He lowered her slowly back to the floor, still warm from the dying fire; she felt his heavy weight, full of ache and urgency. His breath had grown more ragged still, and she worried that his need might consume him. Arwen must give him everything he needed, anything he needed, and quickly. He was moving his hips slowly between her legs; Arwen could tell he was suppressing a desperate need in order to spare her further pain; he was burning up, his battle-weary limbs shook as he struggled to keep himself in check. The feel of her body wrapped around him slowed Aragorn for a few moments; in the places where their bodies met the ache of pleasure was almost paralyzing.
Taking the lead, Arwen began to pull free of her skirts; the slow realization of what she was doing broke over him in subtle waves. As her warm soft belly began to undulate under his, slapping gently against his stomach, Aragorn's last bit of remaining self control disappeared. He reached down and cupped her bare ass-cheeks in his hands, squeezing them hard, as with one stroke, he buried himself deep inside her. The low guttural moan that escaped her lips drove Aragorn on, feverishly. He began to move in and out of her with great force, her soft involuntary cries marking each time he filled her.
She slid her arms around his neck, pulling his body heavily down onto hers, bucking her hips against him wildly to express her growing need for him, and to give him the deepest penetration she could–she'd never been able to take quite all of him and wanted desperately to do so now. He lifted her onto his knees, so that she straddled him; she slid forward, easing down upon him farther than she had ever been, impaling herself slowly. She let out a gasp as their eyes locked; he winced silently at her pain but did not move to lift her from him. Moments passed. Arwen breathed deeply, relaxing her body into his. Onto his. Her head sank to his chest and he put his arms around her, pulling her into him tenderly. At this moment, nothing else mattered...slowly she began rocking; squeezing her lower stomach in such a way as to slide up his stiffened manhood, releasing to let herself back down again. This slow agitation drove Aragorn almost beyond his weakening self control. He swallowed hard as his eyes rolled back behind their lids, now only at half mast.
Arwen's breath caught, she was almost there. Aragorn had to hold on, he thought, despite his own growing desperation; searing jags of pain had begun to emanate from the wound in the center of Aragorn's chest, and the urge to use his penis as a weapon raged inside him, rising like the fever that made sweat break out on his face and neck. He bit down hard on his lower lip; his teeth tore the already-cracked flesh there, though he hardly noticed; Arwen's hips had speeded their rocking and his hands–too roughly, he would think later on–kneaded her ass cheeks in rhythmic response. Her perfect little Elvin body went up and down in quick, tense movements until suddenly it went limp on his, as the first waves of her orgasm had begun to break over her. She moaned unintelligible words in ancient Elvish. Aragorn responded that he loved her as he continue to rock her back and forth, slowing as her orgasm subsided. Arwen's whole being slowly began to soften; she opened her eyes to look at Aragorn.
His eyes were now fully closed, his mind engaged in some far off place; she immediately felt he was in danger. "Aragorn, " she whispered anxiously, her face near his. His eyes opened, but he looked more like an animal in a trap, desperate and injured. "Aragorn," she said more softly, longingly.
Blood had clotted at the corners of his mouth. She bent to kiss him, finding it amazingly erotic. She ran her tongue over his lower lip, now swollen as well. The taste of his blood sickened her, yet aroused her too; she began to suck at his injured mouth, wanting more of him, as he surely wanted of her. He jerked his head back suddenly, the pain jarring him back to some semblance of consciousness. He saw the blood on her lips, his blood, and that was it. He lunged forward, taking her face clumsily in his hands. He covered her lips with his own, pushing his hungry tongue as far as it would go down her willing throat.
She sucked his tongue into her mouth as the two fell backwards, toppled by his sudden dive toward her. His body covered hers, pushing, pushing, aching, wanting. She let her body go supple in his arms. His naked penis pushed hard against her thigh while his mouth made ravenous passage over her face, neck, and shoulder. His teeth grazed her more than once; he noticed, but did not care. Could not care. Could not feel, anything but his own need. All at once, he leaned back from her, and, using more force than he had to, pulled her leg over its partner, flipping her as if she were a doll made of rags. Before she'd raised her belly from the now-cold stone floor, Aragorn had reached out and grabbed her by the hips, pulling her recklessly to her knees. The throbbing head of Aragorn's member passed easy through the elf's wet outer lips; Arwen's breath caught as the head pressed against the passage to her womb, equally slick with her scented juices.
