Title: Wild Justice 13/?
Author: Rune Dancer, runedancer@hotmail.com
Rating: R
Paring: Thranduil/Celeborn/Elrond; Elrohir/Glorfindel; Haldir/Gildor; Elladan/Orophin
Disclaimer: I own nothing, except the plotline and my precious, evil mind.
Feedback: Please!
Warnings: BDSM.
A/N: This is a continuation of my previous Unspoken story arc. Read them in order--Unspoken/Revelations/Changes/One Last Time/Quid Pro Quo--or prepare to be confused.
* * *
"Where are you going?"
Elrohir had been so intent on reaching his goal that he had not even noticed Erestor, whose black robes blended perfectly into the darkened corridor. He briefly wondered why his old tutor was still up, as it was getting rather late, and why he was still attired in the stiff, formal robes he had worn at dinner. Most elves changed into something more relaxing in the late evening hours; just like Erestor to prefer to remain prim and proper and uncomfortable as well. "Nowhere."
Erestor regarded him calmly, but did not move out of the way. Elrohir tried to push around him--he really did not have time for this--but a strong arm prevented him. It was so unlike Erestor to physically restrain him that his anger briefly rescinded and he looked at his old tutor with surprise. "There is nothing that way except the king's rooms," Erestor remarked evenly. "What could you possibly have to say to him at this time of night?"
"That isn't your concern." Elrohir tried to move past again, but Erestor's grip on his upper arm tightened.
"I think otherwise. Your father is preoccupied at the moment, and I do not think he would like the idea of your endangering relations between our two lands by doing any thing rash." Erestor's dark eyes swept over Elrohir, and a faint smile came to his lips. "I also doubt he would approve of you running about the palace dressed like . . . that."
Elrohir looked down at himself, surprised to see that he was still wearing the special garment he had bought for Glorfindel's seduction. It did look somewhat out of place, but it wasn't Erestor's place to tell him that. "I have to speak to Glorfindel, and he happens to be with the king at the moment," Elrohir explained with as much dignity as he could manage in his current attire. "Let me go."
"If I do, what is it you have planned?" Erestor regarded him sardonically. "Challenging the king to a duel or attempting to throw him out a window will hardly improve matters."
"I am not going to do anything to him." Elrohir almost spat the words, his disgust and anger threatening to choke him. "I am simply going to inform Glorfindel that we are through. At least *I* have the courtesy to do so before engaging in any other affairs."
"And is that what you want--another affair?" Erestor's words sounded harsh to Elrohir, who found even the thought of another lover almost sickening, yet the tone was gentle, and his tutor simultaneously brushed a curl off his forehead, reminding Elrohir of the many times he had comforted him as a child. Elrohir felt his anger beginning to fade, and with it went his protection against the pain that threatened to overwhelm him. "Come, little one," Erestor told him, wrapping an arm about his shoulders. "Don't do something you will regret."
Elrohir bit his lips to stop them trembling like some ridiculous elfling's, and blinked back tears. His comfortable shield of denial had been ripped away for a second time, and there was no longer any hope of getting it back. Thranduil would win, just as he always did, had already done so if that scene had progressed as expected. But Elrohir refused to collapse into a whiny puddle, and he certainly was not going to cry; he had been humiliated enough for one night.
Erestor must have noticed him weakening, for he smiled and slowly drew him back down the corridor. "Come away, nin-bain, and leave this to me, as you promised."
Elrohir almost laughed; the ludicrous image of his old tutor attempting to best Thranduil momentarily jolted him out of his despair. He knew it would never happen, but he refrained from saying something that would insult Erestor. He had no wish to hurt him, nor, he admitted to himself miserably, did he even want to confront Glorfindel. He would see him in the morning and end it. Let him enjoy his rendezvous in peace.
* * *
Glorfindel awoke when the mattress under him sagged with the weight of another warm body. For a moment, he unconsciously pulled it closer, snuggling against the silken skin and the comfortable heat, but for some reason it didn't feel quite right. Elrohir was not this muscular, did not feel this substantial in his arms. Glorfindel's fuzzy brain slowly returned to something like consciousness, and he focused his eyes. Elrohir also wasn't blond.
A soft laugh echoed in his ear and Glorfindel sat up, looking about in disorientation and gathering dismay. Almost immediately he was pulled back down and enveloped in strong arms that resisted his struggles. "You do not leave for hours yet--there is time, lirimaer," a laughing voice said just before a warm mouth closed over his own.
Glorfindel would have preferred it had he hated this--had he honestly been able to say that it was appalling, nauseating, and revolting. But the kiss was none of those things. He had long before learned the disconcerting fact that hate and attraction are not necessarily mutually exclusive. And yes, Glorfindel thought vaguely, as a solid weight rolled on top of him, he did sincerely hate Thranduil. The king was so casually good at obtaining whatever he wanted, regardless of the cost to others, and at using his beauty, charm and intelligence as weapons against friend and foe alike.
Glorfindel's hands encountered only smooth, enticing flesh as he attempted to push the king's weight off him, as Thranduil had not bothered to wear anything to bed. What had they done? Why was he even here? Glorfindel couldn't remember, but he assumed that he must have passed out from exhaustion or too much wine at some point, and naturally Thranduil had not bothered to call a servant to help him back to his rooms. Oh yes, he thought, as a knee slipped between his legs, parting them easily, he definitely hated the king. Unfortunately, his body did not. But his body did not rule him, had not done so in more centuries than he could count, and no matter how good this might feel, it had to stop now. "Thranduil, we are not going to do this."
