Title & Chapter Number: Quid Pro Quo 1.0/1
Author(s): - Author's Index
Fandom: Tolkien
Rating: NC-17
Disclaimer: I own nothing, except the plotline and an evil mind. I blame society for the latter.
Warnings: Slash, duh.
Betas: Nope
Cast: Elrond/Celeborn; Elrohir/Glorfindel; Haldir/Gildor
Timeline: Pre-LotR AU
Spoilers: None
Summary: This is for those reviewers who wanted to know what happenedwith Elrond and Celeborn after the story Changes ended. I wrote asweet, romantic fic recently (One Last Time), and felt like I deserveda reward for being so good for so long. Since my favourite reward for being good is being bad, this story is very wicked indeed. Basically PWP with just a smidgen of plot, so don't say you weren't warned. Oh, and a bit of BDSM.
Notes: This is a continuation of my previous Unspoken story arc (Unspoken/Revelations/Changes.)
Elrohir glared at the gypsy boy--well, technically he supposed he was a young man, but he certainly wasn't a very old one--who sat mesmerized, his big dark eyes never leaving Glorfindel's face. Except, Elrohir noted in mounting fury, when that gaze slid down Glorfindel's body to linger on the curve of his buttocks for an inordinately long time. There did seem to be so very many of the gypsies, all crowded into the main hall of Imladris as their leader poured out her story to Elrond, that Elrohir really didn't think they'd miss just one--if, say, he happened to be tipped over a balcony and into the ravine.
He managed to get himself under control briefly, but then his hard won calm was shattered by Glorfindel's laughter with another of the gypsies, this one an older man with a powerful physique, dressed flamboyantly in red and yellow silks that hugged his muscular form. Elrohir literally saw red, a mist seeming to descend over his eyes, until he disbanded it with a shake of his head and quickly left the hall. Elbereth, you'd think he would be used to all that by now. Half of the guests to Imladris, male or female, followed Glorfindel around like acolytes from the time they arrived, those that, is, who weren't busy doing the same to Ada. Of course, both of them could take care of themselves in any situation, but still . . .
It wasn't that Elrohir didn't trust Glorfindel, but so many of his admirers were so very attractive. Plus, there were all those stories the guards kept teasing him with, about Glorfindel's many conquests in the past . . . it was all making Elrohir extremely insecure. If only there was some way to insure that his lover didn't look at him one day and wonder what he'd ever seen in an average looking elf barely past his majority. Biting his lip in worry, Elrohir put as much space as possible between him and the throng in the hall. He hoped their stay would be a very brief one.
~*~*~*~
The gypsies twirled in ancient patterns, their bronze anklets glinting like gold in the firelight. Elrond watched the leader, a tall dark haired woman who almost seemed to weave a spell with her graceful, exotic movements, and decided that this might not have been one of his best ideas. The small group of wanderers had requested brief sanctuary at Imladris while several of their number recovered from wounds sustained in an orc ambush, and Elrond had agreed. Then their leader insisted that they be allowed to repay their hosts by entertaining the assembled court after dinner, a suggestion that had been greeted with such universal delight that the affair had had to be moved to the large open field behind the house, as the banqueting chamber could not hold all who wished to attend. Hundreds of elves now reclined around the grassy sward, while the gypsies danced around a large fire they had lit in the centre of the field. It was almost the only source of light now that night had fallen.
The mortals were lost in the hypnotic rhythm of the drums, castanets and stringed instruments played by a small group of their number seated somewhere in back of Elrond. He could not see the musicians, as all had insisted he take a position of honour near the front of the crowd. He wished fervently, as the dancers moved in sinuous designs around the blaze, their full lips singing ancient, alien songs, their black lashes throwing shadows onto bronze cheeks, that he resided anonymously in the crowd with everyone else instead of practically within the dancer's circle. When the leader approached him, the fire outlining her voluptuous curves and turning the ends of her flowing black hair to gold, there was nowhere for Elrond to go.
