| An Elven Cure |
 |
| WARNING: NC-17 |
 |
 |
| TITLE: The Elven Cure AUTHOR: Topaz RATING: NC-17 PAIRING: Boromir/Legolas DISCLAIMER: Not mine! SUMMARY: Boromir needs some help in getting some sleep. NOTES: Based on a comment by Cally and all the other wonderfully dirty minds on SlashLords. Thanks to Joy who's comment made me try to turn it into a fic. It stayed a PWP. The Elven Cure Starlight gilds living flesh, filtered through Mallorn leaves to create dancing patterns across moving flesh. In the moonlight and shadow color is leached and presented is a cold tableau of burning heat. Pail hair reflecting moonlight and starlight like precious ithildin spills liquid like, demanding to be touched, irresistible. Dark hands, callused and scarred bury themselves in the silver treasure and bring the gasping mouth in for a bruising kiss. Harsh, demanding, controlling kisses, till breathing becomes important. Glazed eyes, nearly black and completely feral stare back. Gasping for breath one loud and one quiet. Dark head strikes, white teeth flashing, nipping, biting, claiming, marking. Drawing forth mewling gasps. Soft panting, shuddering moans, throat arched and vulnerable, desperate begging whimper. Strong hands settle on back thick with muscle, needing, stroking, scratching. They urge and beg the welcome assailant on, tangling in dark hair. A possessive growl is the answer as muscles flex, hunter come to claim his due. Intense and heated, bodies move, a bruising grip on slim hips as needy legs twine round lean waist. Both hips buck, one searching up the other slamming down. Harsh pant, in time to frantic exertion. Deep grunts of pleasure as sword finds sheath, sweat gleams and shadows play across a flexing back. Muscles move hypnotically, impressive power. Steady movement and a heavy weight. Thrusting firm and deep, strong and hard. A wildness, a desperation in each movement All else is forgotten in the moment Straining, reaching, grasping, clawing, Little whimpers, throaty moans, strangled screams A ruthless assault that demands more, to feel, to show, to loss control Bruising grips, rasp of beard The rutting fever leaving only scattered senses as muscles spasm in a slamming rush Mingled shouts cause birds to take wing. Startled, they add their raucous chorus. ~~~~~ "Now do you think you'll be able to rest easy?" His voice husky from passion spent. "I think I may find rest, it was a most effective cure. I will remember it" His voice is sated and full of lazy satisfaction, he reaches out. Gentle touches, butterfly soft and soothing caresses, gentling hands and soft sweet kisses. Holding treasure more precious than any other. END |