FIC: Amorous Argentum (warning: explicit slash, NC-17)
A while back, I wrote a drabble entitled ‘ A False Alarm’ for aglarien1 when the poor dear was feeling ill. Many of the comments asked for further enlightenment on what it was that Erestor and Glorfindel stumbled into. I set up a poll (the post is here) to determine the public opinion on certain details. Here are the results from which I derived this story:
Poll Results
Lucky Lorien Elf to be paired with Elrond: Haldir, by a majority of 7 votes (50.0%)
Rating: NC-17 by an overwhelming majority of 8 votes (71.4%). Just goes to show what you folks are really after ^_^
Location: There was a tie between Divan and Bed here for a while, but some last-minute voters tipped the scale towards Bed (4 votes, 28.6%). However, I wanted to make it more exciting than the usual tumble on the bed, thus prompting the ‘Light Bondage’ warning for this story
(Optional) Words/phrases to include: I’m quite sure I got all of these, apologies if I missed any! It’s really interesting to look back and see just how much the narrative was affected by these words.
boz4pm -- "It's been far too long."
juno-magic -- ears
kenazfiction -- light on his back
erviniae -- The trees are large in Lothlorien!
rozzan -- suck
lanthirel -- ivory skin
glorfindel -- honey
betterthanmindy -- yess
Anyway, onto the story itself! This is what took place the night before 'A False Alarm'. I was going to add a transition scene at the end of this with Elrond glimpsing Erestor and Glorfindel, but it didn’t feel quite right with the ending I had already written, so just assume that Haldir and Elrond were up and playing again in the morning when E&G walked in.
Title: Amorous Argentum
Author: Etharei (west.for.winter AT gmail DOT com)
Find my stories: My LJ (A Single Shard upon the Shore); my personal archive ( Truth Is Missing)
Characters: Elrond/Haldir
Rating: NC-17
Warning: Light bondage (one piece of rope)
Disclaimer: None of the recognizable characters, names or places featured here belong to me. This is based on a work of fiction by Professor JRR Tolkien, and regardless of what present-day legalities say, in my mind they belong first and foremost to him.
Archive: OEAM, LoM, AFF; anyone interested is welcome to ask
Feedback: Will be greatly appreciated.
Summary: After a tiring day, Elrond finds a big surprise awaiting him in his bedroom. Pure PWP, really.
Author’s Notes: The long-promised companion piece to the drabble ‘A False Alarm’.
Traversing the unlit space of his sitting room towards the open door of his bedchamber, Elrond released a quiet sigh, finally allowing relief to wash over him. Since the departure of Celebrian, the small but stately private suite of the Lord of Imladris had become his nightly shrine, granting him sanctuary from his increasingly burdensome office. It was at these ends of long days that he missed his wife’s treasured company the most; sleep was a poor substitute for the elixir that her mere presence had been, yet his still-mending spirit had learned to appreciate what revival it brought.
There had been a time, beneath the ageless boughs of Lothlorien, when the night had contained considerably more than simple repose; but since his return to Rivendell those bliss-filled memories had acquired the hue of wispy dreams.
His current spate of weariness, however, had only descended upon him in the last few hours, which made it all the more sapping. The day had been spent mostly in high spirits, for Arwen had come home at last! Yet whilst he rejoiced in having his daughter within the Last Homely House once more, he privately dreaded these returns from Lothlorien, for it inevitably brought more plans, proposals, and general paper-work from the Lord and Lady of the Golden Wood, thereby ensuring that the chair in his study would be regularly occupied during the coming month. Even the small feast held that night in welcome of Arwen had been so condensed with tedious talk that Elrond had not been able to take notice of the Galadhrim guard that had escorted his daughter home, though they had been seated as guests of honour at the table.
Had he but spent a moment to take stock of its dozen members- thereby realising the presence of a specific Elf- he would not have dropped his jaw in sheer astonishment at the sight which greeted his arrival at his most private domain.
Open windows framed by stylized tree branches reaching up towards the star emblem of the House of Eärendil granted soft moonlight entrance into the room, which was dominated by a large four-poster bed nearly as old as its nightly burden and covered with detailed carvings. As Elrond’s eyes adjusted to the lack of light, his gaze was riveted on an Elf standing at the foot of said bed, his back to Elrond, his wrists tied together and his arms hung up by a slender silver cord. His eyes followed the cord, and saw that it had been fastened to a prominent, many-rayed star that marked the top centre of the canopy’s oak frame.
The patches of moonlight flickered as the branches of the live tree outside the building swayed in the breeze, so that the pattern of light falling upon the Elf changed continuously. At one instance of art composed by apparent chance, a sliver of silver began its path of illumination on a slender ankle, climbing steadily higher like an argent finger to caress a toned calf, the back of a knee, a strapping thigh, slithering to a rest on a firm and shapely and utterly bare buttock. Pale skin appeared to glow wherever the beams touched it; to Elrond’s enchanted eyes, the play of light and shadow made the Elf into more than mere a being of flesh, recalling the myths of seducing spirits that stole through the twilight of the Elder Days.
Taking an unsteady step forwards, the Master of Rivendell hazily remembered that his lungs had a fairly vital function. True to his healer’s heart, the first thought that managed to penetrate the obfuscation that had settled in his mind was that the Elf could not be very comfortable, trussed up in such a manner. On its heels arrived a second thought, which was more along the lines of an observation concerning the shining figure’s blatantly unclothed condition. His body absorbed the latter reflection with great approval, and it was the ensuing visceral reaction from certain parts of his anatomy that finally jolted him out of his state of shock.
