Title & Chapter Number: An Arrangement of Thorns 32/36
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: Elrohir is surprised; Elrohir and Elladan talk.
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.
In only a matter of days the delegation to Lothlorien would be returning. Elrohir anticipated that day with both pleasure and dread. It would be good to have Melpomaen out of his sight, good to feel that he was doing something useful again. He had not enjoyed his month spent as place holder for his father's chief advisor, had particularly loathed the humiliation of knowing that his secretary knew the job better than he did. The personal tension between them did not help matters; the knowing smiles and careful comments that could be taken in a variety of ways were enough to keep Elrohir on the edge of nervous explosion. Erestor's return would put an end to that.
Erestor's return also meant confrontation, and not with the chief advisor. It that was all, Elrohir wouldn't have been concerned. The time when Erestor had been capable of frightening him had long since passed, and it took no particular gathering of courage to face him down. Confronting Elladan was another matter entirely, and that was what Erestor's return demanded of him.
He was not prepared to allow matters to continue as they had been any longer. Elrohir could no longer imagine lying in that wide bed, he and Elladan with Erestor between them. Elladan… he wanted Elladan only for himself, and himself only for Elladan. Whatever game Erestor was playing was one thing, and he had promised sincerely to do nothing that would cause harm to his brother. It was in the continuance of this awkward triangle that he saw the potential for harm, however, and not only for Elladan. For all of them. A decision had to be made.
"Would you like me to take those over to Lord Elrond's office?" Melpomaen gestured at the small stack of papers on the corner of Erestor's desk, and Elrohir shook his head.
"No. Let me finish sorting the rest." He spoke neutrally, eyes flat as he met the secretary's gaze. Melpomaen, as usual, was utterly unfazed though lately it seemed to Elrohir that there was something new in his expression, a certain lightness that went oddly with his shadowed eyes.
There were only a few things left to look over, and Elrohir flipped through the pages impatiently. The sun was settling lower, and he was desperate to escape the newly claustrophobic office.
"Elrohir!" He glanced up, startled, as the office door swung open. Elladan strode in, still dressed in the greens and grays of the Imladris soldiers. He did not spare Melpomaen so much as a glance as he crossed the room. "I finished up early and thought I'd drop in since you said you wanted to talk to me."
"Maybe after dinner? I'm a little busy at the moment." He darted a quick glance at the secretary, but Melpomaen was still intent upon his own work.
"Mmmm, what do you have here?" Elladan perched familiarly on the edge of the desk, and Elrohir felt a moment of emotional vertigo. How many times had Elladan done this in the past? What else might Elladan have done on this desk? He flicked his tongue over his lower lip, put up no resistance as his brother looked over the remaining documents.
"This isn't busy. Busy-work is more like it." He dropped the papers back onto the desk top, cast his brother a quizzical look. Elrohir's jaw tightened, and Elladan grinned.
"Oh, you mean him." He inclined his head toward Melpomaen, and Elrohir could see devil lights dancing in Elladan's eyes. The narrow expression he wore rendered his features wild and dangerous, upsetting, sexy. Frightening. Elrohir clutched the quill he'd been holding tighter, mastered his own features sufficiently to deliver a stern glare that went entirely unheeded.
"But we don't have any secrets from him, now do we? I daresay we can speak freely, you won't mind, will you, Melpomaen?"
The last question was tossed casually over his shoulder. The secretary ignored it, neither attempting to sink back in his seat nor dignifying the question with a response. Elladan shrugged, his tight smile never wavering, and Elrohir could not help feeling a sort of sick admiration for Melpomaen. The sharpened edges of his brother's comments were not even aimed at him, and he felt intimidated.
"Or are you maybe tired of talk? Not interested in hearing anymore, too boring?"
"Elladan…" Elrohir said, rising from his seat. His brother's smile was razor edged; wherever this was heading, he was certain it was someplace he'd rather not go to. Elladan had turned toward Melpomaen, now leaning against the desk more than sitting on it, and Elrohir hurried to face Elladan, to try to distract him. The broad smile that met him curdled his outrage; his heart skipped a beat.
