
He had just looked at his watch, realizing it was getting late, when he saw the house on the cliff. Perhaps it would have the same view as his lovely little cottage, but that was the only thing the houses had in common. This house was twice as big at least, richly decorated with ornaments and a small tower rose from the roof. For a moment Sean thought he saw the sun reflecting into the tower room, but it was gone before he could have a better look.
He stood a while watching the house, strangely fascinated by it, wondering who would live in a place like that. His stomach rumbling told him he was hungry again and he turned to go back, deciding on investigating later this week. He would go out earlier and bring lunch with him, then have a better look at the house.
Far above him in the tower room, walls all glass like inside a lighthouse, the binoculars were pointed at Sean's slowly disappearing back.
Three days later, Sean packed sandwiches, water, fruit and some chocolate in his rucksack, determined to have a closer look at that strange house. This morning he had asked Mrs. Kerrow about the house and she had told him it had been unoccupied for years. Apart from the usual ghost tales it really was a simple story. The house's owner, a Mrs. Dyer, had lived in a nursing home for ten years before she died and in the meantime refused to sell it. A day after the funeral her heir put it on the market, but the place was in bad shape and nobody bought it.
Then this crazy American showed up and paid a ridiculous amount for the house. Not that she knew how much exactly, Mrs. Kerrow added ruefully, but Mrs. Dyer's son had bought a brand new car, moved to a bigger house and went on one of those Caribbean cruises.
The American had left, but shortly after, workmen had arrived and started renovating the house. Sean could hear the resentment in her voice, when she said the local people obviously weren't good enough to do the job, or the man had something to hide. Not that anyone to his right mind would be very anxious to work on the house, as it was a 'wicked' place she added, refusing to expand on that when Sean asked, but the American should have tried. Nobody had been inside the house and its occupant was almost never there, was certainly not there now. 'More money than common sense,' seemed to be the verdict.
For the last two days, the weather had been foul, but now the sun was shining. It wasn't really warm, but perfect weather for a long walk. Sean planned to walk over to the house like he had done earlier this week, then climb up the path, take a look at the place and walk back through the fields and village.
There was a strong wind in his back and he walked almost effortlessly, enjoying the sound of the waves breaking on the shore. When he caught sight of the house, he sat down behind a small dune, made out of wind-swept sand and had lunch. Even from this distance the house looked impressive and he kept his eyes on it while he ate.
About half an hour later, Sean stood at the foot of the cliff, looking at the path going up. It was quite steep, but he felt well enough to deal with it. He had the wind sideways on now and by the time he reached the top he was breathless and more than a little sweaty. Still, he had made it and he looked down at the beach below triumphantly.
Sean turned to look at the house which was now only half visible, being surrounded by a brick wall covered with ivy. He hadn't expected that and cursed this secretive American, as he would have liked to have had a closer look at the man's property. It was such an out of place building and it strangely fascinated him. He slowly walked along the wall, looking up at the house, but getting no more than a view of closed windows and draped red curtains for his trouble.
Again he cursed when he reached the gate. It was considerably lower than the wall, but made of solid wood and there was a row of glass shards on top of it, as if people would actually try to climb it.
He looked around, scanning the area until his eyes fell upon a large rock on the other side of the road ahead of him. He tried to roll it closer to the gate, but it was too uneven for that and he ended up shoving it forward with force. His muscles trembled and he suddenly felt weak and dizzy; his body reminding him about not being fully recovered yet, but he was almost there, so he ignored the signs.
He climbed on the rock steadying himself by holding one of the walls, almost hitting the button of the built-in intercom. He rose to his toes to look over the gate, and was rewarded by a view of a small front garden, overgrown with wild flowers, almost onto the steps of the front porch. The front door was made of dark wood and he had just tilted his body slightly to the left to see the window next to it, when the door opened.
For a moment Sean gawped incredulously at the man stepping out, and then he jumped off his rock. Like a child, caught at doing something utterly appalling – which was only fair, considering – he blushed ferociously and barely resisted the urge to run away.
He had started walking away when he heard the gate open and then he turned back, his blush deepening.
"Look, I am terribly sorry, but they said there was nobody here, and I liked what I could see, so I was curious to see the rest. I would never have done that, had I known that..." He broke off when the other man grinned and approached him
"Don't worry; I don't mind at all. I am the exploring kind myself." He turned back to look at his house. "It's quite something, isn't it? I fell in love with it right away."
The American drawl was unmistakable, but the man's face, strong jaw and sharp cut cheekbones spoke of a northern inheritance. "Viggo," he said, and proffered his hand which Sean shook. "Sean, Sean Bean, and yes, I do like your house."
"So, why don't you come in and have a drink with me? I can show you around a little if you like." For a moment Sean hesitated, *wasn't there something twisted about that smile?* but then he shrugged the feeling off and smiled back, "I would like that, if you are sure I am not intruding."