* * *
Camthalion could hardly believe it. Everything had been going so well, and now this. The elfling had obviously realised Erestor's attraction to him, and had decided to up the stakes. Cam's eyes narrowed, taking in the supple skin hardly concealed by the trifle of silk, the elaborate hairstyle, and the ornate jewelry. By the Valar, even his sandals sparkled! It was attire for a seduction if he had ever seen one, and Erestor was obviously taken in. Cam felt short of breath as his master leaned closer to the young one, murmuring something inaudible, his darkness a perfect compliment to the elfling's golden glow. A mindless fear washed through Cam at the sight of them together, and at that moment he finally understood the kin slayings, at last knew what it was to wish harm to one of his own.
As the two approached him, Camthalion consciously relaxed the muscles in his shoulders and clasped his hands behind his back, where they could not reach for the young one's throat. "Camthalion, return to your lodgings and sleep. We will talk tomorrow." Erestor's words were clearly an order, and were spoken in the offhand manner of one who expects obedience. And why should he not? Had Camthalion not submitted completely and fully that night, believing that by doing so he was acquiring a lover as well as a master? But obviously that had not been the case. Erestor had been amusing himself while he waited for the young Peredhil to throw himself at him.
Camthalion pushed down the killing rage that swept through him, keeping his features placid as he inclined his head slightly in assent and moved back to allow them to pass. A honeyed fragrance lingering on the air after the young one, and he recognised it as a costly perfume, a highly prized Imladris export. To him it smelled putrid, almost vile, and it was all he could do not to retch. Confusion and pain warred with anger for supremacy, but Camthalion retained hold on his emotions as he backed far enough into the shadows that they could no longer see him. The wood of the corridor wall felt hard against his bruised back, but it was the scene before his eyes that made him flinch. Then they were gone, disappearing into a room down the hall.
Camthalion waited a dozen breaths, swaying with the effort of standing motionless rather than pelting after them, then forced himself to wait another few minutes just to prove that he was still in control. Then, as silently as the shadows themselves, he moved down the hallway. The door though which they had disappeared was to one of the larger guest suites, and Camthalion cracked it slowly, barely breathing. In a second he could see them, sitting on the bed together although not yet intertwined. Erestor's dark hair was slightly tousled, so different from its usual sleek perfection, and Cam wondered if it had been so before or if this was some sign of their lovemaking. Then the young one spoke, and his words caused Cam's hand to involuntarily clutch at the door tightly enough to almost wrench the decorative handle from the wood.
". . . could love me."
Erestor laughed, and pulled the elfling against his chest. "But, pen-neth, many people love you! I always have, have I not?" One pale hand stroked softly down Elrohir's arm, gliding over the firm muscles there with the assurance of long practice. "You must trust me; this will all pass in time. You should not allow it to make you feel undesirable."
"But I went to all this trouble for nothing. It's just as well. I look ridiculous."
"You do not look ridiculous. You're very . . . "
"Very what?" Elrohir looked up at Erestor with tear filled eyes, their wetness matching the sheen of his carefully oiled skin. His dark braids gleamed in the light of the many candles lighting the love nest he had prepared, and the cloying scent of that sickening perfume permeated the air. Camthalion wanted him dead.
"Very alluring." Camthalion could not see Erestor's face, as his back was turned to the door, but his hand slid to fondle a fat braid, letting it run through his fingers idly.
Elrohir's face lit, and suddenly laughter was mingled with his tears. "I never thought I'd hear YOU say THAT." He fell back against the bed, still convulsed with mirth. "This has to be the strangest night of my life. Instead of a seduction, I spend it falling out of trees, bandaging twisted ankles and being told I'm "alluring" by my old tutor! You are kind Erestor," he said, looking up at him through dark lashes, and his tone was suddenly serious again as a muscle quirked beside his mouth. "But you lie. I am pathetic--a stupid elfling who overreached himself."
"Pen-neth, you are NOT pathetic."
Camthalion seethed as the young one on the bed stretched, showing off the sleek muscles under his taut skin, the golden silk of his tunic riding up dangerously. His eyes still looked sad, however. "Then what am I?"
Erestor paused, and Camthalion held his breath, praying to every deity he knew that his master would reject the tempting sight before him, would withstand the blatant attempt at seduction and run out of the room to his own chambers where Cam could join him. But, of course, he did none of those things. He bent over the elfling until his dark hair almost obscured them both, but the word he uttered floated clearly back to Cam's ears, where it sounded like a death knell. "Beautiful."
* * *
Thranduil continued his exploration of Glorfindel's chest, ignoring the hands that made weak attempts to push him away. He felt the tension in the body under him, and knew that, despite Glorfindel's passion for him, he would fight to the last. That was expected, even desirable--part of his attraction was his loyal nature, and Thranduil would have been somewhat disappointed had this been too easy.
"I have a lover." To Thranduil's surprise, the golden body beneath him gave a sudden convulsion and almost succeeded in bucking him off. The king smiled; he hadn't known Glorfindel liked it rough, but he was perfectly willing to oblige. Putting his full weight into it, he pushed his companion back against the thick feather mattress, practically burying him in its plump folds, as he pressed his advantage.
