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Physical Therapy
Dec. 26th, 2021 12:04 amFor SMUT prompt 48) “I can’t wait to put bruises all over that pretty skin.”
( cut for sexual innuendo and BDSM )
( cut for sexual innuendo and BDSM )
I Will Be Your Shield.
Sep. 28th, 2021 08:47 pmFor Touching 10: Spooning at night - Viktor/Vars
Vars shook his head coming in to Viktor snoring in the bed. He must have been out with his bandmates on a bender, if only because the hotel room wasn't littered with bottles. The punk shrugged off his jacket and threw his shirt into the pile in the corner, it kept the room clean to at least contain the mess. Wrestling off his boots Vars stopped to stare at the Brit grumbling in his bed, half dressed and looking a mess. He adored the stubborn bastard and it left the bassist shaking his head as he set his boots aside and headed into the bathroom to clean up some. Working with the stage crew earlier left him dusty and smudged with dirt.
Half way through the grumbles turned to a whimper and an odd sound. Vars came out of the bathroom, drying his arms and hands with the towel while watching the form in his bed. Viktor was shifting, fists clenched and tossing about. Nightmares. He felt bad for the Brit but they all had them from time to time, a side effect of their lives. Viktor never mentioned what his were though Vars was sure he remembered them clearly.
As the sounds turned to something reminiscent of fear Vars dropped the towel and climbed into the bed. Laying on his side he pulled the punk in so he could wrap his arms around him. “Viktor?”
The singer thrashed and Vars had to stop the arm from hitting him square in the face. “What dream?”
He shook the punk slightly to try and bring him around. The Brit was crying in his sleep and Vars felt worry and pain well up as he pulled him closer. The thrashing kept up and Vars couldn't bring the punk out of his night terror. In a moment of desperation he punched Viktor hard in the shoulder, ready to dodge as his lover came to angry.
“No.” Vars took his hand and pulled his attention so that he didn't lose his temper. “Have bad dream. Not wake from so punch.” The bassist explained to his lover who was trembling but he couldn't tell if it was from the dream fear or anger. After this long he knew the punk wasn't going to tell him anything, at least not now.
Vars laid down on his side while giving Viktor a little tug. “Come. Sleep.”
Viktor stared at him in the dark room before laying beside him in a reluctant huff of emotion. The constant surly attitude only brought a smile to Vars' face while he settled in behind Viktor who was pulling his arm tightly around into the front. The only option was to lay there behind the Brit punk with an arm wrapped around the singer's chest and the other tucked up under Vars' head.
He was grumbling about the nightmares, swearing at them, no doubt because Viktor perceived them as making him look weak. Vars didn't agree. Nightmares meant someone survived something so bad it plagued them when they slept and in that there was strength. He pulled Viktor tighter, pressing his bare chest into the Viktor's bare back while kissing him behind the ear. Viktor was threading their fingers together and shifting anxiously while trying to get comfortable.
“Sleep. I stay. Not sleep until know no nightmares.” Vars spoke quietly and watched Viktor give him a strange and uncertain glance before the Brit smiled through the tears that stained his face. “No one bother. Safe. I kill anyone make hurt.”
He hugged the punk tighter, feeling Viktor nuzzle back into his body, shift, pull his arm around farther and then finally settle in to sleep again. Vars laid still and held Viktor tightly, one of the few things that comforted the punk when his dreams turned dark, crushingly tight hugs. The fast breaths calmed and then turned back to the drunken snoring that Vars was used to filling his nights. He barely heard it any longer and rested his head against the mass of messy blonde hair. He was falling asleep but he wouldn't let go. Morning would find Viktor needing to struggle free from the Norwegian's death grip that came from his unconscious instinct to protect his partner even when he didn't know what he was protecting him from.
Vars shook his head coming in to Viktor snoring in the bed. He must have been out with his bandmates on a bender, if only because the hotel room wasn't littered with bottles. The punk shrugged off his jacket and threw his shirt into the pile in the corner, it kept the room clean to at least contain the mess. Wrestling off his boots Vars stopped to stare at the Brit grumbling in his bed, half dressed and looking a mess. He adored the stubborn bastard and it left the bassist shaking his head as he set his boots aside and headed into the bathroom to clean up some. Working with the stage crew earlier left him dusty and smudged with dirt.
