Title: Wild Justice 29/?
Author: Rune Dancer
Rating: R
Paring: Thranduil/Celeborn/Elrond; Elrohir/Glorfindel; Haldir/Gildor; Elladan/Orophin
Disclaimer: I own nothing, except the plotline.
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.
* * *
Elrohir looked suspiciously at Erestor. His father's chief councilor was wearing his innocent face, all big dark eyes and a sanctimonious expression, which was never a good sign. On the other hand, he did have a point. "But what if he really doesn't know? What if he just sits there and picks at his nails or something? I am not going to baby sit that . . . that traitorous son of an orc while you two face the mines alone!"
"I am not suggesting that you do. But none of us wants to take the main entrance, do we? And he DOES know another way in, Elrohir, I'm convinced of it."
"And yet you couldn't get him to tell you?" After the scenes he had witnessed in Lorien, Elrohir found it difficult to imagine Erestor failing to obtain any information he wanted from anyone, especially a coward liked Tuor.
"I AM persuading him to tell us. There are many ways to attain your desires, Elrohir; as you grow older you will learn that not everything requires a sword. I am simply choosing a different method for this job, one that will give us the information we want faster than forcing it out of him. Not that that doesn't have a certain appeal . . . "
"So you'll do it?" Glorfindel broke in. Elrohir regarded his lover thoughtfully. His blue eyes were large and hopeful, and for some reason he looked ridiculously young at the moment. Elrohir was tempted to ask him why he claimed to be in love with someone whom he obviously believed a half-wit, but refrained. It would only insure him a chance to become very well acquainted with a tree, at least until he could slip out of the layers of rope Glorfindel would use to tie him to it. As Erestor said, there were many ways of attaining one's desires.
"All right, but this had better work."
"It will." Erestor looked appropriately solemn, but a relieved smile broke out over Glorfindel's face. Honestly, Elrohir thought in amazement, someone really needed to give him a few lessons in deception. On the other hand, it was rather nice being able to read him so easily. Odd how love could change one's perceptions; not so long ago, Glorfindel had been as difficult for him to read as anyone else. "Just wait for us to leave, then watch him closely," Erestor continued. "As soon as he makes his move, follow him until you see where the entrance is, then come and get us."
"And you'll be waiting where you said, just past the bend?"
"Absolutely." Erestor's eyes never wavered, and his tone was firm. Elrohir almost smiled. He was good.
"Very well, Erestor, this shouldn't take long." Elrohir managed to look sulky while happily contemplating tying Tuor to a tree as soon as the group departed, then following them at a distance. There was no way they were leaving him behind. Just because Glorfindel had somehow persuaded Lord Ulmo to resurrect him once didn't mean it would happen again, and Elrohir firmly intended to insure that it wasn't necessary. His lover had already been wounded once protecting him, and that was more than enough.
The little band shouldered their weapons and disappeared over the ledge where, as Elrohir knew perfectly well, they would not wait for him at all. He did not have much time to deal with Tuor, but he needed to make sure the others were out of earshot first. Gagging Tuor would be easy enough, but the three wounded elves who remained behind would certainly cut up rough about it. Glorfindel was the idol of most young elves, be they from Imladris or no, and they had assured him with shining eyes that they would carefully watch Elrohir. He had not been able to hear their professions of loyalty, but he hadn't needed to do so--the narrowed glances they sent his way had told the tale clearly enough. Fortunately, two of them were staying behind because of leg injuries, making it unlikely that they could follow him when he ran off. The other had lost a large amount of blood from a knife wound in the stomach, and although not in any real danger, would not be performing any heroics for some time. They could still use their lungs, however, so Elrohir sat himself on a fallen tree trunk and concentrated on cleaning his sword while he counted off the seconds.
It was just as he was nearing four hundred, and debating how much more of a lead he could afford to give them, when he noticed something. Tuor twitched. It wasn't an obvious movement--indeed, the other elves did not seem to have remarked on it at all--but it was definitely a twitch. Watching him as Erestor had taught him to do, without being obvious, Elrohir saw him glance repeatedly at the mouth of the cave. Now, this was a problem. Did he stick with the original plan and follow the group off to the main entrance, which they would likely reach in less than an hour, or did he stay and keep an eye on Tuor? He was virtually certain Erestor had been lying, but there was always the off chance that he hadn't, and even if he HAD, it didn't mean that he was wrong. Tuor might actually be up to something, and if so, it was only fair that Elrohir give him a chance to try his luck. Then he'd tie him to a tree and leave the others to shoot arrows at him.