"No, what you have is a child who has not seen what you have seen or experienced what you've experienced, and who will never be your equal in anything. Or is that what you are afraid of--having a relationship with one who equals if not surpasses you? Is it dominance you fear, seneschal, or do you secretly crave it?" Thranduil did not give him time to respond, but captured his lips again, a feeling of pure triumph flooding his body.
This is what he had wanted for so very long. He had wanted it enough to mend fences with Imladris, exchanging letters, then ambassadors, and finally even allowing Elrond's dim eldest son to be fostered on him for a while, to carefully maneuver the situation until there could be no excuse for Glorfindel to turn him down. If Elrond could send his son to Mirkwood on an extended trip, why not his seneschal? It had been perfect, until that brainless elfling had to step in and jeopardize plans laid long before he was even born.
But this was sweet triumph, and Thranduil reveled in it, his heart pounding an erratic rhythm in his chest. He had rarely worked so hard or waited so long for anything in his life, but oh, it was worth it! He had known, all those years ago, that this was one who could match him, one with whom he would never grow bored, who had seen and done as much, if not more, than he. It was a horrible waste, that such a creature should live out the centuries as nothing more than a lackey in Elrond's household! Only the dim-witted Peredhil could have so undervalued the gift he had been given. Thranduil smiled against Glorfinel's lips before forcibly parting them. He would make him his chief counselor, would give him the riches and honour he deserved, and together they would reclaim the beauty of the Greenwood and drive away the darkness that had overshadowed it.
Oh yes. The game was finally over and he had won.
* * *
"You ARE beautiful, Elrohir. No one could look on you and be unmoved. You have never understood your appeal, but all others see it." Erestor smiled at Elrohir's patently disbelieving stare. "You think, do you not, that Glorfindel is attracted to the king?"
"I KNOW he is . . . he loves him. You forget, I saw them together . . . that other time and then again tonight . . ."
Erestor arched a brow in that annoying way of his. "You are right about the attraction. It is there, has always been there, and probably always will be." Seeing the hurt that flared in Elrohir's eyes, Erestor smiled, a little sadly. "You are young, so you confuse gilt with gold, and lust with love. Yet, it is possible to feel temptation without also being in love."
"That isn't true. If he really loved me, as I do him . . ."
"What, then he would never react to another as long as he lived?" Erestor smiled. "Love doesn't work like that, pen-neth. It heightens our ability to feel, it does not restrict it."
Elrohir shut his eyes, wishing Erestor would just go away. His thoughts were confused and he ached inside; he just wanted to be alone.
"You don't believe me?" Elrohir opened his eyes at Erestor's question, feeling annoyance that his tutor would not just let this go. Trying to ignore the hard knot in his chest and the tight ache in his throat, he framed another derisive comment, but it died on his lips when he looked up into the glittering eyes above him. It was like staring into the face of a stranger, one with a darkly beautiful visage and a hypnotic gaze. Erestor slowly slid a finger over Elrohir's chest, just beneath his breast-bone, then moved up slightly to lightly encircle one nipple. An unexpected shiver ran through Elrohir and his skin contracted. "You didn't answer me, pen-neth."
What was happening? Elrohir tried telling himself that this was Erestor, his tutor, his friend, his . . . but he was finding it difficult to think, especially when a red tongue darted out to moisten redder lips, while something in that steady regard held him fast. "No . . . I . . . "
"Then I suppose I shall have to demonstrate."
* * *
Passion ran through Glorfindel like a current as Thranduil slipped his hands down his body to grasp his thighs, parting them wider. He vaguely wondered if the king had put a spell on him, as his limbs felt like they were bound by heavy weights, and his mind was cloudy. Yet he doubted, somehow, that Thranduil was using magic; it would wound the king's pride to have to make a conquest in such a way. Glorfindel would have liked an excuse for the way his body responded to the king's touch, for the immediacy of his arousal and the shortness of his breath, but he knew in truth that he had none. He had drunk too much that night, but he was still reasonably sober; he was exhausted, but not to incapacitation. It was his own attraction he fought, and although the muscles stood out on his arms as he still tried to push Thranduil from him, he knew he was losing because something in him wanted this.
It was not until a careful touch slid against his most private area that Glorfindel managed to regain some control. No. If he did this, gave in to what his body so badly desired, he would lose the most precious thing in his life--if he had not managed to do that already. For over a week now he had been like one who had lost a part of himself, an amputee on a battlefield who toils on despite a mortal wound. Nothing he had tried had healed the emptiness in his heart and neither would this. In one of the most difficult actions he could remember in a long time, Glorfindel forced himself to relax and, when Thranduil slightly eased his hold in response, he pushed him hard to the side and rolled off the bed.
He glanced back at the king to see if more persuasion would be needed, and immediately wished he had not. Thranduil was reclining on his side, his beautiful body on careless display, erect but uninhibited as few, even among the elves, could manage to be. The golden satin of the sheets paled next to that of his skin, made even more alluring than usual by the faint sheen of perspiration he wore from their activities. His emerald eyes held exasperation, but also, Glorfindel thought, a glimmer of respect.
"This is check, then, I take it?"
"This is not a game, Thranduil." Glorfindel swept up his outer robe from where it had been casually tossed over a chair's back, and struggled into it. He was hard and ached, and the stiff material made him wince as it dragged over him, but that was a minor concern. The immediate issue was to get as far from Thranduil as possible as quickly as he could, before the king's beauty and his own weakness caused him to falter.
