Faith and Curiosity

Eomer led the patrol towards the Entwash where his cousin Theodred’s forces waited. Time and again Eomer resisted the urge to turn around in the saddle and search for Tael. He could show the younger man no special favors. He’d made no promises.

Or had he? Had his willingness to spread his legs in itself been a sort of promise? Tael gave no indication that it was so, but Eomer felt a guilty rush nonetheless. His familiar frown deepened. Tael confused him. His words and actions did not always seem equal. Their discussion the night before had soothed Eomer somewhat, certainly enough to have allowed the young Rohirrim to sleep curled against his side. The morning had been filled with rushed activity that left neither of them room to examine what transpired. But Tael had promised he’d demand nothing more than Eomer wanted to give. And what exactly did he want to give? Was there anything to give? Chasing thoughts of Tael brought to mind something else that disturbed him. Although his wounds from the previous night didn’t pain him, he kept his whip tucked securely out of sight. It offended him. It tempted him. It called to him and repulsed him and made his loins tighten and his stomach roll.

What had he done to himself and Tael?

Nothing that neither of them hadn’t wanted. Needed.

Would he do it again?

No.

Yes.

Definitely yes. If Tael came to him, he’d give him the lash--break that cream colored skin and lose himself in the soft moans. He’d give Tael anything he asked for. Maybe things he wouldn’t. Eomer shook his head and the plumes on his helmet flew back in his face.

No. He couldn’t. He wouldn’t. He shouldn’t.

Oh. But he would.

Even now, riding so hard towards a possible battle against Orcs, he thought of Tael’s body. Lithe. Strong. How much would it take to break him?

He imagined Tael, kneeling with hands bound and skin dripping with sweat. In his mind, he could hear the swish and whistle of the lash, see the flesh of Tael’s back rippling in response to the leather’s kiss.

And the friction of the pommel against his stiffening cock felt so wonderful.

In the end, when Tael lay panting at his feet with his back criss-crossed with red slashes, he’d kneel and kiss those wounds. He’d worship the young body bent before him even as he punished. Then he would spread those sweet thighs and he’d bury himself deeply within the willing body. He’d spill himself and feel the guilty rush of pleasure and pain and he’d loathe himself for it. Even as he loved...

What?

Was this what Tael had spoken of? The secret marks that lovers leave on the body and then show to each other. Yes, that was it. He loved knowing that Tael bore the marks of his desire.

A twisted, perverted love that should cause him shame. Yet did not.

At last, he turned, his dark eyes scanning the line of riders behind him. One helmet stood out above the others. Tael’s. He’d know it now even in the most pitched battle.

That was the price of his curiosity. He’d asked questions of himself. Demanded answers from another. And this was the price of it.

Love.

Pain.

Consequences.

Fate.

Eomer’s mouth was dry and the ache in his loins grew heavier with the knowledge that what had started out as a private matter--a moment of need--turned into something else. But what kind of love was it?

He thought of his own definition of love and realized that it wasn’t what he felt for Tael. Love of that sort wasn’t for him and he’d always known it, despite his insistence in clinging to it. He needed and wanted a love that was fierce and strong. He felt a possessiveness toward Tael that defied explanation. He felt the need to own and bend and break that he’d never felt before. What would Tael say of that? Would he use that twisted and strange logic? Would he speak in paradoxes and riddles?

Would he simply bare his skin and look at Eomer with those lovely, dark eyes. Trusting eyes. He believed in Eomer; had faith in him.

Soon, Eomer vowed, he would find out. By nightfall they would reach the Entwash. Then, in the privacy of his tent he would bend and twist Tael. Maybe he would break him. But he doubted it. Tael was unbreakable because he believed in his own strength.

And that was why Eomer loved him and had never truly loved anyone else. The strength in Tael’s body appealed to him, but it was that deep inner core that could not be broken that drew Eomer. A strength equal to his own. Able to give or receive equally.

And his faith. Tael's faith in the rightness of what they'd done. He believed. He'd made Eomer believe. In his strange way, he'd shared that paradoxical faith with Eomer.

Tael hinted of other things, darker things. Eomer would soon know all of Tael’s secrets. He’d learn from the master and then become the master himself. Eomer closed his eyes and he could smell Tael, hear him, feel him. Soon. Soon.

Both of them would test their faith before the end.

He opened his eyes and focused on the terrain ahead.