Title: Revelations, Part 4 of 5
Author: Rune Dancer, runedancer2000@yahoo.com
Rating: R
Paring: Elrond/Celeborn; Haldir/Gildor
Summary: Celeborn discovers that you're never too old to learn something
new. A continuation of Unspoken (so read that one first.)
Feedback: Please! I'd bribe you if I owned anything.
Disclaimer: I own nothing, although I want them so!
Warning: BDSM eventually.
"Stay with me." Haldir did not find the dark elf who had helped him back to his rooms particularly attractive, but he desperately did not want to be alone that night. His dreams were unlikely to be pleasant ones, and a diversion, any diversion, was preferable.
"No, meldir. Not tonight." Gildor guided him onto his bed and let him fall back against its smooth softness before kneeling to pull off Haldir's embroidered suede boots. He seemed to find something about them amusing, for he examining them with incredulity on his face before tucking them under the bed. Haldir couldn't imagine what he found so strange--they had been specially dyed to match his dress robes and embroidered with a pattern of leaves and flowers by one of Lorien's best seamstresses.
"I said, stay with me," he repeated, for obviously Gildor had not heard him the first time. He clutched at the elf who was now tugging his lush robe from his shoulders. He let him finish then pulled him back onto the bed and into his arms. "You are beautiful," he told him, not up to his usual smooth seduction routine, but nonetheless making an effort.
Gildor just laughed at him, and extricated himself with ease from Haldir's grasp. "Now I know you are drunk, meldir!," he commented, and drew up the heavy quilt around Haldir's tunic clad form. "Sleep well, pretty Galadrim. And, if you still feel the same tomorrow, well, we shall see."
Haldir watched through confused eyes as Gildor left his bedside and crossed the room, evidently really intending to leave. "No one refuses me," he said, more in bewilderment than anger. And it was true. Never, in all his long years, had any prospective lover failed to respond to Haldir's advances. Most practically fell over themselves in eagerness to oblige him. He had only to make the slightest sign of interest, and they were his- -even Elrond himself had not said no!
Gildor paused in the doorway, and for the first time his smile was not in evidence. "Well, perhaps that is part of your problem, gwador," he commented mildly, before slipping through the door and shutting it softly behind him.
He was gone. Haldir continued to stare at the door in utter confusion. The elf was clearly deranged, he comforted himself, pulling the coverlet more securely about his chin. Tomorrow, when he felt more himself, when the world had stopped spinning and he could think clearly, then he would deal with this presumptuous elf. "We'll see who refuses Haldir of Lorien," he mumbled, but only a silent room heard him.
* * *
Elrond was becoming seriously worried. Celeborn had proved far more devious even than he had expected. A frontal assault he could have dealt with--indeed, as he walked back to his bedchamber, he had already been formulating kind but clear-cut refusals to any propositions his father-in- law might make. What had floored him was Celeborn's refusal to make such an advance. Gone was his brash manner from dinner; instead, he had proceeded on a more subtle attack that Elrond was finding much harder to counter. He was attempting seduction. And it was working.
Elrond had prudently kept a good deal of space between them, leaning in what he hoped was a casual manner against the large fireplace on the wall opposite the balcony, where Celeborn had seated himself at the very window seat Elrond had vacated a few moments earlier. It was not helping, much, however, and he was beginning to feel a little foolish, having to raise his voice to be heard across the width of the room. Not that there had been much conversation. Mostly Celeborn had spent the last few minutes making himself comfortable on the padded bench, arranging his long limbs in what seemed to Elrond a deliberately seductive pose. The delicate silk of his gauzy robes hugged his perfectly shaped form and a slight breeze from the open window ruffled his silver fair hair; when he ran a graceful hand over the top few clasps of his tunic, undoing enough to reveal part of a well muscled chest, Elrond had to almost physically restrain himself from crossing the room and wrestling him to the ground. Which is just what he wants, he reminded himself as harshly as he could manage--then he'll throw you off, laugh at you, or show his disgust at having his suspicions confirmed in the most profound way possible.
