Title & Chapter Number: An Arrangement of Thorns 21/36
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 Elladan have sex. Erestor has an upsetting conversation.
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.
Once again, my time line is off. If Elladan left on the equivalent of a Monday and was gone for a week, he should be returning on a Monday. I very much want my elves to have weekend days to bond, grope, and otherwise muddle their relationship in, however. Said bonding, groping, and muddling can't take place while Erestor is shuffling papers and Elladan is doing warrior things, so "today" is the equivalent of Saturday even though it should be Tuesday.
He awoke to the sensation of feather kisses dusted over his cheeks, lips, chin. Dark brown hair hung forward, obscuring the face of the twin who touched him so gently, so carefully. Erestor did not need to see his face to know that it was Elladan, did not need to ask why Elrohir was already gone. There was no moment of sleep fogginess during which he did not know what was happening. Elrohir had left them to each other as Erestor had left Elrohir with Elladan. He had given them privacy for this discovery, and though it was a small gesture it was also quite telling. Lying in his lover's embrace Erestor knew what it was to be in Elrohir's position, knew what it was like to inwardly tremble, to be able to do no more than wonder and wait.
"Good morning, Erestor." Elladan said, breath tickling Erestor's ear. He ran a slender hand through raven hair, spread it across the pillow. "We thought you would prefer if this was just the two of us."
He nodded, not trusting himself to speak. He had wanted to ask that, but had been unable to, unwilling to ask anything of Elladan in Elrohir's hearing, afraid that a note of pleading might be heard in his voice. It didn't matter; without speaking it had still been heard. Erestor trusted Elladan's empathy, but Elrohir's was another matter.
There was no time to adjust, no time to exert control. He knew he was not meant to do either. Erestor closed his eyes, heart racing. Elladan's touch was gentle and caressing; there was none of the passive/aggressive dominance that characterized the quality of the touches he bestowed upon Elladan. The body atop him was as conforming as it was on all the occasions Elladan had lain beneath him, the lips that parted against the smoothness of his throat were as soft as when they opened submissively under his own.
Elladan, he knew, was not interested in switching roles or taking some manner of ill perceived revenge. He had asked to have him, and that was the whole of it. To have him, not merely to take his body or turn the tables in a melodramatic session of anger motivated lust. Erestor had agreed because he could not do otherwise. Time and time again Elladan had allowed him to take his flesh, and now the item demanded in trade was his heart. Erestor supposed that was only right and proper; how else could his young lover go about breaking it?
Elladan moved to one side, traced his hand over Erestor's chest, circled the golden discs with a fingertip. His eyes never left his lover's face, and Erestor kept his eyes steadfastly closed against that soft, tender gaze. Arousal awoke within him as his nipples were captured, each in turn, gently stroked then lightly pinched. Back and forth Elladan moved between them, leant forward so that his hair trailed against cream skin. Soft lips locked around needful flesh, and Erestor moaned, hands clenched in the sheets under the duel heat of tantalizing fingers and wet tongue.
His hardened sex twitched against Elladan's thigh, and he frantically wished for the blindfold, for the chains and manacles. He wished it was Elrohir with him, Elrohir who would be more than happy to allow him the distance of sex made into art, to give him the ecstatic oblivion of the lash, the freedom of helplessness. Elrohir's demands were simple compared to Elladan's, but then again it was Elrohir who had put Elladan up to this. He bit at his lower lip, whimpered in delighted dismay. Nothing was simple, not anymore.
"I love you, Erestor." Elladan whispered, lips ghosting over wet skin, breath tightening an already stiff nub yet further. Erestor trembled, returned his words almost soundlessly. Every muscle was tight as a coiled spring, his teeth clenched against further words as Elladan's hand moved lower, explored the well defined musculature of chest and belly, slid over his hips and between his thighs. "Please relax, Erestor. Relax and open your eyes."