Having arranged things to his satisfaction, Elrohir got up and moved over to the wounded, keeping his back to Tuor, who was seated some distance away. While murmuring encouragement at the trio, checking their wounds and giving them more miruvor, Elrohir nonetheless kept his senses attuned to Tuor, whom he soon heard rise, stretch, and walk casually towards the cave as if it was a perfectly natural thing for an elf to do. Elrohir gave him a few seconds' head start, then just as casually followed him. This might prove interesting after all.
* * *
Celeborn collapsed on the limb of a particularly high tree, absolutely exhausted. He could never remember running so far so fast in all his life, and honestly thought he might faint. He would have liked to move to the ground, as his position sprawled along the limb was a bit precarious in his current state, but he had used the last of his strength climbing the cursed thing to begin with and didn't have the energy. He hadn't known Thranduil's crazy scheme was likely to kill him!
The branch shook slightly as the Mirkwood ruler settled himself beside Celeborn's head. Celeborn wanted to make a sarcastic comment about the king's appearance, which was, infuriatingly enough, as pristine as always except for a few stray splatters of orc blood. He even had the perfect line--that he'd never before believed the reports that Mirkwood elves actually used shellac on their hair, but was revising his opinion--but unfortunately did not have the extra breath to deliver it. Elbereth, but he now knew it was possible to die from exhaustion!
"Have some miruvor, Celeborn--you look awful." Thranduil tried to pass him a flask, but Celeborn weakly waved it away. Why waste a precious drink on a dying elf? "Come now, stop acting like you're half dead. It was a good run! You should get out of that conference hall of yours more often--you're getting soft!" Thranduil didn't wait for a reply, which was just as well as Celeborn's throat had almost closed up in rage, but dragged his head into his lap and poured enough miruvor down him to cause him to choke.
"Would you stop that!" Celeborn sputtered and wheezed, his words largely garbled as he tried to avoid asphyxiation, but Thranduil must have understood for he let up trying to drown him.
"Then sit up and look about. Isn't this perfect? My spies told me about this place long ago, but I've never had the chance to see it myself until now. Glorious!" Thranduil slapped his thigh, thankfully not the one on which Celeborn's head was pillowed, and grinned down at him. "Then again, you do look comfortable," he commented, combing his fingers through the slightly tangled silver mass that spread across his legs. From this angle he was all teeth and big green eyes, although those sensual lips were also nicely in view, especially when they unexpectedly descended on his. Celeborn shifted, wondering how many of his elves were witnessing this and might chance to mention it in his wife's hearing, then Thranduil's tongue slipped past his lips and he momentarily forgot to care.
Thranduil had kissed him before, of course, on one very memorable occasion, but his memories of that night were hazy. He had felt very strange the next morning and still had half a suspicion that Elrond had drugged him, but was unable to prove anything. In any case, he had tried to put it from his mind as much as possible, as he had given his word not to require revenge, and recent events had helped by giving him numerous other things to think about. Now, however, he decided that he probably should have worried about the king's intentions, but that talented tongue gave him no chance to protest as it curled sensually around his. He told himself that he could always plead exhaustion to Galadriel.
"Why did you do that?," he asked in what he hoped was a casual manner when, his lengthy exploration finally complete, Thranduil released him. Or, at least, he allowed him to breathe once more, but the big warm hand on his chest stayed where it was, insuring that Celeborn remained trapped in the king's lap.
"Because I felt like it. Don't you ever do things just because you want to?"
Celeborn winced. The last few times that had happened, he had ended up tied to Elrond's bed in an extremely humiliating manner, then hung suspended upside down while being molested by two drunk elf lords. He had since decided that spontaneity might not be his style. "Not usually."
"Well that's your problem! You should get out more. Come to the Greenwood sometime, and I'll show you about. We'll have a grand time!" As Thranduil's hand was currently sliding down his chest in a rather obvious manner, Celeborn did not bother trying to resist a smirk. He wondering if the king had a duplicate of Erestor's infernal wheel tucked away in those extensive dungeons of his; he wouldn't put it past him. "I think we should deal with the situation at hand before planning holiday arrangements, don't you?"
