Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/3423866.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Underage
  Category:
      F/M, M/M, Multi
  Fandom:
      The_Lord_of_the_Rings_-_All_Media_Types, The_Lord_of_the_Rings_-_J._R._R.
      Tolkien, The_Lord_of_the_Rings_(Movies)
  Relationship:
      Aragorn/Arwen, Boromir/Merry_Brandybuck/Pippin_Took
  Character:
      Aragorn, Arwen, Elrond, Celebrían, Elrohir, Elladan, The_Fellowship_of
      the_Ring
  Additional Tags:
      Alternate_Universe_-_High_School, Interspecies_Relationship(s),
      Interspecies_Romance, Engagement, Family_Fluff, Family_Feels, Mental
      Health_Issues, Hand_Feeding, hobbits_and_food, Dom/sub_Undertones, Elf/
      Human_Relationship(s), Weird_Elven_Sexual_Mores, Anal_Fingering, Prostate
      Massage, Bathtub_Sex, Frottage
  Series:
      Part 2 of Welcome_To_Greyhame_Academy
  Stats:
      Published: 2015-02-23 Completed: 2015-08-07 Chapters: 4/4 Words: 4940
****** Arwen Is A Pervy Human Fancier ******
by Not_You
Summary
     "Is she really going out with him?" enquires the entire world,
     watching Aragorn and Arwen go by.
***** Chapter 1 *****
Arwen checks her hair in her rearview mirror, even though she knows quite well
that Aragorn won't really notice or care. She smiles just thinking about her
sweet little human, and steps out of the car. Greyhame Academy looks the same
as ever, and she stops to pat the head of one of the eagle sculptures before
going inside.
With an unexpected three-day weekend, she had decided to make a surprise visit
home. Father and the twins had been happy to see her, and when they had said
that Aragorn was staying after school to make use of the library, Arwen had of
course volunteered to go fetch him. She smiles at the various posters adorning
the walls, a lot of them student-made and in Beginning Sindarin. One is by
Samwise Gamgee, Frodo's little friend, and she takes a moment to study the
simple and very pretty flowers on it before making her way to the library.
School has been out for over an hour, so she's not surprised to find the place
almost completely empty. Aragorn has of course tucked himself up in the darkest
corner available, with a huge history tome open on his bony knees.
People have given Arwen a lot of crap for promising herself to Aragorn, and it
does remain sort of difficult for her to explain. That she had thought the tiny
human boy her father was fostering was very sweet, but had had matters of her
own to attend to and hadn't checked back in for about fourteen years, finding a
surprisingly serious human on the edge of manhood in the place of the chubby
little ball of mischief she had left behind, and that his unflinching grey gaze
had somehow found its way into her soul. He looks up now, and blushes all over
his stubbly little face. He really does need to pay more attention to personal
grooming, but there's plenty of time for him to learn.
"It's good to see you, dearest one," she says softly, and offers him a hand up.
He stands and puts the book away, blushing as he takes her hand again and
follows her out. He's greasy, bless him, and he usually tries so hard to get
his hair washed when he knows she's going to see him. He tells her about his
day as they walk, and in the car the musky human scent of him is strong, and,
to Arwen at least, pleasant.
"I.. I would've cleaned up," he says, and she laughs.
"I like you the way you are, Estel." She leans across the gearshift and cups
his face in her hands, giving him a soft kiss that makes his poor human heart
beat like a drum. She breaks the kiss without pulling away, nuzzling his cheek
and enjoying the prickly-silky feeling of his stubble before barely nibbling
the tip of his ear. If he were another elf this would be a bit scandalous to do
in public, but with her darling little human it's only a little excessive. He
shudders and his breath quickens, and she smiles at him as she sits up straight
again. It takes him a moment to realize that she's waiting for him to buckle
his seatbelt, but he finally blinks and complies. He's quiet for the ride home,
mostly listening to Arwen's account of her Lore Studies fieldwork. She would
worry about boring most humans, but of course Aragorn is special.
When they get home Father comes out to greet them, and to tell them that he has
prepared Arwen's favorite meal and that Mother has actually come down to
dinner. Poor Mother is so delicate, and they enter the house quietly because
all her time in her room reduces her tolerance for confusion and noise. She's
not as pale as she was last time, though, and she gets up and hugs Arwen with
no hesitation.
