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caitriTitle: All That Is, Was, Could Be
Author: caitri
Rating: NC-17 (Language, Sex)
Pairings: Kirk/Éomer, background Kirk/McCoy pre-slash
Word Count: 1,393
Summary: X-over with LOTR, takes place during That Which They Defend. A missing porn scene, written for![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
suddenlyswept.
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.
Éomer gazed at him evenly. “There’s truly no hope for us then, is there, my gúthwinë?”
“No,” Jim said. His throat was tight. “There’s really not.”
The Rohir nodded. “I see,” he said slowly. “Then this must be our goodbye.”
He stepped forward, taking Jim’s face in his hands, kissed him with a fierceness that made Jim’s heart pound almost painfully. God, Jim wanted, lo—No. He broke that thought off, too, painfully.
I can’t do this.
Éomer’s mouth was warm on his, though, his touch firm. There was no question in it, merely the knowledge that he moved Jim, and Jim knew it. He tasted like apples; he had been in the stables recently, then. Undoubtedly looking for Jim—that was where he’d been found that morning. He had probably cut an apple into pieces with his belt-knife, sharing them out with Firefoot and with Seren, munching a portion himself…
The Rohir’s fingers were working at the lacings of Jim’s tunic. “Eoh,” Jim muttered, “this is a bad idea, and you know it.”
“Well do I know it, my Man of the Stars,” Éomer answered in Rohirric, “and yet, I find I cannot stop myself.” He pressed his palm to the growing bulge in Jim’s trousers. “Can you?”
Jim wanted to say yes, he could stop, would stop, but he didn’t. Instead, he tugged at the Rohir’s crimson surcoat, undoing the heavy belt at his waist and throwing it to the side. He stood up, pulling the garment over the man’s head and then kissing him back with a hunger that made something inside of himself plummet.
Jim knew that their coming together had been foolish—that it had always been a matter of time, and that was all. Jim was not a man of Middle Earth: he was the Captain of the starship Enterprise, he had his own people to protect and a mission to explore the galaxy… And yet, there was some part of him, maybe from when he had been a young boy on Tarsus who had first known peace in growing things in the fields and in tending the horses on his Uncle’s farm, that knew he could be happy here, if he only stayed…
“Gúthwinë!” Éomer’s exhalation as Jim pushed his tunic off his shoulders, as he took one of the Man’s small, hard nipples in his teeth and tugged, made him shiver. Éomer noticed, frowned. “Are you cold?”
Jim resisted the urge to laugh—knew that if he did, the sound would be unhinged. “No,” he said, “but come to bed anyway.” Éomer obligingly shucked off the remainder of his garments and slipped into the covers, the linen sheets and the coverlet of fur. Jim looked at him, that long bronze body, all planes and angles of muscle and sinew, the fierce face softened with affection and desire, framed by hair bleached light by the sun. He was struck with the simultaneous desire to take him quickly, ride him hard, and send him away as soon as possible—and to take his time, be gentle and thorough and savoring, because it would be the last time.
“Jim?” Éomer’s brow was furrowed, questioning. He seldom used Jim’s name, fervent in the Rohirric belief that multiple names protected one’s soul. And thus it was that he, James T. Kirk, was Rodorbeorne, was the Man from the Stars, was Gúthwinë…
Except, of course, when he was this: Just Jim.
Not Captain of the pride of the Fleet, not George Kirk’s son, not some amalgamation more myth than man. Just him, by himself.
He had never been that to anyone, except maybe Bones…
Dammit, kid, you’ll be the death of me. That too-familiar voice in memory, warm with exasperation and affection. What the hell were you thinking, Jim?
Like cold water, Jim knew that for all the call of duty, for all the love of his ship, he had to get back to his own world because of Bones. Because—just because.
"Rodorbeorne?"
“Sorry,” Jim said, bringing himself firmly back to the here and now. “Just—thinking.” He slipped into the bed as well, wrapping his legs around Éomer’s waist so that he sat in the man’s lap, their cocks pressed together between their bodies.
“You think o’er much,” Éomer said. But his words were soft, and his hand stroked Jim’s face lightly. “You think of all that could be and all that would have been, all that is and all that is not.” His lips traced a trail a long Jim’s neck. “Aragorn was raised among the Elves, he has an excuse for such foolish patter. What is yours?”