Maybe it was the fire behind him, but Elrond was beginning to find the room uncomfortably warm. Taking off any clothing was not, however, an option. Apparently unaware of the tempting picture he made, Celeborn was guilelessly commenting on how happy Elrohir and Glorfindel had looked together as he slowly coaxed the cork out of the large wine bottle he had brought. "A drink, Elrond? This comes from Mirkwood, and I was pleased to find it in your cellar. I am glad the tense relations between you and Thranduil have not kept you from importing some of the finer aspects of his realm." When Celeborn held out the glass, Elrond had little choice but to cross the room to take it, and a moment later he somehow found himself seated on the narrow edge of the bench not already occupied by Celeborn's legs. Long, silk wrapped, perfectly shaped legs that Elrond could think of much better uses for than lying on a bench . . . he hastily drank some wine, then almost choked a second time in one night on its potency. Celeborn had warned him it was the Mirkwood vintage, but he had been distracted at the time. He was still distracted, he realised in mounting dismay, and wished he had put on a thinker, more concealing robe earlier. Elbereth, it was warm in this room!
Celeborn was regarding him over his wine glass with those odd but beautiful silver eyes. Yet he made no move toward him, and Elrond wished fervently that he had some idea how to get out of this predicament. Standing and walking away was no longer an option, as those sharp eyes would almost certainly note his current unfortunate state. None of the many ways Elrond had developed through the years for dealing with inappropriate reactions were working at the moment, while Celeborn continued to look perfectly composed. He was now praising the decorations for the party, but Elrond found it impossible to focus on anything those perfect lips were actually saying--he was too busy thinking of things he would like to have them doing.
Elrond finished his wine, thankful for its bite, but it proved a momentary distraction only, and Celeborn immediately refilled his glass. Elrond cursed himself for stupidity and tried his best to focus on something other than the way the firelight turned his companion's hair to burnished silver-- Ai, how Celeborn deserved his name!--and the low, perfectly modulated tones of his voice. For a moment he almost wished that he, like so many other elves, had lost interest in matters of the flesh after his children were born. Perhaps it was his human blood, but he had never experienced any lessening of desire--a fact that was all too much in evidence at the moment. He shifted, trying to find a slightly less uncomfortable position, but it was no use. There was only one thing that was going to alleviate his discomfort, and it was completely unavailable to him at the moment. Drawing on centuries of practice gleaned from diplomatic gatherings that seemed to go on forever, Elrond distanced his mind from his surroundings and proceeded to trade meaningless banter with his revered guest. He might not be able to actually be indifferent, but he could at least project a show of it.
* * *
Celeborn was becoming seriously confused. He continued to make small talk with a tiny portion of his mind, but most of his attention was focused on the graceful form of his son-in-law perched at the end of the bench. Elrond looked particularly well, he thought, appreciating the way the fine blue material of his robe clung to his body and darkened further his already almost black hair. It was a much better look for him than the stiffer, more elaborate robes he had worn at dinner, and Celeborn had initially taken it as a good sign when he arrived at Elrond's rooms. Now he was beginning to wonder. Although perfectly pleasant and seemingly glad to continue their inane discussion indefinitely, Elrond was showing no signs of making any advances, or even of understanding that he was expected to do so.
Celeborn sighed inwardly. For one who could be so forceful on the battlefield, and who had a reputation of carrying that attitude over into the bedroom, Elrond was turning out disappointing. Celeborn could, of course, initiate things himself, and he briefly considered doing so as Elrond's conversation droned on and on. He could see himself slamming the beautiful elf onto the plush carpet below their feet, running his hands over that barely concealed form and through that dark waterfall of hair and crushing that beautiful mouth in a searing kiss . . . Elbereth--the elves these days had no idea how to manage a simple thing like a seduction! No wonder Celebrian was so often in Lorien! Of course, her lover probably had something to do with that, but if Elrond treated her with no more passion than he was currently evidencing, it was no wonder she preferred Galdriel's young handmaiden.
With difficulty, Celeborn managed to get himself under control. Taking was not the goal here, he reminded himself, although it was beginning to look better all the time. Regarding the beauty seated so temptingly only a few scant inches away, he began to think that perhaps his ennui was not as extreme as he had thought. However, he was not in the habit of having his wishes thwarted and he had come here to be taken, and taken he intended to be, if it took all night! Elrond could not have received his reputation for nothing; perhaps he was just not accustomed to regarding Celeborn in that light. Well, he thought smugly, that was where thousands of years of experience came in handy. Before his marriage, Celeborn had, himself, had something of a reputation, and although it had been awhile, he thought he might still remember a few tried and true techniques. He smiled somewhat ferally at Elrond, who faltered slightly in whatever inanity he had been spouting. By the Valar, he had not had this much fun in years!
