FIC: Scars (LotR)
Title: Scars
Author: Galadriel (caras_galadhon)
Fandom: LotR
Pairing: Eomer/Imrahil
Rating: R
Archive: Lothlorien and sons_of_gondor.
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: Imrahil and Eomer explore the waters of Dol Amroth.
Notes: For the Request-a-Ficlet meme that's been going around. edoraslass wanted Eomer/Imrahil, but couldn't decide between Swimming-in-the-Buff or Bath-Time. Thinking it over, the swimming prompt seemed more promising, so here we are now. Heck, either way it's all about water, right? Notes expanding on all embedded historical/geographical references are available at the end of the story.
Scars
By Galadriel
"Come closer to the water -- the rocks will give way to sand." Imrahil held out his hand, beckoning his companion closer. Even twice Eomer's senior, the Prince shone in the sunlight, droplets of coalescing mist clinging to hardened muscles, black hair shot through with silver, made gilt, not gaunt with age. His smile was welcoming, his eyes mirthful as he watched each sway and roll of Eomer's body as he picked his way closer to the shore.
Eomer stepped gingerly through the rocks, bare feet slipping and sliding on the mat of green, his arms thrown out on either side, embracing air, believing in balance. Each squelching step brought with it the pungent scent of ocean gardens left bare by receding waves.
Finally, his toes sunk into sand, wet and cool under his feet, and he lowered his arms, sure footing reclaimed. His fingers twined in Imrahil's, the rough-smooth rasp of calluses a familiar comfort against the treachery of slick-sharp terrain.
"There. Better, is it not?" Imrahil flashed a smile at Eomer as he unlaced their fingers, hands searching out the hem of his undertunic, tugging it over his head. He discarded it summarily, letting it drop to tangle and turn in the waves lapping around his ankles.
Eomer nodded dumbly, his thoughts not on the relative merits of sand and rocks, but rather on Imrahil's scars, now revealed in dappling light: uneven white lines, speaking of long years of hard fought freedom, stark against tanned skin, disappearing into pale crooks untouched by sun; and angry, healing wounds, stitched closed by expert hands, memories fading faster than marred flesh.
Gaze still on the tease of bared skin, Eomer pulled off his own tunic, letting it dangle from his fingers, drag in the gentle surf. He stepped in close to Imrahil, palm out, already anticipating tracing the paths of the past, barely heeding the water's first tentative caresses. "Where did you acquire such a handsome mark?" His fingertips glided over a long, weathered line, age cloaking origin.
"Hmm?" Imrahil glanced at the skin under Eomer's fingers and smiled. "Oh. Warg attack a number of years ago. Before you were born, I imagine." He waved off any more inquiry into the event, languid movements speaking of wargs as a casual concern, not requiring more than a moment's thought. More important were the ties at his waist, each briefly resisting the gentle coax and tug before Imrahil successfully unlaced them, pushing his breeches over his hips.
Eomer's hand followed the path of receding cloth, exposing a still raised mark on Imrahil's hip, pinker than the surrounding area. "This?"
"Two-headed Orcish axe. Glancing blow during a nighttime raid." Imrahil chuckled, eyes closing briefly to recapture memory of the scene. "One of my men landed a rather more-than-glancing blow before I even had time to turn. Cleaved the vile thing quite in two." He picked up his feet, each one rising, scattering droplets, prisms of colour, as he stepped out of the last of his clothing and set it to floating.
"And this?" The pads of Eomer's fingers hovered over puckering red welts accompanying a fresh, deep cut held closed by careful stitches.
"Nothing." Imrahil smiled as he caught Eomer's hand, pressing it flat against his chest, guiding it down his torso to cover his growing erection. "Nothing at all. A scratch."
Eomer's palm cupped, moulded itself to warm, velvet skin. He felt rather than saw his tunic slide from his fingers as he moved his other hand to stroke the inside of Imrahil's thighs. "A scratch? Indeed?" He answered the smile with one of his own, his focus wavering away from wounds in favour of exploring, stirring, stoking the heat Imrahil offered, luxuriating in the softest of sounds issuing from his companion's throat.