"Of course not, step in" and he stepped aside so Sean could enter the gate.
The first thing he saw, coming into the hall, was the large sculpture of a naked male dominating it. It was placed on a pedestal at the foot of broad stairs going up. It was rather beautiful and it seemed as if the artist had been inspired by Michelangelo's David, even though this David's phallus was about three times the size of the famous original.
Sean blinked, and then tried to look away, but his host took him by the elbow and led him closer. Viggo smelled nice, something he couldn't really place, but nice enough to draw Sean's attention more to him than the well endowed perfection in front of him.
"Do you like art, Sean?" He didn't wait for an answer but stretched out his hand, stroking the smooth looking marble thigh. "Isn't it amazing?"
"It is, yes, never seen anything like it," Sean murmured truthfully.
"I call him Goliath. I am sure you can see why."
Sean grinned and Viggo winked at him, "I feel art can be all sort of things and I think this one, apart from being beautiful, is mostly fun. Let me show you my collection."
Again he grasped Sean's elbow and turned him to the left where a door stood slightly ajar. "It's in here. This used to be the dining room. Maybe because there are no windows in it, it is absolutely perfect for my paintings."
He pressed a button on the wall and the room that had been rather dark was suddenly bathed in soft yellowish light. For the next half hour, Viggo showed him various paintings, smaller sculptures and even some hand-painted china. Sean really was interested in art and even though he didn't appreciate all he saw he was captured by Viggo's enthusiasm and obvious knowledge about the subject.
Still, he felt a bit tired and he was glad when Viggo suggested going to the living room and having a drink. In contrast to the art room the living room was very bright, mainly because of the sliding glass doors that took up the entire wall. Sean walked through the large room and admired the magnificent view. There was a large, paved lounge area, with several deckchairs, a round table and something that looked like a hot tub. Behind all this you could see a small part of the beach and then the sea that seemed to seamlessly melt into the sky.
"That is marvelous Viggo. I envy you," Sean said without turning around.
"It is. It's also very private. I like sunbathing in the nude and here I can; not a soul that can see me. It's a shame your English climate doesn't allow me to do that often. I sit outside as much as I can, but the wind is too strong today, so we can't, unfortunately. Now would you join me for a glass of wine?"
Truth to be told Sean would have preferred beer, but he didn't want to offend his host so he agreed and sat on the couch Viggo pointed out to him. Viggo went out of the room to come back almost immediately carrying a tray with a bottle of wine and two glasses. He opened the bottle and poured two generous glasses of a burgundy coloured wine. To Sean's surprise he didn't sit on one of the big armchairs, but sat down quite close beside Sean on the couch. Somehow it got to him, a warm feeling of anticipation fluttering in his stomach and interest stirring below his stomach.
"To you Sean; you're my first visitor here, so I am obliged to spoil you" and they clinked glasses.
"Cheers mate." *Spoil me? Hmmm...*
The wine was soft, velvety smooth on his tongue and Sean hummed appreciatively.
"An excellent wine, isn't it? It's a 1982 Chateau Lafitte."
"It's lovely, but I am afraid I am not too knowledgeable about wine. You seem quite a connoisseur."
Viggo grinned, baring gappy white teeth. "I am, Sean, and not just of wine."
Sean didn't know how to react to that, so he just took another sip of the really very nice wine. Before he knew it his glass was empty and Viggo had poured him another. Sean, who could normally hold his drink very well, shook his head when he felt the room tilting after his second glass. Still, he felt pleasant and Viggo kept up the conversation, so he just relaxed into the very comfortable couch and sipped his wine.
Vaguely he remembered he should be going, that he had no right to take up more of Viggo's time, Viggo who was a lovely host and quite a good looking one too, as Sean now admitted to himself. He was very tired though, exhausted really. He leaned his head against a cushion and looked at Viggo, who smiled serenely at him and seemed perfectly happy with him being there.
Sean felt he should at least make an effort at conversation and he searched his fogged brain. *Ah, yes!*
"You live here alone, Viggo?"
Again that wide grin, "You think I have a wife and kids hidden somewhere? No Sean, just like you I am into men, and very much alone at the moment."
"How did you know... I mean..."
"Come on Sean, I told you I was a connoisseur, didn't I?"
He poured Sean another glass and even though he realized Viggo was still sipping his first, Sean drank greedily, if only to hide his blush. After that the room seemed to spin around him and he closed his eyes for a second, remotely aware of Viggo's soothing voice.
He woke up some time later, opening his eyes just to look at his own reflection in the mirrored ceiling. His mouth was dry, but luckily he didn't have a headache. Only when he wanted to sit up he noticed he couldn't, that his arms and legs were restricted somehow. He was clueless, but too tired and sleepy to panic. It was probably all just a dream, so he closed his eyes again.