Thranduil sighed, and stopped his exploration. "Someone should loosen you up sometime," he muttered, taking a drink from his flask. At least, that was what Celeborn thought he heard, but when he indignantly asked him to repeat the statement, Thranduil merely smiled and agreed that they needed to get on with their mission.
The two dropped to the ground a few minutes later, feeling somewhat refreshed for their brief rest and drink, but Celeborn was still unsteady on his feet. He was frankly amazed that Thranduil did not appear to be so as well, for they had covered a good thirty miles at an all out run, something that had left even the more fit elves gasping for breath. However tired they all were, they had at least accomplished their goal of reaching the obscure Pallas Pass ahead of the orcish army, which would probably not arrive until dawn at the earliest. When it did, it would get a rather large surprise, assuming that it did not change direction before then, and that the elves' strength held out for the colossal task ahead.
"To work!" Thranduil rubbed his hands together in glee, seemingly unfazed by the chore to be completed. Celeborn was less sanguine, especially once he noticed the state of his tunic, which was torn, blood spattered and sweat soaked. Oh well, it would be in even worse shape by dawn, by which time he'd probably resemble and orc himself, while Thranduil would no doubt look precisely the same.
The king began pointing out to the elves, who were reluctantly pulling themselves back to their feet, where to begin, making rapid calculations of the optimum points from sight alone. Celeborn stood and watched him, waiting for his heart rate to drop to something approaching normal, and was rather surprised when it didn't seem so inclined. Thranduil strode about, the sun gleaming on his golden hair, white teeth flashing as he laughed and chatted with his elves, clapping this one on the back for making a good suggestion, joking with another about the number of orcs they would obliterate in the morning, while his sharp green eyes searched the rocky hill on which they stood for the best possible vantage points. It was an impressive display, even Celeborn had to admit, but it did not explain his current blood pressure.
"Thranduil, can I get your opinion on something?" He had waited for the elves to be employed some distance away before disturbing the king, who looked as if he was having a splendid time ordering everyone about. Celeborn had located a small stream, which fed into the much larger River Gladden not far away, and was attempting to wash out his clothes. He hated being dirty, as all elves did, but his current state bordered on filthy and he simply could not put up with it any longer. He had pulled off his tunic, which he did not intend to ever put on again, and his shirt, which he was scrubbing on a rock.
"What is it?" Thranduil's voice came from behind him, and Celeborn smiled. Be more spontaneous, hm? Do things just because you feel like it? The king would regret giving him that advice.
"Look here, what do you make of this?" Celeborn pointed out a spot in the shallows, and as soon as Thranduil leaned over for a look, he gave that firm backside a strong push. Thranduil made a good effort to maintain his balance, but toppled over after a brief struggle, landing face first in the bubbling stream. He emerged a few seconds later, dripping wet and wearing a small, wiggling fish in his hair. Celeborn couldn't help himself; he collapsed in laughter on the bank, some of the tension of the past few days evaporating as he saw the grand king of Mirkwood with his perfect coiffure plastered to his skull. "At last! I finally. . . know what it takes . . . to mess up that hair of yours," he gasped out between chuckles. Thranduil just sat there, water dripping off his nose, and waited until Celeborn's laughter ran its course.
"I can think of more pleasant ways to do that," he commented softly after Celeborn had calmed down, then launched himself at him with no warning. Thranduil over came Celeborn's desperate attempts to clutch at the few patches of grass on the rocky bank, and pulled him kicking and squirming into the stream. "You are a disgrace to elvin kind, do you know that?," he demanded, dunking Celeborn under the swiftly moving waters. "I have known men who are cleaner after a day's battle! You smell like an orc." After dunking him several more times, Thranduil ruthlessly stripped him of his sodden leggings and tossed them onto the bank out of reach. "Now we will see about restoring some of that famed beauty and grace of yours, before the orcs are able to smell you ten miles away and take another route!"
"Let me go, you . . . " Celeborn's demand was interrupted by another dunk and by the feeling of Thranduil's hands sliding over his body. His heart immediately sped up again, and he realised he had a problem, for the water was not nearly cold enough to prevent a rather obvious reaction to the king's ministrations, something Thranduil was not slow to notice.
