A Winter's Healing (NC-17; Thranduil/Elrond)
Title: A Winter's Healing
Author: Etharei
Pairings: Thranduil/Elrond
Rating: NC-17
Summary: Thranduil's grieving for his dead wife is slowly killing him. Elrond arrives just in time, and ignites a heat to chase away the winter.
Disclaimer: None of the characters or places depicted here are mine. Apologies to Tolkien for abusing his characters so, but I hope he sees it as a sign of love.
Author’s Note: My very first slash fic!
Written for Milly in the
2005 LOTR Secret Santa
Wrapped in the lethargy that had first descended upon him over a year ago, Thranduil reluctantly opened his eyes. For once, the weather outside seemed to agree with his mood, and the biting chill in the air gave him an odd sense of comfort. He hated the mornings with bright sun and the singing of cheerful birds now. Not that they got much of that, these days.
He felt disturbed for a moment that he would welcome the darkness brought by Dol Guldur rather than the light of Sun.
With a slowness and distinct lack of grace that was uncharacteristic for an Elf, the King of Mirkwood stumbled out of bed and pulled on his light sleeping robe over his naked body. He did not even bother to light the lantern, but made his way around his chambers by memory. At least he had not woken up looking for his wife this time. *That* had been an embarassing incident, and he made sure to have a very nice fruit basket sent to the serving girl who had the misfortune of working in his rooms that morn. Still on automatic, he walked through his bedroom and the sitting room outside and stepped out into the corridor of the private section of his threshold.
And promptly ran into Elrond.
~*~
"I appreciate you coming all this way from Imladris, Master Elrond, but you cannot help me."
He did not know why Elrond was here, though he suspected that one of his sons had sent for the healer. Not wanting a confrontation where anyone could just stumble in on them, he had ushered the Half-Elf into his chambers. Feeling self-concious all of a sudden, he had parted curtains no hand had touched in over a month, and lighted the neglected fireplace. Elrond had silently taken a seat on a large wooden chair with soft red cushions, and Thranduil remembered with a stab of pain that it had been his wife's favourite chair.
Sensing his mood, Elrond spoke gently, "Nay, perhaps I cannot. But your sons have begged me to try, by any means I think necessary, even if I have to drag you out there to mindlessly slaughter some spiders for a few days. You cannot continue existing like this, Thranduil. I am sure that you know that you are fading, but it is not your time. You are a good and strong King, and your people need you whilst the wood grows wilder around them."
"How can they consider me to be a good King when I could not even save my own wife?" Thranduil demanded, his resolve to keep the conversations short and chase the healer out as quickly as possible crumbling beneath the force of the anguish that had been building up inside of him since the previous winter. "My wife was dearer to me than all the wealth I am famed for coveting, but I could not save her! Her blood was spilt on *my* land, in *my* woods! Do not speak of what you do not know, Peredhel!"
There was silence, and then Elrond quietly said, "I believe I, of all people, can understand your pain, Thranduil."
The Elvenking paled. "I am sorry, I was not thinking." He wrung his hands and covered his face with them, and was surprised to find that his cheeks were wet. "How did you survive it, Elrond? How did you go on living, day after day?"
Elrond rested against the back of the chair, his expression thoughtful. "I do not know. A part of me grieves still, and always will, I think. Celebrian lived, Thranduil, but she might as well have died. She held on to life for her family, and in doing so subjected herself to torture no soul should ever experience. Sometimes I think it was worse than death, for the Celebrian I knew before had been destroyed, and I do not know if all the ages of Arda can ever remind her of it." Suddenly he stood, and crossed the room to where Thranduil leaned against the cold wall. "There are dark days, when I do as you do and confine myself to my chambers. But to destroy myself and everything we created because of my grief... that would have disgraced her memory and her love."
Thranduil nodded. "I understand what you say, and the small rational part of me speaks such words to me every day, but I cannot feel the desire to believe in the words. I feel like I am not alive, anymore."
"It is more difficult for you, cut off from the Sun and oppressed by the shadow as you are." Elrond cast him an unreadable expression, then walked slowly to the front of the fireplace. Thranduil's dull eyes followed him, and widened when Elrond shed first his travelling cloak, then the leather jerkin he wore on top of a linen tunic. It was only then that the King realised that Elrond must have arrived just that morning, and had immediately sought him out. He was about to apologise for being a poor host when Elrond said, in a voice lower and more melodic than the one Thranduil usually heard, "Do you know why your sons sent for me? They did not send for just any healer in Rivendell, but me in particular."
