#viggur

I always liked the idea of Viggo never had much experience with relationships, this is normally part of my headcanon of him being aroace, but here would be another reason. Because he was heir, then a chief and a very cold and distant person, people never tried to get close to him intimately because they were afraid.

Everyone except Dagur, because he has no idea of danger.

For me, Dagur is an open book. His emotions are so strong that it shows through him. And he always says what he thinks, without thinking about the consequences.

Think of a version where Viggo joins his brother earlier, or Dagur not leaving after freeing Heather.

I imagine Dagur constantly flirting with Viggo, because yes, he's a dick and annoying, but he's hot, you can't deny it. But Viggo is always ruthless and has no qualms about threatening him.

*after Viggo threateningly asks Dagur to leave for flirting with him again*

Ryker: Are you crazy? You have no idea of the danger, do you?

Dagur: It's not my fault if your brother doesn't know how to have fun

Viggo goes straight to his room, and there, alone, he becomes a complete emotional mess. Your face turns completely red and feels like it's going to burn.

Viggo doesn't like Dagur. He doesn't even feel attracted to him. But it's the first time someone has shown any interest in him, it's uncomfortable but exciting at the same time. He's never been through this before and he doesn't know how to deal with it.

After a while Dagur gives up flirting with Viggo. And, strangely instead of feeling relieved, Viggo misses the attention. And against all his code and morals, he goes to confront Dagur about this and their conversation turns to something else. A hint: it's sex

*after a hot and wild sex, Dagur is completely satisfied and happy. Viggo is also equally satisfied , but very angry*

Viggo: This doesn't mean anything okay? This will never happen again and if you talk about this to anyone I swear I'll make you wish for death.

Dagur: Alright, babe.

With heavy eyes, Viggo skimmed the ledger that had been delivered to his office quarters. He exhaled in frustration. This would infuriate him for some time—the fact that money had been stolen right out from under him, and by one of his own men! His fury at the insult would no doubt interrupt his already troubled sleep later in the night. He rested his elbows on his desk and clasped his hands. He closed his tired eyes, trying to think. A shrill cry broke the silence. 

“OH GODS, PLEASE, PLEASE STOP, I’M SORRY!” 

Well, at least the issue was being addressed.

The scream came all the way from the brig. It pierced through the floors and walls of the ship, filling the air with the sounds of agony. The screaming went on for quite some time, and then there was silence. He’d better not be dead already, Viggo thought. It would be a hassle to find yet another worker from the dragon fighting pit to interrogate without arousing suspicion from his associates. Viggo needed this matter sorted out efficiently and discreetly—ideally without rounding up the entire lot of workers at the fighting pit if it could be avoided. 

Viggo’s thoughts were interrupted when Dagur came into his quarters unwelcomed and unannounced. His fists were bruised and he was splattered with blood. His hands and forearms were covered with the stuff. What had once been rivulets of blood had dried onto Dagur’s pale skin like maps of rivers drawn with red ink. His chest heaved, perhaps from rushing to Viggo’s office—or perhaps from the excitement of dismembering or flaying or teeth-pulling, or whatever gruesome act Dagur preferred. Viggo grimaced at his appearance. Dagur didn’t even have the decency to clean himself up before coming to speak with him.

Dagur opened his mouth to speak but stopped short when Viggo held up a finger for silence.

“When I’m finished.” Viggo continued looking over the ledger. It was an unnecessary delay. He’d already looked for evidence of the stolen funds a dozen times. He just wanted to make Dagur wait. The young man needed to be put in his place on a regular basis. But eventually, his wide-eyed staring unnerved Viggo. He disliked the way Dagur’s eyes watched him…there was something about it wholly unlike the way Viggo’s other men looked at him—he was used to an appropriate level of deference, even fear. Dagur had likely been used to the same, once upon a time. Perhaps that was why he insisted on being a thorn in Viggo’s side. 

Lately, Dagur had made a habit of making “jokes” at Viggo’s expense, often in front of others, and always with some vulgar implication. It was getting on Viggo’s nerves and he did not have the patience to deal with it today. 

Viggo finally looked up from his ledger with a glance. “I assume you’ve made progress?”

“I certainly have.” Dagur’s smug tone made Viggo roll his eyes. He stood there proudly with his hands on his hips as if waiting for praise.

“And?” Viggo demanded.

“Oh, right. Okay, so the embezzlement ring is much bigger than we originally thought. There’s like, a dozen guys in on it. Ulf is just the tip of the iceberg.”

“Hmm.” Viggo hummed against his bridged hands. “And I wonder if our dear friend Ulf was perhaps incentivized to give whatever names it would take in order for the pain to stop.”

Dagur folded his arms. “Uh…I don’t think so. I’m pretty sure I got the right names. Why would Ulf lie?”

“You’re pretty sure?” Viggo examined his nails, unimpressed. “Well if that doesn’t inspire confidence, I don’t know what would.”

“Definitely sure,” Dagur corrected. There’s no way he was holding back.”

Viggo sighed. “That sounds like it’s precisely the problem. Some people—most people in fact—will say just about anything to prevent a great deal of pain. Judging by the screaming I heard, Ulf sounded ready to implicate his own mother if it would make the torture stop. You went about it too bluntly.”

“Bluntly?” Dagur laughed. “I used a knife!”

“No, you idiot,” Viggo smacked his forehead. “I mean you interrogated him incorrectly.”

