Hensel And Mortensen

Hensel And Mortensen

Posted: April 18, 2008
Title: Hensel and Mortensen
Author: Phytha
Type: RPS
Characters: Sean/Viggo
Rating: NC-17
Disclaimer: This never happened anywhere than in my crazy mind
Warning: Crack-fic; angst; nasty attempt at het seduction
Author's Notes: Based on the story “Hansel and Gretel”, collected by the Brothers Grimm. Some time ago a friend gave me a coat, as I looked on the brand it read “Hensel and Mortensen”. Well, my mind went reeling and this is what came out. Crack fic for Sean’s birthday. As far as I know, the name “Sean” is related with the English “John”, the French “Jean” and the German “Hans”. That’s at least how I used it in my twisted way of thinking. If I’m wrong, so please forgive me, it’s just my fantasy.

Summary: During the writer’s strike two hungry actors are dealt a disturbing fate.

*****

The steady painful rumbling of his stomach woke Hensel in the middle of the night. Again there hadn’t been anything but some watery soup and a slice of hard and stale bread for dinner. Again, like in so many other nights before, since the day the writer ceased to write, he had had to go to bed with an aching emptiness in his belly. At his side he felt the uneasy stirring of his mate.

“So hungry!” Mortensen shifted in his sleep, whimpering as cramps of hunger seized through his lean frame. Softly kissing the sweating forehead Hensel tried to soothe his consort back into the forgetfulness of sleep. For days the lovers hadn’t been able to do more than cuddling together like lost puppies, sharing desperate kisses; the lack of food had drained all strength to indulge in any more carnal declarations of their love from them. Just as Hensel’s eyes closed again in exhaustion whispered words reached his ears and he strained his hearing listening to their agent’s hushed conversation.

“We can’t afford to keep them with us any longer.” The rumble of the deep voice of Mortensen’s agent was not hard to overhear. “The writers are still on strike, there are no roles for them to play and all we have left are two loafs of hard bread. We’ll all starve if we let them stay with us. They’re good enough actors to make a living of their own and we can try for something new to make our fortune once we’ve got rid of them.” The fain t reply at those words was to low for Hensel to understand. “No, no, stop worrying.” The booming voice again. “They’ll be fine! They’re brave and bold, no harm will befall them. Now listen what we’re gonna do, tomorrow morning we’ll take them to the woods, apparently to collect some food. Then, where the wood is thickest we’ll just leave them on their own.”

Hensel stared in shock into the darkness of his room. There were to be abandoned by their agents in the middle of the wood. Abandoned to be killed by wild beasts or freeze to death in the cold night and there was nothing he could do about it. His mind reeled, desperate to find a way to keep him and his beloved safe. He remembered moonlight glistering on white stones, making them gleam like silver. But there was no way he could get out to collect stones with the agents still awake in the front room, and besides, what good would stones and moonlight be in the darkest place of the wood. There had to be another way to mark their path. Still pondering how to keep them safe he fell into a fitful sleep.

“Wake up, sleepyheads!” Loud banging on the door startled Hensel and Mortensen out of their restless slumber. Don’t delay and steal the Lord’s Day, we have a lot of work to accomplish today.”

After a quick breakfast of stale bread and water they made their way into the wood.

“Collect everything eatable you find, berries, mushrooms and the likes. If you don’t find enough you’ll go without dinner today.” Both their agents nodded sternly at those words.

“But its still winter, it’s not the time for berries and mushrooms!” Mortensen dared to say in a feeble voice, only to be told in harsh words to obey without questioning.

“We’re your agents, we know, what’s good for you. Do as you’re told or blame it on your own disobedience if you stay hungry at night. Here’s a lump of bread for each of you, be careful and don’t eat all of it at once, you won’t get anything else until dinner.”

