Title: Revelations, Part 5 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! *Makes big, hopeful hobbit eyes* I don't mind begging
if it works.
Disclaimer: I own nothing, although I want them so!
Warning: BDSM.
Haldir had had hangovers before, although rarely as he considered himself too much of a connoisseur to overindulge. What was the point in continuing to drink once you could no longer discern subtle variations in flavour, or indeed, any flavour at all? Of course, last night had been different. For the first time in a long while, Haldir had not drunk for pleasure but for surcease of pain, which was highly ironic considering the agony he was currently suffering. Sitting on the edge of the bed, eyes squinted up against the first rays of the morning sun, he reflected on the fact that he truly hated Imladris. He would return to Lorien but he honestly doubted his ability to stand up, much less to ride, at present. He put his head between his legs and concentrated on not being sick. A horribly irritating bird was singing somewhere beyond his window, and it echoed painfully in his head. If he had had a bow, and had been able to see straight, he would have shot it.
"Good morning, mellon!" With a crash that sent a bolt of pain crashing through Haldir's already tortured brain, the door was flung open and a homely but broadly grinning elf came barreling through. Why did the creature look familiar? Oh yes, Haldir thought, eyes narrowing in anger as well as pain. G something . . . Gildor, that was it. It was that insane elf from the previous night, and he was smiling. Of course he was, Haldir thought in high dudgeon; when did he ever do anything else? And he probably did not have a headache.
If he had felt slightly better, and hadn't had evil plans in mind for Gildor, Haldir would have taken great pleasure in throwing him from the room, especially seeing the huge tray he was currently depositing on a nearby table. The smells of the gargantuan breakfast Gildor had brought drifted over and momentarily distracted Haldir from other thoughts, as his stomach threatened once again to revolt. "Take it away, I want nothing," he managed to get out, fighting a sudden wave of extreme nausea.
"But I do, mellon, and since I carried it all the way up here from the kitchens, I think I'll eat something before throwing it out." Without bothering to do anything so well bred as ask permission, Gildor seated himself at the small table near Haldir's bed and proceeded to wolf down enough food for three elves. "Are you sure you won't have anything?," he asked innocently, waving a roasted chicken leg in Haldir's direction, "it's all quite good, you know. One of the things I like best about my visits here--the food is superb. But then, Elrond has excellent taste in everything, I hear."
Haldir vaguely wondered if that was some sort of subtle compliment to himself, then decided that the blunt figure in front of him was probably incapable of such cleverness. Not that it mattered, of course. Elrond had found a new distraction, and Haldir, who had played the game often enough himself to know the rules, expected to be gently but firmly brushed aside. He couldn't even really blame him, although he still found the whole scenario somewhat difficult to believe. Celeborn had never, that Haldir had ever heard, taken a lover since his marriage. Admittedly, he and Galadriel had seemed to drift apart in recent years, but then, they had had a child, and many elves thereafter found their desire lessening. He had seen no signs that this bothered either of them in any way, but apparently Celeborn had been harbouring unexpressed desires. Well, unless Elrond had changed out of all recognition, they had probably been expressed numerous times last night, and Haldir would consequently soon find his unneeded self on the road back home. At least he would be able to say a goodbye to Imladris, which had done nothing but embarrass and confuse him since he arrived.
"You look pensive, gwador," Gildor said around a mouthful of food. "Is there anything I can do to help?"
Haldir smiled slightly, and, rising to his feet with difficulty, excused himself to go to the baths down the hall. He intended to come back soon and deal with Gildor before he left for Lorien. It would be small recompense for the indignities he had suffered on this trip, but at least he would have the pleasure of wiping that ever-present grin off the elf's face. Haldir quite looked forward to seeing his expression when, brought to the brink of passion, he was denied any release. Refuse Haldir of Lorien, would he? He would live to regret it, and to long, as Haldir himself was doomed to do, forever after something he could not have.
"I'll go with you," Gildor volunteered, jumping up from the table, having already managed to bolt his breakfast. Haldir smilingly agreed and, feeling much better simply at the thought of his planned revenge, allowed Gildor to solicitously lead him out of his rooms and down the hall, pausing only long enough to pick up a few needed bath items on the way. Looking at the open, trusting face next to him, Haldir stifled a wicked grin. Oh yes, this would be easy.
* * *
Elrond was tired, cross and in extreme discomfort. The only satisfaction he had was that, unless he seriously misread the signs, Celeborn was fairing little better. For hours now, they had dueled--Elrond could think of no other word for it considering that he had been in actual combat that was less painful--and yet there was no victor. But Elrond thought he saw signs that Celeborn was weakening.
