A Favor for the Prince by Rocky41_7

A Favor for the Prince

Read A Favor for the Prince

The phallus was sitting on the bed when Nerdanel came in to clean and change after work. It stood out against the pale blue comforter of the four-poster, catching her eye as she shuffled in, raking loose hair back from her face.

It appeared to be a glass base, wrapped in supple, soft leather, save for the tip, which was exposed to show a dark ruby just beneath the glass surface. It was a decent length and thickness (Nerdanel wrapped her thumb and forefinger around it to test), and very erect.

“A surprise for me?” she asked herself aloud with a confused little laugh, finding herself rather funny. That was when she spotted the pile of straps on the dresser by the windows. Setting the fake penis aside, she went to examine those, and, lifting them, realized it was not a haphazard pile of straps, but a harness. It seemed to come together around a central ring, which was rather large. Her eyes flicked back to the phallus on the bed, and unable to resist her curiosity, she tested it. It fit right through the ring, but hung back snugly so it could only be inserted or removed one way. “A surprise for someone else?”

Or a joke? Though it wasn’t really in keeping with Fëanor’s sense of humor, what of it existed. She couldn’t think of anyone else in the house who would bother leaving such a tawdry thing in their bedroom.

Finding no other answers, nor questions, she put both mysteries aside and went to the washbasin to rinse her face and neck of the dust of the studio and change into something she could wear to dinner.

***

From her and Fëanor’s apartments she passed through one of the larger courtyards, headed to the main hall, and saw Finarfin sitting on the edge of a fountain, swinging his feet and dragging a stick through the clear water, a book propped open beside him.

“Arafinwë, have you seen Fëanáro?” she asked.

“No, Lady Nerdanel, not today,” he replied, turning those big, sober blue doe-eyes on her. Finarfin was a child who seemed more like a old Elf trapped in an adolescent’s body, which was a bit jarring following Fëanor, Fingolfin, and Lalwen. She saw him studying with masters of literature, science, and history more often than she saw him playing with others his age. “I heard him going to the forge this morning; he was up very early today. But I have not heard him since.”

“Mm.” Not unusual; it only meant she’d have to track him down. Whether or not they dined with Finwë and his family usually depended on whether or not Fëanor had quarreled with one of them that day, which made it very difficult to plan.

Alas for the difficulties of the royal family!

***

“So, are you responsible for the phallus on the bed?” she asked as they meandered back to their apartments through an open walkway along the outside of the palace. Dinner with the high king and queen had included duck, always a favorite of Nerdanel’s, and Finwë had asked her many questions about her latest commission, something which always put Fëanor in a good mood. He enjoyed boasting about Nerdanel’s exploits to his father, and many times would interrupt her to add details where he felt she had left out something relevant.

“Nerdanel!” Fëanor exclaimed. “You might at least wait until we were inside!”

“But you did leave it there,” she said.

“Did you imagine someone else was breaking into our apartments to leave phalluses lying around?” he asked. She shrugged. She almost wished they had, just so she could see how red Indis would go at the sheer impropriety when Fëanor demanded to know who had been leaving dicks in his apartments.

Fëanor pulled open the door and as they shed the shoes and shawls they had worn to dinner, he said:

“It’s meant for you.”

“For me?” she echoed. “It’s a fine piece of craftsmanship, but I have something better already,” she said, letting her gaze drop pointedly below Fëanor’s waist.

“Not like that,” he said, and despite the low light and Fëanor’s darker skin, Nerdanel was abruptly sure he was blushing. “It’s—for you to use, but not on yourself.”

Fëanor always dressed elegantly for dinner with the family, unless he was annoyed with Finwë or Indis, but not so annoyed as to skip dinner entirely (or in such instances as he had been dragged, nails digging into the floorboards, from the forge after being reminded he really did need to eat something). Bedecked in jewels and delicately-embroidered robes, with black pearls on his slippers and golden ornamental sticks pierced through the small bun he wore (dinner had been only a family affair, and so he had not minded wearing his hair mostly down), he looked like a historian’s vision of what the prince of the Noldor should look like.

“Findis, then? She could use it.” Fëanor choked in a way that Nerdanel was unsure was more amusement or disgust; perhaps it was equally both.

