Overall, the meal inside Théoden's tent was a silent affair, with only Merry's voice filling the silence with his usual round of questions. Dúnhere had never before encountered his like and found his curiosity both an irritation and a pleasure. Soon, however, the meal ended and King Théoden sent everyone to their own tents. The scheduled march would leave everyone exhausted and there would be little reward at the end of it. Dúnhere walked among the scrubby pines and tall birches staring at the overcast sky and wondering where and when the fighting would finally end. He lamented the loss of friends and lovers and good men, hearty and vigorous, who would never again walk the hills and valleys of their homes. One particular face came repeatedly to mind and Dúnhere frequently shook his head to clear the image from his waking memory and the still too fresh anger from his heart. Retaking the Ford of Isen had been more than a duty for him; it had been an act of singular revenge for the death of Theodred. The loss of the Second Marshall had been a vicious blow, for both the Rohirrim and himself. He was not likely soon to either forgive or forget the treason of Isenguard and the cost of lives and suffering.
"Who is out there?" A voice hissed in the darkness, followed by the sound of a blade clearing its sheath, as Dúnhere's foot snapped a dry twig.
Briefly, Dúnhere froze and then relaxed as he recognized the voice. "Dúnhere of Harrowdale, Eomer, son of Eomund." He heard the sword slide back into its sheath and moved forward in the darkness. "I did not know any one else was out."
"I came to get some fresh air and clear my head. All the talk of Dimholt and the Paths of the Dead made me uncomfortable." Eomer leaned against a tree with his arms folded over his chest. At his feet lay his horsetail-plumed helm.
Dúnhere nodded his understanding as he came to stand beside Eomer. Neither would have admitted it to the other, but talk of the Haunted Mountain made their blood run chill and all the childhood fears came bubbling up inside them, though as grown men, they should have had no fear of granny's tales. "What think you of our chances?"
Eomer's dark eyes scanned the horizon, as if seeking answers in the moon and stars. "Had you asked me before the retaking of the Ford of Isen, I would have said our chances were naught. Even had you asked me before the Hornburg, I would have said the Rohirrim were doomed. Now, with courage being found in the strangest—aye, and even the smallest—places, I feel hope that I did not know I still had."
Dúnhere put his hand on Eomer's shoulder and squeezed gently. He did not expect Eomer's reaction and was surprised when the marshal thrust from the tree and wrapped his arms around him. Hesitating but a moment, Dúnhere placed his own arms around Eomer and held him. Together they stood in the shadow of the tree, saying nothing, sharing everything with the simple gesture. Absently, his hand came up and he stroked the dark blond hair that spilled over Eomer's shoulders. His thumbs caressed along Eomer's jaw and his lips touched Eomer's smooth forehead. Dúnhere came back to himself and stared down at Eomer.
Eomer lifted Dúnhere's hand and kissed the palm. Then he leaned forward and his lips touched the chieftain's lips. Dúnhere cupped the back of Eomer's head, holding him steady, while his tongue invaded Eomer's mouth, plundered it gently and then withdrew. Shifting his hands, he unlaced Eomer's leggings beneath his leather corselet and slipped his fingers inside. Eomer was still soft, but sprang to life as Dúnhere ran his hands through the dark curls at the base of his cock. Wriggling his hands further inside Eomer's leggings, the chieftain sought the small space between his sac and his tiny opening and pressed it gently. His reward was a soft hissing moan and Eomer's arms tightening around him. Pushing the marshal back against the tree, he captured the full lips with is own and pushed his tongue deep as his kneaded the tightening flesh between Eomer's thighs.
Eomer's hand brushed at the bulge beneath his leggings and Dúnhere growled low in his throat. He lifted his mouth from Eomer's sweet lips and kissed along the throbbing vein in his neck. "Touch me."
Instantly, Eomer began stripping the laced front open so that he could push the leggings away from the chieftain's hips. He ran his thumb over the head, felt the first beads of moisture on his fingers. They stood locked together for several minutes, stroking each other's flesh, their lips and tongues tasting salty skin. The cool evening air assaulted their heated flesh but did not cool their ardor.
Dúnhere shifted his stance, shoved his legs between Eomer's, and forced the marshal's thighs apart so that their cocks slid together. He took them both in his hands and slid his palm expertly up and down. Eomer clutched his tense buttocks with fierce fingers, holding him close. The chieftain released their cocks as his leggings dropped around his knees and hoisted Eomer so that he was straddling his thighs. Eomer kept one hand on Dúnhere's ass and locked the other around his shoulders. The leather armor creaked and the bark crunched as it was scraped from the tree.
The chieftain used the tree as leverage as he thrust slowly and easily, grinding their cocks together between his fingers. He felt Eomer's hand shift its grip on his straining cheek, pulling him open so that the night air touched his puckered opening, and he moaned softly.
