To Capture the Heart of a Warrior
folder
Lord of the Rings Movies › General
Rating:
Adult ++
Chapters:
32
Views:
12,456
Reviews:
36
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Category:
Lord of the Rings Movies › General
Rating:
Adult ++
Chapters:
32
Views:
12,456
Reviews:
36
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Disclaimer:
I do not own the Lord of the Rings book series and movie series, nor any of the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.
The Last Piece of Candy
Chapter eleven: The Last Piece of Candy
Boromir sighed. He turned back the blankets and waited for Pippin. He could hear his Little One bidding Merry sweet dreams. His clothing was neatly folded beside him. It seemed to take the longest time for Pippin to come to him, but at last he did, his little feet making no noise at all.
Pippin came to him, smiling gently. As usual, he threw his clothing off in an untidy mess. ‘Well, let him,’ thought Boromir. ‘I can work on that later. Right now, I just want him with me.’
Silently he held up the blankets. Pippin scrambled under the blankets and snuggled up to the big, warm body. “You look thoughtful, acushla. What are you thinking of?”
“Well, poppet,” said Boromir, “I was thinking that it’s our last time with no watches. Our little honeymoon is over with, I’m afraid.”
“I know,” Pippin said, suddenly looking a little sad. Boromir put one finger under Pippin’s chin and lifted his small face, looking deeply into those brilliant eyes. Pippin squirmed up and kissed his lips softly. A thrill ran through Boromir’s body. Nothing would ever stop this passion that raced through him like a rushing wind every time his halfling kissed him. It would be easy to rush into the torrential passion that always shook Boromir at Pippin’s least touch, but not this time.
This was their last time that they could be guaranteed a tryst uninterrupted or even a time to lie together at all, and he wanted this to be special. He pulled Pippin on top of himself and slowly stroked the smooth skin of Pippin’s back.
“Could you try to do something for me? For your acushla?”
“Anything,” answered Pippin. “Do you want the sun or the moon? If you do, I’ll fetch them down from the sky for you.”
“No,” smiled Boromir, “that isn’t quite what I want.”
Pippin looked at him. “Well,” he said, arching one brow over a kitten-like eye. “If that answer wasn’t calculated to drive me to distraction, I have never heard one.”
Boromir chuckled. This bounced Pippin on Boromir’s body and made the halfling laugh. Boromir reached up and traced one finger along a soft cheek, savoring the perfect curve. Pippin turned his face quickly, biting the fingertip, and said between clenched teeth, “ ‘ell me! ‘wot ‘oo ‘ont?”
Boromir laughed, even as he winced with pain. “You little rascal! That hurts! ‘ot I ‘ont’ is this: no fairy magic today. Not this time. I want us to be together as we are. Because we really are quite perfect like we are. I will never refuse you because of your fairy abilities, my poppet, but right now, I just want my halfling. I just want my Pippin.”
The Little One opened his mouth, releasing Boromir’s finger. He then captured it in a small fist and kissed the reddened fingertip. Pippin looked at him as if the words melted his heart. “Oh, acushla, how very sweet, how very romantic!”
“Let me show you just how romantic I can be, poppet.”
He rolled over on his side, taking his halfling with him. Pippin looked up at his warrior, losing himself in the handsome features of Boromir’s face.
“Oh, do, my acushla, please do…” he sighed.
Boromir descended on Pippin gently, capturing the smiling mouth with his own hungry one. Pippin moaned. The moan vibrated against Boromir’s lips, making the hair on his arms and the back of his neck rise like the hackles of an angry dog. His tongue danced lightly across the small, shapely mouth, tickling and teasingly light. He flicked the tip of his tongue between Pippin’s lips, and the little mouth opened slowly, teasing in return. Boromir slowly and gently slid his tongue home. And home is just what it felt like. Pippin’s little tongue slid into Boromir’s mouth in turn, slippery and wriggly as a little fish. Now it was Boromir’s turn to moan.
