In the Gardens of Lórien by gaydhros  

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In the Gardens of Lórien

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“How bad is it?” asks Findekáno.

Maitimo casts him a withering look. “Bad. Stop asking.”

“I’m only worried about you!” Findekáno protests, looking rather more enthralled than worried. There is a grin splitting his fair face, and a warm flush colours the apples of his cheeks that does not look to be from the exertion of their hike.

“I’m sure you are,” Maitimo snorts. The contraction of his diaphragm makes his achingly full bladder twinge. Eru, he has to piss. “How much further is it?”

Findekáno shrugs. “I don’t know. You were supposed to be the navigator.”

“I’ve been a little distracted.”

“And whose fault is that? You should have listened to me and paced yourself instead of downing your entire waterskin before the mingling.”

This is true, and also irritating. “I was thirsty.”

“Natural consequences.”

Maitimo rolls his eyes. “How long do you figure we’ve been walking? Three hours?”

“Less, I would think.” Findekáno looks around them. They’re surrounded by great willow trees, draping leaves of silver and sage blowing gently in the sweet-smelling breeze, their edges gilded with the golden light of Laurelin in bloom. Lórien’s gardens offer little in the way of landmarks, but after a moment's consideration Findekáno offers, “I should think another two hours or so before we reach camp? A little less before we're out of Irmo’s domain and you can defile whichever trees you please.”

The prospect of enduring another two hours of this before he can finally relieve himself makes Maitimo want to cry.

“Can you wait that long?” Findekáno asks.

“Yes,” snaps Maitimo, though in truth he is not so sure. His bladder is ridiculously full, swollen and aching, jostling around uncomfortably with every step he takes. It takes a concerted effort of will not to squirm around awkwardly or grab himself between the legs each time the urgency spikes. He glances at Findekáno. “Stop enjoying this so much.”

“No,” Findekáno grins.

Findekáno has always been ridiculous when it comes to this. It’s a strange proclivity, to be certain; the act of being desperate to piss, or even just seeing another desperate to piss, seems to get Findekáno hotter than nearly anything else. Maitimo has never wholly understood the appeal of it. What he does understand the appeal of is Findekáno near out of his mind with desperate arousal simply because Maitimo agreed to hold his piss while Findekáno fucked him, or because Maitimo tied him up and teased him until Findekáno couldn't hold it any longer, or because Maitimo let Findekáno climb into his lap and wet himself over the both of them while they rubbed one another off. Maitimo has pissed himself at Findekáno's request many times now, and he will surely do so again. He probably wouldn’t even mind doing it now, except that the gardens of Lórien, the most peaceful and beautiful lands in all of Aman, are one place he absolutely, unequivocally, cannot piss, lest he risk incurring the wrath of Irmo himself.

Findekáno continues to tease him for a while longer, but as they continue their hike back to camp and the minutes pass, Maitimo's need grows ever worse. As it does, he grows ever quieter. For a time he had been enjoying playing it up for Findekáno, but it is not long before it begins to truly hurt.

Soon the urgency is coming in waves. His bladder spasms and contracts, sending out near-constant, frantic signals that it needs to be emptied, very soon. Maitimo is beginning to sweat. He’s never longed more to just take his cock out and piss hard against the nearest tree, consequences be damned; anything to be rid of this awful, unbearable pressure. After what feels like an eternity but cannot have been more than an hour, it’s gotten so bad Maitimo can hardly think about anything that isn’t how badly he needs to piss.

“Finno,” he finally says, his face burning, “I don’t know if I can wait.”

Even as he speaks his control slips for the barest fraction of a second. Warmth teases the tip of his cock, wicking into his underclothes. The feeling makes him lose another few drops, and he’s forced to stop and push his thighs together to regain control.

Findekáno, to his credit, is clearly trying to take this seriously. He valiantly ignores the obscene erection tenting his breeches to awkwardly touch Maitimo on the arm. “It’s only a little further,” he lies. “Come on, you can hold it at least until we’ve left the gardens.”

Maitimo's heart is in his throat. He’s so full. He’s convinced he can feel the walls of his bladder stretching and swollen, full to bursting. His abdomen contracts painfully, trying to force everything out.

He starts walking, but he's forced to stop again only a minute later. The pressure is swelling, and suddenly he can’t even move for fear of wetting himself. He shakes his head. “I can’t.”

Findekáno looks at him helplessly. “Use your waterskin?”

“I drink from that!”

“You can clean it afterwards.”

“Not well enough!”

“Well you can’t piss here!”

“I know that!”

Findekáno glances around them, as though hoping for some magical receptacle to appear out of thin air for Maitimo to use to relieve himself. Maitimo's anxiety is spiking. He has to piss. He’s going to piss; his body is not leaving him any more choice in the matter.

He makes a split-second decision.

“Come on,” he says, turning to walk stiffly towards a nearby willow. He pushes aside the draping leaves and leads Findekáno inside the canopy. It’s shadowed and quiet underneath, the ever-present birdsong of Lórien muffled.

“Russandol, you can’t piss here!” Findekáno protests.

“No,” snaps Maitimo, desperation driving him to be sharper than he would like, “I can’t piss on anything here.”