The next time he opened them, Viggo was sitting at the foot of the bed and looking at him without a trace of a smile. He seemed very different to the amiable host he had been earlier. His hair was slicked back; the comfortable jeans were gone, replaced by black leather pants and he was shirtless. Vaguely remembering something Sean looked up at the ceiling, his reflection making clear that his shirt was gone too and he was tied to the four posts of what seemed a very sturdy, wrought iron bed.
"What the fuck is going on?" he blurted out, pulling at his bonds with no result. "How dare you? Untie me immediately!"
Viggo reached out to rest his hand on Sean's knee. "I thought you might react like that, but you'll have to hear me out. If you still want me to let you go after that, I will."
"I'll listen to you after you've untied me, not like this."
"Such a delicious, stubborn man you are," Viggo sighed and the hand lifted from Sean's knee to stroke upwards, until it reached naked skin and lingered there. "I am afraid I can't untie you, not yet and you will have to listen to what I have to say. But first, I will get you some water; you must be thirsty."
He stood up and left the room climbing up a flight of stairs at the far end, leaving Sean annoyed and puzzled. He looked around him at the rather big room. There were no windows in the brick walls, which carried strange contraptions, large pictures and paintings. *It's a cellar,* and then he had a better look at the painting hanging close to the bed and he paled. *Fucking hell, it's a dungeon.*
He startled when Viggo descended the stairs, carrying a tray. Sean watched him putting it down on a strange looking wooden bench and pouring a glass of water. Closing his mouth like a stubborn child he shook his head when Viggo's hand slid behind his head tilting it and held the glass to his mouth.
"Don't be silly, boy," Viggo said, "You don't want me to pinch your nose, do you? Come on, drink!" and his eyes made very clear he meant it.
Sean shivered, not sure whether it was that word 'boy' or the threat that made him comply, but he opened his mouth and drank cool, sparkling water.
"Good. Now, be still and let me explain why you are here. From the moment we met there was an attraction, and we both knew."
"If that's so then why tie me up?"
"Be silent, you're pushing your luck. I have ways to make you listen, believe me. Now look here Sean; I could have picked the easy way and we would have ended up in my bedroom instead of here, I would have fucked you and that would have been nice, but also the end of it. I recognised something far more interesting in you, a need I want to address and play with. You know what I mean, don't you?"
Sean said nothing, but a steady glow was warming his body, as if a candle was lit inside of him and he was hard, enough to make it show through his worn out jeans. Viggo bent over, his face close to Sean's, "Don't tell me it's not what you want, not what you are thinking about, because I know it is." Sean stared into those piercing eyes and swallowed, relieved when Viggo pulled back a little.
"Don't tell me you want this..." Viggo's hand came up and stroked a soft nipple slowly and tenderly to life, "rather than this," and his fingers grabbed the now stiff bud, tugged and tweaked it harshly.
"Ah.....Christ," Sean cried out, red hot pain and lust shooting straight to his groin.
"I thought so," Viggo said, his hand back to stroking the abused flesh. "This was just a teaser, but I could give you so much more, Sean."
Sean swallowed, forcing himself to look Viggo in the eyes, "Even if I were... Interested, how do I know I can trust you when I don't even know you?"
"Mm... Good question. I can only tell you I am experienced at this, I will take good care of you, but you have no way of knowing it's true. I guess sometimes a man just has to jump and fuck the consequences, Sean. One exciting day in both our lives; it's up to you."
The hand that had been on his nipple now stroked Sean's belly, making his skin tingle and yield, already consenting to whatever Viggo wanted to do to him, and he knew his choice was made. He said nothing, just arched up into Viggo's touch.
"I'll take that as a 'yes', so lie still and be good."
Viggo quickly untied Sean's ankles, and then crouched down between his spread legs. One hand started working on Sean's fly, while the other slid over his chest, rough fingertips and the scratch of blunt nails against an already sore nipple.
He took his time taking off Sean's jeans and then his undershorts, as if he was unpacking a precious gift, looking at Sean's body with obvious approval.
"You have a lovely body, beautiful and strong; I find it difficult to choose what to play with first."
He took Sean's already hard cock in his hand, stroking it and Sean closed his eyes, pressing his head into the pillow.
"Open your eyes, look at me, look at yourself," Viggo's voice was fierce, expecting nothing else but obedience and Sean's eyes flew open, watching himself squirm underneath those strong, relentless hands. He moaned when Viggo bent over him and lapped at a nipple, then bit down sharply, his voice breaking when he tried to speak.
Sean kept clinging to the bed head as if it was a safe haven, even when Viggo freed his hands, resisting only a little when he was urged to turn over, then giving in to the pressure of Viggo's hand pushing his head down.
