Games (Théo/Éomer)

[horseboykarl]

Éomer: Karl leaves and I am alone in his house, for the first time in many weeks, even by the slow movement of time in Middle Earth. Ire greets me happily and we go outside to find a stick for him to chase and return to me. He will play this game for hours. Smokey Joe is in the barn and I greet him as well. It touches a part of my heart that these animals in this world remember me with fondness and reminds me that the peace I fight for in my world is the peace of their world also.

Théo will be here soon and Karl tells me that Paris has healed. I enjoyed the peaceful day that we spent together though I know that Théo chafed at the inactivity.

The sun is brightly shining, but I lift my face into the wind streaming down from the mountains in the distance. I smell the rain that will be here by mid-afternoon. I decide that today will be a good day to teach Théo a game of my own. I smile at the thought and go to sit on the small floating dock in the pond. I pole it away from the shore, ignoring Ire's frustrated barking now that I have abandoned our game. It is almost winter in the Mark and I lay back on the warm boards, enjoying the summer day.

Théo: Leelu purrs into Karl’s yard and I park her up in front of the house and turn off the engine. I look around as I pull off my helmet and there is no sign of Mer but Ire’s barking gets my attention and I unfasten my jacket as I follow the sound. The tone of his barking changes as he notices me, and he greets me with a wagging tail as I see what he was barking at.

You look so peaceful, lying on the floating platform, soaking up the sun that I almost hate to disturb you. So I watch you from the bank as I scratch Ire behind the ears, and he settles happily, lying down in the sun and stretching out.

But watching you is not enough, and I squat down at the edge of the pond and tug on the rope attached to the platform, pulling it towards me until it nudges the bank and I smile down at you as your eyes open.

Éomer: A smile flits around my mouth as the dock starts moving, on its own power, from all appearances. But I have heard the hum of the motor and know who is on the other end of the rope. I am deeply relaxed and I wait to see what you will do, but when the dock bumps against the earth again I cannot resist winding my arms around your neck and pulling you down to me for a sound kiss.

Playful at first, but we soon turn serious and I buck up against your weight holding me down, loving the friction of our bodies together. Unfortunately, the wooden platform is far too small for such activities and tilts alarmingly.

"I am very happy to see you, Théo." My fingers trace the cords of your neck. "Perhaps the bed would be safer?"

Théo: “I am glad to see you too, and I think it would be safer.” I smile and scramble back onto solid ground, reaching down to pull you after me, wrapping my arms around you as soon as you are standing. I am so happy that Paris’ injury healed well, and that he is back on his feet which means that I am also. My mouth finds yours again, my kiss almost urgent as you hold me close. Last time we met gave me an appreciation of spending quiet time with you, and it is something I would gladly do again, preferably without the injury. Even that had its uses though, as it put me in your care and that left me with a warm feeling of being cherished.

But there is no injury to hamper me this time, and your hands on my skin are inflaming my desires so I follow gladly as you take my hand and pull me inside the house. We shed clothes as we go, touching and kissing until we fall naked onto Karl’s bed and I groan as our bodies slide over each other as we move.

Éomer: We meet together in a heat and a rush and I cry out as I slide into your silken depths, the clasp of your body around my cock bringing an ache to my balls. You rise to meet my thrusts and I pound you in a steady rhythm until my control goes. My strokes are ragged then and your legs hold me while your hand pulls at your cock, taking you down with me into your own pleasure.

When the tremors have ceased, I put my face in your neck, breathing your scent, my tongue languidly tasting the salt on your skin there. We lie entwined, our respirations smoothing, our heartbeats slowing again now that our first fierce coupling is over.

We disengage at last and I twine my fingers through your hair, smiling. "I have a game I would like to teach you."

It is one that I have played with Paris so I do not doubt that when your mind has been instructed, your body will follow easily.

Théo: Sated and happy to be able to move as I want to unhindered by injury, I lie close to you as I get my breath back, returning your smile as I settle against the pillows.

“A game?” I ask, curious, and as always, keen to spend time with you learning something new. I remember the last game we played together, at the club with all the overweight men and the dissatisfied women who flocked around us and cheered us on as we won. My fingers stroke your hip as we talk and I turn my head to place a kiss on the wrist of the hand that is moving through my hair. “What kind of game and where must we go to play it?”

Éomer: "It is a game of strategy and skill. I learned it from one of Karl's friends when he was in a different country." I smirk at you, knowing how much you enjoy games which challenge you in many different ways.

I nuzzle against your ear, moving my lips down your neck, letting my voice go low and growly when I speak. "You must be able to handle a very long rod. And balls. Does this sound like something you would enjoy?"

My fingers wander across your chest, stopping on the ring, pulling on it, while my leg covers yours pinning you to the bed. "Paris is quite good at it and we can do it in a place not far from here."

Théo: Strategy and skill. Yes, I think I will enjoy this game. But your lips on my neck make me shiver, the rough tone in your voice and the description of it doubling the effect. “A rod … and balls? Yes, I think I would enjoy a game like that.” I answer, and then groan and arch into your touch as you tug on the ring, my curiosity rising even more as to what exactly it entails and your actions are not helping me concentrate. My body responds to you eagerly and I know you know what you do to me. I begin to wonder if this game is not more like one of those I have shown you.

“You played this game with Paris?” But I can see the mischief in your eyes and know you are teasing me and if our weights were evenly matched in this world, I would have had you on your back by now. Since they are not, I will have to resort to dirtier tactics to get the upper hand. My fingers trail over your stomach to what I know is a sensitive spot and then dig in enough to tickle, grasping your wrist at the same time and trying to push you onto your back. I have not quite made up my mind as to whether to interrogate you more about this game or do some tormenting myself.

