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Love is give and take (R) Print

Written by Alatariel

21 March 2007 | 5551 words

A silhouetted figure was visible from where he was watching. Sneaking, he corrected himself. Watching, sneaking, all the same. The moral argument, unheard by others, continued on for a small while inside his head, until he became mildly distracted.

Mildly? Eru! Can words describe the scene? Words are simple constructions involving base letters, put together to somehow create a live description of something tangible. Words cannot do this scene justice!

Like ivory was this silhouetted figure. A statue of immaculate beauty. This man had skin pale and fair beyond the wildest elven dreams. He could even be an elf! Who could really tell in this light?

Wicked and delicious thoughts pierced his head and thoughts and his heart, and even his sex. Blood surged through his stomach, filling his groin in a most luscious way. Warmth spread and a strange chill shook his body. Pushing hard against his leggings, his groin emitted a thunderous and yet noiseless cry to be liberated. He let out a low moan as he freed his oh-so-hard manhood into the night air. This is a fantasy, he thought! This person could be whoever I want him to be! And yet he is just the person I want him to be!

Slowly his hands ventured over his chest, his stomach, to his inner thighs. He mimicked his lover, pretending his hands were those of his ivory skinned fantasy. He dreamed to have them truly on his own skin, caressing, stroking, and filling him with these indescribable vibrations of orgasm waiting to be released. He stroked his hard sex, beads of nectar forming on the tip.

Watching/sneaking again from his vantage point, he sighed long and slow as Fantasy let his tunic drop to the floor. His hand moved methodically faster and gripped harder. Oh, it would not be long now! Shining, wavy hair shimmied off Fantasy’s shoulders. He watched as he swept the hair hanging over his face up in one quick motion, tying it back in elvish fashion. Sculpted and flawless muscles flexed and relaxed on his back, his arms, his beautiful, shapely buttocks. Eyes like shining topaz he could see gazing off to the horizon, reflecting the moonlight, and revealing a striking exquisiteness within them. The eyes were not like this at the hall this morning, he thought. No, they were as they always are – expressionless, as though hiding pain and misery more than one could imagine.

Fantasy stretched and yawned, hands reaching up to the heavens, and down again. A sideways representation he now saw, and viewed in all it’s superb wonder his fantasy’s sex, hard also, and looking decidedly lonely. Or was this simply his own thought, interpretation? Did Fantasy desire someone to perhaps help with his hard predicament? Could he be of assistance?

Moments were spent once again arguing wordlessly with his own mind. Fantasy, however, spent no such time delaying with ineffectual wiles, instead lying down on the cold bench in the fresh garden, feeling wonderfully naked and radiant. His eyes closed around the night luminosity, revealing his own dreams and fantasies behind the curtained world of his mind. Soft fingers squeezed his nipples, and silky lips traced the milky skin over his décolletage. A strong, muscular leg slipped between his own, the thigh of this leg pressing urgently onto his sex, while the gentle weight of his body was lowered also.

“Legolas,” he sighed.

The sensual feeling of soft hair stroking his face caused him to open his eyes. There, but a few inches above him was indeed Legolas, his hair falling gently in a golden halo around his face, tickling Faramir’s forehead. The young captain of Gondor had now realised his fantasy was in fact reality!

As if in response to the thought, Legolas slide down towards Faramir’s now aching sex. He let the tip of his tongue find the head of Faramir’s sex, and ran it round and around, while enjoying seeing his lover shake and tremble in ecstasy. He teased his lover with more licking, and hesitating, hovering above the head, before plunging the hot, hard sex deep into his mouth. Faramir cried out and bucked instinctively. His hips moved rhythmically against Legolas’ mouth, his moaning grower ever more ragged and rapid. When stars appeared before his eyes, and it seemed all noise ceased, he felt his body swell up toward something elusive, something indescribable. A great tingling began from his groin, it moved too quickly up and out, and his climax caused him to cry out. His sweet nectar spilled into the elf’s mouth, as Legolas licked and sucked it into his mouth in great draughts. Ye Gods, this is heaven!

