Beyond Arda

Mod Post

2008-04-29T08:16:00Z

Posted by: moons-storm.livejournal.com

Just a note: This community is closed. Stories have been told, and it's time to say goodbye. :)

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Working

2008-04-25T20:49:00Z

Posted by: rhovandir.livejournal.com

Rhovandir has spent every night at Erestor's side, and each day working through the constant stream of paperwork the realm seemed to generate.

It is no different this afternoon.

The sun is sinking lower, and he tries to finish the last of the rewrites of the budget for the kitchen. It has been a harrowing annoyance, trying to allot just enough to take them through the winter, but not too much so that supplies would go rancid long before the winter ended.

It is in this state he is when Erestor enters his office.

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Reconnecting with Erestor

2008-04-25T19:52:00Z

Posted by: son-of-guilin.livejournal.com

Gwindor had put it off as long as he deemed necessary, but each time his thoughts turned to Erestor, he knew they needed to talk.

He is hesitant as he makes his way to the office he knows has been assigned to his friend. It had been... over three months since he had last spoken with the Elf. Far too long, in Gwindor's opinion, but he could not help having his fears. It was his demand of Thranduil which led to the Elvenking's display in front of the nobles. And while Gwindor does not blame himself for Thranduil's actions, he worries that Erestor shall hold a grudge for his part in breaking off both their relationship with one another and Erestor's relationship with his spouse.

Rounding the final stairs to Erestor's office, he calls out softly before becoming visible.

"Erestor? It is Gwindor. May I enter?"

The formality is awkward, but Gwindor would rather tread softly than risk making matters worse.

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A Much Needed Meeting Between Friends

2008-04-23T22:40:00Z

Posted by: ba-erestor.livejournal.com

Erestor has finally coaxed himself back into his office after reprimanding himself for mooning over Rhovandir.

But he can't stop the soft smile that still comes to his lips on occasion.

Yet, at least NOW he is getting some work done. Maybe not much...but some.

He is busily scratching out a remake of a treaty, making corrections where needed, adding things, deleting things.

And HOPEFULLY, he will have a finalized draft to be delivered to Thranduil for final approval.

At the thought of Thranduil, Erestor's mind wanders once more. He is happy that his two friends have made up and are healing together, but he still has not seen either of them since the celebration. Sure, it's only been a few days but...

He misses them.

Misses Thranduil.

Misses his best friend and confidant.

He knows there are some things that need to be said between them. Talked out. But deep down inside, he also knows he wants to talk to him about Rhovandir. Wants his council. Though he doesn't know how he'll bring it up.

There were other more important things between them to deal with first.

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...

2008-04-23T21:56:00Z

Posted by: gold-cleaver.livejournal.com

Placeholder, yo.

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Still Feeling Wonder

2008-04-23T20:38:00Z

Posted by: ba-erestor.livejournal.com

Erestor sits at his desk in the small office given to him, the same blank piece of parchment sitting in front of him that was there an hour ago. But no matter how hard he tries to focus, his mind keeps straying to the celebration, and his eyes to the green leaves of the tree he is in.

'Never have I loved one as I have grown to love you.'

He was afriad to trust. Had told Namo he could never do so again.

And yet...

'Never have I loved one as I have grown to love you.'

He cannot deny the feeling of elation the words give him as they wash through his mind. As he thinks of that night, Rhovandir sleeping in his bed. Kissing him senseless and too distraction, and then expecting him to simply fall to sleep.

Erestor chuckles and shakes his head. Such a simple thing to do really...sleep. But he had lain awake most of the night, aroused and thoroughly kissed. Feeling the truth of Rhovandir's words in his every touch. Hearing it in each murmured word.

'Never have I loved one as I have grown to love you.'

Sighing again, Erestor tries to concentrate on the treaty before him and the rewriting of it, and fails once again as those words play over and over in his mind. Making his heart race and the smile on his face to remain no matter what he tries to do.

Finally, he gives up. He stands and makes his way out of his office, once more going down to the ground and seeking out solitude to think more.

He had told Rhovandir that the beating of his heart was all for his...lover. All for Rhovandir, but luckily he had understood when Erestor said he was afraid...not ready to say the words back.

And he admits to himself this makes him feel guilty.

'Never have I loved one as I have grown to love you.'

But Rhovandir had also told him he would wait for centuries to hear those words from his lips if need be. Erestor knows it would not be that long, but he wonders when they will come. When he would be ready to do so.

Sitting beneath a tree, he smiles softly as his eyes go distant once again, reliving that night over and over. Knowing it was...right. Knowing somehow, even without Namo's confirmation, that Rhovandir was the elf the Vala spoke of. The elf that would be...his.

Each night he has invited Rhovandir to sleep next to him, and each night Rhovandir has. Just as he promised to do if asked.

Each night his lips have been ravished, and each night Rhovandir has reassured him of that love.

Now he just needed to take the step that in light of all he's been through, and not just with Thranduil and Gwindor, will let the elf who's been haunting his waking dreams know that...

...he feels the same.

((ooc: erestor oom...no tagging please))

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Brothers' Conferance

2008-04-23T19:13:00Z

Posted by: gold-cleaver.livejournal.com

It was hot.

Simple as that.

Maglor is draped over a chair, clothed in only his breeches, his hair pulled back in a messy plait. He is certain if he were an animal, he would be panting. As is, he is sweating like mad. He is uncomfortable in this weather, even with the rain. The rain seems to make the air even more oppressive.

"Have you gone native, brother?"

Maglor cracks his eyes, taking in the sight of his brother's well formed, completely dressed, body. "You are suffering from madness to be so dressed," Maglor replies, closing his eyes once more.

"Well, we will not have to suffer this much longer," Maedhros says, crossing his brother's room. He flips his wrist, displaying the fourth page of the treaty to Maglor. He watches Maglor's eyes open, skim the page before him, then dart up to his face. "Yes. Thranduil signed it. We can go home!"

Maglor, though, didn't look happy. "Why? Why did he sign it? He was wholly against allying with Formenos..."

"It seems Lord Daeron used his friendship with the king to secure the signing of the treaty," Maedhros says as he rolls the document back up.

"Daeron?" Maglor says slowly.

"Aye." Maedhros looks down at his brother. "Perhaps it is his way of saying your company is no longer required."

Maglor shoots a vicious glare at Maedhros. "If he wished to end our affair, Nelyo, he would tell me himself, not send you with a treaty to do so." However... why had Daeron done it? He knew it would mean the end of Maglor's stay in Greenwood! Did he... truly wish for him to go?

"Your eyes tell a different story, Cáno," Maedhros says, crouching beside his brother's chair. "He sent Rhovandir to me with the treaty, and Rhovandir told me it was my choice to tell you. I do not believe Daeron ever intended to speak to you about it."

Hurt flashes in his eyes, though he squashes it quickly. "I will speak to him before we go," he says stiffly. "How long before we can leave?"

"A week. Wait for the rain to stop."

Maglor nods. "If you will excuse me..." He stands, not bothering to dress, and heads out of his room. He traverses several bridges between the trees, his eyes on one of the distance practice flets of the House of Music.

Even with silence spells... Maglor knows where to find his coward of a lover.

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Deliverance

2008-04-23T19:02:00Z

Posted by: 1st-feanorian.livejournal.com

Rhovandir finds Maedhros in the barracks.

Where else had he expected to find him? Despite Ardaur's insistence to the contrary, Fëanor's sons had made themselves quite useful to Greenwood.

The Guard was about to head out on their evening rotation, but Rhovandir asked Tirithion to keep Maedhros behind. He approaches the tall redhead with his chin held high.

"My Lord Maedhros," he greets with a respectful bow of his head.

"Lord Rhovandir," Maedhros replies formally, returning the bow. "Is there something I can do for you?"

Rhovandir shakes his head. "No, my Lord. I have brought this to you." Rhovandir holds out the parchment roll, and he watches quietly as Maedhros looks through it. "He has signed it," Rhovandir informs him.

Maedhros stares at it for a long time. "He made no changes."

"I do not believe the Lord Daeron would have accepted anything less than King Thranduil's agreement to your most acceptable terms," Rhovandir says, giving Daeron the credit he is due.

A raised copper eyebrow. "Lord Daeron did this? Why?"

"Because to have the treaty signed would make the Lord Maglor happy, and Lord Maglor's happiness is quite important to Lord Daeron," the Sinda says simply.

Maedhros snorts. "Is it?"

"It is," Rhovandir says. "It is as important to him as it is to you, and much for the same reasons."

Grey eyes widen a fraction. "You know nothing of my relationship with my brother."

"I know plenty," Rhovandir murmurs, his tone carrying a warning. "I see things most do not, Lord Maedhros. I see how you two look at one another. I see the freedom with which you touch. I see how you kiss. Brothers who are merely brothers do not behave so. Brothers who have taken one another to bed... now, that is a different story."

Maedhros' face flushes brightly. "You had best keep your observations to yourself," he growls.

"I intend to, my Lord. What you had best understand is that Lord Daeron seeks to no more use Lord Maglor than you sought to use him in those dark times. It is only happiness and companionship they seek. Allow them that while they might enjoy it," Rhovandir says. "It is your choice to inform Lord Maglor of the treaty or not. I have done what was asked and delivered the parchments, so I will bid you a good evening."

Rhovandir dips his head once more and exits the barracks, leaving a stunned and silent Maedhros in his wake.

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Signed, Sealed, Delivered...

2008-04-22T20:23:00Z

Posted by: daeron-the-dark.livejournal.com

Daeron slowly walked down the stairs of the flet. Rhovandir's office is only one level down from Thranduil's and he is certain the attentive Elf had heard every word that was yelled above him.

He enters without greeting, his eyes still tearful and wide with shock. Approaching his friend, he hands him the treaty Thranduil just signed, a slight tremor in his grip on the parchment.

There is a lump in his throat that he cannot swallow, and he takes a few steps to the side, leaning on one of the tree's branches that frame the office, his eyes staring out at the water droplets that trail down the invisible barrier of the flet.

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The Prince Returns

2008-04-21T22:49:00Z

Posted by: his-greenleaf.livejournal.com

He is giddy.

It is the only word that can describe Legolas' mood as they race through the forest on their horses. The ground is still moist, and above the sky threatens another shower, but Legolas is determined to be back in the city by nightfall.

"I'm home!" he shouts to the leaves, to the forest.

Peals of laughter erupt from the Greenwood prince as he hears the trees and animals welcome him home. His very spirit feels lighter, his eyes shine with intense joy, and he whoops in encouragement at his mate.

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Angry Words

2008-04-21T22:43:00Z

Posted by: crown-of-leaves.livejournal.com

He has called for Daeron.

This is the first time since late spring he has felt himself. He sits behind his desk, quickly going through correspondence and supply lists. He would finalize them all before the week's end so everything would be ready come winter.

The Elvenking is once again proud, his eyes bright and his hair shining gold. He is still perhaps a little too thin, but he is slowly gaining the weight back he has lost. Thranduil is again the Elf Greenwood remembers, and he knows they have Gwindor to thank for it.

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Pregnant Heat

2008-04-21T22:40:00Z

Posted by: tolkien-npc.livejournal.com

She is hot.

Intensely hot.

Eirien is sprawled across her bed, wearing nothing but a swath of cloth over her chest and a loincloth over her lower region. Her hair has been braided in one long, thick silver plait, and she is using a small paper fan she uses to cool her face.

She is not only hot, but she is also massively pregnant, which makes her discomfort even more so.

The Greenwood princess moans, lamenting her choice to birth in the height of summer!

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New Beginnings

2008-04-21T22:13:00Z

Posted by: crown-of-leaves.livejournal.com

crown_of_leaves: *doesn't want to be a disappointment anymore*

son_of_guilin: You came after me. Any disappointment I felt evaporated in that moment. *huggles*

crown_of_leaves: *looks pathetic* How can you forgive me?

son_of_guilin: I love you. *as if it is the most obvious thing in the world*

crown_of_leaves: *whispers* It cannot be that simple.

son_of_guilin: *caresses Thranduil's face, his eyes gentle* It is that simple, meleth.

crown_of_leaves: *closes his eyes* I wish you would hate me. Scream at me. Hit me. Something to make me feel as if I have earned your forgiveness.

son_of_guilin: Did you suffer as I did when we were apart?

crown_of_leaves: That was my own doing.

son_of_guilin: *smiles gently* Answer the question, Thranduil.

crown_of_leaves: *opens his eyes slowly, and his heart breaks to see such a gentle smile from his mate directed at him* ...yes...

son_of_guilin: *lets his thumb stroke gently at the blond's cheekbone* And you are sincerely contrite for your actions, which led me to leave?

crown_of_leaves: It was a terrible choice. I should never have hurt you like that. Never. 'Sorry' is not even an adequate word! *wishes there was some word for the level of regret he felt*

son_of_guilin: *soothes with soft touches and loving eyes* Then you have earned my forgiveness, Thranduil, though you think yourself unworthy. And from here we will continue on and together work on your lack of self-worth.

crown_of_leaves: *murmurs* Many would say I have too much self-worth, Gwindor.

son_of_guilin: Self-worth is different than feelings of unjustified entitlement. *kisses Thranduil's cheek*

crown_of_leaves: You mean arrogance.

son_of_guilin: *chuckles* Call it what you will. You may be arrogant, but you feel you deserve nothing from me at the same time. It is confounding.

crown_of_leaves: *furrows his brow* You bring me happiness I... simply have not earned. *sighs* Before you, I didn't have these issues! I knew who I was, I knew what I wanted, and you came along and turned it all around.

son_of_guilin: Years of being alone left you 'wanting' what was unnecessary and believing yourself happy when you suffered inside. I give you happiness you have earned by bringing me happiness in return. There is no debt to be paid, Thranduil.

crown_of_leaves: I have brought you little happiness, Gwindor. *flops down on the bed and stares up at the branches, the rain pattering above them*

son_of_guilin: You are not truly looking, Thranduil. You have brought me more happiness than you will ever know. *climbs on the bed, sitting beside Thranduil and looking down at his mate's face*

crown_of_leaves: *glances towards Gwindor* I don't understand you. If you had intentionally slept with another to cause me pain... I don't think I could ever forgive you.

son_of_guilin: And I would not deserve forgiveness, but that is not the point. What you deserve is irrelevant. Love is merciful, patient, and forgiving. I love you... and that is how I can forgive you.

crown_of_leaves: *his eyes return to the wet canopy, murmuring* I am glad you can forgive me, for having you so far away... It was as if my heart had been cut from me.

son_of_guilin: *takes Thranduil's hand in his* I felt the same... but I could not stay and passively accept what you had done. Leaving was... one of the hardest things I have ever done.

crown_of_leaves: *understands that now, though the memory is still so painful and vivid* Was leaving the only option?

son_of_guilin: *his own heart is sore in remembrance* If there had been another option, I would have taken it. I know you... You would have taken my staying as permission to continue doing what you did without regards to my boundaries or needs.

crown_of_leaves: *closes his eyes and nods, because he knows Gwindor is right*

son_of_guilin: *sighs sadly, his own eyes closing as he squeezes Thranduil's hand* I did... what was necessary. And I know you will never put me in such a position again. That is my source of strength; the knowledge that you love me. *because he can feel that Thranduil does love him*

crown_of_leaves: *softly* I know what it is like to do what is necessary.

son_of_guilin: *opens his eyes, and though there are tears there, he smiles softly down at his mate* Aye... you know better than most. I love you, Thranduil.

crown_of_leaves: I love you as well. *looks up at Gwindor, his eyes shadowed* More than... more than anything.

son_of_guilin: *the tears well, but do not fall* I... I am glad. *because the Elvenking would not have sought to bring him back if he did not love him...*

crown_of_leaves: *smiles as he releases Gwindor's hand so he can cup his mate's face* No reason for tears, melethen.

son_of_guilin: *leans into the touch* I am just happy... relieved. I don't know what I would have done if you had not come for me. *leans over and kisses Thranduil, his tears escaping with the change of angle, and he murmurs an apology as he brushes the wet spots from his mate's cheeks*

crown_of_leaves: *moves his hand from Gwindor's cheek to the back of his neck, drawing him back down for a deeper, if a bit hesitant, kiss* Can you tell me you ever doubted I would come for you?

son_of_guilin: *cradles Thranduil's face with his fingertips as he is kissed so softly. There is no fear in him... no hesitancy like he can sense in Thranduil* While I was sane, no. I hoped... did not allow myself to doubt.

crown_of_leaves: *the knowledge he had driven Gwindor into insanity is like a blade to his gut, and he pulls his lips away* No matter what the circumstance, I will always come for you.

son_of_guilin: *feels the disturbance in his mate's mind* I know you will. Do not trouble yourself. I chose to leave, knowing full well that it would hurt. It is in the past now... and I have returned to you.

crown_of_leaves: I... do not forget the past... or the mistakes I have made...

son_of_guilin: I do not expect you to forget. It is wise you do not. But you must learn to move on and not dwell upon your past mistakes. I would see you live your life to its fullest, melethen.

crown_of_leaves: My life will be full. I only wish to make you happy, to serve you in whatever way I may.

son_of_guilin: You will serve me best by loving me and being yourself... without shame. I have noticed your hesitancy.

crown_of_leaves: I am myself...

son_of_guilin: *raises an elegant eyebrow expectantly*

crown_of_leaves: *sighs* What do you want, Gwindor?

son_of_guilin: *knows in an instant what he wants from Thranduil* I want you to forgive yourself. You have my forgiveness... and I know it will not happen overnight, but I want you to forgive yourself.

crown_of_leaves: *stares up in his eyes* Forgive myself?

son_of_guilin: *nods, a gentle smile gracing his features again* Because you haven't.

crown_of_leaves: And how am I supposed to do that, Gwindor? *frowns* I am sorry, but I don't love myself as much as you love me, so such forgiveness is quite hard to come by.

son_of_guilin: I don't expect it to happen overnight... but if you cannot forgive yourself for what happened, we will never move past it together. Things will not be exactly as they were before, but that does not mean we cannot be happy. *pause* I would do anything to see you happy again, Thranduil.

crown_of_leaves: I am happy. *pulls Gwindor down and kisses him soundly* You see?

son_of_guilin: *is panting by the end of that kiss and blinks a couple times* That... proves nothing... *chuckles as he leans back down and kisses Thranduil again. Slowly. Re-exploring the Elf's mouth in an almost innocent way.*

crown_of_leaves: *strokes his fingers through Gwindor's hair as he allows Gwindor to do as he likes with his mouth, occasionally brushing his tongue against Gwindor's in a teasing, lazy manner*

son_of_guilin: *hums his pleasure, slowly deepening the kiss. Whatever skill the Noldo has in kissing, it is unconsciously displayed... and he kisses Thranduil until they are both breathless. Looking down at the blond, he smiles brilliantly, his lips slightly swollen and parted, his eyes glimmering with love and the stirrings of desire*

crown_of_leaves: *lips ache pleasantly, his breath a little short, and he returns the smile in equal measure... until he sees those first glimmers of arousal in Gwindor's eyes, and feels the first tendrils within himself... then he slowly sits up*

son_of_guilin: *eyes Thranduil* Stop. *yes... it's a direct order*

crown_of_leaves: *stops immediately, eyes turning to Gwindor* What?

son_of_guilin: You're pulling away from me... as you have done every time I see or feel arousal spark within you. Who are you? Where is the Thranduil who I could make weak in the knees with a single kiss? Where is the insatiable Elf who interrupted my reading to blindfold me so he could test the sensitivity of my hearing? *cannot help but grin at that memory, though the expression is lost in seriousness again as he lifts a hand to cup his mate's face* Where is the Elf who kept me up the entirety of our wedding night? Where is he? I want him back...

crown_of_leaves: *eyes stares into Gwindor's* I can't. *Gwindor's sweetness, the almost-innocence of the questions tug at him* This is who I am now. I... I can't do that with you. Not anymore.

son_of_guilin: *gets an annoyed glint in his eyes* Horse-shit.

crown_of_leaves: It isn't!

son_of_guilin: Yes. It is.

crown_of_leaves: Things have changed, Gwindor.