As Aragorn eased himself into her warmth, a cracking pain seized his chest, followed by an intense heat: the makeshift stitches he's used on the battlefield had broken from all his sharp movements. Blood was now soaking the chest of his tunic, but he couldn't find it in him to care. The irresistible smell of her wetness made him crazed as he arched over her, now in too much pain to remain upright. He pushed hard, feeling the walls of her pussy tighten around him as he passed through. Arwen let out a small gasp. He paused only a moment to let her body relax around him, then plunged in the rest of the way.
She groaned with a horny ache as he pulled out a second later, sliding the head of his penis along on the top of her shaft on his way, slowing to rest teasingly on her clitoris before slamming himself back into her pussy, this time the full length all at once. "Oooohhhh, oohhhh," Arwen breathed, as Aragorn repeated this motion again and again, slowing down more each time to stop himself from coming. Finally he pulled out completely, until the lips of her pussy made the same sound as a newborn babe giving up the suckle, "pwaat," as they let go of the now-purple head of his manhood. From over her shoulder Aragorn heard an involuntary murmur of disappointment escape Arwen's lips; she had been more than half way to her second orgasm. Aragorn now rested gently on her back; she felt the warm stickiness of his chest and ached for him to continue fucking her. She pushed her hips backward to regain him, but he dug his thumbs into her kidneys to stop her; she winced, and cried out softly, still pushing against him. But he had other plans for her, other needs he had to meet before he collapsed.
The pain in his chest had subsided, given over to a numbness in his chest and shoulder. His wound continued to ooze blood; Arwen's back was now sticky with it. Ignoring everything but his immediate need, he rested his forehead between her shoulder blades, allowing her strong back to support him momentarily as he reached down with both hands and spread her ass cheeks as far as they would go. Without waiting for approval, or even recognition, Aragorn used all his remaining strength to plunge his swollen member deep inside her most private place. Arwen moaned loudly, bordering on a scream. Her arms lost their ability to hold her up; she fell to the cold floor, Aragorn falling hard on top of her. Aragorn winced and cried out almost silently as his chest collided with her shoulder blade; the trickle of blood became a river. Arwen felt his whole body spasm and knew he was hurting. His breathing had once more become ragged, but his grip on her tightened just the same. She felt his message: he would have her no matter what it cost him. It occurred to her that her wet back may be covered by more than Aragorn's sweat. Her ass hurt, but ached for him at the same time. She knew he wouldn't stop until he was spent, and would only care for himself after that. At the same time, her desire for him began to grow again: he would risk everything to be with her and it made her want him so much. Arwen began to undulate her hips; inside of her, his stiff member throbbed in response. He began pushing her hips back and forth roughly, rocking her ass on the end of his dick.
Arwen buried her face in her arm to conceal her pained moans; if he knew how much it ached in her soul he would stop and he needed this...he needed it desperately. Aragorn continued to bury himself in her ass, moving in and out or her in a frenzied, lustful trance. Her stifled cries of pain soon softened to rhythmic panting as his strong, chaotic strokes began to unleash her delayed second orgasm. Feeling her tremble, Aragorn pushed even harder; with each stroke his balls slapped on her ass, prolonging her orgasm and bringing on his. The sound of Arwen's screams filled his ears, making him lose his balance briefly. He felt the strong, repeated spasming of her vagina through the thin wall of her rectum and he exploded, his ample juices gushing out her puckered hole with each successive stroke. He buried himself in her for the last time, draining into her the last bit of himself. But then, Aragorn abruptly pulled out of her, rolling over on his side and pulling his knees into his chest. Only then did Arwen notice that his shirt was covered in blood, stuck to him in places. He was curled tight, in immense pain, murmuring to himself in the fierce words of the Dunedain.
"How did he make love to me when he was in this kind of pain?" she thought. A sex-dazed Arwen made her way across the floor to him, reaching out an arm to him. Her next thought was to go for help, and stood to do so immediately.
He caught her wrist as she made to go, and pulled her down to him. "No one else," he murmured, "I need the healing only you can give, Arwen."
When he spoke the syllables of her name, a look came over his eyes, and she got the same haunted feeling again, that Aragorn would rather die in her arms than have to leave her again, ever. In the moments he laid there, the bleeding began to subside.
"Only you," he breathed, laying back now on the cold floor, without releasing the urgent hold he had on her hand.
She bent down to kiss his lips, cool and wet. She then softly kissed his chin, his neck, lingering to suck gently on the soft tenderness of his throat, one of Aragorn's few weaknesses. As she did this, he began to revive, to moan and writhe on the dark stone. She put out her tongue and licked his aching chest, the sweet blood staining her lips once more. She rested her head momentarily on his stomach; he ran his fingers through her long hair, getting them tangled and caught absent-mindedly. She freed herself of his restless arms, and gave him a long hard kiss on the mouth, whispering that she would return at once.