“It’s for me!” Nerdanel curled her hands over the back of the sofa and grinned at him through the half-light of the parlor.

“You wish for me to fuck you, Fëanáro?” His eyes traced over her arms, which rippled with muscle when she stretched, toned from hauling around chunks of marble and stone. He lifted his chin, with that look that was so Fëanor, that refusal to back down or be ashamed or cowed out of what he wanted. His pride was truly phenomenal, but Nerdanel was lying if she said it never made her hot. “Well, who am I to deny the crown prince?” she said. She strolled over to him and hooked her fingers over the sash he wore about his hips to tug him back towards their bedroom.

“Now?” he said.

“Please, as if you would let me make you wait until tomorrow,” she said, and Fëanor followed her lead, and at the threshold gathered her into his arms to kiss her in a way that made her sure he had been named perfectly by Miriel. Spirit of fire indeed! She melted in his embrace and let him burn her up from the inside out.

They took turns pulling things off each other, lips and teeth and tongues in a perpetual slow-motion collision, Fëanor’s hands on her shoulders her breasts her hips her ass, as if he could never have enough of her. It baffled her still, how one such as Fëanor—with either his looks or his station or his talent alone—could have had probably anyone in Tirion, and yet he desired her. She had stopped questioning it a long time ago, though—she didn’t disbelieve that he felt the way he did, only the sense of his taste.

Neither of them moved to take off any of Fëanor’s jewelry, though Nerdanel gladly tossed aside the few pieces she had worn. She might be a Noldo, but she preferred seeing jewels on others to wearing them herself, and Fëanor easily wore enough for both of them.

When he had her down to her undershorts, and Fëanor in his pants, she pushed him off and turned her attention to this new thing he had brought into their bedroom.

“Did you make it?” she asked, grabbing the phallus of the bed where she’d left it before dinner.

“Of course. Do you think I would trust someone else with this?” he asked. Nerdanel snorted.

“Fëanáro, I’m not certain you trust anyone with anything.”

“I trust you,” he murmured against her ear, sending a pleased shiver up her spine. She leaned back against him, feeling the warmth of his strong chest against her back. “I trust you with this.” His mouth was at the juncture of her neck and her freckled shoulder and Nerdanel let out an almost imperceptible sigh.

“How long did it take you to make?” she asked. She felt Fëanor’s muscles tense with a shrug.

“A few weeks?” he said. “I had been fitting it in around other things. I threw out the first three; that ate up time.” Now that sounded like Fëanor. She would accuse him of perfectionism, but she feared he might just hold up a mirror.

“Is that a ruby in there?”

“I didn’t see a reason it shouldn’t be comely,” he said.

“Maybe I should put jewelry on you,” she suggested. Fëanor was nuzzling at her neck, and one of his hands was rucking up the leg of her undershorts, the bulge of his bicep fitted against the slight dip of her waist.

“Do you want to?” he asked lowly, brushing his nose against the blade of her ear. Fëanor had a beautiful voice, smooth like honey when he spoke quietly and resounding with power when he raised it. It was equal parts wonderful and irritating that he need only murmur a few words by her ear to make the heat begin to spark between her legs. (It was worse when listening to him debate made her stir; at least this was more understandable, though the other one did sometimes lead to flash fire encounters in the back rooms of the university.) She made a quick, impatient noise and swatted his hand away from her leg, trying to breathe her heart back to a normal rate.

“You distract me,” she said, which, as usual, only made Fëanor grin impishly at her, his eyes sparkling. “Now, how am I supposed to…” Nerdanel held the harness up, turning it about. It had been easier to figure out how to fit the phallus into it than to fit herself into it.

“Take these off first,” Fëanor said, tugging at her undershorts.

“It won’t fit over them?” she asked.

“Of course it will,” he said. “But you should take them off.” With a pleased purse of her lips, Nerdanel stepped out of her last piece of clothing. At her back, Fëanor reached around to help her turn the harness right-side-up, and held it in place for her. Her eyes raked over his well-shaped forearms and the smell of his perfume enveloped her, a woody scent underlined with something spicy—cardamom? Against her ass, she could feel his excitement, and she leaned back more than strictly necessary to step into the harness, delighting in the way she felt Fëanor shiver. “How does this feel?” he asked quietly, tugging at the straps. “Not too tight?”