She circled his chair as the movements of all the dancers became more frenzied, almost, in some cases, too swift to follow with the eye. Silks swirled, castanets clicked and chimed, dizzying leaps were made across the highest flames, and the increasingly frenetic pace of the drums seemed to pound through Elrond's very soul. Then suddenly it was over, the leader coming to rest with a final crescendo of sound and movement directly in front of Elrond's chair. She was breathing rapidly, a lock of hair falling across her brow, her smoldering dark eyes piercing his, her red lips curving into a knowing smile. Elrond kept his face impassive, yet somehow he thought she could feel the swiftness with which the blood coursed through his veins, could probably even guess the reason for it, although Elrond did not allow his eyes to stray again to the figure comfortably reclining on the grass a few yards away.
He had made the mistake of glancing at his father-in-law shortly after the gypsies had started their performance and had immediately regretted it. Celeborn, who had laughingly declined a chair when he suddenly arrived in the glade a few moments before the performance began, looked relaxed and completely composed as he reclined on a small blanket on the grass. His informal posture did nothing to detract from his beauty, and Elrond had been at first incapable of looking away from the way the sleeveless white tunic he wore bared his arms and emphasized the perfection of his skin. Several golden armlets encircled his biceps, reflecting the firelight and the golden highlights in his long silver mane. Celeborn must have just come from the baths, for his hair looked slightly damp and tendrils curled intriguingly against his neck. The tunic was long enough to serve as a robe, which had allowed him to dispense with leggings. As he stretched out on his blanket, however, the front of his ensemble rode up to reveal a well muscled leg and part of one strong thigh, the pale skin highlighted with minute silver strands that tantalizingly caught the light. For a moment, Elrond had forgotten to breathe, then managed to tear his eyes away before he was caught staring.
He had not risked looking again, but it now felt like the music, the drums, and the steadily deepening darkness were all conspiring against him, especially as the gypsy leader laughingly informed him that they would do one more, very special dance, just for him. The dancers all left the fire's circle of yellow light, merging almost immediately with the dark, until two figures re-emerged to strike dramatic poses in front of the flames. Both were male, the blond wore white while the dark one was dressed, as was Elrond himself that evening, in crimson. As the drums began again, he swallowed unobtrusively and watched the bits of wood and ash thrown up into the night sky from the flames, looking like little stars amongst the black of the night. No, this had definitely not been one of his better ideas.
~*~*~*~
Elrohir was not watching the dancers. Instead, his attention had been caught by two elves who lay closely entwined a few feet away from him. They reclined on the grass near the tree line, almost, but not quite, hidden by the flickering shadows. Haldir lay behind Gildor, his head propped up on one hand, while the other absentmindedly stroked up and down his partner's bare arm as they watched the dancers. Gildor looked somewhat different than Elrohir was used to seeing him. His dark hair was swept back at the temples by a mithril clip and his tunic was a rich russet silk over which he wore a matching velvet robe. The change was more than in his attire, however; his eyes shone with a new joy and his smile was so bright that it reminded Elrohir of the sun bursting through on a cloudy day. He didn't think Gildor had stopped smiling since coming into his frame of vision. His eyes, although they followed the dancers, looked a bit unfocused, especially after Haldir's hand dipped under the neckline of his robe, which had slipped down his upper arms, and began to caress his throat and the skin over his heart.
As the dancers swirled and leaped, Haldir's exploration continued. He placed the gentlest of kisses on the exposed neck in front of him while his hand quested lower, skimming over Gildor's silk clad form to where the tunic hem modestly covered his knees. Shadows caused by the dancers' movements momentarily obscured Elrohir's view, but, when the dim light illuminated the couple again, he saw without surprise that Haldir had made progress; his hand was now sliding sensuously up Gildor's thigh. Increasing desire was evident on Gildor's face, and he gave up any pretense of following the performance in front of him when Haldir's arm disappeared completely under the loose folds of his tunic.
Elrohir was somewhat taken aback by the ardor he saw openly reflected in Haldir's gaze as he surveyed his companion, and the exquisite care which he took to pleasure Gildor. Elrohir was fascinated by the subtlety and assurance of Haldir's technique--he soon had Gildor gasping and visibly shuddering as he touched, fondled, licked, nibbled and petted him in an unending display of passion. Elrohir found it suddenly difficult to breathe and felt his heart racing. When Gildor, who had apparently forgotten about being in a semi-public place, began to moan helplessly under Haldir's attentions, the look on his face caused Elrohir to experience a bolt of pure envy. But, when Haldir suddenly stood and dragged his lover away into the dark of the forest, Elrohir found the circle somehow dimmer without them.
