50 Prompts: AU Silmarillion by Urloth

Prompt: Hair (Haleth/Caranthir)

Warnings: Het porn. Light bondage.

Summary: Haleth has a certain way of styling Caranthir's hair.

This is not something that will ever be mentioned in all the Lays of Haleth and her strength, wisdom and leadership.

Caranthir tugs at the bindings on his wrists then moans as this causes his head to jerk back. What a marvellous woman, instead of laughing or deriding what most Men saw as the ridiculous lengths of hair most Elves sport, she saw an immediate use for it.

“Yes keep doing that,” Haleth is a warm, pleased smile above his face as she watches him struggle between her legs, dressed in bindings of his own hair and nothing but his own hair.

Obediently he struggles because it pleases her, and the hair tightens and pulls all over his body, making him gasp as his legs are tugged wider, and the braids she wove drag over his nipples, still tingling and sore from her earlier artistry with a melting candle.

Outside the sky is still blue, and the air is crisp with the breath of advancing winter. Soon the golden sun will begin to descend from the sky and the horizon will be painted with peach and violet tones.

Caranthir could not give three fucks about what the sky outside looks like.

Her hand slides up his chest, her callouses catching the abused skin further. Caranthir bites his lip, eyes sliding closed as she kisses across his face, lingering on his cheeks which are so flushed that her mouth feels icy.

“Your cheeks are ruby,” she murmurs, breath cool and laced with the wine he brought to her tent tonight. Caranthir grumbles at the reminder of his perpetually red face.

“There are girls who would kill for your skin,” she adds, hands travelling up to his chin and tilting his head so there is some slack in his hair.

“We even have a child’s tale which could be all about you, the most beautiful creature in the world, ebony hair, snow white skin and crimson lips. The story doesn’t mention your adorable freckles though…” her teeth dig into his collarbones, just over those aforementioned freckles, and the softer palm of her hand drags over his cock.

Caranthir jerks, breathing deeply in and out of his nose to try and keep his orgasm at bay.

Haleth laughs.

“I told you I’d not stop till you begged me,” she reminds him, reaching for a hempen rope since she has used up all of his hair in binding him with such pretty patterns. She ties him to the centre pole of the tent and steps back to admire the sight. He half-kneels, balanced on the balls of his feet, back flush to the pole and his legs spread so there is no denial of his flustered state.

They can hear them outside, this is a temporary village of tents after all, but the Haladrin are polite enough to pretend not to listen or try and shame the woman who is solely responsible for keeping them alive. There was no one like Haleth who could have kept moral up and have thought up the defensive manoeuvres that kept so many of the orcs at bay so they could pick them off with their depleting arrows.

The normal rules and expectations of society ceased to apply to Haleth from the moment she picked up her father-then-her-brother’s sword. If she wanted to engage a man outside of marriage and cause him such agonies and pleasures that he sounded like a maid during her first time, then she could do so.

“Begged you,” Caranthir muses then a hoarse shout wrings out of him as she moves towards him again, her dress discarded, and straddles his spread thighs, pushing them together and grinding his cock against her, past the moist curls until it would only take a slight thrust to push inside.

His hips jerk immediately, trying to drive forwards but the bindings of his own hair drag his head back and his hips shudder to a halt.

“Beg,” Haleth reminds him.

“Please,” Caranthir gasps, the brighter parts of his mind blanking out at what she promises with each roll of her hips.

“Please what?” Haleth singsongs, taking a mouthful of wine and sharing it in her kiss.

He swallows, gasps and presses kisses to whatever part of her body she allows him to touch. “Please fuck me,” he groans, “please let me inside.”

Haleth chuckles. It is a remarkably feminine sound from her. It would surprise many. But Caranthir is uninterested in her laughter.

She slides down on him with a low, pleased moan. “Ahh…” she praises, “good.”

Her hips rise and fall, rise and fall.

Caranthir struggles, his hair tightening all over his body enough to bruise and his scalp stinging.

Haleth’s warm smile hovers above his own and he falls into it, falls into her as his orgasm rolls through him and he hears her laughter.

“It is alright,” Haleth murmurs against his mouth as he gasps apologies for not lasting long enough to bring her along with him, “we still have the evening.”