Fic: A Moment, Kirk/ Eomer, NC-17
Aug. 4th, 2010 11:28 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
caitriTitle: A Moment
Author: caitri
Rating: NC-17 (Language, Sex)
Pairings: Kirk/Éomer
Word Count: 1,399
Summary: X-over with Lord of the Rings. I’m working on a fic inspired by this prompt, and my awesome beta![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
gadgetorious made an awesome illustration of Jim and Eomer. This PWP is for her.
Disclaimer: I know this may come as a shock, but I am not, amazing as it may seem, Gene Roddenberry, J.J. Abrams, Paramount or Bad Robot. Just so you know. With apologies also to J.R.R. Tolkien, Peter Jackson, and Karl Urban while I’m at it.
A Moment
"So," Éomer said, "what think you of your stallion?"
Jim blinked. "Seren is a mare," he said. "What--"
"I know, foolish boy,” the Rohir answered in exasperation, pushing him down into the soft furs of the bed. “I was talking about me.”
Jim felt himself rouse as Éomer began playfully biting at his neck, marking him. “So if you’re a stallion,” he asked, breath hitching as the other man began pulling at the heavy belt of his tunic, “what does that make me?”
Éomer paused, pulling back to gaze at him. His hazel eyes glinted in amusement. “What do you think it makes you?” he asked.
There was a brief pause. Then: “Éomer,” Jim said firmly, “I am not your mare.” With that he rolled the Rohir over, alternating caresses with tickles as the other man squirmed, laughing a deep, warm laugh that soon turned to breathless groans as Jim slipped his hand into his trousers, cupping his stiffening cock.
“You—are no—Rider—of Rohan—either,” Éomer murmured as Jim fondled him. “Oh!” Jim captured his mouth then, inhaling his hungry gasp.
“Éomer,” Jim said softly some time later, “prepare to be ridden. My mighty steed,” he added smugly, before Éomer hit him on the head with a pillow. “Ow!” he said. “What do you stuff those with? Ironclad geese? Ack!” His distraction had led to his undoing, as the other man had rolled him over once more.
“Infant child,” Éomer said, voice surprisingly soft in amused affection. And then his lips were on Jim’s once more.
The Rohir’s beard was surprisingly soft, his mouth warm. Jim made a low sound of pleasure in the back of his throat, hands working to divest the other man of his clothing. The both of them had danced attendance in the new court of Elessar, King of Gondor (though to both of them the the Man would always be just Aragorn), and were still clad in the elaborate garments the nobility of the White City expected: the soft, long-sleeved undertunic with a short-sleeved tunic over that, covered by a vest intricately decorated with heavy embroidery, trousers and boots. They had each been dressed that morning by servants who would no doubt be scandalized to see them roughly pulling at the fine clothing and then tossing the items to the ground heedlessly.
At last they were skin to skin. Éomer’s body was pleasantly warm against Jim’s, his hardening cock pressed up against Jim’s thigh. Jim shivered slightly; though it was May, it was still cool in this part of Arda, though no fire had been lit in Jim’s quarters. “I will warm you, my gúthwinë,” Éomer murmured, and he rolled Jim over once more, covering Jim’s body with his.
Jim sighed at his friend’s use of the Rohirric endearment. Radagast had promised him that he would be able to go home soon, but he hadn’t seen the Brown wizard since joining the Rohirrim, and though he and Éomer had come to this arrangement with their eyes wide open, nonetheless it was becoming harder and harder to think of leaving him—
“Whatever you are thinking, stop it,” Éomer said firmly. Jim startled, and the Rohir’s expression was darkly amused. “Well do I know you, James T. Kirk,” he said. “My kith are too fond of scolding me for brooding, myself—I’ll not let you lose yourself to your darkness, not when there is joy to be had.”
“I wasn’t thinking dark thoughts, exactly,” Jim admitted. “I was thinking of what will happen when—“ He broke off.
“When you leave,” Éomer finished for him. Jim nodded. “Aye, I sorrow to think of our parting as well. But you belong to the stars as I belong to the plains of Rohan. So we shall part, and perhaps if we are lucky we will meet again—perhaps even in that golden West the Elf folk are so fond of singing songs of. But for now, we have tonight—and that is enough for now.” And then he kissed Jim again with a gentle, determined insistence, and Jim gave himself up to it wholeheartedly.
Éomer’s mouth was warm and tasted faintly of that evening’s ale and mutton. His fingers were on Jim’s hips now, holding the younger man firmly in place as he rubbed their bodies together. Éomer’s cock was hot and hard, the slit of it leaking precum and smearing wetness on Jim’s skin.
Jim took the length of it in his fist, gently pumping him up and down.