Now it was hands and mouths and tongues and nipples, touches, caresses, flesh pressing against flesh and hearts beating madly. It was a slow lover’s dance. Boromir gently guided Pippin’s head down and down. Pippin made love to his chest, his nipples, his belly, stopping at Boromir’s navel to play a while, then lower and lower and slowly and slowly and then oh my yes yes yes…such a small, perfect little mouth, such a tight fit, such a hungry little halfling, such a clever tongue, to stroke and lap and dig into the underside of his shaft and swirl around the cap and flick up and down in the little slit, gathering the dew Pippin found there. Such tender little hands, though they now were growing callused from swordplay, little hands that surrounded him as they curled one above the other just below that hot, wet suction and busy, lashing tongue.
“Oh, poppet, oh, my love…oh, so good, so wonderful…”
Moans around his shaft, vibrating him, driving him on, and so slowly, so easily, so hungrily devouring him body and soul. Then a little faster and harder, a little more demanding, and now the moans around his flesh changed to a chanting, demanding grunting until oh yes yes here it comes and oh! Oh, Valar! Oh help! Oh now, now, now and yes. Yes. Yes! And Pippin swallowing and lapping up every spilled drop. And he’s not stopping, he continues on, suckling gently now, teasingly, working softly yet demandingly and Boromir knows his Little One wants to be mounted, and how can he deny his love anything?
And then the kisses up his body to his mouth and the taste of his own seed in his mouth and tongues pushing the taste back and forth, and it’s Boromir’s hands dipping into the little pot of ointment and fingers sliding in and oh, how he opens up, does his Little One, amazing how open he is, how ready, and Boromir sitting up, holding Pippin close as the Little One lowers his little bottom and slowly takes his Man, first just the head, and then a little more, and then about half, and then more, and then oh yes!
And then Pippin rocking slow and easy, and kisses and more kisses and slowly rocking and moans and grunts and grinds and little hands clutching his hair and faster and Boromir’s hand around Pippin’s small member moving in time with the rocking, and more moans and grunts and then little whimpers and mewlings and Pippin’s seed hot and wet and everywhere and Boromir’s seed hot and wet and deep inside the clutching, clenching sheath of tight flesh…
And Boromir lifting his Little One in his arms and lifting him bodily to his hungry mouth, and Pippin’s little shaft all soft and wet and salty-sweet in his mouth as Boromir holds the little body aloft in the air and to his mouth, Boromir’s head bent over this perfect little sprite, and now Pippin grows hard again and whimpers and moans and little fingers curled in Boromir's locks, clutching and pulling his face deeper and oh this is so sweet, this last piece of candy before a possible fast…
To Be Continued
Boromir sighed. He turned back the blankets and waited for Pippin. He could hear his Little One bidding Merry sweet dreams. His clothing was neatly folded beside him. It seemed to take the longest time for Pippin to come to him, but at last he did, his little feet making no noise at all.
Pippin came to him, smiling gently. As usual, he threw his clothing off in an untidy mess. ‘Well, let him,’ thought Boromir. ‘I can work on that later. Right now, I just want him with me.’
Silently he held up the blankets. Pippin scrambled under the blankets and snuggled up to the big, warm body. “You look thoughtful, acushla. What are you thinking of?”
“Well, poppet,” said Boromir, “I was thinking that it’s our last time with no watches. Our little honeymoon is over with, I’m afraid.”
“I know,” Pippin said, suddenly looking a little sad. Boromir put one finger under Pippin’s chin and lifted his small face, looking deeply into those brilliant eyes. Pippin squirmed up and kissed his lips softly. A thrill ran through Boromir’s body. Nothing would ever stop this passion that raced through him like a rushing wind every time his halfling kissed him. It would be easy to rush into the torrential passion that always shook Boromir at Pippin’s least touch, but not this time.
This was their last time that they could be guaranteed a tryst uninterrupted or even a time to lie together at all, and he wanted this to be special. He pulled Pippin on top of himself and slowly stroked the smooth skin of Pippin’s back.
“Could you try to do something for me? For your acushla?”
“Anything,” answered Pippin. “Do you want the sun or the moon? If you do, I’ll fetch them down from the sky for you.”
“No,” smiled Boromir, “that isn’t quite what I want.”
Pippin looked at him. “Well,” he said, arching one brow over a kitten-like eye. “If that answer wasn’t calculated to drive me to distraction, I have never heard one.”
