FIC: LotR FPS - Summer Wine 1/1
Title: Summer Wine
Author: kitty_trio
Fandom: LotR
Pairing and/or additional characters: Aragorn/Éomer/(Boromir)
Rating: Adult
Beta: haldoor, who held my hand throughout writing this so-out-of-the-box-for-me fic. Ta! as always love *snogs*
Warnings: Slash
Disclaimer: The characters and Middle-earth belong to Tolkien, I'm merely playing with them for entertainment purposes only.
Notes: Written for the 2008 slashylotr_xmas fic exchange. phytha requested: any RPS or FPS men-pairing (or threesome) with Viggo (Aragorn) where they seek to forget and find relief of their stress in times of danger. The rest of the fics and revealed authors are here. Go check them out, some are exquisite!
Summary: After Aragorn became King of the Reunited Kingdom of Gondor and Arnor, he pardoned the Easterlings who had surrendered, and he also received ambassadors from the peoples of Rhûn. Not all of the Easterlings were at peace with the Men of western Middle-earth, but Aragorn and King Éomer of Rohan rode out beyond the Sea of Rhûn and subdued them. Source: tuckborough.net
This is a tale of such a Fourth Age journey... kinda
"It must be potent wine to make a wood-elf drowsy; but this wine, it would seem, was the heady vintage of the great gardens of Dorwinion, not meant for his soldiers or his servants, but for the king's feasts only, and for smaller bowls not for the butler's great flagons."
The Hobbit, Chapter IX: "Barrels out of Bond"
"This will do," Aragorn murmured, shouldering most of his bloodied and battered companion's weight. He eased Éomer to the floor of the leaf strewn cave and took another assessing look around the small enclosure.
It wasn't much more than an eroded cutout in the hillside, but it was roomy enough for the two of them. Most importantly, the overhanging shrubbery provided the small cave much needed protection. Aragorn risked a small fire, crushing some herbs into a small bowl of water he nestled in the coals.
As Aragorn rummaged in his saddlebags, he shushed Éomer's moans with soothing noises whenever the man tried to struggle upright. Brows furrowing, he studied his friend. Blood welled from a head wound, further matting the blond tangles covering most of Éomer's face. The way Éomer favored his sword arm worried Aragorn as well, especially when paired with the deep slash through his leather jerkin.
A movement drew Aragorn's eyes to the gambeson Éomer wore beneath the jerkin. In the low light from the small, flickering fire, the padded shirt sleeves took on a deep reddish hue. The quilting harkening memories of another's making Aragorn's heart lurch momentarily. It wasn't him. The blood-matted blond hair was too flaxen, the injuries were not mortal orcish wounds, and the hazel-green eye that opened as Aragorn approached could only belong to Éomer.
"My Lord, please, you shouldn't..."
Aragorn let out a long suffering sigh, "Do not tell me you want to start that argument again. You will not win. Elessar, King of the Reunited Kingdom of Gondor and Arnor I may be, but you are Éomer Éadig, King of the Mark and do not owe me allegiance. As you renewed and continually keep the Oath of Eorl, I renewed the Gift of Cirion. I am blessed to be 'Fleetfoot' your brother-in-arms and Aragorn your friend always." Aragorn tempered the light chastisement with a chuckle when he brought up the nickname Éomer gave him upon their first meeting on the rolling plains of Rohan.
"Aragorn..."
"Better; now hold still." Aragorn directed softly, wincing when Éomer flinched as he began daubing at the cut over one hazel eye.
The fragrance from the bowl of steeping herbs filling his nostrils, Éomer sighed, "Aragorn, it is only a scratch. I do not require the full arsenal of your healing..."
"No? Then take a deep breath and stop my 'healing' with the arm you are cradling against your ribs." Aragorn shot back, amusement and determination glittering in his eyes. "That was a nasty fall you took off your steed..."
"I did not fall off my horse," came the immediate, if breathy protest. "He is still young and excitable despite his sire, Firefoot's blood flowing in his veins. My ribs and arm are fine; 'tis only bruises from the rocky ground." Strong fingers wrapped around Aragorn's vambrance to still his hand.
