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Meme for a Monday Morning
"When you see this, please write some porn for me" (or, really, anything with characters interacting or contemplating each other, it's not required to be porn. But porn would be spiffy. )
Thank you :) You'll have helped me not gnaw off my own arm from sheer boredom.
Thank you :) You'll have helped me not gnaw off my own arm from sheer boredom.
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Master of the Art
A young man’s first experience of lovemaking should be extraordinary, resplendent with joy, and affection, and skill. It’s best that the act not be undertaken by another virgin; for between the two ‘tis possible they will either be so innocent as to waste time uselessly fumbling, or else be so overeager as to be unnecessarily quick or rough. No, for this deed what is needed is a partner of experience, delicacy, and imagination. And based upon his diverse experience, Boromir knows that there is no one in all the lands of Men as exquisitely skilled as Prince Théodred of Rohan - he is, truly, a master of the art. And so, to bless them both, Boromir defers to Théodred, his best-belovèd friend, the gift of the first sweet taste of Faramir’s cock.
Boromir knows just how it will be: the leather thong binding Faramir’s wrists above his head, the silken blindfold heightening the suspense, Faramir’s lovely body spread out in the candlelight like a feast. First, slow deep kisses to warm and relax; then Théodred’s lips will begin to explore throat and shoulders, chest and belly, advancing and retreating, savoring each sigh, until finally he reaches his goal.
In his artistry Théodred will start with small light feathery licks, like the fluttering of swallow’s wings, until Faramir will chuckle, “Ah, good,” and shiver with anticipation. Then the motion will change, to long slow strokes, teeth barely scraping the tender underside. Faramir will begin to groan, and his hips to twitch. “Oh, please,” he will murmur, and Théodred will pause for a moment, the abrupt break in the rhythm making Faramir gasp. “What is it, Faramir? What is it you want?” he will whisper, teasingly, while he winks at Boromir. “I need - please…”
(Boromir’s own breathing, of course, will be harsh and ragged now as well; and as he watches them, his hands will wander towards his own cock. He could wait, he knows he will be next, he could wait…but still… and, oh, he knows exactly what Faramir is feeling, for he has felt it himself… but never, not ever, enough.)
All the while Théodred’s powerful hands will be running over Faramir’s muscled thighs; or catching his nipple with just the edge of a fingernail; or caressing Faramir’s throat and the tender skin under his ear. Faramir will be thinking that at any moment he may die of the pleasure, and wondering why men bother with war, or mathematics, or poetry, when they could spend their time doing this.
Then, knowing precisely how much time Faramir has left (because Théodred is, after all, a master of the art) he will slide his hands under Faramir’s hips, forcing him to drive his cock deeper down Theodred’s throat. And he will begin to suck, focusing all his concentration there as Faramir begins his own thrusting, more, more, harder, yes, until finally with a shudder and a sharp triumphant cry, young Faramir will be undone. And Boromir, watching, will be undone as well.
Now will come soft, light strokes, as delicate as a cat licking cream; and then Théodred will finish it off with a gentle kiss on the very tip. He will sit back, surveying his handiwork, those handsome brothers still flushed and breathless. Gently untying the leather, softly removing the blindfold, Théodred will begin to smile, and to laugh; and then Boromir his best-belovèd , and dear Faramir – the three of them laughing, joyous, because they are young, and alive; and for this night at least their bodies are made for pleasure.
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*applauds*
*fans self*
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