A Demand of the Princess by Rocky41_7

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A Demand of the Princess

            Her husband had that concentrated look on his face where she knew he was only tenuously still on Arda: his strong, dark brow furrowed so that his eyebrows knit together, his deep gray eyes shut, chin tilted slightly up, trembling lips slightly parted. Occasionally, he bit at his lower lip or clenched his jaw or swallowed hard to keep some whine of frustration escaping his full lips.

            Nerdanel’s eyes traced the sight over and over, greedily devouring him, digging her fëa into his and licking up his hot bare flesh in his mind’s eye until he whined and writhed on her lap and broke his rhythm, snapping his eyes down to her.

            “Nerdanel,” he said and she grinned up at him, her unruly hair fanned out in russet waves over the pillows.

            “What is it, Your Highness?” she asked.

            “You are…being…unfair,” he said, his nails digging into her, his breath stuttering.

            “If you find yourself unable to resist my temptations, that is hardly a fault of mine,” she said with no effort not to seem smug. Fëanáro grit his teeth and some wordless noise sounded in his throat. Just for the emphasis, Nerdanel rolled her hips sharply upwards and Fëanáro gasped, his mouth flying open at the motion.

            “Nerdanel!”

            She laughed unabashed and grabbed his thighs.

            “What? Isn’t this what you want?” Fëanáro’s expression worked through an impressive journey before he whined and scraped his nails against her sternum, still unwilling to say I can’t.

            “Oh, you can do it, you big baby,” she said. She got a glare in return, somewhat lessened by the aching tension she could feel in his hröa, which betrayed how much he wanted what she had thus far denied him for her own amusement.

            “This is not fair—”

            “If you are hoping to plead mercy from me, I am unmoved,” Nerdanel announced, folding her arms behind her head. “And you’ve stopped.” She shifted one leg to jostle him. “Come on now, let me see how good you are.” He had that mulish look that made her consider for a moment that he might tell her, in a manner of speaking, to go fuck herself, and do what he wanted. But that would imply he wasn’t capable of adhering to her challenge, and there was nothing Fëanáro hated more than losing, no matter how asinine the subject. So when he started up again with the motion of his hips, an unrepentant smirk spread across Nerdanel’s face and she went back to watching her ravishing prince fuck himself on the glass dildo he had put between her legs himself.

            He had been so close before that very quickly he was once again incoherent, his entire focus on restraining himself while maintaining some kind of rhythm of the motion of his body. Was she being unjust in making him string himself out so long? Judging by the light outside the bedroom window it had been well over an hour. Perhaps, but thus far she’d had nothing but plentiful rewards off it, so she could perhaps be excused for not troubling herself about it.

            “There it is,” she murmured, tracing her lower lip with her tongue as she watched him. “There’s my beauty.” She exhaled with a lustful note and gently moved her hips along with him, momentarily wishing for something in her as well. Fëanáro whimpered and Nerdanel felt a bead of precum drip from his rigid cock onto her belly. Perhaps next time I’ll ask you to give me another child, she thought, meditatively chewing her lower lip, relishing the knowledge that if she asked, he would do it. “Are you close?” she asked slyly.

            Fëanáro’s eyes flew open again and he tried ineffectually to glare at her. The look melted into one more like pleading.

            “Nerdanel,” he said, his thighs trembling against her. “Nerdanel.”

            “Yes, Fëanáro?” she said, reaching up to grasp a lock of his dark hair and wind it around her finger.

            “Can’t I…are not you not satisfied yet?” There was definitely pleading in that tone. Nerdanel drew her hand back and observed him, feigning to think on it.

            “You are not obligated to wait for me, of course,” she said. Fëanáro’s eyes narrowed.

            “And let you crow victory the rest of the night? Of course I am obligated! Though you it seems, are not obligated to play fair! Next time, you must give a length of time before we start!” Nerdanel shrugged.

            “Next time I shall draw up a contract if you prefer. This time is what it is.” But Nerdanel was always weak to Fëanáro’s sulky eyes and if she touched his fëa she could feel how tightly wound and desperate for release he was and she thought perhaps it was time to be done playing with him. She eased upright, winding an arm around his waist, and kissed him. Some shaky noise between a whine and a gasp and something lower left his throat as she shifted underneath and inside him. “Almost,” she murmured against his lips, reaching down to fondle his aching, dripping cock. “Almost.”

            “And they call me hard of heart!” he gasped, quivering in her embrace, his nails digging into her back. Nerdanel made a noncommittal noise and wrapped her arms around his neck, drawing him into a deeper kiss, hearing the sound in his throat almost like weeping. She fell back against the mattress, pulling her with him, and when she drew back short of breath, she said:

            “Go on, then.” Fëanáro’s look of suspicion, as if she might be trying to trick him into losing with her words, made her huff in amusement. “Take your finish, jewel of the Noldor,” she said. “You have well earned it.” Relief bloomed across his face like the clearing of storm clouds; he leaned back on the toy and moved only briefly before with a cry he was spilling himself generously across her stomach, half-restrained moans tearing themselves raggedly from his throat.

            “Nerdanel,” he gasped as pleasure shuddered through him. At once, she was sitting up again to take him in her arms, feeling him quake against her, his seed a sticky mess between them.

            “A shame it’s only I who sees you this way,” she murmured, rubbing his back. “It seems a theft to keep such beauty for me alone.” Fëanáro was in no state to reply, but she felt his hands on her, grabbing, anchoring. “You are thing marvelous beautiful, little prince,” she said in a voice lower still, using a term unheard outside their moments of greatest intimacy. Fëanáro pressed nearer to her and Nerdanel turned to her side, easing him off the toy and onto the mattress beside her, aftershocks of his pleasure still shivering through him.

            Nerdanel squirmed out of the harness and dropped it on the towel beside the bed Fëanáro had placed there at the start for this purpose. He was insistent she not merely drop it on the floor and she was accustomed enough to these seemingly pedantic demands of Fëanáro’s not to bother pushing back. She turned back to her ruined spouse and lay along side him, stroking his hair, until he had finally caught his breath and rolled onto his back.

            “I told you it would be better,” she said.

            “You are awful,” said Fëanáro, his exhaustion plain in his voice, with not even a hint of bite. Nerdanel grinned.

            “I am, aren’t I? And yet you married me!” Fëanáro turned his head towards her, a cheeky smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.

            “Good is boring,” he asserted, reaching up to caress her cheek. “You are never boring.”

            “Good,” she said simply, leaning down to kiss him. “Neither are you.” Fëanáro’s smile spread and he tangled a hand in her hair to hold her close for another kiss.

            “Although…” he said thoughtfully when he drew back, his eyes shifting off into the distance in a very familiar way. Nerdanel settled down into a comfortable position and began to trace her fingers idly over his firm chest. “It couldn’t be too much harder,” he said, “to make one such that we may both use it simultaneously.”

            “Now there’s an idea,” she said, perking up. “I could make a design for that. A few, perhaps. To test.” Fëanáro’s eyes returned to the present and he looked over at her with the hint of a smile around his eyes.

            “Well, testing, certainly. We are, after all, serious artists. Prototypes must be tested until the product is satisfactory.” Nerdanel grinned.

            “Naturally, in the interest of our art.”

            “All in the interest of art,” Fëanáro agreed. They were laughing when they drew together for another kiss.

Chapter End Notes

On tumblr | On Pillowfort

For more of Feanor and Nerdanel, I advise checking out...
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