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horseboykarl I ride Karl's bike towards the warehouse, anticipation squirming up and down my spine. The truce with Karl continues and I have told him how much I appreciate his permission to roam more freely in this town. Tonight I am to meet Théo at the warehouse where Paris lives.
I park the bike and move quickly to the door. You are already there and you pull me in at my knock. Our lips meet and I breathe in your scent, the movement of your tongue having me already hard and aching. But I want you in my mouth and I drop to my knees, fumbling with the openings to your breeches and then your long length is there and I gulp you in, sucking on you, twisting my tongue around you until you are crying out and releasing in my throat. I stand up and our mouths clash and your hand finds me to grant me the same favor.
While we are cleaning up I tell you my idea. "There is a tavern called the Cue Room Bar that I visited once. It has many games that can be played for money. Some of the games are complicated and I have not yet mastered them, but others are simpler. Would you like to go there and play?"
Théo: It is good to see you again, and once we have quenched our thirst for one another, I am interested to hear of your plans for the night.
“Yes, I would like that, and we can play for money?” That sounds interesting. “The Ship was quiet when I visited a few nights ago, and I hardly won enough arm wrestling to pay for my drinks, so maybe we could replenish our funds?“
I fetch my helmet, and we head out to the bike where I climb on behind you, and slip my arms around your waist, moulding myself against your back. You squeeze my arm, and we ride off into the night. It is exhilarating, speeding through the streets, looking over your shoulder and it does not take long to arrive at our destination. Once we park up, our helmets come off, and I shake my hair out, smiling as you comb your fingers through yours, looking in the bike’s mirror before we head off toward the bar.
You lead the way, and as we walk through the doors, I flash you a grin. “Time to play.”
Éomer: The tavern is much busier than I remember from months ago when I was here last. There are many tables covered in green cloth for the game called "pool" which had fascinated me, but it was difficult to master in one night. Other games are here as well, with flashing lights and noises and moving pictures. Those do not appeal to me and you wrinkle your nose in distaste as well.
I lead you further in to the place where I remember a game that you might like. It involves throwing small stubby arrows at a target for points. We are stopped by a stout man sitting at a small table. He is bald on his head, but his beard is braided and hanging halfway down his chest. His ears are pierced in many places, and some of his jewelry is thick. His skin is very tan.
"If you want to enter the tourney, the fee is twenty dollars a piece, can't play else, not tonight."
I look around and realize that many people in the crowd have numbers pinned to their clothing. This is some sort of contest then.
You are grinning widely, your eyes snapping in a look I recognize from many other combats. You are a predator tonight and these fools have no chance against you when your blood is up. I smile and hand the man two of the bills from Karl's wallet. We each receive a number and some pins.
Théo As we walk towards the bar, the flustered young barmaid’s face brightens considerably, and she smiles widely as she takes our order. Returning her smile as she brings our drinks, I let my eyes rake over her curvy black clad body, and give her a wink as I pay for our ale. She blushes as I ask her name, which turns out to be Suzy and she offers to keep our helmets safe behind the bar, which we gladly take her up on.
You pin my number to my back, and then turn round so I can attach yours, and I watch with interest as a man steps up to a line on the floor, and with great accuracy, throws three tiny spears, these “darts”, at a round board which is sectioned off with wire. As we watch, you explain the rules of the game, which seem straight forward enough. Starting off with 501 points, the idea is to bring your score down to zero as quickly as possible, and end with what is called a “double”. You explain “doubles” and “trebles” and the “bull’s eye”, which I am glad to hear is not actually the eye of a bull, but rather the centre of the board.
“I want to get the feel of these darts before we get into competition. Where do we get them from?” Suzy stops in her tracks on her way past.
“Did you boys not bring your own?”
We both answer “No.” at the same time, and look at each other with a shrug and a grin.
She stares at us for a moment, before turning heading out the back of the bar returning with two small boxes which she hands to us. “They’re not the best, but you need your own for the tourney. I’ll put them on your tab, you can settle up later.”
I nod my thanks, and she directs us to the far side of the bar, almost empty of patrons who are all waiting for the contest to begin, where she says we can take a few practice shots at an old board. “Just listen out for your numbers to be called.”
Éomer: We take the darts out of their boxes and immediately our warrior training takes over as we evaluate these weapons. I toss one in my hand, testing its weight and balance. We both make minute adjustments to the vanes on the end, hoping to make them fly true. We take a few throws and make some more adjustments to the darts, until they behave to our satisfaction.
The girl, Suzy, keeps us well supplied with ale, but it weak stuff and we are in no danger of losing our heads. We practice strategy to bring our points down and soon we both can send the darts wherever we choose. They are easy when compared with the heavy spears that we both are accustomed to using.
We are laughing and the light in your eyes makes me imagine what we will do later, but our practice has attracted an audience. I had noticed that most of the people with numbers on their backs were men, but there were many women in the tavern. Now most of them seem to be in the practice area with us. They seem fascinated by us and their hands roam over us. I look at you and shrug, smiling. I have no objection to women. I steal a kiss from the small dark girl who is playing with my hair while I wait my turn.
Théo: As all three of my darts hit their target, one in the bulls eye and two in the double twenty, which is known as “double top”, I concede the board to you with a wicked grin as our audience show their appreciation with a chorus of ohhhs and ahhhs. You slap me on the back as we pass and you take up position. I go back to sitting on the edge of a table, a blonde on either side, and slip my arms around their waists. They press themselves closer, and I kiss one of them on her neck, inhaling her sweet scent as we watch you play.
Your dark-haired friend shouts out three numbers, and you hit the mark with all three darts, drawing more appreciative calls from the women around us. You turn and bow, before they descend on you, one handing you your ale, two more hanging off your shoulders, and our eyes meet across their heads. Yours are full of merriment, the mirror of my own and I detach myself from the twins, raising my ale bottle to you in a silent toast with a wide grin. This was indeed a good way to spend the evening.
