By Milly of Isengard
Saruman / Mithrandir / Pippin / Merry / Legolas / Aragorn
VIOLENCE/ BONDAGE/ PSYCH BS / TORTURE /LUST/ ANGST / HURT/ COMFORT
Disclaimer: no bread made, of course. Saru belongs to me ( I wish )
everybody else JRR's.
AUTHOR'S WARNING: VERY STRONG SLASH CONTAINED!
Mithrandir crept carefully and silently, making his way up the back steps of the fern covered inlet of the River Isen- here, as he had found out- for Saruman was not the only one with spies! –here, Curunìr took his repose, bathing in the captured waters of the river, and here was one of the very few places he would have his guard down.
Here, at long last, he could be bested, and with as little grief as possible. Or so he hoped.
Being put into a position of needing to subdue and overcome Curunìr was not to his liking-but it could not be helped.
Helm's Deep was only a week past, and the bloodshed and agony was still fresh and raw in his mind.
Saruman! It was his doing, and not just at the behest of Sauron, either. Mithrandir had initially believed that- he needed to believe that. But he gradually realized that Curunìr was on a quest for power all his own, driven by near-madness and lust for the Ruling Ring. He had to be stopped.
Quietly as any deer, Mithrandir stole into the enclosed grove –there, by the edge: Curunìr, in his flowing white robes, had just barely arrived himself, it seemed. He looked around briefly, nostrils flaring slightly like a predator, careful, vigilant. But not vigilant enough.
As Mithrandir watched silently and intently, Curunìr slipped his over-cloak off his shoulders, and it fell to the ground; then he unclasped the inner robe, and it too dropped. With a strange, and fearful sort of grace, he stepped into the water –
Mithrandir watched still, and was somewhat amused at himself, to find he was staring with vivid interest at Curunìr, now nude and half-immersed in the pool of dark water. He took it all in, not really intending to, but finding himself mesmerized by the sight. He had never seen Curunìr like this before. Curunìr was extremely aloof, and cold, and even when they had been very close, many years ago, he exuded a powerful air of unfriendly arrogance.
Mithrandir had not been offended- it was just his way, he had thought at the time. But now it seemed as if the exterior attitude had perhaps hidden a greater unkindness, and was only a visible symptom of something far worse than mere conceit.
And now, as Mithrandir watched with interested, even eager eyes, Curunìr slowly bathed and relaxed in the pool – he had lain down the metal staff when he had first come, and it lay on the ground like a straight black serpent.
Good, thought Mithrandir, the staff is out of the way, at least.
Curunìr turned towards his direction suddenly, and again the nostrils flared. He looked around carefully, as if sensing something. Mithrandir did not even breathe.
Satisfied there was no danger, Curunìr again turned his attention to the waters – he was powerfully built, long lean muscles, and very tall. Mithrandir very much did not want to have to battle him physically again:
he did not desire to harm Curunìr, and being embroiled in a fight would almost certainly lead to that outcome. It would be very different than when they had last matched skills – now they were once again unevenly matched, but in Mithrandir's favor.
Slowly, with almost painful stealth, he slipped alongside Curunìr while he was turned to the side – with preternatural grace, he stole behind until he was only a few feet away.
Then, suddenly, he confronted his old friend, rising up in front of him like a pale ghost.
Curunìr pulled back in alarm, but Mithrandir was far too swift, and grasped him in a relentless hold- "Saruman! Listen to me! Calm yourself, and listen to me!" Mithrandir shouted at him, but Curunìr was far too distressed to even hear his words. He struggled fiercely, and looked around desperately for his staff. "No, Saruman, you shall not reach the staff! Now get hold of yourself! I only wish to speak with you!"- Mithrandir knew he had to calm Curunìr, or the battle would be on.
"You steal up on me as a thief in the night, and then say you only wish to talk? Then why creep up on me this way? Your motives are clear from your methods, I think!" Curunìr snarled to him, still recoiling in Mithrandir's iron grip.
"I knew you would not receive me, and besides, the last time I was a guest at Isengard, I found it very difficult to escape – your hospitality!" Mithrandir answered him, and then he released his hold somewhat. Curunìr drew back as much as possible, slick with the water of the pool, and with the sweat of the struggle.
Mithrandir spoke firmly, sternly: "Now listen to me, listen closely, and listen well: all this must cease! Give up this terrible path, before it is truly too late! There is already much blood on your hands, come back to your senses before it goes any farther!"
But Curunìr only sneered at him, and replied scornfully: "Ah, more unasked for and unwelcome advice on my future, from he who knows all! Tell me, Mithrandir, did you really think I was interested in hearing all this, yet again? You have wasted your time in coming here, and ruined my nice bath, as well."