"If you had retained control of your steed, Stillfire wouldn't have startled."
"I was attempting to gauge how 'excitable' his rider was. We’ve had little time alone on this Dorwinion trip." Pleased that Éomer's grip was firm (giving credence that his oft stubborn friend wasn't more gravely injured) Aragorn switched hands and continued dabbing the herb infusion onto the cut. "Why else would I have requested a picnic in these vineyards, far from the prying eyes of our Dorwinion hosts?"
Chuckling, the disgruntled frown smoothed off Éomer's brow. "I'd assumed you desired only to go for a ride free from the close halls and cloying attention of the numerous courtiers."
"The only thing I desire to ride is you. So, my old friend and obtuse lover let me satisfy myself that you truly are unharmed after your face-first 'dismount' onto the rocks." The corners of Aragorn's eyes crinkled as he grinned.
Éomer again stilled Aragorn's hand. Ignoring the twinge from the bruise across his ribs, he surged forward and caught Aragorn's lips in a fierce kiss. "Keep up that disparaging talk and I'll leave you 'unsatisfied' as I prove just how fit I am by riding you very hard indeed."
More laughter, brutal kisses and banter that became increasingly lusty was shared between the two men as Éomer grudgingly allowed Aragorn to treat all his minor wounds. Once he was bare to the waist with a strip of Aragorn's under-tunic banding his ribcage-just in case-Éomer pulled Aragorn's lithe frame atop his broader one.
Gentler kisses were shared as they removed their remaining clothing. Fingers sought and triggered familiar erogenous zones. Hands soothed over old scars and newer ones, both remembering the battles small and large where each was earned.
"He's with you always, isn't he?" Éomer asked softly, tracing a finger over the Tree of Gondor etched on the vambrance Aragorn was removing. He ducked his chin down after watching Aragorn's eyes go soft in remembrance of the man who once owned the intricately detailed forearm protectors. "I've felt him too, on trips to Aldburg," he admitted, letting a loosened hank of hair cover his eyes.
"Yes, always. His presence permeates every stone of Minas Tirith. I wear these now only to keep me humble." Aragorn's fingers tangled with Éomer's as he reverently set the vambrance aside.
"You knew him?" Aragorn tipped up Éomer's chin, reading the truth and more in expressive hazel eyes. "He was your lover as well, oh Éomer..."
"Aye, my first, so long ago, when coming up the ranks of my ancestral éored." Éomer's smile was fond as he remembered the brief visit by the Steward of Gondor's heir. "He taught me a few things in exchange for teaching him to be a passable horseman."
Again laughter and quiet words accompanied the desire the two lovers stirred up in each other. When they came together their loving was slow and languid, both men taking advantage of the privacy the small cave allowed. The parcels of picnic food were opened, tidbits fed to each other, a skin of wine used to quench one thirst.
Glorious in his sweat-sheened nudity, Éomer rose from the nest of picnic rugs and clothing. After poking some life into the small fire he gathered another wineskin and a bunch of plump grapes. "Did you know of this place, or were we to clear a space between the vines and rocks?" he asked, once settling back down.
Aragorn's chuckle was low and husky as he took the offered grapes. "I was hoping to find a protected meadow like the one we found the night after starting out from East Lorien." He crunched a couple of the juicy globes as he watched Éomer work the elaborate knots holding the wineskin stopper in place.
"Finding this place was providential once Stillfire 'startled' and sent you ass over tea kettle. You should commend him instead of threatening to geld him. I left word with my men that we might be late. When we don't return for tonight's feast, they'll ride out first and hold off any overeager search the Dorwinion lords send out." Smirk firmly in place, Aragorn stretched cat-like and then pulled Éomer down for a sloppy kiss.