"Thank you for coming home, Evenstar," she says, kissing Arwen's cheek and then
turning to Aragorn, smiling softly at him and telling him that he has just
enough time to wash his face. He rolls his eyes, but kisses her hand and says
that he will, dashing upstairs while Arwen hangs up her jacket and goes to
fetch the good plates to celebrate her visit and Mother's good day.
Father's cooking is as good as ever, and the twins are still obnoxious. It's
good to be home, and she lingers over the various dainty dishes. Sylvan cress
isn't even in season, but Father has found some anyway. It has the taste of
hydroponic growth, but as far as Arwen is concerned, it's not any less
delicious than the taste of good soil and sun, just different.
After dinner she sits at the table with Mother, holding her wasted hand and
talking to her gently. Father hovers nearby, and as always the love between
them is one of the most beautiful things Arwen has ever seen. She tells them
legends from the black elves, those ancient and far-flung relatives of theirs,
about the Blood Queen leading her armies in her necklace of cowrie shells and
her perfect skin, the heat too intense for anything else, and about Valar in
the forms of falcons and bulls and crocodiles. Mother's dim eyes are brighter
than Arwen has seen them in some time, and after she goes upstairs to rest,
Father takes Arwen into his arms and holds her for a long time, whispering his
gratitude to her for being so good with Mother.
"It's the least I can do when I'm gone so much," she says, and he smiles down
at her.
"Don't regret that, daughter. I'm glad to see you learning so much."
She squeezes his hand, and goes up to her room. The twins have already brought
her bag up, and have left her some fresh flowers because they are sweet boys,
despite how obnoxious they can be. She unpacks her few things, and then goes to
see Aragorn. Despite being technically betrothed, they're not allowed to sleep
in the same room, but Father isn't cruel and he does actually trust Arwen on
matters of decency and honor, so she can close the door behind her and sit on
the bed while she talks to Aragorn. He's nervously trying to fling his clutter
into order, and it finally makes her laugh despite her best efforts not to
embarrass him.
He stops, holding a dirty sock and glancing around at the chaos. "It's pretty
much hopeless, isn't it?" He flings the sock aside and sits down next to her
with a sigh. "Arwen, I try to take you at your word, but I do have to wonder
where the attraction is, sometimes."
She laughs again, and puts an arm around him. "Oh, beloved. I will admit that I
have a great deal of difficulty in putting it into words, but you captivate
me." She kisses him on the mouth and he shudders, melting against her and then
staying there as they both just breathe together in the way of elves.
Naturally, the twins choose this moment to hammer on the door, declaring that
they know their wicked sister is up to no good, and that they must defend
Aragorn's virtue. He replies to this in the only truly appropriate way, which
is to gesture for Arwen to open the door while he lies in wait with a pillow to
clobber his brothers.
***** Chapter 2 *****
Boromir has heard that Aragorn is engaged to what is technically his foster
sister, but he wasn't expecting to actually meet her. He's still kind of weird
with elves that aren't Legolas, to his great chagrin. He can't help it, with
years of tales of what happens to the unwary in Greenwood, and of elven
enchantments. In her way, Arwen dispels some of those notions. When Boromir
answers the door at a study session at Frodo's to find that Aragorn has brought
her along, he realizes that the world's more bitter humans might readily accuse
people this gorgeous of enchanting them. He stares like an idiot for a moment,
and then remembers his manners, bowing and letting her in. Aragorn follows,
looking damnably amused.
"Arwen!" Frodo calls, coming over to take her hands. "You look well, and as
lovely as ever. How are your studies coming?"
"Very well," she says, and kneels to give him a kiss on the forehead. He must
be used to it, because he doesn't faint dead away the way Boromir would have.