High up in the fort, Éomer continued to watch with ever growing fascination. So his fantasy had a lover, did he? A pang of hard and lonely jealousy surged through him, causing him to stroke his sex hard and violent. Moments later he reached his own pinnacle, sending him into waves of orgasm. He lay after dejected and sad. He loved Faramir, he thought. But he could not compete with an elf. Certain, he was a King, a good and strong King at that. But the elf was something quite opposite to him in manner, in learning, in qualities. Legolas was a gentle soul, who knew much of Middle Earth and its history and ways. This is what Faramir would want – knowledge, wisdom, beauty.

Sleep overcame him, as below the two lovers disentangled themselves and stole away in different directions into the night.

So tired, Faramir thought to himself. So very tired. He heard the water boiling over the fireplace. Getting up slowly, he retrieved the pan and filled the small bath.

Delicious warm steam filled the room, and mingled with the startlingly fresh cold air coming in from the windows. He blew out the candles – all but one, leaving a flickering, dancing orange light across the stone walls. Just how he liked it!

Stripping off the sweat-soaked tunic, he eased himself into the bath. Feeling the water seep into the roots of his hair was like heaven! It rimmed the clefts and niches of his buttocks and groin, washing away the salty residue left there. He set about rubbing his skin with the perfumed soap, and scrubbed hard into his scalp the thick, honey-like shampoo left on the sill. Never before had he smelt shampoo so edible! These people know how to live! Praise Eru!

Lying there afterwards for what felt like an eternity, he began thinking things through in his mind. Legolas. The meeting in the hall at midday tomorrow. The large chamber bed, calling his name. The silken sheets, fresh and cool, that lay waiting to embrace any tired and unsuspecting person. The impact would be instantaneous, he thought! Sleep. Lovely, desirable sleep.

He stood up and reached for the nearest towel. He dried his hair, and stepped neatly from the tub. The cool air was now too icy on his skin, and quickly he dried his body and threw on a simple nightshirt. With haste he now slipped down the hall and into his bed chambers, pulling the nightshirt over his head to reveal once again his nakedness, only seconds before his cheek hit the pillow. Weariness overtook him at great speed with sleep.

“Where is Faramir?” Elessar questioned. Always late, he was! Faramir should know better.

Low murmur filled the hall as sumptuous trays were brought in laden with breads, fruits, aromatic ham, blood red tomatoes and deep purple grapes, honey and sweet syrup, cream, and goblets filled with wine. Cutlery and silverware clinked and chimed in unison as the hall dived in with voracious greed. Legolas became increasingly aware of the King of Rohan staring at him. Or was it glaring at him? He could not tell easily. It was not without effort that one would look at Éomer. He was fine-looking, and distractingly so, Legolas thought. If he looked long enough he would not be able to tear his eyes away. Éomer would certainly think him rude, perhaps even strange. But come now, he chided himself. What is the Riddermark King doing now? Staring at me!

Faramir entered from a far door, and sat close to Elessar. He looked flushed and bothered by something. His eyes he kept lowered, and his face unreadable.

“Forgive me, Lord. I am delayed, but now am here. My attention is yours wholly and undivided.”

Elessar smiled momentarily at the captain, and returned to his plate. At least he is not angered! Faramir pondered the aspect of an angered Elessar. Not good, especially when you sit right next to him!

Something more than these thoughts ran through his head now. Unnerving thoughts, thoughts that could cause an embarrassing arousal within moments. Not here, not now, he thought. Heat radiated from his face, his cheeks reddened. Something surged through his being. Like a chill, or a tremor.

A silver necklace-chain appeared in a vision in the forefront of his mind. Unsullied and beautiful, this chain. Large of link, a single trinket placed in its link, and stunningly radiant upon a breast of immeasurable magnificence. Just the sight of this had thrown Faramir off course. Entirely he had forgotten the reason for his walking towards the Halls of Kings. This vision was exquisite! It imprinted itself on his mind. He saw himself moving closer to the opening in the wall, and he now viewed in spectacular glory the foundation upon which the chain rested. So erotic was the vision – the man standing naked and splendid, with only the necklace to adorn. The way it slid down his chest when he leant forward to pull his leggings on. He had watched, unable to rip his eyes away until at last the man had finished dressing and departed from his room.