Downhearted the actors followed their agents into the dense darkness of the wood. Every now and then Hensel stopped to stealthily drop something to the floor. At about noon they felt drop dead tired, hunger gnawing on their intestines making them stagger along almost collapsing with weakness. With growing horror, Hensel realized that they wouldn’t be able to walk on any longer. So this would be the place where it would happen. Pulling together what little strength was left in his tired bones he stumbled forward, dragging the almost fainting Mortensen with him. But only after a few steps they tumbled to the ground in utter exhaustion, unable to get on their feet again. Still not believing in their cruel fate he stared on the departing backs of the agents who walked on without once looking back.

“Oh Hensel mine, they left us.” Mortensen whispered in disbelief, tears running down his face. “We’re lost and all alone.”

“We’ll be save, love.” Kissing away the salty drops Hensel cradled his lover in a comforting embrace. “Trust me, Mortensen mine, we’ll be safe. I won’t any harm befall you. Just trust me, my love and everything will be fine.”

After a much needed rest the lovers shared the last piece of bread, listening to the merry singing of the birds, which seemed not to know any shyness, fluttering and chirping along the path the little group had come. As soon as he felt his strength coming back Hensel got to his feet and starting searching for something, growing more and more concerned as his search proofed to be in vain.

“What are you looking for, oh Hensel mine?”

“I’m looking for the breadcrumbs I’ve been marking our way with to lead us back. We just seem to have gone a little farther than I thought since I’ve dropped the last one.”

“Oh you bloody wanker!” Mortensen shouted in disbelief, hiding his face in his hands. “Breadcrumbs to lead us back! You stupid bloody wanker! Don’t you see what’s happened? The birds chirping so merrily around us, they have had a feast picking up every single crumb. And this had been our last bread. We’re lost, we’re starving and we’ll freeze to death if no wild beast kills us before!”

Pale as a sheet of linen Hensel dropped to the ground. “No!” he whispered “No that can’t be! We can’t be lost to die here. I won’t allow it!” Crawling on his knees towards his lover’s shaking frame he pulled him into a strong embrace, whispering almost frantically in his ear. “I’ll get us out of here, I promise! Trust me, Mortensen mine, I’ll guide us to safety.”

For hours the two lovers stumbled through the dense wood, tiredness creeping into their very bones, all consuming hunger making their bellies grumble louder and louder. At leas Mortensen let himself sink to the ground, leaning his back against a tree and closing his eyes.

“I can’t keep going, too tired, too hungry. Let me stay here, let me rest. Would you stay with me, oh Hensel mine, and hold me till it’s over”

“Oh no, Mortensen mine, oh no, don’t say things like this. I promised you to keep you save. Wait,” sniffling the air a broad grin crept over Hensel’s face, “do you smell that? It smells of bacon and beer! There has to be someone living nearby, someone with food! We’re safe, my Mortensen, we’re safe, just some more steps and there’s food for us!”

Now Mortensen could smell it too, the promising aroma of bacon and beer clearly filled his nostrils. With newfound strength the actors stumbled towards the enticing scent. After only a couple of minutes they reached a little clearing with a small house in its middle. And what a house this was! Thick, fat dripping slices of baked bacon lined its walls and what they found in the font looked and smelled surprisingly like the best beer they’d ever tasted. Unable to resist they tore big lumps of the delicious treat from the walls, wolfing them down hungrily, each mouthful followed by a deep swig of beer.

"Nibble, nibble, gnaw,
Who is nibbling at my little house?"

A melodious voice filled with laughter sounded from the window of the hut.

"The wind, the wind,
The heaven-born wind!"

Hansel replied without thinking, stuffing the next piece of bacon into his mouth. Both he and Mortensen didn’t notice when the door opened and a beautiful woman with long blond hair and voluptuous curves stepped quietly behind them.

“Now there, you really must be hungry.” The soft giggling made Hensel and Mortensen spin around, the last pieces of flesh dropping from their open mouths. “But you don’t have to eat my house, come in and have a proper meal. Don’t be afraid, I won’t do you any harm. By the way, you can call me Pamela.” With a seductive smile she let her gaze linger on the two handsome men.

