For moanahine: Fast Friends (Aragorn/Éomer, NC-17)
Title: Fast Friends
Author: Galadriel (caras_galadhon)
Pairing: Aragorn/Éomer
Rating: NC-17
Feedback: Always appreciated.
Disclaimer: I have a vivid fantasy life, but I do not pretend to be JRR Tolkien, nor do I pretend to own his characters.
Summary: As Éowyn did not win Aragorn's heart, so too was Éomer convinced the new King would find no desire for him.
Notes: Written for moanahine for lotr_sesa. She asked for "either a light, fluffy hopeful story, or a dark, angsty story with a happy ending," and preferably "a first time story [with] a shy but eager Éomer and a laidback, soothing Aragorn." The prompt provided was: "[t]he two men who did not wish to be kings find strength in each other." Hopefully I've managed to provide what you were hoping for. Happy Holidays!
Fast Friends
By Galadriel
Perhaps it was some curse of his line; his sister had made no secret of her love for the Ranger, and now Éomer found himself falling deeper and deeper under the spell of the new King. He had been certain that this love would not be returned, for had not Aragorn turned his sister down? She was fair and strong, in every way his own mirror image, and if she was not to Aragorn's tastes, what would he -- newly wrought, reluctant Horselord-cum-King -- have to offer when Kingships were not in short supply?
Éomer had never found solace amongst the Rohirrim, never felt this way about another man, and he could not imagine Elessar, friend of Rohan and Reunited King, lover of Elves and groom to his Elvish bride would be so changed with his station, changed by his name to change his tastes in bedmates.
He was certain of this, as certain of refusal as he was of the fire that burned in his belly. Cup after cup of ale would not quench it, but made his convictions stronger until he stumbled out of his own Hall, waving off his attendants as he took leave of the visiting Gondorian party. They were welcome to revel in song, firelight, feasting and wine, but he would slake his thirst on empty images conjured from his already drink-addled mind, stroke himself to completion in the privacy of his chambers, the walls the only witness to his cries.
"Do you wish for some company, Éomer-King?" The whispered words seemed overloud in the empty corridor. "Or have you tired of your guests this evening?"
Éomer stopped short, his gloved palm settling against the door to his chambers, resting there, not pushing as he turned to meet glittering grey eyes. "Ara-- Elessar," his tongue felt thick against his palate, working against lips that refused to shape proper words, "By all means. You are always welcome in my chambers." Éomer's cheeks flushed hot, and he hoped against hope Elessar would let the double meaning slide by.
Elessar smiled. "Aragorn," he murmured, moving close, moulding his body to Éomer's, pressing him gently against the door. "I shall always be Aragorn to you." His fingertips caressed Éomer's knuckles, brushed up the length of his hand until they stood body to body, hand to hand. "If I am welcome in your chambers, perhaps you would allow me entrance now?" The pressure increased slightly, and Éomer found himself guided forward, the door opening, the warmth of the hearth fire mingling with the heat singing through Éomer's veins.
Once inside, Elessar released Éomer, leaned against the door, shutting it behind him. His smile danced in his eyes as he regarded his companion, his gaze sliding down Éomer's body, lingering at his stomach, his groin, before moving back upward to take in his face. He wet his lips, and Éomer could not quite suppress the shudder of desire that shot through him at the hunger in Elessar's expression.
"In all the time we have known each other, I have not yet had the chance to show you proper obeisance." Elessar stepped forward, closing the distance between them in a heartbeat. "As we are in your lands, it is my duty to prove my friendship to Rohan, I think. It is only right."
Éomer swallowed, his throat closing around a lump that could only be his heart, his ears ringing with its beating. He found, to his surprise, that he could not move, frozen like a young colt facing his first battle. And much like that first taste of war made the blood sing, so too did Éomer's body respond, his cock stirring, waking from the half-slumber of unfulfilled longing, eager to accept the unvoiced offer lingering behind Elessar's words.
The corners of Elessar's eyes crinkled as he brushed against Éomer, no doubt noting the eagerness Éomer was unable to hide. His hands slid down Éomer's arms, catching and tugging at his gloves, slipping first one, then the other off, discarding them heedlessly on the stone floor. Elessar's fingers were warm as he laced them with Éomer's own, a gentle squeeze accompanying the lightest brush of lips against mouth, stubble against cheek.
