LotR fic repost - A Waterproof Arrangement
Title: A Waterproof Arrangement
Author: Eremir
Pairings: Thranduil/Glorfindel
Rating: NC17
Wordcount: ~7,900
Summary: Glorfindel is left to baby-sit a very grumpy king. What happens when his patience runs out?
Warnings: Smut, PWP
Disclaimer: All characters, names and places belong to Tolkien; I’m merely having my way with them and will bring them back alive and unspoiled.
Notes: Written for the Library of Moria Water Challenge, April 2005.
Beta’d by the insatiable half_elf_lost.
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Glorfindel was tired. So very tired. It had been a long week of meetings and councils, and as Elrond’s seneschal he had been forced to attend every single one. The Mirkwood party had been the most difficult. King Thranduil had only contempt for the Noldor in Imladris, and he was trying to broker unfair compromises in the trade negotiations. The Sindarin ruler had exhausted everyone. Glorfindel had not even tried to hide his relief when he heard that the king was leaving. But that changed.
Thranduil wanted to go home, but insisted his advisors stay and finish the negotiations. The advisors and Elrond however did not want the Sinda to travel through perilous woods alone, and was adamant that he take a warrior with him. And who was the most able warrior in Imladris? Glorfindel. Of course.
So here he was somewhere in the wild, riding side by side with the elf he despised more than anyone on Arda. With every turn Thranduil complained, questioned the Elda’s intelligence, insulted Elrond’s wisdom, nagged about travel time, asked about routes... This would not end well. Glorfindel’s patience was running out, and it was running out fast. Just when he thought he would snap and throw himself on his own sword to escape the constant malcontent, it started to rain. It was as if the sky itself cracked open from Glorfindel’s frustration, and released a downpour unlike anything the world had ever seen.
“Well, this is wonderful,” the king said sarcastically. “If we had stopped back at the glade when I said, we would have shelter now.”
“You were the one who was in such a terrible hurry to get home!” Glorfindel snapped. “Let’s just keep riding, shall we?”
“Don’t talk back to me, blondie,” Thranduil said calmly and rode past the seneschal. “This is your mess. Not mine.”
Glorfindel boiled with fury, but restrained himself. Killing the King of Mirkwood would not please Lord Elrond. So they rode on through the cold pouring rain, their hair and clothes soaking all the way to their skin. The cold water seeped through cloaks and tunics, leather and boots, until the elves were almost hanging over their horses, shivering. Glorfindel could not remember feeling this miserable since his rebirth, but at least Thranduil was quiet.
They rode through an area where the trees were scarce and the soil was lush and porous. Under the heavy rainfall, grass turned to mud and the horses sank deeper with every step until the brown slush reached halfway up their shins. Glorfindel could see that the poor beasts were exhausted. It was impossible for them to walk carrying riders as well as weapons and fully packed bags.
“We have to stop,” Glorfindel yelled over the deafening noise of the rain. “The horses cannot take any more of this.”
“You should have thought about that before you pressed them to continue,” Thranduil yelled back and dismounted.
Glorfindel did the same. Instantly his feet sank in the mud, and as he tried to walk he nearly lost his boots in the suction. Never had he experienced such vicious mud. There was a tree with wide branches a few yards to the left, so he tried to steer his horse towards it. It would provide for some shelter against the rain. He stumbled and fell to his knees several times, and cursed internally at the Valar for bringing this weather upon them, but it eased his suffering to see that Thranduil was having the same hardships.
When he finally reached the tree he found his footing and stood up straight to wipe the rain and spattered mud from his face. Thranduil was already leaning against the trunk, giving him a venomous stare. Glorfindel focused on his horse. The two beasts quickly settled and rested below the tree, hanging their heads toward the ground in exhaustion. Glorfindel then had no choice. He was stuck with the king as his only companion.
“Are you all right, my lord?” he asked politely, trying to keep his tone friendly.
“I am wet, I am cold, I have mud up to my chin and I am stuck in the middle of nowhere with you. How do you think I am?”
“Suit yourself then!” Glorfindel snarled and tore his soaked cloak off, throwing it on the ground. The king raised an eyebrow and made a haughty face.
“Well, I’m certainly delighted I let you tag along,” he sneered.
“Let’s get one thing straight,” Glorfindel said and raised his finger at Thranduil. “I would never have come by my own free will. The only reason I am here is because Lord Elrond begged me to. To protect you! Why? I have no idea.”
“Don’t point your finger at me, blondie,” Thranduil said calmly. “I think it’s quite obvious by now how well Elrond is able to judge such a matter. I would have gotten along much better without you.”
'That’s it,' Glorfindel thought. Before Thranduil had a chance to react, the Elda grabbed him by his jerkin and threw him on his back in the mud. Glorfindel triumphantly straddled the king, whose vision was now impaired due to the rain that fell on his face. The seneschal held his wrists firmly down and leaned over him to shelter his head from the rainfall. He wanted to look the king in the eye.
“And what will this accomplish?” Thranduil said in the same annoyingly calm tone. Glorfindel glared at him.
“I loathe you,” he said passionately. “I think you’re the most abhorrent elf ever to be born into this world. If it wasn’t for the sheer respect I have for my lord, I would spit in your face.” His grip tightened around the Sinda’s wrists, and he never let go the gaze of those insolent green eyes.
“Do that,” Thranduil threatened, “and I’ll have your head.”
“You are not in any position to make threats, my lord,” Glorfindel hissed. “I could piss all over you and there is not a thing you could do about it.”
The king’s eyes widened just a fraction, and to Glorfindel that was victory. Thranduil actually believed he was capable of something like that? The seneschal slowly straightened up and let go of the king’s wrists, leaving him once again fully exposed to the rain. He figured he had taught him a lesson. He got up and walked back towards the tree, trying to brush his dripping wet hair from his face with muddy hands. That’s when the attack came.
Thranduil had gotten up quicker and more silently than Glorfindel had anticipated, and he was surprised from behind. The king locked an arm around the seneschal’s throat, holding on in an attempt to cut off his air supply. Glorfindel tried to throw the Sinda off balance, but it backfired, and he ended up face down in the mud. Finding a firm place to plant his knee, he was able to flip them over on their backs, and with a sharp elbow to the ribs the Elda made Thranduil drop his hold.
Scrambling to their hands and knees in the deep mud, the two elves launched at each other. Thranduil got hold of a handful of dirty hair, and tried to push Glorfindel’s head to the ground. The seneschal grunted with pain, and his increasing fury gave him the strength to push Thranduil over on his back again. Just when the Elda thought he had the upper hand he received a gritty swat of mud straight in the eyes. Before he could recover, he was overpowered.
Glorfindel couldn’t move. The king appeared to be sitting on his chest. Rain fell on his face, clearing his sight, and he blinked the mud away from sore eyes.
“Perhaps I should piss on you now,” Thranduil said, still panting from the intense fight.
“Do what you want,” said Glorfindel, nearly sobbing with defeat.
Thranduil held his position for long moments, letting the rain rinse some of the dirt from his clothes. With the seneschal’s arms pinned under his legs, the king had his hands free to stroke his hair out of the way. Tilting his head towards the sky he washed his hands and face in the heavy downpour. When he looked back down, the Elda was still there. Defeated.
Glorfindel had trouble breathing, but tried his hardest not to let the king see. At last, Thranduil took pity on him and stood. Before the seneschal could even sit up straight, the king had put a boot to his chest and pushed him back to the ground. Glorfindel didn’t even try to put up a fight. Thranduil looked like he had something he wanted to say. His lips moved in hesitation. In the end he said nothing, but removed his foot from Glorfindel’s chest and stomped back to the tree.
Glorfindel shakily got to his hands and knees and gazed after the Sinda. For the next few minutes he sat in the mud, watching the king remove some of his clothes and get comfortable under the tree. It was really uncomfortable being wet and cold, but there was no way he would crawl back to Thranduil and have his nightmare start all over again. He would rather admit himself defeated and sit right where he was the entire night.
An hour passed, and Glorfindel had been so focused on staring at the same spot on the ground that he barely noticed that the rain was letting up. The puddle he sat in reached nearly to his waist, and his legs had gone completely numb. The rain had almost stopped when he finally looked up. Scarce droplets still fell, but a ray of sunshine breached the clouds and made them all shimmer of gold.
“Enough of this,” said a warm and friendly voice behind him, and he started, surprised that he hadn’t heard the king approach.
A warm, dry blanket was laid over his shoulders, and he was briskly pulled to his feet. Thranduil held a strong arm around his shoulders and helped him get back to the shelter of the tree. Glorfindel felt utterly pathetic. The king had made quite a cosy retreat under the branches of the wide tree, and as he sat back against the trunk he pulled the Elda with him. Glorfindel did not object, but sat down quietly between Thranduil’s long legs. The tall Sinda made sure the blanket was wrapped tightly around the cold body, and then pulled him into a warm embrace.
Glorfindel tensed, the side of his face resting against the king’s chest. But in his ear the drumming of a strong heart slowly calmed him, and he relaxed in Thranduil’s arms. The warmth and the soft comfort was astonishing, and to his own surprise he snuggled closer to the infuriating king.
The next time Glorfindel opened his eyes the skies were once again grey, and rain spattered against the forest floor. It was not a heavy rain like before, but enough to deter him from any thoughts of getting back in the saddle. He realized shortly that he was still lying in Thranduil’s arms. How long had it been? How long had he slept?
“It will be dark soon,” the king’s voice came out of nowhere, as if he could read minds.
