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wordsontongueTitle: The Candle's End
Author:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
alex_quine
Characters: Aragorn, Boromir
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: Kink, shaving, spanking
Request: Genres - Kink, Au, BDSM; Ratings - R, NC-17; Prompt(s) or general mood(s) - silk, sweat, candles
Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction. It's make believe and completely untrue.
Summary: The heat of Summer and Boromir would gift his harassed King a night of simple pleasure.
High Summer was come; long hot days and airless nights when the city sweltered, the dusty streets and alleyways seeming filled with a stillness that tasted gritty on the tongue. But in the fields the swollen grain was turning gold; the wise predicted a heavy crop and so folk shrugged their shoulders, remembering the lean years, and kept to the shaded places.
The Queen was bound for Ithilian to visit with Prince Faramir and his lady, taking young Eldarion and the other children along on the adventure. Master Arin had gone with them to his uncle's realm and the Lord Steward had sent the bulk of his household South to help with the harvest and moved into rooms in the palace, where marble floors and stone-arched corridors offered some respite from the heat.
Yet now there was sweat on his face, he could feel the tendrils of hair beginning to stick to his brow and shook his head impatiently to clear his sight, for he would not mistake a single stroke. This had been his doing and he would do all well.
His King had been Patience itself over the past days, dealing with a border dispute that had seemed intractable, holding together his advisors in the face of bickering and devious envoys until a sort of compromise had been achieved, at the cost of promising that the decision would be reviewed after three seasons.
The King's voice had been wise in the council, but Boromir saw the effort that it took for Aragorn not to simply knock some stubborn heads together as he would surely have done, would have wanted to do. He had been expecting Aragorn to lay the bracelets in his hands to do with him as Boromir wished, but this night he had not waited for his commission, had taken on the mantle unasked, wanting to have his love forget all for a few hours, all except his hands, his tongue and his will.
The Steward's Chamber, redd up with new hangings embroidered with ears of wheat on a cream linen ground showed fresh and pale in the morning sun that streamed through open shutters, but now those same shutters were closed tight and it was filled with the golden light from a hundred candles, set on the mantel over the fireplace, in sconces on the walls, in branched holders about the great bed, on the side tables. The smell from the beeswax was heady, sweet.
It had been the same in the small study off where he had them place the wooden tub and fill it with scalding hot water, which he left to cool some and take up the scent of honeysuckle oil he had poured in it, whilst he set out the candles and lit them.
The King had entered his chamber just as he was finishing his preparations and had stood at the doorway, waiting patient once more until Boromir had come to him, naked and erect, and stood, barely an arm's length away. Aragorn lowered his gaze. The golden bracelets lay lightly about Boromir's wrists and Boromir's scent lay heavy in his nostrils.
"Do you give yourself over to this, great King?" Boromir asked.
"I do," Aragorn replied and heard the sigh in his own voice. "My word is 'golden'."
"Strip," Boromir said.
There was command in his voice, but also Aragorn thought a little of compassion and immediately he wondered what Boromir had planned for them and then shook his head a little, fingers fumbling with his tunic. Already his attention was wandering and contrite, Aragorn returned to concentrating on each tie and hook, shedding his garments with as much grace as he might, dropping each garment in a pile on the spot on the floor that Boromir had pointed too.
Then at last he too was naked and sank to his knees before his warrior. The upturned palms before his gaze held the remaining two bracelets and unasked Aragorn took them up, clasping them about Boromir's ankles.
"Rise and come," Boromir said and walked away from him.
He had handed Aragorn into the tub and soaped and scrubbed him well, first his front and then he had him kneel up in the water and paid especial attention to his back, the swell of his buttocks.
Bathed to his satisfaction, Boromir had him step out onto a linen mat to be dried with brisk towelling and then a light oil was swept across his skin. It itched as Boromir let a thin stream trickle down his cleft, but soon long fingers were working it across his cheeks, burrowing into the crease at the top of his thighs.
He had been called over to the great bed and there Boromir had him lay down across a pile of pillows that raised his arse into the air. Before Aragorn could wonder at what might come next, silken bonds had him spread and bound to the bed-frame. For form's sake he tested the ties a little, but they were immovable. He could turn his head from side-to-side on the mattress, but little else.
His breath was coming short as Boromir laid a knife on the bed before his trapped gaze. It was a fine elven knife, of a hand's length, and Aragorn knew that no blade could be made sharper. The strong hands were testing it now, a thumb laid against the gleaming metal and he heard Boromir grunt slightly as he reached across to a chest and retrieved a leather strop which he began to use to put a finer edge on the weapon.