The Lord of Lorien lay sprawled, almost nude, across Elrond's extensive bed. It looked smaller, somehow, he thought, with Celeborn in it. The beautiful silver robes lay scattered on the carpet, along with most of Elrond's own clothing. The former was due to Celeborn's repeated statements that Elrond's rooms were too warm, resulting in a slow strip tease over the course of several hours, as he found various excuses for ridding himself of parts of his attire. The explanation for the latter was that Elrond had, some time back, decided on a change of tactic when Celeborn stubbornly refused to admit defeat. In a desperate attempt to make his father-in-law make the first move--which would give Elrond the slight excuse, once he had finished pounding him through the carpet, that he had only acted out of courtesy to an honoured guest--he had decided to turn the tables and beat Celeborn at his own game. The result had not exactly been as intended.
Every time Celeborn found reason to remove another item of clothing, and reveal a bit more of that perfect body, Elrond had matched him. Their outer robes had gone first, followed by tunics, shirts and leggings. They both now wore only brief loin-cloths, which did little to hide raging erections. Elrond genuinely thought he was going to explode if he didn't do something to alleviate his condition soon. Never had he been this hard this long, and even his appreciation for the finer points of pain as an aphrodisiac was no longer sustaining him. He ached, he longed, and he urgently needed relief, but he was damned if Celeborn was going to beat him. The contest had long since stopped being about any need to hide his preferences from his father-in-law; this was now a personal battle against the greatest opponent he had ever faced. Celeborn WOULD give in first, although Elrond rather worried about what would happen when he did. He had passed the point at which he could be certain of controlling his actions once the tight hold he had over his emotions was released. Elbereth! Why was Celeborn so impossibly stubborn? Elrond only managed to contain himself by plotting particularly wicked things to do to the long, pale body that was trembling with need a few feet away, just as soon as Celeborn's famous calm finally cracked.
* * *
Celeborn was in agony. He was also very close to hating his son-in-law. The surge of unfamiliar emotions coursing through him had given him considerable pleasure throughout the night, allowing him to ignore for hours his building need; for a while, even that had been pleasurable, as he certainly had not felt desire of this magnitude in more than a millennia. In truth, he wasn't sure he had ever known anything quite like this, and he was no longer enjoying it. True, he had wanted something new, but this unfulfilled throbbing ache had not been exactly what he had had in mind.
It was small comfort to know that Elrond did, indeed, suffer the same. The half-elf's perfect skin was flushed and shone with a thin film of sweat. His pupils were dilated and he was close to panting in his desire, with each breath seemingly as painful as Celeborn's own. He sat, staring at Celeborn with wild eyes, on the padded bench by the window, a scant few footfalls away. Celeborn had moved himself to the bed some few hours before, not trusting himself to remain on the bench with Elrond, whose body kept "accidentally" brushing up against his own. And there they had stayed, hour after long, pain-filled hour, and none of Celeborn's heretofore dependable seduction tactics had been enough to break Elrond's resolve.
Celeborn just couldn't understand it. WHY was he acting this way? Pondering that question had provided some much needed distraction to his fevered mind for a few hours, and he had come up with a number of possible scenarios. They ranged from squeamishness because they were related by marriage--unlikely as, first, it wasn't much of a marriage and never had been and, second, Elrond was not known for squeamishness--to fear of Galadriel's retribution if she found out. Celeborn wanted to reassure him that his wife had never been able to read either of them, so unless they lost their minds and confessed, she need never know, but that would have been a kind of defeat. Elrond had steadfastly refused to admit what they were doing, and Celeborn wasn't going to be the first to bring it up.
Elrond was, he had finally decided, waiting for him to make the first move, possibly out of deference for his position, or out of a desire to blame it all on him if Galadriel did manage to discover their secret. Watching the obviously suffering elf opposite him, Celeborn read the resolve in those dark eyes. Drat the creature, he would sit there until one of them had a coronary before he gave in! Celeborn did not doubt that he was as strong willed as his son-in-law, but he was also fabled for his good sense, and logic said to Mandos with the original plan. He needed relief and he was going to take it whether Elrond liked it or not; Celeborn just hoped he didn't kill him in the process.
With the lightening fast reflexes of a seasoned warrior, Celeborn leaped up from the bed and reached for the tantalising, maddening and gorgeous elf that had tormented him unlike any he had ever known. The second his hands grabbed Elrond's quivering figure, however, he somehow ended up face down on the bed, his hands being bound securely behind him with his own loin- cloth, which had been ripped from his body in one swift motion.
"Thank the Valar!," Elrond gasped in his ear, pulling his hands over his head and securing them to a nearby bedpost with practised skill. Celeborn could not have agreed more.
A/N: I was only planning five parts to this story, but it has taken longer to get Elrond and Celeborn to behave than I had thought. So I will need another to finish this off (no pun intended). Any ideas/criticisms, etc. are welcome.
