Work Text:
He found her in the galley, glaring at a stout pile of unpeeled potatoes. Her hair was sloppily braided away from her face and tucked into the back of her shift. During their journey, she had largely foregone wearing armor every day, as had most of the men. It wasn’t recommended given the strong gales and storms they faced, and the quiet warnings that going overboard in armor was a certain way to drown.
Instead, she now wore simple dresses with few layers, and thick stockings as most of the women had done. Tar-Míriel was aboard another ship, having foregone more of Galadriel’s company. She and the she-elf were not friends, despite the friendly front they presented to the army. Still, Halbrand doubted very much that Míriel would have been caught without her over-gown, even among friends. Galadriel was practically indecent, by Númenórean standards.
He coughed to garner her attention, surprised that she had not noticed him already.
She jumped, startled, expression shifting from embarrassment to anger before relaxing into something friendly, if exasperated. She did not offer him a proper greeting, however, and chose instead to mutter in his general direction: “Don’t start.”
He smothered the grin threatening to break across his lips, and leaned against the doorway. “So, this is where they banished you. Only five days into our journey, and already you are cast out of the war council.”
She rolled her eyes at him then, and reached for a potato in one hand, bearing a knife in the other. “Elendil suggested that only so much planning may be accomplished before we reach landfall, since our information is several months old. As such, my input was no longer required. It was suggested that if I still had a desire to be useful, I could make myself useful here.”
He listened to her explanation, having heard a somewhat less watered down version from Ontamo earlier, one involving threats to the ship’s second mate and some grossly insulting slurs against her gender and race. The man was lucky she hadn’t killed him for it. She was lucky that her station afforded her more equal footing, and it had only been suggested she make better use of her time elsewhere. She peeled the potato as one might carve a piece of meat, if one were to carve uneven slices and waste too much good food.
“Stop that,” he ordered her, wincing as a quarter of a good potato went flying to the floor, bearing the brunt of her anger. She did not seem to hear him, her attention and black mood wholly focused on mutilating the undeserving vegetables in front of her.
“Galadriel?” He called her name, trying once more to gather attention as a third potato joined its comrade on the galley floor. It was shameful to waste perfectly good food in anger, especially given the length of their journey. It had not been so long ago they had been starving and dehydrated on a raft in the middle of this sea. He was less than eager to relive those days, in either his mind or reality. Nor was he a particular fan of porridge, which they would be relegated to if all of the vegetables wound up spoiled. He didn’t need to eat, technically, but he enjoyed food. Potatoes were one of the few crops they had managed to grow fairly well in his old fortress, hardy and bountiful; there had been more than one winter where he and his men had almost entirely subsisted on them.
As a result, they had gotten extensively creative in the many ways that potatoes could be prepared. They were versatile. And she was as good as throwing them to the floor.
Beginning to feel annoyed himself, he entered the galley, shutting the door behind him, and took a seat next to her, tugging on her braid to get her attention. Faster than he had imagined her to be, even having seen some of her skill, he felt the paring knife bite into the soft skin of his throat long before he saw it. Unexpectedly, a warm pool of desire coiled in his gut. The knife didn’t break skin, but it could, and he wouldn’t dare push her as frustrated as she was now.
She met his gaze then, not removing the knife, and raised one arched brow, waiting for him to speak.
“You’re peeling potatoes, not beheading them,” he chided her, risking her wrath and enjoying it a little too much. He cast his eyes to the chunks on the floor and waited for hers to follow, which did after a moment. She lowered the knife and tossed it on the table, setting the potato she had been peeling down with a little more force than necessary.
“It’s ridiculous.” She complained softly, head tilting back to hit the wall with a soft thunk. “I’m thousands of years old. I have been waging war before any of these men’s ancestors could even hold a quill steadily enough to pen their family name, and yet I am banished from the war council. And why? Because they do not believe a female to be capable of command? Some of their own daughters serve in their army! It’s appalling.”
He let her vent her frustrations, gently thumbing her braid and enjoying the too-soft texture of her hair. She had not bid him to stop, possibly had not even noticed that he still had a hold of her. He was not about to inform her. Sensing a natural pause in their conversation, he cleared his throat, parsing through her complaint to identify the real crux of her issue.
“Telentheril is a good soldier, but I don’t think he has children of his own. Nor is he married.” He shrugged diplomatically, speaking blandly of Elendil’s appointed second mate. “There is likely a reason for that. And you must know, that as devoted as these people are to their Queen, many do not share her loyalties. They came because she bid them.”