“Haldir?” he called, finding that his voice had acquired a curious hoarseness.
The Elf turned to look over a shoulder, and normally pale eyes shone darkly at him with an enthralling concoction of amusement and invitation. “Lord Elrond,” the marchwarden greeted him in an affable tone, as if they were greeting one other in the hallway.
“What are you doing?” was what emerged from his mouth, but the rest of Lord Elrond felt like a separate entity. Having established that the other person was someone who did have a right to be in his room at this hour- albeit never before in such a situation- the son of Eärendil approached his bed until he stood directly behind the Lorien Elf, whose forced pose seemed to be an erotic mimicry of the arboreal motif fashioned into the window-frames. It took all of his power to not touch the flesh standing just within his reach, especially when he could nearly trace the other’s sensuous form from his body heat alone. After the months of famine, it was too much to control his eyes; they hungrily swept up and down the back of the marchwarden’s body, as if trying to consume the very sight of it. Long, unbound hair appeared almost white in the near-darkness, allowing tantalizing glimpses of a strong, muscled back.
“I have committed a serious crime, my Lord,” replied Haldir, now in a low, sensual purr, “and thus have submitted myself to you for judgement… and, if decreed necessary, punishment.”
The unlined skin of Elrond’s high brow furrowed as he wondered if the marchwarden had misplaced his wits, but before he could say anything regrettable, more primal portions of his mind launched a shamelessly effective rout on their rational counterparts by flashing vividly graphic suggestions of what Haldir meant by the word ‘punishment’, with numerous references to the Elf’s current form of presumably self-devised imprisonment.
Understanding belatedly dawned, and it was debatable whether the sensation of moisture in a specific part of Elrond’s lower regions was due to that part’s relief at the eventual show of intelligence, or the result of a realisation that sleep was not as immediate on the night’s agenda as he had earlier supposed.
“Lord Elrond?” Haldir’s voice now held a tenor of worry, and his face was frowning when he cast a second look over his shoulder. “I- I apologise if you find this distasteful, but your face was so weighed with tiredness earlier that I thought you had need of... Does this- does this displease you? I did not think to ask-“
Silently cursing himself for taking too long with his thoughts, Elrond cut off further words by closing the distance between them. Moving the Elf’s silky locks aside to bare an area of graceful neck, he slid slightly dry lips over the near colourless skin. His hand rested lightly on either side of the slim hips; a shiver run through the patently virile body pressed against his front.
“Pray tell,” he whispered into a curving ear, “what was this great crime of yours that warranted the personal-“ at this, he made a slight outward thrust, sliding his prominent but cloth-covered erection meaningfully over the a pair of well-rounded buttocks, eliciting a small needful moan from the Elf- “attention of the Master of Rivendell?”
Haldir’s head dropped back, though the position of his arms limited the movement, and the Half-Elf eagerly feasted on the supple flesh so willingly presented to his roving mouth. At first, he kept to tongue and lips, tasting every stretch of skin on the long neck until his heavier Peredhel musk lay more thickly there than Haldir’s barely perceptible Elven scent. Then he gently nipped a trail from where shoulder met neck up to the back of a sensitive Elven ear. He drew the fleshy earlobe into his mouth, lightly grazing his teeth over it, before releasing a hot breath over the ear and exploring the soft shell with his tongue. His lover gave a startled cry and jerked up slightly, the toned muscles on his shoulder bunching as he pulled on his bound wrists. Elrond finished his exploration by nibbling gently on the sensitive tip. “I await your answer, marchwarden,” he whispered into the damp ear before moving to its mirror half and conferring onto it the exact same treatment.
“I- I fear I- ah!” Haldir attempted to speak, though revealing to Elrond at the beginning of their relationship that he was very responsive to ministrations on his ears was proving to be unwise. “I have- oh yes- I have touched myself- ai!- in your absence, my Lord.”
The Peredhel drew back. “That does sound like a serious offence.” One of his hands moved from the side of Haldir’s hip to the slightly uneven topography of his stomach region, his fingers tracing over smooth skin covering a warrior’s well-honed muscles. “I daresay I understand your meaning, but so that there are no misunderstandings later on, I require you to tell me exactly where you touched yourself.”
At this point the Elf was straining mightily against his bindings, trying to manoeuvre his body so that Elrond’s hand would touch the engorged flesh arching gracefully out of his groin, a frustratingly close distance to where the Half-Elf’s hand teasingly hovered. In contrast to his voice’s feigned disinterest, Elrond was staring greedily over Haldir’s shoulder at the rather sizable column of muscle, the prolonged sight of which finally dissolved his self-control. Before the Elf could sound out an answer, the hand had dropped and cupped spongy head. “Is this what you meant, Haldir of Lorien? Is this where you touched yourself?”
The Elf bucked. “Yes, yes it is, my Lord!” Elrond drew a finger down the hard length, and noticed that a strange stickiness clung to the wrinkled skin. Yet there was no sign that Haldir had climaxed yet, and judging from his current neediness, he must have abstained from pleasuring himself for several days prior. Perhaps sensing his puzzlement, Haldir said, “Taste it, my Lord.”
Bringing the hand to his face, Elrond sniffed it first, and identified the substance before licking his fingers for confirmation. “Honey, Haldir?”
Though sweaty and looking far less composed than he had when Elrond first entered the room, the marchwarden nevertheless managed to cast a rakish grin over his shoulder. “I basted myself with honey before coming to your chambers, my Lord; I hear that it is a common ritual when punishments are expected.”
