FIC: "Warmth." LOTR FPS. R. Eomer/Aragorn.
Title: "Warmth"
Author: Barbara savageseraph
Rating: R
Pairing: Eomer/Aragorn
Summary: Aragorn is cold, and Eomer can’t have that.
Disclaimer: People and places belong to the Tolkien estate and New Line Cinema, not me. I just amuse myself with them for fun, not profit.
Feedback: Always appreciated.
Comments: For j_flattermann who left her request wide open except for asking for some snow/ice. A stand-alone fic that is sequel of sorts to “ Shadows in Edoras.” Many thanks to caras_galadhon, Bestest of Betas.
Celebration still filled the Golden Hall when Eomer took his leave of the festivities and made his way back to his chambers. He pled weariness from his recent imprisonment, but the truth was that the guest he most hoped to entertain had also slipped away from the celebration early. It was ridiculous to think that the Ranger entertained the sorts of thoughts about him that Eomer had been wrestling with since their meeting on the plains. Ridiculous and perhaps even dangerous. Eomer shut the door behind him more firmly than strictly necessary.
Servants had a fire crackling in the hearth and Eomer sighed contentedly at the welcome warmth. The cells of Edoras were not designed for comfort, and even thought he had the luxury of having his cloak with him in confinement, the chill still seemed locked in his flesh.
The faintest rustle was all that gave his intruder away. Eomer spun, bringing up his dagger, slashing empty air as the other man ducked back. “Peace, son of Eomund. I am not your enemy.”
Aragorn. Eomer let his arm fall to his side. The dagger slipped from slack fingers. He backed up until his legs hit his bed, sat down hard, and took a deep breath, “I could have killed you.”
Aragorn’s soft laugher tickled against Eomer’s skin. “I am not an easy man to kill.” He held up a hand as Eomer’s head jerked up and his eyes narrowed. “But I should not have intruded on your quarters without an invitation. My apologies.”
Eomer nodded, swallowed around a tightness in his throat. Why would Aragorn slip away from the celebration? Why would he come here? Answers that spoke more to Eomer’s need than Aragorn’s likely intent flashed through his mind and caused his cock to stir. He stood abruptly, hoping the soft light of candle and fire hid his blush and growing arousal. He turned his back to Aragorn as he went to a small table to pour them each a glass of mead. “I would have thought you’d be at the celebration still. The people of Edoras are eager to show their thanks.”
“It seems so.” Eomer tensed as Aragorn’s words came from right behind him an instant before Aragorn leaned in until their bodies were touching. How had the man moved so quickly and silently?
“Is all of Rohan eager?” Eomer couldn’t stop the shiver that ran through him as Aragorn’s hands settled on his hips. His breeches, already snug, grew painfully tight as Aragorn slid a hand lower to cover the laces. “Are they keen ?”
Eomer groaned, helpless to keep his hips from pressing into Aragorn’s hand. This was nothing like how he had imagined, even in his most vivid dreams.
Then Aragorn’s lips brushed his ear as he murmured, “I felt your eyes on me. In the hall. Even before then, when we first met on the plains.” He sighed softly as he rocked his hips, rubbing his hardness against Eomer’s ass. “I wonder if you wanted me to give you a good, hard ride or if you were planning on breaking me to your hand.”
Neither choice was a bad one. Different temptations for certain, but both beguiling. “Are you telling me I have to choose?” Eomer wasn’t certain which thrilled him more: the thought that he would get to pick their passion or that he would be subject to Aragorn’s desires. He was certain that it was hard to think at all with the Ranger’s lips brushing over his ear, down his neck, the scrape of his beard scratching teasingly against his skin.
Aragorn tensed, pulled back slightly. “We all have our choices to make, Eomer.” His voice was distant, hollow.
“Is there something wrong?” Eomer turned to face Aragorn, frowning slightly at the stiffness in the other man’s expression, the coldness in his eyes.
Raking his fingers through his hair, Aragorn shook his head, then started to pace. “There have been too many choices made lately. Too many choices that have ended in death.”
Eomer gripped Aragorn’s shoulder, squeezing gently as he felt shivers that had nothing to do with passion run through Aragorn. It was so easy, bowing under the weight of regret that troubled times brought down upon them.
“I’m cold, Eomer. The driving ice and snow of Caradhras, the musty chill of Moria, the chilly waters of the Anduin, I feel them inside me.” Aragorn wet his lips. “I wonder if I’ll ever feel warm again.”
“No matter how bitter the winter, spring always comes. New life follows death.” Eomer ran his fingers over Aragorn’s cheek. “Take care that the lingering shadows don’t stop you from seeing and seizing the light.”
Aragorn blinked, shook his head, then laughed softly. He murmured, “And they call me Estel.” He waved aside Eomer’s confusion, smiled as his gaze moved over the other man’s body. “You have wisdom beyond your years. I wonder if you have passion to match it.”
“Passion enough to warm us both, I’d wager.” Eomer said, undoing his belt, then tugging his tunic and shirt off and letting them all fall to the floor. He groaned softly at the sudden heat that kindled in Aragorn’s eyes as the other man rested his palms against Eomer’s chest, then yelped as Aragorn shoved hard, pushing him back onto the bed.
“That,” Aragorn said as he unfastened his own belt, “is something I look forward to testing.”
Eomer cupped himself through his breeches, rubbing as he watched Aragorn strip. Aragorn might be keen about putting him to the test, but not nearly as eager as he was to prove his claim.
