Title: Crystalline
Rating: PG-14
Disclaimer: It all belongs to Tolkien and New Line Cinema…I just have fun. No money is made from this venture. No infringement is meant.
Author's Notes: This is a companion piece to Waterfall. Aragorn's point of view. Hey…who knows…maybe he is poetic. After all, he did live with elves. Not a sequel…no heavy duty stuff…yet.
I know you are there. I can see you; your dress is white. Against the onyx night sky, the green on black foliage of a forest at night and the moss/stone on which you sit, your dress looks like an evening mist. And an evening mist you are, Arwen, my love: one moment you were not there, but by the next moment, you had materialized.
Through the falling water, I see you, as I wipe the suds from my hair, my shoulders. What do you think of, love? I think only of you. The falling water is a curtain of crystal, black against the night, until moonbeams engage it. Then it is like a prism reflecting silver light. Gray, brilliant white, and just the hint of deep blue and onyx black, it is a kaleidoscope of sparkles and crystalline tears. To view you through such a curtain, Arwen, creates the illusion of sprinkled magic dust, lost from Gandolf's pouch, falling about you.
A blessing.
A protection.
I face you under the rivulets of water. I know my body is responding to you; you who sit there enraptured, you who sit there thoughtless in your beauty. I hold out my hand and see you rise. The water is shallow here, barely covering the black rock under foot. As you begin to walk, I see your white dress wet with the icy water, I see your bare feet. You look as though you walk on water, love. With a smile, you stop feet from me, safe from the falling water, just near enough to feel the embrace of the mist.
My hand falls from where I have beckoned you. It enters again the water circle in which I stand. But you do not come near. With practiced hands, you slowly begin to disrobe. The white dress, the cloak of mist, my fairy, that you have worn, begins to part. I watch as your creamy neck and shoulders are revealed: so pale and yet so strong in their feminine form. To kiss you there is a treat, Arwen, for it does elicit wonderful sighs from your throat.
Your eyes are trained with mine. I hold your gaze. Our partnership, our love, is one of equality. You have given me all that you are; I will do no less. Your hands lower your dress from your chest. From where my gaze is, I can only see the gentle rise of your breasts. I wish to see more, but I will not lower my gaze until you lower yours.
For aching long minutes, you smile gently at me, teasing me with your very proximity. And then you lower your eyes from me, to bend and pick up your now soaking dress. There is no worry, Arwen. Your clothing might be wet, but I will keep you warm. I glance down at your curves that are now like a watercolor through the water and where I felt blessed for its presence earlier, I curse it now. But you do not keep me waiting. You step through the falling water to greet me, to enter my private circle. With sure hands, you lift my battle worn ones to touch at your cool skin. You put them on your shoulders. Where you watched me, you let me touch you now.
My hands follow your curves, down from your shoulders, to the gentle rise of your breasts. Is it the cold water or me that makes your nipples hard, my love? The water has made your skin like sodden silk, icy next to the skin, but so slippery…easy to touch. Your onyx hair falls over your shoulders, and just a few strands caress your breasts as I do the same with my fingers.
Eager to touch all that is mine, I run my hands down to your slim waist, to your hips. One hand remains there as the other ventures to the apex of your thighs. As I touch the hidden depths, you gasp, throwing your head back into the pouring water. Your hands that have been lightly resting on my arms now grip me. Oh Arwen…you burn…even amongst the icy water from the peaks. You burn for me. My fingers delve into the wetness that is not entirely from the waterfall.
"Arwen," I croak, finding it hard to talk…dry-mouthed, ironically, with all the water around us. "I think you like being a voyeur."
You open your eyes and find my gaze easily. You simply smile; keeping your secrets, my dear Elf. I will find them out. Your hand ventures up to my neck and I am pulled toward you.
Toward you and those luscious lips. And as I lean into you, into our kiss, into your embrace, the moon, the water, and the rock…the very world disappears. You kiss me with all the power and gentleness of a woman in love; we warriors have no defense against it. I surrender willingly.