"Now hurry with the wine so we can toast our much missed Gondorian, then you can show me some of the tricks you were taught. You must have been luscious in your youthful innocence. I can well imagine how he couldn't have resisted your charms. He must have been exquisite too." A twinge of sadness flashed across Aragorn's eyes. Éomer strove to erase it with light banter and sensual touches.
This skin of wine tasted sweeter, loosening both men's tongues and any lingering inhibitions as the evening wore on. Later, sated once more and lying in a tangle of limbs with Aragorn, Éomer drifted to sleep with thoughts of Boromir filling his head. Not only the younger Boromir he knew so long ago, but also the graver, troubled man Aragorn had known and loved.
The glowing embers flickering in the small cave melted away. Aragorn's heat at his back and the deep even respirations of sleep seemed to come from further and further away as another sound drew Éomer's attention. It was something familiar and he felt compelled to rise and step out beyond the screen of bushes in front of the cave to investigate.
Blinking in the bright early morning light Éomer scraped back the tangle of his hair hanging in his face. It wasn't the neat rows of vines that stretched out before him, but the long grasses of the Riddermark and it was the sound of the breeze flowing through the willows along the Snowbourn that had drawn him out. Aldburg, Éomer turned to the west and in the distance could distinguish the eaves of the Manor house. A deep chuckle skittered down his spine and Éomer spun back the other way as a figure came toward him.
"How can this be...?" Éomer breathed, barely above a whisper.
"It is best not to question it, just accept that right now, this is," answered the Boromir that Éomer once knew.
The rising sun at his back, Boromir shimmered as he approached; aging with every step he took until Éomer could see the weight of concern for his people and Gondor lying heavily across his broad shoulders. This was the man Aragorn knew, so troubled and with so few moments of joy when the whole of Middle-earth teetered on the verge of annihilation. Éomer opened his mouth to speak, but had no words to convey his thoughts coherently.
"You have grown into a fine man, Éomer," This older Boromir said as he closed the distance between them, reaching a hand up to Éomer's face. "Although, I see you've still not learned how to tame this flaxen mane of yours." Corners of his eyes crinkling as he grinned, Boromir carded a hand through Éomer's hair, coming away with the leather tie-back that hung by a few strands as well as a few leafy bits caught up from the cave floor.
Stepping closer still, Boromir framed Éomer's face between both hands and seized his lips in an intense kiss. It threatened to overwhelm Éomer, as so many of Boromir's kisses did all those years ago. Needing the contact to ground him before he was swept away in the sensations, Éomer grasped Boromir's shoulders and went on the offensive. He deepened the kiss, sliding his tongue alongside Boromir's, giving as good as he got until it was Boromir who pulled away at last.
Eyes glittering with heat, Boromir ran his tongue over lips swollen from the kiss. "Sunshine and sweet grasses, how well I remember your taste," he panted as both men caught their breath. "So much vitality and that self-satisfied smirk, I knew you were a lusty one."
Boromir's laughter rang out and then he hugged Éomer close, nuzzling through his hair to whisper in one ear, "Thank you lad; you are what he needs."
In this amazing dream he was caught in, when they both turned to look toward the cave, Éomer wasn't surprised to find he and Boromir were now within the warm enclosure and looking down at Aragorn's slumbering figure. "It is you he misses, holds close to his heart..." Éomer contradicted, pausing when Boromir cut him off.
"We'll not argue it, Éomer. Come, let me show you while we have this time." As Boromir knelt at Aragorn's head, the clothing he'd worn melted away as if it had never been there, revealing Boromir's strong, aroused form.
"C'mon Old Man, how can you sleep while a lusty Horselord is hard and aching for you?" Aragorn's eyes opened slowly as Boromir whispered in his ear. Éomer saw him stretch languidly, body awakening as he arched his neck to give Boromir more access.