"Ah, what do we have here? And I thought you were tired!" The king's large hand grasped Celeborn and began sliding lowly up and down his length. The heat of his palm was magnified by the contrast with the cool water, and the possibility of being caught at any minute added a delicious frisson to the mixture.
"Release me--someone will see!"
"I'm glad that is your only objection!" Thranduil not only did not release him, but slid a hand around his wet buttocks to draw him closer, kneading the flesh as he went with evident enjoyment. His other hand continued its work, causing Celeborn to lose all hope of controlling his reaction. He glanced about, but no one was in view. Of course, that didn't mean anything; Thranduil's elves could move as silently as cats.
"Thranduil . . . "
"Oh don't worry--they are far too busy to pay attention to us, and anyway, when did you become such a prude? I heard some stories about you before your marriage that . . . "
"That was a long time ago." Celeborn gasped at the combined sensation of his swollen erection being massaged skillfully in front while the king's finger slid into him from behind.
"Old skills are never forgotten," Thranduil said piously, before sinking his teeth into Celeborn's earlobe. Celeborn returned the favour, biting the king's shoulder a few seconds later to keep from screaming aloud as he came and alerting everyone to what was happening. Thranduil jerked slightly in surprise. "Based on our, er, previous encounter, I didn't think you liked it rough. However, glad to oblige," he commented, before pushing Celeborn up against the bank and spreading his legs with a practised motion of his knee. His teeth nipped up Celeborn's ear to mangle the sensitive point, then dropped to attack his neck. Those big warm hands spread his buttocks easily and a second later a cool substance trickled down between them. It was soon being massaged deep within him as Thranduil's questing fingers went back to work.
"Where . . . where did you get that . . . "
Celeborn heard a throaty chuckle before the digits were withdrawn and replaced by a much larger, hotter intrusion. "It is actually . . . hair pomade . . . but useful . . . for so many . . . other things . . . "
"So your secret is out," Celeborn managed to gasp, as he began to be pounded strongly into the dirt of the bank. So much for his bath. Oh well, he would just have gotten dirty again anyway . . .
* * *
TBC
Author: Rune Dancer
Rating: R
Paring: Thranduil/Celeborn/Elrond; Elrohir/Glorfindel; Haldir/Gildor; Elladan/Orophin
Disclaimer: I own nothing, except the plotline.
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.
* * *
Elrohir looked suspiciously at Erestor. His father's chief councilor was wearing his innocent face, all big dark eyes and a sanctimonious expression, which was never a good sign. On the other hand, he did have a point. "But what if he really doesn't know? What if he just sits there and picks at his nails or something? I am not going to baby sit that . . . that traitorous son of an orc while you two face the mines alone!"
"I am not suggesting that you do. But none of us wants to take the main entrance, do we? And he DOES know another way in, Elrohir, I'm convinced of it."
"And yet you couldn't get him to tell you?" After the scenes he had witnessed in Lorien, Elrohir found it difficult to imagine Erestor failing to obtain any information he wanted from anyone, especially a coward liked Tuor.
"I AM persuading him to tell us. There are many ways to attain your desires, Elrohir; as you grow older you will learn that not everything requires a sword. I am simply choosing a different method for this job, one that will give us the information we want faster than forcing it out of him. Not that that doesn't have a certain appeal . . . "
"So you'll do it?" Glorfindel broke in. Elrohir regarded his lover thoughtfully. His blue eyes were large and hopeful, and for some reason he looked ridiculously young at the moment. Elrohir was tempted to ask him why he claimed to be in love with someone whom he obviously believed a half-wit, but refrained. It would only insure him a chance to become very well acquainted with a tree, at least until he could slip out of the layers of rope Glorfindel would use to tie him to it. As Erestor said, there were many ways of attaining one's desires.
"All right, but this had better work."
"It will." Erestor looked appropriately solemn, but a relieved smile broke out over Glorfindel's face. Honestly, Elrohir thought in amazement, someone really needed to give him a few lessons in deception. On the other hand, it was rather nice being able to read him so easily. Odd how love could change one's perceptions; not so long ago, Glorfindel had been as difficult for him to read as anyone else. "Just wait for us to leave, then watch him closely," Erestor continued. "As soon as he makes his move, follow him until you see where the entrance is, then come and get us."