“Who will be the rider, and who the steed?” Jim asked with mock-seriousness. “And are we going to do this bareback, because I gotta let you know, I left my saddle back in the stables—“
“Hush, you,” Éomer growled. “I never met a man who prattled so, let alone one who led his eored across the sky.” Jim gripped him harder, and he made a strangled sound.
“I’ve always found talking in bed to be quite—interesting,” Jim said innocently. He continued to slowly stroke Éomer’s shaft as he continued. “For instance, I could tell you about how I’m going to take that pot of oil over there, and get it all over my fingers, and then play with your hole, stroking you so gently before finally entering you—“
“Or instead of talking about it you could actually do it,” the Rohir muttered darkly. “Ah!” his breath hitched as Jim’s clever fingers continued to play with his cock.
“Is that an invitation?” Jim murmured in the other man’s ear. He dropped his voice even lower. “Because if it is—“
“James. T. Kirk,” Éomer said slowly, pronouncing each word with a heavy clip, “Shut. Up. And. Fuck. Me.”
Jim quirked an eyebrow at his friend. “God, you’re romantic,” he said sweetly, and retrieved the pot of oil.
“Blessed Eru give me patience,” Éomer grumbled, but he spread his legs willingly enough when Jim returned. Jim coated his fingers with the stuff and began to gently prepare the other man, toying with the ring of muscle at his entrance. He slipped in a single finger experimentally, then two, and was pleased with the low sound of pleasure Éomer made in response. They had played these games often enough in the past weeks that the slight tightness there was a source of pleasure rather than of pain.
“Prepare to be ridden, man of Rohan,” Jim said in satisfaction, rolling the other man over and slapping his buttocks playfully.
Éomer grunted, but his ass pushed back at him eagerly. He was balanced on one hand, the other firmly grasping his own cock, fingers plucking at the fat head of it.
Jim admired that sweet sight as he took some more oil and smeared it over himself, and when he felt slippery enough he began to push into the other man. He moved slowly, aiming to sweetly torment as well as please his friend, and was gratified when Éomer’s rough sounds of joy began to echo the movements of their pleasure. He balanced himself and echoed the Rohir’s position, taking Éomer’s cock in his hand and jerking it roughly as the man pushed back against him.
“Come for me, Rider of Rohan,” Jim demanded. “Come hard enough for me to feel it.”
Éomer did, then, making a strangled sound and covering Jim’s hand with hot spurts of come. The tactile sensation of the wet heat there coupled with the Rohir’s cry of completion was enough to send Jim hurtling towards his own climax.
Some time later, they came to themselves again: sweaty, sticky, pleased. Jim was smug as hell, and looked it. Éomer rolled his eyes at him. “Bedding a man is not so great a victory, you star-traveling infant,” he said. “Must you look so pleased with yourself?”
Jim just grinned at him. “Dude, you were my mare,” he said, and was promptly smacked in the face with a pillow.
“Infant,” Éomer grumbled.
Jim sighed, smiling slightly. “Some things never change,” he said.
~~
Rohir = singular form of Rohirrim.
gúthwinë = “battle-friend” and incidentally the name of Éomer’s sword. It’s a Saxon term for “weapon” and any double entendre is completely on purpose.
kith = friends.
eored = a group of one hundred and twenty riders; the basic fighting unit of the Rohirrim. With a crew of over 400, Jim does have several of those.
Author: caitri
Rating: NC-17 (Language, Sex)
Pairings: Kirk/Éomer
Word Count: 1,399
Summary: X-over with Lord of the Rings. I’m working on a fic inspired by this prompt, and my awesome beta
gadgetorious made an awesome illustration of Jim and Eomer. This PWP is for her. Disclaimer: I know this may come as a shock, but I am not, amazing as it may seem, Gene Roddenberry, J.J. Abrams, Paramount or Bad Robot. Just so you know. With apologies also to J.R.R. Tolkien, Peter Jackson, and Karl Urban while I’m at it.
A Moment
"So," Éomer said, "what think you of your stallion?"
Jim blinked. "Seren is a mare," he said. "What--"
"I know, foolish boy,” the Rohir answered in exasperation, pushing him down into the soft furs of the bed. “I was talking about me.”
Jim felt himself rouse as Éomer began playfully biting at his neck, marking him. “So if you’re a stallion,” he asked, breath hitching as the other man began pulling at the heavy belt of his tunic, “what does that make me?”
Éomer paused, pulling back to gaze at him. His hazel eyes glinted in amusement. “What do you think it makes you?” he asked.
There was a brief pause. Then: “Éomer,” Jim said firmly, “I am not your mare.” With that he rolled the Rohir over, alternating caresses with tickles as the other man squirmed, laughing a deep, warm laugh that soon turned to breathless groans as Jim slipped his hand into his trousers, cupping his stiffening cock.