Éomer: I laugh and lean further onto you, my lips going were my hand had been while my hands twist and hold yours down. "You taught me that trick when I was twelve, do you not remember? And Wyn has since perfected it and tried it many times on me."

I worry your nipple with my teeth for a bit and then decide to satisfy your curiosity for I know that not all the squirming you are doing is the result of my tormenting you. I look up at you with a smile. "It is called billiards and it is played on a table with several balls and long sticks called cues. Would you like to play with me?"

With my words, I push against you, groin against groin, tempting you further with the contact of our bodies. There will be time for more lovemaking later, but I cannot resist teasing you, as you have done to me so many times.

Théo: Play with you? I almost whimper in frustration as you hold me down and continue to play with me. The contrast of sharp teeth and a warm mouth on such tender flesh has me writhing again, almost struggling against your hands around my wrists. That in itself is making my newly sprung erection throb, and with a deep breath, I stop moving, knowing escape is impossible and as being held down like this is only adding to the arousal I know you have no intention of relieving before we play your game. So I lie still apart from a slow grind of my hips against yours, secretly revelling in the torment and teasing, in the thought of hours of desire simmering below the surface before we unleash our passions on one another again.

“Teach me this game, this billiards.” Your teeth graze over flesh and metal again making me hiss and buck and I look at you, eyes dark and full of wicked intentions and promises. “And later, I will play with you.”

Éomer: Grinning at the look in your eyes, knowing that provoking you is bound to end with me writhing in unimaginable pleasure, I sit up, pulling you with me. "Sadly, one must wear clothes to play this game," I say, tossing your breeches onto the bed.

I had time to explore Karl's closet before you arrived, so I pull on a pair of his breeches, not those that we have purchased for me. These pants are a shade too tight for me, but that is part of my intentions. With a low gasp at the pressure on my partially aroused cock, I close the pants, turning to find you staring at me. I smirk and then pull one of Karl's knit shirts without sleeves over my head, smoothing it over my chest. It is tight enough that my nipple ring is clearly visible.

I decide to tend to the tangles in my hair while you finish dressing, sorting through the strands until it falls around my shoulders. My leather jacket goes on the top, but only until we arrive at our destination. "Shall we go?"

Théo: As I dress, I watch the show you put on for me, silently admiring your muscular frame shown off so well by Karl’s tight fitting clothes. That is not the only thing that his tight breeches emphasise and I imagine that many eyes will be turned towards us tonight, where ever we are going. I smile as you primp and preen, knowing you do it for my benefit.

Paris favours well fitting clothes, so I believe that by the time we are both ready to leave, we are well matched and although I try my best to feign indifference to your charms, I cannot quite keep a smirk from my face at the way you can constantly keep me in this state. I bide my time. My revenge will be sweet.

I nod in answer to your question and shrug my jacket on as we head towards Leelu, mounting her a little slower than usual, exaggerating the snug fit of the leather breeches over my backside and I smile smugly to myself as you slip on behind me. I can see that billiards is not the only game that we will play tonight. “Where is this place?” I ask as I let Leelu warm up.

Éomer: These bikes that exist in this world are meant to drive the tension between two people higher, I am certain of it. I slide my hands along the soft leather clinging to your thighs while I settle myself behind you. These pants do not hide many things and I snug my cock up against your back, making sure that you do not forget it is there. My hands wander over your torso before finally settling at your waist. I purr in your ear in response to the faint growl that comes from you before you ease the bike into motion.

"It is not quite a league past the turn off for Karl's home. Go to the main road and head north."

The day is still fine, but the clouds I smelled earlier are already moving in. We may have a wet ride back, but that will give us all the more reason to shed our clothes as soon as we may. Not that I think we will need much reason. In truth, if things succeed as I hope, you will have me out of my clothes before I can get back inside the house.

I direct you to the small tavern where I played with Paris many months ago. We park and I take extra care shaking my hair free of the confines of the helmet.

Théo: You continue to push me, keeping me on that edge and by the hard bulge that presses into my back on the way to our destination, I can tell you are in a similar state. My body almost pulsates as we ride along, and it has little to do with the hum of the engine. I have to concentrate, to push away the images that come to mind of being naked with you like this on the bike. It is difficult, as I imagine that I am behind you and pushing you low over the tank as you grasp the handle bars …

I shake the vivid picture away as we pull up in front of the tavern, thankful that we arrived in one piece after the distracted ride. You throw your hair back and I am reminded of a stallion flaunting himself to get attention and as always, you are the focus of mine. I smile and stand close, hands on my hips as I wait for you to finish fussing and resisting the urge to kiss you soundly, because once I start, I do not think that I could stop. I push a wayward strand back from your face. “Mine will not be the only eyes to devour you tonight, my stallion. Come, I think you owe me a long cool ale.”

Éomer: Your eyes are hot on me, and my intention is keep them there this whole night. I do not care who else may look, but a strange impulse has taken me today, and I am craving your attention.

"No ale will quench my thirst tonight." I smile and lead the way inside, handing over several notes to the keeper, who gives back silver coins. I stack them up on an empty table, the way I was taught to show that we have claimed this table.

I pick up a stick and roll it on the table to test its balance. I hand it to you. "Your rod, cousin. Take good care of it, especially the tip. It will need delicate care." I hand you the cube of blue material, my fingers drifting over your hand.

