Title & Chapter Number: An Arrangement of Thorns 29/36
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 thinks; Elladan and Elrohir talk; Elladan and Elrohir flirt.
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.
The final verdict leaned closer to story than to sex. A lot of people suggested both, but my sex scenes tend to be too damned long as it is. So, what we've got here is character insight and erotic imagery. Hope that works.
Elladan lay prone on the bed, nude, chin supported by his hands while he idly flipped through the pages of a book. He was alone, and expected to remain so until after supper. Usually he preferred the company of others, but sometimes it was good to have this hour and a half stretch between his duties as soldier and his duties as heir to Imladris to himself. It was tacitly understood between he and Elrohir that this time was his; if he wanted his brother's company he would seek him out. Otherwise this time was sacrosanct, even though he followed the rules during it.
He set the book aside, rolled over onto his back. His bed was now under the window, and he allowed his eyes to slip half shut as he watched the breeze dance with the sheer curtains. They billowed out over him like a veil that was not quite allowed to settle, like a fluttering canopy, like a cloud that had been granted gossamer solidity and drifted close enough to touch. At night they would be tied back to prevent them from dancing with the candle's flame on the bedside table, but during the day he liked them free. Elladan felt an odd lift at the sight of them flowing in transparent riot, secured while yet flapping in the wind.
The breeze was warm on his bare skin, and he smiled, realizing he was growing accustomed to spending his time in this chamber nude or mostly nude. That was one of the rules, and one he hadn't batted an eye at though he knew that it would eventually get him in trouble in one way or another. Sooner or later someone would walk in on him while he was lying naked on his bed, sitting naked at his desk, or wandering naked between bath and bedchamber. One of the maids come with a basket of fresh sheets, perhaps, or maybe even a member of the more immediate household. Glorfindel was almost as famous for walking into rooms as soon as he'd finished knocking as he was for slaying the balrog. Elladan supposed it would be embarrassing, but he felt that he could live with that. More importantly, it was not always practical or even practicable to lounge about so, not when one considered his position and the nature of his duties, and eventually Elrohir would catch him at that. The ramifications of that went beyond embarrassment, but Elladan did not find that disturbing, either.
The breeze died down; the curtain fell briefly over his body in a manner that was suggestively bridal before slipping coolly away. Elladan smiled. In a way it reminded him of the succession of white silk and lace shirts that Erestor had gotten for him. Elrohir had said that he came off as innocent, and he knew that Erestor saw him in that same way. It was overtly revealed in the costumes he had chosen for Elladan, more subtly in the tender endearments used, in the gentleness of his touch as they'd lain in bed together, in his disinclination to speak of anything dark or melancholy. Both he and Elrohir seemed to be engaged in preserving that innocence, danced around him in an effort to maintain it. Elladan found that laughable. He was an optimist, yes, but neither was he blind. A year spent under Glorfindel's tutelage and that of the other Imladris soldiers had revealed much of the darker side of nature to him, and he had yet to blanch and wither like a flower in late frost.
In other areas Erestor and Elrohir were not alike, not in their thinking and not in their manner. Elrohir could not maintain the cool distance that Erestor had been capable of, that detached air that had made butterflies dance in Elladan's stomach, that had incited desire and anxiety, hope and erotic dread. When they were together Elladan could hear his brother's breathing go ragged, could see the bright flush of arousal on his cheeks, the sweat that would dampen the hair at his temples and brow. Even when Elrohir's desire was not physically obvious, Elladan could feel it. They were twin brothers, bound from the womb - there was little that Elrohir could hide from him. Instead of detracting from the experience, however, Elladan found it deliciously erotic. Elrohir controlled him, and he controlled himself; Elrohir felt passion and need, yet still he waited; Elrohir felt tenderness while never stinting on discipline. Elladan knew the gentleness of his brother's heart, knew that appealing to that gentleness would avail him nothing. It was the paradox that made it rapturous, just as the unknowing had made it so with Erestor.