“You—are no—Rider—of Rohan—either,” Éomer murmured as Jim fondled him. “Oh!” Jim captured his mouth then, inhaling his hungry gasp.
“Éomer,” Jim said softly some time later, “prepare to be ridden. My mighty steed,” he added smugly, before Éomer hit him on the head with a pillow. “Ow!” he said. “What do you stuff those with? Ironclad geese? Ack!” His distraction had led to his undoing, as the other man had rolled him over once more.
“Infant child,” Éomer said, voice surprisingly soft in amused affection. And then his lips were on Jim’s once more.
The Rohir’s beard was surprisingly soft, his mouth warm. Jim made a low sound of pleasure in the back of his throat, hands working to divest the other man of his clothing. The both of them had danced attendance in the new court of Elessar, King of Gondor (though to both of them the the Man would always be just Aragorn), and were still clad in the elaborate garments the nobility of the White City expected: the soft, long-sleeved undertunic with a short-sleeved tunic over that, covered by a vest intricately decorated with heavy embroidery, trousers and boots. They had each been dressed that morning by servants who would no doubt be scandalized to see them roughly pulling at the fine clothing and then tossing the items to the ground heedlessly.
At last they were skin to skin. Éomer’s body was pleasantly warm against Jim’s, his hardening cock pressed up against Jim’s thigh. Jim shivered slightly; though it was May, it was still cool in this part of Arda, though no fire had been lit in Jim’s quarters. “I will warm you, my gúthwinë,” Éomer murmured, and he rolled Jim over once more, covering Jim’s body with his.
Jim sighed at his friend’s use of the Rohirric endearment. Radagast had promised him that he would be able to go home soon, but he hadn’t seen the Brown wizard since joining the Rohirrim, and though he and Éomer had come to this arrangement with their eyes wide open, nonetheless it was becoming harder and harder to think of leaving him—
“Whatever you are thinking, stop it,” Éomer said firmly. Jim startled, and the Rohir’s expression was darkly amused. “Well do I know you, James T. Kirk,” he said. “My kith are too fond of scolding me for brooding, myself—I’ll not let you lose yourself to your darkness, not when there is joy to be had.”
“I wasn’t thinking dark thoughts, exactly,” Jim admitted. “I was thinking of what will happen when—“ He broke off.
“When you leave,” Éomer finished for him. Jim nodded. “Aye, I sorrow to think of our parting as well. But you belong to the stars as I belong to the plains of Rohan. So we shall part, and perhaps if we are lucky we will meet again—perhaps even in that golden West the Elf folk are so fond of singing songs of. But for now, we have tonight—and that is enough for now.” And then he kissed Jim again with a gentle, determined insistence, and Jim gave himself up to it wholeheartedly.
Éomer’s mouth was warm and tasted faintly of that evening’s ale and mutton. His fingers were on Jim’s hips now, holding the younger man firmly in place as he rubbed their bodies together. Éomer’s cock was hot and hard, the slit of it leaking precum and smearing wetness on Jim’s skin.
Jim took the length of it in his fist, gently pumping him up and down.
“Who will be the rider, and who the steed?” Jim asked with mock-seriousness. “And are we going to do this bareback, because I gotta let you know, I left my saddle back in the stables—“
“Hush, you,” Éomer growled. “I never met a man who prattled so, let alone one who led his eored across the sky.” Jim gripped him harder, and he made a strangled sound.
“I’ve always found talking in bed to be quite—interesting,” Jim said innocently. He continued to slowly stroke Éomer’s shaft as he continued. “For instance, I could tell you about how I’m going to take that pot of oil over there, and get it all over my fingers, and then play with your hole, stroking you so gently before finally entering you—“
“Or instead of talking about it you could actually do it,” the Rohir muttered darkly. “Ah!” his breath hitched as Jim’s clever fingers continued to play with his cock.
“Is that an invitation?” Jim murmured in the other man’s ear. He dropped his voice even lower. “Because if it is—“
“James. T. Kirk,” Éomer said slowly, pronouncing each word with a heavy clip, “Shut. Up. And. Fuck. Me.”
Jim quirked an eyebrow at his friend. “God, you’re romantic,” he said sweetly, and retrieved the pot of oil.
“Blessed Eru give me patience,” Éomer grumbled, but he spread his legs willingly enough when Jim returned. Jim coated his fingers with the stuff and began to gently prepare the other man, toying with the ring of muscle at his entrance. He slipped in a single finger experimentally, then two, and was pleased with the low sound of pleasure Éomer made in response. They had played these games often enough in the past weeks that the slight tightness there was a source of pleasure rather than of pain.
