Author's note - conversation can be assumed to be in Sindarin - I have left some of the Sindarin untranslated in the body of the text where the words are terms of endearment, or Sindarin/Wood-elf 'technical terms'(!) or slang - the translations are often pretty obvious, but are given at the ends of the relevant sections. Dawn probably still thinks in a mixture of Common/English/Sindarin.Starlight Bathing Chapter Three.
They were sitting on the grass beside the pool. Rumil was wearing his leggings. Tindómë, in just her under-dress, knelt behind him slowly sliding the comb down his hair. He arched his back as the comb reached the bottom of each stroke and she was reminded of stroking Willow’s cat, Miss Kitty Fantastico; she wouldn’t have been surprised if Rumil had begun to purr! She wondered how long she would have to continue if she waited for him to ask her to stop…
Not as long as she would have expected, as it turned out. Rumil asked her to put his hair into a single braid before he reached for his undershirt and tunic; it wasn’t done for an ellon to walk about with his hair loose. Obviously they weren’t staying by the pool for Tindómë’s ‘first time’.
He put his boots on, picked up her silvery over-dress, and then carefully laced her into it. As he carefully tightened the lacings at the back, having already fastened those on the sleeves, she wondered why he bothered.
Almost as if he had heard her thinking, Rumil grinned and said “Now I can have the pleasure of unwrapping you again later.”
“M’kay,” Tindómë began, “then perhaps I should have put your warrior braids back so that I could have the pleasure of unravelling them again, too!”
“Next time… if I am sure you can get them straight,” came the retort.
Rumil took her by the hand and led her through the trees. They were not following one of the lit paths and little light from the half-moon and stars reached the ground under the mallyrn trees. Tindómë knew that elves saw better in the dark than she did and wondered, not for the first time, whether they saw into the infra-red part of the spectrum.
‘What an unromantic thought,’ she chided herself.
After walking for ten minutes, or thereabouts, Rumil stopped beside the base of a large tree at the edge of a small glade. “Wait here, meleth,” he said, and then climbed rapidly up the trunk into the canopy.
A rope ladder dropped down beside her; Rumil slid down it and stepped back to let Tindómë climb ahead of him.
When Boroniel first saw the ‘Minas Tirith dress’ she had said they would have to put ‘climbing loops’ into it – no wood-elf would regularly wear clothes that made it impossible to move in trees! She had stitched loops of ribbon inside both layers of the dress. Tindómë reached for these now, put them over her wrists, and the dress was held up at the front to about knee level.
Still, it was nice that Rumil climbed the ladder only a couple of rungs behind her. His arms reaching around her to hold the ladder made her feel secure, amongst other things, as they made their way high into the tree.
Finally they reached a flet and Tindómë looked around as Rumil pulled the ladder up behind them. It was a reasonably sized flet, maybe fifteen feet square, and he had obviously been up here earlier with a few things – unless it was always kept ready as a scene for seduction! There was a small light; glasses with bottles of wine and fruit cordial stood beside a pile of sheepskins covered by a silk throw; there was more food (small amounts by hobbit standards but more than Sam would have believed likely, if Sam were to ever think about elven seduction scenes, Tindómë thought inconsequentially). At the far side there was even a carved wooden bowl of water and a tablet of soap. Either Rumil used this flet for this purpose regularly or he had put a lot of thought into it. Perhaps, however, this was not the time to ask.
He stood facing her, his hands on her shoulders, and a worried look passed across his face. “You are all right on a flet, meleth? Orophin said the first time you were on one you had bad memories, but you seemed fine last summer.” He paused, and then added “If it still worries you we can go back to the ground – I would not want anything to cast a shadow on this night.”
Tindómë remembered that first experience of a flet. Orophin had taken her up onto one near the archery ranges, to see the view. Suddenly, as she had looked over the edge of the simple wooden platform, she had remembered Glory, Doc, and Buffy at the top of that ramshackle tower in Sunnydale, and had felt herself sway and go dizzy. But, since then, she had talked about those bad memories with Lady Galadriel and they no longer hurt.
“I’m fine here, now, and the memories we make tonight will chase away any nightmares,” she said, with a smile.