"How about this, then? They say that actions speak louder than words."
And then Elladan's lips were on his, Elladan's arms were around his waist, pulling him close, closer, too close. He smelled of leather and steel, of the dust from the practice yard, of horses and clean sweat. His lips were smooth; they tasted of salt, and they did not meet his in a gentle, chaste kiss but in a demanding assault. Elrohir clutched at Elladan's shoulders as his lips parted, seemingly of their own accord, neither returning the embrace nor pushing him away. He felt frozen, utterly static save for the frantic motion of lips and tongue, motion that his mind was screaming at him to stop immediately. At last he was able to heed those screams. He pulled away from Elladan in gasping, half furious confusion.
"After dinner, your room?" For a moment Elrohir had no idea what his brother was speaking of. He blinked, finally recalled where this encounter had started. Nodded. At his desk Melpomaen was still working unconcernedly on a response to a letter.
"Good, I'll see you then." Elladan left without another word. Silence broken only by the scritch of a quill tip on parchment descended and held for several long minutes.
"Are you ready for me to take those documents now, Elrohir?" Melpomaen asked in his usual, bland tone, and Elrohir burst into hysterical laughter before fleeing the room.
~*~*~*~
Elladan, Elrohir grimly reflected, was getting the best of both worlds. He had known good and well that his actions were sure to anger him, had known that at some point later in the evening he'd be apologizing. Elrohir had found that "I'm sorry" meant precious little in the face of the games they played, meant nothing at all when the actions that led to those words were planned with both apology and penance already in mind. So Elladan had specified that he wanted their discussion to take place in Elrohir's room. So what? There would be other nights, and though he would try he knew this would not be quickly or easily forgotten.
Elladan carried his own weight of guilt and shame. Elrohir knew all about Elladan's guilt and shame, had coerced, beaten and fucked that knowledge from him over the course of that long, long month. He'd done it because Elladan wanted him to do it, and more and more often Elrohir found himself impatient with the whole thing.
It was every thrill and dark fantasy come true, every thought he'd ruthlessly strangled while watching Elladan with Erestor returned to life. Once upon a time he had stood in front of his brother, had stared at marks covering back, buttocks, thighs, chest, and abdomen. He had stared and felt that it was alright to stare or even touch because Erestor had turned his brother into something beautiful and inanimate. Now he watched but did not stare; touched, but did not see Elladan as inanimate though he most certainly was still beautiful. Elladan had his own agenda, one that included being stared at and touched, and it was that which Elrohir had become impatient with.
Through Elrohir Elladan was achieving a form of wholeness that did not set well with Elrohir at all. Transgression, judgment, punishment and forgiveness all in one. Elladan could give in to his desires because he had Elrohir to make him pay for them, had Elrohir to make the rapture come again, had Elrohir to continue the circle of pleasure and shame, of treatment in keeping with behavior that he only told himself he could accept. And now it seemed that he could do as he pleased in other areas as well. Why not? Elrohir would take care of it, take care of him.
He pushed his chamber door open and was not surprised to find Elladan already there, sprawled across his bed. There was still a hint of that light in his eyes, but not so close to the surface as before. Not faded, but hidden. Elrohir sighed.
"What was that all about?" He did not raise his voice. He was too tired for that, too tired for an argument.
"I don't know." He shrugged. "Seeing him upset me, and it seemed like the thing to do at the time. Are you upset?"
It was a question he thought he already knew the answer to, and Elrohir gave him the opposite. "No, not really." That was a lie; he'd been furious, and tiredness and stress had had more to do with that emotion's wane than any change of heart. The confused look on Elladan's face was worth it, though.
"You're not?"
"Maybe a little." He conceded. "I liked the way you kissed me, though I daresay your choice of venue was questionable."
No lie there. Elladan had never touched him so possessively, had never exercised his right to touch Elrohir as Elrohir so often touched him. If it had not been for his panic and confusion, that kiss would have been utterly intoxicating. Elrohir smiled, slumped onto his vanity chair.
"You wanted to talk to me about something?" Elrohir recognized this for a return to safer, more familiar ground. He ignored the question.
