An image came, a photograph in his mind. Which wasn't uncommon. But this one was different. This wasn't like any picture he had ever taken, any picture he had ever wanted to take before.

Of course he had seen pictures like that; very few things in the world were new to him. But this image was different. It had vitality.

He couldn't shake it. He knew how this went, getting an idea that would not let go of him. It festered, grew, gaining its own life. Wanting to be created. Never before had he been able to resist the pull of an image that wanted to exist, that needed him to give it life, no matter how silly or disappointing the result. He always did it. You could call it a compulsion. A need. An obsession...

His mind flickered to a dark nightclub fifteen years ago, Animotion's "Obsession" playing in the background, smoke and darkness and flesh and sex, with the occasional splash of color. Like the image in his mind. But less precise. There was nothing vague about the picture in his head.

He put down the empty wineglass and propped his feet up on the rail of the porch, emptying his mind as he watched the sunset turn clouds into an inferno. Holding the picture in his head at bay for a moment. The sun dropped past the horizon and Viggo closed his eyes, holding onto it, the last fiery crescent slipping away, out of sight. Hidden. A final moment of light that seemed extra vibrant in the darkness that followed.

The first stars twinkled in the still-purple sky. And the image in his head grew in power with every blink of approaching darkness. An image that belonged in the shadows. That had come from somewhere dark within him.

What would this picture teach him? All of these had been lessons in self-discovery, messages from his subconscious. Despite all of his visual art being intensely personal, these ones, these pieces that came to him as full-blown images from the ether, were even more so. What did this one mean?

And why... why Orlando?

He had never thought of Orlando like that, not really. Of course idle thoughts had passed through his mind, but idle thoughts of everyone had crossed his mind; they didn't mean anything. He wasn't burning with lust for his young friend, which was part of why he was so taken aback by the image.

Part.

There were too many problematic angles and harsh edges to wrap his mind around, so he broke it down, to approach piece by piece. He wasn't surprised by having random sexual thoughts about friends, acquaintances, or cast members; it was part of having a healthy attitude towards life, part of seeing the beauty in every body was recognizing the sexuality of people, including those not necessarily beautiful. So he wasn't surprised by his thoughts, or that they were erotic, or about Orlando. He'd had similar images come to him of Miranda, Ian, and Elijah and those images hadn't made him uncomfortable.

But this one was different; this was darker. Simply put, this was far kinkier than any art that had ever come to him, demanding to be realized, created.

He wasn't inexperienced with sex games; he'd done his share of tying up and being tied up over the last twenty-some years. But he had never done anything quite like that. Nothing so... intricate. Nothing done quite so explicitly for the aesthetics of it.

The question of who would get off on the aesthetics, the person with the rope in hand or the person tied up, made him uncomfortable. Even excluding the part of it being Orlando, even taking him out of the equation altogether, the image still disturbed Viggo with its shadowy meanings...

But Orlando... There was a line he didn't cross, a line between thinking about a friend, recognizing their sexuality, and fantasizing about them with his hand on his cock. There was a difference between artistic nude photography and erotic photography. Right? A wave of uncertainty hit him. Maybe it was all in the eye of the beholder, what was blatantly sexual and what was representative.

There was a huge difference between not hiding your sexuality and telling someone all the details. Between being open about his bisexuality if it came up and adolescent locker-room bragging.

Could he even ask Orlando to do this? How? He knew the image wouldn't let him rest until he did. What would Orlando think? What if he wouldn't do it? Or if he objected to some of the details? Could Viggo compromise on his vision or did it demand to be rendered exactly as it had come to him?

All of these questions, unanswered thoughts, were giving him a headache. The picture, which was so clear in his mind, turned the rest of the world into something out of focus. Blurring around it. He picked up the empty glass and went inside.

*****



He watched Orlando playing with the Hobbits, full of exuberance and glee. Viggo was nervous. Which was disconcerting because Aragorn wasn't, and these days it felt like he was more Aragorn than Viggo. He'd realized in bed last night that he was attracted to Orlando and was somewhat surprised that he hadn't noticed it before. But then, Aragorn in his head definitely preferred another elf, and Viggo wasn't looking for romance in New Zealand. And in Middle Earth, Orlando was the wrong elf.

Well, Legolas was. For Aragorn.

It made Viggo's head ache. He felt lost of late, more sure of who Aragorn was than Viggo. They had been filming for so long...

Sure, he knew that he tingled when Orlando touched him, hugged him, wrestled with him. But he had never focused on it, just enjoyed the tingle and let it pass. He was afraid he was crossing a line, breaking the Thou Shalt Not Have On-Set Romances rule, just by thinking about it. These thoughts, that image, of Orlando, were not meant to be in focus. In his own focus.