"Stay with me." Haldir did not find the dark elf who had helped him back to his rooms particularly attractive, but he desperately did not want to be alone that night. His dreams were unlikely to be pleasant ones, and a diversion, any diversion, was preferable.
"No, meldir. Not tonight." Gildor guided him onto his bed and let him fall back against its smooth softness before kneeling to pull off Haldir's embroidered suede boots. He seemed to find something about them amusing, for he examining them with incredulity on his face before tucking them under the bed. Haldir couldn't imagine what he found so strange--they had been specially dyed to match his dress robes and embroidered with a pattern of leaves and flowers by one of Lorien's best seamstresses.
"I said, stay with me," he repeated, for obviously Gildor had not heard him the first time. He clutched at the elf who was now tugging his lush robe from his shoulders. He let him finish then pulled him back onto the bed and into his arms. "You are beautiful," he told him, not up to his usual smooth seduction routine, but nonetheless making an effort.
Gildor just laughed at him, and extricated himself with ease from Haldir's grasp. "Now I know you are drunk, meldir!," he commented, and drew up the heavy quilt around Haldir's tunic clad form. "Sleep well, pretty Galadrim. And, if you still feel the same tomorrow, well, we shall see."
Haldir watched through confused eyes as Gildor left his bedside and crossed the room, evidently really intending to leave. "No one refuses me," he said, more in bewilderment than anger. And it was true. Never, in all his long years, had any prospective lover failed to respond to Haldir's advances. Most practically fell over themselves in eagerness to oblige him. He had only to make the slightest sign of interest, and they were his- -even Elrond himself had not said no!
Gildor paused in the doorway, and for the first time his smile was not in evidence. "Well, perhaps that is part of your problem, gwador," he commented mildly, before slipping through the door and shutting it softly behind him.
He was gone. Haldir continued to stare at the door in utter confusion. The elf was clearly deranged, he comforted himself, pulling the coverlet more securely about his chin. Tomorrow, when he felt more himself, when the world had stopped spinning and he could think clearly, then he would deal with this presumptuous elf. "We'll see who refuses Haldir of Lorien," he mumbled, but only a silent room heard him.
* * *
Elrond was becoming seriously worried. Celeborn had proved far more devious even than he had expected. A frontal assault he could have dealt with--indeed, as he walked back to his bedchamber, he had already been formulating kind but clear-cut refusals to any propositions his father-in- law might make. What had floored him was Celeborn's refusal to make such an advance. Gone was his brash manner from dinner; instead, he had proceeded on a more subtle attack that Elrond was finding much harder to counter. He was attempting seduction. And it was working.
Elrond had prudently kept a good deal of space between them, leaning in what he hoped was a casual manner against the large fireplace on the wall opposite the balcony, where Celeborn had seated himself at the very window seat Elrond had vacated a few moments earlier. It was not helping, much, however, and he was beginning to feel a little foolish, having to raise his voice to be heard across the width of the room. Not that there had been much conversation. Mostly Celeborn had spent the last few minutes making himself comfortable on the padded bench, arranging his long limbs in what seemed to Elrond a deliberately seductive pose. The delicate silk of his gauzy robes hugged his perfectly shaped form and a slight breeze from the open window ruffled his silver fair hair; when he ran a graceful hand over the top few clasps of his tunic, undoing enough to reveal part of a well muscled chest, Elrond had to almost physically restrain himself from crossing the room and wrestling him to the ground. Which is just what he wants, he reminded himself as harshly as he could manage--then he'll throw you off, laugh at you, or show his disgust at having his suspicions confirmed in the most profound way possible.