"And you'll be waiting where you said, just past the bend?"
"Absolutely." Erestor's eyes never wavered, and his tone was firm. Elrohir almost smiled. He was good.
"Very well, Erestor, this shouldn't take long." Elrohir managed to look sulky while happily contemplating tying Tuor to a tree as soon as the group departed, then following them at a distance. There was no way they were leaving him behind. Just because Glorfindel had somehow persuaded Lord Ulmo to resurrect him once didn't mean it would happen again, and Elrohir firmly intended to insure that it wasn't necessary. His lover had already been wounded once protecting him, and that was more than enough.
The little band shouldered their weapons and disappeared over the ledge where, as Elrohir knew perfectly well, they would not wait for him at all. He did not have much time to deal with Tuor, but he needed to make sure the others were out of earshot first. Gagging Tuor would be easy enough, but the three wounded elves who remained behind would certainly cut up rough about it. Glorfindel was the idol of most young elves, be they from Imladris or no, and they had assured him with shining eyes that they would carefully watch Elrohir. He had not been able to hear their professions of loyalty, but he hadn't needed to do so--the narrowed glances they sent his way had told the tale clearly enough. Fortunately, two of them were staying behind because of leg injuries, making it unlikely that they could follow him when he ran off. The other had lost a large amount of blood from a knife wound in the stomach, and although not in any real danger, would not be performing any heroics for some time. They could still use their lungs, however, so Elrohir sat himself on a fallen tree trunk and concentrated on cleaning his sword while he counted off the seconds.
It was just as he was nearing four hundred, and debating how much more of a lead he could afford to give them, when he noticed something. Tuor twitched. It wasn't an obvious movement--indeed, the other elves did not seem to have remarked on it at all--but it was definitely a twitch. Watching him as Erestor had taught him to do, without being obvious, Elrohir saw him glance repeatedly at the mouth of the cave. Now, this was a problem. Did he stick with the original plan and follow the group off to the main entrance, which they would likely reach in less than an hour, or did he stay and keep an eye on Tuor? He was virtually certain Erestor had been lying, but there was always the off chance that he hadn't, and even if he HAD, it didn't mean that he was wrong. Tuor might actually be up to something, and if so, it was only fair that Elrohir give him a chance to try his luck. Then he'd tie him to a tree and leave the others to shoot arrows at him.
Having arranged things to his satisfaction, Elrohir got up and moved over to the wounded, keeping his back to Tuor, who was seated some distance away. While murmuring encouragement at the trio, checking their wounds and giving them more miruvor, Elrohir nonetheless kept his senses attuned to Tuor, whom he soon heard rise, stretch, and walk casually towards the cave as if it was a perfectly natural thing for an elf to do. Elrohir gave him a few seconds' head start, then just as casually followed him. This might prove interesting after all.
* * *
Celeborn collapsed on the limb of a particularly high tree, absolutely exhausted. He could never remember running so far so fast in all his life, and honestly thought he might faint. He would have liked to move to the ground, as his position sprawled along the limb was a bit precarious in his current state, but he had used the last of his strength climbing the cursed thing to begin with and didn't have the energy. He hadn't known Thranduil's crazy scheme was likely to kill him!
The branch shook slightly as the Mirkwood ruler settled himself beside Celeborn's head. Celeborn wanted to make a sarcastic comment about the king's appearance, which was, infuriatingly enough, as pristine as always except for a few stray splatters of orc blood. He even had the perfect line--that he'd never before believed the reports that Mirkwood elves actually used shellac on their hair, but was revising his opinion--but unfortunately did not have the extra breath to deliver it. Elbereth, but he now knew it was possible to die from exhaustion!
"Have some miruvor, Celeborn--you look awful." Thranduil tried to pass him a flask, but Celeborn weakly waved it away. Why waste a precious drink on a dying elf? "Come now, stop acting like you're half dead. It was a good run! You should get out of that conference hall of yours more often--you're getting soft!" Thranduil didn't wait for a reply, which was just as well as Celeborn's throat had almost closed up in rage, but dragged his head into his lap and poured enough miruvor down him to cause him to choke.
"Would you stop that!" Celeborn sputtered and wheezed, his words largely garbled as he tried to avoid asphyxiation, but Thranduil must have understood for he let up trying to drown him.
