It was all about power.
Some wielded it through the strength of a hearty sword arm, some through seductive, deceptive vulnerability, while others enjoyed it both ways. But however applied, power was a potent aphrodisiac.
“I should leave you here for the Orcs!” Éomer spat, grabbing his prisoner by the hair and tilting his head back, his hand at the man’s throat.
The man tested the leather thongs that bound his wrists and, finding them sound, averted his eyes.
“What? Lost your tongue so soon?” Éomer traced the man’s full lips with his thumb, slowly forcing it into his mouth and tugging his clenched teeth apart. “No, not lost. Perhaps I can find a use for it.” He trailed his hand down the man’s neck, stopping to savor the quickening of the pulse beneath his fingertips before continuing down the man’s bare chest. He paused to twist the nipple, hard, smiling grimly at the hissing breath the action wrought. His calloused fingers went all the way down to the man’s hard cock where he seized and abused it with mastery while his prisoner struggled helplessly.
“Not yet. No, not yet,” Éomer said softly, pressing his lips to the man’s then releasing his grip and taking a step back. The man groaned in frustration and worried his bindings, hanging his head so that his long hair covered his face.
“You are a worthy prize, a king among your people, but here you serve me, do you not?” Éomer said.
The man nodded and spoke with a ringing clarity. “I do.”
Éomer stepped behind the man and wrapped his arms around him, pressing his chest against the man’s sweaty back. He marked the man’s collarbone with a sharp love bite. “You know there is only one way you will find your pleasure tonight, don’t you?” he whispered, and the man shuddered in his arms.
“With you inside me.”
“Yes. Would you like for me to make that happen?”
“Please,” the man moaned.
“A mannerly king, but you did not answer my question.” He slapped the man’s butt hard, making him jump.
“I want you to fuck me!” the man asserted.
Éomer produced a gold ring and held it before the man’s eyes, which widened even as his breath caught. Éomer gave a rich, deep-throated laugh. “My precious,” he said, slipping the ring over Aragorn’s cock.
Sounds of passion soon filled the air and Faramir, kneeling naked in a cage across the room, his wrists cuffed behind him and a leather bit in his mouth, sneaked a peek from behind the bars, wishing his hands were free so he could pleasure himself to the sight.
The handle of a heavy cat struck the bars and he jumped and lowered his head.
“You will pay for that indiscretion, worm,” Éowyn said. She was dressed in tight leather breeches that rode her hips just below her navel and a harness that crisscrossed her bare breasts. Faramir would have smiled in anticipation if the gag had not prevented it. As it was, his cock answered for him with a fervid little nod.
It was another meeting of the Gondor Social Club.
Soon after his nuptials, Aragorn discovered that his bride, as lovely and tranquil as the Evenstar for which she was named, did not share all the pleasures of the marriage bed he might have wished. When he broached the subject with Arwen she had made it clear that, while he was free to seek his pleasure in this way, she had no interest in participating. Having roamed the wilds for most of his adult life, living rough and leading men into danger, Aragorn discovered he had a need to throw off the cloak of authority and submit himself to another.
So Aragorn cleared the tower where Denethor had come under the thrall of the palantír, sending the seeing stone with Gandalf back to the Undying Lands. With the utmost discretion he enlisted the Dwarves of Aglarond to devise a secret passage from the stables to the tower so that he could go “riding” or “hunting” without arousing the suspicion of the servants and nobles of the court. And he engaged a group of Elven blacksmiths from Rivendell to produce the restraints, implements, and cages for his playroom. Lastly, he had a suite of three rooms appointed in the tower just off the dungeon for recuperation or group sex, depending on the whims of the participants.
Finding those participants was the delicate part. He needed people who shared his appetites, and who were souls of discretion. He remembered that Éomer had shown him how to break a horse once and his comments while doing so made Aragorn wonder if they did not share more than a love of equine strength and beauty. So he sent a request to visit Edoras with the official intention of discussing border security and trade.
Éomer accepted, and over dinner the first night Aragorn sent out a few feelers, pleased when the king picked up on his intent. The night ended with the two naked in Éomer’s bedroom where Aragorn found himself shoved roughly against the bedpost while Éomer mauled his eager body like a hungry bear. Éomer spun Aragorn around and seized his belt from the pile of clothes on the floor, doubling it in his fist. Aragorn grabbed the bedpost and glanced behind him, the intensity in Éomer’s eyes as he raised the leather for the first blow almost undoing him on the spot. The Horse Lord was born to master and Aragorn was more than happy to submit to his formidable will.
When Éomer had finished with him at last, Aragorn fell into a sleep so relaxed and sound that he didn’t wake until the horse lord was inside him again. Still half asleep, Aragorn roused to find himself as hard as Andúril and twice as keen. When Éomer began to pound into him, Aragorn met his thrusts with boundless vigor and impassioned moans. The strong arm clasped about his ribs, the assured hand on his cock, the delicious pain of welts upon his ass were feelings Aragorn had been missing for a very long time. When they reached an almost simultaneous orgasm Aragorn knew he had found his first member.
“I have a proposal,” Aragorn said when he caught his breath.
Éomer was spooned behind him, nibbling on his neck and ear. “I’m afraid we will not be reversing roles, my friend,” he said. “It is not in my nature.”
“No, nor would I want you to,” Aragorn said. “What I had in mind was a gathering of like-minded people that could enjoy what we have just shared, only with perhaps a few more… toys.”
Éomer chuckled softly. “I’m flattered that you chose me as your first contact,” he said, languidly stroking Aragorn’s cock, “but you have a prince and princess within your realm who are much closer and have already cultivated a few playmates within Minas Tirith and Ithilien.”
Aragorn started and turned over to look Éomer in the eye. “You don’t mean…”
“You didn’t know?”
“Who do you think introduced Faramir to the pleasures of pain?” Éomer grinned. He was clearly proud of his little sister.
Aragorn was stunned to discover his Steward and the lady Éowyn were his kindred spirits. No wonder Faramir had trouble sitting the last time they met.
He left Edoras a week later with a few welts, a few bruises, and a renewed sense of excitement. When he got back to Minas Tirith Arwen met him at the stables and they embraced. Aragorn inhaled sharply and Arwen raised a knowing eyebrow.
“I take it your trip went well,” she said placidly.
Aragorn blushed a bit. Arwen was the only one who had the power to make him do so. “It did,” he admitted, “though I am very happy to be home.”
He kissed her tenderly and she took his hand and led him through the palace, to their rooms, and into the bathing chamber where a hot bath awaited them. They bathed together and made love far into the night. Her soft, yielding body kindled Aragorn’s passion in a way no other ever would. She was his life, his love, and her heart was his true home.
They lay together afterward, gazing into each other’s eyes and he was captivated, as always, by her beauty and wisdom. Whatever his cravings they would never touch what the two of them shared. He wanted her always to know that.
She smiled at him and brought his hand to her lips, kissing his fingers and placing them on her cheek. “I do know,” she said. He wrapped her in his arms and held her close, both falling into a peaceful, contented sleep.
The next morning they were at breakfast when Aragorn received a message that Faramir and Éowyn would be joining him for his morning ride. He looked quickly at Arwen, who favored him with a gracious nod.
“They arrived yesterday with a small retinue from Ithilien. I thought it would be best, after your long journey, to wait until today to greet them,” she said. “You must meet them in the stables after breakfast. They are most anxious to see you again.”
Aragorn thought he would never stop smiling.
Written for the 2012 LOTR Secret Santa fic swap.
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