The room itself provided no source of illumination, but the full moon cast a dim stream of light through the half-open shutters. Arwen blinked a few times to accustom herself to the darkness. All that she could see was a washstand and the bed, its white sheets gleaming in the moonlight. She found herself wondering what stories of previous encounters this bed might be able to tell if it could talk and smiled softly. Tonight it would witness another. She slammed the door shut and pressed Aragorn against it. Some of the water in the jug spilled and splashed on the floor. His lips formed a surprised 'o' and Arwen released him hastily.
Her hand flew to her eyes. What had she done? "Oh, I am sorry. I do..."
He placed the jug on the floor, placed a finger on her lips, silencing her. "Why do you show such restraint? Am I not your husband?"
Arwen looked away for a moment, then forced herself to look him straight in the eye. Why was he asking her that? "Yes, you are. But I always thought that a wife should be submissive to her husband." There, it was said.
Aragorn's expression became grim and he gripped her shoulders so tightly that it hurt. "Who told you this misconception? And does that mean that you did not get all that you desire?"
For an instant, she did not know how to respond. "Yes, no! You give me so much, but there are, ahm, other things that I did not dare ask of you." Had she really just said that?
Aragorn released her and began to pace. "Arwen, do you trust me so little that you cannot speak to me of your desires? Tell me what I have done wrong and I will try to be a better husband to you."
Arwen hastened over to him and embraced him tightly. She felt tears pricking at the corners of her eyes and blinked furiously. She would not cry now. "You have done nothing wrong, beloved. I was a fool to presume instead of talking to you. I should know you better, forgive me."
Aragorn removed her hat hand pressed her head against his shoulder. She clutched at him tightly. "Oh, vanimelda, there is nothing to forgive. All is well. It is my greatest wish to see you happy in every matter. So dare not to not dare tell my your every wish." He nudged her nose and Arwen had to smile.
A wonderful feeling overcame her as she stood there in his embrace. He had never before broached that part of their relationship, and she had not dared to, had not been sure of his reaction. But now the chance was there. "I promise. Come and sit so that we may talk."
Aragorn went over to the bedside-table and lighted the candle there. Then they made themselves comfortable on the straw mattress and Arwen snuggled herself against him.
She breathed in deeply, smelling the scent that was uniquely him; the sweat from the dancing, the sandalwood soap with which he washed; and if she kissed him, she would taste a trace of red wine that still lingered in his mouth. She pulled the scarf from her head, pushed all troubling thoughts to the back of her mind and turned to him.
When Arwen tied the knot at the back of his head, Aragorn chuckled. "I was just thinking of the last time I was blindfolded. And this situation is far more pleasant than the one we found ourselves in back then. And your hands are far more gentle, too."
"Sh, no words. Hush and lie back." She pushed him on the bed and allowed herself a small smile. It was the first time that she was really in charge. She studied him for a moment; he was trying to appear relaxed, but he could not fool her; his lips were pressed together in a firm line and his breathing was just a bit quicker than normal. With the scarf she had blindfolded him and the flickering of the single candle that cast a play of light and shadow on his otherwise naked body, he looked more wanton than Arwen had ever seen him. She paused, not entirely sure how to proceed. Then she shook her head; it was stupid to think too much when the man of her dreams was lying on the bed, waiting for her to join him. She rounded the bed and climbed in on the other side.
Aragorn turned his head and smiled. "Are you joining me?"
"Mm," she replied and straddled his chest and kissed him. She could feel his hands searching for her, roaming her body. He let his hands wander up to her face and explored it with his fingers. She held still as he traced the bridge of her nose, her eyes and down to her jaw. So suddenly that she surprised herself, she captured his hands and placed them at his sides with the order to leave them there. With a kiss she moved her mouth lower, nibbling the scratchy skin of his chin and, leaving a moist trail, moved to the nape of his neck.
She rested her hands on his chest and slowly dragged her nails down his bare skin. His breath was coming quicker now, and when Arwen reached his groin, he groaned and his head lolled to the side. She reached behind her and began to slowly stroke him with light fingers. His hands clenched the bed sheets and twisted them in an obvious effort to hold himself still. He bucked his hips once.
"Not yet," she whispered and withdrew her hand again before she could drive him over the edge. She still needed him. Reaching between her legs, she tested herself. Not yet slick enough – as she had expected. She grinned naughtily at the new idea, moved over to his head and gave him a quick kiss before she squatted above him.
"Kiss me," she commanded and placed one of his hands on her hip. She heard him chuckle as he realised what kind of lips she had presented him. He pulled her a bit farther down to him so that he could reach her. A moment later, his tongue had found her and she gasped; it was so deliciously warm and moist. Arwen grasped the head of the bed and congratulated herself on her idea. In a matter of moments the tingling had intensified to an ache. She tuged at his hair as warmth spread through her whole body until the tension snapped, giving her a few seconds ecstasy. She pressed her head against the wood in front of her, gave a strangled cry and held herself crouched until the spasms passed. At last she let herself slide to the side where she lay for a moment, waiting for her heartbeat to slow, then sat up and untied his blindfold.
He blinked a few times, then settled his gaze on her. "So?" he asked with a grin.
"Very good tongue-work, husband, you may take your time now," Arwen affirmed.
"Do not think I did not enjoy that," he mumbled, flipped her unto her back and entered her in one smooth thrust.
It was good to see his eyes again, Arwen thought as he moved above her. Dark grey as the stormy sea she had once seen in Mithlond. She locked her legs around him and clung to his back as each thrust sent jolts of pleasure through her body. He buried his hand in her hair and pressed his lips on hers in a demanding kiss. The taste of herself on his lips combined with the trace of wine assaulted her senses and she drove him on, clenching her muscles and tugging at his hair again. His long, languid, torturous strokes became short and rough ones. There was that wonderful feeling deep within her again that made her toes curl; and she embraced it as with one final, hard thrust, he squeezed his eyes shut, gripped her hips and spent himself within her.
Aragorn collapsed on top of her, pressing her deep into the mattress. She pushed at him lightly and he rolled to the side, grabbed the blanket and covered them both. He kissed the top of her head and drew her to him. "It was an interesting experience that I would care to repeat."
Arwen smiled to herself. "Any time, beloved, any time."
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.