Glorfindel decided to sit up and risk a glance at the elf that he so despised. Thranduil looked very much at peace. Calm and relaxed he looked back at the seneschal. Glorfindel should have been happy that the king was no longer harassing him, but the humiliation was still fresh in his memory. He felt wet, even though his clothes had dried considerably. He felt even more uncomfortable and annoyed than he had before. And now Thranduil was being nice? Glorfindel did not buy it.
“Is something wrong?” the king asked.
“You are what’s wrong!” Glorfindel snapped. “Everything about you is wrong!”
Thranduil sighed deeply. “Do not start this again, Glorfindel.”
The seneschal was surprised to hear his name from the king’s lips. It was definitely the first time in many days.
“Oh. I started this, did I?” Glorfindel felt even more furious when the king rolled his eyes at him. “Do you think a few moments of being nice will make up for centuries of cruelty?”
Now, this if anything got Thranduil’s attention. “Cruel? You think I am cruel?!”
“You,” Glorfindel glared at him, “are a haughty, mean despot who cares for nothing and no one other than yourself. And you have the stomach to call yourself a king...”
Thranduil lost his temper, and made quick use of his earlier moves, throwing Glorfindel to the ground and straddling his chest. But he did it more forcefully this time, clenching his hands around the Elda’s throat.
“I AM a king!” he roared. “I am responsible for an entire realm, an entire people, and I have sacrificed everything to serve them! My wife, time with my children, privacy...I gave it up for them, and you call me selfish? What do you do all day, I wonder? Play swordfight with your friends? Perhaps strolling through the gardens or socializing with the young maidens between patrols is on your agenda? Unfortunately, I have no such luxuries, so excuse me if I’m not always in such a cheery mood!”
With this the king briskly stood, leaving Glorfindel on the ground, coughing and clasping his sore neck. The seneschal sat up to catch his breath, while Thranduil, irritated, seated himself on the blankets by the trunk of the tree. Glorfindel felt more miserable than ever. He stayed still for a while, thinking of what to say and waiting for his throat to stop wheezing. Perhaps the king was not as mean as Glorfindel had always perceived him. Maybe he was just unhappy.
Glorfindel thought back to all those times he had been furious with the king, telling Elrond exactly what he thought of the Sinda. But Elrond had always defended Thranduil and gone out of his way to please him, which was something Glorfindel had never understood. Nothing made sense anymore. After he was reborn nothing had seemed simple, but he thought he had figured everything out. He thought he knew where he stood.
At last he crawled back to Thranduil’s side and sat down next to him, looking at him. Wondering what was really going on inside his regal head. Of course, he had wondered that before, but not in a very respecting sense. He had always thought the king’s eyes to be cold and emotionless, but now that he really looked, he saw that they were sad.
“Forgive me,” the king said and looked regretfully at Glorfindel. “It was not my intent to hurt you.”
“It’s all right,” Glorfindel answered hoarsely. “I have lived through worse.”
The king chuckled reluctantly. “Yes, I suppose you have.”
“May I ask you a question, sire?” he said and looked sincerely at the Sinda. “Why were you in such a hurry to leave the councils? Why go home in the middle of the trade negotiations?”
Thranduil sighed and looked at his hands, which were folded in his lap. “I was hoping to spend some time with my son,” the king said sadly. “I feel as though I missed his entire childhood, and now it’s too late. He is a grown elf already. Tall and beautiful. He’s quite skilled with the bow, you know.” A proud expression graced Thranduil’s green eyes, and Glorfindel smiled.
“So I’ve heard,” he said.
The two elves sat quietly below the branches of the great tree. All that was heard was the gentle murmur of the rain with the occasional snort from one of the horses. Glorfindel did not know what else to say. The king probably had his reasons for being irritable and spiteful, but he had this way about him that pushed Glorfindel’s temper to its limits. The seneschal thought it best to be quiet, and so the elves did not say another word to each other for the entire night. Glorfindel stood guard over the king’s sleeping form for long hours, but when dawn was imminent he granted himself an hour of restless sleep.
“Wake up,” said a harsh voice, and a foot nudged him in the ribs. “Or would you rather sleep all day as well?” Thranduil sounded very displeased. Glorfindel blinked the sleep from his eyes, and the once again grumpy Sinda glared down at him. “I thought you were going to stand watch.”
“I did. All night,” Glorfindel defended himself, and stood up.
“Obviously,” the king said sarcastically.
Glorfindel clenched his teeth and bit down the insult. He did not want to fight with Thranduil another day. The beginnings of a headache pounded in his brain, and the still-wet clothing clutched irritatingly to his skin. As he tended to his horse, Thranduil packed up camp. The sky was a dark grey, but no rain yet fell. The elves were both in a rotten mood and as they began walking, their horses treaded the ground nervously, worried they might further displease their masters. Glorfindel noticed how every time he exhaled Asfaloth would twitch, and this irritated him even more.
The elven boots quickly soaked, and walking with wet feet did nothing to lighten the mood. The ground got slightly firmer as they passed through darker woods, and they silently mounted their horses and rode quietly for a couple of miles. Trees once again grew scarce as they reached lower ground, and finally they approached what were to be hard soiled fields. Glorfindel knew this place. There is no way the ground could have turned to mud here.
Turning to ride around the last hill, Glorfindel looked forward to see open land. Instead he was met by a lake. A mirror of water covered the entire field, and stretched as far as the eye could see both right and left. Dejectedly, Glorfindel dismounted and went to stand by the water’s edge. He knew what was coming, and mentally braced himself.
“Well, this was a good idea,” the king’s voice sounded behind him. “What brilliance do you have in store next?”
Glorfindel turned his head and glared at Thranduil. “Why don’t you just shut that hole in your face before I do it for you,” he snarled and looked back at the water.
“You have an expertise in shutting holes, do you?” Thranduil asked smugly, and Glorfindel felt the hairs stand up at the back of his neck.
The seneschal tightened his grip on the reins, and the white horse twitched nervously, trying to back away from the water. The Elda closed his eyes, slowly counting to ten in his mind. When he opened them again he turned to the king.
“We can probably wade across. I don’t think it’s very deep.”
“And I suppose I am to take your word for that?” Thranduil asked. He came to stand by the seneschal, and made an inviting gesture towards the dark lake. “After you, my lady.”
Glorfindel clenched his teeth so hard that his jaw ached. He had to use all his willpower not to swat Thranduil in the face. Dragging along a frightened Asfaloth, he waded into the water. After a few yards the surface was level with his bootleg, and seemed to stay that way. He looked back to see a reluctant king following. They walked slowly, feeling their way forward on the slippery bottom. The muddy brown water did not let them see where they were treading.
They were nearing the halfway point when suddenly the king’s horse was spooked by something in the water. It whinnied and moved frantically from side to side. Thranduil tried to calm the frightened beast, but it tore free and galloped back for the shore. The Sinda glared at Glorfindel, as if it was somehow his fault. The seneschal kept walking, not caring either way how Thranduil got his horse back. The king saw this, and hurried to stop him. He reached out to grab the Elda’s shoulder, but before he could say anything they both plummeted under the water as if the bottom had suddenly ceased to exist.
A startled Asfaloth ran to follow his friend ashore, while two very wet elves struggled to stay afloat in the muddy water. The surprise had caused them both to swallow the vile liquid, and they coughed in unison as they paddled back to shallow ground. On their stomachs in the murky water, they panted for breath.
“Any more bright ideas?” Thranduil growled.
“Yes!” Glorfindel said defiantly, pushing the Sinda over in the water. “I’m going home. You can stay here and drown for all I care.”
With this he tried to get up, but the king would not let him. Thranduil had an iron grip on his arm. Glorfindel struggled to free himself, and inadvertently helped the king to his feet. The elves glared at each other with lethal eyes. Finally the seneschal was able to push the Sinda away and stomp back towards the shore, utterly soaked. He knew that the king was right behind him, and kept a watchful ear pointed in his direction. Elven feet slashed through the brown slush as they approached land.
Glorfindel was so focused on not being attacked from behind again, that he forgot to pay attention to where he was stepping. His foot got caught on a root, and he tripped, falling on his hands and knees in the water. At once the angered Sinda was on him, and for the third time Glorfindel found himself on his back and straddled by a furious king. He snarled in frustration. The water was only finger deep, but it was no more comfortable.
“You mean to say that not only are you useless and clumsy, but you are a coward, a traitor, and a liar as well?” Thranduil said, gripping the other elf’s wrists tightly.
“I am none of those things!” Glorfindel shouted. “I am loyal and trustworthy, but you will not see that! You treat me as though I were the scum of the earth. What did I ever do to deserve your hatred?”
“What did I do to deserve yours?”
Glorfindel had no answer to that, but instead launched a new effort to free himself. He bucked under the king, and for a split moment Thranduil lost his poise, leaving the seneschal enough room to manoeuvre. Glorfindel flipped them over, and found himself flat on top of the wet Sinda in the shallow water. Not knowing why, he grabbed a fistful of blond hair and established a painful hold on Thranduil’s head, leaving him utterly immobile. The poisonous stares exchanged between them would have deterred anyone who tried to intervene.
The moment appeared frozen in time. Glorfindel felt their chests heave together. Their breaths on each other’s faces. Thranduil’s legs clamped around his hips. His warrior heart pounding a dreadful rhythm in his eardrums. Glorfindel looked at Thranduil. Thranduil looked at Glorfindel. And then their mouths clashed together, lips and tongues engaged in vicious combat, battling for dominance. Sindarin fingers clawed at the fabric that covered the Elda’s back. The seneschal pressed their hips together, drawing from the king a pleased whimper, which he swallowed greedily.
