To Ride a Stallion
by Mary Mistress

The Battle for Gondor was over, and the ground of Pelennor Fields was soaked with the blood of many, both friend and foe. Now a group of the survivors rode to Mordor, to challenge Sauron at his own Gate.

Pippin had been Éomer's riding companion for days now, sitting behind the Man on his horse, Firefoot. He had limited experience with Men, and found this one to be unlike both Aragorn and Boromir, his other human friends. All three Men shared a noble nature, but Aragorn was ever distracted, his thoughts divided among Frodo, Sauron, and his beloved Arwen. Boromir had been serious yet wry, the lighter side of his nature sometimes unexpectedly revealed to his small friends on the Fellowship's journey. And now here was Éomer, intense and hard to read, yet Pippin sensed him to be kind as well.

Perhaps it was merely circumstance that made all their natures seem so alien. Éomer's mourning for his uncle, Theéoden, had of necessity been postponed as the warriors journeyed to Mordor, but Pippin could tell the burden sat heavily on the new King of Rohan. As they rode on, the Hobbit chattered brightly away, regaling Éomer with stories of the Shire, anecdotes about his friends, and details of his and Merry's time with the Ent, Treebeard. Occasionally, his lighthearted prattle was rewarded with a snicker or a quick grin and flash of the Man's hazel eyes, and Pippin found himself warmed by the curving of Éomer's full and generous lips.

The journey grew darker, however, as the party drew ever closer to Mordor. As if by unspoken agreement, all descended into silence as they took the dark road. Éomer turned his head to whisper to Pippin, "I'm afraid, Master Hobbit, that we must wait now for the return journey before you may entertain me with any more of your tales." Pippin nodded in silent agreement, and wrapped his arms tighter around Éomer's sides, though still they could not reach around the Man's broad chest. It cheered him slightly that Éomer even spoke of the return journey; at times the whole business seemed so hopeless that Pippin noticed others could barely keep themselves from despair. He wondered at Éomer's optimism. Did the Man truly feel it? Or was he merely trying to hearten and encourage his small companion? Pippin decided either option was nice, and could not help liking Éomer even more.

As they made camp in the darkness that evening, however, Pippin noticed a haunted weariness in Éomer's eyes. His heart reached out to his new friend, and he ached to soothe the cares from the Man's brow. He watched as Éomer withdrew from the circle around the fire, and slowly made his way into the darkness alone. Concerned, Pippin followed silently, his natural Hobbit talent for noiseless movement aiding him as he tracked Éomer deeper into the woods. The Man stopped suddenly, stretched his arms to the sky, then sat heavily, leaning against a massive tree trunk. He dropped his head into his hands and sat there motionless.

Pippin was distraught. Clearly the Horse Lord had come here seeking solace, intending to grieve in private and secret. The Hobbit considered turning around and slipping back to the camp, as noiselessly as he had followed, leaving the mournful Éomer none the wiser. And yet... surely it was not good for Éomer to be alone at this time. It would be too easy for any one of them, isolated, to slip into despair. His decision made, Pippin crept closer.

"Éomer," he whispered. Éomer leapt up, and his battle-trained reflexes brought Pippin into his grasp almost before the Hobbit realized the Man's long, powerful fingers were wrapped around his neck. Nearly as soon as he'd grabbed him, Éomer dropped Pippin in startlement.

"Master Hobbit, what brings you here? I did not expect you." The Hobbit could see Éomer was wavering between embarrassment and annoyance at the invasion of his privacy.

"I'm v-very sorry, my Lord Éomer," Pippin stammered out. "I did not mean to intrude, but I thought that... I mean, I didn't want..." the words died in his throat as the Man's intense hazel gaze bore into his. "Perhaps we could sit quietly together?" he finished lamely. "I'm very worried about my friend Merry, you see, and it eases the pain some to share the solitude with another." He hoped Éomer was buying his excuse, as he was unable to come up with anything better.

To his relief, his ruse worked. Distracted by the thought of another's grief, Éomer relaxed and reseated himself against the tree trunk, opening a hand at his side in invitation. Pippin eagerly sat down next to him, scooting close to the large Man's warmth.

"You should not worry about your friend," Éomer told him. "He rests in the Houses of Healing, well-guarded, and will be eagerly awaiting your return."

Again, it warmed Pippin's heart to hear Éomer speak of their return. "You are right, my Lord," he replied cheerfully. "Merry is strong and stubborn. He is probably already annoyed that we didn't let him come with us."

Éomer smiled faintly at this image, but his expression sobered quickly. Pippin watched the shift and wondered if the Man's thoughts drifted back to his injured sister and lost King. Éomer stretched again, groaning involuntarily but softly as he moved his shoulders. Pippin looked up at him in dismay.

"Are you injured, my Lord Éomer?"

"Nay, Pippin, I am not. Do not worry."