"Oh, but it is, seneschal. And one I intend to win. You belong with me, you are just too blind to see it."
"So this is for my own good?''
Thranduil laughed and, although it was almost impossible for Glorfindel to believe, it was a genuine, amused sound. "As I believe I told you once before."
"I don't happen to see it that way." Glorfindel hated Thranduil for his easy grace in the circumstances, and even more for his confident assurance that he would, eventually, be the victor. "You can't always have what you want." He would have preferred a snappier reply, but he was in no shape for witty repartee. It took all his willpower just to turn away from the vision on the bed and somehow make it to the double doors of the room. "You are in check for a reason, Thranduil."
The king's tone was light, but there was steel beneath it. "Perhaps. But it is not yet check mate."
* * *
The black velvet of Erestor' sleeve stroked softly across his chest, a teasing touch that barely registered, yet Elrohir felt his face flush as the scrap of a tunic he wore was slowly brushed off his shoulders, baring him to the waist. He tried to remember that these were the same hands that had bathed him as a child, had held him when he suffered from nightmares as an adolescent, had bandaged his scrapes and calmed his fears . . . but it was impossible to ignore the sensations they were building in him now. No, this was insane! He didn't think of Erestor this way, he never had, so what was wrong with him?
That dark head lowered and a rough tongue, like a cat's, licked tantalizingly across his nipples and down his chest, as a fall of raven dark hair spilled all over him. He finally managed to ask, in a voice that was barely audible even to him, what Erestor thought he was doing. There was no reply. He shivered slightly, aroused and trembling, as that tongue swept lower, teasing around his navel and then at the fragile silk barrier that was all that remained of his clothes. He knew he should stop this, should say something, but all he wanted at the moment was not to have to talk at all or even to think, but just to submerge himself and his pain in glorious sensation. Was it so wrong, to want to feel completely good for a few minutes?
Elrohir voiced no complaint as the jeweled belt he wore was slipped off and dropped to the floor. A few seconds later and the remainder of his tunic followed, slithering silently from the bed. Elrohir tried to close his eyes, to fool his brain as to the identity of the one who began slow, even strokes along his arousal, causing him to breath hard with the effort of control, but he was allowed no such luxury. "Look at me, Elrohir," the air of command in the velvet tones was new, but the voice itself was one he was accustomed to obey. His eyes fluttered open, and he gazed, mesmerized, as Erestor's mouth followed where his hands had explored. He shuddered, hardly believing this was real, yet he could not look away.
In a few minutes, Elrohir no longer cared who pleasured him, but grasped the shining head and pushed it down further where he needed it to be. The gifted tongue soon had him writhing against the softness of the sheets, until all he wanted was to come, to feel no grief, to have no thoughts, except of the deep pulse of desire in his groin. The sensations that followed were mindless, exquisite joy. His nerves all seemed to melt and run together, his veins pulsing with heat and sheer bliss, as he was brought expertly to climax.
And then nothing. Fingers pinched near his base, cruelly denying him the release he sought so passionately, and he regarded his tormentor through stunned, glazed eyes. "What do you feel?"
"Wh-what?" Elrohir moved slightly, but a heavy hand forced him down to the mattress again.
"I asked you a question, Elrohir, so please try to pay attention." The voice, amazingly, was no longer the husky velvet tones of a few minutes before, but instead held the impatient snap of his old tutor, annoyed that he was taking so long to answer a simple question. It was surreal, to say the least. Elrohir just looked at him dumbly, unable to understand any of this. Erestor sighed, and took out a lace-trimmed handkerchief which he ran over his lips. Elrohir almost came from the sight alone, but the fingers did not permit it. "Is there something you want, Elrohir?"
"Y-yes."
"Well?" Erestor cocked an eyebrow at him again, in that oh so familiar way, and some of the languid heat coursing though Elrohir began to fade.
"You know what I want." Elrohir blushed to even think about saying the words, to Erestor of all people.
"I am afraid that mind reading was never one of my specialties."
Elrohir repressed a groan, and wished Erestor to the lowest hall of Mandos for all eternity. Why was he tormenting him like this? "I want to come," he said dully, shame flooding his already rosy face with a new layer of crimson.
"Why?"
Elrohir just looked at him, the fear that perhaps his old tutor had truly gone mad flitting across his brain. "Why?," he repeated in disbelief.
"Yes, why? It's an easy enough question. After all, according to you, since you are not in love with me--you aren't are you?"
"No!," that, at least, was a certainty at the moment.
"Well, then, you should feel nothing. No love means no attraction, isn't that true?" Elrohir looked into the depth of Erestor's black eyes, and saw the beginnings of a spark of humour. "Since you don't love me, what pleasure could I possibly give you?"
Elrohir was beginning to be in serious pain, and those wicked, laughing eyes were not helping him. He dragged his conscious mind back into operation, ready though he was to scream at the effort. "You're saying this is no different than the way Glorfindel feels about the king."
Erestor smiled. "You pass," he commented, and suddenly released him.
* * *
Camthalion saw his master rise from the bed, casually wiping his hand on his handkerchief, as the young one spilled himself all over the sheets. Quickly, before Erestor could discern his presence, Cam gently closed the door and retreated into the dimness of the hallway. As he navigated down the darkened stairs, he did not even try to keep a smile from breaking out over his usually stoic features. An interesting evening, indeed.
