Succumb (as requested)
Our Winterfeast prompt #7 - Adar x Galadriel, explicit
Continues from Gamble - ideation credits to @gingeragenda and @eowyn7023
Galadriel felt as if she were dancing along the edge of a knife. She knew she wanted this, wanted him, but nothing about this made sense. She wouldn’t let herself stop to think.
Her eyes left the fascinating crags of the Moriondo’s face to glance over in the direction he had indicated, a torn fabric hanging that was indistinguishable from the other walls of this slapdash tent. Anything could be behind there.
She pressed the flat of the blade against his cheek to turn his head toward the table, instead. “Clear it.”
She released her grip on his neck with a little shove against the column of his throat, pushing him down toward the spread of dishes she had spent the past half hour ignoring. The Orc commander lifted the dish of berries and set it on the far end of the table.
“Faster,” she growled.
Adar growled back, and swiped the rest of the plates across the table with a wide sweep of his arm, spilling many with a clatter. He looked angry when he turned to her, and his hands clamped around her upper arms, so fast. He pulled her toward the table, but she stopped him with the dagger she still held clenched in the space between them.
She shook her head as he glared over the blade at her. “You,” she corrected, “are the one who will lie down.”
Obvious pleasure banked the angry fire in his eyes, though his submission did not look complete as he sat his powerful frame down on the edge of the wooden slab and rolled himself flat on his back. Galadriel followed swiftly, mounting him, leaving no room to feel he had any personal space.
They had been here before, she above him with a blade to his throat. But this time, her legs were spread around him and his body was right there for her to press her aching core against. She did so, with relish, and watched the lines in his face unwind with the pleasure of her friction.
His hands came to her knees, caressed up the length of her thighs and came close to encircling her waist, they were so big. She considered telling him not to touch her, not yet, but his grip did not demand, nor try to control her movements. He simply followed the rhythm of her hips, which were increasing their pace of their own accord while she stared down into his loathsome Uruk face.
She could tell he had once been beautiful, and that Morgoth had done his best to mar that beauty. She still clung to her hatred, of everything that he represented, but meeting one of the twisted beings that still evoked the Elven nature that The Enemy could not fully destroy had her captivated. She would never admit how much she had thought about his face after that interrogation in the barn. She knew now that she had come so close to killing him due to the disgust she had felt at herself for considering that this being, and his children, might be more than mindless agents of evil.
She had had time to accept that thought, now. Stubbornly she did not yet wish to show it, and so she slammed the dagger into the table, just beside the knifepoint of his ear. She leaned into Adar’s face, still grasping the hilt of the weapon, with one more sneering taunt. “Do you really think I would degrade myself to lie down with a filthy Orc?”
As always, he showed no fear; she almost thought she saw a trace of a smile. “Let me show you how filthy I can be,” he responded in a rumble she could feel along her skin. Before she could reply he pulled her face down to meet his lips. This kiss was deeper, wilder, and his tongue danced with hers in a way that she wanted to feel all over her body.
Galadriel felt so hot in her clothes. The constricting, wretched things just had to come off. Adar wouldn’t stop kissing her even as she wriggled and worked her layers off, his fingers tangled in her golden hair and only letting her get her tunic over her head begrudgingly.
She slapped him off, pushed him down. It was not that she did not like the feel of his lust, keeping her close, greedy for the taste of her lips and her skin, but she did not wish to lose herself in him. She had to keep coming up for air, making certain he understood she was not submitting to him. Rather, she was the one who was taking what she wanted here.
Bracing her weight on one arm, she lifted her hips off Adar’s eager, bucking body to strip her pants away. Galadriel loved to be naked, clothed only in her own golden hair, and if anything she felt even more in control of herself now that she had not a stitch left on her.
Adar’s gaze up along her body was admiring, hungry even, but not lascivious, never disrespectful. She nodded in satisfaction at that, then moved to mount his face. “You may taste me, Orc,” she said, snatching the dagger up just to make room for her knees to bridge Adar’s rapt face.
“Uru-“ he corrected again, but the word was cut off by the press of her thigh as she twisted it down to silence him. Adar’s eyes closed with an ecstatic moan, and he worshipped the bit of inner thigh she had offered him with tongue and teeth.
Galadriel’s own eyes closed as she relished the feel of his hungry mouth, and slowly, so slowly, shifted her weight to lead him closer and closer to her core.
His hands came up to span her thighs and again she considered reprimanding him, especially when the clawed gauntlet on his left hand pressed into her flesh in sensitive places. She smooshed his face rather petulantly in response, but did not make him move his hand.
She was starting to admit to herself that the danger was a spice, that the fact that he was an enemy was half the reason that this was so blindingly hot, that her nipples were peaked and wanting and her core was gushing, eager for his tongue.
Galadriel shifted just enough to let him reach the crease between her thigh and her sex, thrilling at his proximity to where she really wanted him.
Adar responded to her teasing by lunging suddenly, pressing his tongue between her folds and licking a long, heavy stripe up towards her pearl when she cried out but did not stop him. Galadriel settled herself squarely upon his mouth with a shuddering exhale, looking down on the surprising eroticism of his scarred and ruined cheeks framed by her flawless, creamy thighs.
The sensation was exquisite. She relaxed into him, and let his clever tongue service her. She toyed with the dagger absently in her hands. When she looked down again and realized Adar was gazing up at it as he did his work, she learned back slowly with a smirk upon her face and set the blade upon his belly, just below where his armour ended, and pressed hard enough to make him feel the threat.
Adar’s deep voice rumbled against her body as he made a desperately aroused noise and redoubled his efforts, now sucking at her clit and creasing his brows as if he truly believed she might cut him open if he did not make her come soon.
Galadriel found that she liked that. She liked it so much that she arched her back and felt her body shuddering, gathering, focusing in on the burning core of pleasure building beneath the Orc-lord’s wicked tongue. She left the knife balancing on his belly and ground down into his face, seeking the perfect angle at the perfect pressure—there. Every thought and sensation within her aligned in glorious harmony as peal after peal of golden joy rang through her body.
The music within her faltered only when one discordant note entered the song—Morgoth’s servant clawing his way out from beneath her thighs because he needed to breathe.