She snorted. “So it’s because I’m an elf. That hardly makes it better.”
“Why are you really upset, Galadriel? You knew of the reception you would receive when we landed - surely, by now, you’ve even come to accept it. Why is it bothering you so, now?” He knew she wasn’t unintelligent; quite the contrary, when the horse-blinders could be pried from her eyes.
A small smile curled unwillingly in the corners of her mouth, and he could see her relax infinitesimally, her crossed arms settling more comfortably across her chest, stretching the fabric more tautly across the tops of her breasts. He pointedly did not let his gaze wander, though he could feel just an inkling of an opportunity begin to present itself.
“Do you mean to master me, Halbrand?” She asked, smoky voice cutting to the quick.
He grinned, pleased that she had been listening, and keen enough to see his machinations. Well, some of them. The comment made a new feeling coil in his gut, one of hunger and lust instead. An image brought to bear in the forefront of his mind: Galadriel’s bare form wrapped around him, her golden hair curtaining them in the darkness, and smoky voice breathing ‘ Master’ in his ear. It had not been part of his plans when he had accepted his part in her plans for Middle-earth.
He had felt a strong kinship with her as she spoke of her own experience with mutiny and banishment, the sense of otherness and loneliness she felt from others of her kind. He had accepted that - welcomed it, even. But he had not given consideration to these other delightful possibilities. An oversight, he mused, nestling his thumb in between her braid, not enough to pull it but enough to enjoy the feeling. It was hardly a wonder she had been an inspiration for the Silmarils.
“Hardly,” he replied at last, no guile in his voice. “I would not dare, Princess,”
She jerked away from him at the title, settling a scorching scowl on her face. “Do not call me that.”
“It’s what you are. No shame in it, is there?” He needled her, as she had needled him about his own title and heritage. Oh, if she but knew the extent of them.
“You are not the only one to try and distance yourself from your family’s legacy,” she replied, mood shifting into something more sullen once more.
He cocked his head. “I know little of your family, but what I do know has no dark history to be ashamed of.”
She sighed heavily then, a frown burrowing into her forehead. “No,” she said bitterly. “No darkness to speak of but mine. Of the fallen daughter of Finarfin, who would not know her place and remain at home, dutifully awaiting the return of her husband. Of the Princess who would not settle, and was made to choose a suitor in the hopes that she would calm. Of the elf so obsessed with war and death that her king all but banished her from Middle-earth, afraid that her obsession would draw the darkness back and poison their hard won peace.”
He appreciated the irony of her final complaint, though he did not let it show. “You were banished? Is that how you wound up adrift at sea?”
She nodded slowly, shame permeating her features. “My king disguised it as a reward for services rendered. A retirement in Valinor.” The word was spoken with bitterness instead of joy. That too, he could appreciate. “When the ship was nearly there, I could feel the light on my skin… I could hear the songs… and I did not feel worthy of it. I jumped, and fled, refusing to pass beyond.”
He mulled this over, new nuances bringing her decisions into sharper focus. The feeling of kinship grew between them, and he hesitated to speak only for a moment before beginning his own tale.
“The orcs were making whole villages disappear in the Southlands. Their leader was snatching them in the dead of night, turning them into slaves. My own lieutenant turned against me, turned my people against me, and all those who followed me. I could do nothing to protect my people.” He remembered too keenly the feeling of the blades cutting into his skin, stabbing, slashing, almost gutting him. The Moriondor had slaughtered all the Faithful that had pledged him their loyalty - orc, man, and troll alike. He had infiltrated their very ranks, becoming one of his most trusted lieutenants for just that purpose. That betrayal hurt more than the physical wounds his old form had borne. He had trusted the dark-elf as a brother, and had been betrayed for it.
He cleared his throat. “All those that I called friend or family alike were slaughtered. I barely escaped with my life. And like a coward, I ran. I put the place behind me, consigned it to fall to darkness, and swore to never return. I had nothing, and no one, left but the few other Southlanders that escaped with me on that raft. And they did not know me. Whatever heritage was left of my family was already dead in name. I did not believe there was anything to be done for it.”
“Discretion is the better part of valor, Halbrand,” she said, and he met her gaze once more, seeing understanding reflected back at him. “You are being brave now, to return and face such circumstances. That is worth something. And we will retake your lands, and restore them to something worth ruling. You will avenge your people.” The conviction in her voice further stoked the flame in his heart, and extended it lower still. He found himself believing her, despite the many, many ways that this could, and likely would, go awry.