A mental image of the publicly haughty and distant Elf coating his most intimate parts with honey elicited a small gasp out of Elrond. He pulled Haldir flush against himself, and in a dangerous voice that could quell even his sons at their most rambunctious, said “It is well that you have done so, marchwarden, for I judge that you have committed a most grievous wrong in handling that which belongs to me.” As if to make clear his point, Elrond brusquely gripped the leaking erection, causing a loud moan to escape Haldir’s openly panting lips. “For your punishment, tonight I shall have my wicked way with you. And again tomorrow night, and the night after, until you learn the error of your ways.”
Hurriedly shedding his thick formal robes until he wore only a light under-tunic and his increasingly uncomfortable breeches, Elrond walked to the bed and knelt at its foot, facing Haldir. As always, the mere sight of his lover’s fair face lightened his spirit; the new piles of parchment sitting on his desk no longer seemed so intimidating, with this powerful and exquisite Elf to retire to come night. The bright Elven eyes, though tinted darker by passion, still retained the paleness of water in a shallow pool. Haldir’s gaze met his evenly, one person regarding another; Elrond still wondered that he could be so blessed as to have two people who found in him, beneath the heritage and the titles, something worthy of love. When he and his marchwarden were together, the rest of the world was left to fend outside the room. The Peredhel sent a quiet prayer of thanks to the Valar for being thus doubly gifted, as he tenderly kissed his Elf’s soft, sinuous lips.
At first it was gentle, in honour of what they shared between them and as an acknowledgement that Haldir meant more to him than a convenient outlet for his bodily needs in his wife’s absence. Then they returned to their play, plying lips and tongue and teeth, with Haldir attempting to remain submissive as Elrond ravaged his mouth. The Elf succeeded, for the most part, but apparently could not resist nipping at Elrond’s lips or lashing his tongue against the invading one. The Half-Elf found Haldir’s suppression of his characteristic pride and his intrinsic tendency towards dominance highly arousing; it was as if he was in control of a caged untamed beast, who had acquiesced to his command out of trust.
He released his lover’s mouth with some reluctance, and consoled his loss by using his teeth on the smooth paleness of Haldir’s sculpted pectorals. Up close, with his senses reeling from the Elf’s light but pervading woodsy scent, Haldir’s skin appeared less like moonlight made material and instead resembled rich ivory, though without its cold hardness. Even so, it was difficult to imagine that blood was rushing beneath the fair, supple surface, until teeth and suction caused it to rise to the surface and tint the skin a conspicuous red. The Lord of Imladris had found that he loved marking his lover in this manner, both the warrior and the healer in him agreeing for once on their fascination with how blood could be teased forth to colour living ivory.
He marked a red trail from collarbone to navel with the same care and loving attention a gardener would devote to his prized plot. Special attention was paid to the pebble-stiff nipples, only a shade darker than the skin surrounding it; he used teeth there, grazing against the sensitive skin before sucking in a mouthful of flesh to lightly hold between his teeth. His reward for his efforts were the sounds emitted by Haldir, which grew in volume and decreased in intelligibility the further down he travelled, until the Elf released a deafening “O sweet Elbereth above!” when Elrond took the straining, honey-coated slab of hardened muscle into his mouth. He paused to savour the taste and feel of his lover’s most intimate muscle on his tongue, whilst his hands tightened their hold on the hips that were desperately trying to thrust the thrumming column deeper into the wet heat of his salivating oral cavity.
Then Elrond drew back, the turgid length glistening and heavy with an intoxicating mixture of both their bodily aromas as it left his swollen lips. He paused at the head, his tongue teasing the slit. “It is true what they say,” he murmured, raising his eyes to meet Haldir’s dazed and half-wild pair. “The trees do grow large in Lothlorien.”
At this point the tension in his still-clothed groin was nearing the boundary of pain, and so he proceeded to attack Haldir’s formidable shaft without mercy, releasing it to repeatedly swipe his tongue from base to tip it in long, eager culls, deliberately grazing his teeth against the throbbing vein, and finally taking the as much of length as he could back into his mouth, his head moving forwards and back at a frenzied pace that started a cramp in his neck. Once Elrond tasted his lover’s impending release, he loosened his hold and allowed Haldir to thrust himself, in and out, in and out, yet despite the Elf’s apparent desperation never with force enough to cause undue discomfort. Above them, the cord creaked as the Haldir entered a state of wild abandon; it continuously amazed Elrond that the usually controlled marchwarden was capable of transforming into such a debauched being. And that the Half-Elf was the one who could cause this transformation.
“Elrond,” his lover nearly sobbed. Passion had slurred all other words to the point of incomprehension, save for that. “I- I- oh aye, aye, aye!”
For, understanding his lover's body if not his words, Elrond had only slid his hands to grip the fleshy globes behind, his long fingers sliding into the crease between them. At this, Haldir really did let himself go, his naked body undulating to a primal rhythm set by his need, the muscles of his abdomens rippling as his bound arms forced him to power his movement primarily with his lower body.
His climax delivered a hot gush of seed down Elrond’s relaxed throat. The Lord of Imladris privately disliked its bitter taste, but if it came from Haldir he found himself quite willing to bear and swallow it. Yet the force of the ejaculation, coupled with his name being screamed out in ecstasy, had his Half-Elven ears ringing for a few moments afterwards.
Satiated, Haldir appeared to be kept upright by his bonds alone. Taking advantage of his relaxed state, Elrond parted the long, slender legs and slipped a hand behind the heavy sacs, a single finger following the smooth skin that led up to the puckered opening. The Half-Elf smiled at the feeling of stickiness there; it appears that Haldir had been most anticipatory of his actions tonight.