Besides, he'd enjoyed sex with men in the past, but not romances. Not that he had ever wanted one with a man before. And he wouldn't choose a flighty, twitchy, twenty-three year old of either gender for a relationship at this point in his life.

A relationship? How did his mind end up there? He went from an image, albeit a sexual one, to sex, to a relationship in the blink of an eye. Odd. More proof that his thoughts were completely derailed by this image. Out of control.

He was controlled by it.

So what was he going to do? He quite liked the kid, and they had grown close during the shoot for Helm's Deep. But this sort of photography was going to involve a bit more intimacy on both sides than Viggo anticipated he would be comfortable with, even without this attraction coloring it. Certainly he wouldn't want all of the elements involved if he were the subject of such a picture, himself.

Would he?

Restrained, bound, blindfolded, penetrated, erect, aroused. No, of course not. Aragorn wouldn't.

But would Viggo?

It was another thing to think about.

*****



Orlando came over and stood in front of Viggo, blocking his view of the improvised football game, during a break. Orlando was still in his costume, after shooting some extra close-ups.

"What's up, Vig? You've been staring at me for two days."

Viggo fixed his eyes on the straps of the quiver crisscrossing Orlando's chest and felt a knot clench in his gut. He took a slow, calming breath. "I have an image of you in my head," he said.

"What, you want to take my picture?" Orlando asked after a pause, tilting his head to the side. "You've never been shy about asking before. Or just taking candids. You know I don't mind."

"I don't usually do... portraits," Viggo hesitated.

Orlando gave him a skeptical look and shrugged. "You've got a billion photos of all of us, including me."

"Yeah, but most of them aren't staged," he clarified, trying not to avoid Orlando's eyes. It was difficult.

"So what did you have in mind then?"

Viggo's gaze dipped down to the ground before he could stop it. He couldn't even begin to find the right words to ask this.

Orlando grinned at his discomfort. "I'm assuming you mean nude photos then?" he asked, eyes sparkling.

Viggo bit his lip, still not sure what to say. How could he feel so vulnerable, so open, so exposed, simply by talking about it? Or, rather, staying silent and letting Orlando fill in the blanks? Which he was doing with surprising ease, Viggo noted. Orlando read him well.

Orlando continued, "It's not like I've never taken off my clothes for the camera you know, even if you are the king of nude scenes." He shrugged again. "It doesn't bother me, though."

Viggo managed to find his voice. "This is different than simple nudity."

"Yeah? What then?"

Viggo took a deep breath, closing his eyes. The image came back to him as he spoke. "Naked. Bound. With rope. Intricately wrapped, all over. Kneeling." He took another breath before he opened his eyes.

Orlando looked a bit surprised, but not shocked or stunned or ... any of the things Viggo hadn't known he was afraid of.

"Slavery?" Orlando asked after a moment, crinkling his forehead.

Viggo shook his head. "No. Bondage. Kink." He cleared his throat.

Orlando grinned. "Doesn't sound like your usual work, mate, unless you've got a pseudonym we don't know about."

Viggo appreciated his attempt at humor but this was too serious. The picture was there, hovering behind his eyelids, vibrant with every blink. Demanding. Pushing.

"Hey." Orlando crouched down in front of Viggo's chair, hands on Viggo's knees. Intimate but friendly. Reassuring. "You've not done this sort of thing before, then?" he asked in a quiet tone of voice.

Viggo glanced around, but the football game had migrated away a bit and no one was close enough to overhear them.

"No," he answered. "Not for photography. And not for sex either."

"Ah," Orlando nodded. Leaning closer, he whispered, "I won't tell everyone how vanilla you are if you don't tell them how kinky I am," with a conspiratorial wink.

Viggo laughed. "I've tried things," he protested. "Just... Nothing quite like... that."

"This," Orlando corrected. "It's going to happen. I want you to do it."

Viggo nodded, feeling helpless. The image and Orlando, they both wanted him to do it. He was overwhelmed. And it felt kind of... good, in a way. Exciting, to be out of control.

"All right," Orlando said in a businesslike tone, squeezing Viggo's knees. "So what are the details, here? You said kneeling, bound, with rope. Do you mean like shibari? Japanese rope bondage?" he clarified.

Viggo shook his head. "I don't know. I mean, I've seen a few pictures, you know, but never really studied them. Or had an urge to."

"Ok, then I'll go slow. Close your eyes," Orlando commanded.

Viggo did so, instantly, and was somewhat surprised by himself.

"This image," Orlando asked in a soothing voice, "is there genital torture - cock and balls tied with the rope?"