Jim swallowed a bitter laugh. “It involves time travel and destiny, I think,” he said. “My place is, and ever shall be”—he deliberately used the elder Spock’s phrase—“in the Captain’s chair of the Enterprise.”
Éomer accepted that as he did so much else—a short flicker of those dark hazel eyes. He cupped the back of Jim’s skull in his hand. “I would wish very much to see you in your own glory, were such things possible, Jim Kirk,” he said softly. “Or have you ride at my side all my days. But if what we have had is all we shall know—then I would call that a gift, too, and count my life the poorer had I not known you.”
“And I, you,” Jim echoed.
They were quiet then, taking their time with one another. Hands drifted in careful caresses, kisses were pressed with warm insistence on salty skin. The world around them shrunk to the confines of the bed, of limbs, tongues, and hearts. Éomer traced skillful trails along the lines of Jim’s body, using his teeth here and there as if marking him. Jim delved with fingers and tongue into the Rohir’s secret places, making him cry out in frustration and in joy.
At last the final moment could no longer be put off—they were on the brink of losing what little, fragile control they had left.
“I need you in me,” Éomer muttered. He bit Jim’s bottom lip, already swollen from kisses. “Now.”
Jim nodded his head, retrieving the small pot of oil they used for such purposes from the small table nearby. Dipping two fingers into it, he turned to Éomer, who lay on his back with his hips canted up, waiting. He looked strangely vulnerable like that, this fierce warrior, dark against the clean white linen sheets. Jim swallowed, taking his place between the man’s legs.
He prepared the Rohir thoroughly, slipping oiled fingers with sure knowledge into the man’s hole, crooking them slightly the way he knew the man liked. Éomer moaned—with desire and frustration all at once. When Jim made a scissoring motion, his hips jerked off the bed for a moment, and he glared at Jim. Smirking to himself, Jim removed his fingers, and used some more of the oil on his cock, which jerked eagerly in his hand. Ready at last, he took his place and thrusted gently inside.
Éomer’s ass was hot around him, tight enough to create delicious friction but loose enough that he moved easily all the same. When he was completely sheathed, Jim leaned forward, kissing the Man thoroughly. “I love you, Eoh,” he murmured. “That’s the one thing you should know despite—despite everything.”
“And I you, my gúthwinë,” the Rohir murmured back, and those were the last words they shared as their bodies’ needs took over. They moved together, Éomer meeting his thrusts with greedy lust, pushing back with each snap of Jim’s hips. They started slowly, but Éomer dug his fingers into Jim’s ass, pressing for more—and Jim complied. He utilized all the tricks at his disposal—breathing techniques he had learned on Risa, an Orion thrusting rhythm Gaila had taught him—but the time finally came when neither man could hold out any longer.
They came at the same time, Jim almost soundlessly, Éomer with a harsh growl of completion, spurting across Jim’s chest and belly. Afterwards they lay, panting, and when his erection had wilted Jim slipped out to lie next to the other man, the both of them still breathing heavily.
They lay next to one another, the air cool on their damp bodies.
“So,” Jim said. “This is it.”
“Aye,” said Éomer. “It is.”
Author: caitri
Rating: NC-17 (Language, Sex)
Pairings: Kirk/Éomer, background Kirk/McCoy pre-slash
Word Count: 1,393
Summary: X-over with LOTR, takes place during That Which They Defend. A missing porn scene, written for
suddenlyswept.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.
Éomer gazed at him evenly. “There’s truly no hope for us then, is there, my gúthwinë?”
“No,” Jim said. His throat was tight. “There’s really not.”
The Rohir nodded. “I see,” he said slowly. “Then this must be our goodbye.”
He stepped forward, taking Jim’s face in his hands, kissed him with a fierceness that made Jim’s heart pound almost painfully. God, Jim wanted, lo—No. He broke that thought off, too, painfully.
I can’t do this.
Éomer’s mouth was warm on his, though, his touch firm. There was no question in it, merely the knowledge that he moved Jim, and Jim knew it. He tasted like apples; he had been in the stables recently, then. Undoubtedly looking for Jim—that was where he’d been found that morning. He had probably cut an apple into pieces with his belt-knife, sharing them out with Firefoot and with Seren, munching a portion himself…
The Rohir’s fingers were working at the lacings of Jim’s tunic. “Eoh,” Jim muttered, “this is a bad idea, and you know it.”