Findekáno looks confused. He lets Maitimo urge him back to stand against the trunk of the tree.

“Get on your knees.”

“What?” Findekáno’s eyes go suddenly very wide.

“Well I’m certainly not going to piss myself.”

Maitimo watches Findekáno’s expression morph rapidly between disbelief, indignance, and finally, as his arousal wins over, desire. He wets his lips and sinks to his knees.

“You’ll have to go slowly,” he warns as Maitimo works hurriedly at the laces of his breeches. Between the sight of Findekáno on his knees and the sudden reality of relief being so near, Maitimo’s need has become all the more pressing. He can feel the entire flood of urine inside him pressing right against the tip of his cock, fighting to burst free. “I mean it, Russo,” says Findekáno when Maitimo makes no answer. “If you go too fast it’ll spill over and we’ll have the same problem we would’ve had if you’d just gone against a tree, except this time my clothes will be ruined, and I don’t want to walk back all wet.”

“Yes, yes,” says Maitimo, barely listening. His fingers are graceless, and he can’t manage to get the knot undone. He loses another few drops. “Damn it,” he mutters, humiliated by the whine in his voice. He tightens his abdomen as much as he can, but a moment later his straining bladder squeezes and forces out a heavy spurt of urine. A strangled gasp escapes him. Warmth soaks into not only the fabric of his underlayers but also his breeches, travelling a few centimetres down the length of his thigh.

“Fuck,” Findekáno breathes hoarsely. Maitimo sees him press the heel of his palm against his crotch for the barest second before raising his hands to help. He unties Maitimo's laces and then pulls away, sitting back on his knees. He looks up at Maitimo with eyes dark and wide, his slick lips parted.

“Open wider,” says Maitimo, fumbling himself out of the confines of his clothing.

Findekáno does, sticking out his tongue a little. Maitimo's breaths are coming fast and shallow. It’s difficult to have thought for anything that isn’t getting relief, but he tries to remind himself to go slowly as he guides his cock into Findekáno’s waiting mouth. It’s sinfully hot and slick, and at the first touch Maitimo leaks a few drops onto his tongue. Findekáno makes a hitched sound in the back of his throat but does not balk, though he makes eyes at Maitimo as if to say, Careful.

“I’m trying,” Maitimo manages. He can’t stop the weak dribbles of piss spilling out of him; every inhale forces more out, his bladder too full to contain everything it’s trying to hold. He pushes in further and Findekáno closes his lips around his cock. “Ready?” Maitimo asks, a little frantically.

Findekáno gives a slight nod.

Carefully, trying so very hard to surrender only a little control, Maitimo lets go.

Instantly, a heavy stream gushes forth. Findekáno makes a startled sound and pushes closer, his lips tight around Maitimo's cock, brows furrowed as he tries to swallow it down quickly enough. He taps Maitimo’s leg frantically.

“Sorry,” Maitimo gasps out. It takes all of the strength remaining to him to cut off the stream, and even then he can’t quite manage to stop it entirely. His muscles tense and spasm, his body rebelling at being denied relief when it had finally just gotten a taste. "Sorry," he says again between ragged breaths, "I'm trying.”

Findekáno softens. He brings his other hand to the back of Maitimo’s thigh and gives a quiet squeeze of encouragement.

Maitimo eases up again, and lets go. This time he manages to keep it slow. It’s agonizing, and he wants nothing more than to push everything out as fast as he possibly can just to be rid of this terrible, aching fullness, but he grits his teeth and focuses on keeping the stream steady. At first it hurts more than anything else, but after a few seconds the all-encompassing lightness of relief begins to rush in.

“Fuck,” is all he can say. He watches Findekáno through heavy-lidded eyes.

Findekáno’s own eyes are closed, his eyelashes fanning across his flushed cheeks. He has one hand on Maitimo's ankle to steady himself, while the other remains on the back of Maitimo's thigh just below his ass, steadying Maitimo. His mouth is soft and hot, so incredibly hot, tongue curled around Maitimo's shaft, mouth and throat working to swallow around him as Maitimo's bladder drains. The erection straining against Findekáno's breeches is positively obscene.

Maitimo’s legs are trembling so much he has to brace a hand against the tree for fear that they’ll give out. He keeps his other hand curled around the base of his shaft. As the pounding of his heartbeat in his ears begins to quiet down, he becomes aware of how loudly and harshly he’s breathing. His face burns, his ears tucked flat to the sides of his head. The softness of Findekáno’s tongue shifts against him, and he hears a filthy, lewd sound leave his own mouth.

“Valar, Finno,” he swears. He lets go of the base of his cock when Findekáno reaches to hold him there. Maitimo strokes the backs of his fingers over Findekáno’s heated cheek, his temple, smoothing back his hair. He realizes he could probably regain some control now, if he tried. The idea of cutting short his relief is unthinkable. “Are you alright?” he asks breathlessly.

Findekáno gives a soft moan and presses closer. Maitimo takes it as permission to keep going.