"Because you are the best," Thranduil absently replied, eyes fastened on Elrond, who was now clad only in a thin sleeveless under-tunic and tight riding trousers. The under-tunic barely covered the strongly built body beneath it, and the thick fabric of the trousers seemed to have been molded onto Elrond's legs. And very shapely legs they were, too.
"There is that." When had Elrond's voice become so low and... sensual? The hint of a shudder went through Thranduil's previously stone-cold body. "But somehow they had heard that once upon a time, you were very... fond... of me." He fixed Thranduil with a dark, unreadable stare. "Your body is unharmed, o King, but you have allowed the winter into your spirit." Elrond leant against the mantelpiece, and Thranduil couldn't help noticing how the flickering firelight brought out the planes of muscle on the Half-Elf's chest, half-exposed by the deep 'V' neck of the under-tunic. "It is my duty as a healer and a friend to do all in my power to... help you."
The King of Mirkwood could only blink uncomprehendingly for several heartbeats. And the heartbeats seemed to stop altogether when he finally realised what Elrond was proposing.
The anger that he had hitherto been directed at himself for his failure in saving his wife now found new fuel in the Half-Elf in front of him. The nerve! So Elrond thought that he'd make an easy target, did he? He had just lost his Queen, her spirit might still be haunting these halls, and Elrond expected him to jump into bed with him? Of course, it did not help matters that his body, which he had quite neglected in the past year, was already voicing its approval of the vision presented by the scantily-clad figure standing by his fire. The light cast an almost bronze glow to Elrond's sun-kissed skin, and seemed to bring out red highlights in the luxurious black mane on his head. The beauty that had drawn Thranduil to the Elf all those years ago, when they had first met in Lindon, had only been enhanced by the sorrows of the years. He felt the sharp pangs of lust, and grew even more angry at Elrond.
Panting- he knew not if it was from fury or awakened lust- Thranduil bodily threw himself at the Half-Elf. His rage turned his blood into fire, and the fire burned away the listlessness that had been drowning his spirit. He had been fading, little by little losing the will to live. Elrond had given his dying spirit an outlet through which to flare up against the darkness that had settled on it, and thus an incredible sense of awareness rushed through him, almost overwhelming him with life.
He had wanted to die. Now he didn't know how to let go of life. Delicious, desperate life.
He wanted to pummel Elrond to the ground, to burn out all the hatred and frustration and dark helpessness that had built up inside of him until it had turned inwards and choked him.
His momentum threw both of them onto the floor. Sable silk flowed over his heated fingers as one hand closed around the front of the Half-Elf's slender throat. He could feel the pulse thundering under the sensitive skin, knew where the vital jugular rested. Surely Elrond must be afraid of what he could do, of what he almost yearned to do... but Thranduil could see no fear in that dignified face, only a strange heat that had nothing to do with anger or terror but was just as primal as either.
Through his mind rushed images of violence, of blood on the snow, of screams in the distance...
His hand released the reddened neck and move to grab the side of Elrond's head. He pulled, and released an animalistic growl just before his hungry mouth descended onto Elrond's, lips and tongue forcefully prying it open as his hand cradled and pressed the Half-Elf's head towards his. The Master of Imladris offered no resistance, instead parting his lips wider to allow Thranduil's desperate tongue within. Down below, rough hands roamed over muscled warrior's bodies. Thranduil could barely hear the primal growls and needy moans that both of them were making through the ringing in his ears. But despite being fueled by the unexpected passion, his weakened body was easily overcome by the Half-Elf's, and soon it was he who was being pressed down against the chill tiles as his mouth was thoroughly explored. Eventually Elrond released him, and moved downwards, putting teeth and tongue to good use on Thranduil's pale neck and muscled chest.
It afforded Thranduil a chance to gather some semblance of coherency. "Elrond." For a moment he didn't recognise the deep, hoarse voice as his own. "I don't... oh..." Elrond's skillful tongue played with the tip of a nipple, taking care not to touch the surrounding skin. "I've never- ah!- we do not do this here-" he broke off with a loud gasp and a shudder when Elrond withdrew slight, and pulled his robe wide open. Elrond's eyes darkened as they raked over his long, toned body, then for this first time in an Age, Thranduil felt himself pressed down by the weight of another. Somehow the fact that Elrond was still dressed only aroused him further.
