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Upon a Bed of Moss

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“You have done this before,” said Lúthien, and all but melted into the pillow of moss she was reclining against, wonderfully cool and moist against her heated skin, smelling of earth and damp leaves. Her hand slipped through the strands of Galadriel’s hair, twisted one around a finger, as though she was grasping a palm full of sunlight. The thought matched the warmth that was settling to rest within her by now, though there was no saying if Galadriel, still on her knees on the moss between Lúthien’s bare legs with her lips reddened and a high flush in her cheeks, would not fan it to flame again.

Galadriel’s uncanny ability to read the people she was with had come to light once again. Lúthien had to admit, albeit only to herself, that she much preferred it this way, demonstrated in private - it was certainly more enjoyable than endless political machinations with their shifts and twists of power.

As though she had heard Lúthien’s thoughts, or carefully mapped the thud of heartbeat slowing under her skin, Galadriel lifted her eyes, and Lúthien felt herself struck to the core by the light in them. Then she lifted her head, straining ever so slightly against the hair Lúthien still held in her hand, her face twisting a little at the sting. Lúthien tightened her hold and tugged to see it again, see some emotion flickering across that maddeningly impassive, self-ensured mien, and Galadriel did not do her the same favour twice - but still kept looking at her without wavering, holding the eye-contact until Lúthien could have sworn she was a mouse before a beautiful, golden snake - and Galadriel licked her lips with the relish of someone who had just savoured a rare delicacy.

Lúthien felt a shudder through her body, against her own volition.

I have done this before,” Galadriel said. “And whether or not you answer, I can tell you are no blushing innocent.” Her voice ran like the clear, hot water of the baths gushing over Lúthien’s body.

Tell me,” Lúthien heard herself say, hoarsely, “whose pleasure you tasted before you had mine.”

“You would not know their names,” Galadriel answered, apparently calculating something, still. “Perhaps a few. You are my first here in Doriath; the very first was my cousin, the daughter of my father’s brother. We were very young and knew very little... it was rushed and awkward, and she bears a bite-mark on her thigh to this day. But Íreth is an apt name for her. I desired her so that I wanted to eat her whole.”

Galadriel brushed away a fold of blue fabric from the discarded dress that had fallen over Lúthien’s thigh, and lowered her head, placing her lips on the inside of Lúthien’s left leg, high and near her folds. Lúthien held her breath, tensed.

“About here. She climaxed when I bit down.”

Galadriel rasped her teeth over the skin, setting it tingling, sending heat sparking straight to Lúthien’s middle, and she only barely swallowed down a moan that she did not wish to grant Galadriel the satisfaction of hearing - not yet, not again so soon.

Galadriel sought her eyes again, nuzzling unabashedly now. “So light a touch, and you flush like the sunrise?” She laughed softly, warm puffs of breath that made Lúthien’s toes curl.

“But what is there to dwelling in memories when I have you here before me?” Galadriel asked in a low voice. “When I can find out what else the most beautiful of the Children desires? Or would you rather show me how you would seek your own pleasure, so I may better have you the next time?”

The strands of Galadriel’s hair slipped from Lúthien’s fingers, suddenly turning numb and clumsy. Still, she slid her right down her body, the left up to fondle her breasts, roll her nipples between her fingers until they stiffened and peaked and Galadriel’s eyes were rapt upon them. Even as Lúthien stroked herself to new wetness over what remained from Galadriel’s mouth and swallowed another moan - not yet, not yet - she was aware how quiet the forest was: birds were chittering in the distance, and she could hear even the falls of the Esgalduin singing upriver, a gust of wind carrying speech and laughter of others who walked somewhere nearby…

Galadriel tilted her head; it seemed she had heard the women, too.

“And who is it that occupies your mind?” said Galadriel, intruding upon the pleasant reverie she had worked herself into, slipping her own strong hand over Lúthien’s, over the circling, teasing fingers she was seeking to titillate herself with, stilling them. “One of them? Perhaps you would have me fetch them to see how the Princess of Doriath enjoys herself? Or perhaps join us?”