She turned away from him then, breaking the intense gaze they shared, and reached for her neglected half-peeled potato, picking up the knife in her other hand. His hand that gripped her braid tugged it again more firmly, causing her head to jerk towards him.
“Halbra—” she began to complain, fury scorching her tongue.
He kissed her as her head turned back towards him, catching her by surprise.
It was only as his tongue slipped between her parted lips that he felt the paring knife once more at his throat. He could feel it, sharp and firm against his jugular. He did not stop, opening his own mouth to draw her bottom lip between his teeth, and sucked hard enough to bruise it. A quiet, barely audible whine escaped her throat, though the knife did not remove itself from his throat. His tongue darted out once more to taste her lips, to plunder the inside of her mouth and steal the breath from her lungs. He withdrew, slightly, to reappraise her.
She looked well-kissed, lips plump and red and glistening in the dimly lit galley. A rosy blush had risen to her cheeks, giving her an almost youthful look to her normally sharp features. Her pupils were blown wide, rings of blue seeming even brighter for it. The paring knife hovered in the air between them, still at the same height and angle as his throat.
“There are better ways to occupy our time and energy, milady,” he offered, voice scratchy and low and dripping with desire. He tugged the band loose from her braid and watched the hair unravel from its bonds, gently thumbing the braid apart until her hair was loose and wavy against her back, each strand glinting like starlight in the candles’ glow.
She said nothing, seeming frozen in her indecision. He could see the desire in her eyes, and the conflict. Elves did not play fast and loose with their hearts, or readily indulge in the pleasures of the body as Men did. They felt it too intensely. He felt his own cock rise for the first time. This body was untested against such things, but he had been satisfied with it as he had formed it. Handsome enough for a man, and moderately well endowed; he had not had such things on his mind at the time.
He leaned forward again to brush his lips against hers, feeling the paring knife cut into the skin of his throat ever so slightly, and a bead of blood dripped down his neck, scarcely more than a nick.
“Let me show you, Galadriel,” he bid her, pressing his forehead gently against hers, a common Elvish gesture of affection. “We have both been alone, mutinied against and cast out by our people. We need not continue to be alone with our thoughts, and little else to distract us. Our journey to Middle-earth will take more time still. I would not dwell on the past with such a future ahead of me.”
Her silence making him bold, his hand crept to her ankle, feeling the warm stockings that adorned them, and rose higher under her gown, feeling the end of it just below her knee, attached to a garter on her thigh.
“Say something, Galadriel,” he ordered her, hand grasping the back of her knee, ready to tug her to him if she would but give her consent.
After a long moment of anticipation, he felt the knife retract from his throat and clatter to the floor. The hand that had held it raised up to tentatively trace his jaw, his cheekbones, his lips. He sucked her thumb into his mouth, hazel eyes almost black in the candlelight, and held her gaze.
He made no move to push her further, needing and wanting her desire as strongly as he felt his own.
It was not enough that she seemed receptive.
He wanted her passion.
He wanted her half-mad with lust, and wholly at his mercy.
“This ends once we make landfall,” she said at last, a trembling warning in the wake of her acceptance. “It cannot be anything more.”
He was not offended by her assertion. Rather, he liked the temptation of a challenge. And landfall would not be the end of anything. No, it was just the beginning. She would see.
He tugged the back of her knee hard enough for her to fall on her back against the bench, almost entirely flat on her back had her elbows not caught her to prop her up. He hiked her skirts above her waist, tugging her under garments aside hard enough to tear them, and set his mouth to work without warning.
An unexpected cry escaped her before her mouth snapped shut, turning it into a low groan instead. He smiled against her, offering a pleased lick on the inside of her thigh, and buried his face between her legs once more. Instantly, her hips raised, prompting him to hold her still as he buried his tongue between her folds, alternating between flicking her clit and sucking on it, and licking steady stripes in between.
He pressed her knees back into her chest and let them rest on his shoulders; after a particularly strong swipe against her clit, her legs locked around his head, and her hands buried themselves in his hair, fingernails scratching his scalp and pressing him closer.