"I know," Elrond murmurred, before moving to the other nipple and closed his lips around the hard nub. "But I think you need this. We both need this." That smooth, musical voice sent tendrils of pleasure through his core. "Do you want me to stop?" At that moment his hand managed to slip into Thranduil's breeches.
Eyes going wide, the Elvenking buckled when his fully aroused shaft was gripped by a lightly callused hand. Elrond's touch was firm, hinting at a warrior's strength hidden beneath the healer's exterior, and left no room for doubt that he knew very well what he was doing. Thranduil's body made his decision for him. "Please... don't stop..." His words caused the other's stormy grey eyes to darken, and he shuddered at the raw hunger he saw within those normally peaceful features.
Thranduil whimpered when Elrond sat back on his heels for a moment. For the first time he became aware of the cold winter air coming in through his open window. Not cold enough to even concern his elven body, but his heated flesh yearned to be touched. He immediately forgot all this, though, when Elrond swooped down and once again attacked his mouth, as strong arms enclosed him in a heated embrace and bore him towards his large bed.
The kiss ended as suddenly as it began, so that Thranduil was left gasping for air and staring up at the cloth canopy of his bed. He had just propped himself up with one elbow when the most incredible heat slid began sliding slowly over the thick flesh standing out from his groin. He moaned, falling back again, and reminded himself to keep breathing when he felt himself being sheathed fully in the Peredhel's skillful mouth, the muscles of Elrond's throat closing further about the sensitive tip of his shaft.
His moan was followed by what sounded like a shrill scream after Elrond's slow start suddenly developed into a frenzy of movement. The Half-Elf's tongue proved to be as skilfull as the rumours had it, and in a rare moment of lucidity Thranduil wondered how Elrond managed to deep-throat him so often and so easily. The thought of how Elrond must have acquired such a skill only made him reach down to tangle his hands in the silky dark hair.
After over a year without physical intimacy, his body could not last long under such a sensual onslaught. When he felt the tell-tale tightening of his lower body, Thranduil gasped, "Elrond... I- ah!- I'm coming..." The Peredhel
released him, grazing the throbbing vein that ran the length of his member. Thranduil thought that Elrond would finish him off by hand, like his late wife preferred to, but without warning the Master of Imladris plunged back down, mouth open just wide enough to slide him in. Incredible tightness and heat engulfed him all the way to the hilt, and Thranduil lost his control.
It seemed to him that his shout continued to echo around his chambers as he lay panting. He felt weary, but it was a good tiredness, not the unwholy lethargy that had possessed him before this day. He pushed himself up and reached out for Elrond, but the Half-Elf smiled and shook his head. Elrond rested at the foot of the bed for a minute, then stood and dressed again. Thranduil's brow furrowed in confusion.
"Come, my friend, let me help you," he said. Loving between the same gender was not encouraged in Mirkwood, but Thranduil felt it unfair that he should leave Elrond unsatisfied. The other's tight leggings made it clear that Elrond's desire was still unsated.
It was only when he was fully dressed and quite presentable once more that Elrond spoke in reply. "Thank you for the offer, Thranduil, but I know that you are not very comfortable with this mode of intimacy. I did this because you were once a close friend, whom I found fair in return, and I can understand the grief that can be brought about by the loss of one's beloved spouse. I hope only that you will not be angry with me later, once the full extent of what has taken place here has settled into your mind."
And with that, Elrond opened the door and quietly left the room. Feeling somewhat in a state of shock, Thranduil could do little but lie back and wait for his heart-rate to return to normal. As he thought about this most unexpected experience, he felt that initial anger that Elrond had feared. But he knew that it was not to do with Elrond's actions, but more with his own fear of having possibly betrayed his wife. Yet Elrond was right; he had needed this... release. He felt more alive now than he had in months, despite the weariness from the exertion. The fact that he was this tired when the other had had to do all the work was telling in itself how badly he had needed this.