Elrohir was less formal than Erestor, who had always insisted upon being addressed by either his full title or as sir. Elrohir wanted to hear his name on Elladan's lips, and Elladan accommodated that without feeling any loss of structure or respect. Practical reasons lay behind both Erestor's and Elrohir's choices in this matter. Erestor's status in Imladris was the axis upon which his existence in the House of Elrond spun, an axis which passed through both bed chamber and council chamber, connected the two as the axis of a globe connects the poles. It offered a two fold thrill, to address Erestor properly in public while feeling that twist of the illicit, to address him so in private and feel a sense of dislocation.
Elrohir's reasons were less complex; his thoughts on the subject carried no hint of the erotic but were only an expression of personal comfort. Elladan has asked him about this shortly after their relationship had changed, had asked him if he'd like to be called "my lord" or "sir." Elrohir had rolled his eyes, told him that he spent all day being called "my lord" and "sir," and was glad not to have to listen to it all evening as well.
It was a reflection of different personalities and perspectives. Erestor carried over his control in the board room to the bedroom, used the one to empower the other. Elrohir's control in the bedroom compensated for his lack of control beyond its door. At night he wanted to forget Lord Elrohir son of Elrond, wanted to be only Elrohir, wanted that to be enough.
Erestor had liked watching him, and so did Elrohir, but once again there was a difference. Erestor had wanted living art or stationary ballet, had liked him poseable and decorative. There was so much to be said for simply remaining still, for the leashed anticipation he had felt while remaining so. To be caressed by only his lover's gaze, to feel the weight of dark eyes on muscles extended, flexed or lax… to simply be and to wait. It was a subtle form of control, and one that had confused him at first. Then he had grown to appreciate it, even its moments of trembling anxiety. Without a word Erestor had taught him that he was beautiful.
It was not his stillness that Elrohir prized, however. He wanted grace and sensual artistry too, but his preference was for motion. To watch Elladan kneel was not so good as to watch him crawl, head held high and back arched so that his shoulders rode high and the round globes of his buttocks were prominently displayed. When seated in Elrohir's lap Elrohir wanted to feel his response rather than have a doll to play with, when seated on the floor at his feet Elrohir wanted to feel Elladan's cheek nuzzling his thigh. The intricacies of play they had developed over the past two weeks reflected that love of motion - from the bowl currently hidden behind the bed's dust ruffle that would be filled with either fresh milk or wine, to the belled collar that was most certainly not supposed to jingle when Elladan moved.
~*~*~*~
His surroundings had changed though his position had not. Elladan lay on Elrohir's bed, hands laced behind his head watching his brother's fruitless search for his spare set of official robes. Something had gone wrong with the laundry, and that combined with Elrohir's forgetfulness in sending his robes had led to this minor calamity. Elladan's simple suggestion had been to let it go for a day; he doubted if anyone would be too shocked to see Elrohir out of his official vestments for one day of paper filing and letter writing. That had not gone over very well, and now Elladan settled for listening to the muffled curses issuing from the back of Elrohir's wardrobe while keeping his comments to himself.
It didn't matter since they were in Elrohir's rooms rather than in his, but Elladan felt no inclination to needle his brother. It had been a difficult couple of weeks for Elrohir. Both of them had expected that by the time the first work day after the tavern debacle commenced Melpomaen would have found someone to replace him at the secretary's desk. Doing so would not have endeared him to Erestor who most certainly did not like seeing his orders countermanded, but neither of them received the impression that Melpomaen would be intimidated by that. It would certainly have been easier for all involved if Melpomaen had made himself scarce, but the secretary had not done so. That first Monday morning had dawned, and when Elrohir had made his way to the office he had been greeted by a more sunnily disposed though no less taciturn Melpomaen.