But before I get to the board again, a call goes up from the next room, and it is your number. “Number 69 … 69?” Our eyes meet again, and this time, you give me a curt nod, a serious look on your face which I know is only partly in jest. It may be a game, but neither of us have any intention of losing tonight, and I know that will eventually mean playing against each other. We walk into the room, side by side, the women following with our drinks and jackets, and it is not hard to see why they prefer our company to the mainly rotund men who have gathered here to play.
Éomer: I take my place at the line and look at my opponent. He is not particularly short, but his belly hangs over his waist and his fingers are thick. He is sweating slightly, but I think it is more from his bulk than any nervousness. I decide that he should be more uneasy than he is and I look at him as I would a Dunlending who is about to taste my sword. He pales and then narrows his eyes at me. I smirk at him in contempt, hoping that his anger will spoil his aim.
I loop an arm around one of the women standing near and kiss her deeply, my tongue thrusting into her mouth and I drag her against me. She curls against me willingly and I hear an outraged shout from someone in the crowd, but I smile at her. "For luck."
We begin to throw and I get my double in easily, and I start calculating the numbers in my head. Every time my opponent gets his darts out of the board and comes back, I look at him insultingly. Soon his face is very red. He generally maintains his control, but his last throw hits only a single on the one, and I realize that I have only forty left. If I can double on the twenty on this throw, I will be out and will have won the match. It goes as planned and he looks at me furiously.
I smirk again and turn back to you, elated. I wrap you in a hug as your number is called.
"Now it is your turn to uphold the honor of the Mark!"
I laugh as you strut to take your place, your confidence evident in your every move.
Théo: My heart swells with pride as you win. I expected nothing less, and as I step up to the line, your words echoing in my ears, I have no doubt that I will also be victorious.
The darts fly, and everything goes as planned until the second dart of my second turn, which just misses the treble twenty, scraping into the single five. Continuing straight on as if it was what I intended to do, my mind works quickly on the problem of where my next set of darts must land in order to stay in the running. Luckily, my opponent is much more unlucky than I, and with the last dart of my fourth turn, I am able to redeem myself with a solid win.
You slap me on the back, thrusting an ale into my hand, and pushing me back in the direction of the twins, while the woman you kissed earlier tries to get your attentions away from the small dark haired girl who jumps into your lap. I find it is quite an experience to be kissed and stroked by two beautiful women while watching your companion wiggling around on your lap to your obvious enjoyment while another kisses you, her tongue lapping at your mouth. You see me watching and grin, holding my gaze as your hand brushes her thigh, kissing her slowly, and a bolt of desire shoots straight to my groin.
We watch the rest of the matches, sizing up our possible opponents, and a couple of games and a couple of rounds later, it is down to the final four, including both of us. As the evening wore on to this point, the ale flowed, and the women became louder as we continued to win, cheering us on, and I noticed a few of the men shooting angry glances in our direction. These were easily dealt with by staring them down.
The draw is called, and I am glad to find we will not face each other yet, which means we will, in all likelihood, meet in the final.
Éomer: The atmosphere in this tavern has become thick; this competition is pumping the battle rage through my veins while at the same time the attentions of the women are sending lust of another kind spiraling through me. Seeing you with them makes me want to service them all and then let them watch while you and I take each other.
We each win our matches, and then it is the final and we are pitted against each other. As it should be. Our women all insist on giving us luck tokens and there is a low rumbling coming from most of the men. I step to the line with you and we nod to each other before we begin. My darts fly true and we are even until my last throw, one flies slightly off and lands just inside the wire in the wrong space. I think quickly, doing the numbers in my head, but it is useless; it will take three darts to get me out, while your number will let you double out with just two. I can only hope that you make a mistake, but you do not and you have won the match.
I smile at you with my pride in your abilities shining in my eyes, but as you approach me and my battle readiness ebbs away, I let you see what else I am feeling. You have defeated me and I would have you claim your forfeit on me. You embrace me and I whisper, "Yours." And I hope you understand what I am telling you.
The women twine themselves around us and I find my arms full of squirming females and you are wrapped up in your beautiful twins. The stout man who took our money approaches with a golden seeming cup, but the disgruntled murmuring from the males who are gathered here grows louder.
Théo: Your whisper sends shivers of anticipation down my spine, and my eyes are dark when I return your gaze, knowing that I will claim my real prize for besting you later.
For now, I take the offered cup with a grin, and the man also gives me a bundle of notes which I stuff in my pocket. It seems strange to me that the only ones who seem pleased about this victory are you and I and our newly found admirers. It was a fair contest, where all got to play to the best of their ability, and I cannot understand the hostility. No matter. We have the rest of the evening to enjoy, and to celebrate our success, as but for one dart out of place, you would have been the victor.
One of the twins takes the cup with a squeal of delight, and I loop my arms around their waists, fully intending to take our party back into the quieter room, but as we approach the bar to order more drinks, I’m laughing at a suggestion one of my blonde beauties has just whispered in my ear, and whispering back exactly what I want to do to her, when out of the corner of my eye I see one of the larger of the men we played against step in front of me, the others he was with crowding in behind him.
I can feel you bristling behind me, almost feel the battle lust rising in you again as is my own, my senses on full alert as I stare at him. “You are in my way.”
“You’re not welcome here, you or your friend.” The group behind him, about twelve of them, mutter in agreement, which gives him the courage to go on. “You got what you came for.” He jabs his finger towards me and I smile in amusement. “So why don’t you just fuck …” His finger makes contact with my chest, and his last word is screamed out “OFF!!” as I grab his wrist in my left hand, twisting it backwards, and pushing him to his knees in one smooth movement. Keeping my grip, I look at the others, eyes cold, and they do not appear to be interested in sharing his fate until there is a shout from the back of the room. “Oy!! That’s my brother!!” A man who had not been playing in the tourney pushes his way through the crowd towards us, his friends in tow. He’s a good four inches taller and a lot leaner than his unfortunate sibling who is still cowering at my feet.