Glorfindel felt a rush of blood to his groin and grew rock hard in his leggings. His mouth against Thranduil’s was probably the last thing he had ever expected to happen, but there it was, kissing the king with great urgency. He surrendered his tongue to the Sinda, allowing him to draw it in and suckle it. The seneschal groaned appreciatively, and thrust his hips against Thranduil, feeling the bulge in his leggings meet the king’s.
As if synchronised, the two began tearing at each other’s clothes. Glorfindel was the quickest, easily ripping open the king’s tunic and exposing the white torso. He dove in instantly, biting and sucking the pale flesh. The Sinda struggled to push wet cloth over wide shoulders, but was distracted by an assault to his right nipple. He groaned, arching his back to push up against that warm, hardworking mouth. But Glorfindel’s hands were not idle. They easily undid royal leggings while the mouth was otherwise engaged.
Snaking out of his tunic in record time, the Elda threw himself back down on top of Thranduil, kissing his way up the slender neck and the flushed cheek. He moved to lash his tongue in a pointed ear. The king gave an aroused yelp, and clutched the seneschal’s face in his hands, turning his attention back to the king’s mouth. Glorfindel moaned, and yielded his tongue to the delicate ministrations of the Sindarin ruler. Arms wrapped tight around each other, they kissed with ferocious need.
Somewhere in the distance, rumbling thunder tore at the sky, and broke the suspense of the rain clouds. Droplets fell on Glorfindel’s bare back, at first scarce, but growing more numerous in time with the elves’ heavy panting. Royal hands travelled the plains of the warrior’s back, as if to discover every muscle and bone before they were washed away by the rain. Soon the downpour began, massacring the still surface of the lake and splashing brown water onto the white bodies in its embrace.
Glorfindel was aroused out of his mind. One of his hands fisted in delicate fabric, ripping the cloth from Thranduil’s hips. The king did not seem to mind. In fact, he kissed the seneschal with greater rapture than before. Glorfindel broke the kiss and violently shredded the last of the Sinda’s clothing, leaving him completely naked. Had there been time, Glorfindel would have stopped to appreciate the beautiful pale body in the dirty water. He would have cast his gaze on every visible inch, and felt his way over the rest. But there was no time. If he stopped now, the moment would be over.
He fell back onto the king, making sure to grind him as far down into the muddy bottom as he could. Two fists firmly snagged in the royal braiding, Glorfindel roughly pressed their mouths together for a deep, enduring kiss, almost teeth on teeth in its ferociousness. The Sinda grunted something, but with the roaring rain and the drumming pulse in his ears, it was something Glorfindel could shamelessly ignore.
The seneschal suddenly had an urge to see if the king’s sceptre was any match for his own sword, and reached down into the darkness between their bodies. The king gave a flustered yelp and nearly thrust out of the water. Glorfindel quickly smothered him with lips and tongue, catching every whimper as he teased the sensitive flesh between Thranduil’s legs.
“How is that for a ‘brilliant idea’?” Glorfindel growled, and squeezed the base of the king’s erection until he screamed with need.
The Sinda’s head thrown back gave the seneschal a new opportunity to kiss and suck the pale neck. He worked his way over the jaw and cheek, stopping to stick his tongue in a perfect ear shell.
“You’ve been there already,” Thranduil growled back, causing the Elda to pause. “Can’t you think of somewhere new to stick your tongue?”
A fresh rush of anger surged through the seneschal, and he bit down hard on the king’s neck, bruising the flawless skin and drawing chains of curses from its owner. In combination with a squeeze to the soft sac, Glorfindel thought he had taught the pretty Sinda to keep his pretty mouth shut. As soon as he found his prisoner complying, his fingers travelled lower, creeping into the wet cleft. The king suddenly held his breath in anticipation, and Glorfindel could not resist an ear-to-ear grin. Thranduil had his eyes shut tight and his face turned away, but Glorfindel refused to do the same. He wanted to see every subtle shift in the elf’s features as the seneschal took control of his desire.
Glorfindel lay still, his chest pressed tightly against Thranduil’s, his fingertips hovering at the entrance to the king’s body, and his eyes watching closely the Sindarin face. The seneschal waited under the slowing rainfall, waited for the moment when Thranduil could no longer hold his breath. When that moment came, and air fled from the king’s lungs, Glorfindel pushed inside.
Green eyes flashed open, the entire body stiff in response. Two questing digits pushed and pulled at the tender opening, drawing gasp after gasp from the flushed king. Still, Thranduil would not look at his conqueror. Glorfindel tried to find the deeply hidden nerves that would make the king yield and surrender without question, but in the position they were in there was not much room to move.
Glorfindel’s own leggings were getting unbearably tight, and with the king’s ragged breathing in his ear, chance was that his erection would simply force a hole in the strong fabric. The Elda was going to have his way with Thranduil, and it would not be through a barrier of cloth. It was time to change positions.
Fingers left the warm body below, causing whimpers to fall from royal lips. If by relief or disappointment, Glorfindel did not know, and neither did he care. Distracting the Sinda with another bite to the neck, the seneschal repositioned their legs so that he could straddle the arrogant king. When he was sitting comfortably on his prey his fist returned to the dirty wet hair, giving it a hard pull so that he could stare into those infuriated green eyes.
“Turn over,” he ordered hoarsely. “Now!”
Thranduil eyed him suspiciously, but did as he was told, the fisted hand never leaving his blond locks. The king slowly shifted, turning on his stomach while grunting from the discomfort at the back of his head. The seneschal put his weight back down on the Sinda and leaned over to whisper hot breath into his ear.
“Good boy. Now, spread those legs.”
If by any chance the king thought of objecting, Glorfindel gave a hard tug at his hair to deter him. Thranduil yelped, complying instantly, and allowed the Elda room between his long limbs. The seneschal could not help himself but thank the king sarcastically, and then push his flawless face into the wet ground. The right side of the Sinda’s face became submerged in the brown liquid, but he could still breathe through the side of his mouth, so Glorfindel saw no reason to let him up yet.
Thranduil’s hands fisted in mud, sand, and stone, but he made no attempt to struggle. A strong hand kept the king’s head down while the other removed leggings and boots, leaving naked legs to settle between those of the king. A rush of power filled the veins of the seneschal. The intoxicating feeling of complete control over another. Lying down over his subject, he ran the length of his erection in the wet cleft, watching goose bumps spread over the skin on Thranduil’s back. The body below him shivered as he touched it, the final admittance that he had ultimate power over it. He could bring it to ecstasy if he wanted. He could break it if he wished. Which desire was greater, Glorfindel was in no state to decide, so the decision was left to his straining arousal.
Slowly, Glorfindel let go of the tousled hair, allowing the king to raise his head and spit out the dirty water that inexorably had found its way into his mouth. A sparkling green eye glared over one shoulder, but not a word was uttered, so the seneschal wondered what the glare was about. Thranduil turned away, seemingly bracing himself, but remaining silent. Glorfindel took the opportunity to gloat, planting a playful kiss on a pointed ear. That got the king’s attention, but just as he turned to snarl at the seneschal Glorfindel rammed his erection into the awaiting body.
All prospect of snarling forgotten, Thranduil cried out from the sudden intrusion, driving his nails into the skin of his palms. The Elda chuckled smugly to himself, but quickly ceased when a powerful muscle squeezed his length until white spots danced before his eyes. Glorfindel knew the Sinda had done it on purpose, and gave a hard thrust to retaliate. Thranduil yelped, but surprisingly began to push back against the seneschal. Using all the force he could muster, Glorfindel pushed himself as far inside the king as his body would allow, pressing the panting elf into grimy soil. A desperate groan bounced off the surface of the water, but the Elda could not tell from which one of them it had originated.
Far away over the mountains lightning brightened the sky, but the thunder that arrived long seconds later held no importance in elven ears. Glorfindel’s only focus was the tight warmth that enveloped his aching member, rendering him unable to breathe. He lay heavily on his foe, hands gripping at the mud and sand beneath them. Had he not been so lost in sensation he might have noticed the quiver in the body below his chest. He might have heard the pleading whimpers from the king’s lips. But he did not. The Sinda began panting, frustrated from lack of action.
“Are you actually going to do something, or simply lie there like the useless bag of waste you are?” he growled at the seneschal, pushing his hips up in challenge.
Glorfindel screamed in anger and sank his teeth into a white shoulder. The king gave a painful cry, a violent trembling racing through his limbs. The Elda held still until the elf was quiet and hovering his face just above the surface of muddy water. He released the tender flesh from his jaws and licked it soothingly. Although the king had driven his fists deep into the mud, Glorfindel was able to find them and clasp them in his own before delivering a shallow thrust. He watched delighted how Thranduil trembled even worse than before. He leaned forward to purr into the slightly red ear.
“Don’t tell me what to do, blondie.”
Waiting an extra moment for dramatic effect, he made sure he had gotten his point across. Lacing his fingers with the king’s, he attained leverage for his first thrust. He began setting a slow, murdering pace, knowing it would drive the Sinda mad within minutes. Sure enough, after only a few repetitive motions, the king was wailing with frustration and gripping Glorfindel’s fingers until they turned white at the knuckles. The seneschal would have felt self-content, had there been room for any other feelings in his body. Now there was only room for the slow, simmering pleasure in his groin and the growing ache that roamed his loins.
Finally, Glorfindel himself could no longer stand the slow pace. Picking up speed, he thrust his hips against Thranduil’s rear, the slapping of flesh against flesh only increased by the rain that trickled down their bodies. The king met every thrust with one of his own, pushing back against the seneschal with great urgency. The tight passage held Glorfindel’s shaft in a deadly grip, pushing his arousal to new heights. A low-pitched throaty groan emanated from the king as he swayed with the movements of the Elda, but it was clear that Glorfindel was not hitting the spot. This frustrated him, because he did not know how much longer he would last. It would be the ultimate embarrassment if he came before the king was even halfway.
