Title & Chapter Number: An Arrangement of Thorns 7/36
Author(s): - Author's Index
Fandom: Middle Earth
Rating: NC-17
Disclaimer: I do not own these settings or characters, and am making no profit from the writing and sharing of this story.
Warnings: BDSM, twincest, angst.
Betas: None
Cast: Erestor/Elladan/Elrohir
Timeline: TA AU
Spoilers: None
Summary: Elladan and Elrohir have another awkward conversation, and we at last hear from Erestor.
Notes: This was an idea that struck me a while back when I was tossing around ideas on what to do when I'd finished with Glorfie and Erestor. Seems I haven't quite gotten Erestor out of my system. This is NOT the same Erestor as the one I wrote in my previous series.
He had gone directly to his room after the evening meal, laid prone on his bed and waited for time to pass. His body ached, and he felt stiff, sore, uncomfortable and out of sorts. It was too early to go to Erestor, and time was passing abominably slowly. Nothing too strenuous would happen tonight, not after yesterday evening, and he looked forward to being held in the chief advisor's warm, strong embrace. Erestor would smooth away the rough edges as he always did.
Elladan hated having to use the safe word, and he had rarely had recourse to it. Erestor knew where his limits were, and though he pushed them it was not like him to push too far or too hard at one time. Elladan understood the point he had been making the previous night, but that did not take away the sour sweet taste of shame and defeat.
There was no mystery to be found in pain, no epiphany of nerve endings, no transcending of the flesh. He had read such things, particularly after his first few encounters with the lovely chief advisor. They were lies. Pain was pain; it grounded him in his body, made the possibility of ethereality a hopeless dream, gossamer mist that couldn't be caught. The will to withstand came not in any haze of metaphysical light, but in primary colored emotions. Desire to please, desire to be strong, to look strong, to paradoxically roll over in submission while demonstrating the power of mind over body. To give, and give, and give. When he could give no more there was always that shame, no different than the shame he felt when Glorfindel disarmed him on the practice floor.
It felt so damned good to go a little further, to become a little less himself, a little less Elladan-and-Elrohir even if Elrohir was with him. He smiled to himself as he thought of Elrohir, of his too pale face and shocked eyes viewed through a fringe of dark lashes. Elrohir watched, but Elladan watched, too. That was his secret. He wondered how many pushes it would take to make Elrohir cry off. Quite a few, he imagined, once his twin settled down to the idea. But then again, perhaps Erestor meant for Elrohir to be the one doing the pushing.
He thought of his brother's hands tracing then rubbing over the old wounds on his back. Thought of their kiss. It had not been like being kissed by Erestor, and the sting of his injuries had been a dizzying counterpoint to the sweetness of Elrohir's lips. Elrohir was afraid, though. Elladan could not help but wonder if Erestor's lesson had been counter productive; his brother had trembled, his flesh had been chill as he lay beside him. Erestor had shown Elrohir the boundary line, but the territory that lay within the boundaries was wide and deep.
He heard the soft knock at the door, called for Elrohir to enter. He knew it was Elrohir, recognized the sound of his brother's knuckles impacting with oak as surely as he recognized all else about him. Elrohir ghosted in, eyes downcast. Elladan did not look away, though he wanted to.
"Greetings, brother." He said mildly, and Elrohir crossed to sit beside him on the bed. Elrohir reached to lay a hand on his shoulder, and then drew it back, remembering random cuts and welts.
"Are you alright?"
"I'm fine. You?"
"I don't know." He glanced at Elladan obliquely. "Does it hurt?"
Elladan smirked, considered giving a sarcastic reply. Didn't. "Yes, but not as badly as you probably think."
"May I see?"
Elladan knelt up, removed his shirt, carefully plucking at the material instead of dragging it over his skin. Elrohir's breath caught, and a moment later Elladan felt a hesitant finger touching lightly between red welts.
"Are you going to go back?"
"Yes." He cast Elrohir an impatient look. "He is my lover, Elrohir. It's not as if we have not been with each other for the past year and a half."
"I thought you wanted my help."
"I said that I didn't want to be alone."
"Is that how you feel? With your lover?"
"No. Sometimes." Elladan frowned. "I hated that last night."
Elrohir winced. "I don't doubt it."
"No, not that. Having to make him stop." He sighed in frustration at Elrohir's confused look. "That makes me feel so small, Elrohir, when I have to tell him I can't do it anymore."