Stretching his fingers, Eomer lightly touched the small opening and hesitated. "May I?" He said between gasps as Dúnhere rocked him against the tree.
Pausing, the chieftain widened his stance so that he was more exposed. "Yes, please, do it." He whispered against Eomer's ear and felt the first burning sting as the marshal swiftly inserted his finger to the first knuckle. Before he knew it, a second finger was added and his opening was stretched wider.
"Hurry," Eomer panted as his thigh muscles strained. He sucked Dúnhere's earlobe, bit it once gently, and then roughly a second time, as the chieftain moved a little more roughly against him. He wriggled his fingers inside Dúnhere, forcing them as deep as he could and heard the chieftain gasp as he managed to brush the tender pleasure nub.
The tree shook with each thrust and Eomer's head banged repeatedly against the trunk. His lips drew away from his teeth and his breath game in short, punctuated gasps as his climax approached. Dúnhere groaned and then held still and Eomer's eyes opened so that he could see the chieftain.
"Why did you stop?" He gasped and wriggled his fingers, hoping to gain a response from Dúnhere.
The chieftain's breath hitched in his throat and for a moment, he could not remember why he'd stopped. He sucked Eomer's bottom lip into his mouth and sank his teeth lightly into it. Releasing Eomer's lip, Dúnhere kissed him again, quickly and roughly. "I want to be inside you."
Shifting so that he could stand on his own feet, Eomer allowed Dúnhere to guide him. The chieftain switched their positions so that he was up against the tree with Eomer standing before him. Keeping Eomer's back to him, Dúnhere shoved the marshal's leggings all the way down as far as the thick boots would allow and then knelt with his hands on Eomer's hips. He bit deeply at the tender spot where thigh met cheek and Eomer's knees trembled and threatened to buckle. Pulling Eomer open, he blew warm breath on the puckered opening and listened to the marshal growl.
When Dúnhere touched his tongue to the hole, Eomer staggered a bit and reached behind him to steady his shaking legs. He grasped a handful of hair, and dug his nails into Dúnhere's scalp as the chieftain pushed his tongue in and out of his hole, easing the passage and moistening it with his saliva. Eomer began thrusting back, pushing against Dúnhere's face, feeling the others beard and mustache abrade the tender inner skin of his ass. He stroked his cock, watching the skin slide up and down the hardened shaft and pre-cum drip slowly from the purple head.
Every thrust of his tongue loosened Eomer's opening a little more until the muscle completely relaxed. Above him, he could hear Eomer panting and knew that the marshal was stroking and pleasuring himself. He ran his tongue once more over tiny hole and then rose to his feet. He placed his back to the tree and slid down with his feet braced before he pulled Eomer backwards.
Awkwardly, the marshal staggered backwards, harshly cursing his boots and leggings that prevented from opening his legs wider, and felt the first nudge of Dúnhere's cock against his ass. Involuntarily, he tensed and his breath caught in his throat as he forgot to breath. Inexorably he felt himself breach and the inevitable pain ripped through him as his body was violated. He felt his body being pulled back, impaled fully, until his ass rested against Dúnhere's thighs. He leaned back against Dúnhere, remembered at last to breath, and forced his body to relax.
Dúnhere kissed Eomer's ear and then the side of his neck where the veins and muscles stood out in stark contrast. He put his hands behind his back, against the tree and pushed up. Eomer's lips drew back from his teeth and a frown appeared between his drawn brows as the pain and pressure increased. He reached over his head and wrapped his arms around the tree truck to help support his weight as Dúnhere rocked inside him. He saw stars when the thick cock struck his inner nerves and groaned so loudly that for a moment Dúnhere was afraid they would rouse the whole camp. His own soft grunts and moans combined with Eomer's in point and counterpoint. Leather crackled and buckles jangled softly as they moved together and discovered each other's rhythm.
Dúnhere held on tightly as he felt his climax burst upon him. He did not resist, but allowed the sweat torture to build and wash over him as his seed poured into Eomer.
"No," moaned Eomer, as he felt the hot semen fill him. His own cock bobbed heavily and his balls were swollen and tight between his thighs. "Not yet."
Trembling with aftershock, Dúnhere managed to get his hand around to Eomer's weeping cock and pump it roughly, jerking hard and fast, and running his hand over the head. He reached his other hand around and kneaded the sac at its base until Eomer began to squirm and moan. Suddenly the marshal went rigid and a low groan rumbled in his chest as cum splashed Dúnhere's hand and ran down his wrist.
Dúnhere's legs refused to support both his
weight and Eomer's any longer and he slid down to a sitting position on the
forest floor with Eomer still sprawled atop his thighs. The leaves and twigs
prickled his bare backside and Eomer's damp hair covered his face.
When Eomer started to move away, Dúnhere put his arm around the marshal's
waist and held him still.
"Not yet." Too easily had he allowed Theodred to slip from his embrace. He was not about to let another marshal get away.
Next in the Series: The King's Marshall