~*~*~*~
The day that was rapidly spiraling out of control had begun rather promisingly for Elrond. He had woken in bed, exhausted but feeling closer to normal than he had in almost three days. He had not dared to leave his rooms, not that he had been up to it anyway with Galadriel's evil potion still bubbling through his veins, but he also hadn't wanted to meet anyone and have to give any awkward explanations. This was possibly the most humiliating thing that had ever happened to him and he could only hope Erestor had made some kind of believable excuses for his prolonged absence. Since he had been spared visitors, other than servants who daily delivered trays of food that remained untouched, he could only assume that some sort of tale had been put about. He winced, hoping that whatever it was, it came nowhere near the truth.
Elrond was thankful to be finally, gloriously free from physical pain, even if the mental anguish was still present. To be aroused constantly for three days and unable to alleviate the condition, no matter what he tried . . . it had been pure torture, and not of the more pleasant variety. There had been moments in the last 24 hours when he had genuinely thought he was going insane. Galadriel had neglected to mention a little side effect of her potion, he thought in mounting fury--it not only left you filled with desperate yearning, but apparently also focused your desire on one person--in his case, Celeborn. No one else could satisfy him, but, of course, Celeborn was in the same hopeless state as he and unable to oblige. He had also seemed uninterested in even trying to do so, brushing past Elrond as soon as Galadriel's handmaiden released them as if he never wanted to see him again. Elrond had not seen him since.
Now that Elrond was finally able to think clearly again, one thing stood out beyond all others--the very definite need for a little quid pro quo. He did not usually see himself as the vindictive type, but there were limits to his normally even temper, and those had most definitely been exceeded recently. He did not think that there were too many reactions that would be inappropriate considering the indignities to which he'd been subjected. With no provocation on his part at all, he thought in seething fury, his in in-laws had shown up at Imladris and subjected him to more agony and humiliation than he had felt in centuries. He had certainly not ASKED Celeborn to throw himself at him, and he certainly had not planned to have Galadriel exact a particularly vindictive revenge for what had been, after all, her husband's idea. As he saw it, he owed two people a very harsh lesson, and he fully intended to deliver.
By that afternoon, Elrond had improved enough be able to bathe (something that had been impossible with the heightened sensitivity of his recent condition) and to leave his rooms and join the other guests at Imladris for dinner. He had easily laughed, chatted and drunk his way through six courses, to all of which he did ample justice as his appetite had also returned. In more ways than one, he thought, noticing Celeborn's empty chair. He had planned to get started on his revenge after dinner, assuming Celeborn had also recovered, but then the gypsy leader approached him with her request and nothing had ended up as he had planned.
The two male dancers slowly began to circle each other, and Elrond sincerely wished for a way out of what was quickly becoming an intolerable predicament. After three days without relief, arousal was something he frankly could have done without at the moment, especially as Celeborn was evidently not interested. His father-in-law looked his usual unflappable, urbane self, infuriating Elrond who, despite his outward demeanor, felt neither of those things. It made him desperate to see Celeborn lose control again--completely and utterly, as he had only a few days before. He ached to see the proud lord on his knees, abandoning reason and sense in mindless need, shivering and sobbing out desperate pleas for Elrond's touch.
The two dancers had increased the speed of the amazingly intricate steps they wove about each other now, but were still not touching. As the one in red twirled close by Celeborn, Elrond unthinkingly followed his actions, and felt silver eyes stabbing him through the darkness. Celeborn drew him like a magnet and, once his gaze came to rest on the silver figure gleaming so brightly in the firelight, Elrond found it impossible to look away.
How Celeborn's skin glowed in the dim light, as if he was carved of mithril, yet no statue possessed that paradoxical combination of physical vitality and languid sensuality. Overly innocent silver eyes met Elrond's as Celeborn's tongue delicately moistened his perfect lips. Elrond's growing erection prodded his abdomen suddenly, causing him to shift uncomfortably on his chair. He was grateful for his long, loose fitting robes, but ashamed of his inability to control his reaction. Celeborn's mischievous smile radiated knowledge of the effect he was having on his son-in-law, and that he was enjoying every minute of it. And still the dance went on, holding Elrond prisoner in that circle of golden light, throbbing sound and unfulfilled want.