The two were mutually exclusive, but he did open his eyes. It would not do to stare at the ceiling, and with a force of will he met Elladan's gentle, liquid gaze, hissed in a ragged breath as Elladan traced unwanted trails of fire on his inner thighs. It was dizzying to be touched this way, delicious, confusing. He had allowed only the bare few whom he had trusted completely to have him thusly. To give with the expectation of loss was alien, unfathomable, turned ecstasy into some new blend that he could not identify.
He moaned when Elladan's hand moved upward to cup the soft sacs now tightening behind his throbbing arousal. Though never permitted such free rein before, Elladan knew where to touch him, how to touch him. Erestor had taught him all those things himself, and now those carefully taught lessons became his undoing. Tanned skin slid against cream skin as Elladan slipped lower, left a slick, translucent path from breast bone to navel, and Erestor was helpless in his loving grasp.
Elladan's hand moved upward, locked around his desire and stroked in that perfect rhythm, that expert movement of wrist and fingers that he'd mastered long ago. Erestor cried out, bucked his hips forward and felt Elladan ride the upward motion, knew without looking the arch of his back, the raising of forearm that made that movement futile. His tongue plundered Erestor's navel, tendrils of hair swept his sides, chin barely brushed the head of his cock. And then Elladan finally moved lower still to lap cat-like at the weeping slit.
He heard the sound of the oil bottle being unstopped as if from a great distance, wondered if Elladan had ever taken Elrohir as Elrohir had surely taken him. It didn't matter. All that mattered were the warm, slick fingers delving between his thighs, the way he spread his thighs without prompting, spread them against the panicked shrieking in his mind that was spiraling steadily downward into black silence. Elladan's tongue sliding over the length of his rigid sex, Elladan's fingers brushing against his entrance, pressing gently, carefully, as if he were a virgin. Elladan whispering soft words that could not be heard, Elladan swallowing and penetrating him in perfect synchronicity.
It had been a long time, but Erestor knew to relax and Elladan was as careful with him as if he were made of porcelain. There was a moment of discomfort, and then even that was gone as the single digit made its slow, smooth way into his inner darkness. He shuddered against the mattress, bent his knees to grant better, deeper access, angled his hips. His lips formed a silent plea as a second finger was added, slyly moved in search of that hidden spot that would make him lose control.
Thought vanished along with all hope of distancing, separation. Caught between mouth and hand he wavered on the outer edges of ecstatic mindlessness, twisted in the dizzying contradictions of love, panic, lust, and dismay. It was like the heat of other lovers he had felt within him yet different, different because this was Elladan, the one who was unknowingly taking more than he would give, innocently making him move in a frenzy that could be mistaken for pain, blameless in his tender shattering.
Elladan removed his fingers with gentle care, and Erestor felt hollow in their absence, needing and wanting on more levels than he was capable of thinking of. The word formed by Elladan's lips was "butterfly," and Erestor moved in imitation of that word, knees bent, pulled back, spread. Again there was heat, the heat of Elladan's body poised between his thighs, the rigid heat of his cock pressed against his exposed entrance. A trembling moan was wrenched from him as his body was breached, his hands flew to grip Elladan's hips, to pull him forward into immediate and complete penetration.
There was no defense save for surrender, complete immersion in the striving toward completion. Elladan allowed him that defense, locked an oil slick hand around Erestor's length as he rocked in and out of him, allowed Erestor to set the nearly violent pace in spite of his dominant position. There was no teasing, no demands made, no subtly humiliating requests to hear him beg, to make him ask for release. Instead there was a kaleidoscope of pleasure, Elladan's hand granting him primary colored ecstasy, his thick cock turning those colors into lightening shot rapture with each inward thrust.