son_of_guilin: *can keep his frustration in no longer* They don't have to, Thranduil! You made a very bad error in judgement, I left, you got sense knocked into you, and you brought me back. I have forgiven you. I can see it when your interest is sparked. I felt it the other night when we ran through the woods. The only reason you turn away from me is because you think yourself unworthy of my affection. Stop it, Thranduil! You're worthy. I miss you. I want you. Move beyond your self-hatred!

crown_of_leaves: *falls silent in the face of Gwindor's upset, staring at him, and he says softly* I... Gwindor, I feel... dirty. Horribly so. You wish for me to move beyond such things, but... I don't know how. When I think of making love with you? All I see is that consort. What I did. How can I do those things with you now?

son_of_guilin: *his eyes soften, but at the final question, they get an undeniably mischievous glint* How? Let me show you how. *and in a swift, effortless motion, he straddles Thranduil and pulls his lips up to his, cupping the blond's head in a way that allows him to simultaneously stroke at the curve of his ear.* Be with me here. Now. Don't think about the past. Think about this moment.

crown_of_leaves: *shivers as his ear is stroked, and his hands clench in the sheets, though he opens his mouth to Gwindor* I am here with you. Now. Can that not be enough? *he fights down any arousal, ignoring how wonderful his mate feels across his lap, how delicious he tastes*

son_of_guilin: *purposefully moves his hips, squirming atop Thranduil's lap* No, Thranduil. It isn't enough. The last Elf you slept with was not me. That is a problem I want remedied. And I want it remedied now. Stop fighting me... *continues his gentle but insistent kissing and squirming, a small moan passing from his lips into Thranduil's mouth*

crown_of_leaves: *cries out softly, hands flying up to Gwindor's hips as he moves so tantalizingly against him* Gwindor... *clenches his eyes tight, his heart beginning to speed in his chest the longer they kiss, and it isn't long before he moans low in his throat, hands drawing his mate closer, and takes control of their kiss, thrusting his tongue deep into Gwindor's mouth as long-denied desire rises up in him with frightening force*

son_of_guilin: *feels a shudder run through him as he finally feels Thranduil's resolve start to crumble. Hearing his mate moan for the first time since their tryst on Beltaine... It is sweet music to Gwindor's ears, and he answers with a deep moan of his own. The Elvenking's large hands are familiar and welcome weights at his hips, and he encourages the blond with enticing strokes of his tongue and soft brushes of fingertips against ears, jaw, and neck. Gwindor wants to be assured Thranduil is his... and he will not be denied*

crown_of_leaves: *in a swift motion, he takes Gwindor and presses him to the bed, his body settling over Gwindor's, at home between his mate's thighs, and his sex begins to fill for the first time in months. Slowly, he makes that first tentative thrust against Gwindor's groin, his kisses firm, the depth possessive, and his hands slide under Gwindor's shirt as he kisses them both senseless* By the Valar, you feel good... *as his hands slide up stomach and chest, thumbs flicking over nipples, Thranduil leaves Gwindor's lips, gasping as he presses his lips to the Noldo's throat*

son_of_guilin: *is pliant and eager beneath Thranduil, and when the Elvenking thrusts against him and he feels the evidence of his mate's desire he mewls, his hands grasping the blond's hips and pulling them even closer* Gods! You do too... Don't think, Thranduil. Feel. *trails his hands up his mate's torso, along his sides, and over the planes of his chest until his fingertips can brush the Wood-Elf's mithril piercings, where he teases with soft pinches and tugs at the rings. His breath is ragged when his lips are finally released and his eyes flutter open, gazing up at the stormy sky above and the magical way the rain spatters, beads, and trails down the invisible barrier of their flet. He moans again, pleasure spiking through him*

crown_of_leaves: *cries out, chest arching into Gwindor's hands, need rushing through him as all rational thought is stolen, leaving him trembling in the wake of his intense arousal. Thranduil pulls Gwindor's hands from his chest as he eagerly yanks the shirt up and off his mate. He stares down at him for long moments, eyes dark and wild, cheeks flushed, lips swollen, and then he slowly descends, lips drawing one of the dark Elf's nipples in where his tongue flicks repeatedly, and his hands slide down, over hips, and around the front to the lacings of Gwindor's trousers*

son_of_guilin: *is intoxicated by his mate's proximity and the need and desire that sizzles between them, both through their groins and through their bond. He whimpers at the look in Thranduil's eyes, biting his lip in anticipation before his body arches against his mate's mouth, sweet tendrils of pleasure shooting from his chest to his groin. His need is obvious, his length almost painfully hard, pushed against the constricting fabric of his trousers.* Thranduil... *the name is a breathless moan that speaks of a need beyond the physical. He needs the golden Elf above him; needs the affirmation of possession that has been lacking since their reunion on the Isle of Estë*

crown_of_leaves: *vaguely realises foreplay is not necessary, and so he leaves Gwindor's chest, fingers swiftly unlacing fabric. He stands from the bed, taking Gwindor's trousers with him, before he unties his own, revealing his nude body to Gwindor fully for the first time since coming for him, and his arousal is evident, long and thick, aching to once again merge with its mate* Lay at the head of the bed. *grabs the small bottle of oil from the bedside drawer before joining Gwindor on the bed once again, and snatches his pillow from his side, urging Gwindor to lift his hips, and the Elvenking slips the pillow under him, raising his love's hips, and a jolt of painful desire courses through him as he stares at his positioned spouse*

son_of_guilin: *cannot tear his eyes away from Thranduil's nude form, flushing crimson, and while desire runs hotly through his veins and pulses in his aroused sex, he cannot help but breathe* By the Valar, Thranduil! I forgot how... big... you are. *he laughs suddenly as he takes his position at the head of the bed, his eyes glimmering darkly up at his mate.* Just... go slow. *he whispers the request, his hips raised up on the pillow and his blush showing no sign of dissipating as he lays, vulnerable and achingly exposed to the golden Elf's hungry gaze*

crown_of_leaves: *chuckles darkly as he pours oil over his fingers, and purrs* You will remember acutely shortly, melethen. *he leans down, pressing closed lips to the leaking tip of his love's slender organ as his finger makes that first, gentle swipe against the sensitive opening. As he slides his fingers into the tight passage, he takes the head of Gwindor's erection into his mouth*

son_of_guilin: *cries out sharply, long-forgotten pleasure burning through his nerves like white lightning as he arches back and his hands fly to Thranduil's hair. His passage flutters, the intrusion is familiar and yet his body rejects it at first. Gwindor tries to calm his breathing, gasping as he is with Thranduil's mouth upon his sensitive length. It is several moments before his passage flutters again and then relaxes around his mate's questing fingers*

crown_of_leaves: *slowly penetrates, ever careful as he takes his time sliding his mouth down Gwindor's shaft, so that when the Elf's sex is deeply embedded in his throat, his finger has finished that first inward thrust. He swallows around his mate twice before beginning to pull off, taking this time to begin withdrawing the finger*

son_of_guilin: Ai! Thranduil!! *cries out again, his mind drawn solely to the slick, tight heat that envelopes his member. His mindvoice is breathless as he speaks to his mate without words* I... won't last long... if you don't-- *a shaky moan interrupts and he feels his climax swiftly approaching. Though he wants nothing more than to draw this out, Gwindor has gone far too long without his mate's touch, and his body is desperate for release*

crown_of_leaves: Come for me, Gwindor. I want to taste you. I promise... we will not stop... but this will help. Come. *takes him back into his throat as he thrust gently into his body, curving his finger so he rubs across that bundle of internal nerves, swallowing forcefully around Gwindor's shaft*

son_of_guilin: *takes his mate's words to heart, reassured that Thranduil will not bring him release and then withdraw as he has before. The command to come is all too easily followed as that spot within him is stroked and Thranduil milks him expertly. A choked cry leaves his lips as his release washes through him, his hands clenching tightly in his spouse's hair as he bucks up and shudders. His eyes are filled with light, his hearing throbbing with the pounding rush of his heartbeat, and his body relaxes after a few achingly sublime moments, slumping on the pillow and soft mattress beneath him*

crown_of_leaves: *drinks from Gwindor like an Elf suffering from thirst, savouring the fluid after so long, and when the shaft between his lips begins to soften, he releases him. Swollen lips and bright eyes, he looks up at Gwindor, panting, as he leaves his finger deep inside, waiting several heartbeats before he begins to gently thrust again, always watching Gwindor, feral hunger in his eyes, in their bond*

son_of_guilin: *his body sensitive and spent, he feels keenly the finger that moves within him, though there is no resistance to the movement now. He whimpers, his eyes drawn to Thranduil's in the hazy greyness of the summer monsoon* Gods, how I love you... how I have missed your touch...

crown_of_leaves: I have missed the feel of your body, the taste of your seed. I love you. *he licks his lips, continuing to move his finger in and out of Gwindor until he's certain his body can take more. He adds more oil to his fingers, then returns with two to oily opening, tenderly pressing against the muscle until he is able to slip inside*

son_of_guilin: *takes a shuddering breath in before releasing it. His passage does not clench around the fingers, but the stretching sensation is temporarily unpleasant even in the aftermath of his climax. Gwindor smiles adoringly at Thranduil, slowly regaining his senses enough to rock his hips encouragingly, breathing as deeply as possible in order to stay relaxed as his body is gently stretched*

crown_of_leaves: *whispers as he thrusts gently, over and over, taking his time flexing his fingers and stretching the passage*'Tis like the first time. *runs his fingers over that bump every few strokes*

son_of_guilin: *a slow burning heat is ignited by Thranduil's fingers and he purrs beneath his ministrations* Only we are married and I am not a virgin anymore... *teases, his eyes dark and playful as he feels arousal slowly stirring in him again, helped along by each stroke of those fingers along the roof of his passage*

crown_of_leaves: You might as well be. *chuckles as he leans in to nip playfully at the inside of Gwindor's knee* You... are so beautiful. It makes my chest ache.

son_of_guilin: That would be your fault, melethen. *laughs as he playfully teases his mate, though the sound ends up being drawn out into a soft moan. He blushes at the compliment, his body beginning to physically respond to Thranduil's ministrations again* You are beautiful too... although... are you sure you have not... grown in my absence?

crown_of_leaves: *laughs, the sound richer than it has been in weeks* It will fit, Gwindor. It did before, it will again. Besides, it was you who insisted we do this. *when his fingers move easily, he adds yet more oil, and slowly, very carefully, presses three fingers into his mate* You know this will work, and you know how it will work. The initial discomfort will pass... but... *he leans over, peppering kisses along Gwindor's thighs* My body aches to be one with you... my soul cries out to know the sense of completion our lovemaking brings. I... I need you... and I can feel that you need me as well.

son_of_guilin: *cannot help but laugh along with his mate, because he knows what he says is true, and though he tenses momentarily as a third finger is added into him, he is slowly able to overcome his discomfort. His breathing begins to quicken as he sex fills and stiffens, and when that spot is rubbed within him again, he twitches and moans shakily, his hands coming up to sweep his dark hair from his face* Valar, I want you in me... I need to know I am yours and you are mine... *the need is acute and intense, and as he slowly begins to move his hips in time with the three digits within him, the discomfort gives way to dizzying pleasure*

crown_of_leaves: *bites his lip, taking his fingers from Gwindor, and pouring a generous amount of oil into his palm. Eyes on his mate, he strokes the lubricant into the skin of his sex, eyes darkening to midnight with the passion he feels, and his movements over himself wringing a moan from his dry lips* Are you truly ready, melethen?

son_of_guilin: *eyes Thranduil's slick sex with eyes darkened with need and widened slightly in anticipation. He nods, panting as he lifts his knees, displaying himself to Thranduil* Slow and steady... I will adjust, melethen.

crown_of_leaves: *nods once, wiping his hand on the sheet. He kneels close, guiding the glistening head of his shaft to the stretched opening, and he slowly presses. He continues the pressure until the tight ring of muscle gives, allows the first thick inch of him to slip inside, and Thranduil gasps at the clutching, hot tightness. He braces his hands on either side of Gwindor's body and slowly, steadily, continues that first thrust until he is once again seated deep within his mate. Whole. Complete. Tearful as he shudders above him at the sweeping emotion and fiery arousal warring within him*

son_of_guilin: *gasps as the thick head of Thranduil's sex breeches him. The pain is undeniable as he is stretched far beyond his comfort level, and he struggles to regain his breath as it is stolen from his lungs. His hands instantly seek purchase on Thranduil's wrists, fingers gripping tightly as he whimpers and concentrates on relaxing around the ample girth of his mate's shaft. Feeling himself filled to the brim, his mate inside him after so long apart... Gwindor's heart swells even while his chest constricts painfully, his laboured breathing not at all helped by the tears and emotions that well up within him. A single word floats between them, profound and heartbreakingly beautiful in its simplicity* Home...

crown_of_leaves: *dips his head down, kissing Gwindor's lips sweetly as he remains utterly still inside his mate* Home. There is nowhere I would rather be... no other Elf that can fill my life with the meaning you do. I want no other. I need no other. I love you.

son_of_guilin: *feels the tears run down his cheeks as he kisses his mate with shuddering breaths. It takes him a few minutes to finally relax around his mate's shaft, the pain of the intrusion lessening to a very intense feeling of fullness. He kisses the blond's lips again and again, his hands entwining with Thranduil's and his legs holding closely to his hips* I love you... Take me, Thranduil... Yours forever. Yours alone.

crown_of_leaves: *doesn't stop kissing Gwindor as he begins shallow, gentle thrusting in controlled movements. Each time he withdraws, he pulls further and further out, until he is finally withdrawing until only the head of his sex tugs lightly at Gwindor's opening before he thrusts back into the heat smoothly. When he sets this languid, long-stroking pace, he ceases the kissing so he can hover his face above Gwindor's... stare down into his mate's eyes. His gaze is the deepest sapphire, shimmering with tears that do not fall as he takes him thoroughly, lays claim once more to what was his*

son_of_guilin: *does not bother trying to restrain his tears as he is taken with care and deep, abiding, undeniable love. Every movement of Thranduil's brushes that place along the roof of his passage, sending liquid hot tendrils of pleasure throughout his body, and he is quickly reduced to deep moans and quiet, heartfelt cries that are absorbed into his mate's mouth. When Thranduil pulls back, he gazes deep into those brilliant, beautiful eyes -- eyes he will wake to see each morning -- and he knows without a doubt that he is whole once more. He cries out at a particularly deep thrust that causes his body to shudder and his shaft to ache* Thranduil... *a promise; a plea*

crown_of_leaves: *brushes his lips over his cheek, bringing his lips close to Gwindor's ear, his breath short and uneven* Not yet... I... want to savour... this moment... *lifts his head once more, staring down with blazing eyes, his body surging with that same steady, deep rhythm, wanting to touch the very core of his mate. All his pains, his self-loathing, his self-recriminations, his regret... it fades as he stares down into Gwindor's gaze, seeing nothing but honest, pure love... directed at him... and he thinks he has never seen a more perfect, beautiful thing*

son_of_guilin: *and his heart rejoices, feeling the subtle change come over his mate. He tries to hold on as long as possible, but soon finds himself overwhelmed, teetering on the edge of his ecstasy, loud cries falling from his lips as he meets Thranduil's thrusts and wonders at the beauty and joy of their coupling. White fire consumes him, shines in his eyes, and he waits... waits for the word of his mate so they may tumble together over the precipice*

crown_of_leaves: *fists the sheets as he tries to hold his rising need back, but the louder Gwindor becomes, the more impossible it is for him to stave off his climax* Gwin...dor... *the name is a drawn out moan, and he arches his back a little more with each thrust, his stomach pressing and rubbing against Gwindor's erection, so hot and hard between them. His eyes see nothing but grey and green and water as his spirit reaches, pulls, twines itself with the fiery calm of its mate, and there is a wordless warning, a passing of a breathless word* Now! *his cry is a raw, bleeding thing that echoes through the boughs as tears slip from the corners of his eyes and his seed spills in the slick passage, his whole world a trembling pinpoint of forests awash in the colours of autumn, of pleasure that crashes as the thunder above rocks the earth with its intensity.*

son_of_guilin: *his body trembles with the strain of keeping his climax at bay, but when his name is moaned and that single word is spoken to his mind, he is utterly lost, his body pulling Thranduil close, his spirit welcoming its mate with a fire that cleanses and renews, burning all that must be sacrificed while warming all that was made cold in his absence. As the ashes of Thranduil's soul fall away, the vibrant green of the Wood-Elf's spirit pervades the blazing flames of Gwindor's, washing his senses with light, sound, scent, and the gentle, pulsing life of the forest. His scream of completion rings through the trees amid the peals of thunder from the storm that Greenwood has long needed but was denied in his absence. He arches and shudders, his fingers and toes clenching tightly and then relaxing with shivering tremors. He is found again; nurtured and nourished, made whole and complete. With his mate at his side, within him, surrounding him... he is home. And as he sobs, collapsing against the bed -- their bed -- he knows he shall never leave the Elvenking's side again, for he will truly never have need.*

crown_of_leaves: *gasps, eyes wide as he waits for his body to relax, and when it does, he slowly lowers himself until he is blanketing Gwindor. He buries his face against the crook of Gwindor's throat, his tears hot, his sobs silent. His arms wrap around Gwindor, hold him tightly, and he says the same thing over and over, whispered brokenly* I love you... always... my heart, my soul, my Gwindor. I love you...

son_of_guilin: *wraps his shaking arms around the softly shuddering form of his mate, joining him in joyous, tearful celebration. He sobs, his hands petting the golden Elf's hair as his mind speaks directly to the one he loves* My love, my life... All that sustains me... I love you, too. Now. Forever. Forever... *the rain falls, and the forest breathes around him, taking nourishment just as he shares all he is with his mate*

crown_of_leaves: *remains as he is until his tears slowly stop, and then he just... stays* Can we simply remain here today? Wrapped in one another's arms?

son_of_guilin: *laughs, though the sound comes out somewhere between a hiccup and a sob* Just today? Why not all week? The rains will last... Oh Thranduil, I'm home! The wood... my Wood-Elf... I'm home...

crown_of_leaves: *lifts his face from Gwindor's throat and kisses his mate, lazily, lovingly* If you remain here with me all week, I will have you until your backside aches without end. Do you wish to tempt me to such barbaric mating practices?

son_of_guilin: *smiles brilliantly even as his swollen lips are kissed* I think you would be tempted to barbarism even if I did nothing but paperwork and occasionally glance you way! Let me be sore... I have been without you long enough. We have much lost time to catch up on.

crown_of_leaves: *nips playfully at Gwindor's lower lip, chuckling richly* You will regret those words by the time the rain ceases, love. *rocks his hips, his semi-erect member slipping easily in the well-used passage*

son_of_guilin: *purrs, though he can already feel the soreness in his stretched passage* You think so? My instinct tells me you are wrong, meleth...

crown_of_leaves: We will have to just see about that... *smiles as he covers Gwindor's mouth with his own, suckling on his mate's tongue before releasing it so they can kiss freely*

son_of_guilin: *moans softly, lulled into the gentle rhythm of their kissing* Insatiable barbarian...

crown_of_leaves: *continues to lightly rock his hips* It is your own fault. I would have been satisfied with dressing and tending to the realm. But you had to have your way with me. *chuckles as he lifts his lips from Gwindor's, eyes sparkling* You reap what you sow, my dear Noldo.

son_of_guilin: *grins* Correction... I had to get you to stop wallowing and denying your own need. Whatever I have sowed, I will all too happily reap, berethen.

crown_of_leaves: *kisses his grinning lips, his heart lighter than it has been in months* I am yours. You are mine. Forever.