Éomer felt superfluous, but couldn't tear himself away from watching. Aragorn's hand reached up and cupped Boromir's cheek, eyes softening with emotions Éomer had never seen from his friend. The kisses the two lovers shared were softer but no less intense than what Éomer had just shared with Boromir. Hands mapped familiar planes on each other's faces and upper bodies. More whispers were exchanged, only the tone of the men's voices reaching Éomer's ears. He shuffled his feet-despite Boromir's earlier comments-knowing he shouldn't be there. Then Aragorn looked up at him with the naughtiest of leers on his face and held out his hand in invitation; Boromir's 'come hither' glance was equally devastating. If Éomer thought he was hard and aching before, the looks tightened his body to almost painful rigidity.
Éomer knelt and was encompassed by Aragorn's warmth, and yes, the love that now surrounded the three men. At Boromir's direction, Éomer kissed his way down Aragorn's front as the other worked at Aragorn's back. Now he understood what Boromir meant. They complemented Aragorn sexually in different ways. By working together, they soon had Aragorn-and themselves-on a lustier sensual journey than ever before.
Limbs tangled, lips sought other lips or slid across tender bits of flesh. Éomer ceased to know who he pleasured, or who pleasured him. All that mattered was the journey to push each of them to ever higher planes of passion. He knew it was Aragorn's essence bursting on his tongue at one point, but did not know which lover drained him as well.
Time ceased to have meaning.
It could have been hours or days until they collapsed, replete, on the earthen floor. Cradling Aragorn between them, Éomer felt Boromir kiss his eyelids closed and he drifted into a deeper sleep to the sound of Aragorn's heart beating under his ear and Boromir's sigh of contentment.
Aragorn smiled in his sleep as he dreamed of loving a younger Boromir and a delightfully youthful and randy Éomer. Such passionate exuberance had been shared so long ago on the golden planes of Rohan. Aragorn's heart swelled with love for both men that he'd been allowed to participate through their dreams.
After one last kiss, his dream self felt Boromir slip away and Aragorn tightened his arms around Éomer. He'd known of the special properties in Dorwinion wine and knew of no better way for the oft stubborn and skeptical Éomer to open himself to the magical blurring of realities while dreaming.
Boromir would visit Aragorn's dreams again and hopefully now Éomer's as well.
FIN
Word Count: ~2385
Posted: December, 2008
Author: kitty_trio
Fandom: LotR
Pairing and/or additional characters: Aragorn/Éomer/(Boromir)
Rating: Adult
Beta: haldoor, who held my hand throughout writing this so-out-of-the-box-for-me fic. Ta! as always love *snogs*
Warnings: Slash
Disclaimer: The characters and Middle-earth belong to Tolkien, I'm merely playing with them for entertainment purposes only.
Notes: Written for the 2008 slashylotr_xmas fic exchange. phytha requested: any RPS or FPS men-pairing (or threesome) with Viggo (Aragorn) where they seek to forget and find relief of their stress in times of danger. The rest of the fics and revealed authors are here. Go check them out, some are exquisite!
Summary: After Aragorn became King of the Reunited Kingdom of Gondor and Arnor, he pardoned the Easterlings who had surrendered, and he also received ambassadors from the peoples of Rhûn. Not all of the Easterlings were at peace with the Men of western Middle-earth, but Aragorn and King Éomer of Rohan rode out beyond the Sea of Rhûn and subdued them. Source: tuckborough.net
This is a tale of such a Fourth Age journey... kinda
"It must be potent wine to make a wood-elf drowsy; but this wine, it would seem, was the heady vintage of the great gardens of Dorwinion, not meant for his soldiers or his servants, but for the king's feasts only, and for smaller bowls not for the butler's great flagons."
The Hobbit, Chapter IX: "Barrels out of Bond"
"This will do," Aragorn murmured, shouldering most of his bloodied and battered companion's weight. He eased Éomer to the floor of the leaf strewn cave and took another assessing look around the small enclosure.
It wasn't much more than an eroded cutout in the hillside, but it was roomy enough for the two of them. Most importantly, the overhanging shrubbery provided the small cave much needed protection. Aragorn risked a small fire, crushing some herbs into a small bowl of water he nestled in the coals.