"Would you kiss me like that again? Without an audience?"
"I suppose I could…" Elladan said slowly as he rose from the bed. Elrohir's smile broadened. Elladan had bathed since their encounter in the office, would no longer smell like leather and steel. Instead he'd smell of lilac scented soap and bath oils, of the sweet herbs he used to wash his hair. The rough material of a soldier's uniform had been replaced by a simple linen robe; his warrior's braids were gone, and the still damp mahogany tresses would cling wetly to their faces.
Elladan stood over him, and Elrohir look up expectantly. His brother's expression was not slyly narrow, his eyes were no longer dancing with devil fire. There was a sense of detachment now, and the look he wore was one of speculation. He pulled Elrohir to his feet, locked his arms around him, kissed him hard and aggressively. It was not the same, though; there was no electric thrill, no giddy feeling of weightlessness, of reckless spin. Elladan held him, but in this he had once again become a doll, an automaton. Their lips parted, and neither of them were out of breath.
--This isn't the way it's supposed to work, is it Elladan?-- Elrohir thought. --You're not supposed to be rewarded for stepping out of line; you're supposed to be punished. And if I won't do it, how will you ease your conscience?--
"Make love to me, Elladan." He whispered the words into his brother's ear, heard the inrush of harsh breath. The words were not a command but a request, soft and pleading, nearly purred in tones of liquid velvet. "Please make love to me."
"Elrohir…" His hands moved upward to grip Elrohir's shoulders, but Elrohir refused to be pushed away, clung to Elladan with gentle neediness. He shifted back enough to look into his brother's eyes, saw the turmoil there, a silent shattering from the inside out.
"Please do not let Erestor be the only one to have had me so."
"Erestor…" Elladan closed his eyes tightly, whispered the name. "No, Elrohir, don't ask this of me. I… I can't."
Anger flared, and he tamped it down through main force of will. Even so, his words came out clipped, sharp. "Why not? Are you saving it for him?"
"No!" Elladan said. His lower lip had begun to quiver; he still had not opened his eyes. Elrohir felt his anger drain from him as he held his shaking brother in his arms, realized the extent of Elladan's feelings. "He left me, Elrohir! I made love to him, and he left me. He said that he loved me, he gave himself to me, and that night… he was gone."
"Oh, Elladan, no, I will never do that to you." Elrohir tightened his arms around his brother, no longer softly seductive but comforting, reassuring with warmth and touch. Inwardly he cursed himself for his blindness, cursed Erestor for his carelessness. "I promise you that I will be here every night and every morning, every hour in between. I will not leave you, Elladan."
"He said that, too."
"I am not him. Perhaps… perhaps, Elladan, we are better off without him."
Elladan said nothing for a long moment. Elrohir could feel him trembling, sensed the effort being made to control his breathing, to control his raging emotions. At last Elladan raised his head from his brother's shoulder, looked him in the eye. Tears swam in those dark depths, but none of them had fallen. Elrohir felt an upsurge of pride, knowing that they would not fall.
"This is what you wanted to talk to me about, isn't it?"
"Yes." He met Elladan's gaze levelly. "You're mine, Elladan."
"Yours." He echoed softly, and Elrohir smiled, offered a brief, chaste kiss.
"And I am yours. I don't want to be with anyone else, Elladan, and I don't want to share you with anyone else. I won't do it anymore. I love you, Elladan."
He could see the relief written plain on his brother's face, the lifting of worry and pain that he had not suspected even existed. "Good, Elrohir. I love you, too."
When Elladan kissed him again it was not the dominating kiss he had bestowed upon Elrohir in the office, nor was it a detached fulfilling of an explicit request. Instead it was slow and thorough, explorative, sensual. He tasted Elrohir as if he was fine wine, as if he was rich chocolate.
"Do you still want me to make love to you?" He asked, and Elrohir nodded, gazed back at Elladan, eyes wide.
"Like you told me last week, Elladan, the way you imagined it in your dreams. Make it real."
Elladan hesitated, but only for a moment, and his hesitation held nothing of the fright and discomfort he had shown earlier. "As you wish, melethron nin."
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