Untangling his hands and moving them to Thranduil’s hips, he tried to force them into a better angle. To his astonishment, the king was eager to help, bracing his knees in the wet soil and lifting his hindquarters for Glorfindel’s convenience. The Sinda appeared determined to get his fair share. They started moving again, in perfect symbiosis, matching each other for speed. Glorfindel gave it his all, using every trick he knew to locate the bundle of nerves that hid in the depths of his unlikely lover. But still, nothing more than excited whimpers left the king’s throat. The Elda fought for a better grip on the slippery, wet elf.
Muscles quivered and shook the seneschal’s limbs. His frantic pace did nothing to increase the response in his lover. Glorfindel felt like giving up. Nearly sobbing with frustration, his release suspended and denied, he was no longer able to keep up the speed of his thrusts. He nuzzled the dripping hair that clung to Thranduil’s back, not sure what to do to satisfy him.
“Is that the best you can do?” Thranduil’s voice was strained, trying to sound spiteful, but not entirely successful. “If you start something, finish it! Or would you rather have a little nap?”
Glorfindel released a war cry unlike anything he had ever known himself to do, grabbing the blasted elf and throwing him to the ground, ramming himself inside with brutal force. The king threw his head back and howled at the black sky, scaring Glorfindel into believing he had gone too far. He stilled and paused for long moments, afraid to move in case he had hurt the Sinda. The king panted.
“Are you trying to kill me!?” There was a squeak in Thranduil’s voice as he yelled.
“I’m sorry...”
“Just shut up and get moving or I swear you will return to Rivendell in seven pieces. Move!”
With new determination, Glorfindel wrapped his arms around the slightly smaller elf and thrust hard into dark heat. He felt a jerk in the other body as the head of his erection hit the elusive target. Thranduil cried out once more and grabbed onto the arms that held him. The seneschal easily picked up the pace, hitting the spot with every move, leaving the king a whimpering moaning pile of nerves in his embrace. The unrelenting rain kept falling on the elves, a pair of frantic lovers in a sea of brown and grey. Their cries of passion drowned out the thunder on the horizon, and the ripples they caused on the water travelled from shore to shore.
Glorfindel thrust his hips as if his life depended on it, driving Thranduil’s pelvis hard into the ground. The king tried to hold up his end, but it was useless. He clasped the seneschal’s hands and held onto them, whimpering helplessly. The panting Sinda was almost too arousing for Glorfindel’s sanity to cope, but somehow he did.
“Harder! Can you not go harder!?”
The king’s command made him quiver. He knew his outmost point had been reached, but tried nonetheless to please the desperate elf. Even though he trembled terribly, he slid one of his hands over Thranduil’s stomach, reaching for where his leaking length was sure to hide. He was not able to make much of a pumping movement, but at least his touch seemed to have effect. His arms felt like they had turned to steel, holding the king to his chest in a cramped manner, as if worried he might escape. The Sinda groaned loudly with every inward move, thrusting into Glorfindel’s hand.
It felt like an age before Thranduil finally snapped, screaming out his orgasm as his body tensed in Glorfindel’s arms. The point of entrance suddenly constricted around the invasive erection, clamping down on it with sheer murder and forcing a pained cry from its owner as he let go of all his pent up desire. Glorfindel came hard, a raging surge of energy rushing to his groin and exploding with such force he thought for a split second it had killed him. He shot his essence deep into the warm body that quivered beneath him, and felt the same release from Thranduil in his hand. Hot spurts ghosted over his fingers before disintegrating and disappearing in the cool water below them.
Waves of ecstasy were replaced by heavy fatigue, and both bodies fell limp in the newborn lake, one on top of the other. They panted in unison, neither willing nor able to move at all. A light drizzle of rain was all that remained in the air when Glorfindel’s eyes no longer saw.
----------------
A breeze swept through the trees, stirring the leaves into soft song. Somewhere a bird was calling out at the sunrise. Stripes of bright orange and vibrant pink were reflected in the surface of still water. The only thing that moved was a slowly heaving chest that lay flat against the cold ground.
Glorfindel had to force his eyes open, as the lids seemed to be attached to each other. Blinking a few times, he tried to remember where he was. He lay on his stomach in shallow water, head resting on his arm. To his left was a vast mirror of morning sky that met the mountains on the horizon. As he raised his head to look up, he groaned from the stiffness in his neck. His hair, heavy with wetness, rose up like a curtain over the right side of his face. The elf leaned on his elbows, inspecting the surroundings. The shore was only a few yards away and in the bushes stood two horses, grazing happily as if they had not a care in the world. From nowhere came a hand that lifted the heavy curtain of blond hair from Glorfindel’s face.
“Good morning,” said the smiling king.
Thranduil was lying on his back beside the Elda, his wet golden tresses fanned out around his shoulders in a perfect image of beauty. Glorfindel could not find his voice, but merely stared at the breathtaking elf. The king gently pushed the seneschal’s hair out of the way, so that they could look at each other without obstructions. The back of long fingers caressed the warrior’s cheek in a manner that spoke of great affection, but Glorfindel knew that could not be. To his own surprise, that knowledge stung his heart like a poisonous dagger. The king received a worried frown.
“What is the matter?” he asked, stroking the seneschal’s face with more determination.
Glorfindel looked away, not entirely sure what to answer. This caused the king to raise himself from his position, laying an arm around the Elda’s shoulders and bringing their faces close together. Green eyes fixed on blue, searching them for answers.
“You regret what happened.”
It was more a statement than a question, but it made Glorfindel finally find his voice.
“No. I do not.” It was true. When he thought about it, he had no regrets about yesterday’s events. It wasn’t planned, that was for certain, and it was completely unexpected. But he did not regret it. “Do you?”
“Of course not,” Thranduil said, grinning. “Best lay I’ve had in centuries.”
The king, satisfied with hearing Glorfindel’s voice, slipped back into the water and resumed his previous position, caressing the warrior’s pale cheek with idle fingers. He gazed up at the brightening sky, looking quite peaceful. The seneschal had trouble wrapping his mind around it. None of this seemed real. The King of Mirkwood was never peaceful. He was a vicious, arrogant despot, was he not? Glorfindel looked purposefully at the Sinda.
“I thought you despised me.”
The king chuckled and turned his eyes to him. “You thought wrong, my friend.” Friend? Glorfindel was no friend of his. They hated each other. Didn’t they?
“You try hard enough to make me angry,” he said accusingly.
“Ah,” the king grinned. “That’s because you’re so beautiful when you’re angry.”
A hand found the back of Glorfindel’s neck, pulling him into a deep, sensuous kiss. The seneschal moaned contentedly into Thranduil’s mouth, moving his arms to embrace him. When the kiss broke, he gazed into deep, green eyes and wondered what was really going on behind them. The king’s mind appeared to have a hidden agenda, for one should not assume that Thranduil was an elf foolish enough to act regardless of consequence. This was a clever elf who knew exactly what he was doing. So what was he doing?
“I like you, Glorfindel,” he said, his fingertips gently playing with the hairs at the nape of the warrior’s neck. “I have always liked you.”
“Why?” Glorfindel asked. “I have only ever treated you with irreverence and disrespect. Why would you like me?”
“Because you’re not afraid of me, Glorfindel. You do not cower when I raise my voice. You do not bend at my every command. But most of all you have hated me. Hated me without secrecy or concealment. I am amazed at how long you let me walk all over you. It seems that you fear Elrond more than you fear me.”
Glorfindel thought about it for a moment. He did fear Elrond. He feared he would let the Peredhel down, disappoint him. He held no loyalty to the King of Mirkwood, and therefore had nothing to fear. It explained certain things.
“Imagine, Glorfindel, that everyone around you spent all their time trying to please you. Trying to keep you happy at all costs, even if it meant sacrificing their pride, dignity and personal interests, simply because they feared what might happen if they did not. Like you were some monster that needed to be fed so as not to go mad and slay everyone in sight. I may be a hard ruler and I may be too proud at times, but I’m still just an elf. And sometimes...I need those around me to be just elves as well. Not servants, not subjects, not nodding heads or submissive fools. Just elves. Friends.”
It had never occurred to Glorfindel that the king was lonely. In a way he found it hard to understand, but in another way he knew exactly what it felt like. He himself had been to Mandos and back, learning to live a second time, and there was no one around him who understood. None of his ‘friends’ who could help. None who shared his loneliness. It was the opposite of Thranduil’s predicament. He had lots of friends, but none who gave their all to keep him happy.
He looked sadly into green eyes, shaking his head to himself. “We are as night and day, you and I,” he said regretfully. The king looked away, hurt obvious on his face. Glorfindel carefully placed a chaste kiss on the perfect Sindarin lips, caressing the pale face. “I will be your friend, Thranduil, if you will be my submissive fool.”
The king smiled, pulling the seneschal in to rest their foreheads together. “Night and day, hmm?”
“Uh-huh,” Glorfindel nodded slightly, rubbing his nose against Thranduil’s. “Always meeting in perfect harmony at nightfall and dawn.”
“Are you going to get poetic on me, blondie?” the king teased, receiving a hard pinch to his side. “Ow!”
“Don’t call me that!”
Thranduil giggled and pulled Glorfindel in for a playful kiss, groaning exaggeratedly. Glorfindel humoured the king, kissing him back with all the passion in his being. They may not have been made for each other, but at least it would make for an interesting relationship.
The sun was high by the time the two elves left the water. Not risking to scare their horses again, they decided to take the long way around the lake. It didn’t really matter. They were not in a hurry anymore.
