Slashababy 2004 Stories

  FANFICTION: This story depicts real-life public figures engaged in completely fictional, false and untrue activities. It never happened, it never will happen. This story is a work of fantasy and satire which in no way professes to express the truth about the life, thoughts, feelings, desires, opinions, beliefs, activities or sexual orientation of any person mentioned herein.


for a slasha dropout
by ladymoonray
Pairing: Marton Csokas/Viggo Mortensen
Rating: R
Disclaimer: This is pure invention. I'm not making any money.

Marton stretched out luxuriously on his enormous black leather sofa. He'd spent the whole of yesterday reading scripts and making notes on various job offers. He'd awarded himself the day off before phoning his agent, and setting the madness in motion again. Little rewards like that made life better, in his opinion.

However, Marton had stuck to his own unbreakable rule, and been up, dressed and ready to go by 9am. But go where? It was all very well having a day off with no plans, but it did mean that at the 9am point, he had to make some kind of decision. Stay in, or go out? Go out where? With whom? He grinned. There was only so much time he could spend draped across the sofa looking gorgeous, before even he became a little self-conscious.

As he sat up, the door buzzer sounded. It was a harsh, abrupt noise and Marton had to force himself back down from the ceiling. Damn, he kept forgetting to get that sorted out. There must be a way to make it quieter.

He picked up the handset, answering with a bad-tempered "Yes?" There was no immediate reply. Marton was about to slam the entryphone down in a temper, when a soft voice began speaking. Wittering, more like. Something about sparkling landscapes and rolling lakes, if he heard it correctly. Oh, for goodness sake. Why did he always have to deal with the madmen? Marton sighed loudly, hoping the lunatic outside would hear him. "Wait there, I'm coming down."

As he made his way reluctantly down the stairs, something clicked in Marton's brain. He knew that voice! Ara- no. Viggo. Viggo Mortensen!

Marton didn't know Viggo very well. They'd met a couple of times during filming, of course, but Marton had hardly dared move in that immaculate costume and wig, so there'd been no real opportunity to chat. They'd got drunk with the rest of the cast and crew after the local premieres, but they'd never really talked. What the hell was he doing outside Marton's apartment at 9am on a damp Thursday morning?

Marton's steps picked up speed. So much so that he tripped off the last stair, and crashed clumsily into the glass door. Luckily the impact wasn't hard enough to cause any obvious damage to either the door or Marton, but by the time he got the thing open, Viggo was standing well back.

"Was that an elephant coming down the stairs, or are you just pleased to see me?"

Marton was annoyed with himself for blushing. He thought he'd beaten that habit once and for all.

"Please, come in. Would you like some coffee?"

"Excellent! I was hoping you'd offer. I haven't had time to adjust to the last three time zones I've been in lately, and I need to try to stay awake."

Viggo closed the door behind him with exaggerated care. Marton was relieved that the glass wasn't cracked, and the hinges and the lock worked. Viggo followed him up the stairs in silence. Marton felt icy eyes on his back, and caught himself blushing again. Dammit, that would have to stop.

He went straight through to the kitchen to make the coffee. He didn't want to turn around and face Viggo again until the flush on his cheeks had subsided.

"So what brings you to my door this fine day, Mr Mortensen?"

Marton busied himself with a tray and two mugs.

"It's raining," replied Viggo from the living room.

"And..?" Thought Marton. But no further explanation was forthcoming. He didn't remember Viggo being so exasperating, but he obviously just hadn't noticed it before.

Marton checked his appearance quickly in the mirror by the door. He smoothed down his hair, then picked up the tray.

Viggo was standing staring out of the side window. Marton wasn't sure what he was finding so fascinating. It only looked out onto the damp street. But then he noticed the object in Viggo's hands. He was turning it over and over. It was a big piece of amethyst crystal. Marton himself wasn't very sure about crystals and new age therapies, but he knew he liked that stone, and he wasn't thrilled about someone else handling it. That was why it normally lived in the modern, glass-fronted cabinet by the door. Viggo must have taken it from there.

Viggo turned round and handed the stone to Marton.

"It needs recharging. Leave it outside in the sun for a while. Or get someone to do it for you."

Marton nodded, taken aback. He went over to the cabinet, and opened the door to put the stone back.

"It doesn't like it in there," said Viggo. "Put it on the table, where the air can reach it. It'll do you more good there."