Théo: My eyebrow raises as you give me instruction as each word has a double meaning designed to add to my torment and at the slightest touch of your fingers, lightening bolts of desire shoot straight to my groin and my grip tightens on the rod in my hand. I cannot take my eyes off you as you stand there, gently rubbing another of the small blue blocks over the tip of your rod. Your proud eyes stare back at me as mine roam down your body, pausing to admire your tight nipples as they poke against the fabric that covers them, as does the ring and I ignore the urge to reach out and tug on it, wanting to make you gasp.

There is an intensity about you tonight, and being the focus of that is arousing beyond belief. The tavern could be filled with writhing naked bodies and I would still not see anyone but you. I heft the rod you gave me in my hand to get the feel of it.

“I will take care of it. I can see that a rod like this needs a firm yet flexible grip.” I plant the wider end on the ground, tossing my hair back before running my hand slowly up the shaft and then follow your lead, rubbing the tip until it is coated with blue. “Show me what I must do with it.”

Éomer: I smile at your willingness to play my game, though I am teasing you unmercifully. I make a ring of my forefinger and thumb, and slide the stick back and forth through the circle slowly. "You must keep your strokes long and steady. Consistent and even will guide your balls far better than strokes that go askew."

I get the balls from their hiding place and set them in a triangle, turning them, caressing and fondling each until I am satisfied with their orientation. I pick up the white and take to you.

"This is called the cue ball." I hold it in my hand, gripping and releasing it. "The master ball." I reach down and adjust my own within the tight confines of my pants. I cannot help myself, but I move closer to you, my body against yours, but lightly, barely touching.

My voice is a rough murmur in your ear. "I know you are deft in your handling of balls." I turn away before you can touch me, and placing the cue on the table, bend over my stick, exaggerating the curve of my buttocks as I do.

Théo: You cause shivers to run down my neck as your lips almost touch my ear and I let out a soft but audible groan as you move away from me. And as if it is not enough that you have fondled all the balls in sight but mine, you have to go and display yourself almost wantonly over the table in the guise of showing me what to do with my rod!

You demonstrate the action of rod against ball, giving you plenty of excuses to run the rod through your fingers before sending the cue ball across the table to ram into the coloured balls, stretching that little bit further over the table as you do so. Out of the corner of my eye, I notice the coloured balls scatter across the table, but your rounded backside holds most of my attention.

A throaty chuckle rises from deep in my chest, not of amusement, but of pure pleasure at what you do to me and that is reflected in the smile on my face. Before you can stand, I walk round the table, brushing against you as I move. I try my best to concentrate on the balls on the table and size up which would be the best coloured ball to attempt to hit and not on you as you stand and walk towards me. “My turn? I think you may need to show me how to handle my rod.”

Éomer: "Mmm," I purr. "I think I will show you."

Curling your hand into position, I place it on the table and rest the tip of the stick on it. I wrap your hand around the other end. "Now . . . use the white one to knock the purple one in the pocket."

You crouch down in imitation of my movements, but I interrupt you. "Wait, Théo. I think you could improve your . . . stance."

I stand behind you and slide my hand along your rod, until my hand wraps around yours. I put my other hand on the end of the stick, and move in closer, pushing you down until you are in the proper position and I am almost covering you.

My face beside yours, my lips on your ear and I whisper. "Spread your legs. You will have better balance."

Théo: The slide of your body over mine as you press me down towards the table is almost more than I can bear. My skin is so sensitive that every touch sears it and I let out a long ragged breath as my cock strains against my leathers, aching to be free.

My fingers thread through yours, holding your hand to the table as the rod balances on top of both of them. I turn my head ever so slightly so I can taste your breath against my mouth and shift beneath you, pushing up against you and rotating my hips just a little so my backside rubs against the large bulge in your pants, before widening my legs. By this time, my voice is little more than a low growl. “Do you have any idea how close you are to being thrown over this table so I can bury my “rod” in you to right up to my balls?”

Still holding your hand down to the table, and summoning every last ounce of concentration you have left me, I pull the rod back and send the cue ball rocketing towards the purple, taking more than a little satisfaction in the thwack as they meet, and the soft clunk as the purple lands in the pocket. I let go of your hand and smirk at you over my shoulder, not quite ready to stand up yet. “I win. Can we go?”

Éomer: Your threat to take me right here on this table makes me gasp, and I almost regret wearing such tight pants, for the pressure on me is almost unbearable now. But I pull back from you and smile after you make your shot.

"Not yet, you must put away all the balls . . . saving the black one for last."

You glare at me and walk stiff-legged around the table to look at your next shot. I cannot resist following you, and drifting a slow finger along the curve of your bottom, lingering on the sensitive spot on the underside, grinning, pleased with myself when you whimper.

But my intent is to drive you beyond your control tonight, to provoke you to the end of your restraint. I step back and watch you, lazily fingering my nipple ring through the tight shirt.

Théo: My eyes close at your touch and I shudder as you move away from me. Bending over the table to line up another ball to hit is almost a relief, but my eyes rise to find your fingers caressing your chest, and I stop dead, transfixed. I know the feel of that small nub intimately, that tight little bead of flesh that my lips have mouthed so many times, pierced by the black metal that I have taken between my teeth and tugged on again and again, making you moan, making you squirm …

The memories are so sharp I can taste the salt of your skin in my mouth, feel you move against me. My eyes rise higher to meet yours, and I am almost panting at the decadent look I find there. Never has anyone been able to make me feel like this. Ever. I am as taut as a bowstring ready to snap, not quite sure how I will make it to the end of this game.

I tear my eyes away from you and look down at the table, taking a couple of deep breaths before sending another ball straight down into the far corner pocket. But tension makes my hand shake on the next attempt and it fails, the red ball knocking against the side of the table instead. “Your turn.” My voice is low, almost menacing, the desire to grab you by the hair and throw you against the wall to ravage you almost overpowering.