Boromir chuckled. This bounced Pippin on Boromir’s body and made the halfling laugh. Boromir reached up and traced one finger along a soft cheek, savoring the perfect curve. Pippin turned his face quickly, biting the fingertip, and said between clenched teeth, “ ‘ell me! ‘wot ‘oo ‘ont?”
Boromir laughed, even as he winced with pain. “You little rascal! That hurts! ‘ot I ‘ont’ is this: no fairy magic today. Not this time. I want us to be together as we are. Because we really are quite perfect like we are. I will never refuse you because of your fairy abilities, my poppet, but right now, I just want my halfling. I just want my Pippin.”
The Little One opened his mouth, releasing Boromir’s finger. He then captured it in a small fist and kissed the reddened fingertip. Pippin looked at him as if the words melted his heart. “Oh, acushla, how very sweet, how very romantic!”
“Let me show you just how romantic I can be, poppet.”
He rolled over on his side, taking his halfling with him. Pippin looked up at his warrior, losing himself in the handsome features of Boromir’s face.
“Oh, do, my acushla, please do…” he sighed.
Boromir descended on Pippin gently, capturing the smiling mouth with his own hungry one. Pippin moaned. The moan vibrated against Boromir’s lips, making the hair on his arms and the back of his neck rise like the hackles of an angry dog. His tongue danced lightly across the small, shapely mouth, tickling and teasingly light. He flicked the tip of his tongue between Pippin’s lips, and the little mouth opened slowly, teasing in return. Boromir slowly and gently slid his tongue home. And home is just what it felt like. Pippin’s little tongue slid into Boromir’s mouth in turn, slippery and wriggly as a little fish. Now it was Boromir’s turn to moan.
Now it was hands and mouths and tongues and nipples, touches, caresses, flesh pressing against flesh and hearts beating madly. It was a slow lover’s dance. Boromir gently guided Pippin’s head down and down. Pippin made love to his chest, his nipples, his belly, stopping at Boromir’s navel to play a while, then lower and lower and slowly and slowly and then oh my yes yes yes…such a small, perfect little mouth, such a tight fit, such a hungry little halfling, such a clever tongue, to stroke and lap and dig into the underside of his shaft and swirl around the cap and flick up and down in the little slit, gathering the dew Pippin found there. Such tender little hands, though they now were growing callused from swordplay, little hands that surrounded him as they curled one above the other just below that hot, wet suction and busy, lashing tongue.
“Oh, poppet, oh, my love…oh, so good, so wonderful…”
Moans around his shaft, vibrating him, driving him on, and so slowly, so easily, so hungrily devouring him body and soul. Then a little faster and harder, a little more demanding, and now the moans around his flesh changed to a chanting, demanding grunting until oh yes yes here it comes and oh! Oh, Valar! Oh help! Oh now, now, now and yes. Yes. Yes! And Pippin swallowing and lapping up every spilled drop. And he’s not stopping, he continues on, suckling gently now, teasingly, working softly yet demandingly and Boromir knows his Little One wants to be mounted, and how can he deny his love anything?
And then the kisses up his body to his mouth and the taste of his own seed in his mouth and tongues pushing the taste back and forth, and it’s Boromir’s hands dipping into the little pot of ointment and fingers sliding in and oh, how he opens up, does his Little One, amazing how open he is, how ready, and Boromir sitting up, holding Pippin close as the Little One lowers his little bottom and slowly takes his Man, first just the head, and then a little more, and then about half, and then more, and then oh yes!
And then Pippin rocking slow and easy, and kisses and more kisses and slowly rocking and moans and grunts and grinds and little hands clutching his hair and faster and Boromir’s hand around Pippin’s small member moving in time with the rocking, and more moans and grunts and then little whimpers and mewlings and Pippin’s seed hot and wet and everywhere and Boromir’s seed hot and wet and deep inside the clutching, clenching sheath of tight flesh…
And Boromir lifting his Little One in his arms and lifting him bodily to his hungry mouth, and Pippin’s little shaft all soft and wet and salty-sweet in his mouth as Boromir holds the little body aloft in the air and to his mouth, Boromir’s head bent over this perfect little sprite, and now Pippin grows hard again and whimpers and moans and little fingers curled in Boromir's locks, clutching and pulling his face deeper and oh this is so sweet, this last piece of candy before a possible fast…
To Be Continued