son_of_guilin: Aye, forever. You will never be rid of me, Thranduil. Reason, for better or worse, is here to stay. *chuckles lovingly as they kiss softly*

crown_of_leaves: Do you wish me to stop? *continues the lazy thrusting, desire simmering, held down, should his mate have no wish to be taken a second time so quickly*

son_of_guilin: *his backside aches, and he feels unbelievably full with Thranduil inside him, even without his lover's flesh fully erect... but he does not care, and meets those slow thrusts with only slight discomfort, his passage relaxed and slick. Breaking their kiss with a grin, he cranes his neck, leaning forward to lap at the blond's neck, where his deep mark from days ago has almost completely faded* No. I don't want you to stop... *nibbles the same spot in an almost innocent manner, his touches soft and inviting*

crown_of_leaves: *shudders when Gwindor begins to bite lightly at the fading mark, his movements always gentle* I want your mark permanently... *feels sweat bead on his back, the moist heat of the summer wrapping around them as they couple*

son_of_guilin: *purrs against his mate's neck* Soon, meleth. I want you to mark my back... as soon as possible. I want that symbol of your possession... so all who see it will know that I am yours. *feels his body slowly responding once more to his lover's movements and he lets out a slightly shaky breath as his pulse begins to quicken, his sweat-slicked body rocking gently against Thranduil like the waves of the ocean upon the warm sand*

crown_of_leaves: I need to finish the last of the design. *kisses his cheek, nuzzles his throat* As soon as Eirien has her son, we... will... begin. *bites gently at his throat, worrying at the flesh lightly*

son_of_guilin: *gasps, both from Thranduil's ministrations and the sudden realization* I'm going to be a grandfather! *he had forgotten about Eirien's child! He instantly resolves to seek her out... whenever he can walk again*

crown_of_leaves: *laughs against his throat* Yes. You are. *kisses him deeply* Our first grandchild together... I am excited to see your face when you first hold that squealing newborn. *sucks at Gwindor's lower lip, his thrust still slow, but gaining in depth*

son_of_guilin: *moans softly, sparks of heat being sent through him as Thranduil's length slides a bit more deeply* Grandchildren... I feel like we missed a step. *his mind voice is amused and giddily excited*

crown_of_leaves: *lazily thrusts his tongue into Gwindor's mouth, and then he pauses, grins down at his mate, and in a fluid, graceful motion, he rolls onto his back, drawing Gwindor up astride him* That is a step... *pants, laughing eyes staring up at Gwindor* ...is one we... shall never be able to... take together. *moans, seeing Gwindor sweaty, seed-slicked, and hard above him* Valar, you are gorgeous... and all mine.

son_of_guilin: *gives a small cry as he is pulled up and Thranduil glides deeply into his passage, his weight settling him down with a shudder on the Elvenking's lap. He feels slightly lightheaded for a moment as the blood rushes from his head back to the rest of his body and he leans forward, resting his head on his spouse's chest for a moment as he recovers, laughing lightly and brushing his hair over one shoulder* No... but I will happily dote on your daughter's child like a proper grandsire should. *grins broadly, lifting his head just enough to trail his tongue over to one of the blond's nipples, licking like a small feline for a few moments before taking the flesh and its mithril ring into his mouth, pulling his body up from the column of Thranduil's desire and then settling it again with a shuddering moan*

crown_of_leaves: *tosses his head back, moaning loudly as his hands tighten on Gwindor's hips. The feel of Gwindor teasing his nipple is painfully arousing, as it has ever been when someone played with the rings, and he rocks up to meet Gwindor's downward motion* How... did I ever... become lucky enough to find... you? *love for Gwindor rises in his chest, threatening to bring tears again to his eyes, because Gwindor was truly home and he was indeed part of the family and Thranduil would never let the Noldo slip away from him again*

son_of_guilin: *lifts his mouth from Thranduil's chest, a shiver running the length of his spine at the sound of his mate's moan* I'm not sure... *pants, stretching forward slightly to kiss the blond's lips superficially* But whatever luck it is... we share it. *moans with a bit more volume as he slides down again on his length, the now hard flesh rubbing that spot within him almost constantly. He pulls back, sitting a bit more upright, steadying himself with his hands at Thranduil's chest, his fingers teasing lightly at the piercings there as his eyes drink in the sight of his lover, his Thranduil... the beautiful golden hair spread about the flushed, sweaty body that he has longed to be beside for months* Gods, I love you! *swivles his hips, creating shallow thrusts; delicious friction*

crown_of_leaves: *can't help the cry as Gwindor moves atop him, teases his chest* Don't... ever stop saying that! *it was the most perfect phrase he has ever heard, and he moves his hand slowly from Gwindor's hip to his erection, wrapping strong fingers around the shaft and lazily pumping the sticky flesh*

son_of_guilin: *bucks and shudders, pushing himself into that grasp and then back slightly, taking Thranduil deeply. Each movement, though slow and shaky, brings him unbelievable pleasure and he cries out as he slowly finds a rhythm, rocking forward into his mate's fist... back on his length... forward... back...* Ai! Yes!!

crown_of_leaves: *watches him through heavy eyes, panting, drawn so deep within his mate* I can... imagine myself with... no other. You have... me. *moans, swiping his thumb over the head of Gwindor's shaft, then begins the digit to his mouth, suckling the clear fluid from his skin before returning it to his mate's shaft, another moan drawn from him*

son_of_guilin: *the sight of his mate licking his fluid from his hand causes Gwindor's breath to hitch before he emits a loud moan* Gods, Thranduil! *he feels tears prick his eyes, his mates words striking something deep within him and he picks up his pace slightly, pulling himself up a bit more vertically and crying out at the pleasure the slight change in angle brings* You're amazing... beautiful... mine...

crown_of_leaves: *bucks up, head back, throat exposed as he pulls on Gwindor's sex with more purpose* Yours... all yours... don't you dare... ever let me fuck up again... or let me go...

son_of_guilin: *cries out harshly* Never... again... meleth... I won't let go. *runs his hands from the Elf's neck down to where their bodies meet, and leans back, using his legs as leverage and his arms for support on his mate's thighs. He draws Thranduil in as deep as he will go, bright lights starting to invade his vision as he takes himself, pushing them higher and higher*

crown_of_leaves: *watches him with wide eyes, seeing a creature of liquid sensuality that he hadn't realise existed in Gwindor* Gods! *is fascinated as he watches, his breath ragged, his skin flushed and hot, and he... has never felt more sexual than he does in this moment, with his perfect compliment*

son_of_guilin: *is completely unaware of the sensual draw he has, only following his instincts to bring them both the pleasure and closeness they have craved in their months apart. His limbs shake with strain, his sex dark and swelling with his impending release. Gwindor's cries become more and more urgent, the shaking of his body nearly constant as he rises and falls, his mind pulled to a state where all that matters is the forest green spirit that blazes like warm sunshine in his soul and the body moving beneath him. The lights on the periphery of his vision slowly take over, and he throws his head back, hands gripping, body gripping, soul reaching out and taking hold* With me... with... me...

crown_of_leaves: *is swept up in this, twining his spirit with Gwindor's, amazed at how that alone brings him to the very edge of his restraint, and when Gwindor whispers in his mind, like flickering flames in the darkness of nighttime woods, Thranduil's back bows off the bed, his hand tightening reflexively around Gwindor, and he shouts his love's name in an echoing, lovingly rich scream as he pulses within Gwindor, his climax pulled from him with such delightful, primal innocence*

son_of_guilin: *that sonorous sound wraps around him like the sunlit waters of a forest pool, and Gwindor is lost in a sea of green, his sight stolen by the blinding light of the sun through transparent green leaves as he falls as if from the highest bough of an ancient tree. Falling... falling... and his cry is one of heartbreaking purity; love, laughter, vibrant life. And even as he tenses and collapses forward onto Thranduil's chest with a desperate push of his arms, the sensation of falling doesn't lessen.*

crown_of_leaves: *wraps his arms around Gwindor, cradling him close as he tries to catch his breath* I... Oh, Gwindor... I love you so much.

son_of_guilin: *he's falling still... and when his senses return he realizes...* You... caught me...

crown_of_leaves: I... always will, berethen. Always. *strokes his hand through Gwindor's damp hair, staring up at the rain with a sated, joyous smile*

son_of_guilin: *with shaking limbs, he wraps himself around his mate, and as he regains his breath, elated laugher rolls from his parched lips and he holds tightly to his soul's mate, knowing they will never be parted again* Always...

comments

Seeking Audience

2008-04-21T01:22:00Z

Posted by: 1st-feanorian.livejournal.com

Maedhros had been told the Lord Regent would see him this day.

Wonderful.

He wouldn't even have the opportunity to face Thranduil himself.

He follows Rhovandir up one of the internal staircases, dressed simply in linen trousers and a sleeveless tunic. While it had been raining since before dawn, the heat hadn't eased up much. Maedhros rarely braided his hair anymore, but this morning, he'd had no choice. It was simply too hot. His copper hair was in a long, thick plait down his back, ending just below his backside.

Rhovandir shows him into the audience flet, and Maedhros' eyes settle on the only occupant of the room.

A dark-haired, grey-eyed Elf with a simple circlet sat upon one of two thrones.

He lifts his chin as he approaches, as proud as any in his family.

"Lord Gwindor," he greets stiffly.

comments

A Storm Breaking

2008-04-20T23:41:00Z

Posted by: crown-of-leaves.livejournal.com

[OOC: Immediately follows this thread. No tagging, please.]

crown_of_leaves: *sits in a chair near the edge of the flet, looking out thoughtfully, murmuring* The things I would change is I could...

son_of_guilin: I would not change anything, because it would have altered where I am now with you.

crown_of_leaves: You cannot know that for certain.

son_of_guilin: Well... no... but... *cuddles* I love you, berethen.

crown_of_leaves: *pets him* Perhaps... if Erestor had never been an issue... what we just went through never would have come to pass.

son_of_guilin: *sighs happily* Perhaps. But the difference between our definitions of infidelity would have been addressed eventually, I think. Now... you are mine, and I am yours... And I am happy.

crown_of_leaves: *teases* Selfish Elf.

son_of_guilin: *teases back with a poke to Thranduil's ribs* That makes two of us...

crown_of_leaves: *grins* I will tolerate no other scent upon you.

son_of_guilin: *kisses Thranduil's lips* Nor will I.

crown_of_leaves: *stiffens a little at the kiss, but smiles* Lesson learned thoroughly, melethen.

son_of_guilin: *nods slowly, though his smile turns a little bit concerned* Why do you recoil slightly when I kiss you?

crown_of_leaves: *shakes his head, continuing to smile* I don't.

son_of_guilin: *eyes him* I know you're lying... but I also know you will share it when you feel comfortable doing so. *cuddles up again* I have missed your embrace... the presence of your mind... the hue of the forest in my head.

crown_of_leaves: *hugs him close, savouring the weight of Gwindor against his body* I have missed holding you in my arms... feeling the tranquility of your mind... and the flickering flames of the forge within my mind. *squeezes him just a little tighter*

son_of_guilin: *lays his head against Thranduil's chest, listening to his heartbeat* The forge is still not a place I like to be... There are no good memories there except the knowledge of constructing what I did for you and Erestor. *ignores the shadow that passes through his mind*

crown_of_leaves: *kisses the top of Gwindor's head* Then we shall have to make joyous ones for you there.

son_of_guilin: *mumbles softly* Good luck trying. I don't plan on being in there if I can help it. There are no more projects for me to complete... and I would rather spend time in my kitchen.

crown_of_leaves: *falls silent for a long time* I... I recoil because I cannot bear to kiss you. Not more than a brief passing of lips.

son_of_guilin: *hugs Thranduil tightly, the words causing his heart to ache* Why?

crown_of_leaves: I... cannot say... only that I have caused you terrible grief for no other reason than my selfish pride. I tainted what should never have been tainted, and I do not deserve the comfort of our past intimacies.

son_of_guilin: Whether you deserve my love or not, you have it, Thranduil. It is yours. *is silent for long moments* Thranduil?

crown_of_leaves: *murmurs* Yes?

son_of_guilin: *pulls away just enough to cup his spouses face and look deep into the blue eyes* I forgive you.

crown_of_leaves: *stares, lost in the charcoal gaze, and he does not trust his own voice* I do not forgive myself.

son_of_guilin: *smiles softly, though his eyes are serious* A learned habit of yours I would have you break eventually... What can I do to make you feel worthy of me?

crown_of_leaves: I am too old to unlearn my habits, love. *his own smile is somewhat sad* I do not know. You feel like a sugar figure in my hands, and I am afraid to touch or hold you too close lest it all crumble into dust. I wish to do nothing to risk losing you again.

son_of_guilin: *gently* I am stronger than you give me credit for, berethen.

crown_of_leaves: *swallows and asks softly* How strong, Gwindor?

son_of_guilin: *smiles* Strong enough to take the position of Reason, and all that job entails. *and the comparison is deep and meaningful* I am strong enough to weather your rages, your darkness, and your insecurities. If I were not, I would not have stood up to you... nor would I have endured our parting. I would not encourage you to face your troubles if I were not confident that I could face them with you. I am strong enough to carry you through the dark times, as you have carried me through my own. I am strong, Thranduil.

crown_of_leaves: *smiles faintly* If you had said that to me four months ago, I would have said of course you were... I would have not have chosen a mate who was weak and brittle.

son_of_guilin: *strokes his thumb along Thranduil's cheekbone* It is as true now as it was then.

crown_of_leaves: *closes his eyes and leans into the touch some* I love you.

son_of_guilin: I love you, too. *leans in, his lips close to Thranduil's so his breath brushes the other's mouth* Please, kiss me, Thranduil. You will not break me.

crown_of_leaves: *how could he deny the one who quickened his heart and completed his soul? He makes a soft noise in the back of his throat as he presses their lips together and closes his eyes*

son_of_guilin: *purrs as their lips come into contact, a tingle spreading throughout his lips and a small shiver running down his spine. He does not push Thranduil for more... but he hopes.*

crown_of_leaves: *seems to linger in uncertainty for many minutes, but then his hand comes up to cup the back of Gwindor's head as his lips part and his tongue makes a hestitant stroke against Gwindor's lips*

son_of_guilin: *wordlessly encourages Thranduil with a blissful sigh, parting his lips and granting the Elvenking entrance*

crown_of_leaves: *has never felt as insecure during intimacy as he does tentatively thrust his tongue between Gwindor's lips, tasting his mate for the first time in three months, and he moans low in his throat, deepening the kiss further as his right arm slips around Gwindor's waist and pulls him closer to his body*

son_of_guilin: *his heart quickens at the intimacy that has been so long denied, one hand winding through Thranduil's golden hair while the other clutches at his shirt. He moans as he shifts so that his legs straddle Thranduil, bringing their bodies as close as possible. Carefully, he responds to his mate's tongue, swiping his own gently against the slick muscle. Love and desire resonate through their bond*

crown_of_leaves: *once he begins kissing Gwindor, he doesn't stop, delving deeply, holding tightly, and basking in the love he feels in Gwindor for him, gently reassured by that silent emotion that could never be adequately voiced but instantly understood, and he returns the sentiment with all his heart as he nips gently at Gwindor's lower lip before again sliding his tongue against Gwindor's*

son_of_guilin: *feeling that wordless emotion returned makes his heart swell and his pulse quicken, simple reassurance that Thranduil did not hold his departure against him in any way. He pants when his lip is gently taken between his mate's teeth.* Thranduil... *the name is a breathy moan and he gazes at Thranduil, his eyes half-lidded until they flutter shut again and he locks their lips together again, stroking gently at the curve of Thranduil's ear with his fingertips*

crown_of_leaves: *a shiver courses down his spine when Gwindor says his name like that, and a shock of arousal surprises him when Gwindor strokes his ear, causing him to pause in his kissing*

son_of_guilin: *opens his eyes at the abrupt pause* Is something wrong...? *cannot help his worry*

crown_of_leaves: *pants, eyes still closed, and resumes kissing Gwindor, suckling lightly at the tip of Gwindor's tongue before releasing it so he can slide his along Gwindor's once more*

son_of_guilin: *shivers in Thranduil's arms, a deep moan rumbling through him at the way his spouse sucks at his tongue before kissing him again. His sex starts to swell between his legs, remembering the long ago intimacy shared with the blonde... and Gwindor blushes furiously. He has not felt arousal in so long that it takes him by surprise*

crown_of_leaves: *massages Gwindor's neck as he continues to plunder his mouth, remembering easily how best to kiss his mate to elicit the most response, and he soon finds he is unable to cease kissing him, relishing the closeness of bodies, and when he shifts their bodies some, he feels Gwindor's arousal, and his heart hammers in his chest and his mind swirls*

son_of_guilin: *moans loudly into Thranduil's mouth as all his most sensitive spots are exploited and his hands caress at ear and chest, brushing against his mate's piercings* Gods, I have missed you, Thranduil... *can feel his pulse all over his body as he pants against the blonde's lips*

crown_of_leaves: *leaves Gwindor's mouth, dragging his lips down his jaw, over his throat, and halfway down, he begins to suckle lightly at the flesh* I thought I knew hell intimately, Gwindor... but your absence proved otherwise. *bites gently at the skin, not yet marking the pale column, but the promise of it is there should Gwindor want it*

son_of_guilin: *a ragged moan leaves his lips and his hands twitch in their ministrations as he feels that tender offer of possession in the way Thranduil works along his neck* I thought I new torture, but being so far from your side caused the worst wound I have ever sustained. *a sense of desperation runs through him and he clings to his mate* Mend it, Thranduil... please. Show me you are mine and I am yours...

crown_of_leaves: *feels tears prick behind his eyelids at Gwindor's words, because he had given that wound to his mate through careless, selfish acts. Holding Gwindor tightly to him, tilting the other Elf's head gently to the side, Thranduil opens his mouth wide, covering the throbbing pulse there, and he sets about sucking at the skin. After a bit, he laps at the hot flesh, bites lightly, and begins sucking once more, the pressure increasing, teeth working the skin, and he moans as he firmly marks Gwindor's throat with tender care*

son_of_guilin: *his heart swells, his sex pulses, and he finds himself crying out as he is marked, first quietly and then with growing volume and intensity as he feels the blood rise through the skin and the teeth dig into him. As the sting of pleasure and pain grows, he whimpers as he pants between his cries, tears welling behind his dark charcoal eyes* Yes... Thranduil... *his breath shudders as his emotions reach a high and the first tear leaves his lashes, trailing down his cheek unchecked*

crown_of_leaves: *sharp teeth bite harder, his arms squeeze him closer, and he feels the blood so near the surface, just... out... of his reach... and he truly bites, wanting that rush of Gwindor over his tongue* Never leave again! Scream at me, hit me, hate me, but never leave again! *the words whispered into Gwindor's mind are not angry, only desperately afraid, thoroughly contrite, and just as the words finish passing through their minds, Thranduil tastes the first trickle of copper and he trembles with the memories that flood his mind*

son_of_guilin: *fingers dig into the blonde's tunic and grip at his hair as he cries out harshly, the burn turning to a throbbing pain that sends shudders repeatedly down his spine.* Never... *he lets out a sob as more tears follow the first* I will never leave again! *feels those emotions and lets his love for Thranduil overtake him, enveloping Thranduil through their bond even as his skin breaks under the pressure of those sharp teeth and he cries out again, his chest heaving*

crown_of_leaves: *laps at the shallow wounds his teeth have left, his breath ragged against the wet skin* Your turn, Gwindor... *releases Gwindor long enough to shove the heavy golden hair over his shoulder, exposing his throat to Gwindor* You are mine... now show me I am yours...

son_of_guilin: *tries to calm his breathing a bit, even as tendrils of pain wash through his neck and along the side of his face. He moans loudly when Thranduil bares his neck and throat, and he leans in to first kiss his mate's lips, delving deeply into his mouth before travelling to first his ear, and then to his throat* I love you, Thranduil... my Thranduil... *and he laps at the spot mirroring where his own painful mark burns. After a few moments of gentle sucking and nipping, he opens his mouth a bit wider and draws the flesh into his mouth with teeth, lips, and suction that slowly builds in intensity*

crown_of_leaves: *gasps, hands clenching in Gwindor's clothes, and stares up at the leaves above their bedroom, the tears once more in his eyes as he breathlessly agrees* Yours. Your king. Your wolf. Your Thranduil. Your Ardaur. All I am... is yours... Gwindor... now until... time ends!

son_of_guilin: *gasps and moans around the flesh in his mouth and his mind whispers a single word of agreement, an echo that passes between them as if spoken in the caves where they had truly first met* ...mine... *with a shudder, his teeth tighten and he sucks harshly, raising a deep bruise to the skin of his spouse's throat. It is only after he feels the skin close to breaking from the pressure that he hesitates, his mind asking for direction* Should I...?