Éomer moaned; how could the prickle of rough hairs against his chin, the scent of pipeweed mingled with mead drawn deep into his lungs make him ache so? He wet his lips, the resultant unintentional touch drawing the softest of groans past Elessar's tongue. He could feel the press of cloth against cock, his breeches grown far too tight, and feeling bolder, he guided Elessar's palm to his lacings, pressing it there. "My lands are yours to explore, my lord," Éomer smiled, his words curling like smoke in the air, "Its delights yours to sample."
The sigh of pleasure Elessar offered in response made Éomer's chest tighten. Elessar's fingers were nimble and clever, and before Éomer had time to do much more than widen his stance, cool air caressed newly-exposed skin, his breeches coaxed aside. He shivered, exchanging one intoxication for another as Elessar stroked him to full hardness.
A moment's pause, and Elessar kneeled, not releasing Éomer's cock from his grasp as he settled. Éomer looked down, his eyes widening at Elessar's focus, wholly on Éomer's cock, enacting a gentle tease as he stroked his thumbs upward, the rough-smooth feel of war-won calluses making Éomer's balls tighten.
"You don't-- You needn't-- My lord--"
Elessar smiled, leaning forward, placing the gentlest of kisses just under the head of Éomer's cock, silencing Éomer's stutters with the smallest flick of his tongue. "My lord," he murmured, "Your Aragorn." The words had little time to leave Elessar's lips before he took Éomer's cock into his mouth, sucking lightly as he moved to take him deeper.
Éomer gasped, rocking forward on his booted soles, blindly groping and finally finding Elessar's shoulders, clinging tightly to the man at his feet as if he were drowning; and if it were possible to drown in pleasure, then Éomer was in danger of breathing in more than his fill. He shuddered as Elessar's throat closed around him, faintly surprised at how in this moment he felt like a skittish yearling, sure he would not survive the breaking. He hissed, his hips jerking forward, hands clenching as he sought to steady himself, pure, unadulterated need surging through him. He felt the familiar flutter in his abdomen, the first warning of the approaching end, and as he felt his cock twitch, knew with certainty that he would last only a moment more, he felt Elessar draw back, circle the base of his shaft with two fingers, squeezing gently.
"Not yet."
Éomer whimpered, caught between need and No. He grunted softly as he thrust his hips forward, hoping to gain the tiniest bit of friction that would tip him over the edge, but he was thwarted in his movement by a warning hand slipped under his tunic, pressing lightly there.
"Steady now, steady. We have all the time in the world, and no need for haste." Elessar's voice held the tone of a true horseman, a verbal stroking that would calm even the most high-strung beast, and Éomer had no choice but to listen as his body settled into the low hum of desire. Elessar released his cock, only the tiniest twinkle in his eyes acknowledging Éomer's disappointed groan, his half-step forward at Elessar's retreat. He stood, knees popping as he straightened, and kissed Éomer deeply, fingers tangled in Éomer's hair, tugging lightly, guiding him as easily as one would an obedient stallion.
The taste of both men lingered on Éomer's lips as Elessar pulled away; left breathless, Éomer glanced toward his bed, flushing with joy as Elessar's gaze followed his own, his face lighting up in anticipation. He nodded, and Éomer wove their fingers back together, steered Elessar across rug and stone until they stood close by the bed. Neither man wasted time in disrobing, for while the evening stretched out before them, there was no virtue in rewarding coyness. Discarding their garments on floor and chair, they sank as one onto the fur coverings, fingers and tongues beginning the first exploration of old and new scars, mapping the routes that would best draw forth mingled curses and prayers.
Once oil had been retrieved and fingers slicked -- for, Éomer distantly noted, even in these fatted days of peace and plenty, Elessar was proving to still be a Ranger at heart -- Elessar paused as he encouraged Éomer's legs apart. The glitter in the corner of his eye hinted once again at some momentary mischief as he smiled down at Éomer splayed across the mattress, cock proudly curving above a nest of blond hairs, balls heavy and aching underneath. "Are not Gondor and Rohan fast friends, my lord?"
"More than friends," Éomer whispered, arching upward at the first gentle press of fingertip to entrance, "my Aragorn."