The kiss he gave her was certainly a good start.
When they came up for air Rumil poured out wine, and added a pinch of spices to the glasses before he handed one to Tindómë.
“I do not want you to feel cold, meleth,” he explained.
It was good. It did make her feel warm all over.
“Mmm – pretty elf…” she said slowly, causing him to look slightly worried for a second or two.
“As I don’t feel sick I can definitely kiss you this time!” she went on, with a grin, and brought his head to hers.
By the time the wine glasses were empty Rumil had carefully ‘unwrapped’ her again and she had reciprocated. There was, she thought, something very elven about the way that their clothes were carefully folded and placed a little way from the pile of sheepskins and silk, rather than scattered all over the place. There was no sense of embarrassment about being naked together, either, which she would have expected when she was Dawn back in Sunnydale.
She was lying on her back, head pillowed on Rumil’s chest where his arm held her close, looking up through leaves at the black sky studded with stars. Rumil extinguished the small lamp, and the only light came from the stars and the half-moon, casting a pattern of silver and shadow on their bodies.
His fingers began to trace those patterns on her torso and slowly trailed down across her belly. His voice was low and soft, just above her head, “Relax and enjoy, take your pleasure, this is your night. Giving you pleasure will be my pleasure. I will try to make sure there is little pain, meleth.”
Tindómë didn’t really expect there to be much pain at all, she was fairly sure her gweneth wouldn’t be a problem. She’d learnt unarmed combat both in Sunnydale and Lothlorien, and she’d ridden horses, apart from having explored her own body pretty well with her fingers.
The soft voice and the sensation of fingers on skin made her feel both increasingly relaxed and increasingly turned on. She hardly noticed the change in position as Rumil began to follow the same patterns with his tongue; trailing tiny licks and kisses along the lines of moonlight and shadow. She twisted to bring a nipple within reach of his tongue and, in the pale light, Rumil’s eyes met hers before he began to tease the offered nipple with tongue and teeth. At the same time he stroked the inside of her thighs with those calloused archer’s fingers and she automatically pulled her knees up and apart allowing him access.
She tensed, for a second, at her own response; but he started to kiss her and she relaxed again. She lost track of time but realised that, somewhere during the kiss, Rumil had slid first one then a second finger inside her. His fingers were longer than hers and he had slid them into her on a different angle; they stroked gently against what those old ‘Playgirl’ magazines had called her G-spot. The sensation was good. A third finger slid in; she moaned and pushed her hips up towards his hand. He made a small satisfied sound.
Instinctively she reached out and wrapped her fingers around his penis. She remembered thinking, back at Edoras, that even flaccid the male parts of the ellyn looked scarily big. But three years of mixed bathing (and Boroniel’s comment that she’d never seen a vië as big as an elfling and they fitted the same passage!) had allayed those fears; the way it fitted her hand so well was exciting, not scary.
She knew Rumil liked her touch because he made a low sound in his throat and she realised that she could also ‘feel’ the effect mentally. They were on an upward spiral of sensation and emotion as they had triggered off the faer thing.
Now! She needed
him now – and he clearly knew; he moved until he was between her legs, his weight on the hand beside her head, his naith just touching her.
He lifted his head and looked into her eyes. “Yes?” he asked.
“Yes! A’ngell nín!” she answered, thinking, even as she could feel her emotions continuing to spin out of control, how suitable the elven phrase for ‘please’ was under the circumstances.
He moved his hips, slowly, and there was a sudden sensation of fullness as he slid deep into her body. Tindómë gripped Rumil’s shoulders, digging her nails into his muscles, but there was no real pain; more a momentary discomfort at the unusual feeling.
Rumil held very still; Tindómë realised he was giving her time to adjust. She moved her hips almost reflexively and soon they were moving together; the rhythm came automatically as if it was a dance they had practiced together throughout time.
For the second time that evening she felt an orgasm slowly building and her whole body seemed to be clinging onto Rumil.
“Look at me, meleth, stay with me!” he said and she resisted the urge to close her eyes.
The orgasm hit like waves over a rock and within seconds Rumil crashed over with her – the eye-contact had kept them emotionally connected. The result was not quiet.
