Unforgotten

I want him to really understand what I mean by that, namely that I won’t jump at him and try to enter him without his consent. To get him to relax again I add, “I am not *that* rude.” At least not if my partner has never been the one taken before, and I am fairly sure that this is the case with him. With his short-tempered, proud nature Éomer doesn’t really seem as if he likes to be dominated. Maybe he never executed a physical union at all with a man. Or with *anybody*. But I don’t dare to ask, because he surely would mistake it as huge humiliation, and I don’t want our sensual interlude to end in an abrupt and ugly way.

After smelling at the small bottle and being confronted with a nice, comfortingly flowery scent, I dribble traces of lucent fluid onto his spine, starting right above his butocks. Slowly, I draw the oily line up over his strong back, and before I reach the valley between his shoulderblades I reach out and gently wipe his blond hair aside to expose the nape of his neck. He stirs a little as the liquid hits him there and slowly trickles down his neck, but he doesn’t say anything. Finally I pour a generous amount of oil onto my palm, put the bottle aside again, rub my hands together very briefly. And then I begin.

He voices a tiny sound as I lay my warm, slick hands on his shoulders and squeeze carefully. He is very tense, his muscles are hard as stone under my fingers, his sinews firm and taut. I am not knowledgeable enough about this to free his strained body from these tensions and hardenings in a serious and long-term way, but my touch seems to do him well anyway, and if it’s on a whole different level than it would be with a professional kneader. Very tenderly I work only his nape for a while, then I go deeper and tend to the wide, muscular planes of his upper back. Slide my thumbs, or my fingertips, my palms, my knuckles with deliberate pressure over his skin, and step by step he relaxes.

Your skin... I could go on forever and ever and worship your skin wmy hmy hands and eyes... so smooth and firm and young and clean... Compared to you I feel dirty somehow. And old. But still you are lying here, under me, on your own free will. I ask myself what exactly it is that allures you, what exactly you want from me and why you want it from me of all people. And when my oily hands playfully and gently glide over your sensitive sides and you can’t suppress a soft but very meaningful moan, I know it.

Something I definitely don’t know is just for how long we stay like this. He on his belly and silently on the bed, I on my knees above him, massaging and caressing him without losing a word. But it doesn’t mattWe bWe both seem to like it and the night is still young.

“You don’t have to be so careful”, I suddenly hear him murmur into the pillow.

A smile curves up my lips. “I know”, I say but don’t let my touches grow harder.

Your voice wants to make me believe that you don’t set a high value on such unmanly tenderness, but your body reveals the contradictory truth. You tremble under my hands, so lightly that maybe you don’t even notice yourself, but I am not oblivious to it. And I can cearly hear your deep, heavy breathing and your low sighs of pleasure, although our heads are pretty much apart and your face is turned away from me and pressed into the cushion. I feel how your muscles twitch under my massaging palms and fingers, how they tense and loosen again, and how the blond little hairs on your forearms and also the ones in the nape of your neck are standing on their ends from the excitement. We both know that it was a lie. In truth you are yearning for tenderness, because there is not much of it in these harsh times Gondor as well as Rohan are goihrouhrough. But the fact that I don’t force you to admit it seems to help you to relax completely, and I am glad that I didn’t say anything.

We don’t talk any more while I devotedly massage your broad back, your sides and your muscular arms with the flavoursome oil until your beautiful, smooth skin feels tantalisingly slick, soft and velvety under my fingers. I have slowly but surely worked myself deeper down and now play with the waistband of your trousers for about the tenth time. I waver, but then pull it further down only a tiny bit, until the beginning of the soft curve that waits there to be discovered is exposed. I stop here, because I don’t want to risk that you panick again and my whole preparations were in vain. So I don’t travel deeper but massage you just there, where your buttocks begin, very carefully. After a while I move my hands up your spine, then down again, and as casually and inconspiciously as possible I strip off your trousers a few more inches. The waistband spans directly over the middle of your bottom now and I think this is pretty much the most seductive sight that I ever laid my eyes on. I let my oily hands glide over the tender and firm skin there, and then experimentally touch you a little more determinedly. You groan softly and with lots of sensual pleasure, and I pause for a moment.

“Don’t stop”, you murmur into the pillow, and you sound aroused. *Very* aroused, in fact. When I continue, daring and bold now, your breathing speeds up, and after just a short time you grind out another word, with a voice so thick with lust that my mouth turns dry. “Deeper...“