“Well do I know it, my Man of the Stars,” Éomer answered in Rohirric, “and yet, I find I cannot stop myself.” He pressed his palm to the growing bulge in Jim’s trousers. “Can you?”
Jim wanted to say yes, he could stop, would stop, but he didn’t. Instead, he tugged at the Rohir’s crimson surcoat, undoing the heavy belt at his waist and throwing it to the side. He stood up, pulling the garment over the man’s head and then kissing him back with a hunger that made something inside of himself plummet.
Jim knew that their coming together had been foolish—that it had always been a matter of time, and that was all. Jim was not a man of Middle Earth: he was the Captain of the starship Enterprise, he had his own people to protect and a mission to explore the galaxy… And yet, there was some part of him, maybe from when he had been a young boy on Tarsus who had first known peace in growing things in the fields and in tending the horses on his Uncle’s farm, that knew he could be happy here, if he only stayed…
“Gúthwinë!” Éomer’s exhalation as Jim pushed his tunic off his shoulders, as he took one of the Man’s small, hard nipples in his teeth and tugged, made him shiver. Éomer noticed, frowned. “Are you cold?”
Jim resisted the urge to laugh—knew that if he did, the sound would be unhinged. “No,” he said, “but come to bed anyway.” Éomer obligingly shucked off the remainder of his garments and slipped into the covers, the linen sheets and the coverlet of fur. Jim looked at him, that long bronze body, all planes and angles of muscle and sinew, the fierce face softened with affection and desire, framed by hair bleached light by the sun. He was struck with the simultaneous desire to take him quickly, ride him hard, and send him away as soon as possible—and to take his time, be gentle and thorough and savoring, because it would be the last time.
“Jim?” Éomer’s brow was furrowed, questioning. He seldom used Jim’s name, fervent in the Rohirric belief that multiple names protected one’s soul. And thus it was that he, James T. Kirk, was Rodorbeorne, was the Man from the Stars, was Gúthwinë…
Except, of course, when he was this: Just Jim.
Not Captain of the pride of the Fleet, not George Kirk’s son, not some amalgamation more myth than man. Just him, by himself.
He had never been that to anyone, except maybe Bones…
Dammit, kid, you’ll be the death of me. That too-familiar voice in memory, warm with exasperation and affection. What the hell were you thinking, Jim?
Like cold water, Jim knew that for all the call of duty, for all the love of his ship, he had to get back to his own world because of Bones. Because—just because.
"Rodorbeorne?"
“Sorry,” Jim said, bringing himself firmly back to the here and now. “Just—thinking.” He slipped into the bed as well, wrapping his legs around Éomer’s waist so that he sat in the man’s lap, their cocks pressed together between their bodies.
“You think o’er much,” Éomer said. But his words were soft, and his hand stroked Jim’s face lightly. “You think of all that could be and all that would have been, all that is and all that is not.” His lips traced a trail a long Jim’s neck. “Aragorn was raised among the Elves, he has an excuse for such foolish patter. What is yours?”
Jim swallowed a bitter laugh. “It involves time travel and destiny, I think,” he said. “My place is, and ever shall be”—he deliberately used the elder Spock’s phrase—“in the Captain’s chair of the Enterprise.”
Éomer accepted that as he did so much else—a short flicker of those dark hazel eyes. He cupped the back of Jim’s skull in his hand. “I would wish very much to see you in your own glory, were such things possible, Jim Kirk,” he said softly. “Or have you ride at my side all my days. But if what we have had is all we shall know—then I would call that a gift, too, and count my life the poorer had I not known you.”
“And I, you,” Jim echoed.
They were quiet then, taking their time with one another. Hands drifted in careful caresses, kisses were pressed with warm insistence on salty skin. The world around them shrunk to the confines of the bed, of limbs, tongues, and hearts. Éomer traced skillful trails along the lines of Jim’s body, using his teeth here and there as if marking him. Jim delved with fingers and tongue into the Rohir’s secret places, making him cry out in frustration and in joy.
At last the final moment could no longer be put off—they were on the brink of losing what little, fragile control they had left.
“I need you in me,” Éomer muttered. He bit Jim’s bottom lip, already swollen from kisses. “Now.”
