SERIES: "The Passion of Celeborn" (2/WIP)
FIC: (Part Two) "A Propitious Night"
AUTHOR: Mistress Marilyn camelotslash-2 at qwest.net
DATE: September 10, 2006
FANDOM:  LOTR
PAIRING: Celeborn / Eomer
DISCLAIMER: I don't own 'em. They belong to Tolkien, to the respective actors of the Peter Jackson movies, and to the ages. This is a work of a fan, done for no remuneration save the satisfaction of the work.
WARNINGS: Slash.
SUMMARY: Eomer spends the night in Celeborn's room.
DEDICATION: To wildbearies, for her encouragement at the website.
AUTHOR NOTES: I love this pairing -- it's the ultimate 'opposites attract'! The Word-a-Day for August 21, 2005 was "propitious," described as "presenting favorable conditions." I think Celeborn's about to find some especially favorable conditions when Eomer joins him in his bedroom!
BANNER (designed by CharlieMC): http://www.camelotslash.com/ThePassionofCeleborn-1.html

A Propitious Night

As Celeborn breathed in the scent of the rugged young Man in his bed, he imagined how forevermore, or for as long as he lived -- which as an Elf could well be forever -- he would find the smell of horse sweat an invitation to amorous adventures, or at the very least, erotic fantasies.

It could make traveling by horseback a bit uncomfortable, he imagined. Or perhaps horseback would now become his preferred method of transport.

When they had reached the privacy of Celeborn's guestroom, they faced one another once more, taking in everything that had struck them on the landing of the stairway as though witnessing it all for the first time. Again Celeborn was struck by the unpolished beauty of the warrior from Rohan, by the ripples of his hair, the curve of his lips and the clarity of his eyes. And again Eomer lifted a hand to Celeborn's face with something resembling awe in his expression, showing his admiration and longing without speaking a word.

Eomer quivered like a nervous steed as Celeborn slowly undressed him. His patience failed him, and he reached down and yanked off his trousers before the Lord of Lorien had even finished unfastening his shirt. "Please, sir," he said, reaching for Celeborn's mouth again, launching himself like an acrobatic bareback rider into the Elf's arms.

"Be easy, young king," Celeborn crooned, unsuccessfully attempting to modulate the Man's intensity.

"I must have you!" Eomer said. "I've never wanted anything as much."

The recently reawakened Elf, unexpectedly ejected from his years of ennui by the sight of this magnificent Man, had to admit he felt much the same urgency, although he showed it in an entirely different way. He had waited for so long to enjoy this measure of passion, he certainly intended to stretch the experience over as many hours as could possibly be achieved when coupling with a Man.

"Lie back and let me explore your body," Celeborn instructed gravely as he leisurely discarded his own robes. "You are so well made, young lord."

And the Man attempted to acquiesce, trembling as Celeborn stretched out beside him and traced his long fingers over the ripples of muscle on his chest and stomach, lightly skimming the raised scars, maddeningly avoiding the trunk of flesh growing from the copse between his legs.

Eomer was unable to tolerate Celeborn's exploration for too long. After several minutes of it, he rolled on his side and grabbed the Elf's shoulders, pulling his face close and covering his neck with kisses. Celeborn didn't bother to resist, although his greater strength could have easily allowed it. He found himself fascinated by his young lover's boldness and curious where it would lead, and as the audacious Man rolled him on his back, he realized with some surprise that his own face had actually broken into a smile!

Celeborn schooled himself to accept whatever caresses would be offered, but Eomer's touch was not the gentle inspection he himself had attempted. The young king of Rohan was as rough as he was enthusiastic, and Celeborn found himself thrilling to the prospect of taming him, of tempering and training him, much the way the horse-lords did with their beloved mounts. Eomer would become Celeborn's steed, and he would pamper him and nourish him and groom him, curbing his exuberance when necessary and giving him his head whenever possible.

And in the meantime, he would enjoy the immoderate caresses of a Man impulsive enough to reach out and kiss an ancient Elf in the tower of Minas Tirith!

The Lord of Lorien couldn't remember when he had felt such delight, if, indeed, he ever had. He was like a newly hatched bird exploring the world outside the confines of his shell for the first time, discovering the myriad of colors in the flora, trees and skies surrounding his nest, sensing the scents that promised nourishment or warned of danger, tasting the fine, fresh air and the sustaining love from his mother's very mouth.

But this mouth he tasted offered a different sort of sustenance, the kind that could revive a languishing Elf and give him new life and new joy.

"I've never been fucked by an Elf!" Eomer said, using language typical of the crudeness of a Man. "Your manhood is so long and pliable, it must be able to find every nook and cranny inside!"

'Manhood'? What a strange term to use for the sexual member of an Elf!

Celeborn longed to reach out to Eomer with his mind, to share more than a physical experience with the comely young Man, to learn more about his lover than the feel of his skin or the sound of his voice.

But Eomer would barely give him the chance to reflect sufficiently on the experience, to contemplate each sensation as fully as he would normally choose to do. Eomer was everywhere in the bed, moving constantly, hardly taking hold of one part of Celeborn's form before releasing it and reaching for something else. He was also inexplicably cheerful, occasionally laughing out loud over nothing in particular, seemingly amused by incidents no more notable than an errant finger tickling his ear or a stray hair catching in his beard. This intrigued the great Elf, who had never found lovemaking especially humorous.

Most of all, the Man was unbelievably noisy, grunting and groaning and calling out to Celeborn, attempting to express with some word or sound everything he was feeling and everything he was attempting to feel.