Haldir had had hangovers before, although rarely as he considered himself too much of a connoisseur to overindulge. What was the point in continuing to drink once you could no longer discern subtle variations in flavour, or indeed, any flavour at all? Of course, last night had been different. For the first time in a long while, Haldir had not drunk for pleasure but for surcease of pain, which was highly ironic considering the agony he was currently suffering. Sitting on the edge of the bed, eyes squinted up against the first rays of the morning sun, he reflected on the fact that he truly hated Imladris. He would return to Lorien but he honestly doubted his ability to stand up, much less to ride, at present. He put his head between his legs and concentrated on not being sick. A horribly irritating bird was singing somewhere beyond his window, and it echoed painfully in his head. If he had had a bow, and had been able to see straight, he would have shot it.
"Good morning, mellon!" With a crash that sent a bolt of pain crashing through Haldir's already tortured brain, the door was flung open and a homely but broadly grinning elf came barreling through. Why did the creature look familiar? Oh yes, Haldir thought, eyes narrowing in anger as well as pain. G something . . . Gildor, that was it. It was that insane elf from the previous night, and he was smiling. Of course he was, Haldir thought in high dudgeon; when did he ever do anything else? And he probably did not have a headache.
If he had felt slightly better, and hadn't had evil plans in mind for Gildor, Haldir would have taken great pleasure in throwing him from the room, especially seeing the huge tray he was currently depositing on a nearby table. The smells of the gargantuan breakfast Gildor had brought drifted over and momentarily distracted Haldir from other thoughts, as his stomach threatened once again to revolt. "Take it away, I want nothing," he managed to get out, fighting a sudden wave of extreme nausea.
"But I do, mellon, and since I carried it all the way up here from the kitchens, I think I'll eat something before throwing it out." Without bothering to do anything so well bred as ask permission, Gildor seated himself at the small table near Haldir's bed and proceeded to wolf down enough food for three elves. "Are you sure you won't have anything?," he asked innocently, waving a roasted chicken leg in Haldir's direction, "it's all quite good, you know. One of the things I like best about my visits here--the food is superb. But then, Elrond has excellent taste in everything, I hear."
Haldir vaguely wondered if that was some sort of subtle compliment to himself, then decided that the blunt figure in front of him was probably incapable of such cleverness. Not that it mattered, of course. Elrond had found a new distraction, and Haldir, who had played the game often enough himself to know the rules, expected to be gently but firmly brushed aside. He couldn't even really blame him, although he still found the whole scenario somewhat difficult to believe. Celeborn had never, that Haldir had ever heard, taken a lover since his marriage. Admittedly, he and Galadriel had seemed to drift apart in recent years, but then, they had had a child, and many elves thereafter found their desire lessening. He had seen no signs that this bothered either of them in any way, but apparently Celeborn had been harbouring unexpressed desires. Well, unless Elrond had changed out of all recognition, they had probably been expressed numerous times last night, and Haldir would consequently soon find his unneeded self on the road back home. At least he would be able to say a goodbye to Imladris, which had done nothing but embarrass and confuse him since he arrived.
"You look pensive, gwador," Gildor said around a mouthful of food. "Is there anything I can do to help?"
Haldir smiled slightly, and, rising to his feet with difficulty, excused himself to go to the baths down the hall. He intended to come back soon and deal with Gildor before he left for Lorien. It would be small recompense for the indignities he had suffered on this trip, but at least he would have the pleasure of wiping that ever-present grin off the elf's face. Haldir quite looked forward to seeing his expression when, brought to the brink of passion, he was denied any release. Refuse Haldir of Lorien, would he? He would live to regret it, and to long, as Haldir himself was doomed to do, forever after something he could not have.
"I'll go with you," Gildor volunteered, jumping up from the table, having already managed to bolt his breakfast. Haldir smilingly agreed and, feeling much better simply at the thought of his planned revenge, allowed Gildor to solicitously lead him out of his rooms and down the hall, pausing only long enough to pick up a few needed bath items on the way. Looking at the open, trusting face next to him, Haldir stifled a wicked grin. Oh yes, this would be easy.
* * *
Elrond was tired, cross and in extreme discomfort. The only satisfaction he had was that, unless he seriously misread the signs, Celeborn was fairing little better. For hours now, they had dueled--Elrond could think of no other word for it considering that he had been in actual combat that was less painful--and yet there was no victor. But Elrond thought he saw signs that Celeborn was weakening.