Marton raised his eyebrows at that, but Viggo was looking out of the window again. He put the amethyst down on the coffee table.

"How do you take your coffee?"

"Black, one sugar please," said Viggo absently.

Damn, thought Marton. What do I have to do to get his attention? Strip off and dance naked on the table? Actually, that might not be such a bad idea. Marton had just as much of a thing for Aragorn as the next man, and what he knew of Viggo Mortensen certainly didn't put him off.

He handed Viggo his coffee, and plonked himself down on the chair right next to him. Ouch! He tried not to groan aloud. But he'd caught the backs of his legs on the rail at the front of the chair seat. It hurt like fuck, and the bruises would certainly look interesting.

Viggo was looking at him sideways, and smirking. Damn those blushes! And damn that poxy interior designer for choosing such an uncomfortable chair. It might look good, but the thing was a bloody health hazard. Marton decided he'd get rid of it immediately. Immediately when Viggo had gone, that was.

"So, what really brings you to these parts?"

Viggo sat down on the end of the sofa. Close to Marton, but not close enough. Why, oh why, had he picked this chair?

"Well, you see, I have this list. When I see something I like, and I don't have enough time to spend on it, I write it down and then try to come back to it later."

He looked straight into Marton's eyes.

"You made it onto the list. I'm here on a photography trip, but it's too rainy to take my cameras outside. I thought maybe you'd like to oblige? This place is gorgeous, and I'm sure we could come up with something really beautiful!"

God, how many meanings could one person put into one sentence? Marton could only nod dumbly. He was too scared to say anything, in case it was the wrong thing. He'd heard rather different rumours of Viggo's list, though he hadn't believed a word of it at the time. And yet... Was he going mad, or was Viggo actually flirting with him?

Viggo finished his coffee with an inelegant slurp. The man must have a Teflon mouth! Marton could barely sip his drink yet; it was too hot.

"Excellent," said Viggo again. "I'll go down and get the cameras out of the car."

He stood up, and looked Marton over, slowly, from head to toe. Marton felt the flush follow his gaze, and was overcome with an insane desire to disappear through a hole in the floor.

"You'll do," pronounced Viggo. The hole didn't look so attractive all of a sudden.

As he heard Viggo running, surprisingly lightly, down the stairs, Marton sprang up. He ran out into the kitchen with Viggo's empty mug, then through to the bathroom and started attacking his hair with a comb. He was entirely without a plan, but he knew he had to look his best. The comb snagged on a tiny tangle, and he pulled impatiently at it. He was horrified when a small clump of hair came out on the comb.

Marton stopped and forced himself to take a deep breath. It was only Viggo offering a photo session. There was no need to pull his own hair out like that. He finished the job more gently, then washed his hands, splashed his face with cold water, and went back into the living room. He'd just sat back down on the chair (carefully, this time), when Viggo reappeared. He was carrying two camera cases.

Marton fiddled nervously with his coffee mug. It was cool enough to drink now, so he gulped it down quickly. Viggo had taken one of the cameras out of its case, and was adjusting something or other. Marton wasn't good with that sort of thing, so he decided to take his mug through to the kitchen out of the way, and leave Viggo to sort himself out.

"Where are you going?"

"Uh, to the kitchen. Is that OK with you?"

"Yeah, I suppose. But hurry back." Viggo smiled up at him. Marton hurried.

Viggo stopped fiddling with the camera and hung it round his neck.

"I think you should sit here, on the sofa, to begin with. I need the light behind me, what there is of it. It's an interesting look, the grey light and the black sofa against the beige carpet. But you're the star attraction. That's it. A little further forward? Better. Now, undo your shirt."

Marton gulped. It was only a cheap casual shirt, but he'd look like a porn star with it unbuttoned. Surely that wasn't what Viggo wanted? But he was too chicken to mention it. He unbuttoned the shirt obediently. Viggo bent down, holding the camera carefully out of the way, and pushed the front panels of the shirt back. Yep, definitely a porn star with his chest exposed like that. Marton's nipples hardened at once, probably from the cold. Yeah, the cold, not Viggo's accidental touch.

Viggo knelt on the floor before him, surely not far enough away to get any of the light effect in the room. Click, click, whirr. Marton wished he understood more of what was going on.

"Turn your head. Other way. That's it, just look over your shoulder."

More clicking.