crown_of_leaves: *throat burns, but it is sweet and real and he will wear the mark proudly for days, and only Gwindor's words in his mind draw him back from the whirlwind of sensation and emotion* Do as you want, berethen... I am yours... *the thoughts are coloured with acceptance of whatever Gwindor wants, and moans almost wantonly to the canopy, the first tears finding their way down his face* Do... whatever your... heart cries out... for...

son_of_guilin: *moans again. He knows what his sould yearns to do... and his teeth tighten even more, forcefully clenching down on Thranduil's skin, rubbing at the indents they have created. He wants to give Thranduil exactly what he had received; wants to taste him in a way he has never done before. Without the benefit of the Elvenking's sharp teeth, Gwindor has to work the deep mark harder to get the result he wants, and it is a few long moments before the skin beneath his teeth finally gives under the pressure and breaks. Never having tasted blood in such a way, he moans deliriously, the metallic flavour spreading along his tongue as he lightens his pressure. His body trembles, his tears fall, and he sucks at the broken skin... Blood for blood, a pact promising to never separate again.*

crown_of_leaves: *cries out loudly as Gwindor works his throat, and it is almost a relief when the skin breaks, a sob forced from between his lips as he pants and whimpers, trembling between Gwindor's legs, thankful they are seated as his mind fills with nothing but Gwindor's thoughts and desire, and hesitantly, Thranduil's hand slips from it's place at Gwindor's back and comes to rest on the bulge of his leggings, stroking lightly at his mate, and though his own sex remains disinterested in such play, he is eager to bring Gwindor whatever pleasures will please his spouse the most* I... love you... Like the rushing river after the spring thaw, so... full of life... and want... and promise... wild abandon that... tempts the wolf... to drink...

son_of_guilin: *laps at the dark mark, the small slivers of broken skin only bleeding for a few moments longer as his breath is torn from him in gasps and sobbing heaves. His whole body twitches when Thranduil touches him, and he presses against that hand as it moves upon him* I love you... more than life itself. I will never leave again. Please... *begs with his body and mind; his soul itself pleading with its mate. With the metallic tang still on his lips, he grasps at Thranduil and brings their lips together again, twining their tongues*

crown_of_leaves: *submits to Gwindor's kiss, allowing him to dominate the merging of their mouths, and he tastes blood... blood and the sweetness of Gwindor. His fingers pull open laces and reach in to grasp him in a firm hand, stroke in time with the movements of their tongues* Anything, Gwindor... I will give you anything you want. I promise. *gives what he believes Gwindor is asking for, kisses and love and his hand upon his sex*

son_of_guilin: *is so utterly overwhelmed by sensations he has not felt in so long that his body nearly convulses in desperation. He grasps at Thranduil, his tongue delving into his spouse's, and it is only a few moments before his edge is before him and he teeters on the brink* Thranduil... *a plea, a promise, an affirmation*

crown_of_leaves: *moans into Gwindor's mouth as he works his hand up and down, his other arm holding his mate tightly* Fall, Gwindor, and I will catch you. *loves this moment desperately, with his throat aching, Gwindor's taste on his tongue as they kiss, his mate writhing so deliciously, the wanton honesty of this coupling they engage in*

son_of_guilin: *instantly lets himself go, his cry of completion coming out more like a ragged soul-shaking sob as his lips are forced from Thranduil's when his back bows harshly and his body spasms. The pain at his neck, the pleasure at his groin, the overwhelming presence of his mate in his mind, in his arms... it is all too much for him as he spills himself and his senses sing with heat and light and rushing sound. He collapses in Thranduil's arms, his whole body shaking with the force of his sobs, tears streaming from his eyes*

crown_of_leaves: *eyes watch Gwindor throughout, and he does catch him when he falls, pressing breathless kisses to his mate's temple, shoulder, head* I love you. I love you, Gwindor, and I will never again hurt you. Never. You are my life. The very breath in my lungs and the blood in my veins.

son_of_guilin: *cannot find breath to speak, so he just clings and lets his sobs cleanse him, knowing the words his mate speaks are true and letting that comfort him* Love... you... always...

crown_of_leaves: *rises from the chair, Gwindor held like a child against him, and takes him to their new bed -- their bed -- and sets him down on it, setting to removing his boots and trousers and shirt, disappearing long enough to bring back a cool, damp cloth that he uses to wipe Gwindor's face, always smiling softly, lovingly at his mate*

son_of_guilin: *takes many minutes to calm down, his tears ceasing gradually under the care of the Elvenking. He smiles, wiping the rest of his tears from his eyes and reaching out for Thranduil.* I never want to let you go... never again... *a hoarse whisper*

crown_of_leaves: *leans over him, eyes hovering above Gwindor's* You never will have to again. *kisses his swollen lips gently*

son_of_guilin: *nods mutely, pulling Thranduil to him. He looks his mate up and down, noting his lack of arousal, and his brow furrows in concern* You aren't... Did I do something wrong?

crown_of_leaves: *brushes back Gwindor's hair* No. *smiles* You will have to let me go long enough to undress... unless you would like me to come to bed fully clothed. *tries to joke*

son_of_guilin: *reluctantly releases Thranduil. Though he wants to question him further, he can tell he will get no answers, so he pushes his concern to the side, taking comfort in the knowledge that he had done nothing wrong...*

crown_of_leaves: *sits up from the bed and strips, tossing their clothes into the hamper, and then crawls into bed beside his mate, drawing him against his body, and he nuzzles his ear, and he is reluctant to break the tranquil silence of the flet* I have not become aroused since... that night... and even when I think to, I cannot. All I can think of is how I betrayed you. I do not wish to sully you, and that is exactly what I would do.

son_of_guilin: *frowns* You make me out to be so pure and fragile. I am just an Elf, like any other. But... that is not the problem, is it, berethen? You think yourself lowly and unclean... You are neither. You are an Elf who is capable of making mistakes, just like me.

crown_of_leaves: *closes his eyes, inhaling Gwindor's scent* What I am... *sighs, hugging Gwindor tighter* What I am is the luckiest Elf alive, as you have come home, you have forgiven me, and you love me. Isn't that all that matters? I just... want to make you happy. Always.

son_of_guilin: *sighs into that tight embrace* I want to make you happy as well... but I also want you to find contentment with yourself. *after a pause, he chuckles* And I am just as stubborn as you are. I will see my goals met, berethen.

crown_of_leaves: *lifts his head and looks into Gwindor's eyes* ...I am content with myself... *though he's starting to wonder, because Gwindor is sharp when it came to the internal workings of his mate*

son_of_guilin: *meets Thranduil's gaze, speaking gently* No, you are not... You find yourself unworthy of every happiness you possess. You are slow to relinquish guilt, letting it consume you instead. *pauses* I may not be much better, but I wish for us both to move past such things. I want to help you in any way I can, Thranduil.

crown_of_leaves: *rubs his thumb against the hollow of Gwindor's hip, and his whispers* Then help me, because this is all I know, love. All I have ever been.

son_of_guilin: I will. I want you to be all that you can be... all that you could never be on your own. Is that not why I am here? *smiles gently, brushing his fingers across Thranduil's cheek and jaw*

crown_of_leaves: You are here because we are in love. *tilts his head into the touch, wanting... something... that he cannot place*

son_of_guilin: I am in love because I am here... with you. *can sense that vague want within Thranduil, and looks deeply into his mate's blue eyes, his hand still caressing gently* What is it you want, berethen?

crown_of_leaves: *kisses him again, slowly, deeply, pouring all the love raging in his heart into the gesture* I want to be happy. I want to believe I am a good Elf... that underneath all the awful, Ardaur still lives and he was such a kind being... loving and laughing and is untouched by Sauron.

son_of_guilin: *accepts all that Thranduil offers, his heart swelling with the love he feels from them both* Then we shall make it happen... we shall revive him somehow, and clear away the rubble of the fallen hopes that hide him.

crown_of_leaves: *pants when he parts from his mate, looking at him with moist eyes* Innocence once lost cannot be regained...

son_of_guilin: No, it cannot. *breathes against Thranduil's lips* But joy can be found nonetheless. Am I not living proof of that?

crown_of_leaves: You are living proof of much, melethen.

son_of_guilin: *gives him an innocent look of curiosity* What do you mean?

crown_of_leaves: *laughs softly, rolling onto his back and pulling Gwindor with him, allowing Gwindor to partially blanket him* You are living proof that innocence can be held onto, even through the darkest of times. Even now... Such innocence in you. Purity and light and joy. Despite it all... such joy.

son_of_guilin: *laughs along with him* I would not have found such joy without you... so if you can help me, then what is keeping me from helping you?

crown_of_leaves: *cups Gwindor's cheek, smiling hopefully* Nothing.

son_of_guilin: *feels his heart soar seeing that hopeful expression on his mate's face* Exactly. *he kisses those smiling lips fondly*

crown_of_leaves: *tangles his hand in Gwindor's hair, deepening the kiss a touch as he relishes Gwindor's closeness -- has rarely let Gwindor leave his arms since he'd come to Lorien*

son_of_guilin: *his hair had grown a bit longer since leaving Greenwood, and he ponders cutting it a bit shorter... these summer days in Greenwood were quite hot, and he found himself needing to braid his hair up off his back... He again accepts and returns Thranduil's kisses, and as exhaustion finally sets in from his exertions, he cuddles up to Thranduil, ignoring the burn of his mark, and sighs happily*

crown_of_leaves: *lays on his back with Gwindor against his side* Sleep, love.

son_of_guilin: *nods, feeling the sting of his mark and speaking up once more* I still want you to mark me, Thranduil... permanently... like we discussed before I went away.

crown_of_leaves: *heart races as little, and he thinks about the whole idea* So long as you agree to still mark me as we discussed.

son_of_guilin: *hears the slight speeding of his heart and smiles* Aye. Your left hand and forearm... I look forward to that... *yawns*

crown_of_leaves: *murmurs* So do I. Now... sleep, love.

son_of_guilin: *falls almost instantly into reverie, his body tired, and his mind content with thoughts of Thranduil being his for all time*

crown_of_leaves: *is awake long into the night, listening to Gwindor breathe, his woods rustle, and hears the first distant rumblings of thunder in the early morning darkness before reverie finally takes him*

comments

Attending the Celebration

2008-04-20T21:39:00Z

Posted by: ba-erestor.livejournal.com

After having learned the way Greenwood's trade agreements worked and such, Erestor had spoken with Loniel, and sharing his ideas, was given 'permission' so to speak by her, since she IS Thranduil's Chief Advisor, to take any new ones over and rework them over to Greenwood's benefit. Having done so, he would then take them to her for final approval.

It was what had made him Elrond's Chief Advisor after all, for this was where he was in HIS element.

And so things went.

He can hear the celebration starting, but continues to work a bit longer. A habit of his even when working for Elrond and Imladris. Soon he chuckles though, thinking back on when Elrond would literally have to pull him away from his office.

But Elrond is not here to do that now.

Yet, having gotten used to it, he finally sighs and cleans his quill, caps his inkpot and after sanding and blotting the papers he has been working on, he looks out over the trees towards where the sounds are coming from.

Other than going to the bath house, or going back and forth on errands, he has not technically gone anywhere alone, except late at night for walks, or when he was with Rhovandir.

He smiles softly, his eyes shining as he thinks of the elf who had become such a fixture in his life. Sure, they may not have been able to see each other everyday, but when they did, Erestor has felt light and happy. After all, he enjoys his company immensely.

Finally he stands and makes his way to his flet to change, knowing with the celebration, Rhovandir had become very busy seeing to things. He has no idea where he is at the moment, and knows this will be his first time to go somewhere so crowded, alone.

But with Rhovandir's help, he has slowly gained back his confidence.

Besides, he knows this is a celebration for Gwindor's return, and though they have been back for a short while, he has not seen them and wishes to see for himself that Gwindor really IS back and that the two of them are slowly starting to heal.

Changing out of his light robe that he wore against the heat, he dons charcoal grey leggings and a thin plum covered shirt that he knows will bring out the blue black highlights in his hair along with the silver/gray of his eyes. Flushing, he pushes away thoughts on why he wears clothing to enhance his looks, and instead of lacing the shirt up most of the way, decides to leave it half-way unlaced. And after rebraiding his hair, he starts to leave but then pauses.

With a grin, he picks up the small bag he has had made for his artwork, never thinking he would have gotten into drawing again as he once did. But after that night sketching Rhovandir...

Glancing at the easel in the corner of his flet and blushing again at the painting he has been working on, he heads down the stairs, letting the music guide him.

When Erestor arrives, his eyes seek out Rhovandir immediately, smiling when he spots him talking with friends and sits down where he can easily see the festivities and the dancers, and yet is very slightly distanced.

It is then that he startles, when he realizes that his eyes have sought Rhovandir first and not Thranduil and Gwindor, once more pushing those kind of thoughts away with a blush.

But that thought does have his eyes seeking out Thranduil and Gwindor and he smiles a soft smile, despite a small pang deep inside, to see them away from the others under a tree and cuddled together. Gwindor was back and he was so happy to see him. To see the two of them back together. He knew they still needed to do some healing, but at least the start has come. And he cannot help himself...

He pulls out his sketchpad and a piece of charcoal and starts to sketch them.

Erestor eventually turns to another page, having finally satisfied himself with the results of his first sketch and turns his head to the scene of elves dancing around the fire, with others eating, chatting and drinking in groups.

And starts to sketch once more.

Eventually, he puts his charcoal and pad away...and watches with another small smile as Thranduil and Gwindor leave. After being convinced by a couple of elves to dance around the fire, he once more goes to the spot where his bag was and picks it up. He glances back to where Rhovandir is with another smile, promising himself to come back in a bit and approach Rhovandir and maybe dance with him, he himself walks off into the woods. In the opposite direction of Thranduil and Gwindor and just wanders for a bit.

Soaking up the peace. The beauty. The serenity.

And with a frown, finds himself in the glade with the huge willow tree. The place where...

He almost turns to leave, but then realizes, this was another thing he had to do to finish healing. Walking to the willow tree, he peeks into the 'bower' he had created for Thranduil and himself and his eyes fill with tears that do not fall. Another small smile touches his lips and eyes as he remembers.

Turning he looks around the glade, knowing he told Rhovandir he didn't think he could ever come here again...but is now glad he has. Dropping his bag, he takes a deep breath and crawls inside, to find everything as it was left. For awhile he allows himself to reminisce before forcing himself to take up furs and blankets, folding them and piling them up against the trunk. He doubts very highly he will use them again but...

Crawling out from beneath the tree, he picks up his bag and slowly walks to the small pond, the night sounds filling his ears and sits. Deciding to take his mind off of those thoughts, he brings out his sketchpad and charcoal once more, knowing what a beautiful landscape drawing this place would make and gets to work.

He is lost in his drawing, his mind going pleasantly blank for awhile. As he nears completion of the picture, and his mind focuses once more, he gasps at the picture in his hand. It's not the pond and the scene before him.

It's Rhovandir.

Sitting and staring at the picture for awhile, he decides...maybe it's time to go back to the celebration. But he cannot seem to get himself to move.

Instead, he lays the sketch down, stands and strips and slowly enters the water.

He can go back to the celebration in a little while.

comments

Surprises

2008-04-20T00:39:00Z

Posted by: gold-cleaver.livejournal.com

daeron_the_dark: *rubs his bare back and leather encased backside sensually against Maglor's chest*

gold_cleaver: *groans, hands clenching at Daeron's hips* Cruel...

daeron_the_dark: *chuckles darkly, leaning his head back against Maglor's shoulder, assertive and yet utterly submissive*

gold_cleaver: *moves along with him to the music, hands inching forward along his hips* If you have me mess myself in the middle of a public event... *nips sharply at Daeron's ear*

daeron_the_dark: *gasps, but then grins, his eyes closed* Then you'll just have to show some self-control... But if I'm bad, will I be punished? *swivels his hips wickedly*

gold_cleaver: *moans softly, nuzzling at his throat* If you are bad, I will deny you. *worst punishment he could think of*

daeron_the_dark: *makes a small pouting noise* I'll be good... *because being denied by Maglor would be horrible punishment*

gold_cleaver: *grins against his skin, hands low enough on Daeron's waist now that his fingers brush repeatedly over his groin* Just think of all the things I will do if you are good... when we return to your flet...

daeron_the_dark: *moans softly* I can think of quite a few, melethron...

gold_cleaver: Of course you can. *licks from shoulder to ear* You are the one who taught me all I know...

daeron_the_dark: *purrs* And quite the apt pupil you are...

gold_cleaver: *bites gently at the pules in Daeron's throat* Only because I have such an... intriguing tutor...

daeron_the_dark: *that pulse jumps* Intriguing...? *bends neck to the side slightly in invitation*

gold_cleaver: I like discovering all the different notes I can coax from your beautiful throat. *shivers, his erection pressed firmly to Daeron's backside as he bites more forcefully, sucking at the skin, slowly raising a mark much the same way Daeron had done to him, while his hands tease along his groin briefly before coming back to rest low on his stomach*

daeron_the_dark: *feels shivers run down his spine and he shudders, a suspended, sonorous moan escaping him as he presses back against the hardness behind him, his back arching slightly*

gold_cleaver: *after spending quite some time working the mark, he lifts his head, breathlessly speaking* You see? I think you are the ultimate instrument... and for the time being, you are mine to play.

daeron_the_dark: *groans* Yours... No one has ever played me better... *loves the way Maglor plays his body, able to warm his spirit and take him to the heights of pleasure and pain. He craves Maglor... in every way*

gold_cleaver: *shudders to hear the admission, and he thrusts lightly against Daeron to the beat of the song* I am glad we are on agreement with that.

daeron_the_dark: *moans and reaches up behind him, pulling Maglor's lips to his in a passionate kiss, their tongues sliding wetly against one another. Breathlessly* I want you in me... *as if Maglor can't tell by the way his hips move eagerly against the Noldo's*

gold_cleaver: That can hardly happen in the middle of your king's celebration. Not to mention... *grins as he lightly bites at Daeron's lower lip* I intend to make you work for that privilege.

daeron_the_dark: *moans again* Tell me what I must do... *because he's quite good at following orders. He has no shame... which is convenient*

gold_cleaver: Perhaps we should return to your flet where we have the... *chuckles against Daeron's lips, his eyes dark and a touch dangerous* tools to please you...

daeron_the_dark: *smiles, running his tongue along Maglor's lower lip* As you wish it...

gold_cleaver: *laughs* You are shameless. You'd have me spread you out before all of Greenwood without a second thought.

daeron_the_dark: *purrs* No one has done that to me before... *chuckles* I'm too old to bother with shame... and it is not in my nature. *has only felt true shame twice in his long life... when he had betrayed Lúthien, and when he had betrayed Maglor's trust*

gold_cleaver: *drags him back to Daeron's flet, smirking* Then perhaps next Beltaine, I won't bother with using the tent. *is internally shocked that he's... planning that far ahead with Daeron*

daeron_the_dark: *laughs* Gods, how I love that festival! *Beltaine was one of the few things he looked forward to each year, and the prospect of sharing another one with Maglor makes his eyes darken a shade. It doesn't occur to him that they would have been lovers a year by that time... he can internally gape at that in astonishment later.*

gold_cleaver: *as soon as they enter Daeron's room, he begins stripping Daeron* I could tell. You were most... receptive... at that time.

daeron_the_dark: *wasn't wearing much to begin with...* Urging you to play made the night all the more pleasurable... *moans very softly at the feel of Maglor's hands running along his body*

gold_cleaver: *hands run from thighs over hips, up his sides, down his arms, to grasp and hold his wrists firmly* Which do you find most memorable, Daeron? *bites the tip of one shoulder* My music that night... *bites the other* ...or my fucking you into the ground?

daeron_the_dark: *answers without hesitation, his voice coloured with arousal* Your music.