"Indeed." Abandoning Eomer's hands to their work, Imrahil cupped Eomer's hips, gliding over the curve of muscle and bone. "Perhaps we should see your scars. Do they extend below as they do above?" His gaze floated down the expanse of chest in front of him, fingers dallying with fabric and ties, baring Eomer to sight and sea. His breeches joined Imrahil's, now twisting, tangling together against tunics and surf, clothing driven back towards rocky shore.
The heft and drag of sudden memory brought with it the bitter tang of steel-sharp history. "They extend far beyond what should be spoken of here." Eomer glanced at the larger waves beyond the two men, wishing not to sully air and water with weighty words made from blood and sinew, abruptly understanding Imrahil's gentle wards against his questions.
A head shake and soft laughter accompanied the insistent tug into deeper waters, the waves eagerly lapping higher as Imrahil guided Eomer further out. Amusement sparked in his eyes at Eomer's gasp and shiver as inlet waters licked at his phallus, engulfing it as a greedy lover. "And yet Cobas Haven and Dol Amroth," Imrahil's eyes sparkled as he indicated himself, "would bid you welcome, scars and all."
END
(May 7, 2006)
Historical/Geographical Notes:
Prince Imrahil: Twenty-second Prince of Dol Amroth, fiefdom of Belfalas, loyal to Gondor. Imrahil ruled Dol Amroth during the War of the Ring and was instrumental in a number of battles and events during that time. Brother of Finduilas, uncle of Boromir and Faramir, kinsman of Denethor, chief commander of King Elessar (along with Faramir), and father of Lothiriel (who would become Eomer's wife and begin the Third Line of Rohirric Kings).
Cobas Haven: Inlet on the Bay of Belfalas.
Dol Amroth: Coastal city and chief port of the fiefdom of Belfalas in Southern Gondor, overlooking Cobas Haven.Crossposted to sons_of_gondor, meduseld, athelingas.
Author: Galadriel (caras_galadhon)
Fandom: LotR
Pairing: Eomer/Imrahil
Rating: R
Archive: Lothlorien and sons_of_gondor.
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: Imrahil and Eomer explore the waters of Dol Amroth.
Notes: For the Request-a-Ficlet meme that's been going around. edoraslass wanted Eomer/Imrahil, but couldn't decide between Swimming-in-the-Buff or Bath-Time. Thinking it over, the swimming prompt seemed more promising, so here we are now. Heck, either way it's all about water, right? Notes expanding on all embedded historical/geographical references are available at the end of the story.
Scars
By Galadriel
"Come closer to the water -- the rocks will give way to sand." Imrahil held out his hand, beckoning his companion closer. Even twice Eomer's senior, the Prince shone in the sunlight, droplets of coalescing mist clinging to hardened muscles, black hair shot through with silver, made gilt, not gaunt with age. His smile was welcoming, his eyes mirthful as he watched each sway and roll of Eomer's body as he picked his way closer to the shore.
Eomer stepped gingerly through the rocks, bare feet slipping and sliding on the mat of green, his arms thrown out on either side, embracing air, believing in balance. Each squelching step brought with it the pungent scent of ocean gardens left bare by receding waves.
Finally, his toes sunk into sand, wet and cool under his feet, and he lowered his arms, sure footing reclaimed. His fingers twined in Imrahil's, the rough-smooth rasp of calluses a familiar comfort against the treachery of slick-sharp terrain.
"There. Better, is it not?" Imrahil flashed a smile at Eomer as he unlaced their fingers, hands searching out the hem of his undertunic, tugging it over his head. He discarded it summarily, letting it drop to tangle and turn in the waves lapping around his ankles.
Eomer nodded dumbly, his thoughts not on the relative merits of sand and rocks, but rather on Imrahil's scars, now revealed in dappling light: uneven white lines, speaking of long years of hard fought freedom, stark against tanned skin, disappearing into pale crooks untouched by sun; and angry, healing wounds, stitched closed by expert hands, memories fading faster than marred flesh.
