"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-
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