“No,” she said, bouncing a little to test the hold and stifling a snicker at the way the phallus bobbed along with her movement.

“If it chaffs, you can loosen it,” he said.

“I believe I shall survive,” she said. She turned to him as Fëanor opened his mouth—doubtless to insist on adjusting the harness if it wasn’t completely comfortable—and stroked his hair; halfway through a caress, she sank her fingers into his glossy black tresses and forced him down to his knees. “You, though…I can’t promise anything there,” she said. Fëanor’s eyes were fixed on her with singular focus, making her heart pound in her chest; being the object of his whole attention had always sent shivers up her back.

“Lick it,” she said on impulse. With his dark eyes still on her face, Fëanor leaned in and ran his tongue up the phallus. “More,” she said. Fëanor held her eyes a moment more before lowering his gaze. He leaned in took the tip of the thing into his mouth, and Nerdanel suddenly ached, watching his sweet red lips wrap around the cock she wore.

How had she never considered this idea before?

She reached her hand for his hair again, but he wasn’t halfway down the toy before he gagged and drew back.

“That is unpleasant,” he said, rubbing his throat.

“You big baby,” Nerdanel said. Fëanor scowled.

“That’s different.”

“Hardly,” she said. “You learn to like it.” But she wouldn’t make him learn it all in one night; she’d rather have his loud mouth on flesh and blood, anyway. And there was plenty else to do with this thing. “Go lie down, then.”

Fëanor stretched out with anticipation on their bed, watching her keenly, his pants tented around his arousal. Nerdanel followed, kneeling against the edge, to yank the pants off and toss them aside, making him twitch as they dragged over his groin.

“You’re focused tonight,” she murmured, lowering her head to press her lips against the softness of his inner thigh.

“Am I?” He didn’t sound focused; he sounded like he might be about to pass out.

“You say nothing about what you did at the forge today,” she explained, flicking her tongue against his skin; she felt a tiny, sharp gasp escape him.

“I…did nothing of particular interest…”

“And that’s not a story itself?” she asked, moving upwards; Fëanor squirmed and Nerdanel bit down on a grin. “Come on, tell me,” she coaxed. “What did you work on today?”

“The lamps,” he said tightly. “The blueprints are…I don’t know what I was thinking; they’re useless. I’ve thrown them out; I must start again. The entire design was bland, and poorly-conceived, and—” Fëanor cut himself off with an intake of breath as Nerdanel leaned up to kiss his chest, dragging his tongue around his nipple, pressing the cock between his shapely legs. “Nerdanel,” he whined, wriggling as if it wasn’t every other time they were in bed he couldn’t keep his mouth shut (even sitting on his face, Nerdanel had found, did not necessarily shut him up).

“And?” she said.

“Nerdanel!”

“Oh, hush,” she said, sealing her mouth over his and grinding her hips against his. Fëanor’s hips bucked against hers and he grabbed at her waist, pulling her more firmly down against him. Taking advantage of her new appendage, she rutted against the tent in Fëanor’s shorts, feeling an ache low in her gut at his clear desire.

“Nerdanel,” Fëanor breathed wetly against her mouth. “Please…”

“There’s my sweet-tongued prince,” she teased, kissing at his throat. Fëanor rolled his hips up against her, his nails digging into her back. “Wouldn’t you be disappointed if I made it easy for you? You never like anything that isn’t difficult.”

“That’s…not true,” he panted, tensing his legs on either side of her, drawing his knees up. “You make me sound very unpleasant.”

“Of course it is,” she said. “Anything which is easy bores you. I do not intend to ever bore you, Fëanáro.” She nipped at his neck and trailed her fingers over his ribs, feeling the goosebumps break out over his skin. Fëanor moaned, and she felt his hips jerk ever more desperately up against her. Deciding she had teased him enough, she reached down and pulled his shorts off, exposing his flushed cock with a soft gasp of relief from her husband. She spread his legs.

“Wait!” he cried, shifting back on the bed. He leaned over to the end table on his side and withdrew a small vial of fluid. Nerdanel examined it once Fëanor had passed it to her and realized it was oil.

“Ah. Yes, probably a good idea,” she agreed. She slicked the toy down and gave the bottle back to Fëanor to set aside. “On your knees,” she said. With a flickering look of his dark eyes, he complied and Nerdanel pressed close to him, sliding the cock between his legs, little jerks of her hips moving the toy back and forth between his thighs. “If you change your mind…” she began.