"Yes," he answered.

"Eyes open or closed? Blindfolded?"

Viggo thought for a moment. "Closed. The rope tied behind the head. Sort of a blindfold, I suppose."

Orlando's silence prompted Viggo to open his eyes. "That's generally a bit too abrasive, ropes across the face," Orlando said, "but we'll see. Anything around the throat?"

"Yes, the rope goes up through a collar, up the back."

"That's no good," Orlando said, shaking his head. "You can really hurt someone's throat like that. It's not safe. The front is usually where it's done."

Viggo nodded, accepting Orlando's decision even as his insides clenched. Would the picture look right if that was left out?

Orlando grinned. "I'm not saying I won't do it, if it's just for a photo, though. I trust you not to let me choke to death, yeah?"

Relief coursing through him, Viggo nodded. Strange how tense and then soothed he felt by Orlando's words. But still; if he was going to agree to be the subject of the picture, it was only right that he call the shots. Especially since it seemed he had a lot more experience in this sort of thing than Viggo would ever have guessed.

Orlando grinned again. "What is it that you're not telling me, that's got you still so unsettled? We've covered body position, vision, throat, cock... Ah. What about the arse?"

Viggo flinched. "Yeah. Um." He took a deep breath. "A dildo. With the end tied to the rope at the wrists." He could feel his cheeks burning. Fuck, when was the last time he'd been this uncomfortable, this embarrassed? It must have been years.

Orlando nodded again, then cocked his head to the side, frowning slightly. "A dildo? Not a plug? A dildo would be more likely to slide out."

He hadn't refused. He was arguing about what was going to go up his ass, not that something was going to go up his ass. There were so many thoughts caused by that realization that they all clustered together in Viggo's brain and caused a mental traffic jam.

But then... Maybe the boy was just kinky, not gay. Or bi. Or whatever. Or interested in Viggo. And even if he was flamingly gay, agreeing to the pictures meant nothing at all. Right.

Viggo took another calming breath and wished that Orlando would take his hands off of Viggo's knees. He looked around and saw that the football game had drifted closer again, but still not close enough to eavesdrop. Probably their afternoon break was almost over.

"Whichever then," he said finally, remembering that Orlando had asked him a question. "You'll do it?"

Orlando grinned and squeezed his knees. "Yeah. I'm prepared to suffer for your art."

Relief flooded Viggo's body. "Great. Is Sunday evening ok? I want to get the shadows." Orlando nodded. Good; Viggo would have a couple of days to find what he needed. "And I'll try to make you as comfortable as possible, keep the ropes as loose as I can without them sagging and stuff. And of course I won't ever show the pictures. They'll be part of my private collection only. I just... I have to do this," he explained. "Even if no one ever sees it. Thank you, Orlando."

Orlando grinned again. "On one condition."

Here it came. But really, it didn't matter what Orlando's condition was. Viggo had to do this. So whatever Orlando wanted, he would give him. "What?"

Orlando slid his hands up Viggo's thighs, trailing fingertips almost intangibly across the worn leather, over Viggo's arm, making the hair stand up, to stroke one fingertip across Viggo's cheek. Only shock and supreme self-control kept Viggo from moving or making any noise in response.

"The condition is, you have to wait and see," Orlando whispered. "Do you trust me? How far?"

Viggo's eyes met Orlando's and held them, searching the darkness there and not understanding what he was seeing. Whatever it was, it made him shiver at the same time that it made him feel safe. He thought about other friends, Sean, Ian, and past lovers. That Orlando was only a flighty twit around the Hobbits. When they were alone, as they had been a lot on the Helm's Deep shots, and Orlando was serious, Viggo would trust him with his life. Or at least more than just about anyone else he knew.

"All the way," Viggo answered with honesty.

The smile took a long time to emerge from the depths of Orlando's eyes, spreading across his forehead and cheeks before it pulled his mouth into a grin. "Great then, mate. Sunday evening it is."

*****

Viggo finished his beer, watching the shadows of the trees begin to lengthen. Soon it would be time to go in and get things ready for the photoshoot. Orlando would come over. And the part of Viggo's life that was before this event would end. It felt momentous somehow, so he savored these last few moments of 'before-ness', trying to clear his mind.

He didn't know why it felt so strange, why he was so... Not nervous, not jittery, those weren't the right words. More... almost deeply apprehensive of something inside him, about to be unleashed. Something shadowy that he hadn't even known about, still didn't know about, and wasn't sure he ever wanted to know about. And he suspected this image, this picture, this creation, was going to bring it out of him. It's not easy to discover and embrace new, dark things about yourself at forty-one. Or ever. He'd always thought he was such a self-aware and self-honest person, that it was disconcerting to think he could have missed this. Whatever it was. It felt big. Looming. And ominous.