Éomer: If I were your enemy, that tone in your voice would have me quaking with fear, but I am not, I am your lover and I know the limitless pleasure you can bring me, and instead I quiver with anticipation, delighting in your responses to me. And I am determined to push you as far as possible. I do not understand the mood that has taken me, I know only that I am enjoying this diversion.

I consider my shot, absentmindedly stroking the stick through my fingers, the polished wood heating at my touch. There are two possible shots, but I smirk, making my decision on where you are standing. I look up at you and let a predatory gleam enter my eyes as I walk towards you.

"Théo," I growl, getting close to you, my hand going to your shoulder caressing you, before I push you to the side. "That is were I need to position myself."

With another hard look, you move away and once again, I drape myself over the table, everything on clear view for you while I take extra time running the rod over my fist, testing my aim over and over again, before finally letting fly and sinking the green striped one. I smile and walk around for my next shot.

Théo: As you bend over in front of me again, my imagination runs riot. I see you naked, your hands tied down to either side of the table, your legs spread wide and your backside exposed to me. I imagine a sheen of sweat on your skin, and that I run my finger down your back before plunging it into your hole, teasing and tormenting you until you shake for the want of me and beg me to take you. Only then do I slam into your heat with a groan …

You bring me out of my fantasy when you move to take your next shot and I watch as you decide where to position yourself.

I realise that I was right earlier. Not only do we play this new game with balls and rods, but we play a game of denial, a game of torment without the need for physical restraints or orders. Being here, amongst others, is the restraint and you are playing me perfectly. Each touch, each word, every look in your eyes is designed to have me quivering and aching with need, with desire, and it is working. But I am not physically restrained, and have no intention of begging for anything. When the time comes, there will be no holding back. I will unleash that desire upon you and have you screaming my name.

But then, that has been the aim of your game all along.

When you have sized up your shot and begin to lean forward I put my hand firmly on the small of your back and push you slowly down, my other hand sliding along your bare arm until I am pressing you to the table as you did me earlier, leaving you in no doubt as to what you do to me. I whisper in your ear before flicking my tongue over the lobe. “When we are done here? You are mine for the taking.”

Éomer: Your hand on me, controlling my movements, brings a muffled groan to my lips, and the aching I feel for you has become almost more intense than I can bear. My body trembles again, recognising and responding to the possessive tone in your voice and I nearly break, ending the game. But I gather my will, and push back against you.

"There was never any question of that, I have always been yours."

I turn my head and meet your eyes, licking my lips slowly and arching my neck, feeling like the stallion that you have named me. But then I allow my body to drop into the submissive posture of a mare waiting to be mounted, bowing my back and presenting my rear to you.

Only for a brief moment, though, and I straighten up, grazing my hand over your leather-clad cock, obvious beneath your clothes. I grip the stick again, moving away, observing the configuration of balls left on the table.

"I still have three more balls to play."

Théo: I have always been yours The way you flex and arch, showing me the truth of your words, makes the already tense knot of desire in my belly tighten and I let out the softest of moans as you cup me briefly, my eyes fluttering closed for a second as I reign in my control.

I watch as you look for your next shot. I understand the aims of this game, and if we were to play again I would be confident in being a good match for you, but I do not know if I could ever play it and not remember this night. The way you have used the table and the tools of the game to provoke such extreme reactions in me … how could I ever watch you bend over another one and not become instantly hard at the sight?

Three balls? I let out a sigh of impatience. You have completely robbed me of any interest in actually winning this game and I look on as you take up position for another shot. You have me so on edge that every single little detail about you is crystal clear. Your hair falls forwards, brushing your naked arms, the silky strands catching the light, holding my rapt attention until you look up at me and I burn in the heat of your gaze.

Éomer: You are standing close by, watching me, your skin flushed, like a dream of lust, and I have never seen anything more desirable in my life. My eyes rake over you, from your golden hair to the straining bulge in your leather pants. I shift myself again in Karl's breeches, thinking that perhaps it was not a good idea to wear them.

I look away to focus intently on my shot, losing my tolerance for the game which I started. I had hoped to drive you to the edge of your control, but my own is starting to fray. Patience has always been a challenging virtue for me and I am quickly reaching my limit. But I will see it to the end, for stubbornness has never been difficult for me.

Taking a deep breath, trying to steady myself against the urge to rub against you again, I eye the remaining balls, finally picking one. I make the shot and then look at the table in its new configuration. A cunning grin crosses my face as I see the potential of one particular shot. The master ball is quite close to the green bumper, but I believe that I can use it if I adopt the correct position. I have witnessed others do this, and for the underlying purpose of this game, it will work quite well.

My pool stick is nearly vertical due to the placement of the white, and I rest the stick on my chest for stability. I move the stick so it catches on my nipple ring, whimpering loud enough for you to hear me as the contact shoots sensation straight to my balls. I arch my back, pushing my chest further out and take the shot. It works smoothly and the black one is an easy shot.

I put my stick on the table. "The game ends when the black one goes in the pocket."

Théo: The look on your face as you whimper almost undoes me and I walk slowly round the table to join you, finding it hard to breath. The black rolls across the table and into the pocket, and my heart rejoices to know that it means the game is over. As I get to your side, I reach for you, hooking a couple of fingers into the waistband of your tight breeches and pulling you firmly against me. I can feel the heat radiating off your body through the layers of fabric and leather that are in the way, and long for us both to be naked.