END
(December 23, 2007)
Author: Galadriel (caras_galadhon)
Pairing: Aragorn/Éomer
Rating: NC-17
Feedback: Always appreciated.
Disclaimer: I have a vivid fantasy life, but I do not pretend to be JRR Tolkien, nor do I pretend to own his characters.
Summary: As Éowyn did not win Aragorn's heart, so too was Éomer convinced the new King would find no desire for him.
Notes: Written for moanahine for lotr_sesa. She asked for "either a light, fluffy hopeful story, or a dark, angsty story with a happy ending," and preferably "a first time story [with] a shy but eager Éomer and a laidback, soothing Aragorn." The prompt provided was: "[t]he two men who did not wish to be kings find strength in each other." Hopefully I've managed to provide what you were hoping for. Happy Holidays!
Fast Friends
By Galadriel
Perhaps it was some curse of his line; his sister had made no secret of her love for the Ranger, and now Éomer found himself falling deeper and deeper under the spell of the new King. He had been certain that this love would not be returned, for had not Aragorn turned his sister down? She was fair and strong, in every way his own mirror image, and if she was not to Aragorn's tastes, what would he -- newly wrought, reluctant Horselord-cum-King -- have to offer when Kingships were not in short supply?
Éomer had never found solace amongst the Rohirrim, never felt this way about another man, and he could not imagine Elessar, friend of Rohan and Reunited King, lover of Elves and groom to his Elvish bride would be so changed with his station, changed by his name to change his tastes in bedmates.
He was certain of this, as certain of refusal as he was of the fire that burned in his belly. Cup after cup of ale would not quench it, but made his convictions stronger until he stumbled out of his own Hall, waving off his attendants as he took leave of the visiting Gondorian party. They were welcome to revel in song, firelight, feasting and wine, but he would slake his thirst on empty images conjured from his already drink-addled mind, stroke himself to completion in the privacy of his chambers, the walls the only witness to his cries.
"Do you wish for some company, Éomer-King?" The whispered words seemed overloud in the empty corridor. "Or have you tired of your guests this evening?"
Éomer stopped short, his gloved palm settling against the door to his chambers, resting there, not pushing as he turned to meet glittering grey eyes. "Ara-- Elessar," his tongue felt thick against his palate, working against lips that refused to shape proper words, "By all means. You are always welcome in my chambers." Éomer's cheeks flushed hot, and he hoped against hope Elessar would let the double meaning slide by.
Elessar smiled. "Aragorn," he murmured, moving close, moulding his body to Éomer's, pressing him gently against the door. "I shall always be Aragorn to you." His fingertips caressed Éomer's knuckles, brushed up the length of his hand until they stood body to body, hand to hand. "If I am welcome in your chambers, perhaps you would allow me entrance now?" The pressure increased slightly, and Éomer found himself guided forward, the door opening, the warmth of the hearth fire mingling with the heat singing through Éomer's veins.
Once inside, Elessar released Éomer, leaned against the door, shutting it behind him. His smile danced in his eyes as he regarded his companion, his gaze sliding down Éomer's body, lingering at his stomach, his groin, before moving back upward to take in his face. He wet his lips, and Éomer could not quite suppress the shudder of desire that shot through him at the hunger in Elessar's expression.
"In all the time we have known each other, I have not yet had the chance to show you proper obeisance." Elessar stepped forward, closing the distance between them in a heartbeat. "As we are in your lands, it is my duty to prove my friendship to Rohan, I think. It is only right."
Éomer swallowed, his throat closing around a lump that could only be his heart, his ears ringing with its beating. He found, to his surprise, that he could not move, frozen like a young colt facing his first battle. And much like that first taste of war made the blood sing, so too did Éomer's body respond, his cock stirring, waking from the half-slumber of unfulfilled longing, eager to accept the unvoiced offer lingering behind Elessar's words.
The corners of Elessar's eyes crinkled as he brushed against Éomer, no doubt noting the eagerness Éomer was unable to hide. His hands slid down Éomer's arms, catching and tugging at his gloves, slipping first one, then the other off, discarding them heedlessly on the stone floor. Elessar's fingers were warm as he laced them with Éomer's own, a gentle squeeze accompanying the lightest brush of lips against mouth, stubble against cheek.
