Title & Chapter Number: An Unbidden Desire: Part 2/7
Author(s): - Author's Index
Website: Dimensions_of_Dhvana
Fandom: Tolkien
Rating: NC-17
Disclaimer: With the exception of Menelhen, the characters and places in this story are the creation of Tolkien.
Warnings: Slash
Betas: Nope
Cast: Elrohir/Thranduil, Legolas/Elladan, Elrohir/Menelhen implied
Timeline: Pre LotR AU
Spoilers: None
Summary: Elrohir's and Thranduil's relationship continues to develop, though their growing love might be dampened by the arrival of Legolas and Elladan.
Notes: Having abandoned RPS for a while (needed a break), I thought I'd share with y'all the FPS story I'm working on. Hope you enjoy and feedback would be most welcome!
Part 2
Elrohir lay flat on the ground, his glittering eyes studying the forest around him, his ears open to even a hint of dissonance in nature's sounds. With his clothes made of various shades of brown, his ebony hair covered by a hood, he blended perfectly into the forest floor. Lying completely still, his lungs barely moving to breathe, he waited.
He was near--Elrohir could sense him drawing closer, though not one blade of grass did he disturb, not one leaf did he brush against. He moved through the woods as if he were little more than a memory, but Elrohir knew he existed in solid form, and this time, he would have him.
The golden being crept into view, as cautious as the Prince himself to blend into the surrounding woods. He knew he was being hunted and that the hunter was near, but where? The idea that the Prince might finally have bested him made his temper start to rise, though this did not make him careless. He guarded each footstep all the more carefully, breathed only when necessary, even controlled the beating of his heart so as to give nothing away.
Despite all of his efforts, he was too late. The hunter had him in his sight, and he had lost.
With less noise than a breeze against the petals of a flower, Elrohir rose to his feet. The arrow was already in his bow as he drew back the string. A smile on his face, he aimed at his prey.
"Ahem."
Thranduil whirled around, and though the Elf was thirty feet away, he knew the arrow was pointed directly at his heart. The King's eyes narrowed as he swore under his breath. Elrohir's smile widened.
"I win. My Lord, you are mine."
"Well played, Princeling," Thranduil nodded. "I concede--the game is yours."
"I never thought to hear those words," Elrohir chuckled, lowering the arrow as he stepped towards the King.
"Don't get used to it. This was just one win--you may not be so fortunate next time. Besides, as you are my student, I cannot help but feel pride in your accomplishment. If it wasn't for my teachings, you surely would have lost."
Elrohir shook his head, correct in guessing that Thranduil wasn't going to admit defeat with ease. "As the one who taught me, you should have known my every thought, my every move, and because of that, you should have found me hours ago. As you did not, I will assume the victory had more to do with my own skills than with yours, and I will not let you take any of the pleasure of winning from me."
"It was certainly not my intent to steal any of your pleasure," Thranduil said, taking the young Elf into his arms. Drawing back the hood, he began nibbling on a pointed ear. "In fact, I think this deserves a reward."
"A reward?" Elrohir said, arching an eyebrow. Thranduil could barely stand to compliment anyone, no matter how exceptional a job they did, much less give a reward. "That would be a surprise indeed. What exactly did you have in mind?"
Pushing Elrohir against a tree, he placed his hands on the Elf's chest and smiled a chilling smile. Slowly, he slid his hands down the lean body, lowering to his knees. Elrohir's breath quickened as the nimble fingers began to unlace his breeches.
"My Lord, what are you doing?" Elrohir whispered.
The icy blue eyes gleamed mischievously, but there was no answer. Instead, Thranduil slid the leather over the slender waist and rounded buttocks, pushing the breeches down the strong pale thighs. Elrohir's heart pounded as the King focused on his burgeoning erection.
Enjoying the instant response of his lover, Thranduil began to blow gently on the Prince's Elfhood. His breath caressed every inch from the very tip to the base. He moved his head so he could blow on each of the Elf's hardening balls as Elrohir's body shivered uncontrollably beneath the King's teasing.
Thranduil's warm breath urged the smoldering in his blood to flames. He was being touched without being touched, and it was driving Elrohi to madness as he longed for solid contact.
"My Lord..." he pleaded, his hands clenching into fists, though he wanted nothing more than to grab hold of the golden head and push himself into the velvety mouth. However, he had learned all too well that Thranduil would do as he wished and resented anything that might resemble a command. The King would torture him as long as he wanted, but the ending fulfillment was all the more sweeter for it.