He nipped gently when she pressed too hard, earning him a quiet yelp and tug on his hair. He did not look up to meet her glare, but merely returned his attention to her glistening cunt, pearlish pink and dripping. He could forge an artifact in just this color, and would do it as soon as he had access to a proper forge. It was imprinted in his memory now, but he wanted to wear it, to never forget.
“ Nát ve lís lambenyasse .” He growled in her mother-tongue, wondering if she would catch it. He lowered his mouth to her again and flattened his tongue against her, letting it settle between her folds and holding it there, unmoving.
She whined, a keen rising in her throat and breaking the silence between her clenched teeth. Her hips bucked, barely moving as he held her still, seeking the friction she craved.
“Say my name.” He ordered her, removing his mouth just long enough to speak.
A broken, angry sound left her mouth instead of his name, prompting him to pull back a little, just so the tip of his tongue settled against her clit.
The stand off lasted minutes. Halbrand’s cock grew stiffer with each passing moment, as her hips twitched beneath his hands, and her low pants audibly grew in frustration and volume alike.
At last, she spoke. “Hal-Halbrand I swear if you don’t —” the threat remained unfinished, as his mouth sealed over her cunt the moment he heard his name. He would have her speak all of his names, in the due course of time.
He had been awake since before the breaking of the first silence.
Had heard all of Arda be sung into existence.
He had yet to hear a sweeter sound than his name on her lips.
He sucked hard, tongue dipping in and out in an approximation of what was to come, and he could feel the tightness in her thighs betray her impending orgasm. Unbidden, more desires rose to the forefront of his mind. Galadriel bound, unable to move, only able to receive what he gave her, those impossibly bright blue eyes burning holes into his skull as she begged for his touch.
Another, of them coupling languorously in the moonlight, in plain view of any Gods who dared watch them. An abomination, an unholy adulation. His vision shattered as she came on his tongue, hips bucking with her Elvish strength, almost enough to throw him off. He continued his ministrations through it, dragging it out as he felt the quakes and tremors in her thighs.
She collapsed on her back, arms shaking too much for her elbows to sustain the position. He admired his handiwork, her heaving bosom straining the delicate cotton of the dress, and the glistening cum leaking from her cunt. He pressed a gentle finger to it, enjoying how she shuddered and twitched at even the barest pressure.
A wider, saucier grin rose to his lips.
“Can you handle another, love?” He asked her, though the question was a rhetorical one. He would give her another. And another. As many as he could get away with, so long as their privacy held out. He glanced towards the door, closed but not barred.
It was late. Well past two in the morning. The cook would not come down for several hours yet, and the men manning the sails were too busy with their duties to wander down. Probably. But if they didn’t… His blood warmed at the thought, just a little. Let them all know that the elf belonged to him.
He pressed a finger inside her, feeling the inside of her walls still pulsing from her dying orgasm. She was still wet, more than ready to take him. But he wasn’t done with her yet. He began to fuck her with his finger slowly, enjoying the surprised hitch to her voice. Another bubble of satisfaction welled within him amidst a measure of annoyance on her behalf.
First, pleasure that there was much she had not experienced yet, and would only get to experience at his hands. And mouth. Annoyance, that whatever cuckold had dared call himself husband to her and grossly abandoned such opportunity. He dared add a second finger, twisting and curling the tips of his fingers a little deeper.
She heaved a gasp, hands reaching blindly to grasp his arm, though she gave no indication that she wanted him to stop. He leaned over her then, leaving enough space between their bodies for his hand to continue having free movement. He swallowed her moans with his lips, enjoying the feeling of devouring her, and let her taste herself on his tongue.
She responded eagerly to his kiss, this time, her own tongue reaching out to invade his mouth, exploring as he had done early. He submitted to her invasion, fingers picking up the pace as they thrust in and out of her, thumb applying the slightest amount of pressure to her swollen clit. Her kisses turned sloppy, almost desperate as pleasure began to build within her again.
An insatiable desire rooted itself in his heart and mind, the vision of her face, eyes blown wide and mouth parted in ecstasy was burned behind his eyelids.
“One more, eh? You can take another, I think.” He whispered into her gasping mouth, and added a third finger to stretch her a little wider.
Her hands grabbed at his shoulders, clenching the fabric of his tunic.
“Good girl,” he crooned, slipping his tongue into her mouth and stroking hers, approving of her reaction. “So good, to take my fingers like this. So tight, even though you just came. Can you feel yourself Galadriel, how wet you are? Siryeas ve nuine . Nás maxa ar néna mitye. ” The evidence of her arousal coated his fingers and dripped down her folds.