Instead he kisses her on the cheek, and leads her over to where they've put
cushions on the floor because anything bigger than a Dwarf on hobbit furniture
is a recipe for disaster. Two overturned bureau drawers make a decent table for
everyone's drinks and the enormous platter of sandwiches and pot of tea
required of any study session with hobbits. Merry and Pippin greet her
cheerfully, and Sam looks about as thunderstruck as Boromir feels. Legolas just
rolls his eyes and waves, of course, immune to the effects of his cousin in a
way Merry and Pippin will never manage. Gimli is trying not to make the same
face as Sam, but having already met Galadriel of Lothlorien, he's a little more
prepared. Aragorn introduces Arwen to Boromir and the younger hobbits and
Gimli, since the others know her, and settles in beside her, thanking Sam as he
pours them each a cup of tea.
Arwen smiles down at Sam, and gestures for him to sit on her other side, where
he does, blushing and looking alarmingly cute. He really is too young for
Boromir, though, and it shows, even if Merry does give Boromir a knowing smile
that makes him blush, too.
"It's nice to meet Aragorn's friends," Arwen says, opening an ancient elven
book to do some studying of her own as the others take up their assignments
again.
"It's nice to meet Aragorn's promised," Pippin says. "We were a little
skeptical when you first came up in conversation, but he had letters and a
photo, and he's far too proud to look into one of those imaginary girlfriend
services."
Arwen laughs. "Well, I do spend a lot of my time in Lothlorien, but here I am."
Aragorn rolls his eyes, leaning on her a little. "If I were going to lie, I'd
make it someone more believable."
"A wild ranger girl with leaves in her hair?" Arwen asks, amused, and Aragorn
smiles at her in a way that makes them look a little less strange together.
"Maybe so," he says, and they begin a soft argument in Sindarin, presumably
about this hypothetical girl. Boromir pretty much only knows how to swear, and
that only because Legolas gets so frustrated trying to teach him anything else.
He turns his attention back to his math. It's one of his better subjects and he
doesn't really need the group's help with it, but it's cozy here in Frodo's
apartment. And Sam is writing a paper on the history of Gondor, so Boromir is a
useful person to have around. Merry and Pippin are supposed to be writing
essays for their Westron class, but have mostly been wallowing in the cushions
and surreptitiously pulling each other's foot-fur like the degenerate layabouts
they are.
After some work has gotten done despite Merry and Pippin's best efforts, Frodo
insists that they stay for dinner, and corrals his no-good cousins into helping
chop and stir things while Sam sets the table. Boromir is always touched to see
how easily Sam fits with the others. He's a freshman with a family in service,
but generally no one is trying to make him feel either one. And when they do,
they're being solicitous of his youth or deferring to his knowledge of
practical botany. Boromir helps him collect cushions, seats on the floor
keeping him and Aragorn and Legolas and Arwen at the right height. Gimli's
chair is a bit delicate for him, but it works. In the end everyone can sit
comfortably, all of them able to help pass the various dishes.
The food is wonderful, as hobbit cooking generally is, and they linger over it
the way hobbits do, anything up to three helpings considered completely normal.
Even Arwen eats like a field hand, even if she does so with such grace that
it's hard to notice. Legolas is the same way, both of them stuffing themselves
on seasonal Shire exports. Hobbits have a knack with growing things,
particularly finicky, semi-wild ones like cress and strawberries, and even a
pair of elves can't turn their elegant noses up at Frodo's offerings.
It is apparently Merry and Pippin's turn to do the dishes, and once everyone is
almost too stuffed to move, they shuffle off to do so while Frodo makes ominous
noises about dessert. He waits for his cousins to get things mostly cleared
away, and then hops up and vanishes into the kitchen, emerging with a giant
charlotte, made with the very last of those tiny little Shire strawberries that
everyone in the city gorges on in late summer when there's enough of them for
the price to go down. They all find a little bit more room, and afterward
Boromir gets to his feet mostly to see if he can. That done, he takes a few
plates back to the kitchen, where Merry and Pippin have already supposedly gone
back to work. They're eating a surplus of strawberries in syrup, sitting on the
low counter and smiling at Boromir with pink-stained lips.
"We were just debating which of us should go get you," Merry purrs, and Boromir
blushes, setting the plates on top of the stack that's still waiting.
"Were you, then," Boromir says, standing on his knees to be closer to level
with them. This way he's the shorter one, and he can see them both reveling in
it. Pippin leans down first, giving him a sticky kiss that tastes like
strawberries, but soon he passes him to Merry. They feed him berries and kisses
by turns, stroking his hair and murmuring sweet, filthy things to him. A lot of
the time he feels like their favorite toy, and it's a little disconcerting to
like it so much.