Aragorn was caught between the swish, swish of the knife on the leather and the sight of the drops of pre cum that were gathered at the tip of the purpled cock. Beneath him, pressed into the pillows, his own cock throbbed, but he knew better than to seek to relieve the feeling. Instead he tried only to hear the swish, swish, and when that stopped he felt ready to meet whatever should come.
Suddenly there was a cool lotion of some kind applied to his buttocks, and then, with no more than a curt "Hold still!" the blade began to sweep across his skin, as Boromir started to shave away the fine hairs.
Aragorn was all but giddy with the effort not to move, beneath the gentle scrape and afterwards when his cheeks were slathered in another lotion that smelled of watermint and smarted on his newly shaved skin.
Then strong hands parted his cheeks and he could do no more than gasp and catch his breath as Boromir plucked one of the candles from the nearest branch and a stream of molten wax coated the hairs about his puckered hole, followed by some press of linen, a moment's pause whilst blunt nails trailed gently up his back and then a sudden spike of fire that travelled up his spine and caught in his throat as the cloth was torn away, to be replaced with a gentle tongue that soothed and teased at him. Amidst the stinging, the tongue lapped and flickered until he could bear it no longer and heard a low moan leave his mouth. The tongue withdrew abruptly from its ministrations.
"Did I give you leave to whine like a child?"
At least he would not fail this time, and did not answer until given leave.
"No, lord."
"That merits correction does it not?"
"Yes, lord."
He could hear Boromir moving about and then a hand reached to take up the leather strop from the sheet, there was a swish through the air and a sting like no other spread over his arse as the strop landed across both cheeks at once.
Boromir leant down to where he was gasping for air.Aragorn could feel his breath, hot on his neck.
"You may whine," he murmured, then was gone, there was another swish and the jag travelled straight to Aragorn's cock, so that he must try to flex his hips to find some friction on the pillows. A short laugh above him told him that this had not gone unnoticed and a steady stream of blows, none of them cruelly heavy but overlapping across his buttocks, warmed the sting to a fire that would engulf his body.
He was beyond moaning, begging and cursing, low and steady.
The leather was flung down on the bed beside his head and the mattress dipped as Boromir clambered astride him. A slick of the watermint lotion flooded his cleft and then Boromir's cock, thick, hot, was burrowing into him, spearing him to the pillows.
He had barely breath to cry out when the blunt head stabbed at his sweetest spot and when strong hand were grasping him across his smarting cheeks to steady Boromir as he began to thrust into him, Aragorn thought he might weep.
A sudden stillness within, a movement above him and the knife had been used to slice through the silk about his wrists and now he could rise to hands and knees, could meet the movement with his own urgent rhythm, a shared slap of flesh and breathy cries. Boromir shook his head, cleared the sweat from his eyes and thrust again.
Afterwards, his warrior had worked over tired limbs with warm oils and gentle hands and removing the bracelets had cradled him towards sleep. The candles were guttering in pools of yellow wax. He was watching the flame flickering and dying in the sconce above the bed as Boromir's body went slack beside him.
Aragorn turned his head to drop a kiss on his man's hair.
"Someday," he whispered, "I will do the same for you."
The figure beside him, shifted and a suggestion of a chuckle shook its frame.
"Best wait till you have felt the hairs grow back," said Boromir.
Author:
alex_quineCharacters: Aragorn, Boromir
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: Kink, shaving, spanking
Request: Genres - Kink, Au, BDSM; Ratings - R, NC-17; Prompt(s) or general mood(s) - silk, sweat, candles
Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction. It's make believe and completely untrue.
Summary: The heat of Summer and Boromir would gift his harassed King a night of simple pleasure.
High Summer was come; long hot days and airless nights when the city sweltered, the dusty streets and alleyways seeming filled with a stillness that tasted gritty on the tongue. But in the fields the swollen grain was turning gold; the wise predicted a heavy crop and so folk shrugged their shoulders, remembering the lean years, and kept to the shaded places.
The Queen was bound for Ithilian to visit with Prince Faramir and his lady, taking young Eldarion and the other children along on the adventure. Master Arin had gone with them to his uncle's realm and the Lord Steward had sent the bulk of his household South to help with the harvest and moved into rooms in the palace, where marble floors and stone-arched corridors offered some respite from the heat.
Yet now there was sweat on his face, he could feel the tendrils of hair beginning to stick to his brow and shook his head impatiently to clear his sight, for he would not mistake a single stroke. This had been his doing and he would do all well.