Coherent speech was not possible for some time.
Eventually Rumil passed her a glass of fruit cordial and she sat, propped against his chest, as she drank it.
“The men of Rohan take mead to their chambers when they bed their women for the first time, to give them strength to join a second time,” he said seriously, but she could hear an undertone of amusement. “They do not expect there to be much pleasure for either, in the first joining, but fear they will not have the ability for a second one without such help.”
He paused and Tindómë just knew there was going to be a punch-line.
“It is a good thing that I am an elf!” he finished, with a grin.
“Because you could make the first one good or because you can cope with a second one on only fruit juice?” she asked, smiling.
“Both!” he said.
“Hmm – modest much, edhel-nín?” She put the glass down and began to tickle him.
This led, not surprisingly, to confirmation that elves had no need of mead to be tuio again quickly.
– simple wooden platform built in the branches of trees.Gweneth
– hymen, virginity in general.Vië
– formal Elvish for penis.Naith
– slang term for head of the penis (spearhead).A’ngell nín
– ‘for my pleasure’ – Sindarin for ‘please’.Edhel-nín
– my elf.Tuio
– swollen, erect.
The pale light of the moon, now directly overhead, made Rumil’s hair look like spun silver where it spread across Tindómë’s thighs as his tongue explored her secret places.
She squirmed on the pile of silk covered sheepskins, and twisted her fingers in his hair, as he lapped at her tuiw, circling it with his tongue, sucking gently, looking up to catch her eyes every so often. Even with his mouth otherwise occupied, and only moonlight to illuminate him, she could tell, when he looked at her, that he was smiling. Tindómë wasn’t smiling herself – she was giggling.
Eventually, as Rumil stopped her from squirming completely off the ‘bed’ with a hand placed firmly on her hip, she laughed out loud as she came. He lifted his face, licked his lips, and laughed with her.
He moved up until his face was level with hers and kissed her. Back in Sunnydale Dawn would have considered kissing someone who had just had their face in her pussy as downright icky but now, as Tindómë, she found the taste of herself, Rumil, fruit and wine a heady combination.
They had something of a midnight feast; cold chicken, dried fruits, crusty bread, more wine. They talked; as Rumil wrapped the silk throw around her and held her to his chest in case she felt cold.
“Are you all right?” he asked seriously, “If you are swollen or sore, or simply tired, I will hold you and you can sleep.”
She thought about it carefully. “I’m fine. Well, perhaps a little swollen, but not sore. More swollen like ‘tuio’ than bruised… Not sleepy – I don’t want to sleep yet…”
“It is a first time for me too,” Rumil said, still sounding serious. “It is the first time I have ever made love to someone who was still a virgin.”
He sounded as if he was going to go on, but Tindómë interrupted “Seriously? In all those years?”
“Well yes – there is only one first time for every elleth, and many, many other times!” he said with amusement in his voice.
“I guess…” she agreed.
“And it is the first time I have made love to someone who is ‘not exactly an elf’,” he continued.
“Not even when the women of Gondor, not to mention the men of the Rohirrim, were throwing themselves at you?” she asked, partly joking, partly serious.
“No! I had already met you
by then, and they paled beside you,” he paused for a beat, “even the hairiest of the Rohirrim!”
It was on the tip of Tindómë’s tongue to ask if he would have taken them up on their offers otherwise; she decided, however, that might be a question for a different night.
Rumil turned her around, so that they were face to face, and then leant forward until his forehead was just touching hers.
“There is an even more important ‘first’, meleth,” he said. “It is the first time that I have ever made love to someone whose faer sang to mine. The first time I have ever been able to feel any pleasure apart from my own.”
He looked into her eyes and Tindómë felt a wave of love, and lust, roll over her. She realised that he was consciously ‘letting’ her feel it, and she tried to do the same thing in return. He smiled – the emotional blanket now included pleasure and a sort of ‘I’m impressed!’ sensation.
“Elo! Wow! I thought the emotion just sort of ‘leaked out’ and because we were so much in tune we could pick it up,” Tindómë said, “I didn’t know we could kinda send until, uh I mean unless, we get bound…”
“Until,” he said firmly, “but we will speak of that later.