Naturally, Boromir is very glad to be in a relatively innocent position when
Arwen comes in, bearing more plates. He's still kneeling on the floor and
clearly being lovingly pawed by two hobbits at once, but he's resting his head
on Merry's knee, and their hands are just in his hair and on his shoulders. He
still blushes and scrambles to his feet, but she just smiles at all of them.
"Pardon me for intruding." She sets the plates down and goes to filch a berry
of her own from the bowl. "The others will probably recover from their food
coma in a moment, and this place might see more traffic."
"Thanks for the tip," Pippin says, hooking his fingers through Boromir's belt
loop in a possessive, lazy way that makes it hard to breathe.
***** Chapter 3 *****
Aragorn curls into the passenger seat of Arwen's car and smiles. It's
definitely juvenile to enjoy the effect she has on the unprepared, but he
really can't help it. To him there's something homey about Arwen's impossible
beauty, like the luminous face of the moon returning every month. She glances
over to make sure his seatbelt is buckled, and then pulls away from the curb,
the engine purring quietly.
"I like your friends, Estel," she says, watching the road.
"Even Boromir?" He loves Boromir as much as the others, but also loves to rip
on him, something he's sure Arwen has figured out already.
"Especially Boromir," she says, laughing. "He reminds me of the Stewards when I
was just a little thing. There's more fire to him, though. They were like deep
water."
Aragorn feels humbled the way he does every time Arwen mentions her great age.
Growing up in a family of elves has made him as used to it as anyone can be,
but Arwen's promise to him puts all her years in a different light. "And what
am I like, Evenstar?"
"Like the wind, dearheart. Caressing and cutting and cleansing."
He blushes, and doesn't say anything for the rest of the drive. One thing he
notices when he's with humans and hobbits is how much they chatter. Arwen takes
his long silence as gracefully as a tree. When they reach home, she stills the
engine and turns to him with one of her mysterious smiles.
"You know that I love you, don't you?" she asks, and all Aragorn can do is nod,
entranced by one white hand as she reaches out to him. Elven hands are always
smooth and dry, and usually a little cool, like Arwen's is now, cupping the
side of his face. He sighs and leans into it, and then wishes like hell he
actually chewed mint gum like so many humans do when Arwen leans in to breathe
with him. Her lips are parted but not touching his, the smallest possible
distance away. It's a very elvish thing and Aragorn is never sure if he loves
or hates it more. He tries not to be a sweaty, impatient, overeager human at
times like this, but he can't help a low whine after they've been poised for at
least a minute and a half. Arwen closes the distance at long last, and Aragorn
moans quietly as she kisses him.. At moments like this he feels utterly in her
thrall, helpless as any poor wayward shepherd boy in those lying Gondor
stories.
“Let's go inside,” she murmurs into his mouth, the phrase having a similar tone
in Sindarin as 'going upstairs' has in some Westron-speaking communities.
Aragorn tries not to whimper too loudly, and follows her in without a word.
Even with their age gap and elven proprieties, not everything is forbidden, and
every time Aragorn thinks that he has never been more glad of it.
Anything that can actually create a child is forbidden to unwed elves, since
they take their responsibilities so much more seriously than humans often do,
but beyond that simple prohibition are several others, many acts off-limits for
symbolic reasons alone. Their own situation is further complicated by Aragorn's
humanity. It gives them some leeway, but also puts special limits on Arwen's
conduct, because Aragorn is so much younger, in addition to being a poor,
misguided mortal.
As a betrothed elven lady, Arwen is allowed to receive Aragorn in her own
bedroom, even if Elrond won't let them share one. They climb the stairs swiftly
and silently, and Aragorn tries not whimper too loudly when Arwen shuts her
door behind them. Her room is full of her scent and that sense of presence an
elf's room gets after the first few centuries of habitation, and he feels
sweaty and greasy and like his heart is beating too loud. She smiles, and
kisses him softly before pulling off his shirt.