He went inside and gathered up the usual things, cameras, film, lenses, lights. Then he gathered the not-usual items, the cotton rope he'd bought and dyed a deep green in his sink and hung outside to dry overnight. It was the same color as the leaves of the tree in front of the Cuntebago, and smelled like hot afternoon sunshine and ink, and he had a brief flash of the rope slithering across golden skin, twisting itself into words, writing on flesh. He gathered the thin, flat cushioned pad from one of the deck chairs for Orlando to kneel on. A few bottles of water. He tidied up the kitchen and bathroom, as he always did before guests came over, but had stopped doing for Orlando's visits some months ago, as he came over too often to be a guest.

Today was different though.

Finally, he opened the black paper bag that he'd brought home last night. Three different shapes and sizes of toys, with a small bottle of lubricant, so Orlando could choose which one he was most comfortable with. All three had hand-grips projecting beyond the base, like a bicycle handle. He hoped they were all right.

And some restraints. Black leather and metal.

Viggo wondered if Orlando was nervous at all. Probably not. This probably didn't even count as an adventure for his wild young friend. Yet his own pulse was throbbing just from setting all of this up. He went to get another beer and sat, staring at all of the objects in front of him, waiting.

*****



Orlando rang the doorbell and burst in with his characteristic whirl of noise and energy. After a few jokes flopped, he picked up on the tension Viggo was broadcasting and fell silent. It wasn't a painful silence, Viggo noted, just anticipatory. Orlando seemed to be assessing him, taking his measure. Odd.

The businesslike tone came back, as Viggo began fiddling with the cameras while Orlando undressed down to his boxers. He'd seen him strip before, of course. Even in this house. Last month Orlando had been caught in a sudden downpour while walking over, and peeled off his sodden garments in the living room before toweling dry and helping himself to Viggo's clothes. They weren't shy with each other.

So why were his palms sweating?

Orlando removed his boxers and stood, comfortably naked. Viggo suddenly felt like he was the one exposed. Unsure of where to look, he fixed his eyes on the sun tattoo decorating Orlando's abdomen. Orlando moved to kneel on the pad and asked how Viggo wanted him.

Viggo took a deep breath, refusing to let his mind free-associate with that question. "Turn a bit to your right," he said, as he brought over the props. "Even more," as shadows began to creep over Orlando's feet and legs.

He laid out the rope and the toys and willed himself not to blush like a kid. This was art, not sex. Focus. "Do you want to start with the restraints first or the toy?" he asked, hesitating on the last word. His fingers twitched, wanting to touch Orlando's smooth skin, savor the texture. But it wasn't his place. That wasn't what this was for.

Right?

"Toys first," Orlando said as he looked over the choices. He raised an eyebrow. "You couldn't decide which one would look best sticking out my arse?" he asked, grinning.

Viggo's laugh dispelled some of his tension. "I didn't know what you would feel most comfortable with, so I bought a few different things. I am... sorry about... this," he apologized, gesturing vaguely at the toys.

Orlando held his gaze for a few moments, solemn. "Don't be," he said finally, reaching for the lube.

Viggo turned around to give him some privacy, adjusting the lights and taking a few pictures of a chair to make sure the cameras were ready to go. Ignoring the slight sigh he heard behind him. Of pleasure? Or just adjustment to the intrusion?

Orlando cleared his throat and Viggo turned around. "I guess the cuffs and uh, spreader bar next," he said, unbuckling the stiff clasps and passing them over. He directed Orlando to buckle them around his lower thighs, just above his bent knees. The thin black steel bar held them apart, not in an uncomfortable way, but definitely immobile.

"Here's the rope," he said, offering it to Orlando. "Start with the middle, I guess, and I'll describe what I want you to do..."

Orlando was shaking his head negative. "Nope. It's your fantasy; you do it."

"It's not a fantasy," Viggo said, with a sudden hint of irritation. "It's an image, art."

"Either way. You do it," Orlando insisted.

"All right. I just... didn't want to make you uncomfortable," Viggo replied, trying to calm himself.

Orlando look at him. "Me or you?"

He decided not to answer. "All right, the way I envisioned it... I guess start with the uh, cock, and then... We'll move on."

"Ok," Orlando grinned.

Viggo stared at Orlando's penis. He closed his eyes. Where were the words he needed for this? Fuck. "Um... You'll need to be... erect."