Glancing up, he laid eyes on Legolas, who flickered a brief smile his way. Faramir returned the smile with joy. Memories of last night, combined with the erotic nature of the vision in his head threatened to make him a liar! Elessar certainly does not have my undivided attention! Settle down. Be calm. Concentrate.

Time drew on as slow as any time he could remember waiting so impatiently for something. Faramir was crouched low and uncomfortably behind the row of chairs and towels in the communal baths, so as not to be disturbed or discovered. I have to see this vision again, or I shall never sleep otherwise, he thought. Dreams of sleep would become waking reminiscence and sleep would abscond him.

Contrary to this, however, his eyes closed slowly, fluttering open every now and then, until finally he deep in sleep.

“Faramir? Are you alright?” A voice, low and husky, pierced into Faramir’s dreams. Hours must have passed before my sleeping eyes, he thought as he woke suddenly, and pondered on how it could be that he fell asleep, and what exactly woke him up.

“Faramir?” The voice from his dreams now sounded distinctly like it was reality, and not far away!

“Are you well? Is there something wrong?” Éomer stood before him, a look of worry upon his face. Faramir jumped up at once, almost losing balance from the dizziness.

“I am well. Thank you, my Lord, for the concern. I am sorry for you to have found me in this strange and inappropriate position. I was awaiting someone, and fell asleep while anticipating their arrival. I apologise and take my leave now, my Lord.” Faramir stumbled through the words, and began walking towards the door before stating his intention to do so.

He must be embarrassed, for some reason, Éomer contemplated. Perhaps he was waiting for Legolas, expecting him to arrive for a bath, so he could surprise him, and fell asleep in the meantime. Oh how unfortunate he was not planning this for me! Strange happenings, these days.

Éomer shrugged as Faramir disappeared from the room, began stripping his clothes, and lowered himself into the tub. Ah, so relaxing! Grabbing the soap, he lathered himself head to toe, and scrubbed with a soft flannel. Slipping his head below the water, he swirled his shining blonde locks around behind him. So erotic, he thought naughtily.

“Ye Gods, I’m standing in fire!” Faramir had now exclaimed out loud. Too loud. It was as if a fever had arisen in him, so hot was the flush running through his body now. This was spellbinding. Finally he got to see what he so longed to see. His manhood responded with hard, distracting twitches. He found his hand going down to sooth it, caress it, release it. Long and hard, his sex fell out of his leggings and into his eager hands, waiting fervently to stroke it to waves of pleasure.

Down to his knees Faramir fell. This was too much for his legs to bear. His mind was swimming with images, stars, dizziness. Images of the gorgeous body bearing the necklace and its accompanying trinket, the beads of sweat lining the contour of the hips, the sumptuous curve of the buttocks, it was all too much for him. He was willing himself not to succumb to orgasm just yet. There was too much pleasure to derive from this situation. The man of the necklace had only just silently revealed his nakedness!

Slowly he withdrew his hand, just in time, as his orgasm threatened to drag him into sweet oblivion, groin first. He sighed and drew his nightgown around himself. Better to do this in the comfort of the bed, he thought. Here is most uncomfortable, and worse, I may be caught again. He was just getting up as he was disturbed again!

“Faramir, are you sure there is nothing wrong? Again I find you dazed and on the floor.” Éomer again.

A good-natured smile played on Faramir’s face. “My Lord, I could easily say this is not a common occurrence, and that you are simply catching me at the wrong moments, but it seems easier to simply say that you must be following me, or checking on me, if I may be so forthright in saying.”