gold_cleaver: Then next Beltaine, I must endeavour to make our fucking more memorable. *pushes him to the bed, eyes on Daeron as he goes to one of Daeron's drawers*

daeron_the_dark: *moans, looking over his shoulder at Maglor from his spot on the bed*

gold_cleaver: *rummages, excited to finally have the confidence and basic knowledges to please Daeron* On your stomach, Daeron.

daeron_the_dark: *assumes the position instantly, gathering his long hair and tying it expertly into a knot that keeps it off his back. He waits for Maglor to position him as he wishes, closing his eyes. He likes to be surprised...*

gold_cleaver: *metal rattles* Have I told you how much I like your bed? *clips the restraints first to each bedpost, allowing Daeron to hear his intent long before the first cuff is fastened to his wrist*

daeron_the_dark: *chuckles* I told you it's perfect... I made it myself. *meets Maglor's eye briefly, his own blue ones a warm colour due to his arousal, and shimmering with eager anticipation*

gold_cleaver: *likes that look in Daeron's eyes, and it makes his own sex pulse in his trousers* It will be interesting for me to learn all its uses. *fastens restraints on all four limbs, then runs his fingers along Daeron's spine, down the crevice of his backside, and over the pouch nestled against the bed between Daeron's legs before he walks away from the bed* I have been... studying... one could say. To improve my skills where your pleasure is concerned. I must say, Thranduil's realm is wise to have a House devoted wholly to the body.

daeron_the_dark: *arcs up into that light caress, his breathing quickening. He purrs* Welcome to Greenwood... *he himself had learned much through the House of Consorts, occasionally taking advantage of those so experienced in the art of sex. Their library was rather extensive... the only one of its kind, as far as Daeron knew* Am I to see what you have learned then? *his length pulses, and his heart stirs at the knowledge Maglor has actually done something just to bring him pleasure. It is something no other lover has ever done...*

gold_cleaver: Aye. You will. The Lady of the House was most helpful about you in particular. I worried I might hurt you if I was not careful. *chuckles darkly* It seems that was a fear I should not have had. *comes back to stand beside the bed, a thin cane of wood in his hand* So, shall we begin? I am anxious to see if I can pass the entrance exam.

daeron_the_dark: *his head facing the other direction, he grins though Maglor can't see it* I am quite a hard grader. I expect you to go all out. *though his voice is teasing, since he is sure Maglor knows how little it takes to truly get him off... He tests his bonds to make sure they are correctly fastened, and, feeling that they are, he goes pliant with a shiver, spread before Maglor* I'm ready.

gold_cleaver: *has a momentary stab of fear... because he does not want to disappoint his lover... but he shoves it aside. He can only do his best, and he was learning* Good. *recalling the brief lessons he'd been given, during which he'd flushed furiously because he felt like an idiot needing such instruction, he brings the cane down on Daeron's backside with only moderate force. He'd been warned to slowly build, even for one of Daeron's experience, to lull him into that delicious realm of pain and pleasure, and so Maglor sets a slow, building rhythm, the cane traveling from buttocks down thighs, and back up again*

daeron_the_dark: *twitches at the first blow, a small moan escaping him as he instantly identifies the instrument as a cane and revels in the sting of it. He is relatively silent as the blows continue, his eyes fluttering shut as the slow pace brings a burning sensation to his backside and thighs. His breathing is quick and he exhales sharply after each connection of the wood to his reddening flesh, occasionally moaning. The burn builds, sending sparks of pleasure-pain through his back and his legs.*

gold_cleaver: *shudders whenever Daeron moans, finding bringing Daeron the pain intensely pleasurable, and his hand becomes firmer, slowly raising welts along the skin. His breath becomes short and he stops briefly to shrug off his shirt, sweat making it tacky, and to run the fingers of his left hand over the hot flesh in awe, tracing the few welts there*

daeron_the_dark: *his moans build in frequency and intensity, his mind awash in pain that seems to send him floating, making his senses fuzzy and yet hypersensitive. He cries out when he feels the cane connect with enough force to raise a welt, and he pushes instinctively into the next blows, sweat breaking out on his skin and his chest heaving. His body thrums when Maglor pauses, and he shudders with a harsh, drawn out groan to feel those fingers run across his red, sensitive skin* Gods, Maglor!

gold_cleaver: *is panting quietly, wanting to hear more of those sounds, hear his name like that again, and so he begins again, using more force with each successive blow, sometimes focusing on stripes of flesh until even his breath blown over the area causes an intense reaction*

daeron_the_dark: *cries out with almost every strike to his abused flesh, his body starting to tremble with the intensity of the pain and pleasure. His arousal is pushed against the bedsheets with every powerful blow, mixing the sensations perfectly, and his hands grip their bonds tightly* Maglo-- Ai! Yes!! *pants dizzily* Just... little.. harder... *begs with voice and body, pleads for more. He could certainly handle much more, but he knows the exact level he desires as his pulse races and blood rushes in his ears, pounding a painful rhythm through his entire shaking body*

gold_cleaver: *moans with his arousal, eyes hot and dark, and he begins to strike with far more force than he thought to initially use. He explores Daeron's limit, thrashing buttocks and thighs and finally creeping up the elder Elf's back. He watches redness turn dark crimson, welts become deep and dark, and then bruising begins, and panting, he offers up an honest compliment as he watches Daeron's body move and writhe* You are so fucking beautiful, Daeron...

daeron_the_dark: *is lost to the rhythm of the resounding slaps of wood to his skin, the pain overwhelming and perfect as it shocks his system, pushing him to an altered state of mind. He writhes, pushing and pulling vainly against the cuffs that bind his arms and legs. He barely hears Maglor's compliment, but a few moments later a particularly harsh blow to his back sends a shock too powerful for him to ignore and he tenses. Can he handle it? Yes... he has experienced harsher treatment... but it is beyond what he wants, and his body speaks for him in its rigidness along with the pained cry that escapes him*

gold_cleaver: *leaves that area of Daeron's back, returning to his backside and thighs, reading that unspoken language of body and sound, and he continues only for a few moments more before stopping, leaning heavily against the bedpost, panting, sweating, and impossibly aroused as he looks Daeron's body up and down*

daeron_the_dark: *is nearly delirious, that otherwordly sense coming back to him with those last few blows, and then all sensation ceases and he is left shaking, aroused beyond belief, his shaft leaking and painful beneath him. His hands tremble as they let go of their bonds and he just... hovers...* Ma...glor...

gold_cleaver: *sheds his boots and trousers, crawling up between Daeron's splayed legs, and begins to drag his tongue ever so lightly over the bruised welts, moaning at the heat of the marks*

daeron_the_dark: *pain slices through him deliciously and he shudders before pressing up slightly against the wet muscle, a ragged moan spilling over his lips as his tongue darts out to wet them unconsciously*

gold_cleaver: *exhales over the pained skin, then allows his tongue to slide to the crevice... down it with excrutiating slowness, using his fingers to part Daeron's backside and expose him to his eyes* Since I liked it so much... *presses his tongue to the opening there, denying penetration just yet, lapping and teasing the sensitive muscle*

daeron_the_dark: *even the exhale sends a shiver through him and his harsh panting hitches when he feels the tongue travel down between the globes of his backside. With how sensitive his nerves are, the gentle lapping at his opening makes him cry out harshly, his body writhing and pressing up against the questing mouth despite the pain each movement causes. His sex twitches and throbs. He can only manage one word:* Fuck!

gold_cleaver: In time. *chuckles, blowing a shaft of cool air over the wet entrance. With slow pressure, his tongue slides into Daeron, and he moans at the sensation, having never done this to another*

daeron_the_dark: *whimpers in his need, his hands gripping once again at his bonds*

gold_cleaver: *withdraws and penetrates repeatedly, determined to give Daeron all he can*

daeron_the_dark: *flutters wildly around Maglor's tongue for a few moments before relaxing with a shaking moan and a rippling of his back and leg muscles. His world contracts, all his focus going to that amazing sensation and the sizzling pain of his backside as it is stretched and moved aside for better access*

gold_cleaver: *lifts his head, replacing tongue with fingers* Tell me if you want me to fuck you like this... or if I should release you and toss you onto your back... take you like that so your ass rubs against the quilts... *as he thrusts the two fingers into Daeron, he twists, brushing fingers over that spot inside him*

daeron_the_dark: *cries out as his body arcs, pulling those fingers deeper. His hazy mind takes a few moments to register the choice given him and he moans* Back... *the request is whispered hoarsely. His fingers itch to touch, scratch at his partner's skin, and he knows in the back of his mind that the short time of rest while he's released will help stave off his climax, which he already feels creeping up on him*

gold_cleaver: *is extremely happy Daeron chose that, as he wants to see Daeron. He slides his fingers from Daeron's body and, with trembling legs, stands from the bed, going to each limb and unclasping the restraints, bending to run his tongue along the slightly reddened flesh revealed at both ankles and wrists. Maglor eases Daeron onto his back, leaning over him and staring down into his eyes, his own full of fevered desire and something... else... and then he's kissing the elder Elf, thrusting his tongue deep into his mouth as he reaches for the flask of oil at the bedside*

daeron_the_dark: *mirrors that expression, though Maglor may not identify that... something else... within the sea-blue of his eyes, which have released a few tears from the intensity of the caning and still shimmer. He hisses harshly as pressure is put on his bruised back and buttocks, but he parts his legs despite the pain and pulls Maglor against him, crying out into his mouth as their tongues twine and his shaking fingers hold tightly to the other Elf's neck and shoulders. His sex is dark and painfully hard between them and though he cannot speak, his body begs to be taken*

gold_cleaver: *shudders, having never been with someone so wanton, and Maglor sets to giving what Daeron cannot ask for at the moment. He coats his sex with the oil, tossing the bottle aside, and without a moment's hesitation, Maglor thrusts into Daeron, stopping only when he is completely encased in his lover's body* By the Valar! *orgasm threatens to overtake him, and he clenches his jaw, his hands bunched in the sheets, as he regains control of himself*

daeron_the_dark: *screams, his eyes rolling back in their sockets as dizzying pain and pleasure push him so close to the edge that his vision begins to blur. His fingernails dig into Maglor's shoulders as his body shakes, flushed and sweaty, and so... close...*

gold_cleaver: *takes in several breaths, then decides there is no point in trying to put off what they so desperately crave, and when the nails dig into his flesh, he is spurred into motion. Maglor thrusts hard into Daeron, moaning loudly at the delightful tightness, drawn in deeply, the flesh of Daeron's thighs hot against his own, and he stares down into his lover's sweaty, flushed, beautiful face* Come for me, Daeron. *pants, eyes so dark in his passion* Sing for me! *head is thrown back as he slams his body as deeply as he can, shuddering violently as he spills himself within Daeron's body with a guttural, animal-like cry of release*

daeron_the_dark: *has never experienced such a perfect melding of pain and pleasure as when Maglor thrusts harshly, pushing his abused back into the sheets, his sweat causing the fabric to drag across the bruised stripes. He lifts his head, and he is only able to hold that dark, enthralling gaze for a few moments before the command sends him crashing painfully through his release. Fingers dig in and his body bows harshly as a loud, prolonged, painfully beautiful scream echoes through the flet. Tears are forced from his eyes as the blinding pleasure of orgasm washes through his raw senses, leaving him shaking and nearly sobbing in his lover's arms when he finally collapses. Warmth and heat... everywhere... body, mind, and soul... all-consuming warmth*

gold_cleaver: *his muscles finally relax and his arms buckle under him, though he catches himself on his elbows, keeping his weight mostly off of Daeron's body as he gasps, staring down in dawning wonder at the Elf under him, Daeron's scream resounding in his ears and soothing something old and raw inside of him. Maglor slowly leans in, pressing a soft kiss to Daeron's parted lips, lingering in the pleasure of their coupling, his body feeling more alive than it has in... too... too long*

daeron_the_dark: *can't move... can barely breathe under the onslaught of sensation as his senses slowly come back to him and the pain of his back, buttocks, and thighs finally registers fully. He whimpers in pain even as his lips are so softly caressed. He feels alive... but more than that, he feels... wanted... And it is that feeling that makes his small sobs intensify as he clings to Maglor.*

gold_cleaver: *is surprised at this, but he gently lays himself chest-to-chest with Daeron, kissing his throat and shoulder as he whispers softly to him words of encouragement and calm, eyes closed as he savours this closeness -- this intimacy -- between them in the aftermath of something deeply profound to Maglor*

daeron_the_dark: *enfolds him with shaking arms, uncaring of the pain that throbs all through him. Slowly, the whispered words and softness of his partner lulls him to a state of relative calm. Though he finds his voice restored, there is nothing he can think of to say, so he just pants in silence, holding Maglor to him. He has never gotten this closeness from his other lovers... not from those who satisfied his want of pain. It is moving... something special he shares with Maglor alone*

gold_cleaver: *stays in that position as long as possible, but he worries for his lover and, with a lingering kiss, he gently extracts himself from his arms and body, walking weak-kneed to the washroom, and he returns with a small basin of water, soft rags, and a small pot. He sits on the edge of the bed, placing the basin on the bedside table, wetting one of the cloths and setting about wiping Daeron's stomach, chest, and groin with gentle, tender motions, occasionally glancing up at his lover, worried about the tears, wondering if... he had done this all wrong*

daeron_the_dark: *breathing eventually evens out and he lifts a shaky hand up to his face, wiping at his damp cheeks before opening his eyes to gaze down at Maglor, who once again is cleaning him up instead of leaving... His heart swells and slowly a brilliant smile comes to his face*

gold_cleaver: *gives him an unsteady smile as he finishes his lover's front* I pleased you, then? *because it's what he'd wanted to do*

daeron_the_dark: *reaches up, running a hand through Maglor's hair* You're amazing... That was... incredible.

gold_cleaver: *his eyes light up, drinking in that simple compliment, his smile bright and content* Can you turn over?

daeron_the_dark: *nods, and with a pained moan, turns onto his stomach. His sweat stings along the raw skin and he grimaces*

gold_cleaver: *with as much care as he can manage, he uses a new, softer cloth, damp with water, to wipe sweat from Daeron's back, buttocks, and thighs, and then wipes the oil and seed from between his backside, marveling at the welts and bruises, the redness... that he'd done... and Daeron had liked... This baffles him for a few moments as he stares at his handiwork, then he takes the pot, lifting the lid, and the scent of lavender, mint, and something distinctly medicinal fills the air of the flet, and Maglor begins to massage the ointment into the raw flesh of Daeron's body*

daeron_the_dark: *hums and moans softly as he is tended, and the tears are in his eyes again, and are audible in his voice as he whispers* Valar, Maglor... you may not understand it, but it's... perfect...

gold_cleaver: *continues to massage his body, even after necessary, curious about Daeron's words* What is it I do not understand?

daeron_the_dark: You might not be experienced, nor fully understand why I enjoy the pain... I don't understand it fully myself... but that was... the most fulfilling... *fades out. It was the most fulfilling beating he had ever sustained... but how does one say that to a lover?*

gold_cleaver: *finally stops massaging Daeron's skin and wipes his hands* I am glad I could... I am glad I could make you happy. *smiles as he stands to fetch a brush, and returns to brush out Daeron's lovely hair, and then plaits it expertly, tying it off with a piece of rawhide*

daeron_the_dark: *allows himself to enjoy the pampering... such a rare thing for him to experience. He looks back at Maglor and, turning to his side with a wince that does not displace his smile, he pulls Maglor down next to him* And you went to the House of Consorts to learn that? I'm... deeply touched. How are you faring? *needs to know if Maglor enjoyed it or not. He knows that such things are not desired by most*

gold_cleaver: It was Rhovandir's idea. *tangles his legs gently with Daeron's as he stares into Daeron's eyes* This is not something I have done before, but it is something you enjoy... and I wanted to give that to you. My first thought was Rhovandir, but he seems to harbour a distinct distaste for it, and suggested I seek out the help of the Lady Eredhien. She was... most helpful. Obviously.

daeron_the_dark: *for the first time in Ages, Daeron blushes deeply* You... spoke to Rhovandir about bringing me pleasure? He... has never done this sort of thing to me; refuses to... But in any case, Lady Eredhien was likely the ideal person to seek out. *his blush continues* No one has ever sought out new knowledge for my benefit. Not farther than asking me questions anyway...

gold_cleaver: You said you liked to be surprised. *blinks at him, affectionate honesty in the expression* So... I took the measures to surprise you.

daeron_the_dark: *laughs, pulling Maglor into an affectionate kiss. He has not felt this happy in a long, long time...* You certainly did surprise me... and I loved every moment of it. Do you... have any questions? *his eyes shine brightly, the pain in his posterior half pushed to the back of his mind*

gold_cleaver: *laughs with him, enjoying their closeness* Just one... how can I make you blush more often? Because I must admit... *grins, fingers gliding over the flushed skin* ...it's quite pretty on you.

daeron_the_dark: *scoffs playfully, though it doesn't diminish his blush, which for some reason won't dissipate* I don't know how you managed it now, much less how you'll coax it from me again! I may not be a battle-hardened warrior, but I am shameless... and I'm too old to blush easily. I suppose you'll just have to work hard and keep surprising me. *he winks at the Noldo*

gold_cleaver: Gladly. *kisses him soundly on the lips, fingers still caressing the blushing cheek, so very content in this moment, and in a way, it frightens him, but he would deal with that later*

daeron_the_dark: *sighs into their kiss, slipping an arm around Maglor's waist* I don't know how I'll perform my duties tomorrow... You did astoundingly well for it being your first time...

gold_cleaver: *bites his lip, pondering, then smiles* I will do them. You will stay here, and I will teach in the House of Music in your stead.

daeron_the_dark: *smiles with a small chuckle* You don't have to do that, Maglor. I have taught through worse, I can assure you. *kisses the Noldo's lips sweetly*

gold_cleaver: *tilts his head, a light frown on his face* All right... I can spend the morning with my brother, then...

daeron_the_dark: *smile falls* Did I say something wrong? I greatly appreciate your offer, Maglor... I would just feel badly to push my duties onto you. You have done so much for me already... *his tone shows how truly grateful he is*

gold_cleaver: *gets an odd look on his face* So much for you? *is clueless about what he could have possibly done for Daeron in his stay here*

daeron_the_dark: *smiles again* You... have not just shared your body with me. You have become a friend... someone I can talk to about my music and receive more than blank stares or disinterested nods. You have revealed yourself to me through your own music; inspired me to improvise and compose... sparked me competitively, which has not happened in many, many millennia. You care for me as a lover, and, more importantly, as a friend. I have never been so... respected...

gold_cleaver: *looks at him as if he has gone mad* Then it is a shame those around you have been such assholes.

daeron_the_dark: *laughs so hard he falls backward a bit, rolling to his back... and instantly regrets it as a wave of pain rushes through him. He keeps laughing, however, despite it* Gods, ow! That was... stupid of me... *pushes himself back to his side again, leaning against Maglor to be sure he doesn't roll again* I think I got all that I deserved, really. With the exception of when I am around the students at the House, I have been labeled... "icy"... *it's the word Rhovandir used, and the observant Elf always used his words precisely*

gold_cleaver: *lightly wraps his arms around Daeron* You are anything but with me of late...

daeron_the_dark: Maybe it's because you can hear so much more in my music than the others ever could... I have hidden so little from you where others only got the barest glimpse if anything... *and that fact still astonishes him, though he does not delve into the reasons for it; does not bother to examine why his heart feels so much lighter in Maglor's company... He is just taking that leap of faith that Rhovandir suggested. He could no longer just take from his lovers... he is determined to give and see what difference it makes*

gold_cleaver: Maybe. *strokes his fingers along the tops of Daeron's shoulders as he thinks of all he does hear... in Daeron's music, his passionate cries, and his conversational voice* You are very lonely.

daeron_the_dark: *no need to lie...* Aye. That is no news to me. *a pause* You are too.

gold_cleaver: *resists pointing out that he hadn't felt lonely since their tryst in the music room, after Daeron had apologized for using him, instead says softly, simply* Aye.

daeron_the_dark: *is silent a moment before admitting* I... feel less lonely when you are around.

gold_cleaver: *smiles faintly at him* That... was what I was just thinking...

daeron_the_dark: *chuckles* It's a nice feeling...