Pippin studied the Man closely. "My Lord, you are in some pain. Please let me ease your discomfort."

Éomer looked at the Hobbit in surprise. "It is only a little hurt, friend — merely some soreness left over from the battle. Nothing but a mild irritation to a seasoned warrior."

"Well, that's perfect!" Pippin exclaimed happily, "For I am no healer, but mild irritations are well within my realm of expertise."

Éomer raised his eyebrows in helpless mirth. "And what would you do for me, my Learned Hobbit?"

Pippin clapped his hands together and rubbed them purposefully. "Well, first you must lie down. No, no," he reconsidered, "first you must remove your outer hauberk and mail, then you must lie down. We will put your cloak down for you to lie on so you will not feel the cold of the ground."

Pippin could see by his expression that the King of Rohan was incredulous but amused as he decided to play along. Removing his heavy armor, he stripped down to his under-tunic and lay on his cloak as instructed. "Yes?" he asked, prompting Pippin to give his next direction.

"Ah," Pippin started, caught off-guard, as his attention had been completely focused on the Man's massive chest and well-muscled arms, as well as the tantalizing glimpse of skin which had so briefly peeked out from under Éomer's tunic. "Well, now we go to work, of course." He straddled Éomer and began massaging the King's rock-hard shoulders.

Éomer stared at him in suspicious amusement. "This is a common Hobbit practice, is it?"

"Oh yes," Pippin remarked, trying not to notice the feel of the King's hard chest against his inner thighs, or at least, trying not to be too obvious in his enjoyment of same. He began to work his way down Éomer's chest, massaging the taut sinews and loving the feel of the King's heated flesh burning through his tunic.

Éomer's gaze sharpened as Pippin began stroking his abdomen. "Friend," he remarked casually, gently capturing Pippin's wrists, "I am not sore there."

"Forgive me, my Lord, but there is a certain way these things must be done," Pippin protested with a sheepish smile. "You see, to give attention to only parts of the body would leave you unbalanced in your overall relaxation," Pippin desperately groped for a plausible-sounding excuse, "and would affect the way you ride your horse tomorrow, you see!"

A dark blonde eyebrow shot high. "It would affect the way I... ride?" Éomer asked.

"Oh yes, indeed, my Lord King. So I'll have to ask you to please relax your hands at your sides, or their tenseness will interfere with my, um, treatment." Pippin nodded once, firmly.

"Hmm," was Éomer's only reply, but he did as requested and laid his arms at his sides once more.

Pippin was unable to keep his breath from quickening. Éomer's easy cooperation was awakening him to previously-unconsidered delights. Would the powerful Man let him...?

"Please stretch your arms high, my Lord Éomer. We must work all the soreness out of your shoulders, so that you will be well-prepared to wield your sword and shield once more. And, uh, close your eyes."

Éomer grinned slightly at the Hobbit's absurd directions, but did as he was bid. His drift into content relaxation was abruptly interrupted as he felt his hands being bound. His head snapped up in annoyance.

"Pippin?" he growled, expecting an explanation.

"Ah yes," Pippin remarked cheerfully, looping strange coils around Éomer's wrists. "Elven rope is amazing stuff, isn't it?"

Snarling in annoyance, Éomer decided he'd had enough of Pippin's little game. When he attempted to rise, however, he was shocked to find that the Hobbit had looped the rope between Éomer's bound hands around the tree trunk, securing the King to its mighty base.

"Now, my Lord, that I can be sure there will be no more interference..." Pippin trailed off, and Éomer was shocked to find his tunic slowly sliding up his chest under the Hobbit's hands.

"Pippin?" the King asked nervously, suddenly uncertain of his situation.

"Hmm?" Pippin replied, evading the obvious question as he lowered his head to Éomer's well-muscled chest. Éomer gasped sharply as the Hobbit began licking at his nipple, teasing the bud into an excited point.

"Wh-what are you doing?" Éomer demanded, trying to pretend he still had some semblance of control over the situation.

"Therapy," Pippin whispered, blowing on Éomer's wet nipple and making the King gasp again. His fingers replaced his mouth as he kissed his way to the other side of the Man's chest, teasing the curly gold hairs and tasting Éomer's skin. He reached the other nipple and shocked the Man by nipping it sharply, then sucking decadently to soothe the pain away.

Stunned, Éomer could not take his burning gaze off the Hobbit straddling his chest, and was shocked to notice a surprisingly large hardness weighing on his belly, as Pippin's arousal became fully pronounced.

"My Lord Éomer, your skill with a sword is much talked-of," Pippin drawled conversationally, unlacing the Man's breeches and slowly peeling them down his well-shaped thighs. "I'm interested to experience it for myself."

Éomer's eyes flew wide open. The situation was absurd. The Hobbit was behaving ridiculously. It was all getting out of control, and why the hell was he growing hard? Suddenly he didn't know what shocked him more, Pippin's sudden dominance, or his traitorous cock's treachery.