Gaze still on the tease of bared skin, Eomer pulled off his own tunic, letting it dangle from his fingers, drag in the gentle surf. He stepped in close to Imrahil, palm out, already anticipating tracing the paths of the past, barely heeding the water's first tentative caresses. "Where did you acquire such a handsome mark?" His fingertips glided over a long, weathered line, age cloaking origin.
"Hmm?" Imrahil glanced at the skin under Eomer's fingers and smiled. "Oh. Warg attack a number of years ago. Before you were born, I imagine." He waved off any more inquiry into the event, languid movements speaking of wargs as a casual concern, not requiring more than a moment's thought. More important were the ties at his waist, each briefly resisting the gentle coax and tug before Imrahil successfully unlaced them, pushing his breeches over his hips.
Eomer's hand followed the path of receding cloth, exposing a still raised mark on Imrahil's hip, pinker than the surrounding area. "This?"
"Two-headed Orcish axe. Glancing blow during a nighttime raid." Imrahil chuckled, eyes closing briefly to recapture memory of the scene. "One of my men landed a rather more-than-glancing blow before I even had time to turn. Cleaved the vile thing quite in two." He picked up his feet, each one rising, scattering droplets, prisms of colour, as he stepped out of the last of his clothing and set it to floating.
"And this?" The pads of Eomer's fingers hovered over puckering red welts accompanying a fresh, deep cut held closed by careful stitches.
"Nothing." Imrahil smiled as he caught Eomer's hand, pressing it flat against his chest, guiding it down his torso to cover his growing erection. "Nothing at all. A scratch."
Eomer's palm cupped, moulded itself to warm, velvet skin. He felt rather than saw his tunic slide from his fingers as he moved his other hand to stroke the inside of Imrahil's thighs. "A scratch? Indeed?" He answered the smile with one of his own, his focus wavering away from wounds in favour of exploring, stirring, stoking the heat Imrahil offered, luxuriating in the softest of sounds issuing from his companion's throat.
"Indeed." Abandoning Eomer's hands to their work, Imrahil cupped Eomer's hips, gliding over the curve of muscle and bone. "Perhaps we should see your scars. Do they extend below as they do above?" His gaze floated down the expanse of chest in front of him, fingers dallying with fabric and ties, baring Eomer to sight and sea. His breeches joined Imrahil's, now twisting, tangling together against tunics and surf, clothing driven back towards rocky shore.
The heft and drag of sudden memory brought with it the bitter tang of steel-sharp history. "They extend far beyond what should be spoken of here." Eomer glanced at the larger waves beyond the two men, wishing not to sully air and water with weighty words made from blood and sinew, abruptly understanding Imrahil's gentle wards against his questions.
A head shake and soft laughter accompanied the insistent tug into deeper waters, the waves eagerly lapping higher as Imrahil guided Eomer further out. Amusement sparked in his eyes at Eomer's gasp and shiver as inlet waters licked at his phallus, engulfing it as a greedy lover. "And yet Cobas Haven and Dol Amroth," Imrahil's eyes sparkled as he indicated himself, "would bid you welcome, scars and all."
END
(May 7, 2006)
Historical/Geographical Notes:
Prince Imrahil: Twenty-second Prince of Dol Amroth, fiefdom of Belfalas, loyal to Gondor. Imrahil ruled Dol Amroth during the War of the Ring and was instrumental in a number of battles and events during that time. Brother of Finduilas, uncle of Boromir and Faramir, kinsman of Denethor, chief commander of King Elessar (along with Faramir), and father of Lothiriel (who would become Eomer's wife and begin the Third Line of Rohirric Kings).
Cobas Haven: Inlet on the Bay of Belfalas.
Dol Amroth: Coastal city and chief port of the fiefdom of Belfalas in Southern Gondor, overlooking Cobas Haven.Crossposted to sons_of_gondor, meduseld, athelingas.