Thranduil's tongue flicked out at the end of his cock and then the King ran the tip up one side and down the other, hinting at the pleasure he could unleash. Elrohir moaned at the sparking sensations that made him throb with desire. This was going to be a hard-won victory indeed.
"Please, my Lord, do not seek to reward me any longer."
"As you wish, Princeling," Thranduil chuckled and with a deliberate slowness, eased Elrohir's length into his mouth. Once he was fully engorged, Thranduil pulled back out, then continued to repeat the gesture. The King's complete tenacity in refusing to hurry was almost as agonizing as his teasing from before. Elrohir ground his teeth as he refrained from moving deeper into the moist heat.
"By the gods, you're cruel," he seethed, and Thranduil chuckled again, the vibrations from his throat bouncing off of Elrohir's erection, causing him to gasp. With his lover at his full mercy--and any joyous thoughts left of the Prince's earlier victory completely depleted at the King's hands--Thranduil ceased the Elf's suffering. He began to move his mouth quickly over Elrohir's Elfhood, loving the feel of it as the Prince's length nudged the back of his throat. Never had he tasted anyone as sweet as the Prince and not an hour passed when he didn't long to bury his nose in the silky ebony curls between Elrohir's legs.
Knowing it would make Elrohir shudder, he swirled his tongue over the slit, and the Elf's body responded as predicted. Elrohir was beside himself with pleasure, so the King didn't object as the long, pale fingers entwined themselves in Thranduil's hair. It always brought him a sense of satisfaction when Elrohir reached this point, when the only sounds he was capable of were the little moans in the back of his throat, the ivory skin flushed a dark rose, the deep blue of his eyes darkening to a pure violet beneath the fluttering lids. It was in this moment that the Prince was his, and his alone. There were no thoughts in his head except for the King--he ceased to exist except as an extension of the King's pleasure.
Clasping the Elf tightly by the hips, Thranduil brought him over the edge. Elrohir cried out as he filled the King's mouth, who continued to suck him with such power, it was almost painful. Finally, when he had nothing left to give, when he was limp with the throes of ecstasy, Thranduil released him. Elrohir immediately fell to his knees, his eyes glowing with adoration as he wrapped his hands around the King's neck and kissed him.
Thranduil was taken aback for a moment--Elrohir had never done this before, but his surprise faded beneath the passion of the Elf's kiss and he took the Prince into his arms. When they finally sought the need for breath, Elrohir drew back and smiled blissfully at the King, whose wintry gaze watched him with confusion.
"I felt something," Elrohir whispered. "I don't know what it was, but it was incredible. Thank you," he said, and threw the arms around Thranduil, pressing the King close to him. Not knowing what else to do, Thranduil returned his embrace.
~*~*~*~
"He has to go."
Menelhen, who, for no particular reason, had been trying to balance an apple between his nose and his tongue, let the fruit drop to the floor as he sat up in his chair, staring at the King.
"What?!"
"He's becoming attached," the King said, an edge of annoyance to his voice as he eyed the Healer from across his desk.
"Good. That means he won't leave."
Shrugging aside Menelhen's comment, he shook his head. "I don't have patience for attachments in my life."
"I'll be sure and let Prince Legolas know that when he returns," the Healer said darkly, then added under his breath, "if he returns."
Thranduil narrowed his eyes. He didn't have to hear the Elf to know what he had said. "My son is not an attachment. He is as essential to my life as breathing, though I agree that yes, I am somewhat lax in telling him so."
"Does that mean the rest of us are unnecessary? That Elrohir and I can leave tomorrow and not only would you not miss us, you wouldn't even seek to replace us?"
"You, as a Healer, have your place. The Princeling does not."
"Listen to yourself!" Menelhen snapped, rising to his feet in his annoyance and slamming his palms down on the desk. "Your very words betray you, the affection with which you call him 'Princeling'. You may not want to admit it, but he is just as essential to you as Legolas or I!"
"What purpose does he serve in my life?"
"Companionship? Affection? Someone with whom you can spend eternity?"
Thranduil snorted. "Even Elrohir would laugh at that."
"All right, so maybe not eternity," Menelhen relented, returning to his chair, "but is it so terrible having him around?"
"No, it isn't terrible, which is precisely why he needs to go. Darkness is spreading, Menelhen. I can feel it growing thicker over my woods every day, and in order to see that it does not win, I have to be free of distractions, and he is becoming a greater distraction with each passing hour," he said, his voice softening as he finished.