“Ladies, why don’t you go and wait for us by the bar? Put your drinks on our bill.” They move quickly, and I flash you a grin as you move to stand by my side. It is a long time since we have fought together, even a bar brawl, and a wild sense of excitement runs through me.
Éomer: We stand with our shoulders touching, relaxed, ready for whatever move they will make. The big man looks to be more of a threat than these others, these soft ones, and he punches his hand menacingly, his show of aggression giving the others their courage back.
"You don't mess wit me brother, pretty boy," he growls.
I try to diffuse the situation. "My cousin won this contest fairly, your brother seems to have an issue with that. He merely responded to the threat your brother made. Let us pass."
"Don't think so. You come into our bar with you poufty looks and steal our women and rob us of our rightful prize." This came from the fat brother who has gotten to his feet.
I am tired of talking and if I can judge the mood of these men at all, they will not be satisfied to let us leave without violence. I have no objection to that. So I smirk at him. "Your women did not seem to mind being stolen. Maybe they want to know what it is like to have a real man between their thighs."
You snort as the big man sends a fist my way. I dodge it and yell at you. "Ic gā letan, þū gā riht!" You nod, sweeping a kick at the fat one. I duck under the big man's extended arm and drive a blow into the soft side of his belly. He grunts and staggers, but another man takes his place, his fist already flying for my face. I put an arm up to block it and my own fist connects with his teeth, sending a spray of blood into the air.
Théo: The fat one goes down, again, without trouble, and his friend backs away as I grin at him, but three of the others rush me, and I end up sitting forcibly down on the bench seat on the wall behind us. You call out to me as your fists continue to fly. “Ic habban hie!” Their bodies are soft and untrained and they pose no real threat. As the middle one grabs a hold of my shirt, I lash out with my foot, the heel of my boot hitting the one on the left square in the chest, winding him, and sending him sprawling across the floor where he lands in a tangle of chair legs.
Grabbing the one who has hold of my shirt, I pull him to me, smashing my forehead against his, and he crumples to the floor, as the third one gets in a lucky kick which impacts on my ribs, and I surge towards him with a roar. “þū unhaélo þā scittan!!” One fist catches him under the jaw whipping his head back, the other slams into his cheek, and I feel the bone break, my knuckles coming away bloodied.
Having despatched my attackers, I head back towards you, seeing you almost surrounded by another three, including the brother, who has blood dripping down his face and his friend, the two out of this crowd that undoubtedly pose the most threat. You are holding your own against them admirably, but there is movement behind you as another approaches with a stool raised above his head. “Æftan þū!” And with one swift punch to a tall red headed man who tries to head me off, I launch myself in your direction.
Éomer: Your timely warning saves my skull, as I turn in time to see my attacker bringing a stool down on my head. I get an arm and shoulder in the way and the stool breaks with the force of the blow. The pain of the contact has me reeling, but I keep my feet. Using a table as leverage I leap on the coward, my feet driving into his chest and bringing him down.
The big man has taken up a piece of the shattered stool and brings around on me almost before I can recover. I dodge and grab for the club, my palm stinging from the impact as he drives it toward my face again. He is almost as tall as I am, heavily muscled, but older. I refuse to release his weapon though he tries to wrench my arm around. I do not know if he has ever killed a man before, but I have and I do not doubt that his courage will fail him eventually. My eyes grow cold and we stand locked together and I worry about his friends, but then you are with me.
"Cēpan se fætt beorn! Hē is þurhstrang!" But you aim a kick at his head and his eyes roll back in his skull and he is out of this. Your actions cause the big man to flinch and I press my advantage, backing him up, twisting his arm. I will break it if I must. His fingernails dig into my arm, trying to get me to release him, but I ignore the pain. I pull him forward suddenly by the club, and as he goes off balance my knee finds his crotch with a brutal blow. His hand goes slack and he sinks to the floor.
I look around and realize that our attackers are crawling away to lick their wounds and none now face us. I grin at you, but I see that the man behind the bar is using the phone. I know what that means from previous experience and Karl is not going to be happy. I am sorry to abandon our lovely companions, but . . . it is time for us to leave.
"Wit sculan gā !" I hope you do not argue, as I do not know if you have had any experience with the law keepers in this world. I am running for the door, digging in my pockets for the keys to the bike. You follow without comment. "Begiet se helms!"
You vault over the bar, shocking the man behind it into dropping the phone, scoop up the helmets, and leap gracefully back over before anyone can even catch their breath. I smile. There is no one I would rather have at my side in a fight.
Théo: I follow your lead without question, you have more experience of this world than I, and I trust your assessment of the situation completely.
About to race out of the door, I toss your helmet towards you and turn back, reaching my goal in a couple of strides. Grasping the golden cup from Mandi, one of the twins, I pull her to me and kiss her soundly and thrust several notes at Suzy with a wink, grinning as I move quickly back to where you are holding the door open with an answering smile and a quirked eyebrow. “I could not leave the prize behind!”
You pull me out of the bar, and we run across the car park. Halfway to the bike, I hear the door slamming open behind us, and we cover the rest of the distance at a sprint. We both pull on our helmets, you jump on the bike, turn the engine on and as I slip on behind you, open the throttle, and we take off. I cannot resist thrusting the cup high into the air as we leave the car park, my other arm tight around your waist as we ride off into the night.
Arriving back at the warehouse, I jump off and open the gate to the yard and you ride the bike in. After locking it behind you, I pull off my helmet as I stride across the yard, seeing you do the same and you hang yours on the bike mirror. Helmet and cup are dropped to the ground as I reach you, not slowing, rather slamming my body against yours, pushing you back against the door frame behind you as our mouths crash together in a hot, brutal kiss.
Éomer: We make it safely back to Paris' house and I am relieved. I know this truce with Karl will not stand if I get arrested again. But my blood is still running high from the fight and the competition and everything else that has happened tonight. The battle rage is still on me and I am nearly shaking with it. I have only ever found one way to release it. I barely have time to dismount the bike before you slam into me, taking me by surprise. You mouth is hot and hard on mine and . . . perfect.
