guide_beregond: (Gondors Finest by RohanDove)
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It was not all that long ago when Beregond held little hope of ever winning the affection of the one he had been so inexplicably drawn to, in spite of his own common sense. He knew full well that Smith was incapable of return his feelings, but knowing such a thing and giving up hope of it ever coming to pass are two different things. The heart often wants what the mind knows it cannot have.



And then, yesterday, the improbable had become reality. Now, perhaps there was a way. Not a perfect solution, but one that might ease the craving. If he could not have the reality, perhaps a shadow would suffice. Smith had given Beregond one of his own clones. After realizing that Beregond was not skilled in programming languages, Smith taught him how to trigger basic commands and functions in the clone. As Beregond hinted towards what he would really like from the clone, Smith decided to install a dubious version of an abandoned empathy program, as a test to see how it might perform. Beregond knew the risks involved, well, at least he thought he did, but was willing to grab this one slim thread of hope. It was the only way. If he were to ever have Smith, this was his only chance. Should the program prove to be usable, he planned on trying to convince Smith to load it himself. It was a long shot, he knew. But in the meantime, at least Beregond had an exact duplicate of Smith, programmed to be able to experience emotion, to learn and grow - to feel passion, even to love.

All this led to now - Beregond had Agent Doe, as he had named him, here in his own bed, the somber black suit and white shirt having been left draped on a chair, the thin black tie carefully laid on a nightstand. Beregond panicked briefly. There was a moment of wondering if the program-clone might be only a replica in ways seen by the public eye, but refusing to let that thought go any further, Beregond quickly slid the palm of his hand down Doe's chest, not stopping until his fingers curled insistently around the clone's cock, bring the welcome sound of a gasp from Doe's mouth. Beregond's relief to find all in order drew a cry of triumph from the soldier. He began to stroke him, slowly, deliberately, firmly. "Don't move, Agent Doe. Just feel. Don't suppress anything, and don't pretend to feel anything you do not. Just let your body respond. I need to know what you're capable of."

"Whatever you wish, Beregond" Doe shakily replied. That's good, Beregond thought, that tremble in your voice tells me you aren't a cold, perfect, unfeeling program. Like Smith... No. You're the lover he's not capable of being. You're -my- Smith. As I would have him. Crouching next to Doe, one leg pressed between the clone's parted knees, Beregond's leg slid higher, his own hardness pressing against Doe's thigh. He bit his lip hard, needing to keep himself in check. He would not allow himself a release yet. The first to climax today would be the Agent-clone. Would he spill hot and wet in Beregond's hand? Would his back arch, his legs tense, would he cry Beregond's name aloud? He had to know.

Beregond increased his attention to Doe's erection, while leaning forward to take one perfect nipple between his fingertips. "Beregond!" The man pinched him, hard, craving a reaction. "It hurts, don't stop, I feel strange, don't stop!" Doe was begging. Oh, Eru, he was begging for this, and Beregond went slightly crazy from the sound of Smith's voice pleading with him. Not Smith. Yes, Smith. His Smith. Begging him. "Come for me, the tension builds in you, can you feel it, Doe? I know you can, you pulse in my grasp. Give in to it, let yourself release." His words were not a plea, but a command, and they were obeyed. Doe came, whimpering Beregond's name, hot stickiness spilling through Beregond's fingers, to his amazement and relief. "This is what I wished. To know you could do this. That you would, because of me." Beregond held his sticky hand close to the clone's face, close enough that Doe learned his own scent, mingled with that of the man's hand. "This comes not from an Agent, nor a clone. I care not for the logic of what I say, do not argue the point." Beregond tasted a fingertip. "You may be a program when you leave this bed, but for now, you are a man and you are my lover. I know your taste. You are mine."

Both simply stared at each other, each lost in private fantasy, until Beregond's body reminded him insistently that it wished it's own climax too. "Doe, I can give you more. Give me your hand." Doe reached upwards, grasping at air. Beregond grabbed his hand and pulled it low to press against his own cock. "I can give you this. Inside of you. I want you." Suddenly Beregond let go of Doe, the clone's cries of protest sounding in his ears as the man reached to push Doe's legs higher, insisting he bend his knees and comply. Beregond leaned to grab something from the nightstand, quickly filling his hand with fragrant oil. "Tell me you want this. That you want me." Fingers searched and found, circled and pressed in, sweet Elbereth, it was amazing. Doe was shaking, tight, gasping for breath, hotter than could be imagined around Beregond's fingers. Slick, warm, well oiled... all this and Doe's pleading words surrounding him until he knew he could wait no longer.

"Beregond, please, what you are doing, do more, give me more!" And the soldier did. Fingers slid free, replaced by his own insistent erection, pushing eagerly to gain entrance. "Try to relax, Doe, do not let your body fight me now. Let me in." Doe complied as best he could, being a program meant he could control much, but the software Smith had installed was running amuck with untried and untested emotions, sensations, needs and urges. He remembered Beregond's words, 'don't suppress, don't pretend, just feel'. He remembered other things too; he had read dozens of books while Beregond had slept the night before. He was grateful for the words he'd learned from his studies, Doe needed every possible way of expressing himself he could find. "Fuck me, Beregond. And you must not hold back, either. I love you. Give me everything."

And Beregond did. His own legs shaking with the effort, he pushed forward with a long moan, and did not stop until he could go no further. He stared down at the face of Smith, and in his mind he had his elusive Agent flat on his back, impaled by his lovers cock, helplessly pressed against the mattress. Beregond nearly came from the sight alone. He had him. Smith was his. His thrusts were hard, he was lost in his fantasy, and when his release took him by storm, it was all Beregond could do not to scream Smith's name.

It was noon in a strange land where a soldier from a time so long ago and a land only recalled in fantasy tales lay next to one from a future not yet come to pass. A Gondorian guardsman and the clone of a computer program seemed very much alike in this moment, both drifting on the after haze of their first encounter.

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guide_beregond

May 2004

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