Soon the two lovers were seated in Pamela’s cozy kitchen in front of a table loaded with the most delicious dishes. Scrambled eggs, ham, bacon fresh bread and beer, lots of aromatic, cold beer; more food than they had seen within the last weeks altogether. Moaning happily they dug in until they felt ready to explode. So long had it been that they were fed properly that none of them noticed the strange taste of the liquid. When their eyes grew heavy and they started to doze off they blamed it on the harshness of the day and the unacquainted amount of foot they had indulged in. Smiling their hostess showed them to a large comfortable bed. Cuddling together and sharing a sweet good night kiss the actors almost at once drifted into sleep, sound, safe and in peace for the first time in weeks.

Mortensen awoke with a start bright daylight shining into his eyes. He turned round to reach for his lover only to find the place beside him empty. A worried frown furrowed his brow. Hensel never got up without waking him with tender kisses, even during the harsh time they had had to endure recently he’d never ceased this little moment of tenderness. Maybe he’d only gone out to take a piss. An uneasy feeling crept into Mortensen’s heart.

“Get up, I need you to help me!” Did those unpleasant noises come out of the same mouth that spoke so friendly last night? With a deepening feeling of dread Mortensen crossed the little room they had slept in and entered the kitchen. The uncertain feeling of concern turned into pure horror once he saw what was on display there. In a cage made of metal bars Hensel was still deep asleep, bedded on soft cushions. His arms and feet were chained to the bars with long unyielding chains. He must have been taken away during the night without any of them noticing and been robbed of his cloth, because he was laid out in his cage in all his glorious nakedness.

“Don’t stare as if you’d never seen a naked man!” the unpleasant voice brought Mortensen out of his haze. “I need you to help me prepare a meal for him. He’s all skin and bones. We’ve got to get some flesh on his ribs. Can’t have him so skinny and weak. He’ll need his strength back if he’s to pleasure me properly.” The shrill voice took on a dreaming note, making it almost pleasant. “He’ll look like a golden lion once he’s got his features back. Oh, what pleasure he’ll give me.”

Mortensen stared in disbelieve at their suddenly changed hostess.

“What are you staring at again? Did you really think I’d live all alone in the middle of the forest in a house made of bacon with a beer fountain in my front garden? Did you think I’m the Salvation Army, looking out for lost wanderer to feed them without reward? This house has been built only to lure handsome men into my arms. What man is able to resist bacon and beer? Oh they are so easy! You gave me quite a hard time to decide which one of you I should take first, but as you see, your lion like friend made the race. But don’t worry, you’ll be next once I’m finished with him. Just don’t think of running away, I’ve got your friend at my mercy and you surely wouldn’t want him to bear my wrath. Now go, fetch some water and start to prepare breakfast.”

At the last words Hensel had started to stir in his cage, sitting up in shock once he found himself chained to what seemed to be metal bars. With a harsh grunt he turned towards his captoress. With an obscenely purring smile Pamela rubbed her body against the bars.

“Awake now, my handsome one? Don’t fret, everything’s just for your safety. Your greatest wish will be granted to you. You just have to regain your strength and you’ll be allowed to pleasure me until you faint. Just eat and rest, I can’t wait for you to give me unimaginable pleasure.”

Hensel had shrunken back in horror at the teasing words. He shook his head in silent refuse, unable to utter a single word.

“Don’t deny me what I want, beautiful one! Know that I’ve got your friend at my mercy and you wouldn’t have him suffer my wreath! Eat and rest and get strong for me, know that my appetite is very big.”

For the next couple of days the evil women didn’t try to approach Hensel again, although she didn’t stop to watch him closely, making any communication between the lovers impossible. Mortensen was forced to do all the housekeeping, cleaning the chamber pots, preparing meals for Hensel and the witch, being allowed only leftovers to sate his own hunger. At the third day Pamela went to the cage, swinging her hips seductively.

“You look so much better now rested and well fed as you are. Seems that my time of waiting has finally passed. Now let me see what there’s in store for me.”

With this she reached into the cage gripping Hensel’s cock in a firm hold. Hensel shied away in disgust at the sudden attack, turning pleading eyes towards his equally shocked lover. The probing hand stroked and kneaded the lifeless organ, tracing a long red-painted fingernail over the crown, but all attempts proofed to be in vain. The organ stayed limp and flaccid, not one spark of life bringing it to attention. With a deep frown the woman pulled her hand away.