My tongue prods yours and our teeth scrape as I return your kiss. I thrust against you as hard as I can and you give it all back to me. My arms lock around you so that no space remains between our bodies as we grind together.
Your mouth leaves mine abruptly and latches onto my neck, your teeth worrying my skin. My breath is rasping and my body is on fire as I respond with fierce joy to your harshness. This is due to you, this I owe you, this claiming and I tip my head back, baring my throat for you, my howl echoing through the yard. "Yes!"
Théo: Your howl cuts through me, primal and raw, and I know that the blood lust that pounds through my veins has you in it’s grip also, and I know what we both need.
Digging through my pockets without taking my mouth from your neck, I find the keys, and slip them into the lock behind you, pushing you backwards through the now open door until the table stops us from going any further. My hands are almost frantic opening your breeches, pushing them down over your hips as my tongue thrusts into your mouth, your grip on me still firm. You kiss me back, mauling my lips as one hand rakes through your hair, the other pressing against your rigid cock.
I tear my mouth away and growl, nipping at your ear. “Turn around.” You brace your arms on the table, throwing your head back, golden hair rippling over the black leather you still wear. Later, skin on skin will be needed, but right now all I want is to take you, hard and fast, to sate the lust that is coursing through me, to feel you come with me.
Unfastening my own breeches, I push them down, rubbing my erection against your cleft before dropping to my knees. Pulling your cheeks apart, my tongue forces its way inside you, the taste of you making me harder, a groan as I lick you turning into a growl as the need to possess you grows stronger.
Éomer: Your tongue on me sends my need spiraling higher. I push against you, urging you deeper, but it is not nearly enough. I want . . . you, filling me, taking me.
"Do it, Théo!" I thrust back again, against your spearing tongue. "Please!"
You stand up, and place one hand on my shoulder, pulling me up, holding me fast. Your other hand is guiding your cock into me and I feel you nudging my entrance and I give you enough time to be sure that your aim is true and then I lurch back, at the same time you surge forward. I am fighting to breathe, you are filling me to your hilt, your balls slapping on mine with the force of our joining.
You hesitate, I think to give me time to adjust, but I do not want time. I grind my hips. "Move! Please!"
Your hand moves to my hair, winding in the strands in your fingers and you growl possessively and slam your hips into me. I steady my hands on the table and meet your every thrust.
Théo: I snarl as I sink into your tight heat with nothing more than saliva to ease the way and give in to your demand that I move, I need no other urging. Pounding into your willing body, one hand holds your hip, fingers digging into flesh, the other tightens in your hair, dragging your head back, rubbing my face against your leather clad shoulder. Pulling harder I make your body arch until I can bury my face in your neck, the smell of you mixed with the smell of leather and the faint aroma of feminine perfume making me groan. My mouth slips over your jaw, latching onto yours, our lips meeting in a messy, disjointed kiss, tongues tangling for just a moment, until the pace of our movements proves too much, and I pull away, thrusting deeper, hearing you cry out as I grasp your cock, moving it in time with my hips, my grip tight.
Riding you hard, letting this lust run wild as you move with me, claiming my prize … I feel it building inside, and let it go, can’t hold back, don’t want to hold back, need to let it take me, take you. Orgasm slams into me, my head snapping back, hand clenching in your hair, as I echo your earlier howl “Yes!!” Coming deep inside you as you thrust back, my mind is wiped clean of everything but you, the feel, smell and taste of you, and your muscles start to tighten around me as I thrust into you still, my hand still moving over your erection.
Éomer: Your plunge into me hard, as hard as I wanted it, your every stroke pushing a rising tide of passion through me. Your hand in my hair is a counterpoint of pain to the pleasure you are dealing me, and my muscles tremble as you pull me back farther, my hands no longer finding purchase and I scramble to steady myself against your relentless assault. But the pain mutates into just another sensation among the many that are beginning to overwhelm me. I am in your control again as you take whatever you wish from me and I glory in it, glad that you possess me.
You lunge into me, filling me with your warm fluid and your savage howl sends me falling after you, your hand ruthlessly pumping my hardness, you hips still working. You drag everything out of me along with my seed . . . the pleasure, the pain, the blood lust and I am spent, drained in so many ways.
You hold me through it until I regain my breath, and then gently push me back down onto the table, kissing the back of my neck. I am calm and peaceful, and I sigh contentedly as your hands stroke my flanks lightly before you allow yourself to slip out of me.
Théo: My touches are soft now the lust has been sated, and I shrug my jacket off, pulling you upright and slipping yours off your shoulders before turning you to face me and kissing you, brushing my lips over yours as I see the peace in your eyes. I see no further need for these breeches tonight, so kick off my boots and step out of them leaving on my shirt as you do the same. “Are you hungry?” You nod with a glint in your eyes and I lead you through to the kitchen. “Paris told me there would be “pizza” in the fridge for us if we were hungry.” There is indeed a large flat box there with instructions on how to warm it on the top. You open us a couple of bottles of ale which are good and cold, and we wrap around each other as we wait for the pizza, touching and kissing and laughing until there is a “ding” which means the pizza is ready to eat.
I carry it through so we can relax on the couch as we eat, and you bring more ale. It is laden with various meats and cheeses and other things I do not recognise, but as we dig in, I realise something is missing and head off to fetch it. You grin widely when I return, the cup I won held in my hand, and I put it down on the coffee table, filling it full of the notes that were in my pocket, a wide smile on my face. “We fought for that tonight, and won! May all our nights out in Wellington prove to be as entertaining as this one!” You grin in agreement as I clash my ale bottle against yours and we drink them down.
Translations from Rohirric
Ic gā letan, þū gā riht - I’ll go left, you go right
Ic habban hie - I have them
þū unhaélo þā scittan!! - You damned piece of shit!!
Æftan þū - Behind you
Cēpan se fætt beorn! - Look out for the fat man
Hē is þurhstrang - He is very strong
Wit sculan gā - We have to go
Begiet se helms - Get the helmets
Warnings: Mild NC-17 towards the end, brief het content.