TBC
Author: Rune Dancer, runedancer@hotmail.com
Rating: R
Paring: Thranduil/Celeborn/Elrond; Elrohir/Glorfindel; Haldir/Gildor; Elladan/Orophin
Disclaimer: I own nothing, except the plotline and my precious, evil mind.
Feedback: Please!
Warnings: BDSM.
A/N: This is a continuation of my previous Unspoken story arc. Read them in order--Unspoken/Revelations/Changes/One Last Time/Quid Pro Quo--or prepare to be confused.
* * *
"Where are you going?"
Elrohir had been so intent on reaching his goal that he had not even noticed Erestor, whose black robes blended perfectly into the darkened corridor. He briefly wondered why his old tutor was still up, as it was getting rather late, and why he was still attired in the stiff, formal robes he had worn at dinner. Most elves changed into something more relaxing in the late evening hours; just like Erestor to prefer to remain prim and proper and uncomfortable as well. "Nowhere."
Erestor regarded him calmly, but did not move out of the way. Elrohir tried to push around him--he really did not have time for this--but a strong arm prevented him. It was so unlike Erestor to physically restrain him that his anger briefly rescinded and he looked at his old tutor with surprise. "There is nothing that way except the king's rooms," Erestor remarked evenly. "What could you possibly have to say to him at this time of night?"
"That isn't your concern." Elrohir tried to move past again, but Erestor's grip on his upper arm tightened.
"I think otherwise. Your father is preoccupied at the moment, and I do not think he would like the idea of your endangering relations between our two lands by doing any thing rash." Erestor's dark eyes swept over Elrohir, and a faint smile came to his lips. "I also doubt he would approve of you running about the palace dressed like . . . that."
Elrohir looked down at himself, surprised to see that he was still wearing the special garment he had bought for Glorfindel's seduction. It did look somewhat out of place, but it wasn't Erestor's place to tell him that. "I have to speak to Glorfindel, and he happens to be with the king at the moment," Elrohir explained with as much dignity as he could manage in his current attire. "Let me go."
"If I do, what is it you have planned?" Erestor regarded him sardonically. "Challenging the king to a duel or attempting to throw him out a window will hardly improve matters."
"I am not going to do anything to him." Elrohir almost spat the words, his disgust and anger threatening to choke him. "I am simply going to inform Glorfindel that we are through. At least *I* have the courtesy to do so before engaging in any other affairs."
"And is that what you want--another affair?" Erestor's words sounded harsh to Elrohir, who found even the thought of another lover almost sickening, yet the tone was gentle, and his tutor simultaneously brushed a curl off his forehead, reminding Elrohir of the many times he had comforted him as a child. Elrohir felt his anger beginning to fade, and with it went his protection against the pain that threatened to overwhelm him. "Come, little one," Erestor told him, wrapping an arm about his shoulders. "Don't do something you will regret."
Elrohir bit his lips to stop them trembling like some ridiculous elfling's, and blinked back tears. His comfortable shield of denial had been ripped away for a second time, and there was no longer any hope of getting it back. Thranduil would win, just as he always did, had already done so if that scene had progressed as expected. But Elrohir refused to collapse into a whiny puddle, and he certainly was not going to cry; he had been humiliated enough for one night.
Erestor must have noticed him weakening, for he smiled and slowly drew him back down the corridor. "Come away, nin-bain, and leave this to me, as you promised."
Elrohir almost laughed; the ludicrous image of his old tutor attempting to best Thranduil momentarily jolted him out of his despair. He knew it would never happen, but he refrained from saying something that would insult Erestor. He had no wish to hurt him, nor, he admitted to himself miserably, did he even want to confront Glorfindel. He would see him in the morning and end it. Let him enjoy his rendezvous in peace.
* * *
Glorfindel awoke when the mattress under him sagged with the weight of another warm body. For a moment, he unconsciously pulled it closer, snuggling against the silken skin and the comfortable heat, but for some reason it didn't feel quite right. Elrohir was not this muscular, did not feel this substantial in his arms. Glorfindel's fuzzy brain slowly returned to something like consciousness, and he focused his eyes. Elrohir also wasn't blond.
A soft laugh echoed in his ear and Glorfindel sat up, looking about in disorientation and gathering dismay. Almost immediately he was pulled back down and enveloped in strong arms that resisted his struggles. "You do not leave for hours yet--there is time, lirimaer," a laughing voice said just before a warm mouth closed over his own.
Glorfindel would have preferred it had he hated this--had he honestly been able to say that it was appalling, nauseating, and revolting. But the kiss was none of those things. He had long before learned the disconcerting fact that hate and attraction are not necessarily mutually exclusive. And yes, Glorfindel thought vaguely, as a solid weight rolled on top of him, he did sincerely hate Thranduil. The king was so casually good at obtaining whatever he wanted, regardless of the cost to others, and at using his beauty, charm and intelligence as weapons against friend and foe alike.
Glorfindel's hands encountered only smooth, enticing flesh as he attempted to push the king's weight off him, as Thranduil had not bothered to wear anything to bed. What had they done? Why was he even here? Glorfindel couldn't remember, but he assumed that he must have passed out from exhaustion or too much wine at some point, and naturally Thranduil had not bothered to call a servant to help him back to his rooms. Oh yes, he thought, as a knee slipped between his legs, parting them easily, he definitely hated the king. Unfortunately, his body did not. But his body did not rule him, had not done so in more centuries than he could count, and no matter how good this might feel, it had to stop now. "Thranduil, we are not going to do this."