“No,” Fëanor interrupted. “Go ahead.” Rolling her eyes faintly, she drew back to examine the situation. Eru forbid she suggest he’d gotten in over his head.

“As you wish; just give me a moment…” She lined herself up properly and hesitated once more. “You’re sure—”

“Do it!”

Aulë’s anvil, one would think she was seeking to deprive him of something.

She pressed the tip of the cock into Fëanor and he gasped and shuddered and she stopped immediately.

“Fëanáro, is—”

“I haven’t asked you to stop!” Nerdanel looked up at the canopy as if the stars embroidered there could grant her patience.

“I’m only going slow,” she said, which sounded better than ‘I panicked.’ “This is our first time with such a thing. I don’t wish to hurt you,” she emphasized. Sometimes stating what ought to be obvious was the only way to combat Fëanor’s predilection for assuming the worst of anyone’s intentions, always. She heard Fëanor take a deep breath.

“It can’t possibly be worse than being burned on hot iron.”

“How I do love hearing you compare our sex life to your forge-related injuries!”

“Are you going to proceed, or should I have fucked myself with it instead?” Fëanor asked. “It begins to feel that would have been quicker.”

“Oh, hush,” Nerdanel said. “I’ve already begun.” She continued sliding the cock into him and feeling somewhat reassured she wasn’t causing him pain, she could just enjoy the way he collapsed down on the bed in a series of garbled moans and clanking bracelets, managing through that to keep his pert ass in the air for her to fuck.

What a good boy.

“How’s this?” she asked gently, stroking one hand along his thigh. Fëanor made some incomprehensible noise. “With words, Fëanáro, please.” Delightful as his senseless groaning was, she wanted to be sure of this.

“Good,” he said hoarsely.

Giving him a moment to get accustomed to the feeling of having something inside him, Nerdanel leaned over and pressed little kisses against the warm expanse of his back, drawing her hand up slowly to tease at his cock and balls until he whined and she felt his hips twitch against her hand.

“Are you ready?” she asked.

“Yes, yes, I’m ready!”

With slow care, Nerdanel drew out of him and then pressed back in, pulling a low moan from Fëanor; she saw his pretty hands fist in the sheets and something in her core went molten. Fëanor wanted her to fuck him? Then please him she would!

“Is that to your liking?” she asked.

“Yes,” he answered, breathing heavily.

“Do you want more?”

“Nerdanel!”

With a quiet laugh, she repeated the movement and Fëanor seemed to sink lower on the bed.

“Nerdanel, faster, please,” he implored her after the third time, shifting about with impatience. Nerdanel obliged, picking up the pace, thrusting in and out of him with her cock, until she could hear Fëanor’s earrings rattle with the force of her fucking, the gold decorations on his hair sticks swaying.

“Oh, Nerdanel, fuck,” he moaned, his knuckles gone white against the sheets. The sound of his lovely voice in the throes of such aching desire nearly made Nerdanel’s mouth water. She slammed into him once more, forcing a choked gasp out of him, and then stopped.

“Turn over,” she said. Fëanor was panting.

“Nerdanel,” he said.

“Turn over, Curufinwë.” With a whine, Fëanor pulled himself off the cock and fell onto his back. He gazed up at her, bright eyes framed with thick lashes, his lush black hair fanning out beneath him, the candlelight shining off the jewels at his forehead, his throat, his ears: red and white and green against the cool brown of his skin. Nerdanel sent a silent prayer of thanks she had wed the most beautiful Elf in Valinor. “Look at you,” she said. “Just look at you!” She leaned down and kissed Fëanor, parting her mouth against his, and his arms went around her, holding her tightly to him. “Fëanáro,” she murmured against his lips. “Fëanáro, I’m going to fuck you so good.”

“Yes, please,” he breathed.

She spread his legs further apart and slid the toy back into him all at once, feeling more confident about it this time. It helped how Fëanor writhed as if he could not get it back into himself fast enough.

“Do you see how thoughtful I am, not remarking at all on how impatient you are?”