“Still not recovered enough? I’ll give you one other day to rest, than I’ll have to use different methods.”

The next day she came again rubbing her belly at the bars, her mouth smeared with blood-red lipstick, her body barley covered with cloth. But again the limp organ didn’t move a single inch in her hand, no single sign of hardening interest greeted the teasing fingers. Furiously she turned around, leaving the room with an angry swirl of her skirt. When she came back she held a little blue pill between thumb and forefinger, forcing it violently into Hensel’s mouth.

“This will help you give me what I want. Don’t dare to spit it out, think of your friend, he’ll suffer terribly for it. Swallow and let me see that your mouth is empty.”

Obediently Hensel swallowed the little pill and opened his mouth to prove that it really was empty.

“Good boy! I think I’ll take a rest now to be prepared for your gift. But first let me bind your wrists, can’t have you spoil the fun by using your own hands when the need becomes too fervent.”

Having restraint Hensel’s hands securely to his back, Pamela retreated to her room and soon soft snoring was to be heard.

As soon as the witch seemed to be soundly asleep, Mortensen rushed to his lover’s cage.

“Oh Hensel mine, how can I help you, tell me, what I can do to help you in your dire fate?”

“Mortensen mine, I already feel the effects of the evil drug I’ve been forced to consume. I feel it make my blood start to boil and an unbearable need growing in my veins. Please let me find release, the evil one must nor have what is only yours.”

“I’ll be most glad to help you with this.” Mortensen tried in vain not to sound too eager at the so much wanted proposal. “But be aware that you mustn’t make any sound. We can’t have the witch to wake up and come in on us, it surely would be the death of both of us.”

Desperately Hensel moved as near to the bars as he could manage, his already swelling cock bobbing in front of his belly. With a soft whimper Mortensen reached for the throbbing shaft, letting his hand glide over the silky hardness all the way from base to crown. He teased the foreskin back and forth over the bulging head, swirling his thumb over the slit, gathering the first dewy drops of precome. When he looked up into Hensel’s face he saw a mask of pure rapture making his head spin at its intensity.

Hensel had to bite his lips to keep himself from moaning aloud at the first blissful touch of his lover’s hand. For too long hunger and exhaustion had denied him of this pleasure. He threw his head back in pleasure, his hips moving without control, pressing his burning flesh deeper into the oh so much needed friction.

“So good …” he managed to ground out in a broken voice. “So good … missed this so much … don’t stop … ah, God, so good, … can you …. Ah please … can you put your mouth on me?”

Dropping to the knees Mortensen pushed his face as close as possible between the bars, dragging his lover’s heavy cock towards his mouth. Sticking out his tongue he dipped the tip into the weeping slit, sampling the first pearls of salty musk. The unyielding barrier of metal didn’t allow him to engulf the whole straining rod, he only managed to circle the crown with his lips, sucking it like a candy stick. His tongue swirled around the pulsating head, dipping repeatedly into the slit, lips and teeth nibbling on the stretched foreskin, unable to pull it over the straining bulge. All the while nimble fingers grazed up and down the steely hardness of the shaft, never ceasing in their rhythm melting with the licking and sucking into a heavenly harmony.

Hensel couldn’t suppress a guttural moan at the first dip of a sleek muscle into his weeping slit. His bound hands gripped one another in a desperate attempt to keep himself steady. Almost beside himself he tried to breath only through his nose, fighting frantically to keep his fervent groans inside his chest as Mortensen’s skillful mouth spiraled him into the highest realm of bliss. Soon, all too soon the entrancing dance of tongue, lips, teeth and hand became more than he could bear. Throwing his head back in the rigor of bliss his whole body tensed only to break out in shuddering spasms as his seed spurted forth with overwhelming force.