His King had been Patience itself over the past days, dealing with a border dispute that had seemed intractable, holding together his advisors in the face of bickering and devious envoys until a sort of compromise had been achieved, at the cost of promising that the decision would be reviewed after three seasons.
The King's voice had been wise in the council, but Boromir saw the effort that it took for Aragorn not to simply knock some stubborn heads together as he would surely have done, would have wanted to do. He had been expecting Aragorn to lay the bracelets in his hands to do with him as Boromir wished, but this night he had not waited for his commission, had taken on the mantle unasked, wanting to have his love forget all for a few hours, all except his hands, his tongue and his will.
The Steward's Chamber, redd up with new hangings embroidered with ears of wheat on a cream linen ground showed fresh and pale in the morning sun that streamed through open shutters, but now those same shutters were closed tight and it was filled with the golden light from a hundred candles, set on the mantel over the fireplace, in sconces on the walls, in branched holders about the great bed, on the side tables. The smell from the beeswax was heady, sweet.
It had been the same in the small study off where he had them place the wooden tub and fill it with scalding hot water, which he left to cool some and take up the scent of honeysuckle oil he had poured in it, whilst he set out the candles and lit them.
The King had entered his chamber just as he was finishing his preparations and had stood at the doorway, waiting patient once more until Boromir had come to him, naked and erect, and stood, barely an arm's length away. Aragorn lowered his gaze. The golden bracelets lay lightly about Boromir's wrists and Boromir's scent lay heavy in his nostrils.
"Do you give yourself over to this, great King?" Boromir asked.
"I do," Aragorn replied and heard the sigh in his own voice. "My word is 'golden'."
"Strip," Boromir said.
There was command in his voice, but also Aragorn thought a little of compassion and immediately he wondered what Boromir had planned for them and then shook his head a little, fingers fumbling with his tunic. Already his attention was wandering and contrite, Aragorn returned to concentrating on each tie and hook, shedding his garments with as much grace as he might, dropping each garment in a pile on the spot on the floor that Boromir had pointed too.
Then at last he too was naked and sank to his knees before his warrior. The upturned palms before his gaze held the remaining two bracelets and unasked Aragorn took them up, clasping them about Boromir's ankles.
"Rise and come," Boromir said and walked away from him.
He had handed Aragorn into the tub and soaped and scrubbed him well, first his front and then he had him kneel up in the water and paid especial attention to his back, the swell of his buttocks.
Bathed to his satisfaction, Boromir had him step out onto a linen mat to be dried with brisk towelling and then a light oil was swept across his skin. It itched as Boromir let a thin stream trickle down his cleft, but soon long fingers were working it across his cheeks, burrowing into the crease at the top of his thighs.
He had been called over to the great bed and there Boromir had him lay down across a pile of pillows that raised his arse into the air. Before Aragorn could wonder at what might come next, silken bonds had him spread and bound to the bed-frame. For form's sake he tested the ties a little, but they were immovable. He could turn his head from side-to-side on the mattress, but little else.
His breath was coming short as Boromir laid a knife on the bed before his trapped gaze. It was a fine elven knife, of a hand's length, and Aragorn knew that no blade could be made sharper. The strong hands were testing it now, a thumb laid against the gleaming metal and he heard Boromir grunt slightly as he reached across to a chest and retrieved a leather strop which he began to use to put a finer edge on the weapon.
Aragorn was caught between the swish, swish of the knife on the leather and the sight of the drops of pre cum that were gathered at the tip of the purpled cock. Beneath him, pressed into the pillows, his own cock throbbed, but he knew better than to seek to relieve the feeling. Instead he tried only to hear the swish, swish, and when that stopped he felt ready to meet whatever should come.
Suddenly there was a cool lotion of some kind applied to his buttocks, and then, with no more than a curt "Hold still!" the blade began to sweep across his skin, as Boromir started to shave away the fine hairs.
Aragorn was all but giddy with the effort not to move, beneath the gentle scrape and afterwards when his cheeks were slathered in another lotion that smelled of watermint and smarted on his newly shaved skin.
Then strong hands parted his cheeks and he could do no more than gasp and catch his breath as Boromir plucked one of the candles from the nearest branch and a stream of molten wax coated the hairs about his puckered hole, followed by some press of linen, a moment's pause whilst blunt nails trailed gently up his back and then a sudden spike of fire that travelled up his spine and caught in his throat as the cloth was torn away, to be replaced with a gentle tongue that soothed and teased at him. Amidst the stinging, the tongue lapped and flickered until he could bear it no longer and heard a low moan leave his mouth. The tongue withdrew abruptly from its ministrations.