Laughter. "I might need a bit of encouragement for that," Orlando said, winking as Viggo opened his eyes. He thought for a moment that Orlando meant he should help, but then relaxed as Orlando slid his own hand down his chest and started to stroke himself to hardness. Panicking for a moment, Viggo turned around to tidy up the props, new images burning behind his eyes.

"Well?" Orlando said after a few moments. "I'm ready."

He certainly was. Christ, what had Viggo gotten himself into? His good friend, naked, kneeling in his living room, thighs held apart with leather and metal, obscene handle of a sex toy sticking out his ass, hard. Arms crossed across his chest, somehow projecting an air of... arrogance? No. But definitely power. Despite everything.

Viggo took the middle of the rope and willed himself not to blush or sweat, breaths controlled, heartbeat regulated. He tried not to touch Orlando, as he wound the rope around his cock, crisscrossing it three times. He glanced up once to see Orlando staring at him with a gaze so unnerving, and so unlike Orlando's usual effervescent charm, that he quickly looked back at his work.

He stretched the ropes down, anchoring them to the knee-cuffs, pulling Orlando's cock down in what looked like a painful way. Orlando said nothing.

The ropes went back up and around the base of his cock, around the balls, separating them. Fumbling a little. Think of it as a body. As art. Just the visual. Don't think about Orlando. Don't think at all. Just do it.

He pushed the ropes between Orlando's legs and moved to the back. Up the crack of the ass, around the cheeks, spreading them open, up and over the hip, following the curve. Back under and through the legs, around the handle of the plug, in the same crisscross pattern as on Orlando's cock.

The silence was somewhat unnerving. Viggo had to clear his throat to speak. "Is it too tight? I'm trying to do it as loosely as I can. I need your wrists, now."

Orlando shook his head; the ropes were just tight enough to not sag. He compliantly clasped each wrist with the opposite hand, behind his back. Viggo wrapped the wrists together and then to the toy. Without being prompted, Orlando moved his arms and the handle wiggled in response.

Viggo tried to ignore the slight sigh he thought he heard. Maybe it had just been a breath.

Ropes crossed Orlando's torso and chest in a decorative way, framing each nipple, accenting his collarbones. Around the back of his neck, very VERY loosely crossing in front, and then also loosely behind the head, wrapping around in front to cover Orlando's intense eyes, and tied in a simple square knot behind his head.

There. Finished.

The image in his head now existed in front of him.

Fuck.

"Well?" Orlando asked. "How is it?"

Viggo considered for a moment before answering, "Amazing." He picked up his camera.

*****



The right perspective was proving difficult to find. Viggo stood, sat, crouched, trying to get it right. The shadows he'd thought he wanted were too much, redundant, obscuring the dark lines of the rope, the contours of Orlando's body, so he adjusted the lights.

And Orlando kept talking, random chatter about the script, Friday night at the pub, a new book he was reading. Viggo supposed that it was better than awkward silence, but it was hard for him to concentrate; much much more than usual. Aside from just the normal problems of light and angle and framing, he was frustrated. And aroused. And very glad that Orlando's eyes were closed under the slack "blindfold".

He readjusted one of the ropes on Orlando's chest, wishing there was a way to tighten it. Suddenly wondering what it would look like, pulled to maximum constriction across taut flesh. It was frustrating to him on a level he didn't understand. He didn't really want Orlando tied up tightly for him, did he?

Not now. Time enough to think about all of this after Orlando had gone home. Which Viggo was beginning to hope would be soon. The crotch of his jeans was getting uncomfortable, and he was in outright, conscious denial about how aroused he was. It was frustrating, feeling so out of control of his body. Unbalanced.

He moved behind Orlando for a few shots and asked him to move his wrists a bit, having him hold the tension in his arms for a few moments. The sigh that Viggo knew was from the strain in Orlando's wrists nonetheless went straight to his cock. He surreptitiously gave himself a brief rub, to try and soothe the growing urgency he felt. Guilt that somehow Orlando would know and be angry flooded through him. His cock swelled even more. Fuck.

Viggo was confused, almost panicked, as he took a few more shots, trying to calm himself. Guilt, shame, and unbelievable arousal twisted through his body. He'd never ever felt like this before. He never expected to get so turned on.

"So tell me about these images," Orlando said, breaking the silence.

"What do you mean?" Viggo asked, focusing on the dark green ropes on Orlando's wrists.

"How often do you get them? Where do they come from?"

Odd, how Orlando managed to project an aura of complete calm, complete control. Even tied up.

"Images like this... out of nothingness... alive... I'm not sure where they come from, but they come to me in daydreams, I guess. That moment when you're not asleep, but not really awake. Or while washing the dishes. Any moment of stillness..." Viggo took a few more pictures and stopped to change the lens. "I'd say they come to me, these kinds of images, not regular inspiration, once every few years. They're always odd, not like the other work I'm doing."