He thought of how he would thank the Peredhel for this. He couldn't let Elrond return to Imladris without showing his appreciation for the extent to which the healer had gone to cure him, but simply giving a rich gift made Elrond seem like a cheap prositute. Then he remembered Elrond's unfinished state.
For a moment he hesitated, remembering that it was he who had discouraged the indulgence in same-sex intimacies in his Kingdom. But surely this was a special case. And it wasn't exactly a law.
In the end, guilt won out over pride. He slipped into a fresh sleeping-robe and was about to leave the room, when he thought of the jar of oil in his bathing room. With slightly nervous hands, he warmed it over the fire and spread a thin layer over his skin, so that his tall and lithe form gleamed. Then he extinguished the fire and made his stealthy way down the corridor. Fortunately, his mood-swings had kept the number of servants in that section of the Halls low, and he easily evaded the two he came across by slipping into conveniently empty guestrooms.
Finally he reached the selection of rooms that were always assigned to visitors from other Elven realms, and Thranduil remembered the room that was always given to Elrond on his rare visits. It was the guestroom with the biggest window to the outside, and was high enough to provide a view of the stars above the canopy line. Slipping inside, he heard a splashing in the bathing chamber and realised that Elrond must have decided to take a bath. He peeked quickly into the room, anyway, to make sure that it was indeed Elrond, then took off his sleeping-robe and lay down upon the wide bed.
It was only then that the full extent of what he was about to do struck him, but a warrior's pride refused to let him back away, and so it was that when Elrond stepped into his bedroom, a towel about his waist, he stood and stared at the naked King of Mirkwood lying upon the silk sheets like a forbidden sacrifice. Thranduil ignored the thundering of his heart and said, as calmly as he could, "You have my gratitude, Elrond, for restoring to Mirkwood her King. Mirkwood now makes this most humble offering to the Master of Imladris."
"Mirkwood is most generous to offer her loveliest fruit," Elrond whispered hoarsely, stepping up to the foot of the bed. "But the gratitude will suffice."
Thranduil blinked, and felt new respect for his fellow ruler. He could see the flush on Elrond's face, the way his hands tightened about the towel as if afraid it might fall. "You have given much aid to the King, my Lord. But he needs to remember to be Thranduil, as well."
That seemed to be too much for Elrond to resist, and so he threw off the towel, revealing a very impressive and very aroused girth. He slinked on all fours across the bed towards Thranduil. Out of nervousness, Thranduil automatically shuffled back, and Elrond paused, eyes questioning. But there was a challenge in them, too, and the Elvenking's pride made him fight his nerves and spread his legs invitingly, his right hand moving to rest lightly on his very upper thigh.
What felt like a well-muscled four-legged creature attacked him with a growl, covering him with heat and hardness. Thranduil attempted to match the speed and thoroughness of Elrond's groping hands, but was distracted when Elrond ground his hips urgently against Thranduil's. No more words passed between them, the endless stream of moans and incoherent pleadings being good enough indicators for what was welcomed, needed. Elrond dominated the love-play, though Thranduil pulled out a few surprises of his own. Once nimble healer's fingers had prepared him suffciently, he twisted around so that he was on all fours. Growling, he raised and lowered his rear invitingly, and when Elrond's hardness slipped between the mounds of flesh, it felt like sheer steel enclosed in velvet.
Sensing what he needed, Elrond pounded hard into him, one hand grabbing a fistful of his golden hair whilst the other slipped down to close about Thranduil's own steel. Using his hair as reins, the Peredhel set a punishing pace, driving into Thranduil hard enough to make the bed shudder at each thrust. In between his howls and animalistic cries, Thranduil could hear the slap of meat against sweaty muscle. Finally, his climax burst within him with nary a warning, and it was at a volume that he would not have been surprised if the guards had come running. Elrond followed soon, filling Thranduil with liquid warmth, and even as Elrond slowed out of exhaustion, Thranduil drove his hips back and forth to milk every drop of seed out of the Peredhel.
Later, when both had managed to clean up the bed and themselves and had settled in each other's warmth beneath the blankets, Thranduil wondered belatedly if this had been the right thing to do. To his surprise, he found that he didn't regret it as much as he had feared he would. And he felt that his wife would understand, and would not have wanted him to destroy himself and Mirkwood out of love for her.
There was still one question, however.
"Elrond?"
"Hmmh?"