“Checking on you? Certainly not. I have no reason to check on you, Captain.” Éomer retorted, somewhat angrily. How dare he be so indulgent! Sure, I actually do have a reason for checking on him, but this is not the case! Now that I see where his loyalties lie, I have no interest in him, or anything he does for that matter, or even where he is, or what he is doing at that time! Éomer was astounded!

“Then I apologise, once again, my Lord. It was simply that you frightened me once again. When all is quiet, then silence is interrupted, of course I will be on edge.” Faramir stated in a low voice. He was staring at the ground. He hadn’t meant for the remark to be taken seriously. Why had Éomer reacted with such incredulous anger? Best to be taking my leave, again, he thought.

And he would have done, but Éomer did the leaving himself. A puzzled look played on Faramir’s face as he watched him stalk out. Legolas walked through the door, and he was almost knocked flying by the skulking Éomer.

“And what’s his problem!” He called. He turned to Faramir, “You know, love, he was glaring at me throughout the meeting today. Is there something I’ve done that I’m not aware of?”

“Legolas, why ask that sort of thing? You know you could do nothing to anger anyone. He is irritable for his own reasons, and they can stay his, as far as I’m concerned.” Faramir reasoned.

Distracted slightly, Legolas’ keen eyes spotted something he liked, liked very much, and proceded to capture it.

“Ye Gods!” Faramir exclaimed. His lover had spied his still erect and jerking manhood from beneath his night cloak. “Does anything escape your sharp eyes?” He was being slowly brought to full hardness, and finding it increasingly hard to control himself from groaning out loud.

“Legolas, no don’t, not yet. Always the same way, can we not do something different? And you always disappear before I can please you. Do you not want some pleasure and bliss for yourself?”

“I am well looked after, sweet Captain. You have no need for worry there. As for the ways of pleasure, there are none that I would accept other than that I give to you. If there is cause for disappointment from you, then perhaps it would be better if you received nothing from me.” He snapped, throwing Faramir’s cloak over his nakedness, and following Éomer’s lead by stalking out also. Faramir threw his hands up in despair. What was this!?

Feeling rejected, and strangely close to tears, he got up again and walked slowly to his room. There, he was too emotional to contemplate anything else but collapsing on the pillow and falling fast asleep.

A knife was brought to Éomer’s neck. It was fast. Too fast for him to react. He was held still by one strong hand gripping his shoulders, and hands bound together by its partner hand. He struggled momentarily, then grappled with his captor as he tried to catch breath. The knife dug deeper, and he felt the warm trickle of blood run down his neck. He cried out.

“Quiet. Don’t irritate me.” This voice had malevolence in it. The voice’s owner eased the knife and whirled him around to face him.

“Legolas!” Éomer yelped.

“Why did you seduce him?” He spat in his face. Legolas’ own face was twisted with rage. Éomer’s mouth opened, then shut again. He was lost.

“Do you know what you’re s-s-saying? How can you… e-even ask that?” He stammered.

Not believing him for a second, he pushed the knife harder against Éomer’s neck. Again, he cried out in pain. “My Lord, you lie, and that does not appease me. You have been found out, so why deny it? I came across you fleeing from him once you heard me approach, and he with his arousal in full glory for my elven-eyes to see. Is that evidence enough for me to punish you?”

At this admission, Éomer was stunned. Eru, Faramir was aroused when he was there? No, that was impossible. Maybe he became aroused when Legolas had come in.

His thoughts were stopped abruptly with a slap across the face. “I care not that you are the King of Rohan, for when it comes to affairs of my heart, there are none who are exempt from my wrath.” Legolas was seething now. He threw Éomer down onto the floor, and came to be straddled across him. He now showed the knife to Éomer, his own blood dripping from the tip onto his face.

This was life or death, he thought desperately. But needless death.

As if by magic, in the nick of time, Faramir burst in the door. He had put two and two together which resulted in his sudden awareness of Legolas’ possible misunderstanding, and flew to the one place this presumption would lead him to: Éomer. Sure enough he found Legolas with the knife hovering precariously above Éomer’s face, and lunged at him.

