Westfold Challenge

Eomer threw his helmet on the ground and glowered at the man standing in his stirrups laughing. "Come down here and laugh," he growled, his wounded pride glittering dangerously behind his dark eyes as he shifted his stance.

Erkenbrand sat back in his saddle with his smile intact and studied the younger warrior. There was much he could teach Eomer and not all of it had to do with war and horsemanship. Slowly, he climbed from his saddle, the creaking leather unaccountably loud in the still air, so that he stood eye to eye with Eomer. He held the reins loosely.

"You have much to learn, Eomer, if you think you can best me."

Eomer's eyes narrowed and his brows drew down towards the bridge of his nose. There was a strange note in Erkenbrand's voice that he did not know how to interpret. "Is that a challenge?"

"Consider it a statement of fact," answered Erkenbrand.

Eomer planted his hands on his hips, wondering what to do next. Theirs had been but a game and his loss—and Erkenbrand's laughter—had shortened his temper beyond measure. But Erkenbrand was also an Eorl and as such, untouchable. He smoothed his features, deciding to cut his losses before matters grew heated. Reluctantly, he held out his hand in a gesture of friendship and token defeat.

Erkenbrand took the hand and held it a moment longer than necessary, feeling the calloused palm scratch his own. He knew his hands were equally rough and wondered if Eomer would enjoy the rough hands running over the hard flat plains of his stomach or if he would prefer something more intimate.

"Erkenbrand?" Eomer repeated.

Erkenbrand came back to the present with a guilty start and realized that he had heard nothing the younger lord had said. Rather than admit his ignorance, Erkenbrand chose a noncommittal reply and hoped it sufficed. "Whatever you will."

Eomer's frown returned, only this one was prompted by puzzlement rather than anger. "You would allow me to choose the prize you have won from me this day?"

Groaning mentally, Erkenbrand had no choice but to agree. "Surely you can be trusted to name a suitable prize for being bested."

Eomer's eyes shifted in their sockets, moving from left to right, before coming back to rest on the Lord of the Westfold. No one was near enough to hear him, and after his initial defeat, everyone moved away to settle wagers and round up their horses and gear. "I claim," he started, and stopped, wondering at his own audacity.

Erkenbrand saw the sweat beading Eomer's forehead and the way his eyes shifted constantly, as if seeking something other than what stood right before him. He watched curiously as Eomer wiped his palms on his leather trousers and shifted his feet in the dry summer grass.

Eomer cleared his throat, stared down at Erkenbrand's heavy boots, jerked his head back up and muttered something between stiff lips so quickly that his companion only stared at him for a moment.

"What?"

The tanned face flushed a dull red right up to the dark blond roots and Eomer's dark eyes became defiant. "A kiss," he hissed.

Stunned, Erkenbrand stepped back. His bearded jaw worked soundlessly for a split second. His first instinct was to laugh, but something in Eomer's face warned him not to. He ran a large hand through his tangled blond hair and tried to formulate a suitable reply, but thought eluded him.

Turning around, Eomer moved to gather his horse's reins. He could hardly believe he'd been so foolish or had allowed his tongue, as well as his desire, to gain sway over his head. He amended his offer. "For your horse, as he was the true victor."

Erkenbrand snorted and moved to stand behind Eomer and pressed against his back. "I would hazard to bet that I kiss much better than my horse," he rejoined.

The horse in question shifted nervously, as if clearly understanding the conversation and not liking the direction of the mens' thoughts one bit.

"Shall we wager?" Erkenbrand urged. He was so close that his breath fanned Eomer's hair.

Casting a dark look at Erkenbrand, Eomer moved towards the towering warhorse and, taking the bridle in his hands, placed a firm, noisy kiss between the animal's distended nostrils. "Not bad." He said blandly.

"My turn," Erkenbrand moved forward, using the two horses to shield them. He grasped Eomer under the chin and held him still as he lowered his lips to the young lord's. The lips beneath his were dry and wind chapped, but the beard and mustache were soft. Eomer's mouth opened and Erkenbrand put his tongue into the warm cavity. When Eomer relaxed, he ran his hands up and behind the still head and kneaded the sweat- dampened scalp. He felt his manhood stir within the confines of his breeches and tried not to moan. Hands gripped his wrists and he pulled away.

Eomer drew a shallow, ragged breath and blinked. The sun seemed too bright, his clothes too hot, too confining. His lips were on fire. His scalp tingled where Erkenbrand's fingers had been. His knees seemed unaccountably wobbly. Sounds came to him from a great distance.

"Well?"

Eomer turned and looked back at the horse. "Your horse kisses very well, indeed. I cannot say for certain, after only one kiss, who is the better at it, though."

Erkenbrand gave his horse a speculative glance. "We have not settled upon a wager."

Eomer's eyes shifted to the horse and then over to his men, along with Erkenbrand's own troops, and then rested once more on Erkenbrand. "I have paid my debt. I gave the victor a kiss. I did not agree to the second wager."

"Ah, but I say that you did. And I also claim victory."

The animal bared his enormous, yellow teeth.

"And how would we settle such a wager?"

"I think it is already settled. All that remains is for me to claim my prize."

Eomer laughed softly. "Think you so? Very well, then, claim your prize, Lord of the Westfold."

Erkenbrand wrapped one arm around Eomer's neck and pulled him close. He nuzzled the side of Eomer's neck, nipping lightly at the soft skin beneath Eomer's ear. He suckled the delicate earlobe and felt Eomer tremble in his arms. "Did you lose on purpose?"

Tilting his head to the side, Eomer lightly kissed Erkenbrand's jaw. "Is that the prize you claim, to hear me say that I did not throw the race to you?"

"Nay, Eomer son of Eomund, my prize will take far longer to collect."

The horse rolled his eyes.