kindling by hanneswrites

kindling

Written for the 2022 Tolkien Secret Santa NSFW Advent Calendar, Prompt: Drunken Fun

It had been a long trek out from her lands to Thargelion, particularly when the winds had decided to pick up and blanket them with snow during the latter half of their journey. She’d arrived cold and wet and miserable, and Caranthir had welcomed her just the same as she’d seen him greet other visiting dignitaries (- which is to say, not at all.) 

Except, as soon as she settled in the quarters she’d been given for their stay, there had been a knock at her door and an invitation extended in the form of an outstretched hand, an open palm, and an ill-concealed smile. And that’s how she found herself here - quite frankly, exactly where she wanted to be at the moment. 

It’s well into the night at this point - Caranthir has stepped out to obtain another bottle of the wine they’ve been drinking. Flames roar in the hearth of Caranthir’s rooms, dancing in the confines of ash-blackened stone. Haleth is warm, so warm , as she stretches herself out in front of it and wraps herself tighter in the fur-lined comforter she’d stolen from Caranthir’s daybed. She’s not entirely sure if it’s from the fire or the wine - but in either case, the easy, simmering heat beneath her skin is pleasant and welcomed after the long weeks of traveling through the cold. 

When Caranthir finally makes his way back into the room, he only stumbles a little bit, just enough to make him uncharacteristically slam his leg into the side of the bed frame and let out a near novel-length of what Haleth assumes are elvish curses. She laughs at him, perhaps a bit too hard and for a bit too long. When she finally looks back up at him, he’s right in front of her, that ever-present scowl of his bowing across his lips, even as she takes his hand and pulls him into the little nest she’d made herself in front of the hearth. 

The slow-burning warmth of the wine settles in her chest as Caranthir wraps himself around her, pulling the blankets up over both of their shoulders. Haleth grins at him and places a hand on Caranthir’s face, her thumb brushing softly over the line of his jaw. His face is painted in such a rich scarlet, mottled so enticingly over his high cheekbones that it sends a thrill of heat through her that’s entirely unrelated to all of the wine. She can feel that same warmth in his skin, burning up beneath her fingertips as she traces down the curve of his neck, down further and further until she’s parted the top of his robes and fitted her hand over the smooth plane of his chest.

Haleth smiles and buries her face into his neck, lifting herself just enough to climb gently into his lap, her thighs tightening around his hips. She can feel the sharp intake of breath against her lips as she kisses her way down his throat, her rough, nimble fingers trail further and further down his core until they meet the dip of his hips and begin to move ever-so-slowly inward. She smiles. A soft, sweet turn of her lips that evolves into a wicked grin as her fingertips ghost over the underside of his cock. She can feel the tension in his muscles, can hear the quick shallowness of his breath as focuses and tries not to thrust up into her hand. She gives him a few slow, relaxed pumps, but in the end, she’s always been a bit impatient. 

He groans at the loss of her hand on him, even as she tightens her legs around his hips, her thighs plush and warm against him as she sinks down, envelops him, wet heat wrapping around him so quick it she would swear she hears him let out a soft, keening whine. It’s endearing and it’s thrilling all the same, and she grins against him as she sets a lazy, indulgent pace. Her fingers thread and catch in the ink-black waves of Caranthir’s hair as he rocks slowly up into her, the heat between them kindling higher until it is burning her whole, spilling forth and spreading like a wind-blown spark on a dry summer’s eve. He follows her soon after, a kindled spark in the wake of her own blaze. 

Haleth feels boneless and sated and exhausted and entirely unwilling to move from her perch on Caranthir’s lap. She simply presses a quick kiss to his cheek and burrows herself further into his arms. And Caranthir huffs, but does not complain, pulling her close in the slow-dying glow of the hearth.