Rating: PG-14
Disclaimer: It all belongs to Tolkien and New Line Cinema…I just have fun. No money is made from this venture. No infringement is meant.
Author's Notes: This is a companion piece to Waterfall. Aragorn's point of view. Hey…who knows…maybe he is poetic. After all, he did live with elves. Not a sequel…no heavy duty stuff…yet.
I know you are there. I can see you; your dress is white. Against the onyx night sky, the green on black foliage of a forest at night and the moss/stone on which you sit, your dress looks like an evening mist. And an evening mist you are, Arwen, my love: one moment you were not there, but by the next moment, you had materialized.
Through the falling water, I see you, as I wipe the suds from my hair, my shoulders. What do you think of, love? I think only of you. The falling water is a curtain of crystal, black against the night, until moonbeams engage it. Then it is like a prism reflecting silver light. Gray, brilliant white, and just the hint of deep blue and onyx black, it is a kaleidoscope of sparkles and crystalline tears. To view you through such a curtain, Arwen, creates the illusion of sprinkled magic dust, lost from Gandolf's pouch, falling about you.
A blessing.
A protection.
I face you under the rivulets of water. I know my body is responding to you; you who sit there enraptured, you who sit there thoughtless in your beauty. I hold out my hand and see you rise. The water is shallow here, barely covering the black rock under foot. As you begin to walk, I see your white dress wet with the icy water, I see your bare feet. You look as though you walk on water, love. With a smile, you stop feet from me, safe from the falling water, just near enough to feel the embrace of the mist.
My hand falls from where I have beckoned you. It enters again the water circle in which I stand. But you do not come near. With practiced hands, you slowly begin to disrobe. The white dress, the cloak of mist, my fairy, that you have worn, begins to part. I watch as your creamy neck and shoulders are revealed: so pale and yet so strong in their feminine form. To kiss you there is a treat, Arwen, for it does elicit wonderful sighs from your throat.
Your eyes are trained with mine. I hold your gaze. Our partnership, our love, is one of equality. You have given me all that you are; I will do no less. Your hands lower your dress from your chest. From where my gaze is, I can only see the gentle rise of your breasts. I wish to see more, but I will not lower my gaze until you lower yours.
For aching long minutes, you smile gently at me, teasing me with your very proximity. And then you lower your eyes from me, to bend and pick up your now soaking dress. There is no worry, Arwen. Your clothing might be wet, but I will keep you warm. I glance down at your curves that are now like a watercolor through the water and where I felt blessed for its presence earlier, I curse it now. But you do not keep me waiting. You step through the falling water to greet me, to enter my private circle. With sure hands, you lift my battle worn ones to touch at your cool skin. You put them on your shoulders. Where you watched me, you let me touch you now.
My hands follow your curves, down from your shoulders, to the gentle rise of your breasts. Is it the cold water or me that makes your nipples hard, my love? The water has made your skin like sodden silk, icy next to the skin, but so slippery…easy to touch. Your onyx hair falls over your shoulders, and just a few strands caress your breasts as I do the same with my fingers.
Eager to touch all that is mine, I run my hands down to your slim waist, to your hips. One hand remains there as the other ventures to the apex of your thighs. As I touch the hidden depths, you gasp, throwing your head back into the pouring water. Your hands that have been lightly resting on my arms now grip me. Oh Arwen…you burn…even amongst the icy water from the peaks. You burn for me. My fingers delve into the wetness that is not entirely from the waterfall.
"Arwen," I croak, finding it hard to talk…dry-mouthed, ironically, with all the water around us. "I think you like being a voyeur."
You open your eyes and find my gaze easily. You simply smile; keeping your secrets, my dear Elf. I will find them out. Your hand ventures up to my neck and I am pulled toward you.
Toward you and those luscious lips. And as I lean into you, into our kiss, into your embrace, the moon, the water, and the rock…the very world disappears. You kiss me with all the power and gentleness of a woman in love; we warriors have no defense against it. I surrender willingly.