Author: Eremir
Pairings: Thranduil/Glorfindel
Rating: NC17
Wordcount: ~7,900
Summary: Glorfindel is left to baby-sit a very grumpy king. What happens when his patience runs out?
Warnings: Smut, PWP
Disclaimer: All characters, names and places belong to Tolkien; I’m merely having my way with them and will bring them back alive and unspoiled.
Notes: Written for the Library of Moria Water Challenge, April 2005.
Beta’d by the insatiable half_elf_lost.
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Glorfindel was tired. So very tired. It had been a long week of meetings and councils, and as Elrond’s seneschal he had been forced to attend every single one. The Mirkwood party had been the most difficult. King Thranduil had only contempt for the Noldor in Imladris, and he was trying to broker unfair compromises in the trade negotiations. The Sindarin ruler had exhausted everyone. Glorfindel had not even tried to hide his relief when he heard that the king was leaving. But that changed.
Thranduil wanted to go home, but insisted his advisors stay and finish the negotiations. The advisors and Elrond however did not want the Sinda to travel through perilous woods alone, and was adamant that he take a warrior with him. And who was the most able warrior in Imladris? Glorfindel. Of course.
So here he was somewhere in the wild, riding side by side with the elf he despised more than anyone on Arda. With every turn Thranduil complained, questioned the Elda’s intelligence, insulted Elrond’s wisdom, nagged about travel time, asked about routes... This would not end well. Glorfindel’s patience was running out, and it was running out fast. Just when he thought he would snap and throw himself on his own sword to escape the constant malcontent, it started to rain. It was as if the sky itself cracked open from Glorfindel’s frustration, and released a downpour unlike anything the world had ever seen.
“Well, this is wonderful,” the king said sarcastically. “If we had stopped back at the glade when I said, we would have shelter now.”
“You were the one who was in such a terrible hurry to get home!” Glorfindel snapped. “Let’s just keep riding, shall we?”
“Don’t talk back to me, blondie,” Thranduil said calmly and rode past the seneschal. “This is your mess. Not mine.”
Glorfindel boiled with fury, but restrained himself. Killing the King of Mirkwood would not please Lord Elrond. So they rode on through the cold pouring rain, their hair and clothes soaking all the way to their skin. The cold water seeped through cloaks and tunics, leather and boots, until the elves were almost hanging over their horses, shivering. Glorfindel could not remember feeling this miserable since his rebirth, but at least Thranduil was quiet.
They rode through an area where the trees were scarce and the soil was lush and porous. Under the heavy rainfall, grass turned to mud and the horses sank deeper with every step until the brown slush reached halfway up their shins. Glorfindel could see that the poor beasts were exhausted. It was impossible for them to walk carrying riders as well as weapons and fully packed bags.
“We have to stop,” Glorfindel yelled over the deafening noise of the rain. “The horses cannot take any more of this.”
“You should have thought about that before you pressed them to continue,” Thranduil yelled back and dismounted.
Glorfindel did the same. Instantly his feet sank in the mud, and as he tried to walk he nearly lost his boots in the suction. Never had he experienced such vicious mud. There was a tree with wide branches a few yards to the left, so he tried to steer his horse towards it. It would provide for some shelter against the rain. He stumbled and fell to his knees several times, and cursed internally at the Valar for bringing this weather upon them, but it eased his suffering to see that Thranduil was having the same hardships.
When he finally reached the tree he found his footing and stood up straight to wipe the rain and spattered mud from his face. Thranduil was already leaning against the trunk, giving him a venomous stare. Glorfindel focused on his horse. The two beasts quickly settled and rested below the tree, hanging their heads toward the ground in exhaustion. Glorfindel then had no choice. He was stuck with the king as his only companion.
“Are you all right, my lord?” he asked politely, trying to keep his tone friendly.
“I am wet, I am cold, I have mud up to my chin and I am stuck in the middle of nowhere with you. How do you think I am?”
“Suit yourself then!” Glorfindel snarled and tore his soaked cloak off, throwing it on the ground. The king raised an eyebrow and made a haughty face.
“Well, I’m certainly delighted I let you tag along,” he sneered.
“Let’s get one thing straight,” Glorfindel said and raised his finger at Thranduil. “I would never have come by my own free will. The only reason I am here is because Lord Elrond begged me to. To protect you! Why? I have no idea.”
“Don’t point your finger at me, blondie,” Thranduil said calmly. “I think it’s quite obvious by now how well Elrond is able to judge such a matter. I would have gotten along much better without you.”
'That’s it,' Glorfindel thought. Before Thranduil had a chance to react, the Elda grabbed him by his jerkin and threw him on his back in the mud. Glorfindel triumphantly straddled the king, whose vision was now impaired due to the rain that fell on his face. The seneschal held his wrists firmly down and leaned over him to shelter his head from the rainfall. He wanted to look the king in the eye.
“And what will this accomplish?” Thranduil said in the same annoyingly calm tone. Glorfindel glared at him.
“I loathe you,” he said passionately. “I think you’re the most abhorrent elf ever to be born into this world. If it wasn’t for the sheer respect I have for my lord, I would spit in your face.” His grip tightened around the Sinda’s wrists, and he never let go the gaze of those insolent green eyes.
“Do that,” Thranduil threatened, “and I’ll have your head.”
“You are not in any position to make threats, my lord,” Glorfindel hissed. “I could piss all over you and there is not a thing you could do about it.”
The king’s eyes widened just a fraction, and to Glorfindel that was victory. Thranduil actually believed he was capable of something like that? The seneschal slowly straightened up and let go of the king’s wrists, leaving him once again fully exposed to the rain. He figured he had taught him a lesson. He got up and walked back towards the tree, trying to brush his dripping wet hair from his face with muddy hands. That’s when the attack came.
Thranduil had gotten up quicker and more silently than Glorfindel had anticipated, and he was surprised from behind. The king locked an arm around the seneschal’s throat, holding on in an attempt to cut off his air supply. Glorfindel tried to throw the Sinda off balance, but it backfired, and he ended up face down in the mud. Finding a firm place to plant his knee, he was able to flip them over on their backs, and with a sharp elbow to the ribs the Elda made Thranduil drop his hold.
Scrambling to their hands and knees in the deep mud, the two elves launched at each other. Thranduil got hold of a handful of dirty hair, and tried to push Glorfindel’s head to the ground. The seneschal grunted with pain, and his increasing fury gave him the strength to push Thranduil over on his back again. Just when the Elda thought he had the upper hand he received a gritty swat of mud straight in the eyes. Before he could recover, he was overpowered.
Glorfindel couldn’t move. The king appeared to be sitting on his chest. Rain fell on his face, clearing his sight, and he blinked the mud away from sore eyes.
“Perhaps I should piss on you now,” Thranduil said, still panting from the intense fight.
“Do what you want,” said Glorfindel, nearly sobbing with defeat.
Thranduil held his position for long moments, letting the rain rinse some of the dirt from his clothes. With the seneschal’s arms pinned under his legs, the king had his hands free to stroke his hair out of the way. Tilting his head towards the sky he washed his hands and face in the heavy downpour. When he looked back down, the Elda was still there. Defeated.
Glorfindel had trouble breathing, but tried his hardest not to let the king see. At last, Thranduil took pity on him and stood. Before the seneschal could even sit up straight, the king had put a boot to his chest and pushed him back to the ground. Glorfindel didn’t even try to put up a fight. Thranduil looked like he had something he wanted to say. His lips moved in hesitation. In the end he said nothing, but removed his foot from Glorfindel’s chest and stomped back to the tree.
Glorfindel shakily got to his hands and knees and gazed after the Sinda. For the next few minutes he sat in the mud, watching the king remove some of his clothes and get comfortable under the tree. It was really uncomfortable being wet and cold, but there was no way he would crawl back to Thranduil and have his nightmare start all over again. He would rather admit himself defeated and sit right where he was the entire night.
An hour passed, and Glorfindel had been so focused on staring at the same spot on the ground that he barely noticed that the rain was letting up. The puddle he sat in reached nearly to his waist, and his legs had gone completely numb. The rain had almost stopped when he finally looked up. Scarce droplets still fell, but a ray of sunshine breached the clouds and made them all shimmer of gold.
“Enough of this,” said a warm and friendly voice behind him, and he started, surprised that he hadn’t heard the king approach.
A warm, dry blanket was laid over his shoulders, and he was briskly pulled to his feet. Thranduil held a strong arm around his shoulders and helped him get back to the shelter of the tree. Glorfindel felt utterly pathetic. The king had made quite a cosy retreat under the branches of the wide tree, and as he sat back against the trunk he pulled the Elda with him. Glorfindel did not object, but sat down quietly between Thranduil’s long legs. The tall Sinda made sure the blanket was wrapped tightly around the cold body, and then pulled him into a warm embrace.
Glorfindel tensed, the side of his face resting against the king’s chest. But in his ear the drumming of a strong heart slowly calmed him, and he relaxed in Thranduil’s arms. The warmth and the soft comfort was astonishing, and to his own surprise he snuggled closer to the infuriating king.
The next time Glorfindel opened his eyes the skies were once again grey, and rain spattered against the forest floor. It was not a heavy rain like before, but enough to deter him from any thoughts of getting back in the saddle. He realized shortly that he was still lying in Thranduil’s arms. How long had it been? How long had he slept?
“It will be dark soon,” the king’s voice came out of nowhere, as if he could read minds.