When completion came it came as a storm of silent white fire that blotted out thought, sight, and sound, turned him into something that seemed made only to experience pleasure. He shuddered as Elladan spent his seed within him, let his eyes flutter closed when Elladan collapsed on top of him. The young elf's breath was hot against his ear, his sweat slicked body limp, his cock softening within Erestor's body. Erestor shifted under his weight, stomach trembling, and Elladan whispered a faint apology as he pulled carefully out of him and slid to one side, one arm wrapped about Erestor's waist.
"That was…" Elladan tapped his upper lip with his tongue. "I have never… Erestor, thank you." His voice was thick with the physical memory of bliss and with emotion. Erestor's lips parted as if to speak, but no words came. Instead he lightly kissed the high plain of Elladan's cheek, tasted sweat. "Did you… I mean, was it?" He propped himself up on his elbow and glanced down worriedly into Erestor's face. The older elf opened his eyes and smiled wanly.
"Yes, Elladan, it definitely was."
~*~*~*~
Afternoon sun streamed through the high, vaulted study windows. Erestor sat at his desk painstakingly copying one of the older history books, clean parchment set neatly in an oblong of golden light. The old book's print had grown faint, the illuminations murky, the pages ruinously thin. It had been over an age since he'd earned his keep as a scrivener, but Erestor prided himself on his even, artistic calligraphy, his talent for utilizing the colored inks, paints, small brushes, and specialized quills needed for the illumination work. There were few who had both arts mastered, and it was a restful hobby, one that he frequently turned to when his thoughts were troubled. It would take hours to complete a single page, months to complete the volume. Plenty of time for contemplation, consideration, decision making.
He paused, studied the page with a critical eye before continuing. The work was going well, but he could not settle into the meditative state he was accustomed to finding. Much to his chagrin, Glorfindel had noticed his distracted condition at breakfast and had invited him out for a ride by the river and maybe supper later in the evening. The words had rolled smoothly enough, impeccably phrased and utterly decorous. There had been nothing decorous about the look in Glorfindel's sky blue eyes, however. Erestor had offered him a frosty smile, refused the invite with equally diplomatic politeness. More involvements were the last thing he needed.
He hadn't wanted to spend his day reading in his chambers, hadn't wanted to settle in the library where he could count on Elrond or Celebrian to find him and attempt to cheer him out of his mood. It was rare for him to spend a weekend day in the office of his own accord, and the office door had a lock. It was the perfect place to hide while Elrohir and Elladan worked off the last of their father's displeasure in the stables.
Sighing, he wiped the quill tip on a bit of paper, leaned back in his chair and closed his eyes. Blotted out the view of Elrohir's desk set opposite his own, turned the office into rose colored darkness. He felt sore, but he did not shift to make himself more comfortable as he sat perusing the inside of his eyelids. It was a remembered ache as much as an actual sensation, and one that he did not want to escape even though the discomfort he felt was more than physical. With an effort of will he could imagine other eyes gazing into his own, sweep of hair both finer and longer, fingers uncallused by use of bow and sword. Uncomplicated constancy idiotically traded.
A soft tap at the door cut through the silence, and Erestor's eyes flashed open, his hands tightened on the arms of the chair. A pause, and then a faint jingle. He drew a harsh breath as a key snicked into the lock. Only one person would let himself in without waiting for a response; only one person besides himself, Elrond, and Elrohir had a key with which to do so.
"I didn't think you'd be doing anything I shouldn't walk in on." He slipped a necklace chain about his neck and absently tucked the key back beneath his robes. Erestor smiled in spite of himself. Ever pragmatic, his lover wore no charm or token, no pretty gem stone or carved bauble even though Erestor had given him such at the beginning of their relationship before he had known better. Instead he carried what mattered - keys to Erestor's study and chambers.
"I merely wanted privacy." The words sounded off putting, but Erestor said nothing more, refused to babble in an attempt to find the right words. His guest nodded equably, approached the desk.
"Your hand is better than mine." He commented, glancing at the parchment. "Fanciful yet clearly legible. I've never been able to claim more than uninspired consistency."
"There is a great deal to be said for consistency."