“You can come again. I know you can. Come for me,” he ordered, voice growing more stern and deepening into a low growl. As commanded, she came on his fingers with a shuddering cry, almost a sob. He swallowed it, sucking her tongue into his mouth and leaving his fingers buried inside her, thumb continuing to work her clit as she came.
Insensible words in Quenya escaped her mouth, slurred as they were with her tongue in his mouth. He thought he may have caught a request to fuck her properly somewhere in there, and it was enough to bring a deeply satisfied smile to his lips. Even now, being present in this moment as he was, his plans for the future were changing, broadening to include her. This was addictive, something foreign and hungry and nothing like he had ever indulged himself with before. Oh, he had dabbled over the ages here and there, but nothing had ever captured his interest or desire quite like this.
Distracted as he was with thoughts of the future, he did not notice her hand sneaking down his breeches until her delicate fingers were already curled around his cocked, stroking and rubbing and tugging with ill-practiced eagerness. He gasped a shuddering breath into her mouth, kissing her as a reward for her candor.
With his free hand, he shoved his breeches down, struggling to get them off and not lose the momentum of their coupling. A giggle escaped his partner's mouth, and her own hand briefly stopped its work to aid him. He withdrew entirely, making the decision for both of them, and stood, disrobing entirely until he stood fully naked before her, cock bouncing at attention, precum leaking from the tip.
Galadriel sat up and made quick work of the laces in the front of her bodice, shrugging it off her shoulders, and slid the accompanying overskirt down her legs. The plain shift followed, and she was naked before his eyes, equally unashamed, skin glowing gold in the dim lighting, but for the stockings and garters still attached to her thighs. She scooted to the edge of the bench, looking up at him with those sea blue eyes, and nuzzled his thigh with her head, pressing gentle kisses to the inside of his thigh. She licked a teasing stripe up his thigh, tongue just barely grazing the soft under skin of his balls.
“Galadriel…” he hissed, warning in his tone.
She smiled up at him, mischievous and shy all at once, eyes slanting into something more teasing than not. A little puff of warm air from her breath breezed across his cock, tantalizing him. He felt a darker, baser instinct rise up within him, an urge to grip her by her hair and force his cock to the back of her throat until she had taken it all.
It was only the barest glint of uncertainty in her eyes that held it at bay, the quiet realization that she was inexperienced at this, or at the very least, very out of practice. He preferred to consider the former. Gently, he drew her head away from his thighs, placing his thumb on her bottom lip and applying the barest amount of pressure. Her mouth opened obediently, wide and waiting. He groaned, almost as pleased by her obedience as he was by the anticipation of the act itself.
He rubbed his cock against her soft lips, enjoying just the barest graze of wetness and warmth. The tip of her tongue darted out to flick the tip of his cockhead, teasing the skin and folds around it. He moaned, the sound broken and jagged as it escaped his throat. Galadriel took charge once more, emboldened by the sound, and surged forward against his expectations, taking the whole of his cock into her mouth and throat.
He choked at the feeling, bracing himself against the wall, fingers biting in the palms of his hands. He forced his hips to still, not wanting to choke her - at least, not yet. She held his cock in her mouth, breathing around it, tongue curling to the sides, and after a few minutes of adjustment, sealed her lips around it and sucked.
His head jerked back at the feeling, the head hitting the back of her throat, feeling so inexplicably warm and soft. He gave a tentative thrust, withdrawing a little to see how she would take it. She looked up at him with wide eyes, and opened her mouth wider still, bobbing her head forward a little, an approximation of his own thrust. Taking that as a sign to continue, he slowly began to fuck her mouth, small, slow thrusts at first as she adjusted.
“You’re doing so well,” he praised her, bringing his hand down to stroke her face and cup her jaw, enjoying the power he felt at having her at his mercy in such a way. He withdrew his thumb from her mouth entirely and let his hand wander to the back of her head, threading his fingers through her hair. “I’m going to go faster now, alright? You tap twice on my thigh if it’s too much.”
He sped up the pace of his thrusts just a little, beginning to properly fuck her throat; he could have cried for the pleasure it brought, the combined sensations of her tight throat and silken hair between his fingers. Her free hand reached between his legs to fondle his balls, squeezing in alternating rhythm to his thrusts, causing his hips to jerk and thrust a little harder than he intended, making her choke on his cock, just a little.