They were standing very close together now, waist deep in the cool water; Mithrandir edged closer still, with a mind to make a further point, and became suddenly aware of – what, exactly? Something pressing against him, and whatever it was, it caused Curunìr to jump slightly, and he made a soft sound of exclaimation.
Ah, so that was it! Mithrandir thought, bemused, I have – without meaning to – gotten too close, down there!
Curunìr was looking at him very strangely, almost with a lost expression, as if he was not sure what to say or do next. What, does he think I did that intentionally?, Mithrandir wondered, surprised, and was about to say so, when Curunìr spoke, instead:
"What are you doing, Mithrandir? What are you – why did you do that?" – he sounded almost awed, and then he stepped closer again, cautiously, as if he were not sure it was the right thing to do. Mithrandir did not move, indeed, he felt as if he were rooted to the spot, and so as Curunìr moved closer, their bodies were only inches apart.
Mithrandir looked into Curunìr's dark eyes, and then, wordlessly, for words would have complicated it enormously, he slipped off his own robes, and they faced each other in the water, the last barrier of Mithrandir's clothing gone now.
"Why did you come here? What do you want with me, or from me?" Curunìr asked quietly, "You know I cannot let you leave here." Mithrandir did not reply, but instead moved even closer, so that they pressed against each other tightly.
He saw that Curunìr closed his eyes, and Mithrandir slowly moved his right hand under the water and felt for him – finding what he sought, he took hold, and Curunìr gasped, looking shocked, but very excited as well.
"Oh, why are you doing this? Is this what you came to do?" Curunìr whispered into Mithrandir's ear, "So good, so very good", and his voice had become very thick -he sounded almost drunken, drunken with the pleasure of it, so unexpected, and yet so welcomed.
"Curunìr – lie back on the water's edge – just here-" Mithrandir found himself to be intensely aroused. He half-pushed, half-coaxed Curunìr out of the water and onto the edge, caressing him with such skill, and such affection, that Curunìr finally wrapped one arm around his neck, and lay back on the ground, with Mithrandir descending onto him.
No, not like this, he thought suddenly, and with one strong hand turned Curunìr on his belly, and Curunìr, for his part, did not resist or even ask why, but merely moved as he was guided.
In a matter of moments, Mithrandir had him positioned rightly, and found his way gently inside- Curunìr suddenly came out of his calm state, and struggled against him, almost in a panic. " Shh- shh- it's alright, I will not hurt you – keep yourself ready, and relaxed, it will be alright. Trust me, trust me. You will find great pleasure in what we are about to do, I promise you!"
And so Mithrandir sought to calm the increasingly alarmed Istar under him, and at the same time pushing himself inside, with infinite care, and so very slowly.
Curunìr felt the pressure become something else, altogether, and the feeling was so intense he cried out very softly, trying to stifle any sound, still unwilling to display his true feelings. There was pleasure, all right, so much so, that he could only barely silence himself. It was stunning, rapture – deep body-wracking throes. In another moment he would not be able to keep silent. It was too much.
Curunìr had experienced sexual pleasure before, but only with women, and although it had been very pleasurable, this was something entirely new.
This was, well, ecstasy.
And Mithrandir seemed to know it, damn him! Curunìr felt utterly - taken - and he supposed he was, too.
But there was no denying this pleasure.
And then the thrusts became suddenly much faster, and harder, and Curunìr felt his heart leap with a rush of adrenaline, as the shockingly powerful sensation rumbled through him, making him cry out at last, loudly, unable to control it.
The idea had formulated as he rode his unlikely lover into passionate exhaustion :
the perfect way to overcome Curunìr, without risking a dangerous battle –and so he slowed down his movements, and very nearly stopped altogether- Curunìr lay still and weary underneath him, their bodies glistening with sweat.
Then he began to move again, and Curunìr tried to move out from under him, but was pinned to the ground. And then the pleasure began again, and though he could scarcely believe it, he felt himself at the brink again, and it came more quickly this time, and it tore though him with a convulsive shudder.
Mithrandir at last allowed his own release, and spent deep inside Curunìr's tight and aching insides. The bliss of it was intense, and he kissed the strong shoulders under him as he came.
Still without speaking to each other, they separated finally, and Curunìr rolled onto his back tiredly. For several long moments, they simply gazed at one another, in a surreal mixture of desire and distrust.
And then Curunìr, although he did not expect to, fell into an exhausted and sudden sleep.
Silently, Mithrandir the White rose up, and put back on his cloak, and then put Curunìr's robes back on him as well.
And then, finally, he gently placed the iron manacles that he had brought with him loosely around Curunìr's wrists.
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.