Half way through the grumbles turned to a whimper and an odd sound. Vars came out of the bathroom, drying his arms and hands with the towel while watching the form in his bed. Viktor was shifting, fists clenched and tossing about. Nightmares. He felt bad for the Brit but they all had them from time to time, a side effect of their lives. Viktor never mentioned what his were though Vars was sure he remembered them clearly.
As the sounds turned to something reminiscent of fear Vars dropped the towel and climbed into the bed. Laying on his side he pulled the punk in so he could wrap his arms around him. “Viktor?”
The singer thrashed and Vars had to stop the arm from hitting him square in the face. “What dream?”
He shook the punk slightly to try and bring him around. The Brit was crying in his sleep and Vars felt worry and pain well up as he pulled him closer. The thrashing kept up and Vars couldn't bring the punk out of his night terror. In a moment of desperation he punched Viktor hard in the shoulder, ready to dodge as his lover came to angry.
“No.” Vars took his hand and pulled his attention so that he didn't lose his temper. “Have bad dream. Not wake from so punch.” The bassist explained to his lover who was trembling but he couldn't tell if it was from the dream fear or anger. After this long he knew the punk wasn't going to tell him anything, at least not now.
Vars laid down on his side while giving Viktor a little tug. “Come. Sleep.”
Viktor stared at him in the dark room before laying beside him in a reluctant huff of emotion. The constant surly attitude only brought a smile to Vars' face while he settled in behind Viktor who was pulling his arm tightly around into the front. The only option was to lay there behind the Brit punk with an arm wrapped around the singer's chest and the other tucked up under Vars' head.
He was grumbling about the nightmares, swearing at them, no doubt because Viktor perceived them as making him look weak. Vars didn't agree. Nightmares meant someone survived something so bad it plagued them when they slept and in that there was strength. He pulled Viktor tighter, pressing his bare chest into the Viktor's bare back while kissing him behind the ear. Viktor was threading their fingers together and shifting anxiously while trying to get comfortable.
“Sleep. I stay. Not sleep until know no nightmares.” Vars spoke quietly and watched Viktor give him a strange and uncertain glance before the Brit smiled through the tears that stained his face. “No one bother. Safe. I kill anyone make hurt.”
He hugged the punk tighter, feeling Viktor nuzzle back into his body, shift, pull his arm around farther and then finally settle in to sleep again. Vars laid still and held Viktor tightly, one of the few things that comforted the punk when his dreams turned dark, crushingly tight hugs. The fast breaths calmed and then turned back to the drunken snoring that Vars was used to filling his nights. He barely heard it any longer and rested his head against the mass of messy blonde hair. He was falling asleep but he wouldn't let go. Morning would find Viktor needing to struggle free from the Norwegian's death grip that came from his unconscious instinct to protect his partner even when he didn't know what he was protecting him from.
The Pack of Fenrir
Aug. 12th, 2021 10:52 amVars had been away from Norway for nearly a year but no one forgot who he was in his old haunts. Not only was Vars a rough and tumble punk, he also was also the man who would see the other bands brought into the spotlight. The Rock In, one of Oslo's punk and metal venues was where his pack hung out. They called them a pack because they were pagans, heathens who followed the old gods.
Once they had their hotel this was the first place Vars wanted Viktor to come with him. Among the heathens. Vars walked in and headed to the back where the dull thud of axes impacting wood was ringing through the quiet bar. Midday was a time for drinking but later the music would be loud. Here, axes and knives were thrown instead of darts and booze came by pitchers and full sized bottles.
Eventually, Vars and his tall, British companion are noticed and a group of punks starts toward them, blonde with streaks of color in their hair and spikes and chains on their jackets and vests. They started surrounding and shoving at Vars. Closer, they all wore tattoos and jewelry of the wolf and serpent that were on so many things that Vars owned. They are obviously asking about Viktor though it is in Norwegian. Vars answers, obvious in Viktor's name and the fact that everyone looks to Viktor.
"We speak English." Vars tells them and that is enough for them all to start talking to Viktor, introducing themselves. They all gave names and their god. Many followed Loki and Fenrir, but also other gods.