"Hmm... Sounds pretty rare, then. So did this one actually involve me, or did you just think I'd be most likely to go along with it?" Orlando asked.

Viggo closed his eyes and then opened them. The image behind his eyelids perfectly matched the one kneeling before him. "It was always you," he answered.

A slight shudder ran through Orlando's body.

"Are you cold?"

"No," Orlando answered. "So explain to me the difference between these images and a fantasy. Is there no crossover between art and life?"

Interesting question. Viggo thought for a few minutes before he started to answer. "I've never... None of the images have ever been sexual before. Sensual, maybe, but never... Explicit. And not usually featuring a particular person... I've never thought about them, these kind of images, as fantasy material. It's never been like that. They've always been an expression of something inside me, though... Something... hidden," he added.

"Not so hidden anymore," Orlando mused.

Viggo didn't know how to answer that; he felt exposed. Uncertain. And somewhat afraid.

"Tell me what you see," Orlando said. "Describe it to me. Don't think first, just talk. Free associate."

Viggo nodded, forgetting Orlando couldn't see. "Green lines, almost black. Twisted. Helpless. Willingly. Helplessly willing... Willingly helpless..." With every few words, he changed angle, zoomed in or out, let the words and phrases come and move through him. "Beautiful. Golden. Crossed."

Orlando's body seemed to vibrate, the slight movement making his bound erection twitch.

"Trapped," Viggo continued, moving to the side. "Yet free."

The moisture that had gathered at the tip of Orlando's cock welled and was one moment away from dripping to the floor. Viggo hadn't noticed that Orlando was so aroused. He pressed the button.

Click.

It was the perfect picture. The one in the image.

Exactly.

"I'm finished," he said after a long silence, suddenly aware that he'd stopped talking or moving. "That was the right shot. Perfect."

Orlando exhaled slowly as Viggo reached out and removed the rope from his face. Something glowed in those deep eyes and Viggo swallowed, remembering.

"What was your condition?" he asked.

"Do you trust me?" Orlando asked again. Viggo nodded. "And you've never played games like this before?"

Viggo held Orlando's gaze and shook his head.

"Play with me."

An uncontrollable shiver ran through Viggo's body, recognizing another moment of 'before-ness' again. If he did this, he would change. This would be looking straight into the darkness that had taunted him for the last week, ever since the image had come to him. This was where art would get dangerous.

But that was what he loved about art, wasn't it?

"All right."

*****



Orlando's smile was fleeting, replaced with a stern expression. "Release me," he ordered.

The ropes fell away under Viggo's trembling fingers. He took a moment to massage Orlando's wrists before continuing to undo the cuffs around the thighs. Orlando bent his body and stretched, before reaching between his legs. Viggo looked away, closing his eyes at the wet sound of the plug's removal, and shivered again.

Orlando stood, graceful and naked. His quiet confidence both soothed and aroused Viggo.

"Strip," he ordered.

Viggo's heart pounded as he pulled off his shirt and unbuttoned his jeans. He was so hard he ached, and any moment now, he'd be exposed and Orlando would see. A wave of humiliation surged through him.

"Look at you, all excited," Orlando teased. "I bet you've been hard this whole time, haven't you?"

Viggo hesitated, then nodded.

"Kneel."

As he did, Orlando fetched the backpack he had brought with him. He took out a collar, several different lengths of rope, and an object that Viggo realized after a few moments must be a ball gag. That was followed by several dildos and butt plugs, condoms, lube, and a short leather strap with snaps on it.

Viggo swallowed. He trusted Orlando.

Right?

Orlando picked up the collar and fastened it around Viggo's throat, not too tight, but tight enough to not forget that it was there. Holding Viggo's eyes with a steady gaze, he pressed a small round thing into Viggo's right hand.

"It's a clicker, like dog trainers use. You're not to speak unless I ask you a question, and then you'll keep your answers brief. If at any time this is too much for you, click it twice and I'll release you instantly, no questions asked. Click it once now, to show that you agree."

Viggo felt dizzy. He looked into Orlando's dark eyes for a long moment. Aragorn's voice hissed angrily in his head, Who are you kneeling to, you, the King of Men?

But he wasn't Aragorn; he was Viggo.

Click.

The sound echoed through Viggo's head.

After a moment, Orlando picked up the leather strap and held it out. "I'm going to put this cock ring on you first, to keep the evening from being over too fast," he said, smirking. His fingers moved nimbly, fastening the strap tight. His hands lingered on Viggo's cock, the exact opposite of how Viggo had made an effort to touch Orlando. Gentle, teasing touches. Maddening. Feeling him.

