eachdraidhean (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
eachdraidhean) wrote2004-06-30 01:39 pm
eachdraidhean) wrote2004-06-30 01:39 pm
Aragorn/Sharpe
Title: No idea! A cookie for anyone who comes up with a good one!
Pairing: Aragorn/Sharpe smut/angst
Rating: NC-17
Series: 1 of at least 5, but don't hold your breath
Summary: Sort of AU, very much PWP, could never happen, suggested by a thought muck_a_luck had while AIMing the afternoon away some months ago - Richard Sharpe soaking in a hot bath? Aragorn washing his back and kissing the scars all better?
Warning: May hold a slight ick factor for blood, but no knives or cutting involved!
Archive: Brain of CK, and whatever![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
muck_a_luck sees fit to do with it
The blonde sat in a tub of steaming water, head resting on his knees. Sitting behind him, Aragorn ran a soapy cloth down his back, washing away the blood and dirt, rinsing the soap away with clean water. Two new wounds, raw and bloody, stood out from the maze of scars that littered his skin. Aragorn paid particular attention to these new marks, bending forward, lowering his head and running his tongue down each one, hearing the blonde hiss at his touch, feeling him arch at the sensation, and Aragorn held him steady as his tongue explored. He moved on to the older scars, licking each one with reverence, then kissing his way up the scarred skin, he gently pulled the blonde against him as he relaxed back in the tub, feeling shaggy hair against his neck. He nuzzled the blonde strands, willing the smell to be the same as the last time longer blonde hair had touched his face, but it was different, and still he held the stranger.
Aragorn’s mouth latched onto the soft skin of the main’s shoulder, kissing, nibbling the flesh, his eyes darkening at the sound of him moaning as he pushed back against his would-be lover. His hands moved over strong shoulders, down over the taut stomach, one curling around the blonde’s cock, as the other held him close. The man moaned, moving against is captor, with no intention of escape. Aragorn’s hand moved faster, and he wanted nothing more than to feel this body buck and writhe in his arms as he brought it to completion. His free hand brushed over a nipple, and as he felt the man in his arms tense, he bit down on his shoulder, and held him as he rode out his orgasm, hot come splattering against his stomach, and over Aragorn’s hand.
He sighed as he cradled the spent man in his arms, stroking his hair. He wondered again where he had come from, this stranger that wore Boromir’s face, a face he had longed to see again even though he knew how impossible that was. To find him lying in the woods, wounded and need of help ... Aragorn felt as if he had been given a gift, and one he intended to treasure.
Pairing: Aragorn/Sharpe smut/angst
Rating: NC-17
Series: 1 of at least 5, but don't hold your breath
Summary: Sort of AU, very much PWP, could never happen, suggested by a thought muck_a_luck had while AIMing the afternoon away some months ago - Richard Sharpe soaking in a hot bath? Aragorn washing his back and kissing the scars all better?
Warning: May hold a slight ick factor for blood, but no knives or cutting involved!
Archive: Brain of CK, and whatever
muck_a_luck sees fit to do with itThe blonde sat in a tub of steaming water, head resting on his knees. Sitting behind him, Aragorn ran a soapy cloth down his back, washing away the blood and dirt, rinsing the soap away with clean water. Two new wounds, raw and bloody, stood out from the maze of scars that littered his skin. Aragorn paid particular attention to these new marks, bending forward, lowering his head and running his tongue down each one, hearing the blonde hiss at his touch, feeling him arch at the sensation, and Aragorn held him steady as his tongue explored. He moved on to the older scars, licking each one with reverence, then kissing his way up the scarred skin, he gently pulled the blonde against him as he relaxed back in the tub, feeling shaggy hair against his neck. He nuzzled the blonde strands, willing the smell to be the same as the last time longer blonde hair had touched his face, but it was different, and still he held the stranger.
Aragorn’s mouth latched onto the soft skin of the main’s shoulder, kissing, nibbling the flesh, his eyes darkening at the sound of him moaning as he pushed back against his would-be lover. His hands moved over strong shoulders, down over the taut stomach, one curling around the blonde’s cock, as the other held him close. The man moaned, moving against is captor, with no intention of escape. Aragorn’s hand moved faster, and he wanted nothing more than to feel this body buck and writhe in his arms as he brought it to completion. His free hand brushed over a nipple, and as he felt the man in his arms tense, he bit down on his shoulder, and held him as he rode out his orgasm, hot come splattering against his stomach, and over Aragorn’s hand.
He sighed as he cradled the spent man in his arms, stroking his hair. He wondered again where he had come from, this stranger that wore Boromir’s face, a face he had longed to see again even though he knew how impossible that was. To find him lying in the woods, wounded and need of help ... Aragorn felt as if he had been given a gift, and one he intended to treasure.