“Onto the bed, Estel,” she says, and he blushes, slipping his feet out of his
shoes and climbing onto the high, white, old-fashioned bed. She joins him in a
moment, bare breasts pressing against his chest and making him groan and cling
to her. The more of their skin is in contact, the more obvious the difference
is, her cool, impossible smoothness against all his heat and hair. For a long
time she just covers him in kisses and strokes his hair in a wavelike pattern
so soothing it almost makes him sleepy despite how achingly hard he is, but at
last she murmurs into his ear, asking permission to enter him. The word is a
different one from the usual, with a purely sexual connotation. It always
sounds a little dirty coming from Arwen, and he blushes, biting his lip and
nodding.
“Please.”
She beams at him, and Aragorn wriggles out of his pants, kicking them and his
socks over the side of the bed in a movement that feels pretty graceless. At
least Arwen seems to find it endearing, helping him with the second sock and
gently rolling him onto his belly. Female penetration of males is one of the
things that's definitely allowed, and Aragorn shakes all over as Arwen slides
oiled fingers over and over his hole. He buries his face in the pillow and
knots his hands into the sheets, struggling to just breathe and not moan the
house down.
“So sweet,” Arwen coos, slipping one fingertip into him for just a moment
before continuing to stroke him. She likes to tease him until he's desperate,
and Aragorn feels like he's going to die of it tonight, and she's barely
getting started.
“Please, Evenstar,” he whimpers, “please, I need you inside me.”
She shivers, and bites the nape of his neck, which a scandalous and brutal
liberty by elven standards, and that fact just makes him muffle a helpless
groan in the pillow and then mewl piteously as two slender fingertips push into
him, gentle and inexorable. Arwen knows exactly how to to touch him, and
Aragorn has given up on being anything but receptive when she does. He used to
try and touch her, but she would always push his hands away or pin them down,
whispering into his ear that she didn't want any distractions. So now he just
whimpers and mumbles into the pillow, shaking all over. Putting her free hand
around his cock is considered a penetration and is thus out of bounds, but he
doesn't really need it, rutting against the sheet and actually weeping a little
as she adds a third finger.
“Close, dearest?” she murmurs into his ear, nibbling the edge. He gasps assent
and she bites his neck again, hard and scandalous and human. She pushes a
little deeper and Aragorn is coming, bucking and gasping into the pillow. Arwen
strokes him through it and then cleans them both up, stretching out beside him
and smiling at him when he finds the strength to turn his face to her. “You're
so beautiful like this,” she says softly, and he can feel himself blushing. “My
darling human boy,” she coos, stroking his hair again. He feels sticky and
flushed and silly and unbearably young, but the way Arwen looks at him makes it
all okay.
***** Chapter 4 *****
Compared to human men, women can wait forever, and compared to humans in
general elves can wait longer than that. Arwen is aglow with arousal, but she's
content to let Aragorn nap, studying his stubbly face as he sleeps. He changes
so quickly, and she doesn't want to miss any of it.
He does need to bathe, though, and after a while she whispers, “Estel,” into
his ear. She has to repeat herself, but only once before his eyes open. He
smiles at her, and she smiles back. “Join me in a bath?”
“Always,” he says softly, and yawns in a way that reminds her of a puppy, or
perhaps a wolf cub. She kisses his adorable face and nuzzles into the
scratchiness on his cheek before going to run the bath. Aragorn makes a sad
little noise when she leaves him and pulls her down onto the bed and into a
tight hug when she comes back, and she laughs, kissing him again.
“Sweetheart,” she says softly, nuzzling the prickly line of his jaw, “dearest
one, honeyflower, I will always return for you.” Aragorn says that things like
this sound stupid in Westron, so she says it in Sindarin, teasing and at the
same time meaning every word. Aragorn sighs and kisses her mouth the way humans
love to do. Like so many stereotypically human amorous touches, she has come to
like it a great deal. She lingers with her sweet little human until she can
hear the water level rising nearly to where she wants it, and then stands and
pulls him after her. It doesn't take much pulling with Aragorn so cuddly and
clingy.
“You are the most darling child,” she tells him, the Sindarin word infused with
a tenderness the Westron one often isn't.
“I love you so much,” he says softly, and she kisses the round tip of his ear.