“Legolas, this is all a misunderstanding. I was in the bathroom, awaiting someone, and fell asleep. I have been thinking too much lately, and not getting enough sleep, I suppose. Éomer woke me. He must have been worried, seeing me on the floor asleep. Then I went outside, and er… fell asleep again.” Here Faramir stumbled. “Éomer again found me, and was troubled to see me so. I made a thoughtless comment about him checking up on me, and he became angry and stormed out. That was when you came upon us!” He sighed deeply when Legolas rose from Éomer, and came to him.

“Your story is sweet, and could even be believed, but what can possibly explain the fact that your organ was harder than ever I have seen it?” His speech dripped with malice. Faramir was sweating heavily, his breathing became laboured, his eyes grew scared.

“I witnessed a glorious sight, is all, my love.” Faramir tried to brush the subject off with a distracting smile. It didn’t work.

“Pray-tell, what was this sight? Or is it perhaps more appropriate to ask ‘who’?” Evil emanated from the eyes of Legolas.

Do I tell him the truth, or a lie? He thought, as wild scenarios flew about his mind, and came to no good answer. Whatever I tell him, the person was not he himself, and this will serve to anger him more. Best to simply tell the truth, as all answers will cause a frenzy.

“I saw a chain with trinket,” he began. “It is a beauteous thing, so attractive. Once you see it, it is hard to tear your eyes away. But more so is the trophy it adorns. This man is no mere man in magnificence and refinement. He is an example of the finest of all living creatures, and I could not tear my eyes away, nor control my aching organ.”

Legolas had listened with interest, and when Faramir had ceased talking, had raised one eyebrow. “There are none like this! No man has beauty comparable to that of the elves,” he snorted. “If there is one, then I would like to witness it so I may derive such perfect pleasure that is even unattainable from you.”

All the while this discussion was occurring, Éomer had rolled onto his side and gripped his throat in pain. The cuts were not too bad, he thought. But they were stinging, and the sweat mingled with the wounds and caused further pain. He was shocked by all that had happened, and was not in the right state of mind.

Faramir had cleared his voice, “I will not tell you more of this man. It is not appropriate, Legolas. I will not have you running around the walls of Minas Tirith trying to find him and leering at him.”

“What!? What is this? Now you are defending this man? Does he even know you exist? Jealous, and yet you spent last night, and most nights with me!? This is incomprehensible. You cannot compare this man to me! A man is nothing to me.”

“This man has humility, and is modest of his attractiveness, unlike you, Legolas. You are enamoured by yourself!” Faramir was so angry now. A green-eyed monster had been revealed in his lover, and he did not like it. “Now I understand why you will not let me touch you, or pleasure you. You are too good for me! That’s it, isn’t it!? Only the elves could please you, gratify you. And I am just sport.” So angry he was that he felt he could raise his hand and strike Legolas at this moment. But he stayed his hand. Looking to Éomer, he realised he was injured.

“Éomer, leave us. This is nothing to do with you, and I am deeply sorry that you have been brought into this,” Faramir said to him. “Go to the Healing Rooms and seek help there.” Éomer turned, as if startled. He was in his own world, too shocked to answer, and had not heard a word spoken by the two others. He went to stand up, fell forward, and landed sprawled on the stone floor. Faramir went to assist him, but was held back by Legolas. The elf’s eyes were wide with astonishment.

The vision before him was surprising! As Éomer had fallen forward, his hand left his neck to break his fall. This caused his tunic to fall open, revealing a sparkling gold chain with a small trinket on its end.

“So it was Éomer who so fascinated you?” Legolas whispered into Faramir’s ear. Spite and nastiness emanated from its sound, sending a chill through Faramir’s body. He was afraid now. Not for himself, but for Éomer, who stared at them with a mixture of amazement and further shock.

Legolas now tore free of Faramir, who pawed him in an attempt to hold him back. He bore down on Éomer, and tore the tunic and leggings from Éomer with his knife. Something clicked in Éomer’s head, and he reared away from the elf, his face twisted with anger.