Menelhen studied the King, whose icy gaze was tinged in sorrow. He walked over to Thranduil and knelt down beside the great Lord, placing a hand on his arm. "You care for him--there is no crime in that, and he cares for you. It has brought me so much joy to watch you two together, to see you melting a little beneath his eyes. Cherish him, Thranduil, or you risk chasing him away."
The King avoided the Healer's eyes. "Summer is almost over and he will be expected to return to Rivendell. I will not try to stop him, nor will I ask him to stay."
"Then you are a fool," he said harshly, standing up and storming out of the room. Thranduil sighed and returned to studying the reports in front of him.
~*~*~*~
Elrohir was lying on his back on the archery lawn, staring at the stars. Over the past couple of weeks, he had been feeling more and more alone. Thranduil always seemed to be busy with the daily chores of being a King, and he found himself lingering on thoughts of his family. Without Elladan, he always felt as if half of himself was missing, and that emptiness had become a constant ache. He missed his father and sister, Glorfindel and Erestor, the soothing lyrics of the waterfalls, the beauty of Imladris. His eyes long for a graceful archway and an elegant statue, but in Mirkwood, all that was to be found was the solidity of the castle and practice targets that vaguely resembled Orcs. It was becoming oppressive. If not for Thranduil... he shook the thought from his head. Thranduil was slowly becoming less of a reason to remain.
"Oof!" he exclaimed as a body plopped down next to him, an Elven head landing heavily on his stomach.
"Are you truly so bored that you are reduced to counting yonder stars? I can assure you that of those who dwell in the heavens, there are far too many to count," Menelhen said, arching his head to grin at the Prince, the silver eyes glittering with mischief. "So you need not further waste your time."
"Do you want something?" Elrohir growled good-naturedly, happy to see the Healer and have him break the monotony of his night.
"For what desire does my heart crave? Allow me a moment to ponder your query, my glorious friend, and I shall answer you posthaste."
Elrohir chuckled, his laughter shaking the poor Elf's head.
"Careful!"
"I do apologize," the Prince said, trying to control his amusement. "Is there a reason for the poetry in your words this evening?"
"I have been working on a letter to my beloved in Lorien, thinking to woo her with the written word, seeing as how I cannot be there in person, but I am having the worst trouble coming up with something that rhymes with 'Lothlorien'."
Elrohir started to laugh again, and the Healer smiled smugly. It was good to hear the Prince's laugh, which had been noticeably absent lately. "Thank you for being so amused at my benefit. Do you want to tell me me what it is you're doing out here all alone?"
With a sigh, Elrohir separated the lock of silver from Menelhen's brown hair and began twirling it between his fingers. "I was just thinking about home."
Though his disappointment was acute, the Healer tried to keep from stiffening, but failed. Fortunately, Elrohir didn't seem to notice.
"Now, why would you want to go home? Surely you're not weary of our company already."
"My dear Menelhen," he said, gazing fondly down at the Elf as he continued stroking the silver hair, "it would be impossible to ever grow tired of your company. You are the only brightness remaining in my days."
Sensing the Prince's pain, Menelhen reached up and took hold of his free hand, pressing it to his lips. Elrohir squeezed it gently in understanding as Menelhen held their clasped hands to his chest, giving his friend time to speak.
"He's grown so distant," Elrohir said sadly. "He hardly even notices I'm here. He's actually gone so far as to avoid the training sessions in the mornings."
"It's not his fault, he's really quite busy right now--"
"Yes, I know," Elrohir interrupted, his voice sour. "I've heard his excuse, and please, don't repeat them to me. They sound false enough coming from his lips."
Menelhen sighed and gave the slightest of nods. "You're right. I'm sorry. I just don't know what to do--I've tried speaking to him, but he chooses to evade my questions."
"He's becoming quite good at that," Elrohir said wryly, then sighed. "I don't know why this bothers me so. It isn't as if we love each other--my heart won't break if I never see him again."
"Then why are you so sad?"
"Because I like him. I like being near him. I like spending time with him. I like learning from him-he has so much experience, so much to teach. While I love the feeling of him inside of me," Elrohir said with a quick grin, "I also like having his warmth next to me when I fall asleep."
Menelhen raised himself up on one arm to stare at the Prince. "I may be wrong about this, but it seems to me that what you've described is remarkably similar to how I would define being in love."
Elrohir shook his head. "That's what I used to think, and then I met Thranduil." He paused, looking into the silver eyes. "He's watching us, you know. I can feel his icy gaze. He's been watching us for several minutes now."