Which keenly reminded him of his own untended state. Elrond impatiently pulled off his under-tunic, but seeing mesmerized eyes fastened on his body prompted him to perform the removal of his breeches with teasing slowness, being further aroused by the way those sharp warrior eyes followed his fingers as he undid the laces.
Normally Elrond was quite bashful when fully bared, a youth’s shame about the prominent patches of thick, curly hair over his pectorals and down his navel coming to the fore. But somehow he could not feel such shyness tonight, especially with his lover hanging at the foot of his bed, and he even thrust his hips out a little and struck an arrogant pose, as if to purposefully draw attention to the steel-stiff length jutting out of his groin. Eyes widening, Haldir’s own flaccid member began to swell once more.
Sitting back down, Elrond firmly grasped the Elf’s long legs and lifted them, encouraging the knees to bend, so that his lover was almost in a sitting position, the slender cord sounding out protests as a full-grown Edhel’s weight was put on it. Then Elrond grabbed those slim hips- red outlines of his hands from his earlier gripping were beginning to appear on the soft pale skin- and lifted them, so that he was able to duck his head and revisit the path his finger had earlier taken, only now with his tongue, ending in him taking a deep taste of the honey that the Elf had somehow managed to work into his most intimate channel. Elrond’s tongue delved greedily past the guardian ring of muscles, and Haldir’s still sated state meant that there was little resistance to struggle against.
The Peredhel only maintained this position for a short while, however, as he knew that Haldir could not be comfortable; yet the Elf gave an anguished moan when he finally released him and laid his legs back down, though the marchwarden’s upper body now shone with sweat and the muscles on his arms and shoulders were faintly trembling. In any case, Elrond felt harder than he had ever been before, and was sure that the smallest stimulation would be enough to explode him
So he stood up, planting a brief kiss on his lover’s mouth and imparting to him the bitter-sweetness of honey and semen. Circling around, he took hold of the slim hips again and whispered, “It has been far too long, marchwarden,” an instant before he drove himself into the Elf’s lissom body, burying his turgid length to the very base in one powerful thrust.
A scream tore out of Haldir as he was entirely pierced; Elrond froze despite the near excruciating pleasure of being encased by his lover’s body, suddenly fearing that he had gone too far, had overestimated the looseness of Haldir’s muscles.
But then the marchwarden gripped the slender cord above him and transferred his weight to his bound arms, thereby lifting his legs into the near-sitting position that Elrond had put him in earlier. “Thou art too cruel to torture me so, my Lord!” he cried, using the leverage of his trussed arms and his feet on the bed to pull his hips forward and allowing half of the shaft imbedded inside him to slide out, only to push back and impale himself anew. “By the tears of Nienna, Elrond Peredhil, move!”
After so much control, finally relinquishing his body to the surging tide of his desire was a relief in itself. Healer’s hands clutched at Haldir’s slippery shoulders, his tanned skin a startling contrast against the Elf’s unblemished fairness, until he dazedly realised that he was adding on to the weight that his lover’s arms had to bear. He removed them and cupped the meaty buttocks instead, which both increased his control over their movements and allowed him to take a little of his lover’s weight. Poised near the edge as he had been, it took less than a dozen frenzied thrusts into sweet, heated tightness to finish him.
When rapture swept through him in a surging wave, the white froth of which gushed forth from his slowly softening flesh into his lover’s clenching channel, he gave such a vast roar that he was reminded of his days as the Herald of the High King, relaying commands that had to be heard above the cacophony of battle.
Panting harshly, Elrond took a moment to catch his breath, then retrieved a small dagger from his side-table. The hithlain showed no signs of wear despite the power of Haldir’s struggles, though the sharp blade parted its threads easily enough. The marchwarden collapsed onto the bed with a loud groan, evidently tired though positively glowing in satisfied bliss. Elrond climbed on after him, rubbing the flushed arms and shoulders and pressing soft kisses to reddened wrists.
“What possessed you to do this, Haldir of Lorien?” he quietly asked after they had both regained their breaths, tenderly nuzzling the sweaty neck.
“As I said earlier, you looked to be in need of forgetting your burdens for a time,” came the drowsy reply. “And, I must confess, I have often dreamed of being taken in such a manner as you have done tonight.” A yawn interrupted his speech. “I had forgotten that the Noldor have different sensibilities than the Silvan; otherwise I would have asked if such a manner of bed-play was to your liking.”
The Half-Elf smiled and kissed a sweaty shoulder. “I suppose that you have deduced my answer.” Indeed, such scenarios had played themselves out before within the privacy of his own mind, but he had attributed it to his mannish blood, not even considering the possibility that his Elven counterparts, with their innate grace and ethereal beauty, could enjoy such a level of adventure in the bedroom.
Ignoring his lover’s reluctance to move and stubborn grumblings stating so, Elrond finally managed to push Haldir onto the soft pillows arranged at head of the bed and draw the blankets over them both. He lovingly encircled the Elf’s sweaty body with his arms, whispering to the half-asleep marchwarden, “Have I ever told you that it was you who brought me back from the darkness after Celebrian left? If I serve any further purpose in these later days, it will be thanks to you.”
The Lorien Elf murmured something and covered a tanned arm with his own, twining their fingers tightly together. A breeze briefly parted the branches outside; before his weary body lulled him into needed repose, Elrond caught a glimpse of a bright star-ship sailing over windless sable seas.