Glorfindel decided to sit up and risk a glance at the elf that he so despised. Thranduil looked very much at peace. Calm and relaxed he looked back at the seneschal. Glorfindel should have been happy that the king was no longer harassing him, but the humiliation was still fresh in his memory. He felt wet, even though his clothes had dried considerably. He felt even more uncomfortable and annoyed than he had before. And now Thranduil was being nice? Glorfindel did not buy it.
“Is something wrong?” the king asked.
“You are what’s wrong!” Glorfindel snapped. “Everything about you is wrong!”
Thranduil sighed deeply. “Do not start this again, Glorfindel.”
The seneschal was surprised to hear his name from the king’s lips. It was definitely the first time in many days.
“Oh. I started this, did I?” Glorfindel felt even more furious when the king rolled his eyes at him. “Do you think a few moments of being nice will make up for centuries of cruelty?”
Now, this if anything got Thranduil’s attention. “Cruel? You think I am cruel?!”
“You,” Glorfindel glared at him, “are a haughty, mean despot who cares for nothing and no one other than yourself. And you have the stomach to call yourself a king...”
Thranduil lost his temper, and made quick use of his earlier moves, throwing Glorfindel to the ground and straddling his chest. But he did it more forcefully this time, clenching his hands around the Elda’s throat.
“I AM a king!” he roared. “I am responsible for an entire realm, an entire people, and I have sacrificed everything to serve them! My wife, time with my children, privacy...I gave it up for them, and you call me selfish? What do you do all day, I wonder? Play swordfight with your friends? Perhaps strolling through the gardens or socializing with the young maidens between patrols is on your agenda? Unfortunately, I have no such luxuries, so excuse me if I’m not always in such a cheery mood!”
With this the king briskly stood, leaving Glorfindel on the ground, coughing and clasping his sore neck. The seneschal sat up to catch his breath, while Thranduil, irritated, seated himself on the blankets by the trunk of the tree. Glorfindel felt more miserable than ever. He stayed still for a while, thinking of what to say and waiting for his throat to stop wheezing. Perhaps the king was not as mean as Glorfindel had always perceived him. Maybe he was just unhappy.
Glorfindel thought back to all those times he had been furious with the king, telling Elrond exactly what he thought of the Sinda. But Elrond had always defended Thranduil and gone out of his way to please him, which was something Glorfindel had never understood. Nothing made sense anymore. After he was reborn nothing had seemed simple, but he thought he had figured everything out. He thought he knew where he stood.
At last he crawled back to Thranduil’s side and sat down next to him, looking at him. Wondering what was really going on inside his regal head. Of course, he had wondered that before, but not in a very respecting sense. He had always thought the king’s eyes to be cold and emotionless, but now that he really looked, he saw that they were sad.
“Forgive me,” the king said and looked regretfully at Glorfindel. “It was not my intent to hurt you.”
“It’s all right,” Glorfindel answered hoarsely. “I have lived through worse.”
The king chuckled reluctantly. “Yes, I suppose you have.”
“May I ask you a question, sire?” he said and looked sincerely at the Sinda. “Why were you in such a hurry to leave the councils? Why go home in the middle of the trade negotiations?”
Thranduil sighed and looked at his hands, which were folded in his lap. “I was hoping to spend some time with my son,” the king said sadly. “I feel as though I missed his entire childhood, and now it’s too late. He is a grown elf already. Tall and beautiful. He’s quite skilled with the bow, you know.” A proud expression graced Thranduil’s green eyes, and Glorfindel smiled.
“So I’ve heard,” he said.
The two elves sat quietly below the branches of the great tree. All that was heard was the gentle murmur of the rain with the occasional snort from one of the horses. Glorfindel did not know what else to say. The king probably had his reasons for being irritable and spiteful, but he had this way about him that pushed Glorfindel’s temper to its limits. The seneschal thought it best to be quiet, and so the elves did not say another word to each other for the entire night. Glorfindel stood guard over the king’s sleeping form for long hours, but when dawn was imminent he granted himself an hour of restless sleep.
“Wake up,” said a harsh voice, and a foot nudged him in the ribs. “Or would you rather sleep all day as well?” Thranduil sounded very displeased. Glorfindel blinked the sleep from his eyes, and the once again grumpy Sinda glared down at him. “I thought you were going to stand watch.”
“I did. All night,” Glorfindel defended himself, and stood up.
“Obviously,” the king said sarcastically.
Glorfindel clenched his teeth and bit down the insult. He did not want to fight with Thranduil another day. The beginnings of a headache pounded in his brain, and the still-wet clothing clutched irritatingly to his skin. As he tended to his horse, Thranduil packed up camp. The sky was a dark grey, but no rain yet fell. The elves were both in a rotten mood and as they began walking, their horses treaded the ground nervously, worried they might further displease their masters. Glorfindel noticed how every time he exhaled Asfaloth would twitch, and this irritated him even more.
The elven boots quickly soaked, and walking with wet feet did nothing to lighten the mood. The ground got slightly firmer as they passed through darker woods, and they silently mounted their horses and rode quietly for a couple of miles. Trees once again grew scarce as they reached lower ground, and finally they approached what were to be hard soiled fields. Glorfindel knew this place. There is no way the ground could have turned to mud here.
Turning to ride around the last hill, Glorfindel looked forward to see open land. Instead he was met by a lake. A mirror of water covered the entire field, and stretched as far as the eye could see both right and left. Dejectedly, Glorfindel dismounted and went to stand by the water’s edge. He knew what was coming, and mentally braced himself.
“Well, this was a good idea,” the king’s voice sounded behind him. “What brilliance do you have in store next?”
Glorfindel turned his head and glared at Thranduil. “Why don’t you just shut that hole in your face before I do it for you,” he snarled and looked back at the water.
“You have an expertise in shutting holes, do you?” Thranduil asked smugly, and Glorfindel felt the hairs stand up at the back of his neck.
The seneschal tightened his grip on the reins, and the white horse twitched nervously, trying to back away from the water. The Elda closed his eyes, slowly counting to ten in his mind. When he opened them again he turned to the king.
“We can probably wade across. I don’t think it’s very deep.”
“And I suppose I am to take your word for that?” Thranduil asked. He came to stand by the seneschal, and made an inviting gesture towards the dark lake. “After you, my lady.”
Glorfindel clenched his teeth so hard that his jaw ached. He had to use all his willpower not to swat Thranduil in the face. Dragging along a frightened Asfaloth, he waded into the water. After a few yards the surface was level with his bootleg, and seemed to stay that way. He looked back to see a reluctant king following. They walked slowly, feeling their way forward on the slippery bottom. The muddy brown water did not let them see where they were treading.
They were nearing the halfway point when suddenly the king’s horse was spooked by something in the water. It whinnied and moved frantically from side to side. Thranduil tried to calm the frightened beast, but it tore free and galloped back for the shore. The Sinda glared at Glorfindel, as if it was somehow his fault. The seneschal kept walking, not caring either way how Thranduil got his horse back. The king saw this, and hurried to stop him. He reached out to grab the Elda’s shoulder, but before he could say anything they both plummeted under the water as if the bottom had suddenly ceased to exist.
A startled Asfaloth ran to follow his friend ashore, while two very wet elves struggled to stay afloat in the muddy water. The surprise had caused them both to swallow the vile liquid, and they coughed in unison as they paddled back to shallow ground. On their stomachs in the murky water, they panted for breath.
“Any more bright ideas?” Thranduil growled.
“Yes!” Glorfindel said defiantly, pushing the Sinda over in the water. “I’m going home. You can stay here and drown for all I care.”
With this he tried to get up, but the king would not let him. Thranduil had an iron grip on his arm. Glorfindel struggled to free himself, and inadvertently helped the king to his feet. The elves glared at each other with lethal eyes. Finally the seneschal was able to push the Sinda away and stomp back towards the shore, utterly soaked. He knew that the king was right behind him, and kept a watchful ear pointed in his direction. Elven feet slashed through the brown slush as they approached land.
Glorfindel was so focused on not being attacked from behind again, that he forgot to pay attention to where he was stepping. His foot got caught on a root, and he tripped, falling on his hands and knees in the water. At once the angered Sinda was on him, and for the third time Glorfindel found himself on his back and straddled by a furious king. He snarled in frustration. The water was only finger deep, but it was no more comfortable.
“You mean to say that not only are you useless and clumsy, but you are a coward, a traitor, and a liar as well?” Thranduil said, gripping the other elf’s wrists tightly.
“I am none of those things!” Glorfindel shouted. “I am loyal and trustworthy, but you will not see that! You treat me as though I were the scum of the earth. What did I ever do to deserve your hatred?”
“What did I do to deserve yours?”
Glorfindel had no answer to that, but instead launched a new effort to free himself. He bucked under the king, and for a split moment Thranduil lost his poise, leaving the seneschal enough room to manoeuvre. Glorfindel flipped them over, and found himself flat on top of the wet Sinda in the shallow water. Not knowing why, he grabbed a fistful of blond hair and established a painful hold on Thranduil’s head, leaving him utterly immobile. The poisonous stares exchanged between them would have deterred anyone who tried to intervene.
The moment appeared frozen in time. Glorfindel felt their chests heave together. Their breaths on each other’s faces. Thranduil’s legs clamped around his hips. His warrior heart pounding a dreadful rhythm in his eardrums. Glorfindel looked at Thranduil. Thranduil looked at Glorfindel. And then their mouths clashed together, lips and tongues engaged in vicious combat, battling for dominance. Sindarin fingers clawed at the fabric that covered the Elda’s back. The seneschal pressed their hips together, drawing from the king a pleased whimper, which he swallowed greedily.
