Standard Bearer, The - Extra Scenes: 4. Scene 4: A Darker Fire

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4. Scene 4: A Darker Fire

[To be included with Chapter 21: At All Cost.]

They returned to their quarters as the cold, grey light of dawn seeped into the dark sky. The storm had exhausted itself, a sad drizzle the only remnant of its fury. As they neared, Gil felt a great hollow ache rise in her, and when she pushed open the door to her chamber, she pulled Elrond in after her.

Before he could utter a word, she launched herself at him, her lips crushing against his, pressing him back against the wall, her hands tangling in his hair. She thrust her tongue deep into his off-guard mouth. The taste of blood and tears mingled.

“Gil!” he gasped as she released him to snatch a breath.

Her face was intense, wreathed in emotion, as she took his head in her hands, then came in for another fierce kiss. Her mouth urgent and demanding, her body aching and needy, inside her a clawing emptiness desperate to be filled.

He responded to her lead, gripping her tightly in his strong arms, lifting her against him, his mouth giving to her hungry one. She clasped her hands tightly behind his head, clutching at his hair. Her lips, firm and seeking, sought to possess his, and her body pressed against him.

Gasping, she pushed away from him, and took a single step back. Her eyes fixed on him, her breath short and fast. His battledress was filthy and gore-stained, his bow still across his back, sword at his side. Dirt, sweat and blood streaked his face, and his hair was matted. Her chest heaved and her body trembled as she looked at him. Fumbling she fought to undo the straps of her breastplate, casting it aside carelessly before advancing again into his potent grip. He pressed his mouth to her neck, pushing her head back and she moaned, her fingers tight against his shoulders. He shed his bow, and ran his hands roughly over her body, feeling the shape of her beneath the damp, heavy fabric, pressing against her back, palms hard over her curves. His breath quickened and he sought her mouth again.

Now a hand moved round, fingers insistent over her breasts, dragging the coarse cloth over the nipples, hardening them. Now lower, seeking, finding her warmth. A cry of want escaped her, and she pushed more urgently against him. She loosened her belt and dropped it, weapons and all, to clatter heedlessly to the ground, then unfastened her breeches. His eager hands pushed them down and impatiently she kicked off her boots and freed herself. His hands renewed their journey, the touch of them causing her to gasp.

All at once he slid both hands round and under, lifting her so she could wrap her legs about him, pulling herself close, her teeth and mouth at his neck and ears. His breath was heavy now, urgent. She clasped herself to him, his arms strong across her back, burying her head in his hair, unheeding of the discomfort as his mail coat pressed against her skin, and the pommel of his sword dug into her leg. The smell of him, overlaid with rain, blood and sweat, was heady in her nostrils. A fire rose from the aching embers inside her and she threw herself headlong into it. A finger ran along the inside of her thigh, reaching high, and he gave a groan, breathy and heavy with desire.

“Gil,” It was almost a question.

She looked at him, deep into his eyes, which burned now with a new dark fire.

“Yes,” she whispered hungrily to him. “Release it. Let me see all of you, even your darkest self.”

With a growl, he fastened his mouth to hers, one hand supporting her easily, the other tight in her hair, pulling her head back. He turned his mouth to feed upon her exposed throat, tongue hot and teeth eager. Now his free hand explored her, touching, parting, inveigling, and she cried out with want, tightening her thighs about him. He carried her to the bed and threw her down.

She lay back, breast swelling as she panted, watching him, waiting, craving. He flung off his cloak, and tugged free of his hauberk, then advancing, he used a knee to push her legs apart and stepped between them. The fire in her was almost unbearable as, with great deliberation, he unfastened the buckle of his sword belt and dropped it to the ground. His eyes preyed on her and she trembled in anticipation. He undid his breeches and leaned over her as he freed himself. Her mouth was dry but elsewhere she was not. He lifted her hand and placed it on himself, the wolf watching hungrily as she pleased him. She could not take her eyes from his face. The want there, the naked desire, the lupine hunger. He reached down to wrench open her tunic, heedless of torn fastenings, exposing her to the cold air. Her breasts ached and his hands, rough as a soldier’s, yet fine and slender as a musician’s, chafed over her softness. Her head sank back and she moaned helplessly, while her hand clenched and released around him.

His hand began to move lower, the fingers searching, easing, penetrating, the thumb exquisitely rough just where it was needed. She groaned and moved against him, needing him, urging him.

Then his hot breath was on her face, his hungry eyes on hers and she opened to him. The now-familiar feel of his strange weight on her body, his hands unheeding in her hair, the cold feel of the vambrace against her cheek, the iron heat of him as he entered. She bound her legs about him, gripping him, her hands wound into the fabric of his tunic. No control here, no delightful teasing, only raw need, hard desire and heated blood.

Together they gave themselves over to the dark passion, unthinking, unheeding, sensing nothing beyond the heat and the deep want. Cinching, clutching. Grasping, grappling. Arching and plunging as one, they clung to each other, feeding the flame, freeing their need. Gasping and holding, feverish and convulsive. Till finally shuddering, jerking, and crying out as the rush came over them, igniting, firing. Finally releasing them, to sink down in each other’s arms, spent and exhausted from all that had occurred that day.

He looked deep into her dark eyes, the fire receding from his grey ones, and stroked her sweat and rain soaked hair back from her face.

This is a work of fan fiction, written because the author has an abiding love for the works of J R R Tolkien. The characters, settings, places, and languages used in this work are the property of the Tolkien Estate, Tolkien Enterprises, and possibly New Line Cinema, except for certain original characters who belong to the author of the said work. The author will not receive any money or other remuneration for presenting the work on this archive site. The work is the intellectual property of the author, is available solely for the enjoyment of Henneth Annûn Story Archive readers, and may not be copied or redistributed by any means without the explicit written consent of the author.

Story Information

Author: Sorne

Status: Reviewed

Completion: Complete

Era: Akallabêth/Last Alliance

Genre: Romance

Rating: Adult

Last Updated: 01/24/03

Original Post: 07/05/02

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