~ Finis ~
I’ve already said this, but I find pure PWPs absolutely painful to write. To make this, I had cooked up a small story in my head on how Haldir and Elrond first came together. Say rubber ducky if you feel interested in reading it.
::scuttles off to work on her Mistletoe in May fic::
Poll Results
Lucky Lorien Elf to be paired with Elrond: Haldir, by a majority of 7 votes (50.0%)
Rating: NC-17 by an overwhelming majority of 8 votes (71.4%). Just goes to show what you folks are really after ^_^
Location: There was a tie between Divan and Bed here for a while, but some last-minute voters tipped the scale towards Bed (4 votes, 28.6%). However, I wanted to make it more exciting than the usual tumble on the bed, thus prompting the ‘Light Bondage’ warning for this story
(Optional) Words/phrases to include: I’m quite sure I got all of these, apologies if I missed any! It’s really interesting to look back and see just how much the narrative was affected by these words.
boz4pm -- "It's been far too long."
juno-magic -- ears
kenazfiction -- light on his back
erviniae -- The trees are large in Lothlorien!
rozzan -- suck
lanthirel -- ivory skin
glorfindel -- honey
betterthanmindy -- yess
Anyway, onto the story itself! This is what took place the night before 'A False Alarm'. I was going to add a transition scene at the end of this with Elrond glimpsing Erestor and Glorfindel, but it didn’t feel quite right with the ending I had already written, so just assume that Haldir and Elrond were up and playing again in the morning when E&G walked in.
Title: Amorous Argentum
Author: Etharei (west.for.winter AT gmail DOT com)
Find my stories: My LJ (A Single Shard upon the Shore); my personal archive ( Truth Is Missing)
Characters: Elrond/Haldir
Rating: NC-17
Warning: Light bondage (one piece of rope)
Disclaimer: None of the recognizable characters, names or places featured here belong to me. This is based on a work of fiction by Professor JRR Tolkien, and regardless of what present-day legalities say, in my mind they belong first and foremost to him.
Archive: OEAM, LoM, AFF; anyone interested is welcome to ask
Feedback: Will be greatly appreciated.
Summary: After a tiring day, Elrond finds a big surprise awaiting him in his bedroom. Pure PWP, really.
Author’s Notes: The long-promised companion piece to the drabble ‘A False Alarm’.
Traversing the unlit space of his sitting room towards the open door of his bedchamber, Elrond released a quiet sigh, finally allowing relief to wash over him. Since the departure of Celebrian, the small but stately private suite of the Lord of Imladris had become his nightly shrine, granting him sanctuary from his increasingly burdensome office. It was at these ends of long days that he missed his wife’s treasured company the most; sleep was a poor substitute for the elixir that her mere presence had been, yet his still-mending spirit had learned to appreciate what revival it brought.
There had been a time, beneath the ageless boughs of Lothlorien, when the night had contained considerably more than simple repose; but since his return to Rivendell those bliss-filled memories had acquired the hue of wispy dreams.
His current spate of weariness, however, had only descended upon him in the last few hours, which made it all the more sapping. The day had been spent mostly in high spirits, for Arwen had come home at last! Yet whilst he rejoiced in having his daughter within the Last Homely House once more, he privately dreaded these returns from Lothlorien, for it inevitably brought more plans, proposals, and general paper-work from the Lord and Lady of the Golden Wood, thereby ensuring that the chair in his study would be regularly occupied during the coming month. Even the small feast held that night in welcome of Arwen had been so condensed with tedious talk that Elrond had not been able to take notice of the Galadhrim guard that had escorted his daughter home, though they had been seated as guests of honour at the table.
Had he but spent a moment to take stock of its dozen members- thereby realising the presence of a specific Elf- he would not have dropped his jaw in sheer astonishment at the sight which greeted his arrival at his most private domain.
Open windows framed by stylized tree branches reaching up towards the star emblem of the House of Eärendil granted soft moonlight entrance into the room, which was dominated by a large four-poster bed nearly as old as its nightly burden and covered with detailed carvings. As Elrond’s eyes adjusted to the lack of light, his gaze was riveted on an Elf standing at the foot of said bed, his back to Elrond, his wrists tied together and his arms hung up by a slender silver cord. His eyes followed the cord, and saw that it had been fastened to a prominent, many-rayed star that marked the top centre of the canopy’s oak frame.
The patches of moonlight flickered as the branches of the live tree outside the building swayed in the breeze, so that the pattern of light falling upon the Elf changed continuously. At one instance of art composed by apparent chance, a sliver of silver began its path of illumination on a slender ankle, climbing steadily higher like an argent finger to caress a toned calf, the back of a knee, a strapping thigh, slithering to a rest on a firm and shapely and utterly bare buttock. Pale skin appeared to glow wherever the beams touched it; to Elrond’s enchanted eyes, the play of light and shadow made the Elf into more than mere a being of flesh, recalling the myths of seducing spirits that stole through the twilight of the Elder Days.
Taking an unsteady step forwards, the Master of Rivendell hazily remembered that his lungs had a fairly vital function. True to his healer’s heart, the first thought that managed to penetrate the obfuscation that had settled in his mind was that the Elf could not be very comfortable, trussed up in such a manner. On its heels arrived a second thought, which was more along the lines of an observation concerning the shining figure’s blatantly unclothed condition. His body absorbed the latter reflection with great approval, and it was the ensuing visceral reaction from certain parts of his anatomy that finally jolted him out of his state of shock.
“Haldir?” he called, finding that his voice had acquired a curious hoarseness.