Glorfindel felt a rush of blood to his groin and grew rock hard in his leggings. His mouth against Thranduil’s was probably the last thing he had ever expected to happen, but there it was, kissing the king with great urgency. He surrendered his tongue to the Sinda, allowing him to draw it in and suckle it. The seneschal groaned appreciatively, and thrust his hips against Thranduil, feeling the bulge in his leggings meet the king’s.
As if synchronised, the two began tearing at each other’s clothes. Glorfindel was the quickest, easily ripping open the king’s tunic and exposing the white torso. He dove in instantly, biting and sucking the pale flesh. The Sinda struggled to push wet cloth over wide shoulders, but was distracted by an assault to his right nipple. He groaned, arching his back to push up against that warm, hardworking mouth. But Glorfindel’s hands were not idle. They easily undid royal leggings while the mouth was otherwise engaged.
Snaking out of his tunic in record time, the Elda threw himself back down on top of Thranduil, kissing his way up the slender neck and the flushed cheek. He moved to lash his tongue in a pointed ear. The king gave an aroused yelp, and clutched the seneschal’s face in his hands, turning his attention back to the king’s mouth. Glorfindel moaned, and yielded his tongue to the delicate ministrations of the Sindarin ruler. Arms wrapped tight around each other, they kissed with ferocious need.
Somewhere in the distance, rumbling thunder tore at the sky, and broke the suspense of the rain clouds. Droplets fell on Glorfindel’s bare back, at first scarce, but growing more numerous in time with the elves’ heavy panting. Royal hands travelled the plains of the warrior’s back, as if to discover every muscle and bone before they were washed away by the rain. Soon the downpour began, massacring the still surface of the lake and splashing brown water onto the white bodies in its embrace.
Glorfindel was aroused out of his mind. One of his hands fisted in delicate fabric, ripping the cloth from Thranduil’s hips. The king did not seem to mind. In fact, he kissed the seneschal with greater rapture than before. Glorfindel broke the kiss and violently shredded the last of the Sinda’s clothing, leaving him completely naked. Had there been time, Glorfindel would have stopped to appreciate the beautiful pale body in the dirty water. He would have cast his gaze on every visible inch, and felt his way over the rest. But there was no time. If he stopped now, the moment would be over.
He fell back onto the king, making sure to grind him as far down into the muddy bottom as he could. Two fists firmly snagged in the royal braiding, Glorfindel roughly pressed their mouths together for a deep, enduring kiss, almost teeth on teeth in its ferociousness. The Sinda grunted something, but with the roaring rain and the drumming pulse in his ears, it was something Glorfindel could shamelessly ignore.
The seneschal suddenly had an urge to see if the king’s sceptre was any match for his own sword, and reached down into the darkness between their bodies. The king gave a flustered yelp and nearly thrust out of the water. Glorfindel quickly smothered him with lips and tongue, catching every whimper as he teased the sensitive flesh between Thranduil’s legs.
“How is that for a ‘brilliant idea’?” Glorfindel growled, and squeezed the base of the king’s erection until he screamed with need.
The Sinda’s head thrown back gave the seneschal a new opportunity to kiss and suck the pale neck. He worked his way over the jaw and cheek, stopping to stick his tongue in a perfect ear shell.
“You’ve been there already,” Thranduil growled back, causing the Elda to pause. “Can’t you think of somewhere new to stick your tongue?”
A fresh rush of anger surged through the seneschal, and he bit down hard on the king’s neck, bruising the flawless skin and drawing chains of curses from its owner. In combination with a squeeze to the soft sac, Glorfindel thought he had taught the pretty Sinda to keep his pretty mouth shut. As soon as he found his prisoner complying, his fingers travelled lower, creeping into the wet cleft. The king suddenly held his breath in anticipation, and Glorfindel could not resist an ear-to-ear grin. Thranduil had his eyes shut tight and his face turned away, but Glorfindel refused to do the same. He wanted to see every subtle shift in the elf’s features as the seneschal took control of his desire.
Glorfindel lay still, his chest pressed tightly against Thranduil’s, his fingertips hovering at the entrance to the king’s body, and his eyes watching closely the Sindarin face. The seneschal waited under the slowing rainfall, waited for the moment when Thranduil could no longer hold his breath. When that moment came, and air fled from the king’s lungs, Glorfindel pushed inside.
Green eyes flashed open, the entire body stiff in response. Two questing digits pushed and pulled at the tender opening, drawing gasp after gasp from the flushed king. Still, Thranduil would not look at his conqueror. Glorfindel tried to find the deeply hidden nerves that would make the king yield and surrender without question, but in the position they were in there was not much room to move.
Glorfindel’s own leggings were getting unbearably tight, and with the king’s ragged breathing in his ear, chance was that his erection would simply force a hole in the strong fabric. The Elda was going to have his way with Thranduil, and it would not be through a barrier of cloth. It was time to change positions.
Fingers left the warm body below, causing whimpers to fall from royal lips. If by relief or disappointment, Glorfindel did not know, and neither did he care. Distracting the Sinda with another bite to the neck, the seneschal repositioned their legs so that he could straddle the arrogant king. When he was sitting comfortably on his prey his fist returned to the dirty wet hair, giving it a hard pull so that he could stare into those infuriated green eyes.
“Turn over,” he ordered hoarsely. “Now!”
Thranduil eyed him suspiciously, but did as he was told, the fisted hand never leaving his blond locks. The king slowly shifted, turning on his stomach while grunting from the discomfort at the back of his head. The seneschal put his weight back down on the Sinda and leaned over to whisper hot breath into his ear.
“Good boy. Now, spread those legs.”
If by any chance the king thought of objecting, Glorfindel gave a hard tug at his hair to deter him. Thranduil yelped, complying instantly, and allowed the Elda room between his long limbs. The seneschal could not help himself but thank the king sarcastically, and then push his flawless face into the wet ground. The right side of the Sinda’s face became submerged in the brown liquid, but he could still breathe through the side of his mouth, so Glorfindel saw no reason to let him up yet.
Thranduil’s hands fisted in mud, sand, and stone, but he made no attempt to struggle. A strong hand kept the king’s head down while the other removed leggings and boots, leaving naked legs to settle between those of the king. A rush of power filled the veins of the seneschal. The intoxicating feeling of complete control over another. Lying down over his subject, he ran the length of his erection in the wet cleft, watching goose bumps spread over the skin on Thranduil’s back. The body below him shivered as he touched it, the final admittance that he had ultimate power over it. He could bring it to ecstasy if he wanted. He could break it if he wished. Which desire was greater, Glorfindel was in no state to decide, so the decision was left to his straining arousal.
Slowly, Glorfindel let go of the tousled hair, allowing the king to raise his head and spit out the dirty water that inexorably had found its way into his mouth. A sparkling green eye glared over one shoulder, but not a word was uttered, so the seneschal wondered what the glare was about. Thranduil turned away, seemingly bracing himself, but remaining silent. Glorfindel took the opportunity to gloat, planting a playful kiss on a pointed ear. That got the king’s attention, but just as he turned to snarl at the seneschal Glorfindel rammed his erection into the awaiting body.
All prospect of snarling forgotten, Thranduil cried out from the sudden intrusion, driving his nails into the skin of his palms. The Elda chuckled smugly to himself, but quickly ceased when a powerful muscle squeezed his length until white spots danced before his eyes. Glorfindel knew the Sinda had done it on purpose, and gave a hard thrust to retaliate. Thranduil yelped, but surprisingly began to push back against the seneschal. Using all the force he could muster, Glorfindel pushed himself as far inside the king as his body would allow, pressing the panting elf into grimy soil. A desperate groan bounced off the surface of the water, but the Elda could not tell from which one of them it had originated.
Far away over the mountains lightning brightened the sky, but the thunder that arrived long seconds later held no importance in elven ears. Glorfindel’s only focus was the tight warmth that enveloped his aching member, rendering him unable to breathe. He lay heavily on his foe, hands gripping at the mud and sand beneath them. Had he not been so lost in sensation he might have noticed the quiver in the body below his chest. He might have heard the pleading whimpers from the king’s lips. But he did not. The Sinda began panting, frustrated from lack of action.
“Are you actually going to do something, or simply lie there like the useless bag of waste you are?” he growled at the seneschal, pushing his hips up in challenge.
Glorfindel screamed in anger and sank his teeth into a white shoulder. The king gave a painful cry, a violent trembling racing through his limbs. The Elda held still until the elf was quiet and hovering his face just above the surface of muddy water. He released the tender flesh from his jaws and licked it soothingly. Although the king had driven his fists deep into the mud, Glorfindel was able to find them and clasp them in his own before delivering a shallow thrust. He watched delighted how Thranduil trembled even worse than before. He leaned forward to purr into the slightly red ear.
“Don’t tell me what to do, blondie.”
Waiting an extra moment for dramatic effect, he made sure he had gotten his point across. Lacing his fingers with the king’s, he attained leverage for his first thrust. He began setting a slow, murdering pace, knowing it would drive the Sinda mad within minutes. Sure enough, after only a few repetitive motions, the king was wailing with frustration and gripping Glorfindel’s fingers until they turned white at the knuckles. The seneschal would have felt self-content, had there been room for any other feelings in his body. Now there was only room for the slow, simmering pleasure in his groin and the growing ache that roamed his loins.
Finally, Glorfindel himself could no longer stand the slow pace. Picking up speed, he thrust his hips against Thranduil’s rear, the slapping of flesh against flesh only increased by the rain that trickled down their bodies. The king met every thrust with one of his own, pushing back against the seneschal with great urgency. The tight passage held Glorfindel’s shaft in a deadly grip, pushing his arousal to new heights. A low-pitched throaty groan emanated from the king as he swayed with the movements of the Elda, but it was clear that Glorfindel was not hitting the spot. This frustrated him, because he did not know how much longer he would last. It would be the ultimate embarrassment if he came before the king was even halfway.