Maybe it was the fire behind him, but Elrond was beginning to find the room uncomfortably warm. Taking off any clothing was not, however, an option. Apparently unaware of the tempting picture he made, Celeborn was guilelessly commenting on how happy Elrohir and Glorfindel had looked together as he slowly coaxed the cork out of the large wine bottle he had brought. "A drink, Elrond? This comes from Mirkwood, and I was pleased to find it in your cellar. I am glad the tense relations between you and Thranduil have not kept you from importing some of the finer aspects of his realm." When Celeborn held out the glass, Elrond had little choice but to cross the room to take it, and a moment later he somehow found himself seated on the narrow edge of the bench not already occupied by Celeborn's legs. Long, silk wrapped, perfectly shaped legs that Elrond could think of much better uses for than lying on a bench . . . he hastily drank some wine, then almost choked a second time in one night on its potency. Celeborn had warned him it was the Mirkwood vintage, but he had been distracted at the time. He was still distracted, he realised in mounting dismay, and wished he had put on a thinker, more concealing robe earlier. Elbereth, it was warm in this room!
Celeborn was regarding him over his wine glass with those odd but beautiful silver eyes. Yet he made no move toward him, and Elrond wished fervently that he had some idea how to get out of this predicament. Standing and walking away was no longer an option, as those sharp eyes would almost certainly note his current unfortunate state. None of the many ways Elrond had developed through the years for dealing with inappropriate reactions were working at the moment, while Celeborn continued to look perfectly composed. He was now praising the decorations for the party, but Elrond found it impossible to focus on anything those perfect lips were actually saying--he was too busy thinking of things he would like to have them doing.
Elrond finished his wine, thankful for its bite, but it proved a momentary distraction only, and Celeborn immediately refilled his glass. Elrond cursed himself for stupidity and tried his best to focus on something other than the way the firelight turned his companion's hair to burnished silver-- Ai, how Celeborn deserved his name!--and the low, perfectly modulated tones of his voice. For a moment he almost wished that he, like so many other elves, had lost interest in matters of the flesh after his children were born. Perhaps it was his human blood, but he had never experienced any lessening of desire--a fact that was all too much in evidence at the moment. He shifted, trying to find a slightly less uncomfortable position, but it was no use. There was only one thing that was going to alleviate his discomfort, and it was completely unavailable to him at the moment. Drawing on centuries of practice gleaned from diplomatic gatherings that seemed to go on forever, Elrond distanced his mind from his surroundings and proceeded to trade meaningless banter with his revered guest. He might not be able to actually be indifferent, but he could at least project a show of it.
* * *
Celeborn was becoming seriously confused. He continued to make small talk with a tiny portion of his mind, but most of his attention was focused on the graceful form of his son-in-law perched at the end of the bench. Elrond looked particularly well, he thought, appreciating the way the fine blue material of his robe clung to his body and darkened further his already almost black hair. It was a much better look for him than the stiffer, more elaborate robes he had worn at dinner, and Celeborn had initially taken it as a good sign when he arrived at Elrond's rooms. Now he was beginning to wonder. Although perfectly pleasant and seemingly glad to continue their inane discussion indefinitely, Elrond was showing no signs of making any advances, or even of understanding that he was expected to do so.
Celeborn sighed inwardly. For one who could be so forceful on the battlefield, and who had a reputation of carrying that attitude over into the bedroom, Elrond was turning out disappointing. Celeborn could, of course, initiate things himself, and he briefly considered doing so as Elrond's conversation droned on and on. He could see himself slamming the beautiful elf onto the plush carpet below their feet, running his hands over that barely concealed form and through that dark waterfall of hair and crushing that beautiful mouth in a searing kiss . . . Elbereth--the elves these days had no idea how to manage a simple thing like a seduction! No wonder Celebrian was so often in Lorien! Of course, her lover probably had something to do with that, but if Elrond treated her with no more passion than he was currently evidencing, it was no wonder she preferred Galdriel's young handmaiden.
With difficulty, Celeborn managed to get himself under control. Taking was not the goal here, he reminded himself, although it was beginning to look better all the time. Regarding the beauty seated so temptingly only a few scant inches away, he began to think that perhaps his ennui was not as extreme as he had thought. However, he was not in the habit of having his wishes thwarted and he had come here to be taken, and taken he intended to be, if it took all night! Elrond could not have received his reputation for nothing; perhaps he was just not accustomed to regarding Celeborn in that light. Well, he thought smugly, that was where thousands of years of experience came in handy. Before his marriage, Celeborn had, himself, had something of a reputation, and although it had been awhile, he thought he might still remember a few tried and true techniques. He smiled somewhat ferally at Elrond, who faltered slightly in whatever inanity he had been spouting. By the Valar, he had not had this much fun in years!