Menelhen promptly sat up, a frown on his face as he looked around. He could usually sense Thranduil's presence, but this time--there, a movement in a darkened window, pale hair catching a stray beam of moonlight. His eyes narrowed thoughtfully as he looked back down at the Prince.
"He is usually not one to spy on me, so he must be watching you. You've reduced him to spying in order to catch a glimpse of you, and he still won't admit his feelings for you."
"Kiss me."
"What?"
"Kiss me. If this is the way he's going to behave, then I'm going to give him something to see."
"I don't think that's a wise idea," Menelhen said, then was promptly silenced as Elrohir sat up and, grabbing him by the neck, kissed him. Menelhen tried to draw back for a moment, or at least he thought he did, until he discovered his arms were wrapped around the Prince.
"Oh, this is not wise at all," he murmured as Elrohir pulled him down on top of him.
The Prince could almost feel the frozen gaze burst into flames as the Healer straddled him, their groins grinding against each other as the kiss grew more heated. Menelhen really did have a talented tongue, he couldn't help noticing, and such soft, supple skin. Even after Thranduil had stopped watching, he found he was enjoying himself too much to let the Healer go.
~*~*~*~
Late into the wee hours of the morning, a light shone beneath the Healer's door. Menelhen paced across his room as he had been doing for almost an hour. The bed was a disaster--one pillow had fallen to the floor, the blankets were in complete disarray. The remains of sleeping draughts rested on the nightstand, but nothing had helped. The guilt and the anger, combined with the fear, provided a siege upon his heart that prevented him from finding sleep.
Finally, he threw on his robe and practically ran down the hall to the King's chambers. He pushed open the door and, seeing Thranduil was awake sitting passively by the fire, he allowed it to close behind him.
Thranduil's wintry gaze slowly moved over to the trembling Elf.
"Yes?" he snapped, his voice sending chills down the Healer's spine.
Menelhen's composure cracked and he rushed across the room, throwing himself on his knees before the King.
"Forgive me, please," he begged, tears streaming down his face. "I wasn't thinking. He just grabbed me and I didn't know what to do."
"I can think of a few things you should have done," the King snarled, and Menelhen flinched.
"My Lord, I'm sorry. I never should have let him kiss me."
"A kiss? Was that all?"
Menelhen closed his eyes, picturing Elrohir writhing beneath him as he impaled himself upon the Prince's erection. He could still feel the sleek cock inside of him, and he loathed himself for it.
"Well?" the King demanded.
"No, my Lord," he whispered. "That was not all."
Thranduil stared at the Elf, his head hung in shame, tears dripping down his cheeks and onto the floor. He could see the Healer truly regretted what he'd done, and he had to admit that if he'd been in Menelhen's place, he would have done the same. He knew that Menelhen would punish himself severely for this, and he loved the Elf too well to cause him any more grief.
"Menelhen," he said softly, holding the tear-streaked face by the chin and raising the silver eyes to meet his. "I accept your apology."
Seeing that the King wasn't going to kill him, he relaxed a little, letting his cheek rest on Thranduil's knee.
"Thank you, my Lord," he whispered, and Thranduil smiled, stroking the silky brown hair.
"Though I warn you, if you ever do this again, you will need to use your healing skills on yourself."
Menelhen attempted a smile as he raised his head. "That much was implied, my Lord."
Chuckling, the King leaned down and kissed him. "Go back to your room and get some rest. I'll see you in the morning."
"Yes, my Lord," he said, rising to his feet, "and thank you again."
"Good night, Menelhen."
The Healer walked halfway across the room, then paused. "I know this is not my place, but I just wanted to say please, don't be too hard on him. It isn't entirely his fault that he misses you."
"I will take that into consideration," Thranduil said, his voice cold.
"On the other hand," Menelhen added, his eyes alight with mischief, "don't go too easy on him either. He likes it a little rough."
Thranduil growled deep in his throat and Menelhen ran to the door, calling out, "Good night, my Lord!" behind him.
After he heard the door click shut, Thranduil returned his gaze to the fire. What a cheeky little monster his Healer was proving himself to be, but that's why he needed him. Menelhen's boldness helped keep things in perspective. And he had to admit, the weight of his heart had eased a little with Menelhen's confession. At least the Healer had been honest with him--he never would have forgiven him otherwise. Elrohir, though, there was another matter entirely.
"My little Princeling," he said softly, watching as a log broke in two and sent sparks dancing up the chimney. "What am I going to do with you?"
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