I stare into your eyes, our faces so close that it would take so little to breach the gap and let our lips meet, but I am not sure I could stop myself from taking it further than is allowed in such a place. So I stand here, craving your touch, my need for you so great that my body is quivering. You are all I can see, all I can think of. You have me, totally and utterly.

The movement hidden between us, I twist the fingers which are still tucked in your waistband and brush them over the head of your cock, which is straining against its confinement, groaning as they slide over the silky skin. I can hardly concentrate enough to form words and all that will come is "Want you", my voice low and hoarse.

Éomer: My breath is sucked in at the small contact on my ready cock and I stretch my body into your touch, opening myself to you, a small sound escaping my lips before I can prevent it. Your eyes are directed intently on me, and I shiver, knowing that my play has succeeded, knowing that soon you will torment me in turn. I move forward enough for our lips to touch but the contact darts licks of desire through me, and I have to step back quickly before you break all bonds keeping you restrained.

Nodding in agreement, I whisper, "Yes."

Scooping the silver up, I fill my pockets and put my jacket on. The small ordinary actions give me time to regain my composure and a background noise, which I had disregarded in my forceful focus on you, becomes evident. The rain which I had anticipated has arrived. We walk outside and I stand for a moment, letting the rain pour over me, wetting my hair. It is cold and clean, but does nothing to cool the fire in my loins. That blaze can be extinguished only by you. I shudder again, knowing how utterly I belong to you in every way. I put on my helmet and stand beside Leelu, waiting for you, wanting you so very badly. When we are ready to go, I get as close to you as possible, hoping that I am not interfering with your ability to ride, but my desire is starting to wash away my will.

Théo: As we walk out into the rain, my breath hitches as you turn your face to the sky, rainwater running down your face and I steel myself for the journey home, so very glad that Karl does not live too far away. When you climb on and put your arms around me, I squeeze your hand, forcing myself to push down my desires one last time, knowing it will not be long before I can set them free. With you curled over my back, I drive us slowly along the wet roads, and finally into Karl’s yard.

You dismount and as soon as the engine is switched off, I unfasten my helmet and shake out my hair, turning to look at you, eyes dark as I slip from the seat and face you.

“All night, you have pushed me, teased me, tormented me.” I put my hand in the middle of your chest and push you backwards, then discard my jacket along with my helmet and close on you again, the rain soaking through my t-shirt.

“You have driven me to distraction with your words, your touches.” I rip the sodden fabric off over my head and push you again and you land against the porch. My fingers dig into your rain soaked hair and I hold you still for a moment. “I have never in my life wanted anyone as badly as I want you. You fill my senses, Mer, always, and tonight …” Enough words. My mouth clashes against yours, kissing you roughly as I push the jacket from your shoulders, drinking in the taste of you as my tongue violates your mouth. Breathless, I pull back and growl. “Want you naked. Now.”

Éomer: My ploy has had the desired effect and I can see that I have pushed you nearly to the end of your forbearance with my teasing. But it is not enough, and I rein in my own rampaging desires, forcing myself to go slowly, not to rip my own clothes away, to continue to torment you.

I step away from you, bowing my head to your command, paralleling my own wishes as it does, though it may not be as close to 'now' as you would wish. I shake my head, flinging rain-wet strands of hair out of my face. My fingers find the edges of the tight shirt, slowly raising it to reveal my chest. I try to control my breathing, trying not to show how affected I am by you, to keep this going. I cannot meet your eyes when the shirt is finally off, but I move on to my breeches, slowing opening them, letting my achingly hard cock push through the gap.

My fingers touch the tip, gathering up the moisture and then I do look at you, bringing my finger to my mouth, my eyes going unfocussed at the taste of myself.

"This is due to you."

I pull my boots off, and slide the breeches leisurely over my hips and thighs, stepping out of them, standing naked before you. I thrust my hips forward, pushing my hard cock towards you, showing you my arousal. You have named me your stallion, and so I shall be and I can but hope that you will ride me hard and long.

Taking another fingertip of my juice, I hold my hand out to you. "Would you like a taste?"

Théo: Still you play me, winding me up until I can take no more. I grab your naked hips, pushing you back against the porch strut. I grind my still leatherclad crotch against your hardness made slippy by the rain and the slick juices that are leaking from you. Once you are pinned, I roughly grasp your wrist and bring your hand to my lips, sucking the coated finger deep into my mouth, moaning at the musky flavour. My tongue swirls round it as if it were your cock, scraping my teeth along its length as I pull it from my mouth.

“Want to taste all of you.” I growl as I lick the rain from your shoulder. “Do not come. I have other plans for you.” And with that I drop to my knees, my fingers digging into your hips as I hold you and swallow you down. You writhe and buck which only encourages me to take you deeper, to devour you, losing myself in the joy of finally being able to get my hands on you. But it merely serves to fuel the fire and my cock throbs, aching to be buried inside you.

I surge to my feet, pulling you to me and kissing you deeply, hands roaming your wet skin as yours roam mine. Pulling you with me, I walk backwards the few steps it takes to reach Karl’s truck, stopping when I hit the metal. “Take off my pants. Need to feel your touch, Mer.” A gasp bursts from me as your fingers snap open the button.

Éomer: You command is no more than I expected, yet I stifle a dismayed gasp at the effort required to prevent myself from releasing into your mouth. Your eyes are full of dangerous promises and I tremble at what I have wrought, all the while knowing full well that this is exactly what I desired, though I may not have allowed myself to discern it.