The Lord of Lorien lay sprawled, almost nude, across Elrond's extensive bed. It looked smaller, somehow, he thought, with Celeborn in it. The beautiful silver robes lay scattered on the carpet, along with most of Elrond's own clothing. The former was due to Celeborn's repeated statements that Elrond's rooms were too warm, resulting in a slow strip tease over the course of several hours, as he found various excuses for ridding himself of parts of his attire. The explanation for the latter was that Elrond had, some time back, decided on a change of tactic when Celeborn stubbornly refused to admit defeat. In a desperate attempt to make his father-in-law make the first move--which would give Elrond the slight excuse, once he had finished pounding him through the carpet, that he had only acted out of courtesy to an honoured guest--he had decided to turn the tables and beat Celeborn at his own game. The result had not exactly been as intended.
Every time Celeborn found reason to remove another item of clothing, and reveal a bit more of that perfect body, Elrond had matched him. Their outer robes had gone first, followed by tunics, shirts and leggings. They both now wore only brief loin-cloths, which did little to hide raging erections. Elrond genuinely thought he was going to explode if he didn't do something to alleviate his condition soon. Never had he been this hard this long, and even his appreciation for the finer points of pain as an aphrodisiac was no longer sustaining him. He ached, he longed, and he urgently needed relief, but he was damned if Celeborn was going to beat him. The contest had long since stopped being about any need to hide his preferences from his father-in-law; this was now a personal battle against the greatest opponent he had ever faced. Celeborn WOULD give in first, although Elrond rather worried about what would happen when he did. He had passed the point at which he could be certain of controlling his actions once the tight hold he had over his emotions was released. Elbereth! Why was Celeborn so impossibly stubborn? Elrond only managed to contain himself by plotting particularly wicked things to do to the long, pale body that was trembling with need a few feet away, just as soon as Celeborn's famous calm finally cracked.
* * *
Celeborn was in agony. He was also very close to hating his son-in-law. The surge of unfamiliar emotions coursing through him had given him considerable pleasure throughout the night, allowing him to ignore for hours his building need; for a while, even that had been pleasurable, as he certainly had not felt desire of this magnitude in more than a millennia. In truth, he wasn't sure he had ever known anything quite like this, and he was no longer enjoying it. True, he had wanted something new, but this unfulfilled throbbing ache had not been exactly what he had had in mind.
It was small comfort to know that Elrond did, indeed, suffer the same. The half-elf's perfect skin was flushed and shone with a thin film of sweat. His pupils were dilated and he was close to panting in his desire, with each breath seemingly as painful as Celeborn's own. He sat, staring at Celeborn with wild eyes, on the padded bench by the window, a scant few footfalls away. Celeborn had moved himself to the bed some few hours before, not trusting himself to remain on the bench with Elrond, whose body kept "accidentally" brushing up against his own. And there they had stayed, hour after long, pain-filled hour, and none of Celeborn's heretofore dependable seduction tactics had been enough to break Elrond's resolve.
Celeborn just couldn't understand it. WHY was he acting this way? Pondering that question had provided some much needed distraction to his fevered mind for a few hours, and he had come up with a number of possible scenarios. They ranged from squeamishness because they were related by marriage--unlikely as, first, it wasn't much of a marriage and never had been and, second, Elrond was not known for squeamishness--to fear of Galadriel's retribution if she found out. Celeborn wanted to reassure him that his wife had never been able to read either of them, so unless they lost their minds and confessed, she need never know, but that would have been a kind of defeat. Elrond had steadfastly refused to admit what they were doing, and Celeborn wasn't going to be the first to bring it up.
Elrond was, he had finally decided, waiting for him to make the first move, possibly out of deference for his position, or out of a desire to blame it all on him if Galadriel did manage to discover their secret. Watching the obviously suffering elf opposite him, Celeborn read the resolve in those dark eyes. Drat the creature, he would sit there until one of them had a coronary before he gave in! Celeborn did not doubt that he was as strong willed as his son-in-law, but he was also fabled for his good sense, and logic said to Mandos with the original plan. He needed relief and he was going to take it whether Elrond liked it or not; Celeborn just hoped he didn't kill him in the process.
With the lightening fast reflexes of a seasoned warrior, Celeborn leaped up from the bed and reached for the tantalising, maddening and gorgeous elf that had tormented him unlike any he had ever known. The second his hands grabbed Elrond's quivering figure, however, he somehow ended up face down on the bed, his hands being bound securely behind him with his own loin- cloth, which had been ripped from his body in one swift motion.
"Thank the Valar!," Elrond gasped in his ear, pulling his hands over his head and securing them to a nearby bedpost with practised skill. Celeborn could not have agreed more.
A/N: I was only planning five parts to this story, but it has taken longer to get Elrond and Celeborn to behave than I had thought. So I will need another to finish this off (no pun intended). Any ideas/criticisms, etc. are welcome.