The Elf turned to look over a shoulder, and normally pale eyes shone darkly at him with an enthralling concoction of amusement and invitation. “Lord Elrond,” the marchwarden greeted him in an affable tone, as if they were greeting one other in the hallway.
“What are you doing?” was what emerged from his mouth, but the rest of Lord Elrond felt like a separate entity. Having established that the other person was someone who did have a right to be in his room at this hour- albeit never before in such a situation- the son of Eärendil approached his bed until he stood directly behind the Lorien Elf, whose forced pose seemed to be an erotic mimicry of the arboreal motif fashioned into the window-frames. It took all of his power to not touch the flesh standing just within his reach, especially when he could nearly trace the other’s sensuous form from his body heat alone. After the months of famine, it was too much to control his eyes; they hungrily swept up and down the back of the marchwarden’s body, as if trying to consume the very sight of it. Long, unbound hair appeared almost white in the near-darkness, allowing tantalizing glimpses of a strong, muscled back.
“I have committed a serious crime, my Lord,” replied Haldir, now in a low, sensual purr, “and thus have submitted myself to you for judgement… and, if decreed necessary, punishment.”
The unlined skin of Elrond’s high brow furrowed as he wondered if the marchwarden had misplaced his wits, but before he could say anything regrettable, more primal portions of his mind launched a shamelessly effective rout on their rational counterparts by flashing vividly graphic suggestions of what Haldir meant by the word ‘punishment’, with numerous references to the Elf’s current form of presumably self-devised imprisonment.
Understanding belatedly dawned, and it was debatable whether the sensation of moisture in a specific part of Elrond’s lower regions was due to that part’s relief at the eventual show of intelligence, or the result of a realisation that sleep was not as immediate on the night’s agenda as he had earlier supposed.
“Lord Elrond?” Haldir’s voice now held a tenor of worry, and his face was frowning when he cast a second look over his shoulder. “I- I apologise if you find this distasteful, but your face was so weighed with tiredness earlier that I thought you had need of... Does this- does this displease you? I did not think to ask-“
Silently cursing himself for taking too long with his thoughts, Elrond cut off further words by closing the distance between them. Moving the Elf’s silky locks aside to bare an area of graceful neck, he slid slightly dry lips over the near colourless skin. His hand rested lightly on either side of the slim hips; a shiver run through the patently virile body pressed against his front.
“Pray tell,” he whispered into a curving ear, “what was this great crime of yours that warranted the personal-“ at this, he made a slight outward thrust, sliding his prominent but cloth-covered erection meaningfully over the a pair of well-rounded buttocks, eliciting a small needful moan from the Elf- “attention of the Master of Rivendell?”
Haldir’s head dropped back, though the position of his arms limited the movement, and the Half-Elf eagerly feasted on the supple flesh so willingly presented to his roving mouth. At first, he kept to tongue and lips, tasting every stretch of skin on the long neck until his heavier Peredhel musk lay more thickly there than Haldir’s barely perceptible Elven scent. Then he gently nipped a trail from where shoulder met neck up to the back of a sensitive Elven ear. He drew the fleshy earlobe into his mouth, lightly grazing his teeth over it, before releasing a hot breath over the ear and exploring the soft shell with his tongue. His lover gave a startled cry and jerked up slightly, the toned muscles on his shoulder bunching as he pulled on his bound wrists. Elrond finished his exploration by nibbling gently on the sensitive tip. “I await your answer, marchwarden,” he whispered into the damp ear before moving to its mirror half and conferring onto it the exact same treatment.
“I- I fear I- ah!” Haldir attempted to speak, though revealing to Elrond at the beginning of their relationship that he was very responsive to ministrations on his ears was proving to be unwise. “I have- oh yes- I have touched myself- ai!- in your absence, my Lord.”
The Peredhel drew back. “That does sound like a serious offence.” One of his hands moved from the side of Haldir’s hip to the slightly uneven topography of his stomach region, his fingers tracing over smooth skin covering a warrior’s well-honed muscles. “I daresay I understand your meaning, but so that there are no misunderstandings later on, I require you to tell me exactly where you touched yourself.”
At this point the Elf was straining mightily against his bindings, trying to manoeuvre his body so that Elrond’s hand would touch the engorged flesh arching gracefully out of his groin, a frustratingly close distance to where the Half-Elf’s hand teasingly hovered. In contrast to his voice’s feigned disinterest, Elrond was staring greedily over Haldir’s shoulder at the rather sizable column of muscle, the prolonged sight of which finally dissolved his self-control. Before the Elf could sound out an answer, the hand had dropped and cupped spongy head. “Is this what you meant, Haldir of Lorien? Is this where you touched yourself?”
The Elf bucked. “Yes, yes it is, my Lord!” Elrond drew a finger down the hard length, and noticed that a strange stickiness clung to the wrinkled skin. Yet there was no sign that Haldir had climaxed yet, and judging from his current neediness, he must have abstained from pleasuring himself for several days prior. Perhaps sensing his puzzlement, Haldir said, “Taste it, my Lord.”
Bringing the hand to his face, Elrond sniffed it first, and identified the substance before licking his fingers for confirmation. “Honey, Haldir?”
Though sweaty and looking far less composed than he had when Elrond first entered the room, the marchwarden nevertheless managed to cast a rakish grin over his shoulder. “I basted myself with honey before coming to your chambers, my Lord; I hear that it is a common ritual when punishments are expected.”
