keelywolfe (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
keelywolfe) wrote2003-02-16 05:12 pm
keelywolfe) wrote2003-02-16 05:12 pm
Yet Another Fetish Ficlet
These ficlets are amusing me, so I thought I'd try and write maybe one a day for a week. They're short and I get to do things that I'd never get away with in a Real Story. (LOTR guys are so uptight....)
So here's a third:
Surrender
by keely
**
"Hold still."
A simple command, said so very softly that he could hardly hear it and though he was more accustomed to giving commands, he would have surely followed it if he only could. Instead, Aragorn slid one arm between his legs, curving it up and over his thigh to force him to the stillness that he could not achieve.
It was a sordid passion that drove him, twisting what he knew of desire into something unrecognizable and yet, he followed it blindly. Nothing so simple as lust or need; there were no words in his language for this emotion. Ambient heat, desire colored in flame had him doing things that only days ago he might have killed someone for even suggesting.
He knelt in the most compromising of positions, terribly aware of the rest of the company nearby, close enough for him to see their blanket-draped shapes. Aragorn’s tongue slipped inside him and he was forced to muffle his cry against the back of his hand, the harsh taste of leather between his teeth a flavor reminiscent of Aragorn.
Never would he have guessed that the slippery dance of a tongue could ruin him, any defiance or arrogance stolen from him and he was not unaware of the symbolism of this, of whom it was who had brought him to his knees.
He could taste salt, beads of sweat on his upper lip, Aragorn breath was a sensation of its own, prickling against sensitive flesh and he feared he might scream, could hardly manage to care if he did. They would see him then, on his knees, his dignity in tatters, Elf and Dwarf and Hobbit, and the son of the Steward of Gondor tasted blood, biting back his screams as for the first time in his life he surrendered a battle.
-finis-
So here's a third:
Surrender
by keely
**
"Hold still."
A simple command, said so very softly that he could hardly hear it and though he was more accustomed to giving commands, he would have surely followed it if he only could. Instead, Aragorn slid one arm between his legs, curving it up and over his thigh to force him to the stillness that he could not achieve.
It was a sordid passion that drove him, twisting what he knew of desire into something unrecognizable and yet, he followed it blindly. Nothing so simple as lust or need; there were no words in his language for this emotion. Ambient heat, desire colored in flame had him doing things that only days ago he might have killed someone for even suggesting.
He knelt in the most compromising of positions, terribly aware of the rest of the company nearby, close enough for him to see their blanket-draped shapes. Aragorn’s tongue slipped inside him and he was forced to muffle his cry against the back of his hand, the harsh taste of leather between his teeth a flavor reminiscent of Aragorn.
Never would he have guessed that the slippery dance of a tongue could ruin him, any defiance or arrogance stolen from him and he was not unaware of the symbolism of this, of whom it was who had brought him to his knees.
He could taste salt, beads of sweat on his upper lip, Aragorn breath was a sensation of its own, prickling against sensitive flesh and he feared he might scream, could hardly manage to care if he did. They would see him then, on his knees, his dignity in tatters, Elf and Dwarf and Hobbit, and the son of the Steward of Gondor tasted blood, biting back his screams as for the first time in his life he surrendered a battle.
-finis-