* * *
Camthalion could hardly believe it. Everything had been going so well, and now this. The elfling had obviously realised Erestor's attraction to him, and had decided to up the stakes. Cam's eyes narrowed, taking in the supple skin hardly concealed by the trifle of silk, the elaborate hairstyle, and the ornate jewelry. By the Valar, even his sandals sparkled! It was attire for a seduction if he had ever seen one, and Erestor was obviously taken in. Cam felt short of breath as his master leaned closer to the young one, murmuring something inaudible, his darkness a perfect compliment to the elfling's golden glow. A mindless fear washed through Cam at the sight of them together, and at that moment he finally understood the kin slayings, at last knew what it was to wish harm to one of his own.
As the two approached him, Camthalion consciously relaxed the muscles in his shoulders and clasped his hands behind his back, where they could not reach for the young one's throat. "Camthalion, return to your lodgings and sleep. We will talk tomorrow." Erestor's words were clearly an order, and were spoken in the offhand manner of one who expects obedience. And why should he not? Had Camthalion not submitted completely and fully that night, believing that by doing so he was acquiring a lover as well as a master? But obviously that had not been the case. Erestor had been amusing himself while he waited for the young Peredhil to throw himself at him.
Camthalion pushed down the killing rage that swept through him, keeping his features placid as he inclined his head slightly in assent and moved back to allow them to pass. A honeyed fragrance lingering on the air after the young one, and he recognised it as a costly perfume, a highly prized Imladris export. To him it smelled putrid, almost vile, and it was all he could do not to retch. Confusion and pain warred with anger for supremacy, but Camthalion retained hold on his emotions as he backed far enough into the shadows that they could no longer see him. The wood of the corridor wall felt hard against his bruised back, but it was the scene before his eyes that made him flinch. Then they were gone, disappearing into a room down the hall.
Camthalion waited a dozen breaths, swaying with the effort of standing motionless rather than pelting after them, then forced himself to wait another few minutes just to prove that he was still in control. Then, as silently as the shadows themselves, he moved down the hallway. The door though which they had disappeared was to one of the larger guest suites, and Camthalion cracked it slowly, barely breathing. In a second he could see them, sitting on the bed together although not yet intertwined. Erestor's dark hair was slightly tousled, so different from its usual sleek perfection, and Cam wondered if it had been so before or if this was some sign of their lovemaking. Then the young one spoke, and his words caused Cam's hand to involuntarily clutch at the door tightly enough to almost wrench the decorative handle from the wood.
". . . could love me."
Erestor laughed, and pulled the elfling against his chest. "But, pen-neth, many people love you! I always have, have I not?" One pale hand stroked softly down Elrohir's arm, gliding over the firm muscles there with the assurance of long practice. "You must trust me; this will all pass in time. You should not allow it to make you feel undesirable."
"But I went to all this trouble for nothing. It's just as well. I look ridiculous."
"You do not look ridiculous. You're very . . . "
"Very what?" Elrohir looked up at Erestor with tear filled eyes, their wetness matching the sheen of his carefully oiled skin. His dark braids gleamed in the light of the many candles lighting the love nest he had prepared, and the cloying scent of that sickening perfume permeated the air. Camthalion wanted him dead.
"Very alluring." Camthalion could not see Erestor's face, as his back was turned to the door, but his hand slid to fondle a fat braid, letting it run through his fingers idly.
Elrohir's face lit, and suddenly laughter was mingled with his tears. "I never thought I'd hear YOU say THAT." He fell back against the bed, still convulsed with mirth. "This has to be the strangest night of my life. Instead of a seduction, I spend it falling out of trees, bandaging twisted ankles and being told I'm "alluring" by my old tutor! You are kind Erestor," he said, looking up at him through dark lashes, and his tone was suddenly serious again as a muscle quirked beside his mouth. "But you lie. I am pathetic--a stupid elfling who overreached himself."
"Pen-neth, you are NOT pathetic."
Camthalion seethed as the young one on the bed stretched, showing off the sleek muscles under his taut skin, the golden silk of his tunic riding up dangerously. His eyes still looked sad, however. "Then what am I?"
Erestor paused, and Camthalion held his breath, praying to every deity he knew that his master would reject the tempting sight before him, would withstand the blatant attempt at seduction and run out of the room to his own chambers where Cam could join him. But, of course, he did none of those things. He bent over the elfling until his dark hair almost obscured them both, but the word he uttered floated clearly back to Cam's ears, where it sounded like a death knell. "Beautiful."
* * *
Thranduil continued his exploration of Glorfindel's chest, ignoring the hands that made weak attempts to push him away. He felt the tension in the body under him, and knew that, despite Glorfindel's passion for him, he would fight to the last. That was expected, even desirable--part of his attraction was his loyal nature, and Thranduil would have been somewhat disappointed had this been too easy.
"I have a lover." To Thranduil's surprise, the golden body beneath him gave a sudden convulsion and almost succeeded in bucking him off. The king smiled; he hadn't known Glorfindel liked it rough, but he was perfectly willing to oblige. Putting his full weight into it, he pushed his companion back against the thick feather mattress, practically burying him in its plump folds, as he pressed his advantage.