He thinks dazedly that he’s never understood Findekáno’s interest in this better than he does in this moment. The feeling of utter relief combined with the sucking heat of Findekáno’s mouth around him, the tingling in his legs and head and body as his bladder finally empties after holding so much for so long, the intimacy and trust of Findekáno doing this for him, something so foul and unclean and improper, so dirty. It feels as good as an orgasm. Maitimo can’t help the obscene sounds falling from his lips.

“Fuck, Finno,” he gets out, panting. “This is so hot. You’re so hot.”

Findekáno moans and nods as much as he can. As the stream slows, Maitimo is beginning to harden in his mouth. Findekáno teases him a little with his tongue, and heat cuts through Maitimo so violently he has to dig his fingers into the tree bark to keep himself upright.

By the time Maitimo is finished his bladder somehow hurts again, cramping at the feeling of being so empty after having spent so long painfully full. Findekáno, as though sensing it, or perhaps just wishing for this not to be over yet, slides his hand up to Maitimo's lower stomach and massages it gently. He manages to tease a little more out.

“I think I’m done,” Maitimo finally says. He’s harder than he’s been in what feels like years, heat and desire and relief all clouding his head, bolstered by the exhilarating, unbelievable truth that he just did that, and that Findekáno let him do it.

Findekáno pulls back and tries to catch his breath. His fingers still tease Maitimo's shaft, and Maitimo can’t stop himself from pushing into the touch. Findekáno looks up at him with bright eyes and a grin. “You liked that.”

Maitimo can’t even deny it. Before he can think of something to say Findekáno presses close again and takes him back into his mouth. It’s all slickhotwet, all hollowed cheeks and suction, his glittering eyes blown dark with arousal. Maitimo is so tightly wound, he’s on the edge so fast it makes him dizzy.

It’s all he can do to keep his eyes open as Findekáno takes him deep and swallows around him with a choked moan. Findekáno breathes harshly through his nose, his brows drawing together, his spit-slick lips shining. As Maitimo watches, Findekáno starts scrambling one handed with the laces of his breeches, but after a few seconds he groans obscenely and gives up, sliding his hand around to Maitimo’s ass instead to pull him deeper into the sinful heat of his mouth. The sound of it is so lewd Maitimo can’t hold himself back from coming hard onto Findekáno’s tongue.

Findekáno chokes a little but swallows determinedly around him; if they could not piss in Lórien’s gardens, they certainly can’t spill seed here. As the overwhelming wash of pleasure recedes, Maitimo sinks to the ground, half in Findekáno’s lap. His blood is still rushing in his ears by the time he reaches for Findekáno’s crotch. He finds the fabric of Findekáno’s breeches damp over his softening cock.

“You already came!” says Maitimo, still catching his breath. “You didn’t even touch yourself!”

Findekáno is laughing. He drops his head forward against Maitimo’s chest, his shoulders shaking. A wide smile spreads on Maitimo's face.

“You actually came untouched?”

Findekáno, panting, can only nod.

“Well, now I’m disappointed. I was going to return the favour.”

“I’m sure you’ll find some other way to make it up to me," Findekáno tells him. "Many, many ways.”

Maitimo's cheeks are warm with embarrassment, but it’s the sweet kind of embarrassment, the kind that makes his stomach flip and leap with strange interest. “Indeed. Thank you.”

With a pleased hum, Findekáno leans up to kiss him. Maitimo cringes and turns his face to the side.

“What,” says Findekáno indignantly, “you’ll piss in my mouth but you won’t kiss me?”

“It’s a little gross.”

“Is it! Well I would hate to defend your delicate sensibilities.”

“Kiss me later,” says Maitimo, giving him a peck on the cheek before resting his head on Findekáno’s shoulder. He feels wrung out, pleasantly comfortable and tingly. “We should get moving again soon.”

“Sounds like a great time to make yourself comfortable, then,” says Findekáno. Maitimo huffs a tired laugh.

“I don’t think my legs work quite yet. Give me a minute.”

Findekáno reaches for his waterskin. He holds it a couple of centimetres above his lips and pours some water into his mouth, swishes it around, then seems to remember he can’t spit it out. He wrinkles his nose and swallows. He does it again a few more times.

“It actually wasn’t that bad,” he says, handing the waterskin to Maitimo. “You were… very hydrated. It barely even tasted like anything.”

Maitimo feels his cheeks warm. Findekáno reaches into his pack and withdraws a piece of lembas. He breaks off a piece to nibble on, which in Maitimo’s eyes calls into question the truth of his statement. He moves to stopper Findekáno’s waterskin.

“No,” says Findekáno, chewing. “Drink.”

Maitimo isn’t particularly thirsty. He would also, ideally, like to avoid the possibility of being faced with another situation like this one before they’ve gotten back to camp, and he knows his bladder will already be weakened for the next few hours, a consequence of having pushed it so far.

“I’m not thirsty.”

“I don’t care,” Findekáno smiles. “I want to have some fun with you when we get back. I already have to go a little, and soon I’ll really have to go, and I want you desperate again by the time you fuck me. And in case you've already forgotten, you owe me.”

Maitimo really, really does.

After a moment’s hesitation, he brings the waterskin to his lips and drinks deeply. Purely for Findekáno’s benefit, of course.

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Chapter End Notes

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