Untangling his hands and moving them to Thranduil’s hips, he tried to force them into a better angle. To his astonishment, the king was eager to help, bracing his knees in the wet soil and lifting his hindquarters for Glorfindel’s convenience. The Sinda appeared determined to get his fair share. They started moving again, in perfect symbiosis, matching each other for speed. Glorfindel gave it his all, using every trick he knew to locate the bundle of nerves that hid in the depths of his unlikely lover. But still, nothing more than excited whimpers left the king’s throat. The Elda fought for a better grip on the slippery, wet elf.
Muscles quivered and shook the seneschal’s limbs. His frantic pace did nothing to increase the response in his lover. Glorfindel felt like giving up. Nearly sobbing with frustration, his release suspended and denied, he was no longer able to keep up the speed of his thrusts. He nuzzled the dripping hair that clung to Thranduil’s back, not sure what to do to satisfy him.
“Is that the best you can do?” Thranduil’s voice was strained, trying to sound spiteful, but not entirely successful. “If you start something, finish it! Or would you rather have a little nap?”
Glorfindel released a war cry unlike anything he had ever known himself to do, grabbing the blasted elf and throwing him to the ground, ramming himself inside with brutal force. The king threw his head back and howled at the black sky, scaring Glorfindel into believing he had gone too far. He stilled and paused for long moments, afraid to move in case he had hurt the Sinda. The king panted.
“Are you trying to kill me!?” There was a squeak in Thranduil’s voice as he yelled.
“I’m sorry...”
“Just shut up and get moving or I swear you will return to Rivendell in seven pieces. Move!”
With new determination, Glorfindel wrapped his arms around the slightly smaller elf and thrust hard into dark heat. He felt a jerk in the other body as the head of his erection hit the elusive target. Thranduil cried out once more and grabbed onto the arms that held him. The seneschal easily picked up the pace, hitting the spot with every move, leaving the king a whimpering moaning pile of nerves in his embrace. The unrelenting rain kept falling on the elves, a pair of frantic lovers in a sea of brown and grey. Their cries of passion drowned out the thunder on the horizon, and the ripples they caused on the water travelled from shore to shore.
Glorfindel thrust his hips as if his life depended on it, driving Thranduil’s pelvis hard into the ground. The king tried to hold up his end, but it was useless. He clasped the seneschal’s hands and held onto them, whimpering helplessly. The panting Sinda was almost too arousing for Glorfindel’s sanity to cope, but somehow he did.
“Harder! Can you not go harder!?”
The king’s command made him quiver. He knew his outmost point had been reached, but tried nonetheless to please the desperate elf. Even though he trembled terribly, he slid one of his hands over Thranduil’s stomach, reaching for where his leaking length was sure to hide. He was not able to make much of a pumping movement, but at least his touch seemed to have effect. His arms felt like they had turned to steel, holding the king to his chest in a cramped manner, as if worried he might escape. The Sinda groaned loudly with every inward move, thrusting into Glorfindel’s hand.
It felt like an age before Thranduil finally snapped, screaming out his orgasm as his body tensed in Glorfindel’s arms. The point of entrance suddenly constricted around the invasive erection, clamping down on it with sheer murder and forcing a pained cry from its owner as he let go of all his pent up desire. Glorfindel came hard, a raging surge of energy rushing to his groin and exploding with such force he thought for a split second it had killed him. He shot his essence deep into the warm body that quivered beneath him, and felt the same release from Thranduil in his hand. Hot spurts ghosted over his fingers before disintegrating and disappearing in the cool water below them.
Waves of ecstasy were replaced by heavy fatigue, and both bodies fell limp in the newborn lake, one on top of the other. They panted in unison, neither willing nor able to move at all. A light drizzle of rain was all that remained in the air when Glorfindel’s eyes no longer saw.
----------------
A breeze swept through the trees, stirring the leaves into soft song. Somewhere a bird was calling out at the sunrise. Stripes of bright orange and vibrant pink were reflected in the surface of still water. The only thing that moved was a slowly heaving chest that lay flat against the cold ground.
Glorfindel had to force his eyes open, as the lids seemed to be attached to each other. Blinking a few times, he tried to remember where he was. He lay on his stomach in shallow water, head resting on his arm. To his left was a vast mirror of morning sky that met the mountains on the horizon. As he raised his head to look up, he groaned from the stiffness in his neck. His hair, heavy with wetness, rose up like a curtain over the right side of his face. The elf leaned on his elbows, inspecting the surroundings. The shore was only a few yards away and in the bushes stood two horses, grazing happily as if they had not a care in the world. From nowhere came a hand that lifted the heavy curtain of blond hair from Glorfindel’s face.
“Good morning,” said the smiling king.
Thranduil was lying on his back beside the Elda, his wet golden tresses fanned out around his shoulders in a perfect image of beauty. Glorfindel could not find his voice, but merely stared at the breathtaking elf. The king gently pushed the seneschal’s hair out of the way, so that they could look at each other without obstructions. The back of long fingers caressed the warrior’s cheek in a manner that spoke of great affection, but Glorfindel knew that could not be. To his own surprise, that knowledge stung his heart like a poisonous dagger. The king received a worried frown.
“What is the matter?” he asked, stroking the seneschal’s face with more determination.
Glorfindel looked away, not entirely sure what to answer. This caused the king to raise himself from his position, laying an arm around the Elda’s shoulders and bringing their faces close together. Green eyes fixed on blue, searching them for answers.
“You regret what happened.”
It was more a statement than a question, but it made Glorfindel finally find his voice.
“No. I do not.” It was true. When he thought about it, he had no regrets about yesterday’s events. It wasn’t planned, that was for certain, and it was completely unexpected. But he did not regret it. “Do you?”
“Of course not,” Thranduil said, grinning. “Best lay I’ve had in centuries.”
The king, satisfied with hearing Glorfindel’s voice, slipped back into the water and resumed his previous position, caressing the warrior’s pale cheek with idle fingers. He gazed up at the brightening sky, looking quite peaceful. The seneschal had trouble wrapping his mind around it. None of this seemed real. The King of Mirkwood was never peaceful. He was a vicious, arrogant despot, was he not? Glorfindel looked purposefully at the Sinda.
“I thought you despised me.”
The king chuckled and turned his eyes to him. “You thought wrong, my friend.” Friend? Glorfindel was no friend of his. They hated each other. Didn’t they?
“You try hard enough to make me angry,” he said accusingly.
“Ah,” the king grinned. “That’s because you’re so beautiful when you’re angry.”
A hand found the back of Glorfindel’s neck, pulling him into a deep, sensuous kiss. The seneschal moaned contentedly into Thranduil’s mouth, moving his arms to embrace him. When the kiss broke, he gazed into deep, green eyes and wondered what was really going on behind them. The king’s mind appeared to have a hidden agenda, for one should not assume that Thranduil was an elf foolish enough to act regardless of consequence. This was a clever elf who knew exactly what he was doing. So what was he doing?
“I like you, Glorfindel,” he said, his fingertips gently playing with the hairs at the nape of the warrior’s neck. “I have always liked you.”
“Why?” Glorfindel asked. “I have only ever treated you with irreverence and disrespect. Why would you like me?”
“Because you’re not afraid of me, Glorfindel. You do not cower when I raise my voice. You do not bend at my every command. But most of all you have hated me. Hated me without secrecy or concealment. I am amazed at how long you let me walk all over you. It seems that you fear Elrond more than you fear me.”
Glorfindel thought about it for a moment. He did fear Elrond. He feared he would let the Peredhel down, disappoint him. He held no loyalty to the King of Mirkwood, and therefore had nothing to fear. It explained certain things.
“Imagine, Glorfindel, that everyone around you spent all their time trying to please you. Trying to keep you happy at all costs, even if it meant sacrificing their pride, dignity and personal interests, simply because they feared what might happen if they did not. Like you were some monster that needed to be fed so as not to go mad and slay everyone in sight. I may be a hard ruler and I may be too proud at times, but I’m still just an elf. And sometimes...I need those around me to be just elves as well. Not servants, not subjects, not nodding heads or submissive fools. Just elves. Friends.”
It had never occurred to Glorfindel that the king was lonely. In a way he found it hard to understand, but in another way he knew exactly what it felt like. He himself had been to Mandos and back, learning to live a second time, and there was no one around him who understood. None of his ‘friends’ who could help. None who shared his loneliness. It was the opposite of Thranduil’s predicament. He had lots of friends, but none who gave their all to keep him happy.
He looked sadly into green eyes, shaking his head to himself. “We are as night and day, you and I,” he said regretfully. The king looked away, hurt obvious on his face. Glorfindel carefully placed a chaste kiss on the perfect Sindarin lips, caressing the pale face. “I will be your friend, Thranduil, if you will be my submissive fool.”
The king smiled, pulling the seneschal in to rest their foreheads together. “Night and day, hmm?”
“Uh-huh,” Glorfindel nodded slightly, rubbing his nose against Thranduil’s. “Always meeting in perfect harmony at nightfall and dawn.”
“Are you going to get poetic on me, blondie?” the king teased, receiving a hard pinch to his side. “Ow!”
“Don’t call me that!”
Thranduil giggled and pulled Glorfindel in for a playful kiss, groaning exaggeratedly. Glorfindel humoured the king, kissing him back with all the passion in his being. They may not have been made for each other, but at least it would make for an interesting relationship.
The sun was high by the time the two elves left the water. Not risking to scare their horses again, they decided to take the long way around the lake. It didn’t really matter. They were not in a hurry anymore.