Dagur held out his arms in exasperation. “How is that even possible? You said to make him talk!”

“Not just to say anything—to tell us what we need to know!” Viggo shook his head in disbelief. “How did you go about getting him to talk? What was your strategy?”

Dagur blinked. He wore an empty-headed expression of perfect stupidity. “Strategy? The strategy in torture is make them hurt, yes?”

Viggo rested his head against his hand. “Yes, thank you for that masterful lesson, Dagur. But what you’ve missed is that when applied without forethought, pain can make anyone agree to anything, thereby making the confession worthless and the interrogation itself a waste of time.” Viggo accentuated each point with sharp, swift gestures. “There’s an art to it—you can’t just rush in with full force! You have to gradually increase the pain; think strategically—offer moments of respite and hope; try to influence their thinking with more than just physical pain, and—” he interrupted himself, annoyed. Dagur was just staring at him blankly. Viggo’s knowledge was wasted on the likes of him. “Oh, nevermind. Perhaps I should have had Ryker do it. Or better yet, if I wanted it done correctly, I should have done it myself.”

“Oh, nonononono,” Dagur insisted. “You definitely don’t need Ryker. I did perfectly fine!”

Viggo scoffed. “Fine? And you’re happy with that? If you’re going to be of use to me, I need you to be more than fine.”

Dagur glared at him for a moment, but then his body language changed. He was no longer defensive, but confident and cavalier. He smirked and a dark look came over his eyes. “Well if you want me to be of use, I can assure you I’d be more than fine.”

“Dagur—”

“I can be whatever you want.”

“A—!” Viggo stopped short, glaring angrily. That detestable audacity again! No matter what Viggo did, Dagur was like a gnat incessantly buzzing about his ears. He only showed a proper amount of respect when he was swatted. Viggo didn’t need or want Dagur’s advances. He was not one to be so easily influenced by petty flattery, and certainly not by the likes of this boorish fool. Besides, if Viggo were looking for intimacy, he would do the pursuing, not the other way around.

“Apparently not,” Viggo spat, when he had finally collected himself. “After all, I want you to be competent, not complacent in your own self-satisfaction.”

Without missing a beat, Dagur replied with a grin. “Well hey, there’s plenty of satisfaction to go around. I’m sure you and I can arrange something…”

“Enough!” Viggo pushed himself up from his chair. He hoisted the ledger from his desk and launched it at Dagur’s head. Dagur narrowly ducked out of the way. The heavy book hit the door and then the ground with a thud. “I don’t have time for your insolence! I have been cheated and I trusted you to help me clear up this mess. I thought it would be an opportunity for you to prove yourself, but clearly you’re not taking it seriously!”

Dagur straightened up. “I am taking it seriously!” He sounded petulant, but there was a dangerous edge to his voice as well. “I just don’t understand—”

“Yes, that’s the trouble, isn’t it?” Viggo snapped. “Your lack of understanding? Lack of care, lack of thought—”

“Whenever I try to think, you tell me to stop!” Dagur clasped his hands behind himself, straightened his back to an exaggerated degree, and frowned deeply. “All thinking has been done, Dagur. You just need to do as you’re told, Dagur. Just follow orders, Dagur.” His impression was preposterous. “Isn’t that what you always tell me?”

Viggo’s lip curled with distaste. “That’s what I tell you when I’ve given you direct orders. In this case, I gave you some freedom to act on your own, and you couldn’t even be bothered to do more than carry out mindless violence.” He exhaled. “You know, if you want to make something of yourself, you need to use your mind as well as your muscles…”

It was a common habit of men of Dagur’s…physical state to rely too heavily on their brawns at the expense of developing their brains. One needed only to glance at Dagur to see what he prized. His biceps bulged dramatically. The veins in his toned forearms rippled as he clenched and unclenched his fists. His sinewy neck tensed, as it always did when he was upset. Gods, what an irritatingly strapping brute.

Viggo realized that he had been staring at Dagur’s body—and worse, Dagur had caught him staring. He gazed back, but instead of his usual salacious grin, he looked somewhat surprised. 

Viggo huffed and waved a hand. “No matter. I’ll get to the bottom of the Ulf situation. You’re dismissed.”

Dagur hesitated. “So…you don’t want me to do anything else? Like go back and double check with him or…?”

“No, Dagur. I want you to do as you’re told.”

Dagur grumbled to himself. He was still visibly upset, but sufficiently knocked down a peg. “Fine,” he said through gritted teeth. He turned to leave but then noticed the ledger still laying on the ground. He pointed to it. “Uh…Viggo? Do you still want this?”

Viggo held out a hand and waited silently as Dagur picked the book up and handed it back to him. At least he had the decency to do that.

Viggo sat back down. “There’s a good lad,” he said with a biting tone.

But Dagur hadn’t sensed the mockery in Viggo’s voice. He gave a ridiculous grin. “Uh, thanks?”

Viggo recoiled as he pulled the book back. Of course Dagur was arrogant enough to take a demeaning comment as flirtation. “That wasnt—” Viggo protested, “I didn’t mean—! Ugh, out! Just get out!”

Dagur gave the smallest smirk before turning to leave. Insufferable. He did a little salute with two fingers, “You got it, Viggo.” He pauses at the door. “But let me know if I can be of use. I’m at your service.” He winked.