As Aragorn rummaged in his saddlebags, he shushed Éomer's moans with soothing noises whenever the man tried to struggle upright. Brows furrowing, he studied his friend. Blood welled from a head wound, further matting the blond tangles covering most of Éomer's face. The way Éomer favored his sword arm worried Aragorn as well, especially when paired with the deep slash through his leather jerkin.
A movement drew Aragorn's eyes to the gambeson Éomer wore beneath the jerkin. In the low light from the small, flickering fire, the padded shirt sleeves took on a deep reddish hue. The quilting harkening memories of another's making Aragorn's heart lurch momentarily. It wasn't him. The blood-matted blond hair was too flaxen, the injuries were not mortal orcish wounds, and the hazel-green eye that opened as Aragorn approached could only belong to Éomer.
"My Lord, please, you shouldn't..."
Aragorn let out a long suffering sigh, "Do not tell me you want to start that argument again. You will not win. Elessar, King of the Reunited Kingdom of Gondor and Arnor I may be, but you are Éomer Éadig, King of the Mark and do not owe me allegiance. As you renewed and continually keep the Oath of Eorl, I renewed the Gift of Cirion. I am blessed to be 'Fleetfoot' your brother-in-arms and Aragorn your friend always." Aragorn tempered the light chastisement with a chuckle when he brought up the nickname Éomer gave him upon their first meeting on the rolling plains of Rohan.
"Aragorn..."
"Better; now hold still." Aragorn directed softly, wincing when Éomer flinched as he began daubing at the cut over one hazel eye.
The fragrance from the bowl of steeping herbs filling his nostrils, Éomer sighed, "Aragorn, it is only a scratch. I do not require the full arsenal of your healing..."
"No? Then take a deep breath and stop my 'healing' with the arm you are cradling against your ribs." Aragorn shot back, amusement and determination glittering in his eyes. "That was a nasty fall you took off your steed..."
"I did not fall off my horse," came the immediate, if breathy protest. "He is still young and excitable despite his sire, Firefoot's blood flowing in his veins. My ribs and arm are fine; 'tis only bruises from the rocky ground." Strong fingers wrapped around Aragorn's vambrance to still his hand.
"If you had retained control of your steed, Stillfire wouldn't have startled."
"I was attempting to gauge how 'excitable' his rider was. We’ve had little time alone on this Dorwinion trip." Pleased that Éomer's grip was firm (giving credence that his oft stubborn friend wasn't more gravely injured) Aragorn switched hands and continued dabbing the herb infusion onto the cut. "Why else would I have requested a picnic in these vineyards, far from the prying eyes of our Dorwinion hosts?"
Chuckling, the disgruntled frown smoothed off Éomer's brow. "I'd assumed you desired only to go for a ride free from the close halls and cloying attention of the numerous courtiers."
"The only thing I desire to ride is you. So, my old friend and obtuse lover let me satisfy myself that you truly are unharmed after your face-first 'dismount' onto the rocks." The corners of Aragorn's eyes crinkled as he grinned.
Éomer again stilled Aragorn's hand. Ignoring the twinge from the bruise across his ribs, he surged forward and caught Aragorn's lips in a fierce kiss. "Keep up that disparaging talk and I'll leave you 'unsatisfied' as I prove just how fit I am by riding you very hard indeed."
More laughter, brutal kisses and banter that became increasingly lusty was shared between the two men as Éomer grudgingly allowed Aragorn to treat all his minor wounds. Once he was bare to the waist with a strip of Aragorn's under-tunic banding his ribcage-just in case-Éomer pulled Aragorn's lithe frame atop his broader one.
Gentler kisses were shared as they removed their remaining clothing. Fingers sought and triggered familiar erogenous zones. Hands soothed over old scars and newer ones, both remembering the battles small and large where each was earned.
"He's with you always, isn't he?" Éomer asked softly, tracing a finger over the Tree of Gondor etched on the vambrance Aragorn was removing. He ducked his chin down after watching Aragorn's eyes go soft in remembrance of the man who once owned the intricately detailed forearm protectors. "I've felt him too, on trips to Aldburg," he admitted, letting a loosened hank of hair cover his eyes.
