Chapter Text
Men were wretched creatures, and kings were the worst of them, Arwen thought, her ears growing increasingly redder as they approached hour three of the tax meeting.
The slick firmness of the plug shifted inside of her, pressing against her oversensitive walls as she adjusted herself discreetly in her chair. She could feel heat radiating up her thighs and down her spine, and thought with indignation about how this was all rather backwards.
Usually she was the more restrained one, and her husband was the one who could be touched off like a flint-spark. That was how it was supposed to work, even-tempered Elf and hot-blooded Man. But for some reason over the past few weeks it had been her who was ablaze.
She had taken to staying in bed on mornings Estel had to leave early, reading salacious stories while stretching herself open on the thick, pretty glass phallus she liked to fuck him with. No less than four times in a fortnight she had pounced on him the second he emerged from a meeting, dragged him to the nearest room with a lock, and begged him to fuck her thoughts clear out of her head.
One night the previous week she had even coaxed his hand between her thighs as they stood atop the ramparts. It had been an immense thrill looking out over the White City, lit by lamps and twilight stars, her legs trembling violently as he whispered perverse, ungentlemanly things in her ear to arouse her further. Although she had known no one could truly see them from the way their bodies were arranged, she still had to bite her lip to near bloodshed in order not to scream at the sensation of him tormenting a climax out of her in such a public place.
"If the City only knew their Queen loves being treated like a whore. Are you my little whore, Arwen?"
(She was acting like a whore indeed, she had conceded, and he had rewarded her with a grin and his fingers in her mouth, feeding her the taste of herself before his hand went back under her slip.)
"So desperate lately, yearning always to be full or you cannot think. You just need someone to make it all better, is that right, titinwë?"
(She did need it, terribly, and only he could make it all better, she had whispered back, knowing the rules of the game. At that his fingers had curled hard into that place inside of her, the tender spot that made her spurt wet and hot into his palm, and he had laughed quietly and wickedly with his tongue flickering at her ear.)
"Perhaps tomorrow night I send the guards away and fuck your ass open up here. Or perhaps they can stay. Oh, that made you squeeze me so tight."
(Fill me, yes, right– there– she had whisper-whined as he slipped into a perfect, driving tempo that made her eyes roll back in her head.)
"My telestë likes to hear such terrible, filthy words with my fingers in her pretty cunt. Yes, sweetness, is that right?"
(Yesyesyes, donotstop, so– close— Es-tel– going to– she had gasped, feeling her core tighten and her world shake as his thumb found her clit.)
"So perfect like this, my needy thing. Remember your manners and you can come."
(Please, please, ingaran Elessar–)
"Well done. Yes, there, I can feel you— let go for me, beloved, I have you—"
As he pulled her over the edge of her orgasm and she shook in his protective embrace, she could have sworn she had seen Gil-Estel wink.
Was this increase in her libido another of the gifts of Men? she had been asking herself. And just like mortality, she was finding it to be terrible, and wonderful, and maddening both ways.
five hours earlier
After they had made love that morning, at first light on the day of the tax meeting, she had dozed off on top of him, snuggled into his neck with his flaccid cock still sheathed inside of her. She blinked back to consciousness — woozy and slightly damp and glowing faintly — and found him already awake, stroking her hair and humming.
"Dúlineg," he greeted her warmly, pressing a kiss to her temple. The way the morning light caught his sex-tossed hair and his lazy, satisfied grin — with those ridiculous dimples! — immediately made her yearn to spend the rest of the day in a clearing full of soft golden grass, rolling around laughing and making love and telling each other things they had never told anyone, just like they had in Lothlórien.
...Except in the Land of Singing Gold they had not been the King and Queen of Gondor and Arnor, titles that came with a long list of appointments and responsibilities. And besides, their marriage-bed was not very close to any golden forest clearings.