"Tense" was the word Elrohir had used to describe it. Elladan could think of several other words that would have described his feelings had he been in Elrohir's place, and "tense" was far to the bottom of the list.
He felt none of the anxiety that plagued Elrohir insofar as Melpomaen was concerned. The elf had his reasons, but Elladan trusted his sense that those reasons were not threatening to them. Instinct told him that the unvoiced threat behind Melpomaen's actions was merely a cover, the automatic behavior of a person accustomed to protecting actions in the present while also securing a bit of insurance for any unseen future difficulties. Even that did not disturb Elladan greatly. Whatever it was that Melpomaen was working toward only involved them peripherally, and as Elrohir had said, Melpomaen was not one with any great interest in money or political power.
What bothered Elladan was that his brother had been made a cat's paw, that someone was being manipulated through this, though he knew not whom, that their silence had been so swiftly and efficiently ensured. It also bothered him that Elrohir had walked right into it, had needed no invitation to step from the skillet to the fire. It wasn't like his brother to launch a frontal assault with so little forethought or planning, certainly not like him to allow another person to get under his skin to the point where he would do so.
Elladan had asked him about it, and had been more than a little offended at his reply. Elrohir had muttered something about wanting to be more like Elladan for a change, had wanted to handle things quickly, simply, and straight forwardly. Elladan had scathingly told him that straight forwardness and suicidal tendencies were not the same, and that perhaps Elrohir should try to remember that he, Elladan, had kept his relationship with Erestor a perfect secret for close to two years. And that the revelation of that affair had not been his slip.
"It's not here." Elrohir glared, slammed the wardrobe door shut.
"In the trunk, maybe? Since it is your spare?"
"Doesn't matter." Elrohir heaved a disgusted sigh, slouched into the cushioned chair by the window. "If it's in the trunk that means it's folded, wrinkled, and smelling of moth balls. I should have looked for it after lunch instead of waiting until evening."
Elladan shrugged. Elrohir's clothing was not high on his list of worries, and he honestly couldn't understand his brother's genuine irritation over this. It was probably the stress; as the days passed Elrohir had been growing increasingly short tempered.
"Do you want to go back to my room?" Elladan asked, and Elrohir tiredly shook his head.
"I don't think that's a good idea." He pressed his finger tips to his forehead, rubbed in small circles. It was a familiar gesture, one that Elladan knew reflected either tension, the onset of a headache, or both. "I feel like I've been angry with everything and everyone lately. If I want something to kick, I'll get a dog."
Elladan chuckled. He wasn't that and never had been, not for Erestor and not for Elrohir. It gratified him to know that Elrohir did not see him as something he could take his frustrations out on.
"Are you sure you wouldn't prefer a cat? A nice, golden sand colored cat with a bell on his collar and a bowl of milk by his bed?"
"Oh, you." Elrohir glanced up at Elladan through the lattice of his fingers, smiled in affectionate amusement. "Is that what you are? A cat?"
"I could tic off the points of comparison, but that would be immodest." He adopted a prim expression that surprised a laugh from Elrohir, and Elladan grinned, pushed himself up and swung his legs off the bed.
"Well, then, I shall do it for you. You're silent, like a cat. You're graceful and elegant, like a cat. You're sensual like a cat, and you're beautiful like a cat. Exotic like a cat and, like a cat, you have claws."
"But no fangs?"
"I would strongly object to certain activities if you had fangs."
Elladan's grin widened. "So, no rough, nubbly tongue either."
"I find absolutely no fault with your tongue, Elladan." His hand had dropped to the arm of the chair, his posture had relaxed. Elladan felt a sense of satisfaction as he watched his brother's worries fade into the background. He inclined his head, purred suggestively, and Elrohir's expression turned playfully thoughtful.
"Here kitty, kitty." Elrohir whispered, and Elladan rose, crossed the distance between them and settled neatly at his brother's feet.
"Back to my room then?"
"Yes, I think you've persuaded me."
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