“We have a stronger link than is usual before binding, but my Lady says that she thinks it is because the need was so great when your faer first called to mine, there was no time for a gentle recognition that our faer are in tune. So, when you were next in danger, I felt it and, as long as we are touching, some ‘good’ emotion can already pass between us because the link was awakened so strongly.
“When we are bound it will be much, much, ‘more’ than it is now. But what we have now is something I have never known with anyone else. I do not think we ever need worry that we will have less of a soul bond because you are not quite an elf. Maybe it is because you are The Key that it is as strong as it is, I know not, but I rejoice in the link we have already.”
They sat, foreheads touching, for some time simply, as Rumil described it, ‘rejoicing’ in sharing feelings.
The thing about sitting so close with only a silk throw between you and being able to share emotions and feelings, Tindómë thought after a while, is that the level of lust is pretty clear.
She put her hands on Rumil’s shoulders and pushed him back onto the pile of sheepskins. “I want to explore, please?” she asked.
In answer he put his hands behind his head and said “My body is yours to explore as you will, mirdithen-nín.”
Just as Rumil had done earlier she traced the patterns of light and dark cast by the moon-shadow of the leaves; first with the tips of her fingers, and then with her tongue. She licked his nipples and was rewarded both by a low moan of pleasure and a rise in the level of shared sensation. She blew across them gently, once they were wet, and watched them pucker and harden just as her own did under similar circumstances.
‘Cool,’ she thought, letting her fingers trail down to his navel and trace a circle around it. As her tongue followed she took his penis carefully in one hand – holding it slightly away from where it had been touching his abdomen – to allow her nails to trail towards his groin and her tongue to complete its circle of his navel. This put her ‘eye to eye’ with his vië; a way closer view than she’d ever had before.
It was interesting, she thought, the way his foreskin had disappeared totally as he became erect. A conversation with Boroniel, back in Rohan, came to mind. Tindómë had been a bit surprised by foreskins when she first saw the ellyn bathing – none of the guys in ‘Playgirl’ had them.
Boroniel had been even more surprised at the idea of circumcision – apparently it wasn’t done in Middle Earth – and had asked why would anyone do such a thing? Tindómë had said it was for hygiene reasons and her friend had pointed out that, even if it was
more ‘hygienic’, these were elves, remember – no likelihood of illness or infection? But even the men didn’t do such a thing, as far as she knew (and she had reported back later that she had checked this – Tindómë never found out just how…).
It had been the subject of a number of conversations between them - the whole idea had continued to puzzle the elleth; she couldn’t think why removing something that was there to protect such a tender piece of the male could be seen as being healthier for him. Tindómë had really not had an answer – perhaps it had been mentioned at school, but if so she hadn’t been listening.
But it was fascinating the way Rumil’s foreskin disappeared – it must be used up as the penis expanded, she decided, still eye to eye with the organ in question – so maybe circumcised guys couldn’t expand as far as they would have done if they’d still had the spare skin? Be a difficult hypothesis to prove…
She suddenly smiled. Her ‘bright, intelligent and enquiring mind’ did sometimes take odd sidetracks! She really hoped none of those thoughts had been picked up by Rumil – they were decidedly unromantic!
The ellon in question said nothing. His hands remained behind his head, but his vië twitched in her hand, making her giggle. She went back to her exploration.
Her other hand had reached the nest of blond hair at his groin; drawn, almost without Tindómë thinking about it, to his ceryn. They were quite heavy in her hand, and also twitched slightly with the contact. She liked the feeling. She got the distinct impression Rumil did, too, but was trying hard to let her ‘explore’ at her own pace.
She remembered when she had first bathed with him, more than two years ago, and wondered if his pubic hair would tickle if she was to put his dick in her mouth. Well she was now this
close to it, she could smell a mixture of his usual clean elf smell (rather like leaves and bark), the oil she had rubbed into him earlier and, down here, an undertone of warm musk – but, she moved her face even further down, there was no tickle!