Éomer moaned; how could the prickle of rough hairs against his chin, the scent of pipeweed mingled with mead drawn deep into his lungs make him ache so? He wet his lips, the resultant unintentional touch drawing the softest of groans past Elessar's tongue. He could feel the press of cloth against cock, his breeches grown far too tight, and feeling bolder, he guided Elessar's palm to his lacings, pressing it there. "My lands are yours to explore, my lord," Éomer smiled, his words curling like smoke in the air, "Its delights yours to sample."
The sigh of pleasure Elessar offered in response made Éomer's chest tighten. Elessar's fingers were nimble and clever, and before Éomer had time to do much more than widen his stance, cool air caressed newly-exposed skin, his breeches coaxed aside. He shivered, exchanging one intoxication for another as Elessar stroked him to full hardness.
A moment's pause, and Elessar kneeled, not releasing Éomer's cock from his grasp as he settled. Éomer looked down, his eyes widening at Elessar's focus, wholly on Éomer's cock, enacting a gentle tease as he stroked his thumbs upward, the rough-smooth feel of war-won calluses making Éomer's balls tighten.
"You don't-- You needn't-- My lord--"
Elessar smiled, leaning forward, placing the gentlest of kisses just under the head of Éomer's cock, silencing Éomer's stutters with the smallest flick of his tongue. "My lord," he murmured, "Your Aragorn." The words had little time to leave Elessar's lips before he took Éomer's cock into his mouth, sucking lightly as he moved to take him deeper.
Éomer gasped, rocking forward on his booted soles, blindly groping and finally finding Elessar's shoulders, clinging tightly to the man at his feet as if he were drowning; and if it were possible to drown in pleasure, then Éomer was in danger of breathing in more than his fill. He shuddered as Elessar's throat closed around him, faintly surprised at how in this moment he felt like a skittish yearling, sure he would not survive the breaking. He hissed, his hips jerking forward, hands clenching as he sought to steady himself, pure, unadulterated need surging through him. He felt the familiar flutter in his abdomen, the first warning of the approaching end, and as he felt his cock twitch, knew with certainty that he would last only a moment more, he felt Elessar draw back, circle the base of his shaft with two fingers, squeezing gently.
"Not yet."
Éomer whimpered, caught between need and No. He grunted softly as he thrust his hips forward, hoping to gain the tiniest bit of friction that would tip him over the edge, but he was thwarted in his movement by a warning hand slipped under his tunic, pressing lightly there.
"Steady now, steady. We have all the time in the world, and no need for haste." Elessar's voice held the tone of a true horseman, a verbal stroking that would calm even the most high-strung beast, and Éomer had no choice but to listen as his body settled into the low hum of desire. Elessar released his cock, only the tiniest twinkle in his eyes acknowledging Éomer's disappointed groan, his half-step forward at Elessar's retreat. He stood, knees popping as he straightened, and kissed Éomer deeply, fingers tangled in Éomer's hair, tugging lightly, guiding him as easily as one would an obedient stallion.
The taste of both men lingered on Éomer's lips as Elessar pulled away; left breathless, Éomer glanced toward his bed, flushing with joy as Elessar's gaze followed his own, his face lighting up in anticipation. He nodded, and Éomer wove their fingers back together, steered Elessar across rug and stone until they stood close by the bed. Neither man wasted time in disrobing, for while the evening stretched out before them, there was no virtue in rewarding coyness. Discarding their garments on floor and chair, they sank as one onto the fur coverings, fingers and tongues beginning the first exploration of old and new scars, mapping the routes that would best draw forth mingled curses and prayers.
Once oil had been retrieved and fingers slicked -- for, Éomer distantly noted, even in these fatted days of peace and plenty, Elessar was proving to still be a Ranger at heart -- Elessar paused as he encouraged Éomer's legs apart. The glitter in the corner of his eye hinted once again at some momentary mischief as he smiled down at Éomer splayed across the mattress, cock proudly curving above a nest of blond hairs, balls heavy and aching underneath. "Are not Gondor and Rohan fast friends, my lord?"
"More than friends," Éomer whispered, arching upward at the first gentle press of fingertip to entrance, "my Aragorn."
END
(December 23, 2007)