He pulled out for a moment, giving her a chance to catch her breath, but her obedient mouth was already pulling him in again before he could speak, still squeezing his balls.
What use did he have for Valinor, when paradise was here?
His thrusts grew in strength, the sound of her choking on his cock sounding more and more like music every time it happened.
Feeling his own orgasm begin to build, his balls beginning to tighten, he withdrew entirely, cock springing from her mouth with an audible pop. He grabbed her wrist and drew her hand away from his balls, pulling her to her feet to stand on the bench, eye level with him now, for the first time. He surged forward to kiss her, fucking her mouth with his tongue instead, as his cock began to calm, and the temptation of his own orgasm faded. This body was too new, too untested to come so soon. He would come buried inside her or not at all, today. In her mouth, across her pert tits… well, those were for other days and times. And there would be other days.
His lips left her mouth to press kisses along her jaw, the underside of her chin and throat, suckling small, possessive bruises into her skin. She gasped in his ear, tugging the lobe between her teeth, one leg hiked up on his hip to press her warm cunt closer to his cock.
He ignored her quiet plea, focused on leaving marks all over her fair skin, where others might see and know that she belonged to someone else. His mouth traveled further down her chest, lavishing attention on each breast, tugging each pert nipple between his teeth and suckling until they were rosy and firm.
“Halbrand, please,” she pleaded, surging forward and grasping the back of his neck with her hands, fingernails gently teasing the curls at the nape of his neck. Her other leg hitched on his hip, both of her legs curling around his ass as he stood tall and firm, cocking laying flat against her wet cunt, sliding between the folds but not finding purchase.
She ground her hips down, pursuing the friction between them, mewling, desperate gasps escaping her every time the firm head of his cock struck her clit. He let her fuck herself against him, feeling almost drunk and light headed from the power he held over her, and the pleasure he knew was waiting for him.
Finally satisfied with uncountable bruises left across her breasts and throat, he returned his attention to her mouth, swallowing her desperate little gasps, fucking his tongue into her mouth. His arm curled around her back and ass to hoist her up a little higher, giving her some stability.
“This isn’t going to stop, Galadriel. If we go any further than this, I’m not going to stop. I’m never going to stop. Do you understand?” He wasn’t just speaking of tonight, of course, though she had no way of truly understanding that. This, coupled with the kinship he had felt with her, was far too much to have just once. He wanted it forever. He wouldn’t stop until they were bound together in every conceivable way.
She nodded, returning his kisses with rival desperation and fervor. He drew back his head a little, catching her eyes and breaking the haze of lust.
“I need you to say it, Galadriel. Tell me you want this. Tell me you understand that this is more than just tonight.”
The lusty look faded from her eyes, just a little, and he could see her struggling to form the words, still desperately seeking the friction between them. “I want this,” she breathed, shuddering, groaning as the head of his cock made contact with her clit again at just the right angle. “I-I understand.” She stuttered when he still didn’t move, voice pitching half an octave higher.
An intense feeling of possessiveness rose within him, a desire to see her painted with his cum, begging for him. The promise of another night dangled in front of him, and he pushed it away.
He clenched the firm globe of her ass and hauled her up a little higher, putting her cunt at the appropriate angle to thrust into her. His cockhead pressed in slowly at first, her cunt still tight despite the dripping mess he had made of it with her two orgasms.
He pulled her onto his cock slowly, inching deeper inside slowly as a feat of will alone, using the firm grasp on her ass to prevent her from spearing herself. She keened from the feeling, the skin of his cock dragging against her clit, and clutched at his shoulders and arms, fingernails leaving half-moon imprints in his biceps.
She sank further still until his cock was fully seated inside her. They stood still for a moment, her legs hooked around his back, his hands holding her, impaled on his cock. A shared exhale between them, they basked in the feeling of one-ness. Her, full and complete, and him, swallowed by her heat. Chest heaving, he tried to control his breathing, afraid if he let go of too much control, he would lose the tenuous threads of what was left of his cognitive mind.
Slowly, he began to thrust up into her, holding her aloft, enjoying the way she had nothing to hold onto but him. “ Á care ancare, Halbrand. Amalimbe! Á quanta nin!” She ordered him in Quenya , the filthy commands sounding too musical to be right for the moment, but it spurred him forward to obey nonetheless.