Jim nodded his head, retrieving the small pot of oil they used for such purposes from the small table nearby. Dipping two fingers into it, he turned to Éomer, who lay on his back with his hips canted up, waiting. He looked strangely vulnerable like that, this fierce warrior, dark against the clean white linen sheets. Jim swallowed, taking his place between the man’s legs.
He prepared the Rohir thoroughly, slipping oiled fingers with sure knowledge into the man’s hole, crooking them slightly the way he knew the man liked. Éomer moaned—with desire and frustration all at once. When Jim made a scissoring motion, his hips jerked off the bed for a moment, and he glared at Jim. Smirking to himself, Jim removed his fingers, and used some more of the oil on his cock, which jerked eagerly in his hand. Ready at last, he took his place and thrusted gently inside.
Éomer’s ass was hot around him, tight enough to create delicious friction but loose enough that he moved easily all the same. When he was completely sheathed, Jim leaned forward, kissing the Man thoroughly. “I love you, Eoh,” he murmured. “That’s the one thing you should know despite—despite everything.”
“And I you, my gúthwinë,” the Rohir murmured back, and those were the last words they shared as their bodies’ needs took over. They moved together, Éomer meeting his thrusts with greedy lust, pushing back with each snap of Jim’s hips. They started slowly, but Éomer dug his fingers into Jim’s ass, pressing for more—and Jim complied. He utilized all the tricks at his disposal—breathing techniques he had learned on Risa, an Orion thrusting rhythm Gaila had taught him—but the time finally came when neither man could hold out any longer.
They came at the same time, Jim almost soundlessly, Éomer with a harsh growl of completion, spurting across Jim’s chest and belly. Afterwards they lay, panting, and when his erection had wilted Jim slipped out to lie next to the other man, the both of them still breathing heavily.
They lay next to one another, the air cool on their damp bodies.
“So,” Jim said. “This is it.”
“Aye,” said Éomer. “It is.”
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
(no subject)
Date: 2011-03-05 10:41 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2011-03-06 12:07 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2011-03-05 10:49 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2011-03-06 12:07 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2011-03-05 10:58 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2011-03-06 12:08 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2011-03-05 11:36 pm (UTC)“Well do I know it, my Man of the Stars,” Éomer answered in Rohirric
Which translates to STARMAN in English. Damn, even Eomer is a Bowie fan. ;)
(no subject)
Date: 2011-03-06 12:09 am (UTC)You have a problem, dude.
(no subject)
Date: 2011-03-06 12:09 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2011-03-05 11:55 pm (UTC)“Jim?” Éomer’s brow was furrowed, questioning. He seldom used Jim’s name, fervent in the Rohirric belief that multiple names protected one’s soul. And thus it was that he, James T. Kirk, was Rodorbeorne, was the Man from the Stars, was Gúthwinë…
Except, of course, when he was this: Just Jim.
Not Captain of the pride of the Fleet, not George Kirk’s son, not some amalgamation more myth than man. Just him, by himself.
He had never been that to anyone, except maybe Bones…
Yes, yes, yes - that is exactly why I ship Kirk/McCoy.
This was so sad, but I love the hint of Jim growing to realize that he wants/needs Bones.
(no subject)
Date: 2011-03-06 12:19 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2011-03-06 12:27 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2011-03-06 12:28 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2011-03-06 12:41 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2011-03-06 01:17 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2011-03-06 03:44 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2011-03-06 04:46 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2011-03-06 07:11 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2011-03-06 07:08 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2011-03-06 09:06 am (UTC)These two! GUH. They are epic and destined and there's just no way to make it not glorious and so beautiful and bittersweet! *sigh*
Gorgeous, bb. And what a wonderful treat for me to cap off this very stressful, overlong, late workday.
♥
(no subject)
Date: 2011-03-06 07:09 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2011-03-06 09:20 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2011-03-06 07:09 pm (UTC)(no subject)
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Date: 2011-03-06 07:26 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2011-03-07 06:22 pm (UTC)I mean, this was hot obviously. Obviously. But sill. TT_______TT
(no subject)
Date: 2011-03-08 01:06 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2011-03-08 04:15 am (UTC)LOVE LOVE LOVE!
(no subject)
Date: 2011-03-08 04:15 am (UTC)