Your leather pants are wet with the rain, frustrating both of us and I am forced to kneel at your feet as I peel them slowly off your legs. I stay there, my head bowed, running my hands up the outsides of your legs, and I press my face against a strong thigh, waiting for you. I want to take you in my mouth, but I have pushed you to the very extremity of your restraint and the game now belongs to you. I am content.

Théo: My breathing is laboured as you ease the leather from me, staying on your knees and nuzzling my leg, submitting to me without the need for command and I groan and thread my fingers through your hair. At first I simply finger the wet strands but then my hand tightens and I pull your head back, looking into your eyes as I thrust my hips forward and push your face against my cock, grinding it against your cheek.

“This is what you do to me.” I echo your words of a moment ago. “How much do you want to taste it?” I pull you back again, holding your head still as I take my cock in hand. My fingers slide easily over rain soaked skin and I work it slowly, moaning at my own touch as you watch, the tip just out of reach of your mouth. “How much, Mer? Or should I make you watch as I come without giving you a taste?”

Éomer: I strain against the hold in my hair, realising that I would be forced to sacrifice part of my scalp to reach you, because your grip is unrelenting. I moan at the sight of the treat that I want in my mouth, that you are denying me. Your touch is sure and I remember husky whispers in my ear of how you imagined me, in your bed . . . that you touched yourself as you do now, thinking of me.

Licking my lips, I look up at you, my eyes hungry for you. "Please, let me taste."

I lean into the hand holding me so firmly, accepting your will. "I want to pleasure you."

My own cock jumps at the awareness that I have lost control of this game, truly and completely. I still do not understand the urge than prompted me to begin this, but my surrender to you is driving my own desires higher. I wait, hopefully, but my mood is such that if you choose to spend while I watch, if that is what you desire, then that is what I want also.

Théo: Almost every time you have submitted to me, I have asked for it. This time, you have given it to me without request. You wait for my commands on your knees at me feet, the look in your eyes telling me that you are mine in every way possible, that my wants and desires are more important to you than your own. It is almost more than I can stand, and I still my hand, looking down at you as I let the desire to come ebb, holding you steady until I can trust myself to speak.

"Pleasure me."

The first touch of your soft lips on me makes me hiss and my hand tightens involuntarily, restricting your movement and it takes a breath or two to relax my grip. When I do, your lips part and stretch as you take me, the hot moist cavern of your mouth a contrast to the cool rain running in little rivulets down my chest and I groan out your name as my head falls back and a shiver curls around my spine. My grip eases, still holding you, but giving you room to move your head and I look back down as you shift a little, and I clarify the order.

"Just your mouth."

Éomer: I close my eyes at the sheer pleasure of your hard organ in my mouth, but your command stops me and I carefully put my hands behind my back to avoid the temptation to touch you, to cup your balls, to slide a finger into your hot depths.

My mouth opened as far as possible, I twist my tongue around you, tracing veins and ridges, letting the feel of you satisfy my need for you. The rain trickles down my face, getting in my mouth and mixing with your flavors. I open my throat, working to take you in, to take you all the way. I move my head forward to get more of you into my mouth, and I begin to work you rhythmically, tightening my mouth around you and then relaxing. You are leaking onto my tongue and I take a breath every so often to swallow.

The hand in my hair tightens, and my body tightens in response to the power you hold over me at this moment, the power that I have willingly given you. I start to move up and down your cock, setting a slow yet intense pace.

Théo: Your wicked mouth plays me so well, and I thrust into it, almost overtaken by the desire to come straight down your throat. “So good … ah, Mer, so good …”

It comes out almost as a chant, and I am so caught up in what you do to me that I almost let you take me over the edge. But that is not my plan. Revenge is indeed sweet, and mine has only just begun. Pulling you to your feet, I kiss you hard, revelling in the taste of my cock in your mouth. Our bodies slide together, and I turn us so you are closer to the truck, and then turn you around to face it. Pulling you back against me, I hold your hips and push my face into your soaking hair nipping at your shoulder.

“Put your hands on the metal. Brace yourself.”

As I did over the table in the tavern, I place my hand on the small of your back and press you down towards the flat front of the truck until your back arches as your arms hold you clear of the cold surface. I drop to my knees behind you and pull your cheeks apart, plunging my tongue inside you without warning. Groaning at the musky taste of you, I hold your thighs steady as you buck and writhe against me. I pull back for a moment, running my tongue up the insides of your thighs and murmuring against your skin. “You do not have permission to come.” Before running the tip of my tongue round the edge of your quivering hole.

Éomer: The day is warm enough, but the rain is cooling and the metal of the truck is cool. My body is heating from your treatment of me, your hand on my back bringing a flush of heat across my skin and I whimper, wanting more.

I am so helpless, standing like this, letting my will submit to yours. Though you have not bound me, I gave myself over to you and my own honour compels me to abide by that choice.

Your tongue breaches me and the pleasure of it makes my head go light. Every motion is heightened by the anticipation of the sensual torment you will inflict on me. Pleasure ebbs through me with each pulse of the warm muscles invading me, until finally I know it will soon go to far.

I cry out, desperation shading my voice, afraid that I will disobey you. "Please . . . stop Théo! You will undo me."

Théo: My cock jumps as you beg me to stop, and after a final thrust of my tongue, I growl and pull away, stroking your thighs, easing you back from the edge of orgasm. Slowly I get to my feet, kissing and licking my way up your back, sliding my body against yours. And I can wait no longer. The teasing, the way you have given yourself to me all come together, and I grasp my erection, rubbing it over the ring of muscle I lavished my attentions on, and thrust inside, grasping your hips and pumping mine until I am buried in you to the hilt.

