In Need of a Cold Shower by heget

In Need of a Baby Shower

Short Epilogue, Strong Sexual Content, in where Seregeithon and Helcerían are on their way to Alqualondë, and Elrond is proved right.

Helcerían has her legs wrapped around her husband’s waist and lower back, her hands clutching his upper back and shoulders. He is panting heavily, climaxing inside her once more, as hot as a furnace, and she is reveling in his sounds, his heat, his touch. They are in the dark of the ship’s hold, in their private cabin of the ship taking them back to Alqualondë so that she can introduce her new husband to her kin and friends. They have a bed instead of a hammock - not a large bed, but better accommodations than their wedding night, and more than sufficient for their need. Privacy, if nothing else. And a hammock would make positions and thrusts difficult - so good, her husband, so good for her. Helcerían and Seregeithon have not decided if they shall stay in Alqualondë or sail back to Middle-earth. The life that they shall build together is still undecided in too many fundamental details. Except for the sex. That he is glorious.

Seregeithon has stilled. The cabin rocks gently in the surf, but there are no lanterns lit to see his face. Helcerían can guess at the expression, the one that makes him look young and stupid and exquisite, and she pulls a hand from his back to stroke his sweaty face and lift the hair clinging from his forehead out of his eyes. Her other hand, as she also relaxes her legs, she pulls down and between their bodies to rest below her stomach.

Helcerían can feel - with the soul and not body, and she knows a little about mortal men compared to elves to know that this is one of the ways in which they differ - that Helcerían has, possibly, conceived. Or could. If she allows.

She has to decide.

This is far from the last time that she has had sex with her husband and far from the last that she shall. Their opportunities are limitless. Her choice is if it will be today, on this journey to her old home, before they have even decided where they shall live and who will give up their old life for the other.

Seregeithon, ignorant of this, has reached his own hand past hers, towards where they are still joined, to stroke and rub and bring her to climax. Attentive man. Desperately eager to please her. Helcerían grabs his wrist to stop him. “Love, do you want children?”

“If you do,” Seregeithon murmurs, still sex-drunk and bleary from his release.

“What do you want?” Helcerían asks again, her harsher tone demanding an answer and not just his deference towards her.

“Yes,” Seregeithon says, his voice still panty and breathless. “Yes, I want to be a father. I want it very much.” He would have continued with affirmations of his willing desire to sire said children with her, but by then Helcerían had released his wrist and wiggled enticingly.

A few minutes later, as Helcerían is panting heavily, her legs bonelessly draped over the sides of the narrow cabin bed, Seregeithon lifts himself up, wincing at the scratch marks on his back, and asks, “Why did you ask now?”

“My fool,” Helcerían pants. 

Yes, she thinks.