Solace by polutropos

Solace

For SilmSmutWeek Day 3, Prompts: Liege/Vassal dynamics, Trans and nonbinary identities, word: tug.

This fic features a trans male character who is very much enjoying his body in the present, but there is a reference to body dysphoria in the past.

Grief is the rope that pulls them together. Orodreth knows this, and still, he cannot but gasp and writhe at the touch of the Man’s hands between his thighs, coaxing wetness from him with thick fingers. He is unexpectedly gentle and attentive for one so violent on the battlefield, one so grim in speech and countenance.

Adanedhel — nay, the Mormegil, the hero of Nargothrond Orodreth has never been — slides his muscled body over Orodreth where he lies prone and naked on the divan. Orodreth runs his hands over the plane of Adanedhel’s chest, his fine black hairs. He remembers the firmness and strength of his own body, once, when he was Felagund’s general, bulwark against the North.

Kingship and sorrow have made him soft. He has hated, in recent years, the curves of his wilting form in the mirror, and is grateful for the bulk of the regalia inherited from his dead brother. But now, bare and wet with want, he blooms. Adanedhel’s worshipful and careful touch, the pulse of his fingers inside him, dredge up a deep-sunken vitality and power. He thrums, unashamed.

He cups the back of the Man’s neck, knitting fingers through his thick hair. “Take me,” he whispers in his ear. “Take me.”

Adanedhel pulls back and slips his fingers from him. His expression is one of surprise, or perhaps concern, but his eyes are black with lust. “Are you certain, my lord?”

“Yes,” Orodreth says, arching his hips. “Yes,” he repeats, and grinds his pelvis against the evidence of the Man’s arousal.

Sitting back on his heels, Adanedhel unfastens his breeches, freeing his erection. Orodreth thinks its slight curve, its blushing head already glistening in the candlelight, no less beautiful than the rest of him.

Adanedhel lowers himself back over Orodreth’s body, nudging the tip of it to his entrance. Then, with a gasp, he slides in. Orodreth cannot but clench around him, rolling his hips up to take him deeper. Adanedhel’s first thrusts stutter, but it is not long before he relents to the urgency of his desire, bucking his hips to an animal rhythm. Orodreth cries out, tugging him close with his heels at the small of his back. Then he is shuddering around the pulse of Adanedhel’s release, bursting with the sensation of being filled and desired and safe.

Affection floods the gaping space in his soul. He is no longer alone.