"Come. Drink and teach fight." Vars grabbed Viktor's hand and started dragging him along. One of the punks that seems the friendliest with Vars, a man named Aksel and his girl, started laughing.
"Har Vars en tidligere kjæreste?" Aksel asks and Vars punches him hard in the shoulder for the question.
Once they had their hotel this was the first place Vars wanted Viktor to come with him. Among the heathens. Vars walked in and headed to the back where the dull thud of axes impacting wood was ringing through the quiet bar. Midday was a time for drinking but later the music would be loud. Here, axes and knives were thrown instead of darts and booze came by pitchers and full sized bottles.
Eventually, Vars and his tall, British companion are noticed and a group of punks starts toward them, blonde with streaks of color in their hair and spikes and chains on their jackets and vests. They started surrounding and shoving at Vars. Closer, they all wore tattoos and jewelry of the wolf and serpent that were on so many things that Vars owned. They are obviously asking about Viktor though it is in Norwegian. Vars answers, obvious in Viktor's name and the fact that everyone looks to Viktor.
"We speak English." Vars tells them and that is enough for them all to start talking to Viktor, introducing themselves. They all gave names and their god. Many followed Loki and Fenrir, but also other gods.
"Come. Drink and teach fight." Vars grabbed Viktor's hand and started dragging him along. One of the punks that seems the friendliest with Vars, a man named Aksel and his girl, started laughing.
"Har Vars en tidligere kjæreste?" Aksel asks and Vars punches him hard in the shoulder for the question.
(no subject)
Jul. 6th, 2021 07:11 pm(OOC: The morning after this <--- thread contains violence and profanity.
For Nexus Prompt: 3. "If one good thing came of all that, it was this.")
It all felt so strange to have someone laying beside him every night. The three years since Trine left seemed an eternity, an endless loneliness that he couldn't shake. It haunted him most of the time. The hole she had tore through him never healed and never had a chance to while she constantly hounded him at every turn. He pushed Viktor's hair out of his face while he slept, passed out from fighting and too much drink.
They both wore wounds from earlier in the night. Vars protecting Ziggy from harassers, Viktor coming to help Vars when they turned on the Norwegian in mass, and Vars turning on them again when they tried to tear into Viktor. His head throbbed where it had been smashed into the wall, it kept him awake, as did the black bruises across his throat, and Viktor's face was slowly turning black and blue where they had busted his mouth open in the fight. That wound on Viktor's face hurt inside, almost like the wound from Trine. Trine was utter loss that could never be regained. While he knew that Viktor could hold his own after years of fighting, the image of three guys jumping him played over and over in the bassists head. What if he had lost the other punk to a knife or a gun?
He didn't want to think about it and yet that was all he could think about in the quiet of near morning. Everything dredged up emotions; loss, fear, heartache. As Viktor shifted and leaned in closer in his sleep, Vars endured fear.
Three years and he hadn't even tried to be with anyone. It was all a joke and the band knew it from all the times people had slapped him in the face or stood him up. Vars didn't care and drifted around aimlessly for years in mild to extreme disinterest in anything outside the band and playing. This might be real. The anger he couldn't control when he saw Viktor get jumped in the bar was undeniable. Knowing that he would have killed to protect him in that moment was just as true. The bloody lip and bruises continued to make him see red when he caught sight of them.
More than his own fear was in play. There would be backlash; in Britain and even in Norway, despite the culture being more accepting. Outside the band and the closed hotel room there would be consequences for closeness. Hatred of gay men was brutal in many countries and the perceived weakness might get them both jumped by other punks. The position was tenuous, the classic walking a knife edge. He couldn't help but wonder if the impulsive singer thought that far ahead.
Trine would be part of that danger. Newly married, she'd still go for his throat at any opportunity. He knew that and it hurt, burned at his pride and sense of self. The flurry of thoughts was almost too much but in the forefront was Mick telling him about the guilt of hiding and Aarne screaming for people to fuck off every time they questioned how he lived. Could there be a middle ground to being in the shadows and brazen? As a rockstar, it was unlikely to last long. Someone would get a picture and then the media would slather it everywhere about Vars having a secret lover and hiding or whatever else they decided to dump on him, on both of them and their bands. Fame was like a circus where you were a lion fighting to be the ringleader instead of at the end of the whip.