Mortensen could feel his lover drowning in the throes of passion, the heavy shuddering breaths and the increasing trembling of Hensel’s body clearly indicating the measure of his bliss. His own member swelled to almost painful hardness at the decadent display in front of his eyes. The lust-stricken face, head thrown back was the face of a god in outmost rapture. Suppressed moans and cries tore out of Hensel’s chest in deep rumbling sounds and his whole body moved together with his lover’s hands and lips in an obscene dance of debauchery. The increasing throbbing of the heavy cock between his lips betrayed the nearness of the impending climax. Even the tiny slit seemed to pulsate under the onslaught of the teasing tongue. Lightheaded with the amount of pleasure he could bestow onto to his lover Mortensen increased his ministrations, matching them with the throbbing of his own hardness. Suddenly Hensel’s body went rigid, every single one of his muscles standing out like chiseled marble for one eternal moment, before he shook in the seizures of his mind-bending climax, filling Mortensen’s hungry mouth with spurt after spurt of creamy liquid in an almost neverending stream. The incredible force of his lover’s climax was enough to drive Mortensen over the edge as well and his own seed spilled without having his cock touched one single time.

With a sated smile Hensel slumped down on his cushions, mouthing a silent “Thank you” to his lover, before he fell in an exhausted sleep.

When Pamela came back from her nap she found Hensel still resting in a peaceful slumber, not a single sigh of the effect of the little blue pill noticeable. Grumbling in frustration she turned round to think of another instrument to make her unwilling toy work.

The next day Mortensen found the witch with a smile on her face that reminded him irritatingly of a cat that had stolen the cream. She grinned at him maliciously as he served her breakfast.

“Now there I’ve finally got something that will bend your stubborn friend to my will.” She reached into her bag and pulled out a strange device. “Maybe he needs some more profound help. If that’s the cause, he won’t be able to resist me any longer. Congratulate me to a day of utter pleasure.”

Stunned Mortensen looked at the mysterious artifact. It looked somehow similar to a vibrator, but had strange bulges and ripples all over its length.

“What is this?” he asked hesitantly.

“Well, this is the newest generation of sex toys, look.” With an obscene smile the witch pressed a button. The whole device started to whir and pulse, varying its length and width, twisting, pushing and rotating its upper end in a wide circle. With a nasty smirk the woman let her hands glide over the strange instrument.

“But how will you know if it works?” Mortensen’s brain was working at high speed, desperate to save his lover. “What if it’s a failure? Shouldn’t you try it out on yourself, before you use it on Hensel?”

“Hm … you surly have a point here.” With new interest the witch stared at her toy, getting exited at the prospect of trying its merit. Her face flushed she rose from the table in such haste, that she didn’t even notice that she’d dropped the key to Hensel’s cage. As soon as she had disappeared into her room Mortensen swiftly dived for the key, hiding it in the pocket of his trousers. It didn’t take long until sounds of pleasure emerged from the closed door of the witch’s chamber. Only then, knowing their captoress would be busy for quite some time did he dare to approach Hensel’s cage. With a quick movement he unlocked the door, releasing his lover back into freedom.

“Let’s get away from here as long as she’s distracted” he whispered fervently.

“Well she seems to stay distracted for quite some time.” Hensel grinned at the increasing cries of pleasure. “Let’s grab something to eat first, we don’t know when we’ll be lucky again.”

Quickly they rummaged through the storeroom, taking with them as much as they could carry. In one dusty corner they noticed a hidden trunk. Curious they pried it open and found it filled to the brink with sheets of paper, each one covered with neatly printed letters. Hastily they sorted through the files and found them to be a true treasure of stories. Well, it wasn’t like anything they had played during their career as actors, much more graphic concerning bodily interactions between the characters. And all the stories seemed to deal with the same characters at this. Two men called Viggo and Sean, and oh my, what kind of obscenities they indulged in! But it were stories, stories not affected by the strike of the writers. Hensel and Mortensen smiled at one another. They could do it, this they were sure of. They could play these stories and a whole now career was lying in front of them. Sharing a last kiss they took the trunk with them and set out into a world full of new experiences.

And the witch? Well, she lived happily ever after with her new toy, at least until she run out of batteries.

*****

THE END

If you enjoyed this story, please send feedback to: Phytha