“I love you too, Estel,” she coos, and switches off the tap before helping him
over the high rim. It's nothing he couldn't do on his own, but she likes to
take care of him and it's prudent to take a loved one's arm when the going is
slippery. She follows, and soon they're settled at one end, Aragorn with his
back to her chest, her arms around his waist. He settles easily between her
legs, long past the stage of arguing that any particular embrace is 'unmanly.'
If he's anything like the others of his line, in the blink of an eye he'll be
too tall to fit against her this way, so she wants to enjoy it while she can.
They lounge together in the warm water without speaking for a while, but at
last Arwen starts to kiss Aragorn's neck, making him wriggle a little in her
arms and then groan as she presses her breasts against his back, her hands
sliding over his skin, down to stroke his inner thighs and up again to pinch
his nipples as he moans quietly, his hands reaching back to grasp her hips
before sliding down to stroke the backs of her knees. She shudders and smiles
into his hair to remember how happy he had been to discover that sensitivity.
Each delicate little touch makes her shudder and clench, and she lets out a
long, shaking breath, the sound and the warm air on tender skin making Aragorn
whine almost too low to hear.
Arwen speaks many tongues and has many heart-names for her sweet little human.
She goes through them all, whispering in his ear as she touches him and loving
how helpless he is in her hands. At last he begs to help her, and she helps him
turn to face her. Properly cleaned and with his eyes dilated and shining,
Aragorn is more beautiful than ever, and she gives him a long, wet, human-style
kiss on the mouth. It used to be a little too much for her, but now she's used
to how immediate and heated it is, and loves the way it fills her head with the
taste and scent of Aragorn. He whimpers and straddles her leg, erect again
already, of course. She smiles against his mouth and shifts to lick and suckle
at the edge of his ear, her hands on his hips helping him to find the right
angle to rut against her thigh while allowing her to do the same to him.
Aragorn has described his own sexual response, and as Arwen had already begun
to see, it differs strongly from her own. Apparently humans move in three
beats, with an initial change from coolness to passion that becomes a plateau
of enjoyment for a while before making another violent leap into orgasm, as a
sort of seizure of delight. Elven sexual response is much smoother. As far as
Arwen can tell, by human standards her orgasms are between ten minutes and an
hour long, a slow and languorous build. There is no plateau, because the
increase is constant, and it's greatly to Aragorn's credit that he keeps giving
her the pressure she needs all through his own galloping and violent pleasure.
Even after he spends he doesn't let himself go limp the way she knows he wants
to, holding in place for her to rock against and gazing at her face like
nothing else has ever mattered.
When Arwen has shuddered and gasped her way to quiet again, Aragorn whimpers
and subsides against her. She feels that he's hard yet again and laughs.
“Sorry?” he offers, shrugging, and that just makes her laugh harder.
“Dear one, don't apologize,” she says, and guides his mouth to her nipples as
she reaches around to press just the tip of one finger into him. He moans,
wrapping a hand around his cock, and she just barely strokes him on the inside,
watching him.
They stay in the bath until the water goes cool, and Aragorn doesn't have to
coax much for Arwen to agree to extend her visit by just one day to join the
upcoming school trip to Fangorn. It has been a long time since she last spoke
with an Ent, and like most elves, she greatly enjoys their company. She'll be
able to gather thesis material, too, and she talks Aragorn to sleep with it,
lying awake with him in her arms until three o'clock, when she gently rousts
him and sends him to sleep in his own bed in the name of propriety. He makes a
weak little noise of complaint but gets up and walks down the hall, clinging to
Arwen for a long moment before she gently disengages and tucks him into bed.
“There, Estel,” she says softly, stroking his hair, still a little damp, “I'll
cuddle you all you like tomorrow.”
He chuckles, catching her hand and pressing a kiss to the palm. “Even at
Grandmother's?”
“Even at Grandmother's. It might annoy Grandfather, but not her.” Grandfather
can be a bit narrow-minded sometimes, but Grandmother has always understood
things. Now Arwen brushes the backs of her fingers against Aragorn's cheek, and
begins to quietly sing. It's an old, old song, even by elven reckoning, and
takes the viewpoint of Luthien, a lullabye and a lament about the love of
mortals changing a person forever.
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