gold_cleaver: It is why I seek you out so often... *shifts to lay on his back so he does not have to look at Daeron* I feel more... alive... than I have since I walked under the light of the Two Trees.

daeron_the_dark: *winces slightly as he is shifted along with Maglor* You... have been through much darkness. There are certain things I think only you and your brothers ever experienced... certain torments for which there are no comparisons. No words, even. *and he had heard that most clearly the first time he heard Maglor play during Beltaine... the grief and the self-loathing*

gold_cleaver: *snorts derisively* What darkness we experienced, or still carry with us, is far less than we deserved.

daeron_the_dark: *cannot speak to that, really, so he stays silent, simply watching Maglor for long moments. His voice is soft when he speaks again* I have... channelled darkness like that before.

gold_cleaver: *looks at him* I never want you to do that for me, Daeron. Never, do you understand?

daeron_the_dark: *nods* All right. I understand. I was just... offering what a friend would. *and he would give that to Maglor in an instant if he wished it*

gold_cleaver: *stares up at the branches* You don't know what you are offering.

daeron_the_dark: *tilts his head* If I did not have some idea, I would not have offered.

gold_cleaver: *is quiet for a long time, his breathing even, his face expressionless* What Thranduil went through was because Sauron poisoned him in a way. What we went through... still go through, in my case, because I wasn't lucky enough to die like the rest of them... is our own making. Evil we created. Blood we chose to spill and darkness we chose to swallow.

daeron_the_dark: And you hate yourself for making the choices you did...

gold_cleaver: *mouths tightens almost imperceptively* You would hate yourself for it, too.

daeron_the_dark: *does not argue with him, because he is sure he would if it were him* Is there anything I can do? Besides what I have already offered?

gold_cleaver: You do so much already.

daeron_the_dark: *much like Maglor, he is completely oblivious and gives him an odd look, blinking a few times*

gold_cleaver: You... *sits up, easing himself away from Daeron some* You listen to me. You accept me. *laughs bitterly* You like me, which still baffles my mind, I hope you know. You challenge me, and you coaxed me to play music once more. And when we make love, it's... like nothing I've experienced before. What darkness I carry with me is banished for a short while in the sheets... or when you laugh... or when you play for me.

daeron_the_dark: *finds himself close to blushing again, though the flush does not come* I... had no idea. I've just been... *he searches for the words* making an effort, for once.

gold_cleaver: *eyes him* But... why?

daeron_the_dark: *thinks for a moment, remembering his conversation with Rhovandir* Because no one deserves the treatment I have doled out for millennia. You don't deserve to be used like I have used my lovers in the past.

gold_cleaver: *swallows* We were supposed to be using one another...

daeron_the_dark: Friends don't use one another.

gold_cleaver: *considers that for a few moments, then lays back down beside Daeron* No. They don't.

daeron_the_dark: Will you... stay tonight? I'm going to need a few more applications of that salve before tomorrow, I think.

gold_cleaver: *kisses him softly* If we keep having me sleep here, I might as well move quarters. *chuckles* Yes, I will stay.

daeron_the_dark: *raises an eyebrow suggestively* Well, the bed is big enough. Though... I designed it to be big enough for three. *grins at the particular memory that goes through his mind*

gold_cleaver: *chuckles* I think I like having you to myself.

daeron_the_dark: *laughs* Don't worry. It only happened thrice, and while it was... educational... I much prefer having only one to focus my attentions on. And I am glad that one is you.

gold_cleaver: *kisses him again, inching closer to Daeron's body, just... needing to be close*

daeron_the_dark: *lifts a hand and caresses Maglor's neck, trailing down his shoulder and arm before slipping the arm around his waist like before and snuggling close. His back aches, though the herbs in the salve have begun to work at numbing the worst of the pain, and as Daeron relaxes against Maglor's strong frame, he hums an old tune from Doriath to himself*

gold_cleaver: *nuzzles him, sated and content and... happy*

comments

Welcome Home Celebration

2008-04-20T00:01:00Z

Posted by: crown-of-leaves.livejournal.com

[OOC: Tagging restricted to Gwindor, please.]

He'd organized the celebration.

In a way.

Thranduil had told Rhovandir to organize the celebration.

And so, down among the elms, fires blazed, tables filled with food were offered, and music echoed under the boughs.

The royal couple are seated in the deep shadows of one of the trees, Thranduil seated on the forest floor with Gwindor pulled into his lap. Dressed simply in trousers and thin shirts, they have eyes only for one another this night. The Elvenking's arms are tight around his mate's waist as they watch the Elves dance and laugh, the realm seeming to breathe a joyful sigh of relief.

comments

Painful Gentleness

2008-04-19T23:38:00Z

Posted by: gold-cleaver.livejournal.com

gold_cleaver: Wait... I thought we weren't having kids.

daeron_the_dark: Dear Gods, I hope we aren't!

gold_cleaver: If we do, you are having the damn thing.

daeron_the_dark: *teases* Aww... but you would look so maternal with your belly swollen with child, and I would get to pamper you and...

gold_cleaver: *stares at him aghast* You can't tell me you'd like to see me like that.

daeron_the_dark: *laughs* No. I prefer you just as you are. *runs hands up and down Maglor's chest and abdomen*

gold_cleaver: *is relieved* We'd make awful parents.

daeron_the_dark: *snorts, his hands continuing their languid perusal* I think you are right.

gold_cleaver: *shivers under those hands* You only think I am?

daeron_the_dark: *chuckles* Well... not all things can be known. Besides, of the two of us, you are the one who has experience raising children. I am just a music teacher.

gold_cleaver: And look what Russandol and I raised. *leans in and brushes his lips lightly over the side of Daeron's throat... just because he can*

daeron_the_dark: *lets his head fall back and to the side with a hum of pleasure* Elrond and Elros turned out surprisingly well with all they were subjected to.

gold_cleaver: Then I contribute that to their parents and not us. *nips playfully* All the love in the world could not make up for the atrocities we put them through as children.

daeron_the_dark: I must disagree... *purrs for a moment* Though you certainly put them through a horrible ordeal, you also cared for them, showing them quite early on that there is more than one side to any story... that elves are not just good or evil, they are complex beings. It is knowledge like that which, I believe, led them to become level-headed rulers.

gold_cleaver: *lifts his head to meet Daeron's eyes, speaking seriously* Do you desire children, Daeron?

daeron_the_dark: *blinks* You're serious? *pauses* I'm not sure... I have never really thought about it.

gold_cleaver: I never thought there would be anyone other than Russandol that I'd want a family with... that I could have a family with.

daeron_the_dark: So... you want children then? *says it with a small smile, finding it... endearing in a way*

gold_cleaver: *flushes* I--I didn't say that.

daeron_the_dark: *kisses one of those flushing cheeks* You implied it. You get no family by being with me. My parents have long dwelt in Mandos, and I was their only child.

gold_cleaver: *swallows* I only want whatever will make me happy. If you are what makes me happy, then that is all I need, Daeron.

daeron_the_dark: *smiles, tilting Maglor's head up slightly* I hope I make you happy... *kisses him gently*

gold_cleaver: *wraps his arms around Daeron's neck, savouring that kiss with a soft hum*

daeron_the_dark: *trails his hands down Maglor's back and sides, letting them rest on the Elf's lower back. He keeps the kiss gentle, the strokes of his tongue relatively superficial. The option to deepen it is left to Maglor, for Daeron finds himself perfectly content to just kiss him like this, with little fire but great warmth in their movements*

gold_cleaver: *is surprised at the gentleness being instigated by the elder Elf, and so he chooses to enjoy it for what it is, making no move to alter the depth or pace*

daeron_the_dark: *manuvers them to a divan and pulls Maglor down with him, urging the Noldo to lay back against the sloped arm of the small couch as he leans over him and continues their kissing... gentle, lazy, a meeting of lips for simple enjoyment, no expectations attached*

gold_cleaver: *melts under that attention, his entire demeanour softening as he lies pliant on the divan, fingers tangling and untangling in Daeron's hair as he returns the unhurried kisses, his eyes closed as he sighs with quiet, unaccustomed contentment against Daeron's lips*

daeron_the_dark: *relaxes utterly, purring in an almost feline manner as his hair is stroked and their tongues twine. It is many minutes before he finally parts from Maglor's mouth, slowly opening his warm light blue eyes to gaze down at the Noldo.* We shall have to do this more often... *smiles*

gold_cleaver: *allows his eyes to drift open, and he gazes up at Daeron with smoky grey eyes, his heart jumping at the sight of Daeron's beautiful smile* As often as you wish...

daeron_the_dark: *smile stays in place as he kisses him one last, lingering time and settles next to him on the divan* I like it when you play with my hair... *anything from the gentle combing of his fingers to the harsh pulling he has experienced during their rougher sexual encounters... Daeron loves having it...*

gold_cleaver: *smiles, continuing to fiddle with Daeron's hair* 'Tis as long as a woman's.

daeron_the_dark: *chuckles* Longer than some of theirs... Shorter hair never suited me, I don't think. Though you could ask Rhovandir what he thought when I had it cut to my shoulders before Anor first rose.

gold_cleaver: *wrinkles his nose* I don't think I would like you with short hair. Mine used to be as long as Russandol's, until war, and then it was simply easier to keep it short. It's become a habit of mine to keep it thusly.

daeron_the_dark: *nods with a smile* Your brother has very nice hair, I must admit... and a very unusual colour. But I cannot envision you with hair as long as his. I like being able to run my fingers through the length of your hair easily... and I can imagine how much more convenient it is to manage. *spends quite a lot of time keeping his hair in prime condition, though Maglor has not yet caught him tending to it*

gold_cleaver: *chuckles* Yes, it is much easier to manage. *closes his eyes, a fond smile coming to his lips* It was good to see Russandol with long hair once more. It was a hardship for him when the cut it from him. *shakes his head* Mother, Grandfather, and the twins have the same shade. So lovely.

daeron_the_dark: *smiles* You are so close to him... It makes me wonder what having siblings is like. While Rhovandir and I are closer than family, what I see between you and Maitimo is different...

gold_cleaver: *opens his eyes once more, full of curiosity* And what is it you see, melethron?

daeron_the_dark: *struggles to put it into words* Affection borne of hardship, but more than that, a deep abiding sort of love that reaches back before that hardship... You look up to him... and not just because he is taller *adds with a grin* You are simultaneously happy and filled with deep regret when he is near... *eyes are soft as he gazes at Maglor*

gold_cleaver: He warms my heart as few can anymore, but... *sighs, brow furrowing* He is all I ever wanted to be. He stood up to almost thirty years of torture and near-isolation, and yet he recovered from it as best he could. He still loved and felt... Russandol wanted peace as much as he wanted to fulfill the Oath, and he tried so hard to balance both. So many years he stayed our hands when the Oath would make us restless. *smiles with such affection and love in his face* He kept our family together as long as he could, until, one by one, we all slipped through his fingers.

daeron_the_dark: *whispers* And then he slipped through yours... *startles himself by feeling a small measure of jealousy, though who it is directed towards, he is unsure. He just... wishes he could inspire such a look from another Elf...*

gold_cleaver: *darkness sweeps over his face, and unbidden, tears form in his eyes as he remembers that horrid night* I begged him to listen to reason, but he was so lost... and I couldn't help him find his way again. Those damned gems! They stole everything from us -- from me! *had loved with all his brotherly heart, having placed Maedhros on a pedestal, even in death, and he still sees his brother as everything good and just in the world because at least Maedhros had tried* What is the use of loving if it can't heal what you hold most dear?

daeron_the_dark: *can find nothing to say as a lump forms in his throat. Instead, he pulls Maglor close, enfolding him in a warm embrace*

gold_cleaver: *clings to him, refusing to let the tears fall. He has wept enough over the millennia to fill a canyon, and he cannot bring himself to weep fully now* I want to feel what I felt with him. That... completeness. *a completeness, though, that had never been just what he'd been seeking, but close enough to ease the ache*

daeron_the_dark: *strokes his fingers through Maglor's hair, holding him close as he tries to comfort him, an act he is not really familiar with* Shh... I'm here... it will be all right... *is not sure the words are the correct ones for such a situation, so he continues holding him... eventually beginning to hum a slow, comforting tune*

gold_cleaver: *hates himself for appearing so in front of Daeron, and so he tries to squirm his way away from his lover*

daeron_the_dark: *knows Maglor well enough to assume his moving away is founded on his feelings of self-hate... so he does not relinquish his hold on the Noldo*

gold_cleaver: *glares at him, not understanding* Let me go!

daeron_the_dark: *meets that glare with calm features* Not while you are convinced that sharing your troubles with me is a show of weakness. I may be your lover, but I'm also your friend... and I only wish to help, not see you wallow.

gold_cleaver: I am not wallowing. *remains tense* There is nothing anyone can do about the past except regret it.

daeron_the_dark: By regretting it, you only make your past your present. *though... who is he to speak? Did he not regret many things in his past?* Is there... nothing I can do? *his eyes are concerned*

gold_cleaver: *sags suddenly, eyes closed* You... do enough as is, Daeron.

daeron_the_dark: *just... holds him close again* All you have to do is ask, meldir... *doesn't really know what he is offering... and doesn't really care*

gold_cleaver: *shrugs, allowing himself to be held* I am not even certain what it is I need. *frowns* Ever since coming here...

daeron_the_dark: *cannot finish Maglor's sentence for him, but thinks that things had become... better, if not more complex, since their meeting and their connection on Beltaine* At... least you have your music now.

gold_cleaver: *softly* I always had my music. I just had no one who inspired me to play it for others.

daeron_the_dark: *comes close to blushing, though Maglor cannot see it* Do I really inspire you?

gold_cleaver: *nods agaist Daeron's should, his fingers finding their way into the bard's hair once more* Deeply, in fact.

daeron_the_dark: *feels his cheeks flush ever so slightly as something in his spirit soars at the news. Many had been inspired by him throughout the Ages as far as his music went, but never had any of it meant something to him... until now*

gold_cleaver: *doesn't notice anything as he continues to speak, ensnaring his fingers quite firmly in Daeron's hair* I would play when everyone would go out of the palace... or when Maedhros would pull me away from whatever I was doing... I never played just because... and I certainly had not composed anything in... thousands of years...

daeron_the_dark: You... inspire me too. *admits it with a smile, feeling those hands in his hair* My music has changed for the better since I met you.

gold_cleaver: *finally lifts his head, trying to see Daeron's eyes* Has it?

daeron_the_dark: *smiles* It has. The quality of the sound is richer, because I delve deeper within and put more into the notes than superficial interest. Rhovandir noticed the difference as well... and he has heard me play since the beginning.

gold_cleaver: *nods, returning to his former position with his head on Daeron's shoulder* I suppose it is what all great musicians are able to do for one another.

daeron_the_dark: Perhaps... You are the only other 'great' I have had the privilege of meeting and playing with though... since Lúthien, anyway. *the daughter of Melian had danced more than she sang, but they had made beautiful music with one another... and Daeron had to admit, there were similarities to that time and what he experienced musically with Maglor*

gold_cleaver: *softly* You still miss her.

daeron_the_dark: *tries to deny the ache that comes to his heart. He sighs, his voice barely louder than a whisper* She was everything to me... I lost everything when she left to persue Beren. It was a very long while before I was able to establish some semblance of a life again... and I have Ardaur and Rhovandir to thank for that.

gold_cleaver: *begins stroking the hair of Daeron's that falls within his reach absently* I wish I had had that. Someone to have brought me back to life so I might have felt something during the years between Russandol's suicide and finding you here.

daeron_the_dark: *sighs at the gentle tingling sensation of his scalp as his hair is stroked* We both wandered and took what comfort we could with those willing... I have merely existed for so long... *cranes his neck to place a kiss on Maglor's hair* It is nice to have found someone who understands.

gold_cleaver: *feels something stir in his heart at that kiss more than the words, and his hand stills*

daeron_the_dark: *notices the stillness, and when Maglor says nothing he thinks it curious* Is something wrong?

gold_cleaver: *closes his eyes tightly, and says the only thing that comes to his mind* I... hate you.

daeron_the_dark: *based on their past conversation, he cannot help but smile* I know you do. *he places another small peck on Maglor's head*

gold_cleaver: *sits up, shifting their positions so Daeron is prone on the divan and he is straddling his lover's hips, gazing down at him* Do you still merely exist?

daeron_the_dark: *pushes his hair aside to look at Maglor over his shoulder* No. *answers honestly* I feel more alive than I have in many millennia.

gold_cleaver: *lifts Daeron's shirt, pulling it off his body* And that is my doing?

daeron_the_dark: *is not sure what Maglor is up to, so he just blinks* Aye.

gold_cleaver: *rests his fingers at the top of Daeron's shoulders* Russandol would like me to go home with him in a few weeks. He believes that it is futile to try and turn Thranduil to forgiveness. *slowly drags his nails down Daeron's back, from shoulders to the waist of his trousers, bright red marks left in his wake* Do you want me to go?

daeron_the_dark: *eyes go wide and he gasps as Maglor's nails create burning trails down his back* No... *whispers, his mouth suddenly dry*

gold_cleaver: Good. *rests his nails against the skin of his sides, close to the divan, and drags them up and towards the centre of his back* Because I don't want to go.

daeron_the_dark: *gasps again as his back and sides begin to sting, and he releases his breath in a soft moan. He has never had a lover say those particular words to him...* You don't?

gold_cleaver: *makes his way slowly up Daeron's sides, creating a lovely criss-crossing pattern on his back* No. I don't. I have too much to learn from you, too much to teach you, and all of eternity to make certain the lessons are learned. I am... *searches for the right word* ...fond... of you and your company and your music.

daeron_the_dark: *his breathing is quick and he darts out his tongue to wet his dry lips* I am... fond of you... as well... *pants out before another moan escapes him, slightly louder than the one before, and a grin forms on his face* What would you teach me, my Lord?

gold_cleaver: *shifts to sit on Daeron's thighs, drawing his tongue from the base of his spine up to his neck, then presses his clothed chest against Daeron's bare back, lips near Daeron's ear* How to play the piano. *drags his tongue across his shoulders so he can whisper in the other ear* How to weild a sword. *lips ghost over his spine, gentle and light* How to be sincerely gentle and giving. *presses an opened-mouth kiss to the skin just above the waistband of Daeron's trousers*

daeron_the_dark: *emits a soft whimper when his lover's tongue traces up his spine and his weight is pressed against the stinging marks on his back. The sensation is simply divine... and Maglor's words leave him breathless, his eyes dark, and his body pliant and eager beneath him* I will... *soft moan* do my best to learn... *presses upward encouragingly into Maglor's lips*

gold_cleaver: *reaches under Daeron, unlacing his trousers, slowly pulling them down his legs, speaking in a lilting, hypnotic manner* What I do not think has ever been adequately shown to you is just how utterly painful a gentle touch can be. *lazily comes back up Daeron's legs, lapping, nipping, and suckling various points along calves, knees, and thighs*

daeron_the_dark: *shivers under Maglor's attention, a slight flush coming over his skin as he moans softly. When a particularly sensitive spot is found right beneath the swell of his buttocks on his thighs, he moans loudly unconsciously moving in a way that begs for more* What do you mean? *is not sure what Maglor means about gentleness being painful... and is even less sure he should have asked*

gold_cleaver: *lips brush against skin as he speaks* You have been too busy with Thranduil's shortcomings of late. I have missed your company. Too many nights alone after so many filled with your presence. *tongue quests briefly between the globes of his backside* I suppose painful tenderness is a just redress of my grievances.