"How did you come to have such a... large oral capacity?"
Author: Etharei
Pairings: Thranduil/Elrond
Rating: NC-17
Summary: Thranduil's grieving for his dead wife is slowly killing him. Elrond arrives just in time, and ignites a heat to chase away the winter.
Disclaimer: None of the characters or places depicted here are mine. Apologies to Tolkien for abusing his characters so, but I hope he sees it as a sign of love.
Author’s Note: My very first slash fic!
Written for Milly in the
2005 LOTR Secret Santa
Wrapped in the lethargy that had first descended upon him over a year ago, Thranduil reluctantly opened his eyes. For once, the weather outside seemed to agree with his mood, and the biting chill in the air gave him an odd sense of comfort. He hated the mornings with bright sun and the singing of cheerful birds now. Not that they got much of that, these days.
He felt disturbed for a moment that he would welcome the darkness brought by Dol Guldur rather than the light of Sun.
With a slowness and distinct lack of grace that was uncharacteristic for an Elf, the King of Mirkwood stumbled out of bed and pulled on his light sleeping robe over his naked body. He did not even bother to light the lantern, but made his way around his chambers by memory. At least he had not woken up looking for his wife this time. *That* had been an embarassing incident, and he made sure to have a very nice fruit basket sent to the serving girl who had the misfortune of working in his rooms that morn. Still on automatic, he walked through his bedroom and the sitting room outside and stepped out into the corridor of the private section of his threshold.
And promptly ran into Elrond.
~*~
"I appreciate you coming all this way from Imladris, Master Elrond, but you cannot help me."
He did not know why Elrond was here, though he suspected that one of his sons had sent for the healer. Not wanting a confrontation where anyone could just stumble in on them, he had ushered the Half-Elf into his chambers. Feeling self-concious all of a sudden, he had parted curtains no hand had touched in over a month, and lighted the neglected fireplace. Elrond had silently taken a seat on a large wooden chair with soft red cushions, and Thranduil remembered with a stab of pain that it had been his wife's favourite chair.
Sensing his mood, Elrond spoke gently, "Nay, perhaps I cannot. But your sons have begged me to try, by any means I think necessary, even if I have to drag you out there to mindlessly slaughter some spiders for a few days. You cannot continue existing like this, Thranduil. I am sure that you know that you are fading, but it is not your time. You are a good and strong King, and your people need you whilst the wood grows wilder around them."
"How can they consider me to be a good King when I could not even save my own wife?" Thranduil demanded, his resolve to keep the conversations short and chase the healer out as quickly as possible crumbling beneath the force of the anguish that had been building up inside of him since the previous winter. "My wife was dearer to me than all the wealth I am famed for coveting, but I could not save her! Her blood was spilt on *my* land, in *my* woods! Do not speak of what you do not know, Peredhel!"
There was silence, and then Elrond quietly said, "I believe I, of all people, can understand your pain, Thranduil."
The Elvenking paled. "I am sorry, I was not thinking." He wrung his hands and covered his face with them, and was surprised to find that his cheeks were wet. "How did you survive it, Elrond? How did you go on living, day after day?"
Elrond rested against the back of the chair, his expression thoughtful. "I do not know. A part of me grieves still, and always will, I think. Celebrian lived, Thranduil, but she might as well have died. She held on to life for her family, and in doing so subjected herself to torture no soul should ever experience. Sometimes I think it was worse than death, for the Celebrian I knew before had been destroyed, and I do not know if all the ages of Arda can ever remind her of it." Suddenly he stood, and crossed the room to where Thranduil leaned against the cold wall. "There are dark days, when I do as you do and confine myself to my chambers. But to destroy myself and everything we created because of my grief... that would have disgraced her memory and her love."
Thranduil nodded. "I understand what you say, and the small rational part of me speaks such words to me every day, but I cannot feel the desire to believe in the words. I feel like I am not alive, anymore."
"It is more difficult for you, cut off from the Sun and oppressed by the shadow as you are." Elrond cast him an unreadable expression, then walked slowly to the front of the fireplace. Thranduil's dull eyes followed him, and widened when Elrond shed first his travelling cloak, then the leather jerkin he wore on top of a linen tunic. It was only then that the King realised that Elrond must have arrived just that morning, and had immediately sought him out. He was about to apologise for being a poor host when Elrond said, in a voice lower and more melodic than the one Thranduil usually heard, "Do you know why your sons sent for me? They did not send for just any healer in Rivendell, but me in particular."