"Then sit up and look about. Isn't this perfect? My spies told me about this place long ago, but I've never had the chance to see it myself until now. Glorious!" Thranduil slapped his thigh, thankfully not the one on which Celeborn's head was pillowed, and grinned down at him. "Then again, you do look comfortable," he commented, combing his fingers through the slightly tangled silver mass that spread across his legs. From this angle he was all teeth and big green eyes, although those sensual lips were also nicely in view, especially when they unexpectedly descended on his. Celeborn shifted, wondering how many of his elves were witnessing this and might chance to mention it in his wife's hearing, then Thranduil's tongue slipped past his lips and he momentarily forgot to care.
Thranduil had kissed him before, of course, on one very memorable occasion, but his memories of that night were hazy. He had felt very strange the next morning and still had half a suspicion that Elrond had drugged him, but was unable to prove anything. In any case, he had tried to put it from his mind as much as possible, as he had given his word not to require revenge, and recent events had helped by giving him numerous other things to think about. Now, however, he decided that he probably should have worried about the king's intentions, but that talented tongue gave him no chance to protest as it curled sensually around his. He told himself that he could always plead exhaustion to Galadriel.
"Why did you do that?," he asked in what he hoped was a casual manner when, his lengthy exploration finally complete, Thranduil released him. Or, at least, he allowed him to breathe once more, but the big warm hand on his chest stayed where it was, insuring that Celeborn remained trapped in the king's lap.
"Because I felt like it. Don't you ever do things just because you want to?"
Celeborn winced. The last few times that had happened, he had ended up tied to Elrond's bed in an extremely humiliating manner, then hung suspended upside down while being molested by two drunk elf lords. He had since decided that spontaneity might not be his style. "Not usually."
"Well that's your problem! You should get out more. Come to the Greenwood sometime, and I'll show you about. We'll have a grand time!" As Thranduil's hand was currently sliding down his chest in a rather obvious manner, Celeborn did not bother trying to resist a smirk. He wondering if the king had a duplicate of Erestor's infernal wheel tucked away in those extensive dungeons of his; he wouldn't put it past him. "I think we should deal with the situation at hand before planning holiday arrangements, don't you?"
Thranduil sighed, and stopped his exploration. "Someone should loosen you up sometime," he muttered, taking a drink from his flask. At least, that was what Celeborn thought he heard, but when he indignantly asked him to repeat the statement, Thranduil merely smiled and agreed that they needed to get on with their mission.
The two dropped to the ground a few minutes later, feeling somewhat refreshed for their brief rest and drink, but Celeborn was still unsteady on his feet. He was frankly amazed that Thranduil did not appear to be so as well, for they had covered a good thirty miles at an all out run, something that had left even the more fit elves gasping for breath. However tired they all were, they had at least accomplished their goal of reaching the obscure Pallas Pass ahead of the orcish army, which would probably not arrive until dawn at the earliest. When it did, it would get a rather large surprise, assuming that it did not change direction before then, and that the elves' strength held out for the colossal task ahead.
"To work!" Thranduil rubbed his hands together in glee, seemingly unfazed by the chore to be completed. Celeborn was less sanguine, especially once he noticed the state of his tunic, which was torn, blood spattered and sweat soaked. Oh well, it would be in even worse shape by dawn, by which time he'd probably resemble and orc himself, while Thranduil would no doubt look precisely the same.
The king began pointing out to the elves, who were reluctantly pulling themselves back to their feet, where to begin, making rapid calculations of the optimum points from sight alone. Celeborn stood and watched him, waiting for his heart rate to drop to something approaching normal, and was rather surprised when it didn't seem so inclined. Thranduil strode about, the sun gleaming on his golden hair, white teeth flashing as he laughed and chatted with his elves, clapping this one on the back for making a good suggestion, joking with another about the number of orcs they would obliterate in the morning, while his sharp green eyes searched the rocky hill on which they stood for the best possible vantage points. It was an impressive display, even Celeborn had to admit, but it did not explain his current blood pressure.