daeron_the_dark: I could not deny Legorwen when she asked me to construct his new bed... *which was true... Ardaur's mother was almost as hard to deny as Thranduil himself* Believe me, *he pants* I would have preferred your company -- AH!! -- over spending my days in the House of Music and my nights constructing that monstrosity! *he had barely slept at all the last week in his rush to finish the damned thing... and gods, Maglor's touch was setting him aflame after so many nights apart from him*

gold_cleaver: I have seen the bed, Daeron. It is a work of art. *sucks a finger into his mouth before oh so gently pressing it against Daeron's opening, slipping only the first inch into his body* I could see the love you hold for Thranduil in every piece of that bed. *brushes his tongue against the flesh just above the crevice of his buttocks and, as he withdraws his finger, he sucks hard at the skin*

daeron_the_dark: He is my friend... I would do nearly anything for him... *groans, feeling that finger just barely penetrate him only to withdraw to the sensation of Maglor sucking harshly at the base of his spine* Ah... Maglor... *the name is a deep, rumbling moan*

gold_cleaver: Nearly? I am almost afraid to ask what you wouldn't do for him. *teeth graze over the swell of each buttock, hot breath teasing as Maglor begins the drawn out process of kissing and suckling every inch of Daeron's back, always pay special attention along his lover's spine*

daeron_the_dark: I would not fuck him when he came to me following Gwindor's departure... there are some things even Thranduil knows not to force me into. *though the red lines are likely still visible on his back, the sting has abated, and he arches upward as much as he can into Maglor's lips and tongue, delighting in the way he caresses, even as the teasing drives him mad with desire. The special attention paid to his spine makes him shiver and he moans shakily* I love the way you do that...

gold_cleaver: I would not tolerate you sleeping with him so long as you maintained a relationship with me. *the warning is hotly spoken to the skin between Daeron's shoulder blades, then he smiles* Do you? Well then... *instead of continuing on as he had planned, he sits up, drawing his nails firmly down either side of the spine, then begins to suck and nip along the red lines on each side, licking up the centre occasionally as he makes his way back up to his neck*

daeron_the_dark: *cries out, the contrast between the heat left by those firm scratches and the cool slickness of Maglor's tongue and lips sending jolts of arousal through him, tingling up and down his legs before settling in his groin* Gods!!

gold_cleaver: *laughs, sitting up so he can pull his own shirt from his body* I have never had such an intense reaction to my touch before. *grins as he unlaces his trousers, just needing to remove the pressure on his erection* I think I like it. It's almost... intoxicating.

daeron_the_dark: *pants, looking over his shoulder, his cheeks flushed with arousal and his eyes that warm hue that only comes during their trysts* I have always been rather... responsive... but your touch is just... exquisite.

gold_cleaver: *stands* Onto your back, love. *when Daeron complies, Maglor settles himself between his legs, taking Daeron's left foot in hand, eyes like storm clouds as he gazes at the bard* Russandol always said I was meant to be a lover, not a warrior. *softly kisses the instep of Daeron's foot, moving up to the ankle to lap with his tongue for a moment, then taking his large toe into his mouth, swirling his tongue around the digit and suckling*

daeron_the_dark: *of all the parts of his body, his feet have always been his least favourite... but seeing Maglor suckle on his big toe makes them significantly more beautiful all the sudden, and he moans as his sex pulses between his legs, dark and weeping with fluid. He brings his hands above his head, gripping at the cushioned curve beneath him*

gold_cleaver: *eyes glitter as he releases the toe* We have been together for three months now... and I have never taken the time to properly explore your body. It is time to rectify that oversight. *slowly moves along the toes, teasing them with tongue and teeth, watching Daeron, his lover's reactions making his blood to boil*

daeron_the_dark: *tries to recall the last time someone paid such attention to his feet... and finds he cannot remember anyone having done so. His toes splay every so often, and he finds the scrape of teeth on the small digits quite enjoyable... a surprise to him. More than anything, though, he likes the pure sensuality displayed by his lover, who darts his tongue out just so, his lips slightly swollen from use. Daeron's eyes flutter shut and he hums his pleasure*

gold_cleaver: *eases the left foot down and takes up the right, kissing the instep just as he had on the left, nipping at the ankle, and then moving on to the toe, which he pays just as much attention to before finally abandonly the feet, moving up his calves, his tongue snaking out to lick at the side of his knees. He moans softly, enjoying the simple pleasure of exploring Daeron, of using tongue, teeth, lips, and hands tenderly. Once he finishes with Daeron's knees, he smiles down at him, raking his nails down the insides of Daeron's thighs*

daeron_the_dark: *breath comes in shallow huffs already, the gentle attentions making his body pulse in time with his heartbeat. And then those nails are on him again, and a sweet burn trails with them down his thighs, causing him to cry out again, his neck arcing back and his toes curling*

gold_cleaver: *breathless, eyes shining with arousal* I love the music you create when we make love. *dips his head down, tracing the red lines with his tongue in painfully... slow... strokes*

daeron_the_dark: *whimpers pitifully as he is mercilessly teased, the meaning of Maglor's words finally registering... painful gentleness...* Dear Valar!

gold_cleaver: *smiles as he leaves Daeron's thighs, avoiding his arousal, instead nuzzling the hollow of his hip before he suckles it, spending a lot of time raising a pale bruise there. Maglor goes to the other hip, doing the exact same thing so his lover now has matching passion marks on his hips. Then he drags his lips along the skin between groin and navel, the wet tip of Daeron's sex brushing against his throat temptingly*

daeron_the_dark: *moans deeply as the first mark on his hip is raised* Wicked Elf *he accuses before his voice is pulled into another series of moans while the second mark is erected. He breathes harshly, his sex aching, when it suddenly gets the smallest brush of contact, but, surprisingly, it is the sensation just above his groin that makes him jump and causes his cheeks to burn* Fuck!

gold_cleaver: *lifts his head, an eyebrow cocked, and he smirks* Is that so? Hmm. *ducks back down peppering kisses along that same patch of skin, and once he finishes that, he begins to lick and bite at it, Daeron's shaft occasionally touching his throat, but he continues to ignore it, focusing instead on his lower stomach*

daeron_the_dark: *the area is incredibly sensitive and he finds himself not minding it that his sex is ignored... not nearly as much as he would have thought. He moans deliriously until he feels teeth on the area, and then he is reduced to rather colourful curses as he writhes, his knuckles white on the back of the divan*

gold_cleaver: *thinks to exploit the area longer, but his own growing need urges him to move upward, tongue swiping at Daeron's navel* Do you understand now? *pants as he leans over him, nails scraping down Daeron's chest, along his stomach, and ending in that sensitive area* Painful... gentleness... Daeron.

daeron_the_dark: *can barely breath, much less make a verbal response that is not a moan or curse. He nods as best he can because* Ai! *yes... now he understands completely... and it is sweet torment*

gold_cleaver: I can continue this if you like... or I can give us both what this... *draws his knuckle up the curve of Daeron's length* ...seems so eager to have. *aches in his own trousers, his chest and face flushed, his breath short, and his body cries out to merge once more with Daeron after too many days without the Elf*

daeron_the_dark: *sucks in a few breaths before he can respond* Anything! *he gasps desperately* Anything, just don't stop! *and he feels dizzy with his desire as his sex is touched so lightly*

gold_cleaver: *has never had a lover in such a state, and it makes Maglor's heart race* Anything. *he smiles* All right. *he braces his hands on either side of Daeron's chest on the divan, taking his right nipple into his mouth. He could torture Daeron until the Elf was mad with desire. He sucks the nub gently, sweeping his tongue back and forth over it, then grazes his teeth across before he begins suckling again, determined to make the peak ache from his attentions, and when it does, he turns to the other one. While he spends plenty of time on making the left nipple ache as sweetly as the right, his fingers come up to occasionally brush over the right one, and when it seems the ache begins to die, he tugs and pinches until Daeron is again riled*

daeron_the_dark: *cannot contain his cries as his arousal is brought to a fevered pitch. His nipples ache and just when he feels some relief to the onslaught of sensation, they are pinched and he cries out again, the cycle renewed. He continues to writhe beneath his lover, every fiber of his being aching for release*

gold_cleaver: *is slowly reaching the goal he set out to achieve when this started, and he leaves Daeron's nipples, nuzzling and kissing his throat, tongue lapping at the hollow, and then his lips hover above Daeron's. His breathing is ragged, his eyes impossibly dark, and he whispers* I want... to kiss you...

daeron_the_dark: *his own breathing is laboured and he licks his lips, his vision hazy as he stares into the black depths of Maglor's eyes. If he were in a cognisant state of mind, Daeron would likely find it amusing that their tryst was to both start and end with kissing... but as it is, he cannot speak nor think beyond the moment, and he finally releases the divan, bringing his cramped hands to Maglor's flushed face; encouraging his lover to close the distance and do exactly as he desires*

gold_cleaver: *covers Daeron's lips with his own, thrusting his tongue lazily into his lover's mouth. He takes great pains to recreate those first kisses of the evening, and as he kisses him, Maglor squirms until his trousers pool at his knees. He moans softly into the kiss, sliding his tongue over Daeron's, and presses his groin to the elder Elf's, thrusting against him, shuddering as he finally deepens their kiss*

daeron_the_dark: *moans urgently even as he makes no move to speed up their movements. Never has he found gentle kissing more erotic and intoxicating, and when Maglor's groin comes into contact with his own, he gives a choked cry, a hand instantly going down to grasp tightly at the Elf's backside, pulling him closer as he bucks up into the amazing feeling of their erections sliding against one another. Dangerously close to his peak after such delicious torture, he twines his tongue with Maglor's drawing him deeper*

gold_cleaver: *braces his hands on the arm of the divan, kissing Daeron with abandon as he thrusts purposefully against him. The hand on his backside, the tight pressure of their bodies trapping their erections against one another, and the sinful way Daeron's tongue moves against his... Maglor pants between kisses, his body so wonderfully near that glorious end, and he moans continuously into his lover's mouth, hands tightening on the arm as he balances precariously on the edge of orgasm*

daeron_the_dark: *grasps onto Maglor like a lifeline during a storm at sea as his climax hits him hard. Their mouths are forced apart as he bows painfully beneath his lover, his heartbeat seeming to throb along every single line that was scratched into him; pulsing with a burning ache through those twin marks at his hips. His vision is overtaken by blinding white lights and his ears are deafened by the rushing of his blood and the harmonizing cries of he and his lover. It was painful. It was gentle. It was perfect.*

gold_cleaver: *forces himself to watch Daeron's release, and when he feels the warm wetness spread between them, he tosses his head back and cries out, spilling himself loudly. Never has he felt such heat, and as he comes down from the high of climax, he softly kisses Daeron's lips, continuing to thrust lazily against him, drawing out the aftershocks of pleasure that course through him. After a few moments, his movements stop, and he nuzzles Daeron's throat, purring with triumphant satisfaction*

daeron_the_dark: *whimpers in the aftermath, collapsing against the divan as he all but heaves to recover his breath. After several moments, he smiles brilliantly, enjoying the feel of their seed-slicked torsos moving lazily until they stop and he finally comes down from his high. With a few swallows and licks to his parched lips, he attempts to speak, his voice rough with use* Painful... Gentleness... Quite a lesson, melethron. *a hoarse, joyful laugh escapes him and he slips his arms around Maglor's waist*

gold_cleaver: *laughs, resting his head against Daeron's shoulder* We may... have to repeat it quite a few... times, until the tenants stick.

daeron_the_dark: *groans* I'm a quick learner... no need for punishment, Sir. *laughs again, petting Maglor's sweat-slicked hair with one hand while the other remains at his waist*

gold_cleaver: *listens to Daeron's heart under his ear, eyes closed, savouring this closeness that was becoming more and more frequent for them*

daeron_the_dark: *continues playing with Maglor's hair idly* I would never have known I was your second Elven lover... You are amazing, whether you believe it or not.

gold_cleaver: *moans quietly with pleasure as Daeron strokes his hair* Would you believe that, even counting my mortal lovers, I have only ever had a dozen? I'm glad I can please one with as much experience as you, Daeron, for I would hate to disappoint.

daeron_the_dark: You most certainly have not disappointed me... and I somehow doubt you could. One dozen... I feel like such a whore.

gold_cleaver: *lifts his head, eyes still slightly dazed as he smiles at Daeron* A whore takes payment for their services. I doubt you've ever charged for the use of your body, so you are not a whore. *thinks* I believe the appropriate word would be 'tramp'. *shakes his head, chuckling* Regardless of the term, though, I don't care who you've had in the past. Right now, I have you, and I do not waste what little time we have together on wondering about those who have graced your sheets before me. I... *frowns, ducking his head* I find I am more displeased about the thought of all those who will come after.

daeron_the_dark: 'Tramp'... *his smile drops a bit* That's what your brother called me... *pauses* The future holds no importance. For all I know, some random Elf could push me off the highest flet in the House of Music tomorrow. It is the present that matters most, and I am pleased to be spending it with you.

gold_cleaver: *sighs* Russandol... *slowly sits up, parting their sticky bodies, using his discarded shirt to clean them both up* The future matters the most, Daeron. *throws the shirt onto the floor and stands up* The future is what gives hope or destroys all faith. The future... the future is everything.

daeron_the_dark: Does your future give you hope?

gold_cleaver: *looks down at Daeron, shadows in his eyes* No. Because my future is nothing but endless loneliness. My future... destroys all faith. *pulls his trousers back up, lacing them swiftly*

daeron_the_dark: *frowns* And if I am there with you in your future...? *be it one day or more months like those they had shared, Daeron wants nothing more than to keep Maglor's loneliness at bay... which in turn would keep his own from consuming him*

gold_cleaver: You will not be in my future indefinitely, and therefore, I must face the fact that the joy my time with you has given me will pass. Another will take my place here. *and that was something that truly upset him, that knowledge*

daeron_the_dark: *continues frowning* You don't know my future... you just know my past. The two may not be mirror images of one another as you assume they will be. *he may have been a tramp in the past, but things had changed... he dislikes the thought of casting Maglor aside and finding another... it troubles him deeply*

gold_cleaver: Point taken. *it doesn't even occur to him as he reaches into the wardrobe that this is not his room, and the shirt he holds in his hands is not his, and he slides Daeron's shirt onto his body, lacing it loosely* I don't know the future.

daeron_the_dark: *unlike Maglor, most certainly notices that the Elf is putting on his clothing... and he can't help the smile that blooms on his face. He says nothing though, wondering if Maglor will catch himself.*

gold_cleaver: What do you find so amusing? *tilts his head as he crosses his arms*

daeron_the_dark: *eyes him with a grin* That's a good colour on you...

gold_cleaver: *looks down at himself* Dammit. *starts to remove it* I swear, it would easier if I just moved my clothes in here!

daeron_the_dark: *laughs and quickly crosses the flet to Maglor's side, stopping his progress and lacing the garment back up himself* I don't give idle flattery, remember? It is a good colour on you. Keep it.

gold_cleaver: *looks up into Daeron's eyes, still sore the Sinda was taller than him, and he growls* Valar, I hate you.

daeron_the_dark: *simply smirks* Feel free to bring a few changes of clothes to hang in my wardrobe for convenience... though the summer is about to get hotter, I think, and rain is likely on its way. Most of the realm will be wearing next to nothing anyway.

gold_cleaver: *huffs up at Daeron* Barbaric, I swear. Indecent.

daeron_the_dark: *laughs* You'll learn to love it. Besides, *he takes a step back, turns, and bends over enticingly* less clothing means easier access.

gold_cleaver: *eyes flash and his fingers itch to touch again already* Don't tempt me, bard.

daeron_the_dark: *pouts, grabbing his sleeping trousers from the wardrobe and pulling them over his nakedness, though he does it with slow movements that purposefully draw the eye to the sliding of the fabric over his skin* You're no fun...

gold_cleaver: *watches the fabric creep up, feeling heat blossom in his face, eyes on Daeron's body* I am plenty of fun, but I thought you might actually be done with me tonight.

daeron_the_dark: So many assumptions...

gold_cleaver: A bad habit of mine. *lifts his eyes to Daeron's* What do you intend to do about it?

daeron_the_dark: *eyes glint* Teach.

gold_cleaver: *tsks* I always was a poor student.

daeron_the_dark: *smirks* Then the best course of action is repetition. *brings his lips progressively closer to Maglor's, even though both of their mouths are still sore from just a few minutes ago* Over... and over... and over...

gold_cleaver: *doesn't much care that his lips ache, his hand dives into the dark hair, yanking Daeron the last few inches so that their lips meet into a more demanding, consuming kiss*

daeron_the_dark: *moans softly in surprise as their mouths collide, easily submitting to Maglor as the younger Elf plunders his mouth*

gold_cleaver: *kisses him until they are breathless again, then tears his lips from Daeron's, panting harshly* I hate you. *fingers start yanking at laces, and Maglor is surprised by his sudden need to be pressed against Daeron's body once more*

daeron_the_dark: *briefly wonders how many times in one day he can wring those words from Maglor... panting himself, he aids Maglor in removing shirt and leggings again* I know...

gold_cleaver: *is beginning to wonder about the words himself, because when he says them, he certainly doesn't feel hatred. As soon as their clothes are cast aside, he pulls Daeron flush against his body, moaning as he bites at his lover's throat*

daeron_the_dark: *feels his body instantly responding to the proximity and eagerness of his lover* Tell me what you want, Maglor... in detail. *he moans, his hands gripping at hips and trailing up sides and back*

gold_cleaver: *pulls him towards the bed, kissing him repeatedly* I want... to forget the future. *tongue delves deeply as his hands grip Daeron's backside*

daeron_the_dark: *slides his tongue against Maglor's and the moment he gets a breath:* Then live in the present.

gold_cleaver: *twists their bodies, depositing Daeron on the bed, straddling one of his thighs, panting* Make me live the present!

daeron_the_dark: *props himself up and after a few long moments of kissing Maglor to breathlessness, he squirms out from underneath him, crawling across the bed with a promise in his gaze. He goes to a chest of drawers on the other side of the room... one which he has not touched before with Maglor in the room. After a moment, he returns with long strips of silk. He grins at Maglor* Do you know how to tie a good knot?

gold_cleaver: *a little confused, glancing at the silk* Aye. Of course.

daeron_the_dark: *grins* Did you notice the laticework of metal at the base of the headboard on the bed I made for Thranduil?

gold_cleaver: *thinks back and nods* Aye...

daeron_the_dark: *goes to his bed and moves the pillows aside, exposing a similar feature on his own bed. Returning to Maglor, he takes one of the Noldo's wrists and deftly ties the silk around it, pulling the slip-knot taut. His eyes glitter as he looks at his lover.* Use your imagination, melethron. There is no right or wrong... *undoes the knot, easily releasing the Elf's wrist and smoothing out the silk* Don't hesitate if you have questions.

gold_cleaver: *blinks* You... want me to tie you... to the bed?

daeron_the_dark: *smiles* Aye. With restriction comes a certain lack of control which can be utterly liberating. It takes a level of trust... and I am offering that trust to you now. If anything you do harms me, you can trust me to tell you and in return I trust you to stop. I... *he almost blushes* have done this before with you to a certain extent, though no ties were used...

gold_cleaver: *takes the silk in his hands thoughtfully* If no ties were used... *has never played this sort of game with another, and he glances at Daeron, trying to recapture that heat he'd felt only moments ago, but he only has silk in his hands and Daeron not near enough*

daeron_the_dark: *pauses... watching his lover, and he caresses Maglor's neck before kissing him again* If you don't want to, I will not be offended.

gold_cleaver: *closes his eyes, and rather than answer verbally, he thrusts his tongue deeply between Daeron's lips, a hand tangling in his hair while his other hand grasps the silk strips*

daeron_the_dark: *moans into the kiss, his hands caressing at neck and chest, brushing lightly across a nipple before teasing it to hardness*

gold_cleaver: *gasps, hand tightening in Daeron's hair, and he tugs Daeron back down on the bed with him, pressing him to his back. He runs his hands down Daeron's arms down to his wrists and when he brings his arms back up, he draws Daeron's hands up towards the headboard as they kiss*

daeron_the_dark: *is once again struck by how much he loves Maglor's hands in his hair... but then such thoughts flee and he moans into the Noldo's mouth. Though his tongue duels with Maglor's slightly, inspiring an edge of competition, his hands move with ease, more than willing to take any position the Elf desires*

gold_cleaver: *chooses to begin simply, risking Daeron's disappointment, though he takes absolute control of the kiss before he relinquishes Daeron's lips in order to fashion the same slip-knot around first one wrist, then the other, and binding them to the headboard quickly*

daeron_the_dark: *submits wholeheartedly, and when he tests his bonds and finds them holding strong, he offers Maglor a breathless smile* Perfect... Now you just follow your whims, your desires... Anything you want, Maglor... *and he licks his lips in anticipation*

gold_cleaver: *hovers above him, heart racing, and he gets a vivid image in his head... and he smirks... though he puts that off for the moment. He sits back some, pondering where to begin* I would scratch you bloody, so that when you wake in the morning to dress, you see the markings... feel them throughout the day... and remember my touch as you sit teaching your classes. *lightly drags his fingers over Daeron's chest, nails teasing lightly at the nipples*

daeron_the_dark: *seeing that smirk on his lover's face causes him to shiver, and he groans loudly at Maglor's words, a jolt of pleasure passing through him to pool at his groin, bringing him to full arousal* I am at your mercy...