Shuddering at the heat of you surrounding me, I hold you close as you convulse in my arms at the intrusion and lick the rain from your shoulder. When I begin to move, it is with long, slow strokes, knowing that I cannot hold out for long, but asking that you do just that. “Do not come.” I groan into your hair. “… hold it back, Mer, for me …” I grasp your cock, tightening my fingers around the base to aid you, and let go. Another couple of slow thrusts are all it takes. You have kept me so on edge for so long that it slams into me and I throw my had back, howling my release into the night.

Éomer: The rough burn of your shaft splitting me open nearly pushes me over again, and my knuckles go white as I grip the cool metal beneath me. I pant and struggle, and finally push away my impending explosion. My chest is heaving with the effort of denying the pleasure ripping through my body with every stroke of your cock.

Your fingers grasp the base of my organ, denying me just as surely as the ring you once commanded me to wear. The thought of wearing your bonds is intoxicatingly exciting, though your hand steadies me. But I am fighting myself again mere moments later as I feel you grow impossibly harder inside me, and then I feel you jump and throb as your warm release fills me.

You slump against my back, you lips just grazing my shoulder and my legs are trembling with the effort of denying myself and supporting your weight. I remain yours to command.

Théo: It takes a moment to regain my senses, and as I do, the cold hits me. The rain has died to a drizzle, but my skin is cooling fast, and I know you may feel it too. Your body is already shivering from the tension of holding back, and I want to make sure you stay warm. I have not finished with you yet.

I stroke your skin as I ease back and pull out with a gasp, holding you for a moment before taking your hand and pulling you onto the porch out of the rain. You turn to face me and the look in your eyes has me groaning as I lean in to kiss you. It shows me exactly how much you belong to me. Totally. Mine. Running my hands down your arms, I let you see the pride in my eyes. “You did well, Mer, so well.” I brush my lips over yours again before taking your hand again. I tug you after me into the house, grateful of the warmth and head to the bathroom. “We are going to take a hot shower, and you will tend to me.”

Éomer: I cannot prevent the small, protesting whimper that comes from me as you pull out and it becomes evident that you will not satisfy my unslaked desires. I am grateful to be out of the rain, for the sensation of the drops hitting my skin was becoming too intense to bear because all my nerves are on fire with sensitivity.

The blood still thrums in my engorged cock, but without your body taking me, the agony of it is easier to bear. A warm shower will help me stop shivering, but I fear the drops again. Your eyes and your words show your pride in me and that knowledge steadies me, and I can concentrate on the motions of preparing the water for us, letting it run until the temperature is comfortable. I assume that you will want your hair and body washed, but you may have other plans for me, so I wait.

Théo: The steam that fills the bathroom is warming and I move to stand under the spray of the shower by myself, arching and moving as it hits my skin. The contrast to the cool rain is delicious and makes me shiver as my body begins to react to the feel of it and to the obvious tension radiating off you. I turn to face you and tilt my head back to soak my hair and water runs down my chest, down my hips, drips from my hardening flesh and my hands follow. They trace the muscles of my chest, then down over my flat belly, following the faint line of blonde hair to the thatch in which my cock nestles and I cup my balls, letting out a soft groan.

There is a bar of sweet smelling soap to hand and I pick it up. Then, seemingly oblivious to your plight, I reach for you and pull you closer. Sliding the soap across your chest, my fingers follow and slip over the little black ring as I hold your gaze and hold the soap out to you. “Wash me.”

Éomer: Thus my play is returned to me in full and more. It is no more than I expected, but what I did not anticipate is how thoroughly you are torturing me. No aspect of my punishment is neglected. But I know that you are enjoying this game for it is similar to others you have played. My own delight in it is another thing that I did not expect, for part of me knew where it would lead when I teased you so unmercifully. Previously, I thought that I did your will for your pleasure, not my own, but perhaps I have been untruthful with myself.

I take the soap, and I realise that you are showing me mercy after a fashion . . . you were not able to touch me as you wished when we were in the tavern, but now we are alone and though I am not allowed my release, I still have the pleasure of exploring your body.

Working the soap into a creamy lather, ignoring the clamouring of my own body, I start with your hands, carefully washing each finger that can inflict such delight on me. I move up your arm, tracing every muscle. No part of your skin evades my attentions, and I keep my movements slow and gentle, pushing away the urge to do more.

Théo: Every inch of skin tingles, you put so much care into each touch. Your strong sword callused hands drift so tenderly over my skin with no thought for yourself, that it is not only my ardour that rises at your touch, but the profound love I have for you swells my heart. As you work lower, I rest my arms on your shoulders and as your hands move on my back, I arch against you almost involuntarily. Your erection throbs against mine and I can feel a tremor of suppressed desire run through you.

Yet you continue to work methodically, fingers slipping over intimate places, sliding over hard flesh, working all the way down to my feet, where you pay the same attention to my toes as you did to my fingers. By the time you are finished I am almost panting, my skin flushed, and you turn me so your fingers can massage the liquid soap for hair into my scalp. I give into the sheer pleasure of it, pushing against your hand with a groan. As you rinse it off, you run your fingers through the strands leaving it untangled, and place a kiss on my shoulder.

When I turn to face you, I capture your lips with mine and kiss you thoroughly, thrusting my tongue into your mouth, mimicking what I will do to your body later. Pulling back I take the soap from you, and manoeuvre you under the stream of the shower, counting on it to keep your skin sensitised. “Your turn.” With a wicked glint in my eyes I start to soap your chest.

Éomer: Taking a deep, steadying breath, I nod, though I wince a bit at the contact of the driving water from the shower hitting my skin. Your hands on me provoke other responses and I move with you, hardly aware of what I am doing. You play my nipples, stroking their stiffness, over and over, tugging on the small black ring, until wordless sounds escape my mouth, whimpers and moans.