“You dare do this to me!” he growled. “I cannot help that the Captain has these feelings for me. It is not my doing. It is his choice. I will not lie here and take this from you. If you cannot keep your lovers, and their affections stray, then so be it.”

Legolas was taken aback by this remark. He turned to Faramir. “So this is how it is? You are not satisfied with me? So you find yourself attracted to this low-life?”

“Low-life!?” Faramir exclaimed. “How so? What, are you blind? If this is low, then you, elven-prince, are worse than than the worms that crawl on their bellies, and dwell in the dirt of the ground we walk on.” This exclamation greatly impressed Éomer, and he now drew himself up to his full height, and made as if to challenge Legolas. The elf looked from Faramir to his despised enemy, shrugged, then laughed.

“Fine. Have it your way, Captain. But when you discover the King has no power in his mouth to satisfy your desires, do not come running to me. Nor when it is revealed that his body decays with time, and soon wrinkles and uneven skin tone adorn him, and not the beloved chain and trinket about his neck. And even when you find him dull-witted, illiterate, and bored with your constant ravings about history and Númenor and the peoples of Arda, do not ever come to me and tell me you made a mistake. For I have told you this already.” Legolas threw a disgusted look at the horse-lord, and simpered out of the room.

Éomer raised an eyebrow, looking puzzled. He no longer cared about the pain, or the drying blood. He forgot even that he was naked! He looked to Faramir, who gazed at him in wonder. Praise Eru the handsome horse-lord is still in shock, and has not bothered to cover himself again, Faramir thought. This is heaven!

“I am mixed up, mixed up, crazy.” Éomer muttered, as he shook his head and reached for the tattered clothes. He was stopped by Faramir, whose hand lingered on his own long enough to cause a throb to elicit from his nether regions. He raised his eyes, meeting those of the Captain’s. Faramir looked intently at him, then slowly leaned in to kiss him.

The chemistry was instantaneous. It was explosive. Faramir threw his arms around Éomer’s back and squeezed him to his own body. Blood was pumping fast and hard to his sex, and he pressed fiercely against the horse-lord’s groin. Éomer moaned, letting his head fall back in complete submission to Faramir’s insistent grinding.

Guiding him to the bed, Faramir caressed the King’s exquisite hips, and brought his lips and tongue down to his ears. He nibbled on them, bit them, licked them, and at certain intervals, thrust his tongue deep into Éomer’s ear, drawing cries of rapture and surprise. He was so hard and desperate for Éomer’s sweet sigh of orgasm that he drew himself down and took the horse-lord’s entire length into his mouth. Éomer arched his back high, clenched his fists hard, and wept for mercy. Faramir was certainly not forthcoming with any mercy, and thought it justified to suck harder, deeper, faster. Éomer could hold off no more, and jerked hard before collapsing on the bed.

Faramir came to lie himself down on top of his new lover. He ran his fingers over Éomer’s closed eyes, traced the contours of his cheeks, and rimmed his bright red lips. Gently he licked and kissed his forehead, as Éomer’s breathing became slow and rhythmic. A deep sleep fell over the King.

For once, Faramir felt fulfilled. His organ was hard, yet subsiding, but still he felt a mighty weight lifting from him: the same feeling he had after he would reach orgasm. Returning his concentration to Éomer, he realised why. He had fulfilled another. And he had obviously done it well! With that thought, he drifted also towards sleep, and dreamed stunning dreams, and slept peaceful sleep.

Moon beams played exquisitely on the face of Faramir as he slept. Éomer lay watching his new lover, savouring his every breath, movement, sigh. Never in his wildest dreams did he imagine that it would all turn out this way! He eased his way out from under Faramir, and went to the basin to have a quick bathe. He washed the dried blood from his neck, and sponged his body of lingering sweat. He rubbed soap into his skin and rinsed this off. He loved feeling clean. It was such a contrast to how he felt most of the time, riding for days with dirt and the smell of horses clinging to him. Being clean was something special, something he took pleasure in. And, he thought, bathing always had erotic experiences with it!