"Thranduil, can I get your opinion on something?" He had waited for the elves to be employed some distance away before disturbing the king, who looked as if he was having a splendid time ordering everyone about. Celeborn had located a small stream, which fed into the much larger River Gladden not far away, and was attempting to wash out his clothes. He hated being dirty, as all elves did, but his current state bordered on filthy and he simply could not put up with it any longer. He had pulled off his tunic, which he did not intend to ever put on again, and his shirt, which he was scrubbing on a rock.
"What is it?" Thranduil's voice came from behind him, and Celeborn smiled. Be more spontaneous, hm? Do things just because you feel like it? The king would regret giving him that advice.
"Look here, what do you make of this?" Celeborn pointed out a spot in the shallows, and as soon as Thranduil leaned over for a look, he gave that firm backside a strong push. Thranduil made a good effort to maintain his balance, but toppled over after a brief struggle, landing face first in the bubbling stream. He emerged a few seconds later, dripping wet and wearing a small, wiggling fish in his hair. Celeborn couldn't help himself; he collapsed in laughter on the bank, some of the tension of the past few days evaporating as he saw the grand king of Mirkwood with his perfect coiffure plastered to his skull. "At last! I finally. . . know what it takes . . . to mess up that hair of yours," he gasped out between chuckles. Thranduil just sat there, water dripping off his nose, and waited until Celeborn's laughter ran its course.
"I can think of more pleasant ways to do that," he commented softly after Celeborn had calmed down, then launched himself at him with no warning. Thranduil over came Celeborn's desperate attempts to clutch at the few patches of grass on the rocky bank, and pulled him kicking and squirming into the stream. "You are a disgrace to elvin kind, do you know that?," he demanded, dunking Celeborn under the swiftly moving waters. "I have known men who are cleaner after a day's battle! You smell like an orc." After dunking him several more times, Thranduil ruthlessly stripped him of his sodden leggings and tossed them onto the bank out of reach. "Now we will see about restoring some of that famed beauty and grace of yours, before the orcs are able to smell you ten miles away and take another route!"
"Let me go, you . . . " Celeborn's demand was interrupted by another dunk and by the feeling of Thranduil's hands sliding over his body. His heart immediately sped up again, and he realised he had a problem, for the water was not nearly cold enough to prevent a rather obvious reaction to the king's ministrations, something Thranduil was not slow to notice.
"Ah, what do we have here? And I thought you were tired!" The king's large hand grasped Celeborn and began sliding lowly up and down his length. The heat of his palm was magnified by the contrast with the cool water, and the possibility of being caught at any minute added a delicious frisson to the mixture.
"Release me--someone will see!"
"I'm glad that is your only objection!" Thranduil not only did not release him, but slid a hand around his wet buttocks to draw him closer, kneading the flesh as he went with evident enjoyment. His other hand continued its work, causing Celeborn to lose all hope of controlling his reaction. He glanced about, but no one was in view. Of course, that didn't mean anything; Thranduil's elves could move as silently as cats.
"Thranduil . . . "
"Oh don't worry--they are far too busy to pay attention to us, and anyway, when did you become such a prude? I heard some stories about you before your marriage that . . . "
"That was a long time ago." Celeborn gasped at the combined sensation of his swollen erection being massaged skillfully in front while the king's finger slid into him from behind.
"Old skills are never forgotten," Thranduil said piously, before sinking his teeth into Celeborn's earlobe. Celeborn returned the favour, biting the king's shoulder a few seconds later to keep from screaming aloud as he came and alerting everyone to what was happening. Thranduil jerked slightly in surprise. "Based on our, er, previous encounter, I didn't think you liked it rough. However, glad to oblige," he commented, before pushing Celeborn up against the bank and spreading his legs with a practised motion of his knee. His teeth nipped up Celeborn's ear to mangle the sensitive point, then dropped to attack his neck. Those big warm hands spread his buttocks easily and a second later a cool substance trickled down between them. It was soon being massaged deep within him as Thranduil's questing fingers went back to work.
"Where . . . where did you get that . . . "
Celeborn heard a throaty chuckle before the digits were withdrawn and replaced by a much larger, hotter intrusion. "It is actually . . . hair pomade . . . but useful . . . for so many . . . other things . . . "
"So your secret is out," Celeborn managed to gasp, as he began to be pounded strongly into the dirt of the bank. So much for his bath. Oh well, he would just have gotten dirty again anyway . . .
* * *
TBC