"Bend over, onto your hands and knees," Orlando said as he moved behind him, "and close your eyes."

Viggo did. After a moment, he heard the familiar sound of a bottle top snapping open.

"Do you play with toys up your arse very often?" Orlando asked casually.

Viggo shook his head. He had to clear his throat twice before he could speak. "A couple of times a year, maybe."

"Recently?"

"No."

Viggo held his breath in the following silence, head bowed, clenching his clicker like a lifeline. He squeezed his eyes shut so he wouldn't be tempted to peek and almost jumped out of his skin when he felt one of Orlando's hands cup his ass with a firm grip. Something cool and wet touched his hole. Teased. Circled. Gently pushed in.

"Breathe," Orlando reminded him.

He made an effort to relax, but every muscle was tense, on edge. Slowly, steadily, Orlando eased a slender dildo into him. Once Viggo realized it wasn't going to get any bigger, he relaxed and it slid in the rest of the way with ease. Orlando moved it in and out, almost nudging Viggo's prostate with it, but not quite. Without thinking, Viggo pushed backwards, trying to get it in further.

Orlando laughed. "Excellent. Let's try something a bit bigger, then," he said, sliding the dildo out of Viggo's ass. The slender toy was replaced with what felt like a very long one, which pressed against Viggo's sweet spot, making him groan.

"That's better," Orlando murmured. "Kneel up again. And you can open your eyes, if you wish."

Viggo hesitated. Did he want to see what was coming next? It was harder for him to pretend that it was out of his control, with his eyes open, harder to forget the clicker in his sweating hand...

His eyes flew open when Orlando touched his cock, before he had decided. Orlando had Viggo's green rope in one hand and an evil grin on his face.

"I'm going to tie you up now, with a few changes from how you did it."

Confident and sure, Orlando's hands twisted and crossed the ropes over Viggo's body, tight, tighter by far than Viggo had tied Orlando. His eyes followed Orlando's hands, watching as the cord bit into his own flesh, not hurting, but definitely indenting. This was what he had wanted to see.

This was what he had wanted to feel.

When Orlando tied his wrists to the end of the plug, the pressure pushed it further in, hitting his sensitive gland. Viggo grunted and his erection throbbed.

Orlando finished with the rope, skipping Viggo's throat and face. He quickly buckled on the leather leg cuffs and attached the metal bar. Viggo looked up at him, aroused beyond anything he had imagined, just from this. From being bound. Restrained. Helpless.

"Lovely," Orlando said with a smile. "You were right; it is an amazing sight... Should I take your picture?"

Viggo blanched. "No."

The wicked grin that crossed Orlando's face made Viggo's breath catch. "Too bad it doesn't matter what you want, isn't it? I'm in control now." He picked up one of the cameras. "Does this one have film?"

Viggo hesitated, then nodded. "It should be ready to go."

Orlando fiddled with the focus, held the camera to his eye, and took a picture. "Now I'm the artist and you're the subject... The object..." he mused, circling.

Viggo shuddered, pulling against his bonds. It started as an involuntary movement, but then... it felt good. To struggle. Not wanting to get out, but to feel how securely he was held. It was reassuring.

"Oh, that's good," Orlando said, still taking pictures. "You're definitely going to want to see these." His voice dropped, turning breathy. "You look so incredibly hot. Beautifully bound. As you said before, willingly helpless... It's a good look on you."

Each word was like a caress. Viggo realized he was no longer playing a role, not pretending to bend to Orlando's will, but actually being submissive. It felt freeing somehow, to give up control. It was the first time he'd really shaken off Aragorn in a long time. Like finding himself again, after being lost.

"How do you feel?" Orlando asked.

Viggo tried to think about it for a few moments, but the words spilled out of his mouth before he could stop them. "Secure... Safe... Really good... Unbelievably aroused."

Orlando laughed at the last one. "How long have you wanted something like this?"

"I don't know," Viggo answered honestly. "I didn't know I wanted it until I saw you, all tied up. I just never... thought about it."

"Have you thought about having sex with me before?" Orlando asked. "Do you want to? Would you object to that?"

Viggo shook his head. "I thought about you. But I tried not to." He paused, thinking. "But I do want to. Not just... how you look, or how you are now. How you always are, too."

Orlando's eyes softened and he reached out a hand to stroke Viggo's face. After an intense moment, he withdrew his hand and placed it on his own chest. He trailed his fingers to one nipple and rolled it between them. He moaned softly.