A mental image of the publicly haughty and distant Elf coating his most intimate parts with honey elicited a small gasp out of Elrond. He pulled Haldir flush against himself, and in a dangerous voice that could quell even his sons at their most rambunctious, said “It is well that you have done so, marchwarden, for I judge that you have committed a most grievous wrong in handling that which belongs to me.” As if to make clear his point, Elrond brusquely gripped the leaking erection, causing a loud moan to escape Haldir’s openly panting lips. “For your punishment, tonight I shall have my wicked way with you. And again tomorrow night, and the night after, until you learn the error of your ways.”
Hurriedly shedding his thick formal robes until he wore only a light under-tunic and his increasingly uncomfortable breeches, Elrond walked to the bed and knelt at its foot, facing Haldir. As always, the mere sight of his lover’s fair face lightened his spirit; the new piles of parchment sitting on his desk no longer seemed so intimidating, with this powerful and exquisite Elf to retire to come night. The bright Elven eyes, though tinted darker by passion, still retained the paleness of water in a shallow pool. Haldir’s gaze met his evenly, one person regarding another; Elrond still wondered that he could be so blessed as to have two people who found in him, beneath the heritage and the titles, something worthy of love. When he and his marchwarden were together, the rest of the world was left to fend outside the room. The Peredhel sent a quiet prayer of thanks to the Valar for being thus doubly gifted, as he tenderly kissed his Elf’s soft, sinuous lips.
At first it was gentle, in honour of what they shared between them and as an acknowledgement that Haldir meant more to him than a convenient outlet for his bodily needs in his wife’s absence. Then they returned to their play, plying lips and tongue and teeth, with Haldir attempting to remain submissive as Elrond ravaged his mouth. The Elf succeeded, for the most part, but apparently could not resist nipping at Elrond’s lips or lashing his tongue against the invading one. The Half-Elf found Haldir’s suppression of his characteristic pride and his intrinsic tendency towards dominance highly arousing; it was as if he was in control of a caged untamed beast, who had acquiesced to his command out of trust.
He released his lover’s mouth with some reluctance, and consoled his loss by using his teeth on the smooth paleness of Haldir’s sculpted pectorals. Up close, with his senses reeling from the Elf’s light but pervading woodsy scent, Haldir’s skin appeared less like moonlight made material and instead resembled rich ivory, though without its cold hardness. Even so, it was difficult to imagine that blood was rushing beneath the fair, supple surface, until teeth and suction caused it to rise to the surface and tint the skin a conspicuous red. The Lord of Imladris had found that he loved marking his lover in this manner, both the warrior and the healer in him agreeing for once on their fascination with how blood could be teased forth to colour living ivory.
He marked a red trail from collarbone to navel with the same care and loving attention a gardener would devote to his prized plot. Special attention was paid to the pebble-stiff nipples, only a shade darker than the skin surrounding it; he used teeth there, grazing against the sensitive skin before sucking in a mouthful of flesh to lightly hold between his teeth. His reward for his efforts were the sounds emitted by Haldir, which grew in volume and decreased in intelligibility the further down he travelled, until the Elf released a deafening “O sweet Elbereth above!” when Elrond took the straining, honey-coated slab of hardened muscle into his mouth. He paused to savour the taste and feel of his lover’s most intimate muscle on his tongue, whilst his hands tightened their hold on the hips that were desperately trying to thrust the thrumming column deeper into the wet heat of his salivating oral cavity.
Then Elrond drew back, the turgid length glistening and heavy with an intoxicating mixture of both their bodily aromas as it left his swollen lips. He paused at the head, his tongue teasing the slit. “It is true what they say,” he murmured, raising his eyes to meet Haldir’s dazed and half-wild pair. “The trees do grow large in Lothlorien.”
At this point the tension in his still-clothed groin was nearing the boundary of pain, and so he proceeded to attack Haldir’s formidable shaft without mercy, releasing it to repeatedly swipe his tongue from base to tip it in long, eager culls, deliberately grazing his teeth against the throbbing vein, and finally taking the as much of length as he could back into his mouth, his head moving forwards and back at a frenzied pace that started a cramp in his neck. Once Elrond tasted his lover’s impending release, he loosened his hold and allowed Haldir to thrust himself, in and out, in and out, yet despite the Elf’s apparent desperation never with force enough to cause undue discomfort. Above them, the cord creaked as the Haldir entered a state of wild abandon; it continuously amazed Elrond that the usually controlled marchwarden was capable of transforming into such a debauched being. And that the Half-Elf was the one who could cause this transformation.
“Elrond,” his lover nearly sobbed. Passion had slurred all other words to the point of incomprehension, save for that. “I- I- oh aye, aye, aye!”
For, understanding his lover's body if not his words, Elrond had only slid his hands to grip the fleshy globes behind, his long fingers sliding into the crease between them. At this, Haldir really did let himself go, his naked body undulating to a primal rhythm set by his need, the muscles of his abdomens rippling as his bound arms forced him to power his movement primarily with his lower body.
His climax delivered a hot gush of seed down Elrond’s relaxed throat. The Lord of Imladris privately disliked its bitter taste, but if it came from Haldir he found himself quite willing to bear and swallow it. Yet the force of the ejaculation, coupled with his name being screamed out in ecstasy, had his Half-Elven ears ringing for a few moments afterwards.
Satiated, Haldir appeared to be kept upright by his bonds alone. Taking advantage of his relaxed state, Elrond parted the long, slender legs and slipped a hand behind the heavy sacs, a single finger following the smooth skin that led up to the puckered opening. The Half-Elf smiled at the feeling of stickiness there; it appears that Haldir had been most anticipatory of his actions tonight.