I park the bike and move quickly to the door. You are already there and you pull me in at my knock. Our lips meet and I breathe in your scent, the movement of your tongue having me already hard and aching. But I want you in my mouth and I drop to my knees, fumbling with the openings to your breeches and then your long length is there and I gulp you in, sucking on you, twisting my tongue around you until you are crying out and releasing in my throat. I stand up and our mouths clash and your hand finds me to grant me the same favor.
While we are cleaning up I tell you my idea. "There is a tavern called the Cue Room Bar that I visited once. It has many games that can be played for money. Some of the games are complicated and I have not yet mastered them, but others are simpler. Would you like to go there and play?"
Théo: It is good to see you again, and once we have quenched our thirst for one another, I am interested to hear of your plans for the night.
“Yes, I would like that, and we can play for money?” That sounds interesting. “The Ship was quiet when I visited a few nights ago, and I hardly won enough arm wrestling to pay for my drinks, so maybe we could replenish our funds?“
I fetch my helmet, and we head out to the bike where I climb on behind you, and slip my arms around your waist, moulding myself against your back. You squeeze my arm, and we ride off into the night. It is exhilarating, speeding through the streets, looking over your shoulder and it does not take long to arrive at our destination. Once we park up, our helmets come off, and I shake my hair out, smiling as you comb your fingers through yours, looking in the bike’s mirror before we head off toward the bar.
You lead the way, and as we walk through the doors, I flash you a grin. “Time to play.”
Éomer: The tavern is much busier than I remember from months ago when I was here last. There are many tables covered in green cloth for the game called "pool" which had fascinated me, but it was difficult to master in one night. Other games are here as well, with flashing lights and noises and moving pictures. Those do not appeal to me and you wrinkle your nose in distaste as well.
I lead you further in to the place where I remember a game that you might like. It involves throwing small stubby arrows at a target for points. We are stopped by a stout man sitting at a small table. He is bald on his head, but his beard is braided and hanging halfway down his chest. His ears are pierced in many places, and some of his jewelry is thick. His skin is very tan.
"If you want to enter the tourney, the fee is twenty dollars a piece, can't play else, not tonight."
I look around and realize that many people in the crowd have numbers pinned to their clothing. This is some sort of contest then.
You are grinning widely, your eyes snapping in a look I recognize from many other combats. You are a predator tonight and these fools have no chance against you when your blood is up. I smile and hand the man two of the bills from Karl's wallet. We each receive a number and some pins.
Théo As we walk towards the bar, the flustered young barmaid’s face brightens considerably, and she smiles widely as she takes our order. Returning her smile as she brings our drinks, I let my eyes rake over her curvy black clad body, and give her a wink as I pay for our ale. She blushes as I ask her name, which turns out to be Suzy and she offers to keep our helmets safe behind the bar, which we gladly take her up on.
You pin my number to my back, and then turn round so I can attach yours, and I watch with interest as a man steps up to a line on the floor, and with great accuracy, throws three tiny spears, these “darts”, at a round board which is sectioned off with wire. As we watch, you explain the rules of the game, which seem straight forward enough. Starting off with 501 points, the idea is to bring your score down to zero as quickly as possible, and end with what is called a “double”. You explain “doubles” and “trebles” and the “bull’s eye”, which I am glad to hear is not actually the eye of a bull, but rather the centre of the board.
“I want to get the feel of these darts before we get into competition. Where do we get them from?” Suzy stops in her tracks on her way past.
“Did you boys not bring your own?”
We both answer “No.” at the same time, and look at each other with a shrug and a grin.
She stares at us for a moment, before turning heading out the back of the bar returning with two small boxes which she hands to us. “They’re not the best, but you need your own for the tourney. I’ll put them on your tab, you can settle up later.”
I nod my thanks, and she directs us to the far side of the bar, almost empty of patrons who are all waiting for the contest to begin, where she says we can take a few practice shots at an old board. “Just listen out for your numbers to be called.”
Éomer: We take the darts out of their boxes and immediately our warrior training takes over as we evaluate these weapons. I toss one in my hand, testing its weight and balance. We both make minute adjustments to the vanes on the end, hoping to make them fly true. We take a few throws and make some more adjustments to the darts, until they behave to our satisfaction.
The girl, Suzy, keeps us well supplied with ale, but it weak stuff and we are in no danger of losing our heads. We practice strategy to bring our points down and soon we both can send the darts wherever we choose. They are easy when compared with the heavy spears that we both are accustomed to using.
We are laughing and the light in your eyes makes me imagine what we will do later, but our practice has attracted an audience. I had noticed that most of the people with numbers on their backs were men, but there were many women in the tavern. Now most of them seem to be in the practice area with us. They seem fascinated by us and their hands roam over us. I look at you and shrug, smiling. I have no objection to women. I steal a kiss from the small dark girl who is playing with my hair while I wait my turn.
Théo: As all three of my darts hit their target, one in the bulls eye and two in the double twenty, which is known as “double top”, I concede the board to you with a wicked grin as our audience show their appreciation with a chorus of ohhhs and ahhhs. You slap me on the back as we pass and you take up position. I go back to sitting on the edge of a table, a blonde on either side, and slip my arms around their waists. They press themselves closer, and I kiss one of them on her neck, inhaling her sweet scent as we watch you play.
Your dark-haired friend shouts out three numbers, and you hit the mark with all three darts, drawing more appreciative calls from the women around us. You turn and bow, before they descend on you, one handing you your ale, two more hanging off your shoulders, and our eyes meet across their heads. Yours are full of merriment, the mirror of my own and I detach myself from the twins, raising my ale bottle to you in a silent toast with a wide grin. This was indeed a good way to spend the evening.