Lúthien shook her head, pressing her burning cheeks into the moss. “I cannot see his face… but he must be bold, brave, even foolishly so, to convince my father that he seeks me as his wife…”

“He? Stop talking unless you mean to insult me,” said Galadriel, and suddenly she was there, still fully clothed and with a hard body underneath the silk and pearls pressing into Lúthien’s skin, the moss yielding under her back beneath the double weight, Galadriel spread out atop her, stopping her words with lips and tongue and the deepest kiss Lúthien had ever thought possible.

She moaned, finally, into Galadriel’s open mouth, against those lush lips still ripe with what must be her own taste, felt Galadriel’s answering chuckle thrum through her, pushed feebly against Galadriel’s body and the cushions fitted into her dress to broaden the narrow hips, against the undershift fitted to give her more of a swell of breasts than Galadriel possessed, all the gentle curves that Galadriel, for all her beauty, lacked…

“Perhaps,” Lúthien slurred, turning her face aside, speaking around a breath of air she sucked down, “perhaps I do not after all think of a man. Perhaps I think of you, Nerwendë, when touch myself, and the one I see is you…”

Galadriel fisted a hand in Lúthien’s hair and pulled her back, pressed her lips down again, and Lúthien found herself yielding, even found a thrill in the thought. Galadriel had never seemed very impressed with Lúthien, never fallen over her own feet to rush and do Lúthien’s bidding as other courtiers did, not even her dancing seemed to have moved Galadriel much…

And she did again what Lúthien had already observed, understanding hearts and minds with an uncanny ability, her eyes blazing with amusement as she withdrew from the kiss and ground her knee against Lúthien’s center almost roughly, making her gasp, arch from the moss seeking touch and pressure, only to surge into frustration as the touch was ended, the pressure eased away, and Galadriel held her down when she went on to try and follow it.

“You seem very smitten with me, Princess. With my oh-so-unmaidenly body that was the ridicule of the baths, while all others were like bees swirling around you, a flower, for the barest lap of nectar, and now look at you… so drawn to my indifference that you ordered me to meet you in the forest, that you ordered me onto my knees, Princess…”

Lúthien said nothing. Under the whispers, which Galadriel laid hot against the side of her neck, punctuated by gentle bites and maddening flicks of her tongue, all she could do was not dissolve into acknowledgment, if that meant that Galadriel would finally act as her words promised.

“Silence? What a pity. Perhaps I shall simply leave you, then, having done your bidding to the best of my abilities - although I could do so much more. I know that you want no reverence from those who give it freely, for that bores you so much that sometimes your eyes glaze over even when they do you homage at court - yes, I have seen. You want reverence from those that will not give it, you want them to pursue you, subdue you, touch you as others would never dare… do you not, Princess? Have you ordered others to do so before me as well?”

“No,” Lúthien at last choked out, almost starved for Galadriel’s touch. “There is one thing where you err… this I have done only with you, impervious as you seemed to me. And now that you and I are here, what shall we do - must I beg for you to debauch me again?”

Would you - beg me?” asked Galadriel, with a flash of her eyes, lingering on Lúthien’s body.

“No… no,” Lúthien answered. Despite herself, her voice shook with need. “I would order you to have me.”

A slow smile, self-satisfied and more than a little smug, spread over Galadriel’s face. “Then, my lady, order me. Tell me what you would have me do, and I shall render you this… service... a second time. If my lady compels me, what choice have I but to obey?”

Galadriel slid a hand over Lúthien’s hip, trailing circles over her skin downward - light, far too light.

Lúthien’s tongue darted out to wet her lips; she grasped Galadriel’s teasing hand around the wrist and pulled it toward herself. “Do not presume I will let you do that much longer.”

“Ah, but Princess,” Galadriel murmured before she leaned in to steal Lúthien’s breath with another kiss and pressed her down into the bed of moss once more, “was that not precisely what you ordered me to do?"