Title & Chapter Number: An Arrangement of Thorns 17/36
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: Erestor and Elrohir engage in sex acts followed by brief discussion. Erestor has a talk with someone in the library.
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.
It seems I've made a rather glaring error that could have been avoided if I'd only bothered to check my time line. The twins are about 51 or 52 in this fic, just barely over the legal line. One of my readers pointed out to me that Arwen shouldn't even have been born yet in this story. After checking the timeline I saw that Arwen shouldn't be born for yet another 50 years. I am not going to correct this as I've already included her. Let's pretend the story is slightly AU in addition to being OOC, shall we?
His bed was narrower than Erestor's; it made closeness a necessity rather than an option. There was no room to draw away when the older elf pulled him into his embrace, but Elrohir supposed that if he had not wanted that embrace he should not have told Erestor he could stay. Warmth and touch drove away thought whether it was the touch of flesh, silk, velvet or leather. He wanted that, wanted sensation to replace sought stability, wanted to close his eyes and fall away from the day time world.
Their lips met, and Elrohir did close his eyes, waited for the darkness to set him free. Erestor remained, seen or unseen. He had no other lover to compare him to save for Elladan, and Elladan's supple willingness did not lend itself to confusion with the dominant chief advisor's aggressive touch. Elladan's chocolate brown eyes said -do what you will with me- whereas Erestor's midnight eyes said -let me do what I will with you.- His hands said the same thing, his lips, his tongue. Elrohir swayed, wanting to be willow-like as Elladan in Erestor's arms, wanting to be stone, wanting to mistake imagination for reality but not wanting to be mistaken.
"Do you pretend that I am Elladan?" He panted against Erestor's cheek. Erestor lapped delicately at his lower lip, sucked it, whispered his response into the sultry cavern of Elrohir's mouth.
"No, never, lirimaer. You are not him."
No resonance or moment of enlightenment in those words; Elrohir knew they were true, always had. He was not Elladan and Elladan was not here, no ghost of his brother to twine invisibly between then, to transform this into something fey and magical. Not Elladan-and-Elrohir, but Erestor and Elrohir, giving and taking for their own dimly understood reasons. He wanted to ask if it was comfort that Erestor sought, perhaps even reassurance. That was lost, though, lost in feeling and aching desire as Erestor worked his own, more worldly magic.
It was different with Erestor alone as it had been different with only Elladan. Submissive, artful and balletically sensual Elladan had given way to heatedly submissive Elladan, open, ripe, aggressively demanding to be conquered. Detached Erestor gave way to heat as well, soft and insistent, controlling while intimately, totally involved. Elrohir arched into his touch and touched in return, met no resistance. Clothes were shed, but he had no idea how, had no recollection of the clumsiness of passionate baring of flesh.
He had known Erestor's coldness, his gifts of ecstasy, his brutal sensuality. He had known even his tenderness. None of that was like this, none compared to the trail of soft kisses that rained upon his face, throat, chest, and belly. There was no suddenness, no uneasy edge of dread and expectation.
Elrohir had no qualms about knotting his hands in raven locks when Erestor finally took his length between his cherry lips. He had seen him do this often enough to Elladan, seen his hands white knuckled in the masses of flowing, dark brown silk. He'd felt amazement that Elladan could maintain his grace even in that, continue to flow and conform, allow his empty spaces to be filled as if it were for this that he had been made. Erestor offered no complaint, did not draw back. Elrohir arched upward into his wet heat, held his head in place and moved into it, took it as if he were taking his body. He rose and fell, crying out wordlessly, no name on his lips. Erestor's throat was relaxed darkness, granting admission, promising release. He thrust harder, further, thought that he heard something, perhaps a mewl of surprise or even unease. Even so, Erestor's body remained smooth silk between his spread legs, warm and unmoving, somehow filling Elrohir's empty spaces even as his were filled. Elrohir closed his eyes yet again, saw stars, a silent eruption of angel fire. When Erestor took him it was different yet again. Elrohir lay on his back, felt Erestor rocking in him and on him, felt the insistent touch on his cheek asking him to open his eyes. It was only the second time that he might have opened his eyes and seen Erestor possessing him; since that first night he had always been on his stomach, hands and knees, bent over a chair or table. Perhaps the advisor played his games, too; maybe he had not wanted to see the face of his lover's identical twin, did not want to see the sameness in form that was distorted in thought. Now he wanted, though, and Elrohir gave it to him. He opened his eyes, saw the passionate strain that was normally hidden by posture, position, or pose. Saw behind the midnight blackness, saw fission in darkness, desire overriding thought. Saw Erestor's lips moving in the unmistakable shape of his name. Their release was not synchronous, but close enough for a poet's reckoning. Elrohir allowed himself to be cleaned, permitted the close embrace and gentle shower of chaste kisses over his brow, eyelids, temples, cheeks. At last they settled comfortably together, bodies smoothly conforming in the narrow confines of Elrohir's single bed. "Do you ever let your lovers have you?" Elrohir asked softly, Erestor shrugged carelessly. "It's been known to happen." "With Elladan?" "No." Elrohir smiled against the skin of Erestor's collar bone, raised his head and offered him a slow, teasing smile. "What if he asked you?" The older elf looked somewhat uncomfortable. "I suppose, then." Again he shrugged, but this time the gesture was not so casual. "Elladan's wants are simple, easy to grant." "That could change. Melme." He chuckled, nestled against Erestor's side and grinned up at the ceiling. "I had not figured you for a paper tiger, nor Elladan as the tail that wags the dog." "Perhaps there's a reason for that." There was menace in Erestor's tone, but Elrohir only smiled. "Maybe this was not such a good idea…" Erestor allowed the words to fade away, seemingly contemplatively. Elrohir's expression of amusement did not fade. "It's not nice to take back a gift, Erestor." He yawned, pushed back raven hair that had spilled over his cheek. "I'm sleepy. Will you stay?" "Of course." He leaned to extinguish the bedside lamp, and darkness again descended.