“Prepare to be ridden, man of Rohan,” Jim said in satisfaction, rolling the other man over and slapping his buttocks playfully.
Éomer grunted, but his ass pushed back at him eagerly. He was balanced on one hand, the other firmly grasping his own cock, fingers plucking at the fat head of it.
Jim admired that sweet sight as he took some more oil and smeared it over himself, and when he felt slippery enough he began to push into the other man. He moved slowly, aiming to sweetly torment as well as please his friend, and was gratified when Éomer’s rough sounds of joy began to echo the movements of their pleasure. He balanced himself and echoed the Rohir’s position, taking Éomer’s cock in his hand and jerking it roughly as the man pushed back against him.
“Come for me, Rider of Rohan,” Jim demanded. “Come hard enough for me to feel it.”
Éomer did, then, making a strangled sound and covering Jim’s hand with hot spurts of come. The tactile sensation of the wet heat there coupled with the Rohir’s cry of completion was enough to send Jim hurtling towards his own climax.
Some time later, they came to themselves again: sweaty, sticky, pleased. Jim was smug as hell, and looked it. Éomer rolled his eyes at him. “Bedding a man is not so great a victory, you star-traveling infant,” he said. “Must you look so pleased with yourself?”
Jim just grinned at him. “Dude, you were my mare,” he said, and was promptly smacked in the face with a pillow.
“Infant,” Éomer grumbled.
Jim sighed, smiling slightly. “Some things never change,” he said.
~~
Rohir = singular form of Rohirrim.
gúthwinë = “battle-friend” and incidentally the name of Éomer’s sword. It’s a Saxon term for “weapon” and any double entendre is completely on purpose.
kith = friends.
eored = a group of one hundred and twenty riders; the basic fighting unit of the Rohirrim. With a crew of over 400, Jim does have several of those.
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
(no subject)
Date: 2010-08-05 04:54 am (UTC)Very well done.
Renee
(no subject)
Date: 2010-08-05 05:01 am (UTC)Yeah, I think I have the main fic about a third of the way done. Hopefully I can get it posted next week. *crosses fingers*
(no subject)
Date: 2010-08-05 05:20 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2010-08-05 05:21 am (UTC)I know
(no subject)
Date: 2010-08-05 05:32 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2010-08-05 05:33 am (UTC)Third time's the charm, yeah?
(no subject)
Date: 2010-08-05 05:34 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2010-08-05 05:35 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2010-08-05 06:07 am (UTC)And the lovely authenticity of the whole thing was. Just. Um. Yes. I love you.
(no subject)
Date: 2010-08-05 09:38 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2010-08-05 11:02 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2010-08-05 11:03 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2010-08-05 11:06 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2010-08-05 11:08 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2010-08-05 06:10 am (UTC)I loved this! Loved their banter and that it was happy times when Arda was safe and Eomer and Aragorn were both kings of Men.
Wonderful! (I really cannot wait for your whole story... mine... egad it's... looooong, but almost done!)
(no subject)
Date: 2010-08-05 09:41 pm (UTC)Yeah, mine's going to be long as well, I think. It's over 8k now and I figure I'm only 1/3 of the way there so we're looking at a solid 20+k piece. (Ack. Did. not. mean to do that. Have stbb. to. finish. Ack.)
(no subject)
Date: 2010-08-05 06:50 am (UTC)Of course, it doesn't hurt that this pairing is so unexpectedly hot :-)
(no subject)
Date: 2010-08-05 09:42 pm (UTC)Seriously, thanks, it helps to know I have people rooting for me to finish, as it were. :D
(no subject)
Date: 2010-08-05 10:04 am (UTC)I love how this played out! Porn with hints of plot! Tantalising ideas of what the big fic will be like! Both understanding each other! Banter!
*melts into puddle of joy*
(no subject)
Date: 2010-08-05 09:44 pm (UTC)Bestest. comment. ever.
(no subject)
Date: 2010-08-05 01:33 pm (UTC)“James. T. Kirk,” Éomer said slowly, pronouncing each word with a heavy clip, “Shut. Up. And. Fuck. Me.”
Jim quirked an eyebrow at his friend. “God, you’re romantic,” he said sweetly, and retrieved the pot of oil.
I laughed. Hard. Thank you for that. :)
(no subject)
Date: 2010-08-05 09:45 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2010-10-07 02:41 am (UTC)*dies laughing* Jim is so awesome!
Oh, man, I can't believe you've gotten me to like Jim/Eomer as much as I do. The pairing makes ABSOLUTELY NO SENSE, and yet I don't care! I find myself cheering them on and thinking, Bones, Shmones.
Also, you do Eomer's voice so well, just effortlessly. I'm really impressed, bb.