"Ah," Pippin said with a smile, stroking his fingers along Éomer's hard length. "It is a mighty weapon indeed."

"Ah, Pippin-" Éomer said weakly, making a last feeble attempt at re-establishing some normalcy.

"Mm-hmm," the Hobbit cheerfully ignored him as he drew the King's stone-hard cock into his mouth. Éomer groaned and bucked underneath the Hobbit, speechless with disbelief at his own arousal and Pippin's feverish tongue. Pippin began to move his mouth faster, sliding his lips along the heated length while caressing the base in his fist.

The Man began to shudder, and managed to gasp out, "I- I'm going to-"

In a flash, the Hobbit slid his mouth away and grabbed Éomer's cock in a grip of steel. "No, you're not," he announced, and the King of Rohan heard a voice ringing with authority and defiance. "You're going to wait until I say."

Éomer could not believe his ears. By the plains of Rohan, what was this? Pippin released the King's aching flesh and began removing his own trousers, then rubbed his startlingly large (who would have guessed it of a Hobbit?) erection against Éomer's. The friction was nearly unbearable and Éomer thrust his hips helplessly against the Hobbit.

"Not yet," Pippin informed him, withdrawing from his cloak a vial of healing oil, which had miraculously survived the trip from Rivendell. He poured it on his hands, and began spreading it lusciously onto Éomer's cock. The King groaned at the slippery torment, writhing as Pippin grasped his balls, then slid his hand further down till his fingertips danced around Éomer's guardian ring.

"Wait!" Éomer managed, "You can't-" but the rest of his sentence was lost in a stunned groan as Pippin slipped two fingers deep inside him. "I- I never-" Éomer stammered.

"You will," Pippin informed him. With his free hand, he began massaging the warm oil onto his own cock, then withdrew his fingers to make room. He shoved Éomer's knees up, spreading him wide, and pushed himself deep inside the King. Éomer gasped at the invasion, panting breathlessly at the potent mixture of pain and pleasure as the Hobbit began to thrust rhythmically into him.

Pippin grabbed Éomer's cock once more, stroking it firmly and matching the beat of his thrusts. Éomer's head whipped from side to side, dark blonde locks flying as the Hobbit rode him into submission. "I'm-" he gasped, "I-"

"Beg me for it," Pippin snarled fiercely.

Éomer stared at him in aroused disbelief. "I'm the King," he began.

Pippin drove deep, sheathing himself to the hilt, and halted there, grasping Éomer's cock in an iron fist. "I SAID BEG."

The Man shuddered, trying to retreat from the invasion, but the Hobbit followed him deep, then teased him by stroking his fingers lightly along Éomer's hard length. Éomer groaned in surrender. He was no match for this determined Hobbit. "Please," he gasped.

"What?" Pippin asked him slyly.

"Please!" Éomer choked out.

Pippin leaned his head closer. "Tell me what you want."

"I want release," Éomer managed.

"Tell me how you want it," the Hobbit insisted.

Éomer shook his head helplessly. He was caught in the throes of an arousal unlike any he'd ever known, but his pride would not let him speak.

Seeing the great King and valiant warrior so submissive and helpless was driving the Hobbit to a heated possession like he had never known he craved. Merry was never up for this! Pippin slowly, achingly slowly, withdrew from the Man almost fully, then drove back into his depths with a swift powerful thrust.

"PLEASE!" Éomer begged him, his will snapping. "Ride me. Take me. NOW!"

Pippin cocked his head to the side, as if considering. "Yes," he replied. "That will do."

He began his assault anew, thrusting and stroking, and now Éomer wrapped his legs around the Hobbit, driving him to greater power and speed. Pippin's hand whipped along Éomer's cock faster and faster, and the Man suddenly cried out uncontrollably, spurting cream onto the Hobbit's tunic. Triumphantly, the Hobbit drove deep once more, sheathing himself fully and spilling himself deep inside the King. Gasping, he pitched forward and lay sated on Éomer's broad chest.

Éomer's eyes rolled back in his head as he desperately tried to get his breath back. After awhile, he lifted his head slightly to gaze down at Pippin. "Uh, could you untie me, please?" he asked.

Pippin looked up into Éomer's exhausted eyes. "Well, since you asked nicely."

The next morning, Éomer climbed into Firefoot's saddle much more gingerly than he had in years. After Pippin had mounted behind him, Éomer turned to look at him over his shoulder. The Man cocked a golden eyebrow. "I am thinking, Friend Hobbit, that perhaps we should change our travel arrangements. I believe that today it is your turn to ride in front," he informed Pippin softly.

The Hobbit grinned, and shrugged noncommittally. "Perhaps, my Lord Éomer, but we shall see. After all, I am the one with the rope."

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