"Yes, always. His presence permeates every stone of Minas Tirith. I wear these now only to keep me humble." Aragorn's fingers tangled with Éomer's as he reverently set the vambrance aside.
"You knew him?" Aragorn tipped up Éomer's chin, reading the truth and more in expressive hazel eyes. "He was your lover as well, oh Éomer..."
"Aye, my first, so long ago, when coming up the ranks of my ancestral éored." Éomer's smile was fond as he remembered the brief visit by the Steward of Gondor's heir. "He taught me a few things in exchange for teaching him to be a passable horseman."
Again laughter and quiet words accompanied the desire the two lovers stirred up in each other. When they came together their loving was slow and languid, both men taking advantage of the privacy the small cave allowed. The parcels of picnic food were opened, tidbits fed to each other, a skin of wine used to quench one thirst.
Glorious in his sweat-sheened nudity, Éomer rose from the nest of picnic rugs and clothing. After poking some life into the small fire he gathered another wineskin and a bunch of plump grapes. "Did you know of this place, or were we to clear a space between the vines and rocks?" he asked, once settling back down.
Aragorn's chuckle was low and husky as he took the offered grapes. "I was hoping to find a protected meadow like the one we found the night after starting out from East Lorien." He crunched a couple of the juicy globes as he watched Éomer work the elaborate knots holding the wineskin stopper in place.
"Finding this place was providential once Stillfire 'startled' and sent you ass over tea kettle. You should commend him instead of threatening to geld him. I left word with my men that we might be late. When we don't return for tonight's feast, they'll ride out first and hold off any overeager search the Dorwinion lords send out." Smirk firmly in place, Aragorn stretched cat-like and then pulled Éomer down for a sloppy kiss.
"Now hurry with the wine so we can toast our much missed Gondorian, then you can show me some of the tricks you were taught. You must have been luscious in your youthful innocence. I can well imagine how he couldn't have resisted your charms. He must have been exquisite too." A twinge of sadness flashed across Aragorn's eyes. Éomer strove to erase it with light banter and sensual touches.
This skin of wine tasted sweeter, loosening both men's tongues and any lingering inhibitions as the evening wore on. Later, sated once more and lying in a tangle of limbs with Aragorn, Éomer drifted to sleep with thoughts of Boromir filling his head. Not only the younger Boromir he knew so long ago, but also the graver, troubled man Aragorn had known and loved.
The glowing embers flickering in the small cave melted away. Aragorn's heat at his back and the deep even respirations of sleep seemed to come from further and further away as another sound drew Éomer's attention. It was something familiar and he felt compelled to rise and step out beyond the screen of bushes in front of the cave to investigate.
Blinking in the bright early morning light Éomer scraped back the tangle of his hair hanging in his face. It wasn't the neat rows of vines that stretched out before him, but the long grasses of the Riddermark and it was the sound of the breeze flowing through the willows along the Snowbourn that had drawn him out. Aldburg, Éomer turned to the west and in the distance could distinguish the eaves of the Manor house. A deep chuckle skittered down his spine and Éomer spun back the other way as a figure came toward him.
"How can this be...?" Éomer breathed, barely above a whisper.
"It is best not to question it, just accept that right now, this is," answered the Boromir that Éomer once knew.
The rising sun at his back, Boromir shimmered as he approached; aging with every step he took until Éomer could see the weight of concern for his people and Gondor lying heavily across his broad shoulders. This was the man Aragorn knew, so troubled and with so few moments of joy when the whole of Middle-earth teetered on the verge of annihilation. Éomer opened his mouth to speak, but had no words to convey his thoughts coherently.
"You have grown into a fine man, Éomer," This older Boromir said as he closed the distance between them, reaching a hand up to Éomer's face. "Although, I see you've still not learned how to tame this flaxen mane of yours." Corners of his eyes crinkling as he grinned, Boromir carded a hand through Éomer's hair, coming away with the leather tie-back that hung by a few strands as well as a few leafy bits caught up from the cave floor.