But before I get to the board again, a call goes up from the next room, and it is your number. “Number 69 … 69?” Our eyes meet again, and this time, you give me a curt nod, a serious look on your face which I know is only partly in jest. It may be a game, but neither of us have any intention of losing tonight, and I know that will eventually mean playing against each other. We walk into the room, side by side, the women following with our drinks and jackets, and it is not hard to see why they prefer our company to the mainly rotund men who have gathered here to play.
Éomer: I take my place at the line and look at my opponent. He is not particularly short, but his belly hangs over his waist and his fingers are thick. He is sweating slightly, but I think it is more from his bulk than any nervousness. I decide that he should be more uneasy than he is and I look at him as I would a Dunlending who is about to taste my sword. He pales and then narrows his eyes at me. I smirk at him in contempt, hoping that his anger will spoil his aim.
I loop an arm around one of the women standing near and kiss her deeply, my tongue thrusting into her mouth and I drag her against me. She curls against me willingly and I hear an outraged shout from someone in the crowd, but I smile at her. "For luck."
We begin to throw and I get my double in easily, and I start calculating the numbers in my head. Every time my opponent gets his darts out of the board and comes back, I look at him insultingly. Soon his face is very red. He generally maintains his control, but his last throw hits only a single on the one, and I realize that I have only forty left. If I can double on the twenty on this throw, I will be out and will have won the match. It goes as planned and he looks at me furiously.
I smirk again and turn back to you, elated. I wrap you in a hug as your number is called.
"Now it is your turn to uphold the honor of the Mark!"
I laugh as you strut to take your place, your confidence evident in your every move.
Théo: My heart swells with pride as you win. I expected nothing less, and as I step up to the line, your words echoing in my ears, I have no doubt that I will also be victorious.
The darts fly, and everything goes as planned until the second dart of my second turn, which just misses the treble twenty, scraping into the single five. Continuing straight on as if it was what I intended to do, my mind works quickly on the problem of where my next set of darts must land in order to stay in the running. Luckily, my opponent is much more unlucky than I, and with the last dart of my fourth turn, I am able to redeem myself with a solid win.
You slap me on the back, thrusting an ale into my hand, and pushing me back in the direction of the twins, while the woman you kissed earlier tries to get your attentions away from the small dark haired girl who jumps into your lap. I find it is quite an experience to be kissed and stroked by two beautiful women while watching your companion wiggling around on your lap to your obvious enjoyment while another kisses you, her tongue lapping at your mouth. You see me watching and grin, holding my gaze as your hand brushes her thigh, kissing her slowly, and a bolt of desire shoots straight to my groin.
We watch the rest of the matches, sizing up our possible opponents, and a couple of games and a couple of rounds later, it is down to the final four, including both of us. As the evening wore on to this point, the ale flowed, and the women became louder as we continued to win, cheering us on, and I noticed a few of the men shooting angry glances in our direction. These were easily dealt with by staring them down.
The draw is called, and I am glad to find we will not face each other yet, which means we will, in all likelihood, meet in the final.
Éomer: The atmosphere in this tavern has become thick; this competition is pumping the battle rage through my veins while at the same time the attentions of the women are sending lust of another kind spiraling through me. Seeing you with them makes me want to service them all and then let them watch while you and I take each other.
We each win our matches, and then it is the final and we are pitted against each other. As it should be. Our women all insist on giving us luck tokens and there is a low rumbling coming from most of the men. I step to the line with you and we nod to each other before we begin. My darts fly true and we are even until my last throw, one flies slightly off and lands just inside the wire in the wrong space. I think quickly, doing the numbers in my head, but it is useless; it will take three darts to get me out, while your number will let you double out with just two. I can only hope that you make a mistake, but you do not and you have won the match.
I smile at you with my pride in your abilities shining in my eyes, but as you approach me and my battle readiness ebbs away, I let you see what else I am feeling. You have defeated me and I would have you claim your forfeit on me. You embrace me and I whisper, "Yours." And I hope you understand what I am telling you.
The women twine themselves around us and I find my arms full of squirming females and you are wrapped up in your beautiful twins. The stout man who took our money approaches with a golden seeming cup, but the disgruntled murmuring from the males who are gathered here grows louder.
Théo: Your whisper sends shivers of anticipation down my spine, and my eyes are dark when I return your gaze, knowing that I will claim my real prize for besting you later.
For now, I take the offered cup with a grin, and the man also gives me a bundle of notes which I stuff in my pocket. It seems strange to me that the only ones who seem pleased about this victory are you and I and our newly found admirers. It was a fair contest, where all got to play to the best of their ability, and I cannot understand the hostility. No matter. We have the rest of the evening to enjoy, and to celebrate our success, as but for one dart out of place, you would have been the victor.
One of the twins takes the cup with a squeal of delight, and I loop my arms around their waists, fully intending to take our party back into the quieter room, but as we approach the bar to order more drinks, I’m laughing at a suggestion one of my blonde beauties has just whispered in my ear, and whispering back exactly what I want to do to her, when out of the corner of my eye I see one of the larger of the men we played against step in front of me, the others he was with crowding in behind him.
I can feel you bristling behind me, almost feel the battle lust rising in you again as is my own, my senses on full alert as I stare at him. “You are in my way.”
“You’re not welcome here, you or your friend.” The group behind him, about twelve of them, mutter in agreement, which gives him the courage to go on. “You got what you came for.” He jabs his finger towards me and I smile in amusement. “So why don’t you just fuck …” His finger makes contact with my chest, and his last word is screamed out “OFF!!” as I grab his wrist in my left hand, twisting it backwards, and pushing him to his knees in one smooth movement. Keeping my grip, I look at the others, eyes cold, and they do not appear to be interested in sharing his fate until there is a shout from the back of the room. “Oy!! That’s my brother!!” A man who had not been playing in the tourney pushes his way through the crowd towards us, his friends in tow. He’s a good four inches taller and a lot leaner than his unfortunate sibling who is still cowering at my feet.
“Ladies, why don’t you go and wait for us by the bar? Put your drinks on our bill.” They move quickly, and I flash you a grin as you move to stand by my side. It is a long time since we have fought together, even a bar brawl, and a wild sense of excitement runs through me.