The idea that she had slipped into her mother-tongue again, that she had forgotten that Halbrand wasn't supposed to understand, made the feeling in his chest expand. He fucked her in earnest, then, thrusting up at an unexpected pace, his balls slapping her ass in time.
“ Á cacára !” She sobbed, clinging to him, pressing wet, hard kisses against his mouth. “ Á cacára! Á cacára! Á cacára! ”
He maneuvered them around and sat on the bench with her, still bouncing on his cock, as wanton as any whore he’d ever seen, and stretched his hand around her waist to thumb her clit, wrapping his mouth around her breast again. He thrust up in time with her as she ground down, her hair spilling over her shoulders, and his, to curtain them.
The glint of the candlelight reflected through the strands, making refractions of starlight against their skin.
It was more beautiful than any visage of the night sky he had beheld. He released her breast and let his lips travel back up her throat, under her jaw, behind her ears. His tongue darted out to trace the tip of her pointed ear, and he took it into his mouth, biting down gently, just enough to get her attention.
“You’re mine, Galadriel. You hear me?” He thrust up hard, enough to draw out a low, groan from his partner.
“Whatever happens when we make land, when the dust settles, you’ll still be mine. Always.” He pressed down on the skin just below her belly button, feeling his cockhead striking her womb with every other vicious thrust.
She sobbed into his shoulder, grinding down harder into the thumb pressing against her clit and rocking into his cock. “I’ll never let you forget it, either. I’m going to cum inside you, fill you up. Would you like that?”
“Yes! Á quanta nin!” She replied in Quenya, once again slipping into her mother language.
He would bind her to him so thoroughly that she would never leave him, not truly. He would spend himself inside her, and put a child in her womb. She would think of him every day of her life, and he would always be a part of her.
No matter what ugly truths revealed themselves in the due course of time.
He turned them on their sides, once again putting her on her back, and reached down to retrieve her discarded gown, balling it up and stuffing it underneath her hips.
He did not break his pattern of thrusts, enjoying the different tonal cries as he hit that sweetest spot inside her. He grinned, and held her hips still, and struck it again, over, and over, and over again. She came in moments, a nonsensical plea in Quenya once again escaping her lips, and he let himself follow, his balls tightening and spilling his seed as deep inside her as he could go. He held their hips together, aided by the firm hold of her thighs around his hips and the ankles crossed around his back.
He leaned over her to press warm, soothing kisses into the corners of her mouth, feeling his seed still trickling out, and settled between her thighs even as his cock began to soften. He rested his head on her breast, sticky sweat adhering their skin together, and let the sound of her declining heartbeat soothe him.
Her fingers came up to brush the hair from his face, raking through the damp curls, fingernails gently scraping his scalp. He groaned, the feeling sending pleasant chills down his spine. He would give her the world, if she asked for it. Would break every rule written or unwritten to see it done. After his cock had gone soft enough, he pulled out, taking a precious moment to push his seed back inside her with his thumb, before sliding to the side, and pulling her on top of him.
She followed, boneless and satisfied, fingers tracing the scars across his chest. Minutes of comfortable silence followed, almost long enough to drift off to sleep, before she groaned, unintelligible words against his chest.
“What?” He asked, reluctant to disturb their afterglow. His mind was racing even as his heartbeat was calming, gearing up for the next act of defilement he wanted to bestow on her.
“Potatoes.” She muttered more loudly into his chest, broadly gesturing at the full barrel of unpeeled root vegetables. “I need to peel them all before breakfast.”
He chuckled, the sound rumbling in his chest. “I’ll help. And when we’re done, we can abscond back to your cabin.”
“Why my cabin?” She asked, raising a brow.
“It’s bigger. As a beggar king, I was afforded a rather small one, I’m afraid. And I’m sharing.”
She snorted and pulled herself up into a sitting position, taking her crumpled dress out from beneath them and pulling it over her head, redressing in a presentable, if sloppy way.
Halbrand reclined on the bench, starkly naked and unashamed, not bothering to hide his rekindling desire as he watched her dress.
“And once we get to my cabin?” She asked, meeting his gaze beneath lowered lashes, reaching for the paring knife and half-peeled potato once more.
He sat up then, a lusty glint rising in his eyes, and pressed himself against her back, lips against her ear, hand snaking down the front of her gown to press against her warm center.
“Round two, of course. I have to keep you out of trouble. And over the next few days… rounds three, and four, and five.” Each number was punctuated with a kiss along her neck.
“Give me a knife. We've got better things to be doing with our time.”