"Mmm," she replied sagely, discreetly wiping her saliva from his neck. He was a gentleman, with over fifty years of experience pretending not to notice that she drooled in her sleep.
"Ready?" he asked, taking her hands and squeezing them lightly. She nodded, but when he pulled out of her, tears involuntarily filled her eyes. Then she felt his seed leaking out of her entrance and whined unhappily, clamping her thighs shut to keep it inside.
He soothed her, stroking her cheek and kissing away her tears, then did something new and perfect — he coaxed apart her legs and carefully worked something inside her, something thick and heavy that dragged smooth and cool along her walls and then stayed in her, lodged even more securely by how swollen she was from cockwarming him.
She trilled with relief and he pulled her closer, scattering kisses along her forehead.
"Is that better, beloved?"
"Yes, oh–" she squeezed around the new toy, finding it delightfully hard to push out — "yes, it fits just right, where did you get this?"
He did not answer, but she could see in the twitch of his smirk that he was pleased she liked his gift.
"Wear it to the meeting," he said instead, and her stomach swooped at his boldness.
"And why should I do such a thing?"
"Tis the will of the King."
"And what of the will of the Queen?" she demanded, fighting hard to keep her speech measured as his lips came to her ear. Ear torture was never fair play between a Man and an Elf.
"I know her will also," he said. His tongue flicked over the pointed tip, then he caught it between his teeth, suckling and worrying until she was moaning, arousal glowing molten between her thighs. When her voice finally came out, it was more ragged and needy than she perhaps intended.
"Do you, then? Pray you tell it to me."
"I think that Queen Undómiel... who I have on good authority is the wisest and brightest and fairest and most clever in all of Arda..."
She cocked an eyebrow. "If I am the brightest and wisest–"
"Do not forget the fairest and cleverest."
"Yes, all of it. Then what are you?"
"The most fortunate," he said, immediately and zealously.
She smiled and nosed at his graying whiskers. "Very wise you are also, for knowing this. Go on, then."
"I think that Queen Undómiel would first have her lord husband breed her properly. She would have him spill his seed where she loves most to feel it, good and deep, close to her womb so it does not have far to travel."
She shivered a little and chirped at the desire in his deepening voice; he traced her lower lip with his thumb. "And during their lovemaking, the King would make sure the Queen was just as sated. For the wisdom of Men tells us that it is unchivalrous to leave a lady wanting... and the wisdom of the Eldar tells us that the act of begetting should join husband and wife in equal bliss." He kissed her mouth, rich and full. As their breaths mingled she closed her eyes, for she could feel their spirits settling comfortably against one another like two stable-cats on a brisk autumn night.
"You came so beautifully for me, starshine," he murmured against her lips. "Do you think it took this time?"
"Eru-indonen," she said quietly, bowing her head. At her earnest, hopeful prayer, he gently cupped her stomach and whispered it back, his eyes fixed devotedly on hers: Eru-indonen. They shared an achingly tender series of kisses, nuzzling noses and twining fingers and whispering baby-names to each other.
Then he remembered to continue being villainous.
"Where was I? Ai, the Queen's will." He toyed with her hair, twirling a strand around his finger. "Next... the esteemed lady would have..." He drew his hot wicked mouth over the sensitive skin just below her jaw, and the rough scrape of his beard made her blood sing.
"Mmm... do go on," she coaxed, now meaning both with the foreplay and with what you were saying.
"She would have..." he gave a nip to her throat; she trilled and bared her neck for another.
"...her perfect little cunt plugged..." he sketched a hand up her thigh to cup her mound, fluffing the curls there until she shivered with delight.
"...to keep every drop of King Elessar's seed inside of her..." he bit her neck again, harder and hungrier, "...so that we can make a strong, healthy baby."
"An heir to the throne?" she half-teased, terribly aware of the blazing pink creeping up her cheeks. But he shook his head, growing serious once more.
"A child. Boy or girl, they will be brilliant and beneficent and beautiful, like their Ammë... and of course very, very fortunate, like their Adar."