Author: Barbara savageseraph
Rating: R
Pairing: Eomer/Aragorn
Summary: Aragorn is cold, and Eomer can’t have that.
Disclaimer: People and places belong to the Tolkien estate and New Line Cinema, not me. I just amuse myself with them for fun, not profit.
Feedback: Always appreciated.
Comments: For j_flattermann who left her request wide open except for asking for some snow/ice. A stand-alone fic that is sequel of sorts to “ Shadows in Edoras.” Many thanks to caras_galadhon, Bestest of Betas.
Celebration still filled the Golden Hall when Eomer took his leave of the festivities and made his way back to his chambers. He pled weariness from his recent imprisonment, but the truth was that the guest he most hoped to entertain had also slipped away from the celebration early. It was ridiculous to think that the Ranger entertained the sorts of thoughts about him that Eomer had been wrestling with since their meeting on the plains. Ridiculous and perhaps even dangerous. Eomer shut the door behind him more firmly than strictly necessary.
Servants had a fire crackling in the hearth and Eomer sighed contentedly at the welcome warmth. The cells of Edoras were not designed for comfort, and even thought he had the luxury of having his cloak with him in confinement, the chill still seemed locked in his flesh.
The faintest rustle was all that gave his intruder away. Eomer spun, bringing up his dagger, slashing empty air as the other man ducked back. “Peace, son of Eomund. I am not your enemy.”
Aragorn. Eomer let his arm fall to his side. The dagger slipped from slack fingers. He backed up until his legs hit his bed, sat down hard, and took a deep breath, “I could have killed you.”
Aragorn’s soft laugher tickled against Eomer’s skin. “I am not an easy man to kill.” He held up a hand as Eomer’s head jerked up and his eyes narrowed. “But I should not have intruded on your quarters without an invitation. My apologies.”
Eomer nodded, swallowed around a tightness in his throat. Why would Aragorn slip away from the celebration? Why would he come here? Answers that spoke more to Eomer’s need than Aragorn’s likely intent flashed through his mind and caused his cock to stir. He stood abruptly, hoping the soft light of candle and fire hid his blush and growing arousal. He turned his back to Aragorn as he went to a small table to pour them each a glass of mead. “I would have thought you’d be at the celebration still. The people of Edoras are eager to show their thanks.”
“It seems so.” Eomer tensed as Aragorn’s words came from right behind him an instant before Aragorn leaned in until their bodies were touching. How had the man moved so quickly and silently?
“Is all of Rohan eager?” Eomer couldn’t stop the shiver that ran through him as Aragorn’s hands settled on his hips. His breeches, already snug, grew painfully tight as Aragorn slid a hand lower to cover the laces. “Are they keen ?”
Eomer groaned, helpless to keep his hips from pressing into Aragorn’s hand. This was nothing like how he had imagined, even in his most vivid dreams.
Then Aragorn’s lips brushed his ear as he murmured, “I felt your eyes on me. In the hall. Even before then, when we first met on the plains.” He sighed softly as he rocked his hips, rubbing his hardness against Eomer’s ass. “I wonder if you wanted me to give you a good, hard ride or if you were planning on breaking me to your hand.”
Neither choice was a bad one. Different temptations for certain, but both beguiling. “Are you telling me I have to choose?” Eomer wasn’t certain which thrilled him more: the thought that he would get to pick their passion or that he would be subject to Aragorn’s desires. He was certain that it was hard to think at all with the Ranger’s lips brushing over his ear, down his neck, the scrape of his beard scratching teasingly against his skin.
Aragorn tensed, pulled back slightly. “We all have our choices to make, Eomer.” His voice was distant, hollow.
“Is there something wrong?” Eomer turned to face Aragorn, frowning slightly at the stiffness in the other man’s expression, the coldness in his eyes.
Raking his fingers through his hair, Aragorn shook his head, then started to pace. “There have been too many choices made lately. Too many choices that have ended in death.”
Eomer gripped Aragorn’s shoulder, squeezing gently as he felt shivers that had nothing to do with passion run through Aragorn. It was so easy, bowing under the weight of regret that troubled times brought down upon them.
“I’m cold, Eomer. The driving ice and snow of Caradhras, the musty chill of Moria, the chilly waters of the Anduin, I feel them inside me.” Aragorn wet his lips. “I wonder if I’ll ever feel warm again.”
“No matter how bitter the winter, spring always comes. New life follows death.” Eomer ran his fingers over Aragorn’s cheek. “Take care that the lingering shadows don’t stop you from seeing and seizing the light.”
Aragorn blinked, shook his head, then laughed softly. He murmured, “And they call me Estel.” He waved aside Eomer’s confusion, smiled as his gaze moved over the other man’s body. “You have wisdom beyond your years. I wonder if you have passion to match it.”
“Passion enough to warm us both, I’d wager.” Eomer said, undoing his belt, then tugging his tunic and shirt off and letting them all fall to the floor. He groaned softly at the sudden heat that kindled in Aragorn’s eyes as the other man rested his palms against Eomer’s chest, then yelped as Aragorn shoved hard, pushing him back onto the bed.
“That,” Aragorn said as he unfastened his own belt, “is something I look forward to testing.”
Eomer cupped himself through his breeches, rubbing as he watched Aragorn strip. Aragorn might be keen about putting him to the test, but not nearly as eager as he was to prove his claim.