"Did I give you leave to whine like a child?"
At least he would not fail this time, and did not answer until given leave.
"No, lord."
"That merits correction does it not?"
"Yes, lord."
He could hear Boromir moving about and then a hand reached to take up the leather strop from the sheet, there was a swish through the air and a sting like no other spread over his arse as the strop landed across both cheeks at once.
Boromir leant down to where he was gasping for air.Aragorn could feel his breath, hot on his neck.
"You may whine," he murmured, then was gone, there was another swish and the jag travelled straight to Aragorn's cock, so that he must try to flex his hips to find some friction on the pillows. A short laugh above him told him that this had not gone unnoticed and a steady stream of blows, none of them cruelly heavy but overlapping across his buttocks, warmed the sting to a fire that would engulf his body.
He was beyond moaning, begging and cursing, low and steady.
The leather was flung down on the bed beside his head and the mattress dipped as Boromir clambered astride him. A slick of the watermint lotion flooded his cleft and then Boromir's cock, thick, hot, was burrowing into him, spearing him to the pillows.
He had barely breath to cry out when the blunt head stabbed at his sweetest spot and when strong hand were grasping him across his smarting cheeks to steady Boromir as he began to thrust into him, Aragorn thought he might weep.
A sudden stillness within, a movement above him and the knife had been used to slice through the silk about his wrists and now he could rise to hands and knees, could meet the movement with his own urgent rhythm, a shared slap of flesh and breathy cries. Boromir shook his head, cleared the sweat from his eyes and thrust again.
Afterwards, his warrior had worked over tired limbs with warm oils and gentle hands and removing the bracelets had cradled him towards sleep. The candles were guttering in pools of yellow wax. He was watching the flame flickering and dying in the sconce above the bed as Boromir's body went slack beside him.
Aragorn turned his head to drop a kiss on his man's hair.
"Someday," he whispered, "I will do the same for you."
The figure beside him, shifted and a suggestion of a chuckle shook its frame.
"Best wait till you have felt the hairs grow back," said Boromir.
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no subject
Date: 2011-08-01 05:22 am (UTC)It is absolutely brilliant Alex and I can't thank you enough for this wonderful piece of work. Not surprising, because your unigue writing style and skills never seize to amaze me. Still, the few a bit more dark fics you have written like this are all gems and this one is especially.
Then strong hands parted his cheeks and he could do no more than gasp and catch his breath as Boromir plucked one of the candles from the nearest branch and a stream of molten wax coated the hairs about his puckered hole, followed by some press of linen, a moment's pause whilst blunt nails trailed gently up his back and then a sudden spike of fire that travelled up his spine and caught in his throat as the cloth was torn away, to be replaced with a gentle tongue that soothed and teased at him. Amidst the stinging, the tongue lapped and flickered until he could bear it no longer and heard a low moan leave his mouth. Who could blame Aragorn whining? I whined reading it.
The use of the bracelets, the candles, Boromir's careful preparation, it's all part of the wonderful world you have created for us readers. I love the way you have answered to the prompts. I can't express enough how much I appreciated and love this story. Dear Alex, thank you so very, very much.
no subject
Date: 2011-08-04 09:01 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-08-01 09:18 am (UTC)"Best wait till you have felt the hairs grow back,"
I love that there is always affectionate humour in the encounters between these two and such tenderness and concern along with the intense eroticism. This is a fine addition to the Cold Pressing canon and I enjoyed it very much.
no subject
Date: 2011-08-04 09:03 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-08-01 02:32 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-08-04 09:03 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-08-02 10:48 am (UTC)Hmm extremely delightful and then the smack that follows. And still it’s not the punishment that draws the tears.
Great writing and wonderful reading. Thank you for sharing with us.
no subject
Date: 2011-08-04 09:05 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-08-05 09:04 pm (UTC)sank to his knees before his warrior
silken bonds had him spread and bound to the bed-frame
"Did I give you leave to whine like a child?"
now he could rise to hands and knees, could meet the movement with his own urgent rhythm
So intense and sensual. I love that you allow Aragorn to give in fully and that everything Boromir does is strong and forceful yet also tender and caring. A truly wonderful story!
no subject
Date: 2011-08-06 10:31 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-08-06 05:12 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-08-07 09:03 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-08-24 10:02 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-08-26 10:33 pm (UTC)