~*~*~*~
"You want me to do what?," Erestor's voice was pitched high enough to qualify as a squeak. "What have I ever done to you, Elrohir, to make you wish me death--and a horrible one at that? Glorfindel," he told the young elf patiently, "would kill me."
Elrohir blushed crimson. "I don't want . . . that is, I didn't mean that we should . . . ," his voice sounded breathless even to his own ears, so he swallowed and tried again. "I just want to know where I can find the information. There doesn't seem to be anything here . . . " He gestured helplessly around his father's large but, at the moment, useless collection of books and scrolls. He had left the dance a few minutes after Haldir and Gildor, and before he realised it had found himself in the library. It had not taken much time to figure out why his steps had brought him here.
"Well, I should hope not," Erestor huffed in indignation. "What type of household do you think I run? Such items are not just left about, for any casual visitor to pick up!"
"So they do exist then?," Elrohir felt his excitement mounting. He had almost given up hope--why hadn't he thought to ask Erestor before? Of course, his old tutor had probably long passed the days when unbridled passion was a regular part of his life, but he WAS in charge of the library and so must know if the items Elrohir sought were a part of the collection.
Erestor eyed him narrowly. "Before I answer that question, I rather think I have the right to know what, exactly, it is that I am being asked to aid and abet? Glorfindel is not one to be trifled with lightly, young one, not even by you. If you have indeed tired of him and want to go chasing some callow elfling, that is of course your affair, but you would be well advised to formally break off your liaison with him first."
"No! It isn't like that at all!," Elrohir grimaced inwardly but, after a small struggle, decided he would have to tell Erestor the truth. He just hoped he didn't shock the old elf too badly. Trying his best to phrase things delicately, he tried to explain. "Glorfindel is . . . rather experienced . . . in matters of the heart. I just . . . I saw Haldir with Gildor tonight, at the dance, and they seemed . . . ," Elrohir felt himself getting into deep water as he tried to think how to put his desire into words. "I am afraid Glorfindel might grow bored with me, as I know so much less than he does." Elrohir felt his face grow warm under Erestor's steady regard, but he continued on nonetheless. "I just thought, perhaps there was something I could read . . . "
Erestor looked faintly disapproving. "I do not think Glorfindel is bored with you, young one. You've just become involved!"
"Perhaps he is satisfied now, but if I am to keep him . . . ," Elrohir gripped his old tutor's hands tightly and looked pleadingly into his face. "Please help me! There are so many attractive elves, and with his reputation, he is always the object of others' desire. I want to know everything about how to please him, so that he never grows bored, never wants another! Please, Erestor, will you help me?"
A confusion of expressions crossed Erestor's face for a few moments, but the entreaty in Elrohir's eyes won him over in the end. "Very well, young one, I will help you. But I want it CLEARLY understood that you are to tell no one, NO ONE, where you received your information. Do you understand me?"
Elrohir nodded, wondering at Erestor's never ceasing penchant for melodrama. After all, what were they talking about anyway--a few dusty old scrolls, for Elbereth's sake? Hardly something to get into such a tizzy over. But then, he admonished himself as Erestor led him out of the library, such things probably profoundly shocked his old tutor. He and Ada apparently had a long-standing relationship, but without doubt Erestor's part in it was fairly mild. Ada must get elves like that Haldir when he wanted anything too shocking. It was good of Erestor, Elrohir thought, to agree to help him even though the subject obviously upset him.
They reached Erestor's rooms and ducked inside, although Elrohir saw no reason for secrecy; everyone else was, after all, at the dancing exhibition. Erestor nonetheless carefully shut the door behind him and crossed the huge suite of rooms without a backward glance at his pupil. Elrohir followed him through several interconnecting rooms, to finally stop before a heavy wooden door that sported a rather large lock. How odd, Elrohir thought, as Erestor took a key from the bunch at his waist and unlocked it; most of the doors at Imladris had no locks, and it seemed especially strange that one situated within a set of rooms would have been fitted with one.
The mystery was solved a few moments later, as the heavy old door soundlessly swung inward on well-oiled hinges. Elrohir gazed about in openmouthed astonishment at the huge number of shelves, baskets and wall hooks, all of which were fitted with implements, the use of most of which he could not even imagine. "So," Erestor asked, turning to regard him with a wicked glint in his dark eyes, "what exactly do you want to know?"
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