Which keenly reminded him of his own untended state. Elrond impatiently pulled off his under-tunic, but seeing mesmerized eyes fastened on his body prompted him to perform the removal of his breeches with teasing slowness, being further aroused by the way those sharp warrior eyes followed his fingers as he undid the laces.
Normally Elrond was quite bashful when fully bared, a youth’s shame about the prominent patches of thick, curly hair over his pectorals and down his navel coming to the fore. But somehow he could not feel such shyness tonight, especially with his lover hanging at the foot of his bed, and he even thrust his hips out a little and struck an arrogant pose, as if to purposefully draw attention to the steel-stiff length jutting out of his groin. Eyes widening, Haldir’s own flaccid member began to swell once more.
Sitting back down, Elrond firmly grasped the Elf’s long legs and lifted them, encouraging the knees to bend, so that his lover was almost in a sitting position, the slender cord sounding out protests as a full-grown Edhel’s weight was put on it. Then Elrond grabbed those slim hips- red outlines of his hands from his earlier gripping were beginning to appear on the soft pale skin- and lifted them, so that he was able to duck his head and revisit the path his finger had earlier taken, only now with his tongue, ending in him taking a deep taste of the honey that the Elf had somehow managed to work into his most intimate channel. Elrond’s tongue delved greedily past the guardian ring of muscles, and Haldir’s still sated state meant that there was little resistance to struggle against.
The Peredhel only maintained this position for a short while, however, as he knew that Haldir could not be comfortable; yet the Elf gave an anguished moan when he finally released him and laid his legs back down, though the marchwarden’s upper body now shone with sweat and the muscles on his arms and shoulders were faintly trembling. In any case, Elrond felt harder than he had ever been before, and was sure that the smallest stimulation would be enough to explode him
So he stood up, planting a brief kiss on his lover’s mouth and imparting to him the bitter-sweetness of honey and semen. Circling around, he took hold of the slim hips again and whispered, “It has been far too long, marchwarden,” an instant before he drove himself into the Elf’s lissom body, burying his turgid length to the very base in one powerful thrust.
A scream tore out of Haldir as he was entirely pierced; Elrond froze despite the near excruciating pleasure of being encased by his lover’s body, suddenly fearing that he had gone too far, had overestimated the looseness of Haldir’s muscles.
But then the marchwarden gripped the slender cord above him and transferred his weight to his bound arms, thereby lifting his legs into the near-sitting position that Elrond had put him in earlier. “Thou art too cruel to torture me so, my Lord!” he cried, using the leverage of his trussed arms and his feet on the bed to pull his hips forward and allowing half of the shaft imbedded inside him to slide out, only to push back and impale himself anew. “By the tears of Nienna, Elrond Peredhil, move!”
After so much control, finally relinquishing his body to the surging tide of his desire was a relief in itself. Healer’s hands clutched at Haldir’s slippery shoulders, his tanned skin a startling contrast against the Elf’s unblemished fairness, until he dazedly realised that he was adding on to the weight that his lover’s arms had to bear. He removed them and cupped the meaty buttocks instead, which both increased his control over their movements and allowed him to take a little of his lover’s weight. Poised near the edge as he had been, it took less than a dozen frenzied thrusts into sweet, heated tightness to finish him.
When rapture swept through him in a surging wave, the white froth of which gushed forth from his slowly softening flesh into his lover’s clenching channel, he gave such a vast roar that he was reminded of his days as the Herald of the High King, relaying commands that had to be heard above the cacophony of battle.
Panting harshly, Elrond took a moment to catch his breath, then retrieved a small dagger from his side-table. The hithlain showed no signs of wear despite the power of Haldir’s struggles, though the sharp blade parted its threads easily enough. The marchwarden collapsed onto the bed with a loud groan, evidently tired though positively glowing in satisfied bliss. Elrond climbed on after him, rubbing the flushed arms and shoulders and pressing soft kisses to reddened wrists.
“What possessed you to do this, Haldir of Lorien?” he quietly asked after they had both regained their breaths, tenderly nuzzling the sweaty neck.
“As I said earlier, you looked to be in need of forgetting your burdens for a time,” came the drowsy reply. “And, I must confess, I have often dreamed of being taken in such a manner as you have done tonight.” A yawn interrupted his speech. “I had forgotten that the Noldor have different sensibilities than the Silvan; otherwise I would have asked if such a manner of bed-play was to your liking.”
The Half-Elf smiled and kissed a sweaty shoulder. “I suppose that you have deduced my answer.” Indeed, such scenarios had played themselves out before within the privacy of his own mind, but he had attributed it to his mannish blood, not even considering the possibility that his Elven counterparts, with their innate grace and ethereal beauty, could enjoy such a level of adventure in the bedroom.
Ignoring his lover’s reluctance to move and stubborn grumblings stating so, Elrond finally managed to push Haldir onto the soft pillows arranged at head of the bed and draw the blankets over them both. He lovingly encircled the Elf’s sweaty body with his arms, whispering to the half-asleep marchwarden, “Have I ever told you that it was you who brought me back from the darkness after Celebrian left? If I serve any further purpose in these later days, it will be thanks to you.”
The Lorien Elf murmured something and covered a tanned arm with his own, twining their fingers tightly together. A breeze briefly parted the branches outside; before his weary body lulled him into needed repose, Elrond caught a glimpse of a bright star-ship sailing over windless sable seas.
~ Finis ~
I’ve already said this, but I find pure PWPs absolutely painful to write. To make this, I had cooked up a small story in my head on how Haldir and Elrond first came together. Say rubber ducky if you feel interested in reading it.
::scuttles off to work on her Mistletoe in May fic::