"Because you are the best," Thranduil absently replied, eyes fastened on Elrond, who was now clad only in a thin sleeveless under-tunic and tight riding trousers. The under-tunic barely covered the strongly built body beneath it, and the thick fabric of the trousers seemed to have been molded onto Elrond's legs. And very shapely legs they were, too.
"There is that." When had Elrond's voice become so low and... sensual? The hint of a shudder went through Thranduil's previously stone-cold body. "But somehow they had heard that once upon a time, you were very... fond... of me." He fixed Thranduil with a dark, unreadable stare. "Your body is unharmed, o King, but you have allowed the winter into your spirit." Elrond leant against the mantelpiece, and Thranduil couldn't help noticing how the flickering firelight brought out the planes of muscle on the Half-Elf's chest, half-exposed by the deep 'V' neck of the under-tunic. "It is my duty as a healer and a friend to do all in my power to... help you."
The King of Mirkwood could only blink uncomprehendingly for several heartbeats. And the heartbeats seemed to stop altogether when he finally realised what Elrond was proposing.
The anger that he had hitherto been directed at himself for his failure in saving his wife now found new fuel in the Half-Elf in front of him. The nerve! So Elrond thought that he'd make an easy target, did he? He had just lost his Queen, her spirit might still be haunting these halls, and Elrond expected him to jump into bed with him? Of course, it did not help matters that his body, which he had quite neglected in the past year, was already voicing its approval of the vision presented by the scantily-clad figure standing by his fire. The light cast an almost bronze glow to Elrond's sun-kissed skin, and seemed to bring out red highlights in the luxurious black mane on his head. The beauty that had drawn Thranduil to the Elf all those years ago, when they had first met in Lindon, had only been enhanced by the sorrows of the years. He felt the sharp pangs of lust, and grew even more angry at Elrond.
Panting- he knew not if it was from fury or awakened lust- Thranduil bodily threw himself at the Half-Elf. His rage turned his blood into fire, and the fire burned away the listlessness that had been drowning his spirit. He had been fading, little by little losing the will to live. Elrond had given his dying spirit an outlet through which to flare up against the darkness that had settled on it, and thus an incredible sense of awareness rushed through him, almost overwhelming him with life.
He had wanted to die. Now he didn't know how to let go of life. Delicious, desperate life.
He wanted to pummel Elrond to the ground, to burn out all the hatred and frustration and dark helpessness that had built up inside of him until it had turned inwards and choked him.
His momentum threw both of them onto the floor. Sable silk flowed over his heated fingers as one hand closed around the front of the Half-Elf's slender throat. He could feel the pulse thundering under the sensitive skin, knew where the vital jugular rested. Surely Elrond must be afraid of what he could do, of what he almost yearned to do... but Thranduil could see no fear in that dignified face, only a strange heat that had nothing to do with anger or terror but was just as primal as either.
Through his mind rushed images of violence, of blood on the snow, of screams in the distance...
His hand released the reddened neck and move to grab the side of Elrond's head. He pulled, and released an animalistic growl just before his hungry mouth descended onto Elrond's, lips and tongue forcefully prying it open as his hand cradled and pressed the Half-Elf's head towards his. The Master of Imladris offered no resistance, instead parting his lips wider to allow Thranduil's desperate tongue within. Down below, rough hands roamed over muscled warrior's bodies. Thranduil could barely hear the primal growls and needy moans that both of them were making through the ringing in his ears. But despite being fueled by the unexpected passion, his weakened body was easily overcome by the Half-Elf's, and soon it was he who was being pressed down against the chill tiles as his mouth was thoroughly explored. Eventually Elrond released him, and moved downwards, putting teeth and tongue to good use on Thranduil's pale neck and muscled chest.
It afforded Thranduil a chance to gather some semblance of coherency. "Elrond." For a moment he didn't recognise the deep, hoarse voice as his own. "I don't... oh..." Elrond's skillful tongue played with the tip of a nipple, taking care not to touch the surrounding skin. "I've never- ah!- we do not do this here-" he broke off with a loud gasp and a shudder when Elrond withdrew slight, and pulled his robe wide open. Elrond's eyes darkened as they raked over his long, toned body, then for this first time in an Age, Thranduil felt himself pressed down by the weight of another. Somehow the fact that Elrond was still dressed only aroused him further.