"No, what you have is a child who has not seen what you have seen or experienced what you've experienced, and who will never be your equal in anything. Or is that what you are afraid of--having a relationship with one who equals if not surpasses you? Is it dominance you fear, seneschal, or do you secretly crave it?" Thranduil did not give him time to respond, but captured his lips again, a feeling of pure triumph flooding his body.
This is what he had wanted for so very long. He had wanted it enough to mend fences with Imladris, exchanging letters, then ambassadors, and finally even allowing Elrond's dim eldest son to be fostered on him for a while, to carefully maneuver the situation until there could be no excuse for Glorfindel to turn him down. If Elrond could send his son to Mirkwood on an extended trip, why not his seneschal? It had been perfect, until that brainless elfling had to step in and jeopardize plans laid long before he was even born.
But this was sweet triumph, and Thranduil reveled in it, his heart pounding an erratic rhythm in his chest. He had rarely worked so hard or waited so long for anything in his life, but oh, it was worth it! He had known, all those years ago, that this was one who could match him, one with whom he would never grow bored, who had seen and done as much, if not more, than he. It was a horrible waste, that such a creature should live out the centuries as nothing more than a lackey in Elrond's household! Only the dim-witted Peredhil could have so undervalued the gift he had been given. Thranduil smiled against Glorfinel's lips before forcibly parting them. He would make him his chief counselor, would give him the riches and honour he deserved, and together they would reclaim the beauty of the Greenwood and drive away the darkness that had overshadowed it.
Oh yes. The game was finally over and he had won.
* * *
"You ARE beautiful, Elrohir. No one could look on you and be unmoved. You have never understood your appeal, but all others see it." Erestor smiled at Elrohir's patently disbelieving stare. "You think, do you not, that Glorfindel is attracted to the king?"
"I KNOW he is . . . he loves him. You forget, I saw them together . . . that other time and then again tonight . . ."
Erestor arched a brow in that annoying way of his. "You are right about the attraction. It is there, has always been there, and probably always will be." Seeing the hurt that flared in Elrohir's eyes, Erestor smiled, a little sadly. "You are young, so you confuse gilt with gold, and lust with love. Yet, it is possible to feel temptation without also being in love."
"That isn't true. If he really loved me, as I do him . . ."
"What, then he would never react to another as long as he lived?" Erestor smiled. "Love doesn't work like that, pen-neth. It heightens our ability to feel, it does not restrict it."
Elrohir shut his eyes, wishing Erestor would just go away. His thoughts were confused and he ached inside; he just wanted to be alone.
"You don't believe me?" Elrohir opened his eyes at Erestor's question, feeling annoyance that his tutor would not just let this go. Trying to ignore the hard knot in his chest and the tight ache in his throat, he framed another derisive comment, but it died on his lips when he looked up into the glittering eyes above him. It was like staring into the face of a stranger, one with a darkly beautiful visage and a hypnotic gaze. Erestor slowly slid a finger over Elrohir's chest, just beneath his breast-bone, then moved up slightly to lightly encircle one nipple. An unexpected shiver ran through Elrohir and his skin contracted. "You didn't answer me, pen-neth."
What was happening? Elrohir tried telling himself that this was Erestor, his tutor, his friend, his . . . but he was finding it difficult to think, especially when a red tongue darted out to moisten redder lips, while something in that steady regard held him fast. "No . . . I . . . "
"Then I suppose I shall have to demonstrate."
* * *
Passion ran through Glorfindel like a current as Thranduil slipped his hands down his body to grasp his thighs, parting them wider. He vaguely wondered if the king had put a spell on him, as his limbs felt like they were bound by heavy weights, and his mind was cloudy. Yet he doubted, somehow, that Thranduil was using magic; it would wound the king's pride to have to make a conquest in such a way. Glorfindel would have liked an excuse for the way his body responded to the king's touch, for the immediacy of his arousal and the shortness of his breath, but he knew in truth that he had none. He had drunk too much that night, but he was still reasonably sober; he was exhausted, but not to incapacitation. It was his own attraction he fought, and although the muscles stood out on his arms as he still tried to push Thranduil from him, he knew he was losing because something in him wanted this.
It was not until a careful touch slid against his most private area that Glorfindel managed to regain some control. No. If he did this, gave in to what his body so badly desired, he would lose the most precious thing in his life--if he had not managed to do that already. For over a week now he had been like one who had lost a part of himself, an amputee on a battlefield who toils on despite a mortal wound. Nothing he had tried had healed the emptiness in his heart and neither would this. In one of the most difficult actions he could remember in a long time, Glorfindel forced himself to relax and, when Thranduil slightly eased his hold in response, he pushed him hard to the side and rolled off the bed.
He glanced back at the king to see if more persuasion would be needed, and immediately wished he had not. Thranduil was reclining on his side, his beautiful body on careless display, erect but uninhibited as few, even among the elves, could manage to be. The golden satin of the sheets paled next to that of his skin, made even more alluring than usual by the faint sheen of perspiration he wore from their activities. His emerald eyes held exasperation, but also, Glorfindel thought, a glimmer of respect.
"This is check, then, I take it?"
"This is not a game, Thranduil." Glorfindel swept up his outer robe from where it had been casually tossed over a chair's back, and struggled into it. He was hard and ached, and the stiff material made him wince as it dragged over him, but that was a minor concern. The immediate issue was to get as far from Thranduil as possible as quickly as he could, before the king's beauty and his own weakness caused him to falter.