Viggo stood up and stepped forward. He looked straight into Marton's face.

"May I?" He reached forward to the zipper on Marton's fly. Hole in the ground time again, but he managed to nod silently. Viggo's hand in that area had the predictable effect. Marton's cock was swelling already, and Viggo pushed back the waistband of his pants just in time to accommodate it. Thank goodness for the plain black boxer shorts. Marton had a drawer full of jokey underwear given to him by his first proper boyfriend, but he had the sense to leave it in the drawer most of the time.

Viggo's eyes were drawn to the bulge in Marton's boxers, but he didn't touch it straight away. Instead, he knelt down again and started clicking away with the camera. He stepped back a bit, taking a long hard look.

"Just relax. Touch yourself if you want, but don't show anything yet. Take it slowly."

Relax, he says. Relax, with him there right in front of me, taking photos and talking like he does this every day. Hey, perhaps he does do this every day. He can probably do whatever he wants now.

Marton took a few deep breaths, half-closing his eyes and trying to forget about the camera. He rubbed gently at his cock through the thin cotton, trying to hold back his increasing excitement.

"Good, that's very good. Now, lose the pants."

Marton did so, kicking off his shoes & socks at the same time. He shoved the whole lot down the back of the sofa. If he was going to do this, he didn't want to look slovenly as well as slutty. Which he had no doubt he did, with his shirt hanging open and his cock pushing tight against his shorts. He lay back on the sofa again. Click, click, whirr.

Viggo moved close to him again, still on his knees. He didn't ask this time, just put his hand out and unbuttoned the shorts. Marton's cock sprang free, jerking close to Viggo's hand. But he didn't touch, just sat back on his heels and raised the camera. A few more clicks, and he was adjusting the shorts so that Marton's balls were also visible through the gap. He sat cross-legged on the floor and Marton was fairly sure the zoom lens moved a bit. Looking down, he saw moisture glistening on the tip of his cock. Jesus, Viggo had barely touched him. But this was so sexy; the almost-touch of the camera, capturing everything, and then Viggo rearranging bits as if Marton were just part of the furniture.

Marton's breathing was growing quicker, heavier. Surely Viggo would put the camera down now and do... something.

"OK, now I want you to touch yourself. Do whatever makes you feel best. I want to capture the moment when you come. Just forget I'm here. Close your eyes; it'll make that easier. And it makes you look even sexier."

Marton swallowed again, and pushed himself back a bit further onto the sofa. He was a little disappointed that it was his own well-practised hand on his cock, but hey, Viggo was here to watch. So close he could almost feel Viggo's breath. He could certainly hear the rhythm of that breath getting ragged as he pulled and manipulated himself towards orgasm. He started to gasp as he neared his peak, briefly wondering if he should open his eyes. He liked to watch himself come, but Viggo had said keep them closed, so he did. His cock was twitching uncontrollably now, and he came with a gasp. That was much quicker and more intense than normal; the audience must really have made a difference.

Marton lay back without opening his eyes, trying to control his breathing. The clicking he'd heard in the background had stopped. He smiled slightly, imagining what Viggo could be doing. Stripping himself? Putting the cameras somewhere out of reach? Getting a cloth to clean Marton up before the next photo session? Slowly, almost lazily, he opened his eyes.

Viggo wasn't there. Neither were the camera-cases. He sat bolt upright. Where the hell had he gone? There was nowhere to hide in the apartment; even the bathroom door stood wide open.

Marton pulled on his pants in a hurry, and ran down the stairs. He got the door open just in time to hear a car engine start, and pull away in a hurry. He was going to run after it when he realised what a mess he must look. There were strings of come still attached to his chest, his shirt was unbuttoned and his pants were all twisted.

He stepped back into the hallway and slammed the door. Leaning against it, he let the anger hit. What did that fucker think he was up to? Coming here, flirting with Marton, taking pornographic photos, then creeping out while Marton was coming back down to earth. He'd offered nothing in return. Nothing at all. Just made a right fool out of Marton.

He stalked furiously back up the stairs. The first thing he saw was that stupid amethyst crystal that Viggo had been so taken with. He picked it up and turned it over once, picturing Viggo standing at the window. He wanted Viggo here again. Again and again and again. He wanted so much, with so little provocation. And none of it would ever happen.

Marton turned and flung the amethyst at the glass cabinet with as much force as he could muster.


Slashababy 2004 Stories