I cannot fight anything that you do to me, so I must bear it, and I can do nothing but feel as your hands drift down my torso, working the soap into a thick lather in the hair of my lower belly. The sole focus of my mind has become willing away my orgasm, and when you tap my inner thighs, I spread my legs for you unhesitatingly.

It is too much, I feel too much, and my breathing is ragged as you gently lift a ball to wash under it. Suddenly, I wish for your ring. But you have my complete surrender, I give myself over to you and your touch.

Théo: My soapy fingers linger, sliding behind your balls, then slipping up your cock, drawing more sounds from you and an answering groan from me. I wash the rest of your body, hands sliding down your legs, then turn you around and stand, slipping them over the firm cheeks of your backside, before easing one finger over the pucker of muscle in between them, dipping it just inside. I swallow at the compulsion to bury myself back in your heat. You are still open from our earlier encounter, you are so ready for me and I could slide in, take you here …

But I do not. With a deep breath, I ease back and wash your hair as you have shown me in the past and once the potions have been rinsed from it, I shut off the water and slip my arms round you, kissing your neck before grabbing a large towel and drying you off, the rough fabric gently abrading your already glowing skin. I take your hand and lead you to the bedroom. Digging my hands into your hair I pull you to me, talking as I maul your neck, your shoulders, and brush my lips over yours. “How do you feel, Mer? Are you wound tight, so tight, that if you let your guard down, all it would take would be a single touch and you would come so hard … “ I moan at the thought and let go of you. “Lie down on your back.”

Éomer: I nod wordlessly at your question, the effort of speaking, of breaking my concentration too much. I do not know how I stopped myself from plunging backwards onto your finger when you were washing me, so desperate am I for your touch. The towel, normally what I would consider softly luxurious, brings another groan at the feeling on my skin.

Laying down, my shaft pointing straight up, straining towards you, and all I want is for you to touch me, to end this torment.

Théo: It is enough. I have made you wait, drawn out the teasing as far as I can, and I want to see you, feel you let go. Whatever urged you to act as you did in the tavern, winding me up until my body ached for you, I have had my revenge, for now, but tonight will not be forgotten.

Keeping my eyes on yours, I reach down and stroke your ankles, running my hands up over your muscular calves, bending your knees and pushing them wide apart. Kneeling between your spread legs, I take my cock in hand and run my fingers over the tip, smearing the leaking fluid over it as you watch. And then I can wait no longer. Lining up, I push into your heat with one long slow thrust, and hold myself still for a moment, trying to gather my own control before thrusting again and growling. “Come for me.”

Éomer: It takes only you entering me and your permission . . . I have been strung along the edge of desire for too long and your command is all it takes to free my orgasm. I buck against your invasion, convulsing and crying out with it.

"Théo . . . ah!" My fingers dig into your shoulders as it hits me and I am helpless against the tide of pleasure you have created. My warm juices flood us, soaking our bellies and everything else within range. The contact of you inside my body has undone me more thoroughly than anything else I have felt. I cling to you, my only anchor against the ravishing sensations that your cock sends through me.

Théo: As you hold me in your vice like grip, our bodies writhe and heave together and it only takes a handful of thrusts before I join you, spending myself in your depths. It pulses from me as your body grips me and I ride out the force tearing through both of us until, with a shuddering moan, I slip from your grasp and relax onto you. I gather you up in my arms, holding you until the tremors ease.

Pushing my face into your neck, and not quite capable of moving any further right now, I drink in your scent, nuzzling your hair. “You almost drove my wits from me in the tavern with your teasing, my stallion. I do not think I will ever be able to see a billiards table and not think of how you made me feel.”

Éomer: Your arms are firm around me as I tremble in the aftermath of our pleasure, and I finally relax. I am tired, a bone-deep weariness, brought on by the intensity between us. I press against you, wanting the contact, my mind and body gradually coming back to me.

My smile is weak, but happy, for it seems that I wanted you to think only of me. I do not know why I felt the need for that from you today, but you have given me what I wanted and more.

"An odd mood took me today, Théo . . . " I pause, unsure whether words will suffice to explain myself. "It was not my intention when I decided to teach you the game . . . but I wanted to be your sole focus. I do not know why that was, but you gave me what I needed."

Théo: “It was an interesting mood.” I think my smile will tell you it was not something I objected to at all. “And it worked. I saw no-one but you in that place. It may as well have been deserted.”

I take a moment to clean us up with one of the damp towels, and pull the quilt over our legs, folding you back into my arms and brushing the hair back from your face. “Everything I said earlier was true. No-one has ever been able to make me feel that way.” I run my hand over your back with firm, soothing strokes and smile softly. “You are all I ever see, love, there is no-one else I want.”

Éomer: I feel utterly relaxed, happy here with you, the holder of my heart and everything that I am. "There are none who compare with you either, and what I have found with you is all I will ever want."

Your hand on my back brings a purr from my chest, and I revel in your touch even now when I am thoroughly sated. I smile at you, "Perhaps we can try that game again and actually play billiards instead of other games."

I turn until we are intertwined, here in this big comfortable bed, and I am gloriously warm and secure.

Théo: I settle against you, looking forward to falling asleep curled up together, and chuckle against your skin, thinking that when we do play again, you will have to wear looser pants. “I would like that.” Many lewd comments about balls and rods come to mind, but your breathing is already evening out, so I decide to keep them to make you laugh over breakfast instead, and I wait until you are soundly asleep before following you.



NC-17