Celeborn had evidently forgotten exactly what it was like to lie with a Man, or he had simply never experienced one as boisterous as the son of Eomund. By the Eye of Sauron, he was loud!

Having sometimes spent hours in mental conversations with other Ancients that might have looked to the outside world as though two statues were sitting face-to-face in the sunshine, Celeborn was at a loss initially to find a way to slow the heady horse-lord who seemed determined to gambol through their lovemaking as though navigating a steeplechase course with comrades from his cavalry.

At last Celeborn realized he would give himself more of an opportunity to check Eomer's breakneck pace if he allowed the passionate Man to find an initial release for the building pressure in his loins. Once Eomer had discharged that first steaming emission, he would be more likely to relax enough to allow them both the opportunity to take complete advantage of their erotic energy. So with a strength Celeborn rarely bothered to exercise, he reached out and pressed Eomer down on his back, situated himself so that he could watch the Man's florid face, throwing his long leg across Eomer's thighs and straddling his knees.

Eomer reacted with surprise. "My Lord Celeborn?" he said. "You don't intend to fashion me as a cock-pipe!"

A pipe? Yes, Celeborn reminded himself that many Men enjoyed the pastime of smoking tobacco. He had even tasted it on the lips of a lover from time to time. Now Eomer clearly referred to Celeborn's intention to take his organ in his mouth, and while breathing out his nose, suck in the aroma and the juices of that ersatz 'pipe.'

It was the perfect analogy for the act!

Once again Celeborn found himself smiling as he bent over Eomer's pubic region. As he lowered his head toward the target, his long, silvery hair fell forward and brushed the Man's swollen organ, and Eomer gave a reflexive thrust and poked Celeborn in the eye.

"Lord, forgive my clumsiness!" Eomer cried, whipping his torso upward, his hands flailing.

"No forgiveness is necessary," Celeborn announced, his chest giving a shallow heave that could best be classified as a chuckle. "I'm sure it was more uncomfortable for you than for me," he said, enjoying the sensation of near-laughter. He was starting to appreciate the unexpected humor in lovemaking.

"I'm an oaf!" said Eomer, covering his face. "I have no grace in these matters."

Celeborn used a restraining hand on Eomer's hip to steady him. "None is required, I assure you. Be at ease and let me proceed."

Then, as the frisky horse-lord trembled in his hand, Celeborn guided the unpredictable organ into his mouth and proceeded to use his centuries of well-earned skill to give the Man what he hoped was almost unbearable pleasure. Within minutes Celeborn's sensitive tongue felt the velvety tip of the stalwart member split open to emit an impressive eruption, one he appreciated in both texture and taste.

"Oh, Lord Celeborn! I would cover you with scum if I could!"

Celeborn nodded, assuming this declaration akin to a loving tribute. "Perhaps you will," he said, "eventually."

"You can fuck me all night, if you wish, Lord. Put a bit in my mouth and ride me as long and hard as you like! I welcome it!"

Such exuberance! Such outrageous honesty! Celeborn would have been happy to repeat the same act over and over for the opportunity to relive that seminal moment, the beginning of what he hoped would be a lasting relationship, as much as the short life of a Man would allow, of course.

'Seminal'? Celeborn smiled again, mentally translating this thought into the common tongue. He had inadvertently made a play on words, even if it had only been internal. There was no end to the amusement of bedding the young king of Rohan!

Eomer plucked at the Elf's arms, tugging him forward. "Sometimes I can't tell if you hear me," he said in frustration. "Don't you want to take me?"

Celeborn turned his attention to the Man, realizing he would have to fight the tendency to indulge in his mental meanderings. Eomer was someone who required his full attention, and there wasn't time to explain that what appeared to be hesitation was merely his way of enjoying every moment of the act. He realized if he intended to make a positive impression on the man, he would have to force himself to speak aloud.

"Yes, young king, I will take you," Celeborn began, searching for erotic eloquence. "I will mount your thighs and move between those fine flanks and impale you as completely as I possibly can, spurring your lust to a peak, awakening your entrails in a way you've never known and introducing you to unbridled rapture you'll not soon forget." Celeborn used as many equestrian euphemisms as he could muster in describing the anticipated act to the Man from Rohan.

"Please, beautiful lord!" Eomer said, his eyes flashing in the dimly lit room. "I may buck and whinny, but I promise not to unseat you!"

Quickly tired of this conversation, Celeborn ended it with a long kiss deposited firmly on Eomer's sensual mouth. As he drank in the air from the Man's strong lungs, he ran his fingers through the tangled hair, wondering idly if he might end up dislodging a bit of straw. And when at last he drove home his extended lance, he closed his eyes and lost himself completely in the possession, allowing himself to think of nothing other than the physical sensation that shot up the length of his engorged organ like an ignited fuse, radiating up his spine and into his arms and legs, fingers and toes.

Finally, just before he released his seed into this perfect furrow, he was aware that his possession of Eomer had gone beyond his corporeal form and invaded his ancient, supernatural mind, provoking thoughts more spiritual than physical.

Later, when he had completely exhausted all his erotic skills as well as exhausting Eomer, Celeborn lay peacefully with him on the damp sheet, shoulder to shoulder, sucking in air redolent of Man, inebriated by the sight and the scent and the sound of the healthy young horse-lord snoring beside him.

He was utterly spent. Utterly lost.

"I love a Man," whispered the Lord of Lorien.

The End, Part Two