He rubbed his cock against the mattress, trying for friction now that he had lost Viggo's hand on him. A stinging blow on his rear was the result and another one when he didn't react quickly enough.
"Stop that, or you'll be sorry," Viggo said and then something was wrapped around Sean's face, taking away every bit of light. Sean, who tended to be claustrophobic, had always expected to panic in a situation like this, but instead the blindfold made him calm down and settle on the bed. He could hear doors open and close, footsteps and then a command, softly spoken, but still a command.
"Kneel up."
He did what he was told, slightly wavering because of the blindfold. Something soft closed around one wrist then around the other and he was pulled forward and curled his hands around what was probably the bed head. A clanking of steel and his wrists were secured, his head pressed forward until it rested between them. He tried to imagine what he looked like right now, head resting against the bed, on his knees, arse and back exposed and he moaned softly.
He shivered when something trailed over his spine, something deceptively smooth, almost ticklish, but then it was gone. There was no test blow, whatever it was Viggo used on him hit him hard, spreading liquid heat over his back. Five times he counted, tried to keep some control but then he lost track, was in a place where he could let go and just feel.
His body was on fire when it finally stopped, pain and heat and lust woven into the scream he let out when Viggo's hand reached around him and tugged and pulled a nipple.
If you were mine I'd put rings on you," Viggo growled and Sean moaned, arching up under Viggo's hand, desperate for more. He pushed back shamelessly when he felt a slick finger slipping into his body, twisting inside him sharply and then another one entered, making quick work of opening him up. Hearing the tearing of foil, Sean moved on the bed, trying to open his knees even wider, groaning when sharp teeth bit down on his burning arse.
Viggo felt huge, as he relentlessly pushed into Sean's body. His hands bit into Sean's hips, pulling his rump up and closer and then he was all the way in. Just a few brief moments of respite and then he started fucking Sean with long deep thrusts, his left hand back on Sean's nipple, twisting and pinching in rhythm with his thrusts.
Sean wanted to beg for more, say that he needed to come, but he couldn't find words, instead his body moved in one continuous plea. He cried out when a hand closed around his cock and stroked it. A sharp bite on his shoulder and he came in a shuddering release that seemed to last for hours and left him sobbing against his restrained hands. Sean was faintly aware of Viggo spurting inside him and then slumping onto his heated back.
Some time later his hands were freed and a cool substance was carefully dabbed on his backside. Viggo's soothing voice told him to keep his eyes closed to get slowly used to the light while he removed the blindfold and then he was on his side, Viggo crawling next to him and holding him close. He felt safe and warm, marvelous but exhausted and he passed out almost immediately.
He opened his eyes and blinked to fading daylight and a strange face, aware that he'd been shaken awake. He shook his head, realizing he was somewhere outside, fully dressed but lying on a small patch of grass on the side of a small road with his rucksack next to him...
"Are you all right, Sir?" The man bending over him looked worried and seemed to scan Sean's face. He was about fifty and had a round face with clear brown eyes, his upper class English branding him as not Cornish.
Sean sat up and looked around in confusion, "Where am I? How did I get here?"
"I don't know, Sir. I just happened to see you lying there when I drove past from the village."
"I don't get it. I was... visiting someone and now all of a sudden..."
"Who were you visiting, Sir? Perhaps I could drive you back there," the man said politely.
Sean scrambled to his feet and looked around him. "There," he pointed out triumphantly, "that house on the cliff there; I visited someone called Viggo."
The man stepped back and looked at Sean suspiciously, "I am afraid that is not possible Sir."
"Why the hell not? You think I am lying?"
"You're mistaken at the least Sir; that's where my wife and I now live. Mr. Mortensen, the owner, has hired us from a London agency, and we arrived yesterday. My name is Crawford. I am a butler and my wife is a cook. There's nobody living there but us. Mr. Mortensen is in America and won't be here until August."
They kept talking back and forth for some time but the man seemed so determined and clearly honest, that Sean simply stopped arguing and stepped into the Bentley to let himself be driven home.
He didn't waste any time but picked up his phone to call his office immediately. Handing out some orders he poured himself a glass of whiskey and waited until he was called back. Thirty minutes later he was in his bathroom, pulling off his sweater. June, his secretary, had told him 'Mr. Mortensen' was indeed Mr. Viggo Mortensen, a well known businessman in New York. She had found a picture of him and described him over the telephone, leaving no doubt that this was the man.
Sean shivered while he inspected the welts on his back in the large bathroom mirror, thinking about her words. "I made up some excuse and called him. I spoke to him over his office line and he is definitely in the U.S. Sean, I am sure of that." She had sounded curious, but Sean wasn't planning on making her any wiser about his reasons.
He shivered as her voice trailed off with her last words, "He was polite, but very, very cautious. A bit of a mystery man I guess."
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