"Oh, but it is, seneschal. And one I intend to win. You belong with me, you are just too blind to see it."
"So this is for my own good?''
Thranduil laughed and, although it was almost impossible for Glorfindel to believe, it was a genuine, amused sound. "As I believe I told you once before."
"I don't happen to see it that way." Glorfindel hated Thranduil for his easy grace in the circumstances, and even more for his confident assurance that he would, eventually, be the victor. "You can't always have what you want." He would have preferred a snappier reply, but he was in no shape for witty repartee. It took all his willpower just to turn away from the vision on the bed and somehow make it to the double doors of the room. "You are in check for a reason, Thranduil."
The king's tone was light, but there was steel beneath it. "Perhaps. But it is not yet check mate."
* * *
The black velvet of Erestor' sleeve stroked softly across his chest, a teasing touch that barely registered, yet Elrohir felt his face flush as the scrap of a tunic he wore was slowly brushed off his shoulders, baring him to the waist. He tried to remember that these were the same hands that had bathed him as a child, had held him when he suffered from nightmares as an adolescent, had bandaged his scrapes and calmed his fears . . . but it was impossible to ignore the sensations they were building in him now. No, this was insane! He didn't think of Erestor this way, he never had, so what was wrong with him?
That dark head lowered and a rough tongue, like a cat's, licked tantalizingly across his nipples and down his chest, as a fall of raven dark hair spilled all over him. He finally managed to ask, in a voice that was barely audible even to him, what Erestor thought he was doing. There was no reply. He shivered slightly, aroused and trembling, as that tongue swept lower, teasing around his navel and then at the fragile silk barrier that was all that remained of his clothes. He knew he should stop this, should say something, but all he wanted at the moment was not to have to talk at all or even to think, but just to submerge himself and his pain in glorious sensation. Was it so wrong, to want to feel completely good for a few minutes?
Elrohir voiced no complaint as the jeweled belt he wore was slipped off and dropped to the floor. A few seconds later and the remainder of his tunic followed, slithering silently from the bed. Elrohir tried to close his eyes, to fool his brain as to the identity of the one who began slow, even strokes along his arousal, causing him to breath hard with the effort of control, but he was allowed no such luxury. "Look at me, Elrohir," the air of command in the velvet tones was new, but the voice itself was one he was accustomed to obey. His eyes fluttered open, and he gazed, mesmerized, as Erestor's mouth followed where his hands had explored. He shuddered, hardly believing this was real, yet he could not look away.
In a few minutes, Elrohir no longer cared who pleasured him, but grasped the shining head and pushed it down further where he needed it to be. The gifted tongue soon had him writhing against the softness of the sheets, until all he wanted was to come, to feel no grief, to have no thoughts, except of the deep pulse of desire in his groin. The sensations that followed were mindless, exquisite joy. His nerves all seemed to melt and run together, his veins pulsing with heat and sheer bliss, as he was brought expertly to climax.
And then nothing. Fingers pinched near his base, cruelly denying him the release he sought so passionately, and he regarded his tormentor through stunned, glazed eyes. "What do you feel?"
"Wh-what?" Elrohir moved slightly, but a heavy hand forced him down to the mattress again.
"I asked you a question, Elrohir, so please try to pay attention." The voice, amazingly, was no longer the husky velvet tones of a few minutes before, but instead held the impatient snap of his old tutor, annoyed that he was taking so long to answer a simple question. It was surreal, to say the least. Elrohir just looked at him dumbly, unable to understand any of this. Erestor sighed, and took out a lace-trimmed handkerchief which he ran over his lips. Elrohir almost came from the sight alone, but the fingers did not permit it. "Is there something you want, Elrohir?"
"Y-yes."
"Well?" Erestor cocked an eyebrow at him again, in that oh so familiar way, and some of the languid heat coursing though Elrohir began to fade.
"You know what I want." Elrohir blushed to even think about saying the words, to Erestor of all people.
"I am afraid that mind reading was never one of my specialties."
Elrohir repressed a groan, and wished Erestor to the lowest hall of Mandos for all eternity. Why was he tormenting him like this? "I want to come," he said dully, shame flooding his already rosy face with a new layer of crimson.
"Why?"
Elrohir just looked at him, the fear that perhaps his old tutor had truly gone mad flitting across his brain. "Why?," he repeated in disbelief.
"Yes, why? It's an easy enough question. After all, according to you, since you are not in love with me--you aren't are you?"
"No!," that, at least, was a certainty at the moment.
"Well, then, you should feel nothing. No love means no attraction, isn't that true?" Elrohir looked into the depth of Erestor's black eyes, and saw the beginnings of a spark of humour. "Since you don't love me, what pleasure could I possibly give you?"
Elrohir was beginning to be in serious pain, and those wicked, laughing eyes were not helping him. He dragged his conscious mind back into operation, ready though he was to scream at the effort. "You're saying this is no different than the way Glorfindel feels about the king."
Erestor smiled. "You pass," he commented, and suddenly released him.
* * *
Camthalion saw his master rise from the bed, casually wiping his hand on his handkerchief, as the young one spilled himself all over the sheets. Quickly, before Erestor could discern his presence, Cam gently closed the door and retreated into the dimness of the hallway. As he navigated down the darkened stairs, he did not even try to keep a smile from breaking out over his usually stoic features. An interesting evening, indeed.
TBC