Shivering, he slipped into the bed sheets beside Faramir, and snuggled close.

“I wondered where you had gone,” he said, groggily. “You smell delicious!”

Faramir rolled to face Éomer, slipping his leg between Éomer’s strong, muscular ones. The movement caused Éomer to squeeze his eyes shut and take in a sharp breath.

“Is something wrong?” Faramir asked. He thought he had hurt him.

“No, you splendid being. You make me grow hard again.” Éomer whispered. He buried his head against Faramir’s neck, and rocked his hips against Faramir’s taut stomach.

“Turn around.” Faramir whispered back. Éomer obliged, and nuzzled back into the curve of Faramir’s body. Again he gasped when he felt the hardness of Faramir’s sex pressing urgently against his buttocks. He felt hands stroking the firm, rounded cheeks, and flinched when the hands slid between his legs to cup the soft sac there. Éomer now buried his face deep in the pillow as he struggled not to cry out in bliss and sheer desire.

Without warning, the hands left, Faramir’s body left, and all was cold. Éomer shuddered with withdrawal, and turned to see where Faramir had gone. But as he began to rise to see, Faramir returned, and placed a sumptuous velvet cloak beneath Éomer, and dipped his fingers into the pot of oil he retuned with. Éomer sighed with anticipation, as his lover returned to the same position. He pushed Éomer gently onto his stomach, and spread his legs. There he spotted the prize, and began rimming the hole with his oiled finger. The horse-lord was overcome by the unbelievable tactile experience of feeling velvet on his sex, and moved rhythmically, up and down, rubbing against the cloak. He felt tingling beginning in his groin, moving out to his back, and he moaned loudly with the sensation.

Faramir stared at his lover with wanton debauchery. Realising his plan was working, and being overwhelmed with the erotic nature of Éomer’s pleasure, he felt the first sweet drops of nectar forming on the head of his organ. He needed this now. Éomer needed this now. He pushed the finger in, feeling Éomer tighten and stiffen beneath him. Éomer cried out, trying to pull away from the finger.

“We don’t have to do this, Éomer. If it hurts, we can stop.” Faramir felt sorrow come over him, as he realised he had hurt Éomer.

But his lover sighed, and relaxed against the bed. Faramir leant down, and placed kisses on Éomer’s back. He licked up and down, while rubbing his own sex between the hot folds of Éomer’s buttocks. The King began moving again, rubbing his hips up and down against the cloak. Both men continued, Éomer gasping for breath, Faramir moaning with each thrust, sucking on the back of Éomer’s neck.

Suddenly, Éomer thrust his hips up, causing Faramir’s organ to slip inside the horse-lord. Both cried out, Faramir feeling himself swell up towards the pinnacle of pleasure. The warmth, the tightness, Éomer writhing beneath him, he couldn’t take another thrust. But as the thought came to him, Éomer thrust his hips again, sending Faramir’s organ so deep he thought he would die of pleasure. Waves of orgasm washed over him, as he thrust himself back and forward inside Éomer. He buried his face deep in Éomer’s neck as he filled him with the nectar of the gods. Éomer gasped for breath as the silkiness of the velvet drew him to orgasm also. He shook uncontrollably, and lay very still afterwards.

Faramir awoke with a start. He withdrew from inside his lover, and moved to be beside him, draping one leg over Éomer’s thighs, and caressing his back with his free arm. Éomer stirred, and turned his head to look at the one he had always loved, and had more reason to do so now. Faramir smiled back at him, and swept the stray strands of hair falling in his eyes.

“Now this is real love,” Faramir whispered. “Give and take. Love must be returned for it to be love.” He now licked at a single tear that ran down his lover’s face.

“Never will I let you go. Never.”

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2 Comment(s)

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Never thought I would see an angry elf. Thanks.

— balrog    29 June 2007, 07:52    #

Thanks Balrog!!! Sometimes I think it’s good to have a little change from the normal character genres… but that’s just my opinion!!!

— Alatariel    18 July 2007, 14:17    #

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