gold_cleaver: Yes. It seems you are. *his eyes are dark as he digs his nails in above Daeron's nipples, then drags them down, gouging at the skin, watching beads of blood appear in the wake of his hands, and the sight sends a shocking thrill through him*

daeron_the_dark: *cries out as pain trails through his chest, simmering with his arousal. He can feel the abrasions break his skin enough to bleed and his breath comes in quick gasps, each one causing more pain to spread through his torso* Maglor...

gold_cleaver: *stares at him, voice a low purr* Do you like that? Or... this? *bends, tongue snaking out as he makes an obvious show of dragging it up one of the bleeding scratches, collecting the coppery fluid on his tongue with a shudder*

daeron_the_dark: *watches in awe of his lover's willingness to do such a thing... he had been expecting no more than something mainstream with his hands tied, but this?!* Gods, yes! *his eyelids flutter and he licks his lips as he attempts to regain his breath. He is glad his hands are tied, as he is unsure what he would do with them if the choice had not been taken from him. He whimpers, and the sound is somehow musical*

gold_cleaver: *had surprised himself with that, but... it seemed perfectly natural to him to do it... He swallows, craning his neck to kiss Daeron, share the taste with him, as he thrusts against Daeron gently, his own sex full and hard against his lover*

daeron_the_dark: *moves his groin eagerly against Maglor, moaning as the slightly metallic, coppery taste blooms on his tongue when the younger Elf kisses him. He suckles the other's tongue for a few moments before sliding their tongues against one another sensually, each movement an encouragement, a wordless plea for more*

gold_cleaver: *leaves his mouth, and the smirk returns* I could spend hours doing... so many things to you... but I have a vivid image of what I want to do... *eyes sparkle as he settles between Daeron's legs, lifting them, testing Daeron's flexibility*

daeron_the_dark: *thoroughly enjoys that wicked expression on Maglor's face and he smiles* Do it... *with the heat of summer, it is just as Daeron had said to Maglor and Maedhros... instruments warm and then do not get cold between uses. His joints are supple and he moves easily in his lover's grasp*

gold_cleaver: *presses Daeron's legs up, grinning as he arranges him as he wants, and notices the extra straps of silk... and his imagination sparks. Maglor uses the additional strips to bind Daeron's legs to the headboard as well, leaving Daeron's backside up and exposed to him, and he pants, nodding in satisfaction* This is what I picture... *so exposed, Maglor presses his mouth to Daeron's backside, mouth covering the opening, and stabs his tongue into the tight passage*

daeron_the_dark: *feels a spark of pride for Maglor as he is positioned creatively, but right when is about to voice it, his breath is stolen from him, rushing out in a ragged cry that draws out eventually to a sustained moan resembling his lover's name. The abrasions on his chest rub against one another as he squirms the little bit he can, bound as he is, and the amazing sensation of being penetrated by that slick muscle makes his sex pulse dark and heavy against his abdomen and chest*

gold_cleaver: *hands tighten on Daeron's thighs when his name is moaned like that, and he pulls away for a moment, surveying his lover, and his hand itches... and he does something he'd never thought to do before: Maglor strikes the fleshy round of Daeron's backside with his open palm*

daeron_the_dark: *the blow takes him completely off-guard and he gasps, his body instinctively pressing into the touch as he had long ago trained it to do. He can feel the sting spread across his backside and a shudder runs through him as he releases a shaky, whimpering breath*

gold_cleaver: *watches him curiously, uncertain of what he is doing, and he dislikes that feeling. Daeron had said he was free to ask questions, but he feels like an idiot breaking the lustful heat of the moment with some inane question, do Maglor decides he will have to seek answers when this was over.... surprise Daeron... He smacks the same spot again, just as firmly, then returns to his backside, lapping lightly at the ring of muscle before thrusting inward, tasting the muskiness of his lover's body*

daeron_the_dark: *his lust-ridden mind manages to register that pause and just when he is about to worry, the second blow sends his body swaying and he moans again, his eyes drifting shut as he is lost to the sensations at his chest and backside* Gods, Maglor...

gold_cleaver: *gasps, Daeron's sounds, the way his body moved, arousing him beyond belief, and he replaces tongue with fingers, penetrating the slick passage as he begins a rhythmic spaking of his lover's buttocks* Daeron...

daeron_the_dark: *groans as he feels those fingers press into him, and he clenches his muscles in such a way as to encourage Maglor to push deeper. Each strike to his backside wrings a moan from him, and they grow steadily in intensity, his head writhing from side to side.*

gold_cleaver: *finds it fascinating, arousing, and he does thrust his fingers into his lover as far as he can. He leans forward, pausing in his striking, and licks along the tight sac between Daeron's thighs, moaning loudly*

daeron_the_dark: *cries out, his legs twitching and pulling against their bonds. The depth of those fingers is intoxicating, and he feels his climax steadily approaching as Maglor's wicked mouth teases along his groin. He breathing is laboured, his blood rushing through his veins.*

gold_cleaver: *decides he has had enough of this, and he reaches to the bedside table, snatching the oil, and pours it directly over Daeron's entrance in a cool, constant thin stream. Maglor sets it aside and his fingers slide easily back into the hot passage and stroke him from within, his breathing short as he stares down into Daeron's flushed face* Tell me what you want, Daeron. *smirks* In detail.

daeron_the_dark: *takes several gasping breaths and forces himself to let them out slowly so he can calm enough to speak shakily* I want you inside, angled to hit that spot within... slow as you pull out, then fast and deep as you push in. Hands... your choice... Please, Maglor... don't stop! *his muscles clench around those fingers, pulling and releasing*

gold_cleaver: *the words enflame him, and Maglor takes his fingers from the clenching passage* A very good want. *takes himself in hand, moaning Daeron's name, and positions himself, the tip of his sex teasing at the opening before Maglor exerts some force and slowly makes the first inward stroke, shifting his angle until he feels himself rubbing against the roof of Daeron's backside, and his hands grip with painful force at his lover's tense thighs as he slowly withdraws until the ring of muscle barely grips the head of him, and then he shoves himself back in, hard, fast, deep, letting out a shout to the canopy, feeling sweat drip down his chest, his back, as he sets up that exact pace*

daeron_the_dark: *whimpers when those fingers leave him, but he bites his lip knowing exactly what is coming... and when he is filled, a shudder runs through him and he moans. The withdrawal is perfect, slow and wonderfully angled so that bundle of nerves at the roof of his passage is dragged across. The inward thrust, however, is the thing that makes him cry out elatedly, his aching wrists twisting and pulling with his ankles as he is shoved forcefully into the bedding.* Yes!!

gold_cleaver: *using one hand to balance when he thrusts deeply, he uses the other to cup the pouch below Daeron's sex, massaging lightly, scratching gently. He pants, hair sticking to his face and shoulders* So willing... pliant... gods, Daeron... the ideal lover... *he keeps from touching Daeron's shaft, waiting for that until he is close, forcing his lover to conform to his desire now*

daeron_the_dark: *teeters on the edge, his cries urgent and continuous, the rhythm is everything he had hoped for, and he shivers as the heat of their coupling along with his position makes it difficult to breathe. Maglor's words barely register and he is beyond speech, his head thrashing wildly in his feverish need*

gold_cleaver: *relishes seeing his bard come so undone due to him, and Maglor swells within Daeron. The fingers leave the sac and travel up, teasing the heavy, dark flesh of Daeron's erection, and just as his own body tenses, as his voice is stolen by the blinding pleasure of his climax, Maglor's hand surrounds Daeron and stroke erratically as he spills deep in the clutching body*

daeron_the_dark: *feels the Noldo's seed spill deep within him and when that hand closes around his painfully engorged flesh, he is almost instantly lost, his voice cracking as he all but screams his completion to the canopy above. His body clenches powerfully around Maglor and he tenses, pulling harshly but futilely against his bonds. In this unique position, the ribbons of fluid that shoot forth from his sex fall onto his chest and face, but he barely notices as shudders overtake him and he finally collapses, his hands and legs slumping slightly in their silken bonds.*

gold_cleaver: *cries out when Daeron's passage pulls at him, milking the last bits of his release from his body, his lover's scream stroking something intangible inside, and when he opens his eyes, he moans, seeing the state Daeron was in. Spent, bound, bloody, and seed spattering chest and face, and with a quivering breath, he says:* Debauched... that... describes you at this... moment... *carefully withdraws, refusing to allow his exhausted muscles to give up just yet, and with extreme care, he unbinds Daeron's ankles and wrists, easing the limbs down*

daeron_the_dark: *is breathing harshly, his eyes closed as his legs are unbound. His back and hips protest the change in position, even though they ached while holding the other one. He winces and tries to calm his breathing as his wrists are also released, and he bends his arms at the elbows. It is many moments before he opens his eyes... and he finally notices the seed spattered across his face. Though it aches to do so, he lifts one hand and gathers what he can on his fingers, licking them clean shamelessly. His chest burns, his backside aches, and he is completely and utterly exhausted from their two very different but stunningly satisfying trysts*

gold_cleaver: *takes Daeron's hand and laces their fingers, eyes intent as he leans down, lapping the seed from his lover's chest, making his way to the few stray drops on his cheek, then the small smear beside his lips. Maglor kisses Daeron, slow and deep, savouring this glorious moment following such a unique experience for him*

daeron_the_dark: *whimpers when Maglor licks at him so gently, the bloody stripes on his chest sending shocks of burning pain through him as his body goes through a period of hypersensitivity. Their kiss brings warmth to his heart, and he pulls away with a small, exhausted smile on his face, occasionally interrupted by a grimace* That was... wonderful. *he manages though his voice is quiet and rough from overuse* You... truly surprised me with your willingness... and your creativity. *blue eyes sparkle up at dark grey*

gold_cleaver: *chuckles, too tired to flush or be bashful in the slightest* I doubt I am all that creative. *stretches his sore body, bones cracking lightly as he does so* Shall I dress in your shirt again and make my way across the Royal Talan to my room? *his expression may seem light, but there is a hint of insecurity in the stormy depths of his eyes as he meets Daeron's beautiful gaze*

daeron_the_dark: *while the thought of Maglor strutting about the talan sweaty and spent in his shirt brings a smile to his face, he most certainly does not want the Noldo to leave...* Please don't go. We can get your clothes in the morning... I don't want you to leave. *Besides, he is a mess, and it would take him forever to clean up without at least a little support*

gold_cleaver: *smiles, the insecurity fading from his gaze* I don't want to leave. *echoing their earlier conversation. Maglor groans as he stands from the bed, going to the washroom to fetch what he can to tend to Daeron before allowing himself to collapse in much needed reverie*

daeron_the_dark: *watches as Maglor returns with the materials he needs to tend himself* Thank you... I can do this myself. *does not expect Maglor to help him, since none but Ardaur had done so in the past...*

gold_cleaver: *blinks as if Daeron has lost his mind* I fucked you, I get to tend to you.

daeron_the_dark: *gives him an odd look* You... make it sound like some privilege... *does not understand it*

gold_cleaver: *sighs as he shakes his head, using a soft damp cloth to remove blood and any remaining seed from Daeron's chest and face, then wipes between his backside* Do you really want to know why it is a privilege, Daeron?

daeron_the_dark: *hisses slightly, but his eyes are open and curious* Why?

gold_cleaver: Because it makes it personal. Intimacy. *eyes glance up at him as he takes a palmful of salve, rubbing it between his hands to warm it before he smooths it over Daeron's chest* It means I care. You are not something for me to use and turn away from when I am done. You are an Elf. You have feelings. You matter to me, and as such, I will not merely come and go to sleep. I will take my time following the spent passion to clean your body, kiss you, hold you... because what we do, Daeron, is personal and tending to your needs after our trysts is my reward.

daeron_the_dark: *... is deeply touched, and it shows in the way his eyes get moist, though tears do not do anything more than gather* I... Oh...

gold_cleaver: *frowns a little, his brow furrowing as he adds more salve to his hands, soothing the marks on Daeron's hips, then easing fingers between his buttocks* It must be terribly unfulfilling to have been used for a vast majority of your life... *meets the moist gaze* I will not use you. You are too... beautiful, Daeron... inside and out... to be so used. *wipes his hands and takes the items back to the washroom*

daeron_the_dark: *sits there in awed silence, cringing as his chest is tended to, and controlling his breathing as the rest of him is cared for. He watches Maglor go and return, his expression still the same, though he looks down momentarily* It was unfulfilling... but Rhovandir was right when he said I got only what I deserved. Just as your brother was right when he called me a tramp. I have used and been used for millennia... But... *hesitates* I don't want to do that anymore. Not with you. Not with anyone. They deserved better, all of them, just as you do. *keeps his gaze averted*

gold_cleaver: *crawls into the bed beside Daeron, lying beside him, gently drawing him into his arms, kissing his lips softly as he strokes his hair* You said to live in the present. *smiles as he speaks softly* Forget the past, as I will try to do as well, and live now. With me. For however long it lasts. We will not use one another as if we are worthless. *kisses him once more, lingering in the sweetness of the simple caress* Thank you... for... not using me. For... being different for me.

daeron_the_dark: *feels his heart expand and contract painfully in his chest, and he nods, a smile slowly dawning on his face* It is truly my pleasure, Maglor... *closes his eyes, and lets himself enjoy the afterglow of the roughness for once, revelling in the gentleness* Thank you... for your 'lesson'. *he chuckles fondly, nuzzling Maglor's throat*

gold_cleaver: *purrs, his eyes wavering between dreams and wakefulness* Thank you... for choosing me... *fades out finally, reverie firmly taking hold, though his arms do not loosen their grip around Daeron's body*

daeron_the_dark: *feels Maglor relax in reverie, his breathing leveling out, and he sighs happily against the other Elf's skin* Silly Elf... *whispers to him though the Noldo cannot hear him* You chose me first... *and with little more than a few deep breaths, he drifts off into his own reverie, his wounds pleasantly numb and his heart light*

comments

A Regent's Return

2008-04-18T18:54:00Z

Posted by: crown-of-leaves.livejournal.com

They had rested for a few days, bathing and slowly beginning to eat and drink once more. Not many words were spoken. Words could wait. Instead, they spent most of their time simply touching, staying close, soaking in the nearness of each other that had been denied over the last two and a half months.

Gelmir was kind enough to keep his distance, for which Thranduil had been grateful.

Returning to Greenwood, Tuilinn was hitched to Gwindor's mount so that Gwindor could ride on Gladholaur, seated in front of Thranduil. Gladholaur was larger than Tuilinn, and so it made sense, as neither was willing to part from the other over the course of the journey. Arms settled comfortably around Gwindor's waist, his mate's weight once again in his arms divine, they rode at a steady pace from Irmo's realm to Greenwood. They stopped each night after the sun set, and began again each morning shortly after it rose.

Thus, each day passed, and Thranduil's hair slowly regained its sheen, his eyes -- though shadowed -- sparkled more often, and the weight he had lost began to reappear.

On the thirteenth day, the borders of Greenwood come in sight, and Thranduil smiles, pressing a kiss to the back of Gwindor's head.

"We're home," he whispers, arm squeezing Gwindor a little closer as they ride.

comments

A Redhead in Greenwood

2008-04-17T22:26:00Z

Posted by: 1st-feanorian.livejournal.com

Maedhros sits on a long bench in one of the practice flets, dressed comfortably in a sleeveless tunic, and he watches Maglor play his music.

His brother sways with the notes as he draws the bow across the violin, and Maedhros is again reminded why Maglor was never truly suited for the life of a warrior. His brother was too graceful, too peaceful, and blood and war had washed those traits away. There was a hardness about Maglor's eyes, a tightness of the mouth, that had not existed before they'd fled Aman.

Grey eyes follow the dark-haired Elf, watching every movement.

Remembering every joy, ever grief suffered.

Maglor's music had a way of doing that, and even now, it brought forth a flood of emotions Maedhros hadn't expected to be feeling now. Regret, sorrow, a cold sadness that was bone-deep, and just when he think tears will fall from his eyes, the notes change, the melody lightens, and happiness as bright as sunlight fills his heart.

His brother, Maedhros muses, was a master of the song and a master of the heart.

comments

Time Goes By...

2008-04-16T23:12:00Z

Posted by: daeron-the-dark.livejournal.com

Greenwood is vibrant and a bit cooler than usual today, and Daeron has decided to take full advantage of the excellent weather and practice up on a solitary flet high up in the House of Music's talan.

The notes from his flute are clear and masterful as he plays a lilting, content tune, one leg hanging off the edge of the high flet.

While being in Greenwood tended to bring out the good in him, there is a distinct joy in his playing that was not there during his numerous stays in the past... a gentle warmth that he could not help but express in his music.

Time goes by... but for once, Daeron does not feel its passing as harshly as before.

comments

A New Instrument

2008-04-13T23:41:00Z

Posted by: gold-cleaver.livejournal.com

His excitement surprises him as he makes his way from one practice flet to the next.

After a moment's hesitance at the opening to the upper music room, Maglor pops his head into the flet's space. With a smile, true and beautiful, and eyes bright and excited, he interrupts Daeron's current class without shame.

"Dismiss the class," he tells his lover without pause. "I have something to show you."

comments

Brothers in Greenwood

2008-04-12T04:21:00Z

Posted by: gold-cleaver.livejournal.com

"I cannot believe I did this."

Maedhros wipes his face on his dirty shirt, casting a glare to his brother.

Maglor smiles.

"Of course you can. If I'm stuck here... the least you could do was bring the thing."

"I did it because Mother insisted," Maedhros tries, tossing his tools aside.

Maglor hugs his older brother tightly. "You did it because you knew it would make me happy."

Sharing a heartfelt hug, the pair look at the large instrument Maedhros had disassembled in Formenos, carted to Greenwood, and reassembled three-quarters of the way up a massive tree.

The piano was stunning.

It was one of the few things he'd recreated from his time in the mortal world when he'd returned to Aman.

"How long will you stay?" Maglor asks, leaning against Maedhros.

"How long would you like, Cáno?"

The childhood name makes Maglor smile in fond remembrance. "As long as possible."

"Then I shall stay as long as possible."

Maglor is quiet for a long time.

Then...

"Russandol?"

"Aye, Cáno?"

"You stink."

"Yeah, well... so do you..."

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Lórien Bound

2008-04-12T00:38:00Z

Posted by: crown-of-leaves.livejournal.com

He rides almost non-stop.

His horse is pushed to her limits as he rides from Greenwood to Lórien.

Thranduil keeps his mind shrouded from Gwindor. Makes certain his approach is not known before he is ready for Gwindor to know. When he arrives at the arbours of Lórien, his body is pushed to its absolute limits, and his horse nearly collapses.

Irmo is waiting for him, disapproving eyes watching Thranduil as he makes his way to the small boat that will take him to Estë's island. His heart pounds in his chest as he crosses the waters, and he fears...

...he fears everything.

He looks his worst, dusty, thin, pale, and ragged. His eyes hold no life, his heartbeat slow.

When he steps from the boat onto the ground, Estë points to a knoll across a field... and Thranduil's eyes focus on his mate for the first time in two and a half months. His eyes sting with tears, his throat closes, and his heart begins to pound... though it breaks to see the state Gwindor is in.

A miserable state Thranduil had driven him to.

As uncertainty assails him, he remains rooted in place, out of Gwindor's sight, staring at him.

Trying to make his final decision.

His mother's words ring in his ears.

How much does he mean to you?

"Everything," he breathes, and he takes his first steps across the beautiful, peaceful field.

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