Stepping closer still, Boromir framed Éomer's face between both hands and seized his lips in an intense kiss. It threatened to overwhelm Éomer, as so many of Boromir's kisses did all those years ago. Needing the contact to ground him before he was swept away in the sensations, Éomer grasped Boromir's shoulders and went on the offensive. He deepened the kiss, sliding his tongue alongside Boromir's, giving as good as he got until it was Boromir who pulled away at last.
Eyes glittering with heat, Boromir ran his tongue over lips swollen from the kiss. "Sunshine and sweet grasses, how well I remember your taste," he panted as both men caught their breath. "So much vitality and that self-satisfied smirk, I knew you were a lusty one."
Boromir's laughter rang out and then he hugged Éomer close, nuzzling through his hair to whisper in one ear, "Thank you lad; you are what he needs."
In this amazing dream he was caught in, when they both turned to look toward the cave, Éomer wasn't surprised to find he and Boromir were now within the warm enclosure and looking down at Aragorn's slumbering figure. "It is you he misses, holds close to his heart..." Éomer contradicted, pausing when Boromir cut him off.
"We'll not argue it, Éomer. Come, let me show you while we have this time." As Boromir knelt at Aragorn's head, the clothing he'd worn melted away as if it had never been there, revealing Boromir's strong, aroused form.
"C'mon Old Man, how can you sleep while a lusty Horselord is hard and aching for you?" Aragorn's eyes opened slowly as Boromir whispered in his ear. Éomer saw him stretch languidly, body awakening as he arched his neck to give Boromir more access.
Éomer felt superfluous, but couldn't tear himself away from watching. Aragorn's hand reached up and cupped Boromir's cheek, eyes softening with emotions Éomer had never seen from his friend. The kisses the two lovers shared were softer but no less intense than what Éomer had just shared with Boromir. Hands mapped familiar planes on each other's faces and upper bodies. More whispers were exchanged, only the tone of the men's voices reaching Éomer's ears. He shuffled his feet-despite Boromir's earlier comments-knowing he shouldn't be there. Then Aragorn looked up at him with the naughtiest of leers on his face and held out his hand in invitation; Boromir's 'come hither' glance was equally devastating. If Éomer thought he was hard and aching before, the looks tightened his body to almost painful rigidity.
Éomer knelt and was encompassed by Aragorn's warmth, and yes, the love that now surrounded the three men. At Boromir's direction, Éomer kissed his way down Aragorn's front as the other worked at Aragorn's back. Now he understood what Boromir meant. They complemented Aragorn sexually in different ways. By working together, they soon had Aragorn-and themselves-on a lustier sensual journey than ever before.
Limbs tangled, lips sought other lips or slid across tender bits of flesh. Éomer ceased to know who he pleasured, or who pleasured him. All that mattered was the journey to push each of them to ever higher planes of passion. He knew it was Aragorn's essence bursting on his tongue at one point, but did not know which lover drained him as well.
Time ceased to have meaning.
It could have been hours or days until they collapsed, replete, on the earthen floor. Cradling Aragorn between them, Éomer felt Boromir kiss his eyelids closed and he drifted into a deeper sleep to the sound of Aragorn's heart beating under his ear and Boromir's sigh of contentment.
Aragorn smiled in his sleep as he dreamed of loving a younger Boromir and a delightfully youthful and randy Éomer. Such passionate exuberance had been shared so long ago on the golden planes of Rohan. Aragorn's heart swelled with love for both men that he'd been allowed to participate through their dreams.
After one last kiss, his dream self felt Boromir slip away and Aragorn tightened his arms around Éomer. He'd known of the special properties in Dorwinion wine and knew of no better way for the oft stubborn and skeptical Éomer to open himself to the magical blurring of realities while dreaming.
Boromir would visit Aragorn's dreams again and hopefully now Éomer's as well.
FIN
Word Count: ~2385
Posted: December, 2008