Éomer: We stand with our shoulders touching, relaxed, ready for whatever move they will make. The big man looks to be more of a threat than these others, these soft ones, and he punches his hand menacingly, his show of aggression giving the others their courage back.
"You don't mess wit me brother, pretty boy," he growls.
I try to diffuse the situation. "My cousin won this contest fairly, your brother seems to have an issue with that. He merely responded to the threat your brother made. Let us pass."
"Don't think so. You come into our bar with you poufty looks and steal our women and rob us of our rightful prize." This came from the fat brother who has gotten to his feet.
I am tired of talking and if I can judge the mood of these men at all, they will not be satisfied to let us leave without violence. I have no objection to that. So I smirk at him. "Your women did not seem to mind being stolen. Maybe they want to know what it is like to have a real man between their thighs."
You snort as the big man sends a fist my way. I dodge it and yell at you. "Ic gā letan, þū gā riht!" You nod, sweeping a kick at the fat one. I duck under the big man's extended arm and drive a blow into the soft side of his belly. He grunts and staggers, but another man takes his place, his fist already flying for my face. I put an arm up to block it and my own fist connects with his teeth, sending a spray of blood into the air.
Théo: The fat one goes down, again, without trouble, and his friend backs away as I grin at him, but three of the others rush me, and I end up sitting forcibly down on the bench seat on the wall behind us. You call out to me as your fists continue to fly. “Ic habban hie!” Their bodies are soft and untrained and they pose no real threat. As the middle one grabs a hold of my shirt, I lash out with my foot, the heel of my boot hitting the one on the left square in the chest, winding him, and sending him sprawling across the floor where he lands in a tangle of chair legs.
Grabbing the one who has hold of my shirt, I pull him to me, smashing my forehead against his, and he crumples to the floor, as the third one gets in a lucky kick which impacts on my ribs, and I surge towards him with a roar. “þū unhaélo þā scittan!!” One fist catches him under the jaw whipping his head back, the other slams into his cheek, and I feel the bone break, my knuckles coming away bloodied.
Having despatched my attackers, I head back towards you, seeing you almost surrounded by another three, including the brother, who has blood dripping down his face and his friend, the two out of this crowd that undoubtedly pose the most threat. You are holding your own against them admirably, but there is movement behind you as another approaches with a stool raised above his head. “Æftan þū!” And with one swift punch to a tall red headed man who tries to head me off, I launch myself in your direction.
Éomer: Your timely warning saves my skull, as I turn in time to see my attacker bringing a stool down on my head. I get an arm and shoulder in the way and the stool breaks with the force of the blow. The pain of the contact has me reeling, but I keep my feet. Using a table as leverage I leap on the coward, my feet driving into his chest and bringing him down.
The big man has taken up a piece of the shattered stool and brings around on me almost before I can recover. I dodge and grab for the club, my palm stinging from the impact as he drives it toward my face again. He is almost as tall as I am, heavily muscled, but older. I refuse to release his weapon though he tries to wrench my arm around. I do not know if he has ever killed a man before, but I have and I do not doubt that his courage will fail him eventually. My eyes grow cold and we stand locked together and I worry about his friends, but then you are with me.
"Cēpan se fætt beorn! Hē is þurhstrang!" But you aim a kick at his head and his eyes roll back in his skull and he is out of this. Your actions cause the big man to flinch and I press my advantage, backing him up, twisting his arm. I will break it if I must. His fingernails dig into my arm, trying to get me to release him, but I ignore the pain. I pull him forward suddenly by the club, and as he goes off balance my knee finds his crotch with a brutal blow. His hand goes slack and he sinks to the floor.
I look around and realize that our attackers are crawling away to lick their wounds and none now face us. I grin at you, but I see that the man behind the bar is using the phone. I know what that means from previous experience and Karl is not going to be happy. I am sorry to abandon our lovely companions, but . . . it is time for us to leave.
"Wit sculan gā !" I hope you do not argue, as I do not know if you have had any experience with the law keepers in this world. I am running for the door, digging in my pockets for the keys to the bike. You follow without comment. "Begiet se helms!"
You vault over the bar, shocking the man behind it into dropping the phone, scoop up the helmets, and leap gracefully back over before anyone can even catch their breath. I smile. There is no one I would rather have at my side in a fight.
Théo: I follow your lead without question, you have more experience of this world than I, and I trust your assessment of the situation completely.
About to race out of the door, I toss your helmet towards you and turn back, reaching my goal in a couple of strides. Grasping the golden cup from Mandi, one of the twins, I pull her to me and kiss her soundly and thrust several notes at Suzy with a wink, grinning as I move quickly back to where you are holding the door open with an answering smile and a quirked eyebrow. “I could not leave the prize behind!”
You pull me out of the bar, and we run across the car park. Halfway to the bike, I hear the door slamming open behind us, and we cover the rest of the distance at a sprint. We both pull on our helmets, you jump on the bike, turn the engine on and as I slip on behind you, open the throttle, and we take off. I cannot resist thrusting the cup high into the air as we leave the car park, my other arm tight around your waist as we ride off into the night.
Arriving back at the warehouse, I jump off and open the gate to the yard and you ride the bike in. After locking it behind you, I pull off my helmet as I stride across the yard, seeing you do the same and you hang yours on the bike mirror. Helmet and cup are dropped to the ground as I reach you, not slowing, rather slamming my body against yours, pushing you back against the door frame behind you as our mouths crash together in a hot, brutal kiss.
Éomer: We make it safely back to Paris' house and I am relieved. I know this truce with Karl will not stand if I get arrested again. But my blood is still running high from the fight and the competition and everything else that has happened tonight. The battle rage is still on me and I am nearly shaking with it. I have only ever found one way to release it. I barely have time to dismount the bike before you slam into me, taking me by surprise. You mouth is hot and hard on mine and . . . perfect.