“Remind me to give you an award later,” Fëanor said sarcastically, a quick intake of breath coming at the end of his snark as Nerdanel sheathed the toy fully into him. Fucking him from behind had excellent results, but fucking him on his back meant she got to see each and every expression that crossed his face as she began again with a slow pace: how his eyebrows knit together in impatience, how he bit at his full lower lip when she hit him at the right angle, how his rosy flush spread from his face down his neck to his chest.

It also meant she could kiss him, though doing that while also managing the toy was going to take her more getting used to. Fëanor arched up against her as she kissed him, like he was trying to drive the toy deeper into himself, and his achingly hard cock pressed against her stomach. His hands found her breasts and as he massaged them, his thighs squeezing against her hips, she had to keep herself from climbing onto his lap. She had a job to do and she was going to do it!

            She had to draw back from kissing him to focus on fucking him, which, if the arching of his back off the mattress was any sign, was alright with him. The tension in his body told her he was getting close, but when she reached for him, he knocked her hand away.

            “No,” he panted. “No, just…just the toy. I just want that.” So she focused on quick, sharp thrusts of her hips, making Fëanor turn his head to the side, biting his lip and desperately wriggling his body against her. “Nerdanel,” he said, his voice almost a plea. His cock was dripping and there was a tremor in his thighs and Nerdanel wanted to swallow him whole, her beautiful, prideful princeling.

            “You look good with a cock in you, Fëanáro,” she said, driving into him, trusting him to tell her if she was going too hard. He opened his mouth to reply, but all that came out was a gasping moan, his hands grabbing frantically at the sheets, his bracelets clinking against each other with his movement.

            “Nerdanel, I—!”

            “You’re so close, I know,” she said. “Won’t you cum for me, Fëanáro? I want to see you cum.” Fëanor whined, rutting his hips up against her and she would’ve touched him then, if he hadn’t told her not to, but instead she braced her hands against the mattress and picked up her pace, shoving that cock in and out of him as quickly as she could (and thankful that all her time hauling rock kept her fit enough to manage) “Come on Fëanáro,” she panted. “Let me see, let me see your bliss.”

            “Nerdanel,” he gasped, but whatever else he was gone to say broke off in a loud moan as he finally climaxed, his seed splattering against her stomach. Nerdanel came to a stop and Fëanor, limp on the bed, made a sound near a whimper as she pulled out of him. Surveying her work, she nodded with approval. Fëanor hadn’t been wrong about the idea—seeing him splayed out sweaty and flushed and speechless convinced her of that.

            There was just the matter now of how fucking wet she was.

            Catching her own breath, she flopped down on her back beside him.

            “You were right,” she said, always a dangerous thing to say to Fëanor. “I can’t believe we did not think to try this sooner.”

            “I always have good ideas,” said Fëanor.

            “I’m giving you this one,” she said. “Now help me get out of this thing.” With a quiet groan, Fëanor peeled himself off the bed and set to undoing the straps of the harness. Nerdanel’s contribution was lifting her ass off the bed so he could slide the whole thing off of her. When he got off the bed, though, she pulled her attention back to focus. “Where are you going?” she asked.

            “It should be cleaned,” he said.

            “Now?” Fëanor was looking at her, and Nerdanel knew it was going to bother him if she made him put it down and come back, so she waved him off and let her head fall back against the mattress. Let Fëanor clean up if he wanted; she was going to lay right there. “Be quick,” she added. She closed her eyes, a smile tugging at the corner of her lips when she thought of what a mess she’d made of Fëanor. Lazily, she dipped a hand between her legs, sliding a finger in a slow circle around her whining clit as she replayed in her mind the sound of his needy moaning.

            “Hey, now.” Fëanor’s voice came softly, but much closer than she had expected; her eyes opened to see him easing onto the bed. One of his necklaces hung crookedly, caught against the sweaty stickiness of his chest. The shade of brown in his eyes seemed to shift in the light when he moved his head. “That’s my job,” he said, taking her hand and kissing it, sucking on the tip of her finger to lick the taste of her off. She had seen Fëanor bend bars of metal one-handed, but when he took her fingers his touch was as gentle as if he were handling blown glass.

            “Well, then, Prince Fëanáro,” she said. “I await your efforts.” He smiled and sank down between her legs, turning his face to press kisses against her pale thigh.

            “For you, my dear, it’s no effort at all.”