The elf sighed softly, looked down at his hands. "How much longer, Erestor?"
"I don't know. Right now… it would break Elladan's heart."
"And what of mine? No, don't answer that." A bitter smile curved his lips. His gaze shifted to the desk Erestor had closed his eyes against. "I always did like Elrohir better."
"Elrohir will bring this to an end. Sooner rather than later, I think."
"All according to plan. In some regards, at least." His eyes remained on the uncluttered desk top, the empty chair. "Shall I sit there where he sits? Will I become a little more real for you then, as susceptible to your games as your pretty elflings?"
He moved as if to suit his actions to his words, and Erestor flinched. "No, don't. Please."
"Please?" He raised an eyebrow, turned and perched on the edge of the desk rather than going to the chair. "But I thought that was what you wanted to hear me say. That perhaps, underneath it all you're only wanting to see how low I'll sink." The mask of imperturbable calm was slipping; unshed tears stood in eyes that held his gaze through force of will alone.
"No." Erestor managed. He rose, crossed the room and tentatively reached to grasp his lover's arms. For a moment it seemed that the other elf would shrug away from the touch, but with a last hesitant shiver he allowed the contact, eyes fixed on Erestor's chest.
"It was a mistake. Had I to do this over, I would not repeat my actions, melme."
"Don't call me that."
Erestor froze, his hands briefly tightened on silk covered arms. "Don't do this to me. I need you."
Dark eyes fixed incredulously on his; a thin stream of hurt laughter fell from soft lips. "Don't do this to you? You want my comfort?"
"Dammit, I don't know what to do!" He let his hands drop, turned to glare at the cream colored wall. "I have to be so careful of them, and I love him, and I love you." He stared tiredly at the floor. "I want this to be over. I want you back."
"Careful of them." His lover said tightly. He drew his legs up to sit cross legged on the desk top, elbows on knees, chin resting on his palms. In the golden light he looked almost like an elfling himself, an elfling dressed up in his father's robes. Only the bitterness in his eyes gave lie to the image. "How so, careful of them?"
"Elladan is so free with his heart, and Elrohir is so suspicious, so…" Erestor considered, pressed his fingertips to his forehead. "Insecure. I can't crush Elladan, I have to be so careful in treating them equally, in making certain that Elrohir does not feel like a third, like something that can be picked up and then cast aside at will."
"Well, he is the third, isn't he? And you aren't in love with him." There was more than a hint of asperity in his melodic voice. Erestor took a deep breath.
"I don't want to hurt him."
"How noble of you." He sat upright, pulled his hands into his sleeves. "He doesn't love you, either, but I suppose if you continue this farce that could change. Is that what you want?"
"No! I merely do not want to make one feel less than the other, less wanted, less…"
"Oh, for the love of the Valar, Erestor! They have a father, you know. There is no need for you to play at being daddy as well as lover."
"How can you be so cold?"
He registered the slap as heat, a sudden warmth and force that rocked his head back and did not blaze into burning until his shocked eyes again met those of the elf before him. His lover was standing, his movement from the desk so sudden that Erestor had barely recognized the action. His face was livid, eyes wide with hurt anger. Erestor's hand drifted upward to touch the red mark glowing on his skin like a brand.
"Listen to yourself!" There was no apology in his tone. He started to speak further then stopped himself, turned away. "No, Erestor, I have nothing more to say to this. You need to make up your mind."
"Wait." The word was faint, brittle. It settled between them like a hollow husk briefly suspended by a capricious breeze before drifting inexorably down.
"I have been."
He let himself out with no further words, not bothering to re-lock the door behind him. Erestor stared at the blank oak, saw nothing, heard nothing. The ability to think had temporarily fled, leaving him with nothing more than the bland smoothness of varnished wood to occupy his mind. At last he tore his eyes away. Open bottles of ink still waited for him at his desk, and he began putting them away in silent slow motion, like an elf in a nightmare.
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