Stand before my eyes* by Fadesintothewest

Stand before my eyes*

Read Stand before my eyes*

She was dressed in blue. It pleased him. Oh it pleased him. Her lover, he was so different in his desires: fey, raw, unashamed, awash in old desires born at Cuiviénen, abandoned by his kin that left the shores of endor.

 

He was life. Findekáno.

 

He watched. Oh he loved to watch.

 

“Don’t say a word,” he whispered as she slipped the deep blue dress on, a simple thing. “Let me watch you.”

 

She saw the longing in his eyes, his grey blue eyes sparkled a brighter blue, the black of his eyes growing large with desire.

 

She was so unlike the cold Noldor. She was warm, earthen--no, not of the earth, but of the waters. Maiden of the sea, lady of the waves, she was of the Falas, belonging to the tides, the pull of the moon- his silver lover. With her he was unafraid to speak his deepest desires, to touch her in ways he could never have allowed himself to do, afraid to defile the laws of the Blessed Lands. But now? Now he was doomed, a miscreant, and yet he felt freer, finding his true self. Yet he knew he could not escape his doom.

 

She moved like a tree in a gentle breeze. The rise of her body, an image of her claiming him, bearing down on him, but he watched her move, the shift of the blue dress across her breasts, down her hips, hinting at what lay beneath made him catch his breath.

 

She smiled watching her lover’s gaze devour her. So simple, this seduction and he opened this world to her to feel how her body, her very fire could so easily render a man paralyzed in desire. But he would not touch her. He did not want to. He only wanted to watch. He had told her, “It’s a bit of secret, to know it is this simple to render a man powerless. Now that you know I shall not let you go.”

 

She pressed her back against the wall, facing him, stilling. Her eyes met his. It was too much. Her breath was coming harder, faster. He was burning, burning her. The excessiveness of his craving, the sheen on his skin, the dark hair tumbling wildly about him, made her want to fall before him, opening herself to him, begging him to take her, boldly.

 

“Stand before my eyes,” he whispered, “my lover, let me see you.” His hand was stroking his length, watching her as he pleasured himself, watching as the blue dress caught on her nipples beneath, the crease between her thighs hinting at the sweet prize that waited for him there. His passion building, his eyes shut for the briefest moment, a moan escaping his lips. His eyes open as his hands worked more feverishly contemplating the maiden before him. “Glass nín le/gen cened, It is my joy to see you, Syalmā-” his voice breaking, betraying his climbing need.

 

The maiden closed her eyes. She could not bear to look into his eyes. He was overwhelming her with his need, his lust. But she could not stop herself as her body slid against the wall behind her, almost writhing as if he was inside her, moving her with his body, pressed up against her, his largeness blooming inside her.  Her hands found her own desire.

 

The sight of his lover claiming herself overcame him. He moved towards his lover, lifting her up against the wall to meet his height. Her eyes still shut.

 

Her legs wrapped around his and then he was in her. He was almost too much for her, his size overwhelming. She cried out, not in pain, but in absolution.

 

Their intimacy was wild, wild as the untamed lands of endor. Her hands pulled on his dark hair, pulling hard as he filled her with his animal desire, moving in her with a reckless and bold abandon.  She felt the sharp rising and falling of his hot breath on her neck. She moaned. The sounds coming from her surprised her. They were feral and prurient.

 

He cried out her name, his own groans, guttural, base, breaking his very soul, tearing down any semblance of control, drowning the morality and virtues of bodily desires that had been cages.

 

His sound, the feeling of him swelling with his seed inside her—her release came like a river of fire, the walls that held him within her pulsated, closing tight around him.

 

He cried out, his release spent, feeling her desire close around him.

 

The two lovers clung to each other desperately, breathing heavily, all their energy spent.

 

Fingon gently carried Syalmā to his bed, careful not to slip out of her. They laid entangled in one another, his hands gently stroking her hair, moving to trace her soft lips, the delicate collarbone like a fine necklace.

 

“I have claimed you Findekáno Astaldo of the Noldor” Syalmā murmured.

 

Fingon sighed, he was lost to her. “My beautiful maiden of the sea, you have my life.”

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Chapter End Notes

Endor-middle earth

Astaldo­- Valiant

Syalmā- seashell (from the oldest tongue of the elves)

 

*So if someone can guess the song that inspired this, kudos to you.