She laughed and pinched his arm, but he continued doggedly. "And most of all they will be beloved. I care not for titles."
As she both smiled and rolled her eyes at his perpetual humility, his hands wandered to her breasts, squeezing and exploring. She could tell he was thinking about how they might swell and grow heavy for feeding a babe, and the mental image of it made her cheeks heat even more. She knew from her brothers that her mother had been deeply attached to her father for all of her pregnancy — at all times snuggled into his arms or draped across his lap, desperate to be touched and kissed and fondled — and she wondered if she too would be so needful.
When the rough pads of his fingers tweaked her nipples, she mewled, earning a hungry growl.
"Then, even though the King would rather have his sweet Star-queen in his lap, she would sit on his right side during this tedious meeting, making a mess of herself in front of all of the wardens... and the accountants... and the Steward..."
She blushed deeper still, thinking of Prince Faramir's keen eyes, how he was so attentive to her husband's moods, the way the two laughed together like a pair of young boys, the angle at which his head tilted in curiosity. Surely he would know they were playing an improper game. She wondered with a thrill if it would go to his cock.
"...And from being so full of the King's seed, and stretched open so wonderfully... I suspect the Queen would get so wet... and so needy... that she would think about running off and making herself come... but it would be a grave mistake for her to do that."
His hands drifted down to her hips, firm and possessive in that delicious way, and she thought yet again that leaving their bed today seemed a fool's errand when they were both more than prepared for another round or three of lovemaking. They had so many excellent games. Perhaps the princess of Imladris would start with a long, hard ride on her loyal knight's face, clutching the headboard with one hand and raking through his sweaty hair with the other, teaching him a lesson about the importance of fealty and devotion—
She surfaced from her reverie to find him looking at her expectantly.
"And why would it be a– mis-take?" Her voice jumped half an octave higher as he suckled at one nipple, then lightly nipped the other, sending hot spikes of pleasure through her core.
He smiled dangerously, a threat plain in his voice.
"Because if she does, the King will turn her ass so pink that she will not be able to sit down properly for a week."
She raised her eyebrows impassively, but he was exactly right. It was what she wanted, and he knew it was what she wanted. It was never any use feigning propriety with him; he had been a terrible enabler of mischief from the very beginning.
"Will he, now?"
Perhaps by now she was taking a bit of a haughty attitude with him, one that could prove very unwise when he was in certain moods. Perhaps she had been daydreaming about the sharp, perfect pain of his palm meeting her ass as she panted and writhed and thanked him and called him ingaran Elessar again.
(It had been needlessly wicked of him to pick a King-name that was a direct reference to prophecy and felt so good in her mouth.)
"Hold me true to this, or nothing," he said seriously, tapping the ring on his forefinger — words he had also said before all of Arda on their wedding day. The vows he had written, the oath he had taken. Even when he teased her he was still a hopeless romantic. It was really quite impressive, when it was not actively harming her chances of making it through a meeting without losing at his evil game.
To her dismay and delight, he made things even harder at the eleventh hour. On their way out the door, prim and proper in their crowns and finery, looking now the King and Queen of the Reunited Kingdoms of Gondor and Arnor and not two wild-haired Elf-children naked in a river, he accosted her in the front hallway, pushing her against the wall and kissing her like a thing starved.
The kiss lingered, and lingered, and lingered, and then he kissed a line down her neck to the collar of her gown and gave her what she knew would be a perfectly faint love-bite, easily concealed with her hair and just enough to only draw the eye of the extremely observant. Then, just as she started growing light-headed from his cock hardening against her hip and his tongue making promises against her skin, he rucked up her dress and reached to feel for the base of the plug. Once he was sure it was there, he hooked a finger into the waistband of her underclothes and yanked them down roughly.
"These stay off," he ordered in a brusque, hungry growl that made her walls clench. "I want to see what a mess you make."