~*~*~*~ He had risen in the night for a glass of wine, a reason to walk, clear his head. Elrohir was sound asleep, and had barely moved when he'd slid himself free of the young elf's arms. Erestor had paused to watch him for a brief moment. Elrohir was beautiful as Elladan was beautiful, but he was finding that this was the least important thing about the younger twin. Turning his back he'd dressed, gone in search of the bottle of rich burgundy in the library sideboard, settled down to think. "Matters are not going so well with your twins." It was a statement rather than a question, softly worded. Erestor looked up, peered over the rim of his glass at the lovely apparition poised by the door. "What brings you here?" He asked mildly. "You." The tone was bitter. "I couldn't sleep, saw the light. I knew it would be you here at this hour. You only do this when your thoughts are preying on you." Erestor did not deny it. His lover knew him too well for that. "Which is it? Or is it both?" "Both." Erestor cut his gaze away, glanced out the window. The other elf crossed the room and settled across from him. He looked feline, a creature to draw eyes and desirous hands in spite of the risk of fangs and claws. Though of course, Erestor reflected, only those who had ever dared to touch would even know of those sharper edges. "I will not tell you I told you so." "Why, thank you, melethron nin." Erestor sighed. "I did not mean this." "To lose your heart?" A soft laugh. "It seems you spread the word "love" around very thinly these days. "I do love you." "As I said." His expression was sardonic, but it did not conceal the hurt. "I let you go because I knew I could not hold you. Do not attempt to play mind games with me, questions of whom decided what and what was agreed to." "I would not." Erestor raised his eyes to meet his lover's. "It was supposed to have been a good intentioned sport. They are in love, you know." "You were not the only one to have seen that. Though it required your unique form of… assistance, to bring it to their attention." He took the bottle, sipped directly from it. The action should have seemed crude, yet did not. "If you had argued with me, fought, railed…" "No. Do not try to blame me for the situation you have gotten yourself into. You are so fond of choices; I thought you would appreciate that I gave you one." "When it is… over." He swallowed hard on the word, once again could not quite meet his lover's gaze. Stubborn pride fought with hurt and humiliation; he could not finish the sentence. "When it is over," the other elf said softly, "will I be there to pick up the pieces? Is that what you want to ask me? If I yet love you?" Erestor said nothing, stared into his wine glass. Silence spun out between them. He could not answer, could not give voice to the words that wanted to rise. A sigh drifted across the space between them, both sad and amused. "I will always love you, Erestor. Trust you, no. You will lose their trust, too." "The poets say the two go hand in hand." His voice had lost its musical tone, sounded rough, grating. "Then we prove the poets wrong. One day you will tell me all of this, Erestor." "And sooner rather than later from the looks of things." He shifted his gaze to the window, midnight to midnight. "Elladan wants vows, Elrohir wants vengeance, and I don't know what I want." "Vows?" His lover snickered. "Your elfling is more daring than I imagined." "He is not an elfling." "Near enough." He rolled his eyes. "What did you tell him?" "That we would talk about it again in six months. He is only pressing for this because he is frightened of the feelings he has for his brother." "Mmm, stall for time. Makes sense." Another sip from the bottle. "I thought you said that Elladan was the easy one." "Neither are easy, not in the way that you imply. Elladan is merely… more inclined to listen to the flesh without recourse to the mind." "What a polite way of saying dull witted." "I did not mean that, either." There was heat in his gaze when he glared at his lover. The other elf raised an eyebrow. "Ah, so Elladan's the one who has stolen your heart." Erestor cursed softly. "I did not mean to." "No, you didn't. I'll grant you that." He rose from his seat. "And I must in fairness admit that I do not think Elladan dull, nor do I imagine that you would love one who is. He set the bottle on the table, lightly touched Erestor's raven hair. "When he's done breaking your heart, I will be here, melethron."
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