Almost of its own volition her tongue reached out to Rumil’s naith, so close, and flicked across it. No icky taste. A little different from the taste when he had kissed her, after exploring her with his mouth, but good. She reached out her tongue again and this time took his naith into her mouth, sucking slightly, and running her tongue across it.
Rumil let out a soft moan and murmured “Yes, oh meleth-nín! Oh, such a quick learner!”
She continued to explore with fingers and mouth. She wondered if she would make him come, whether she wanted to, and if he came in her mouth should she swallow? Or should she straddle him and go back to joining?
She looked up to Rumil’s face. He still had his hands clasped firmly behind his head but his shoulder muscles were no longer relaxed. He was smiling, eyes half closed, a dreamy expression on his face. When their eyes met she knew that he had purposely ‘opened’ his emotions to her as there was a wave of pleasure and desire so strong that she felt herself growing even more turned on.
She held his gaze while she tried to decide what she wanted to do next. Suddenly his expression changed, from dreamy to more alert, and he raised his eyebrows questioningly.
“Uh, I want to… Uh, I’m not sure if I can, uh, or you could or, if you did, if…” she wasn’t really sure how to phrase her dilemma without sounding very, very unsophisticated.
“Melethril,” he began, and Tindómë was distracted for a moment by the thought ‘Yay! Go me! Lovers!’
“Melethril, there are no right or wrong things for us to do together,” he said gently. “Tonight is for your pleasure – if your wish is to simply continue exploring my body, then that is what you shall do, if you have questions, ask – nothing is a silly question if it is something that you want to know.
“If you want me to pleasure your body I will take my hands from behind my head,” he suggested, smiling, “unless you want to slide down over my cristhen and sheath it, taking your pleasure from my body that way?”
Tindómë cocked her head on one side, considering. “I really don’t know what I want to do,” she admitted. “I would like to see if I can make you come with my hands, or my mouth, but I don’t think I know how… And I thought of, uh, the sliding down thing, but I sort of want to…” she tailed off again.
Was it too weird a request? No, he had said there are no rights or wrongs, and nothing was silly if it was something she wanted to know. She gulped slightly and continued “I want to see what it looks like when you, uh, come.”
“Oh,” he said, sounding totally not shocked, “of course! Well, lirimaer, if you want to ride me I can tell you when to dismount… Or you can continue with fingers and mouth, or I can ease myself while you watch…
“Or,” he finished, with just a hint of smirk, “a little of all three!”
Tindómë woke. She felt warm, and happy, even before she remembered where she was. She was lying on sheepskins, with the silk throw and another sheepskin carefully wrapped around her, and her head pillowed on…?
She opened her eyes. Her head was pillowed on Rumil’s naked stomach, where he lay propped up at right-angles to her, his hand gently moving in her hair, his eyes on her face.
“Good morning, melethril-nín, are you comfortable?” he asked. “Would you like breakfast, or to wash?”
Tindómë considered for a moment, watching the early morning sunlight casting patterns just as the moonlight had the night before. “I’m totally comfortable - this is a good bed and you are an awesome pillow – and also because my body feels very good, melethron-nín.”
Rumil smiled at the endearment.
She thought for a moment longer. “Maybe some fruit juice? Washing would be good too, I feel, uh, a bit sticky. Only… are we going straight down? Or is there time for another lesson or two?”
This time Rumil grinned; his wide, happy, carefree grin that few people ever saw. “We have all day, if we want. I do not think his Lordship expected to see either of us in his study today! And there are many, many lessons we can learn together. But we might want to bathe later…”
“I guess,” Tindómë answered, smiling happily too, “and then we can go and tell Boroniel and Eriathwen that we totally
had much, much
– balls Cristhen
- penis, another euphemism used by the elves – meaning short-sword. Melethril
– lover, female – term of endearment only used when it is true!Melethron
- lover, male – as above.
The ’BtVS’ characters in this story do not belong to me, but are being used for amusement only and all rights remain with Joss Whedon, Mutant Enemy, the writers of the original episodes, and the TV and production companies responsible for the original television shows. The 'LotR' characters also, for whom all rights remain with the estate of JRR Tolkein, and the production company responsible for the LotR movies.