The more Vars lingered on these thoughts the more he knew the source of it was a sense that others could shame him for his behavior. Trine shaming him for moving on when she already had and the media trying to shame his choices. Surrounded by groupies and fans day in and day out, being here with Viktor every night was a choice that was made with confidence. Rebellion fueled all the thoughts after as he zeroed in on a sense of not giving a damn what others thought or saw. As a rockstar everything caused fall out unless you kept your head down and stayed mainstream. No one here followed the mainstream.
In the end only one thought remained; fighting the media was little different than fighting a bunch of thugs in a bar. Go at it together. Divide and Conquer, and when all else failed stab the bastards in the face.
For Nexus Prompt: 3. "If one good thing came of all that, it was this.")
It all felt so strange to have someone laying beside him every night. The three years since Trine left seemed an eternity, an endless loneliness that he couldn't shake. It haunted him most of the time. The hole she had tore through him never healed and never had a chance to while she constantly hounded him at every turn. He pushed Viktor's hair out of his face while he slept, passed out from fighting and too much drink.
They both wore wounds from earlier in the night. Vars protecting Ziggy from harassers, Viktor coming to help Vars when they turned on the Norwegian in mass, and Vars turning on them again when they tried to tear into Viktor. His head throbbed where it had been smashed into the wall, it kept him awake, as did the black bruises across his throat, and Viktor's face was slowly turning black and blue where they had busted his mouth open in the fight. That wound on Viktor's face hurt inside, almost like the wound from Trine. Trine was utter loss that could never be regained. While he knew that Viktor could hold his own after years of fighting, the image of three guys jumping him played over and over in the bassists head. What if he had lost the other punk to a knife or a gun?
He didn't want to think about it and yet that was all he could think about in the quiet of near morning. Everything dredged up emotions; loss, fear, heartache. As Viktor shifted and leaned in closer in his sleep, Vars endured fear.
Three years and he hadn't even tried to be with anyone. It was all a joke and the band knew it from all the times people had slapped him in the face or stood him up. Vars didn't care and drifted around aimlessly for years in mild to extreme disinterest in anything outside the band and playing. This might be real. The anger he couldn't control when he saw Viktor get jumped in the bar was undeniable. Knowing that he would have killed to protect him in that moment was just as true. The bloody lip and bruises continued to make him see red when he caught sight of them.
More than his own fear was in play. There would be backlash; in Britain and even in Norway, despite the culture being more accepting. Outside the band and the closed hotel room there would be consequences for closeness. Hatred of gay men was brutal in many countries and the perceived weakness might get them both jumped by other punks. The position was tenuous, the classic walking a knife edge. He couldn't help but wonder if the impulsive singer thought that far ahead.
Trine would be part of that danger. Newly married, she'd still go for his throat at any opportunity. He knew that and it hurt, burned at his pride and sense of self. The flurry of thoughts was almost too much but in the forefront was Mick telling him about the guilt of hiding and Aarne screaming for people to fuck off every time they questioned how he lived. Could there be a middle ground to being in the shadows and brazen? As a rockstar, it was unlikely to last long. Someone would get a picture and then the media would slather it everywhere about Vars having a secret lover and hiding or whatever else they decided to dump on him, on both of them and their bands. Fame was like a circus where you were a lion fighting to be the ringleader instead of at the end of the whip.
The more Vars lingered on these thoughts the more he knew the source of it was a sense that others could shame him for his behavior. Trine shaming him for moving on when she already had and the media trying to shame his choices. Surrounded by groupies and fans day in and day out, being here with Viktor every night was a choice that was made with confidence. Rebellion fueled all the thoughts after as he zeroed in on a sense of not giving a damn what others thought or saw. As a rockstar everything caused fall out unless you kept your head down and stayed mainstream. No one here followed the mainstream.
In the end only one thought remained; fighting the media was little different than fighting a bunch of thugs in a bar. Go at it together. Divide and Conquer, and when all else failed stab the bastards in the face.