"I know," Elrond murmurred, before moving to the other nipple and closed his lips around the hard nub. "But I think you need this. We both need this." That smooth, musical voice sent tendrils of pleasure through his core. "Do you want me to stop?" At that moment his hand managed to slip into Thranduil's breeches.
Eyes going wide, the Elvenking buckled when his fully aroused shaft was gripped by a lightly callused hand. Elrond's touch was firm, hinting at a warrior's strength hidden beneath the healer's exterior, and left no room for doubt that he knew very well what he was doing. Thranduil's body made his decision for him. "Please... don't stop..." His words caused the other's stormy grey eyes to darken, and he shuddered at the raw hunger he saw within those normally peaceful features.
Thranduil whimpered when Elrond sat back on his heels for a moment. For the first time he became aware of the cold winter air coming in through his open window. Not cold enough to even concern his elven body, but his heated flesh yearned to be touched. He immediately forgot all this, though, when Elrond swooped down and once again attacked his mouth, as strong arms enclosed him in a heated embrace and bore him towards his large bed.
The kiss ended as suddenly as it began, so that Thranduil was left gasping for air and staring up at the cloth canopy of his bed. He had just propped himself up with one elbow when the most incredible heat slid began sliding slowly over the thick flesh standing out from his groin. He moaned, falling back again, and reminded himself to keep breathing when he felt himself being sheathed fully in the Peredhel's skillful mouth, the muscles of Elrond's throat closing further about the sensitive tip of his shaft.
His moan was followed by what sounded like a shrill scream after Elrond's slow start suddenly developed into a frenzy of movement. The Half-Elf's tongue proved to be as skilfull as the rumours had it, and in a rare moment of lucidity Thranduil wondered how Elrond managed to deep-throat him so often and so easily. The thought of how Elrond must have acquired such a skill only made him reach down to tangle his hands in the silky dark hair.
After over a year without physical intimacy, his body could not last long under such a sensual onslaught. When he felt the tell-tale tightening of his lower body, Thranduil gasped, "Elrond... I- ah!- I'm coming..." The Peredhel
released him, grazing the throbbing vein that ran the length of his member. Thranduil thought that Elrond would finish him off by hand, like his late wife preferred to, but without warning the Master of Imladris plunged back down, mouth open just wide enough to slide him in. Incredible tightness and heat engulfed him all the way to the hilt, and Thranduil lost his control.
It seemed to him that his shout continued to echo around his chambers as he lay panting. He felt weary, but it was a good tiredness, not the unwholy lethargy that had possessed him before this day. He pushed himself up and reached out for Elrond, but the Half-Elf smiled and shook his head. Elrond rested at the foot of the bed for a minute, then stood and dressed again. Thranduil's brow furrowed in confusion.
"Come, my friend, let me help you," he said. Loving between the same gender was not encouraged in Mirkwood, but Thranduil felt it unfair that he should leave Elrond unsatisfied. The other's tight leggings made it clear that Elrond's desire was still unsated.
It was only when he was fully dressed and quite presentable once more that Elrond spoke in reply. "Thank you for the offer, Thranduil, but I know that you are not very comfortable with this mode of intimacy. I did this because you were once a close friend, whom I found fair in return, and I can understand the grief that can be brought about by the loss of one's beloved spouse. I hope only that you will not be angry with me later, once the full extent of what has taken place here has settled into your mind."
And with that, Elrond opened the door and quietly left the room. Feeling somewhat in a state of shock, Thranduil could do little but lie back and wait for his heart-rate to return to normal. As he thought about this most unexpected experience, he felt that initial anger that Elrond had feared. But he knew that it was not to do with Elrond's actions, but more with his own fear of having possibly betrayed his wife. Yet Elrond was right; he had needed this... release. He felt more alive now than he had in months, despite the weariness from the exertion. The fact that he was this tired when the other had had to do all the work was telling in itself how badly he had needed this.
He thought of how he would thank the Peredhel for this. He couldn't let Elrond return to Imladris without showing his appreciation for the extent to which the healer had gone to cure him, but simply giving a rich gift made Elrond seem like a cheap prositute. Then he remembered Elrond's unfinished state.