Frustration coursed through Viggo's body, watching Orlando stroke his hand down his skin, brushing past the sun tattoo, trailing fingers over the curve of his own hip, before wrapping them around his erection.

Viggo's mouth watered. At the moment, the only thing he wanted more than to come was to taste Orlando's cock. He was hypnotized, watching Orlando's hand stroke up and down, new moisture gathering at the slit. Orlando planted his legs further apart, for balance, and moaned again.

Viggo whimpered.

He could smell Orlando's arousal, see the tension in the lines of the muscles of Orlando's thighs, stomach, arms. In his neck as he let his head fall back, eyes almost closed, Cheshire-cat grin on his face as his hips thrust slightly forward. Almost close enough for Viggo to touch. To taste.

But not quite.

"Is this what you want?" Orlando murmured, a catch in his voice. "Do you want my cock?"

Viggo's tongue slipped out to lick his lips before he could stop it.

Orlando chuckled. "I assume that's a 'yes.'" He trailed one finger up his erection, smearing the liquid at the end. Viggo lifted his head as the wet fingertip came towards his mouth, first touching his lower lip, then sliding in as Viggo opened his mouth, letting the briny flavor spread across his tongue. Sucked on Orlando's finger, unwilling to let it go until Orlando moved away.

His breath was coming in labored pants, his mouth drooling for more of a taste. Another involuntary shudder jerked Viggo's arms, pulling at the toy, rubbing his prostate, and if not for the strap around his cock, Viggo was sure he would have climaxed. He couldn't remember ever being this close before, aching for this long, without any direct stimulation at all.

And Orlando just stood there and watched him.

Viggo's eyes filled with tears as he bent his head and whimpered in complete supplication, entirely at Orlando's mercy.

Orlando took a step backwards.

"Sit back on your heels," he said, as he walked over to the bar and came back with a stool. He placed it just in front of Viggo and perched on it.

Viggo moaned again, at the sight of Orlando's cock, almost barely near enough. Still, he waited until he felt Orlando's hand on the back of his neck, guiding him to the object of his desire.

"Do it," Orlando whispered in a voice that betrayed his own arousal, "Suck me."

Viggo's mouth was wrapped around Orlando before he had even finished speaking. His mouth was deliciously full, the taste and smell overwhelming, drowning in Orlando, entire soul focused on giving pleasure to Orlando. Viggo's own body was a thing felt through a thick fog, very distant. He couldn't hear the obscene noises he made, slurping and groaning with hunger, body writhing and shaking with the force of his own barely staved off release. The roar of blood in his head was deafening.

The exquisite taste of Orlando rupturing down his throat came fast too soon for Viggo, and desperation made him break the rules, pleading, "No, no!" as Orlando slid his hypersensitive cock away from Viggo's still-ravenous mouth.

While still panting for air, Orlando curved his body down and around Viggo, reaching down to Viggo's wrists, and grasping the dildo. He gave it a few good, solid thrusts that made Viggo shout with a hoarse, tortured joy, as his vision blacked out. Orlando's other hand pulled off the leather strap and gave Viggo's cock just a few quick jerks that had Viggo coming immediately, copiously, world tilting...

*****



Viggo was floating somewhere far away, outer space. Bobbling around, unconnected. Eventually his glazed eyes focused enough to see that Orlando was untying him, cleaning him up. Orlando's lips moved, and the sound may have reached Viggo's ears, but no meaning penetrated the inky void of his brain.

With a huge, stumbling effort, almost all on Orlando's part, Viggo managed to sprawl himself out on the couch, still unable, unwilling, to come back down to see, hear, or feel anything. Blackness had swallowed him. Drunk him down, turned him inside out, exploded him across the universe. Little pieces of Viggo scattered everywhere. Content.

No need to reassemble just yet. No thought. No words. Just serenity.

Eventually, still images flickered through Viggo's mind, a slideshow. Ropes crossing flesh weaving trails and paths, rope-ladders to self discovery. He was finally stripped of Aragorn. Only Viggo remained. In being restrained, he had been released.

The buzz in Viggo's body diminished enough for him to feel Orlando's hand comb through his hair, his lips press into Viggo's cheek.

"I want to see the pictures when they're developed," Viggo heard, from a far-off distance, and then, "I'll call you tomorrow." The sound of the door click closed a few moments later. He shifted, pulling the quilt draped over him closer, and smiled into the pillow, asleep already.

*****



Elijah was looking at the recent additions to the collage on Viggo's mirror. "What's this one?" he asked, pointing to a fold of skin on skin, held with rope.

Viggo's eyes lingered on the picture for a long moment before he answered. "Discovery."

Across the room, he felt the weight of Orlando's gaze, looked up, and smiled.

~end~