"This happens often?" Elrohir asked neutrally, and Elladan shook his head.
"Hardly ever. But last night. You. He wanted to show you."
"I don't think I want to see anymore."
"You seemed to like it well enough from what I saw." There was no mockery in his tone, no ire. "Until the end, anyway."
"I can't bear to see you cry, Elladan. I haven't seen you weep since we were children."
Elladan blushed. "I'm sorry."
"Dammit, don't do that!" Elrohir hissed, and it was Elladan's turn to look confused.
"What?"
"Apologize like that." Elrohir gritted his teeth. "It's like something you would say to him." He ran a hand through his hair, and Elladan noted that he had taken his braids out, that the shirt he wore was loose about the neck, and his trousers were laced rather than buttoned. "You told me at the river that you knew the difference between love and infatuation. I'm not sure that I believe you."
He turned atop the bed to face Elladan, legs curving about his brother's thighs as he cupped his face in his hands. "Let me love you, Elladan." He whispered, leant in for a kiss.
~*~*~*~
The twins were curled up on the bed together, both nude out of consideration for Elladan's injured back. They had been late, had offered no excuse for their tardiness. Erestor had said nothing, simply stepped back to allow them entrance. He could guess well enough what had kept them by their flushed faces and mussed hair, though he doubted their encounter had gone much further than a few gentle caresses.
Elladan's gaze had been guilty, but he had said nothing to the young elf about it. Instead he had kissed him, run his hands through his hair, chivalrously guided him to the bed after undressing him. He had performed the same service for Elrohir, much to the younger twin's surprise. Elladan was in no condition for rough games in spite of what he had said to Elrohir, and Erestor did not think that Elrohir was ready.
Elladan had been easy. Erestor had known Elladan would be easy, and it had been Elladan whom he had fallen in love with though he wasn't sure why. Logically, it should have been Elrohir. Elrohir was the challenge, not Elladan who acted without thinking and put his entire being into everything he did. Once the matters of seduction and persuasion had been done with, the sky was the limit with Elladan. It would never be that way with Elrohir, Erestor knew. Elrohir would take two steps back for each step forward, would take time to think, would bargain, would play this like a game of chess rather than dance it like a waltz.
Elrohir liked what he was seeing, and that was the problem. Erestor had watched his face surreptitiously while ordering Elladan, while touching Elladan, while whipping Elladan with crop, belt, and flail. Elrohir was appalled, but he was also excited. His face had been ghost white, his cock hard. He had laid down in the too wide bed trembling, had returned this evening after telling himself he would never set foot in this chamber again. Erestor saw all of that, knew it would not take too much time or effort to persuade Elrohir to take the whip if not to kneel beside his brother.
He glanced up from his journal, watched the two nestled close to each other, touching, quietly murmuring so low that only their ears could hear. He had left them to their own devices while he finished with his writing, and they moved together more easily and naturally than they did when posed on the center rug or positioned on the bare floor. Erestor smiled.
Beneath Elrohir's cool, reasoned surface was a fire that Erestor knew would not disappoint him, and Elladan could not disappoint him. Elladan had given him everything, continued to give him everything, allowed himself to be broken open so that Erestor could behold the soft beating of his heart, could hold it in his hand. It amazed him sometimes that Elladan could give so freely, so completely. He had not lied when he'd said that he did not love Elladan for what Elladan allowed; the gifts he gave on bended knee and with bound hands were only the outward expression of what Elladan had to offer.
Erestor set aside his book, went to the bed and two sets of eyes, one warm with affection and the other narrowed with uncertain hopefulness.
~ Next Chapter ~
~ Previous Chapter ~
~ Library Main ~
~ Author Index ~ Character Index ~ Title Index ~
~ Hall Of Fire ~ Gallery ~
~ Links ~ Shops ~ Map ~ News ~ Rules ~ Lists ~ ~
This page is in no way affiliated with New Line Cinema or Tolkien Enterprises, and no profit is being made.
The information contained herein is NOT to be used to spam or in any other way harrass its members. Be advised that abuse of this site will not be tolerated, and the appropriate legal action will be taken.
Hall-Of-Fire.Com v.4.0, Copyright © 2003, 2004, 2005, 2006, 2007, 2008, 2009 by Cristine Cook-Fireheart. All rights reserved. This web site may not be reproduced in any form, except as occurs in normal browser caching, without express written permission from the author.
Website by Infinite Connections Design.