My tongue prods yours and our teeth scrape as I return your kiss. I thrust against you as hard as I can and you give it all back to me. My arms lock around you so that no space remains between our bodies as we grind together.
Your mouth leaves mine abruptly and latches onto my neck, your teeth worrying my skin. My breath is rasping and my body is on fire as I respond with fierce joy to your harshness. This is due to you, this I owe you, this claiming and I tip my head back, baring my throat for you, my howl echoing through the yard. "Yes!"
Théo: Your howl cuts through me, primal and raw, and I know that the blood lust that pounds through my veins has you in it’s grip also, and I know what we both need.
Digging through my pockets without taking my mouth from your neck, I find the keys, and slip them into the lock behind you, pushing you backwards through the now open door until the table stops us from going any further. My hands are almost frantic opening your breeches, pushing them down over your hips as my tongue thrusts into your mouth, your grip on me still firm. You kiss me back, mauling my lips as one hand rakes through your hair, the other pressing against your rigid cock.
I tear my mouth away and growl, nipping at your ear. “Turn around.” You brace your arms on the table, throwing your head back, golden hair rippling over the black leather you still wear. Later, skin on skin will be needed, but right now all I want is to take you, hard and fast, to sate the lust that is coursing through me, to feel you come with me.
Unfastening my own breeches, I push them down, rubbing my erection against your cleft before dropping to my knees. Pulling your cheeks apart, my tongue forces its way inside you, the taste of you making me harder, a groan as I lick you turning into a growl as the need to possess you grows stronger.
Éomer: Your tongue on me sends my need spiraling higher. I push against you, urging you deeper, but it is not nearly enough. I want . . . you, filling me, taking me.
"Do it, Théo!" I thrust back again, against your spearing tongue. "Please!"
You stand up, and place one hand on my shoulder, pulling me up, holding me fast. Your other hand is guiding your cock into me and I feel you nudging my entrance and I give you enough time to be sure that your aim is true and then I lurch back, at the same time you surge forward. I am fighting to breathe, you are filling me to your hilt, your balls slapping on mine with the force of our joining.
You hesitate, I think to give me time to adjust, but I do not want time. I grind my hips. "Move! Please!"
Your hand moves to my hair, winding in the strands in your fingers and you growl possessively and slam your hips into me. I steady my hands on the table and meet your every thrust.
Théo: I snarl as I sink into your tight heat with nothing more than saliva to ease the way and give in to your demand that I move, I need no other urging. Pounding into your willing body, one hand holds your hip, fingers digging into flesh, the other tightens in your hair, dragging your head back, rubbing my face against your leather clad shoulder. Pulling harder I make your body arch until I can bury my face in your neck, the smell of you mixed with the smell of leather and the faint aroma of feminine perfume making me groan. My mouth slips over your jaw, latching onto yours, our lips meeting in a messy, disjointed kiss, tongues tangling for just a moment, until the pace of our movements proves too much, and I pull away, thrusting deeper, hearing you cry out as I grasp your cock, moving it in time with my hips, my grip tight.
Riding you hard, letting this lust run wild as you move with me, claiming my prize … I feel it building inside, and let it go, can’t hold back, don’t want to hold back, need to let it take me, take you. Orgasm slams into me, my head snapping back, hand clenching in your hair, as I echo your earlier howl “Yes!!” Coming deep inside you as you thrust back, my mind is wiped clean of everything but you, the feel, smell and taste of you, and your muscles start to tighten around me as I thrust into you still, my hand still moving over your erection.
Éomer: Your plunge into me hard, as hard as I wanted it, your every stroke pushing a rising tide of passion through me. Your hand in my hair is a counterpoint of pain to the pleasure you are dealing me, and my muscles tremble as you pull me back farther, my hands no longer finding purchase and I scramble to steady myself against your relentless assault. But the pain mutates into just another sensation among the many that are beginning to overwhelm me. I am in your control again as you take whatever you wish from me and I glory in it, glad that you possess me.
You lunge into me, filling me with your warm fluid and your savage howl sends me falling after you, your hand ruthlessly pumping my hardness, you hips still working. You drag everything out of me along with my seed . . . the pleasure, the pain, the blood lust and I am spent, drained in so many ways.
You hold me through it until I regain my breath, and then gently push me back down onto the table, kissing the back of my neck. I am calm and peaceful, and I sigh contentedly as your hands stroke my flanks lightly before you allow yourself to slip out of me.
Théo: My touches are soft now the lust has been sated, and I shrug my jacket off, pulling you upright and slipping yours off your shoulders before turning you to face me and kissing you, brushing my lips over yours as I see the peace in your eyes. I see no further need for these breeches tonight, so kick off my boots and step out of them leaving on my shirt as you do the same. “Are you hungry?” You nod with a glint in your eyes and I lead you through to the kitchen. “Paris told me there would be “pizza” in the fridge for us if we were hungry.” There is indeed a large flat box there with instructions on how to warm it on the top. You open us a couple of bottles of ale which are good and cold, and we wrap around each other as we wait for the pizza, touching and kissing and laughing until there is a “ding” which means the pizza is ready to eat.
I carry it through so we can relax on the couch as we eat, and you bring more ale. It is laden with various meats and cheeses and other things I do not recognise, but as we dig in, I realise something is missing and head off to fetch it. You grin widely when I return, the cup I won held in my hand, and I put it down on the coffee table, filling it full of the notes that were in my pocket, a wide smile on my face. “We fought for that tonight, and won! May all our nights out in Wellington prove to be as entertaining as this one!” You grin in agreement as I clash my ale bottle against yours and we drink them down.
Translations from Rohirric
Ic gā letan, þū gā riht - I’ll go left, you go right
Ic habban hie - I have them
þū unhaélo þā scittan!! - You damned piece of shit!!
Æftan þū - Behind you
Cēpan se fætt beorn! - Look out for the fat man
Hē is þurhstrang - He is very strong
Wit sculan gā - We have to go
Begiet se helms - Get the helmets
Warnings: Mild NC-17 towards the end, brief het content.