For a moment he hesitated, remembering that it was he who had discouraged the indulgence in same-sex intimacies in his Kingdom. But surely this was a special case. And it wasn't exactly a law.
In the end, guilt won out over pride. He slipped into a fresh sleeping-robe and was about to leave the room, when he thought of the jar of oil in his bathing room. With slightly nervous hands, he warmed it over the fire and spread a thin layer over his skin, so that his tall and lithe form gleamed. Then he extinguished the fire and made his stealthy way down the corridor. Fortunately, his mood-swings had kept the number of servants in that section of the Halls low, and he easily evaded the two he came across by slipping into conveniently empty guestrooms.
Finally he reached the selection of rooms that were always assigned to visitors from other Elven realms, and Thranduil remembered the room that was always given to Elrond on his rare visits. It was the guestroom with the biggest window to the outside, and was high enough to provide a view of the stars above the canopy line. Slipping inside, he heard a splashing in the bathing chamber and realised that Elrond must have decided to take a bath. He peeked quickly into the room, anyway, to make sure that it was indeed Elrond, then took off his sleeping-robe and lay down upon the wide bed.
It was only then that the full extent of what he was about to do struck him, but a warrior's pride refused to let him back away, and so it was that when Elrond stepped into his bedroom, a towel about his waist, he stood and stared at the naked King of Mirkwood lying upon the silk sheets like a forbidden sacrifice. Thranduil ignored the thundering of his heart and said, as calmly as he could, "You have my gratitude, Elrond, for restoring to Mirkwood her King. Mirkwood now makes this most humble offering to the Master of Imladris."
"Mirkwood is most generous to offer her loveliest fruit," Elrond whispered hoarsely, stepping up to the foot of the bed. "But the gratitude will suffice."
Thranduil blinked, and felt new respect for his fellow ruler. He could see the flush on Elrond's face, the way his hands tightened about the towel as if afraid it might fall. "You have given much aid to the King, my Lord. But he needs to remember to be Thranduil, as well."
That seemed to be too much for Elrond to resist, and so he threw off the towel, revealing a very impressive and very aroused girth. He slinked on all fours across the bed towards Thranduil. Out of nervousness, Thranduil automatically shuffled back, and Elrond paused, eyes questioning. But there was a challenge in them, too, and the Elvenking's pride made him fight his nerves and spread his legs invitingly, his right hand moving to rest lightly on his very upper thigh.
What felt like a well-muscled four-legged creature attacked him with a growl, covering him with heat and hardness. Thranduil attempted to match the speed and thoroughness of Elrond's groping hands, but was distracted when Elrond ground his hips urgently against Thranduil's. No more words passed between them, the endless stream of moans and incoherent pleadings being good enough indicators for what was welcomed, needed. Elrond dominated the love-play, though Thranduil pulled out a few surprises of his own. Once nimble healer's fingers had prepared him suffciently, he twisted around so that he was on all fours. Growling, he raised and lowered his rear invitingly, and when Elrond's hardness slipped between the mounds of flesh, it felt like sheer steel enclosed in velvet.
Sensing what he needed, Elrond pounded hard into him, one hand grabbing a fistful of his golden hair whilst the other slipped down to close about Thranduil's own steel. Using his hair as reins, the Peredhel set a punishing pace, driving into Thranduil hard enough to make the bed shudder at each thrust. In between his howls and animalistic cries, Thranduil could hear the slap of meat against sweaty muscle. Finally, his climax burst within him with nary a warning, and it was at a volume that he would not have been surprised if the guards had come running. Elrond followed soon, filling Thranduil with liquid warmth, and even as Elrond slowed out of exhaustion, Thranduil drove his hips back and forth to milk every drop of seed out of the Peredhel.
Later, when both had managed to clean up the bed and themselves and had settled in each other's warmth beneath the blankets, Thranduil wondered belatedly if this had been the right thing to do. To his surprise, he found that he didn't regret it as much as he had feared he would. And he felt that his wife would understand, and would not have wanted him to destroy himself and Mirkwood out of love for her.
There was still one question, however.
"Elrond?"
"Hmmh?"
"How did you come to have such a... large oral capacity?"