Chapter 1: Sauron/Celebrimbor | Sensory deprivation
Annatar should be smarter than getting himself into situations like this.
This was the master bedroom of the fortress, the Lord of Eregion had claimed. The place Annatar had blinded, swayed, seduced, and finally wed the last Fëanorian walking these shores in, thereby binding him to this fair shape forever as he would one day bind his whole kin and all of Middle-earth.
Right now, it was Annatar, being overthrown and bound though, and that was turning from mildly infuriating into annoying and maybe even slightly unsettling more by the minute.
Perhaps, Annatar mused, struggling against the metal shackles around his wrists and ankles, he was teaching Celebrimbor too well in the art of melting magic into forging. No matter how often he used the superior strength of his current physical shape to pull and rip the offending material keeping him tied to the bed apart, it always melted back together faster than he could try to slip out of it, an ever-present sizzle of dissolving and reshaping that disturbed his focus too much to come up with a spell of his own to break it.
Not that he could have muttered one right now, with his mouth pried wide open by a large gap, the spidery legs of which were digging harshly into his cheeks and jaw - Celebrimbor’s latest invention for pleasure times. Celebrimbor liked to try out his new toys on his husband first, and Annatar was hardly in a position to protest right now.
At least not vocally - he was making very sure to let his lover know via their marriage bond what he thought about this degrading position and the triumphant, hungry smile on Celebrimbor’s plushy lips as his husband watched him from the corner, stroking his half-hard cock through the leather of his pants.
Unfortunately, Celebrimbor was also very skilled at ignoring things he didn’t want to hear. Mostly, admittedly, to Annatar’s advantage and sometimes to his deep pleasure - he had got to enjoy this necessary form of relationship and physical attachment a lot more than in truth he should have; since he’d lost his actual Lord and Master, he’d come to miss losing himself in the more mundane joys that having a bodily shape could bring, and Celebrimbor was fine enough a lover.
At least when he hadn’t decided to put a ring on Annatar’s rock-hard erection and leave him unsatisfied on the bed for Celebrimbor to watch.
Stop this right now, I demand it, Annatar snarled at his husband in his mind.
He knew he’d just made a stupid mistake when a thick eyebrow wandered up his lover’s high forehead, the grin on his lips turning into something almost predatory. He made another useless attempt of bursting his chains, only for the muscles in his arms to tense and cramp badly enough for him to scream out.
A sound that became a moan thanks to the touch of Celebrimbor’s lips on one of his hardened nipples, the well-known, teasing lick of a long tongue that pushed through one of the large, silver rings his husband had pierced his flesh with a while ago, singing the material close then so it would not come apart save on his command.
Maybe that should have given Annatar the first hint that his elvish husband - known as a gentle, wise ruler, known for being nothing like the lesser sane parts of his family - was in some regards a lot more like him than he could care for.
Annatar keened, discomfort forgotten for a moment when Celebrimbor slowly tugged the ring on his chest tight, raising his head with the shining silver between his teeth which should not be a sight as hot as it was. His eyes, having almost the same color, were never leaving Annatar’s while he pulled his flesh taut, more and more, testing his limits until Annatar tried to chase the cruel-pleasurable touch, only to be stopped short by the restraints keeping him spread-eagle on the soft mattress.
“You don’t look like you’re in a position to make any demands right now, milord,” Celebrimbor murmured against his skin, more amused than condescending.
He stretched out his wicked tongue to lick a long stripe over Annatar’s flushed, sweat-covered skin, nibbling on his collarbone, on his jaw, finally tracing the swollen line of his stretched lips. “You look lovely like this, you know. All ready and waiting for me to use you …” His hand was inside his breeches now, and Annatar thought - hoped - he was about to finally get that nice piece of flesh there out and feed it to him. Then this game would be over very soon. Celebrimbor was usually very inclined to surrender to things Annatar was doing with his mouth.
Which was probably exactly why he didn’t give in to his yearning but straightened up again and leaned over to his bedside table, getting something that was out of Annatar’s sight and too small for him to make out in Celebrimbor’s large hands … At least until calloused fingertips started tracing the pointed shapes of his ears and the world suddenly went silent.
Not completely silent, of course; Celebrimbor was not him, he would not use the proper means necessary to rupture someone’s eardrums even on swordpoint. But the firmly kneaded pieces of wax are enough to shut Annatar out to most sounds, safe for his own, too quick, too heavy breathing, and the sound of his embarrassingly fast-beating heart.
It was ridiculous, he told himself, if he’d wanted to and really concentrated on his abilities, he would be out of this humiliating situation in just a few seconds. But Celebrimbor wouldn’t like that, and he needed to keep Celebrimbor happy until he had what he wanted from him.
So he endured and waited and cursed his husband in his mind, his cock still rock-hard for some reason he couldn’t fathom. A degrading proof of how much this weakish, lesser form of his really enjoyed the attention, arching up when a warm hand started to touch his erection, just a few languid, light strokes that frustrated Annatar more than anything.
Before long, those long, thick fingers wandered deeper, a shudder of heat and approval rippling through their marriage bond when Celebrimbor found him loose and oiled. Annatar knew what his lover liked in the rare nights when they had time for this, and he had always been quite efficient.
Now he wondered if that foresight had been a mistake, because Celebrimbor had one of his countless toys in his hand from somewhere already before Annatar had done more than ride three of those naughtily skilled fingers, needy groans on his lips that he could only feel not hear.
Thick metal was stretching him open just as uncompromising as his mouth had been earlier, and for a moment, he thought, he would come from that alone, after far too many minutes of teasing. But Celebrimbor wouldn’t let him, of course, Celebrimbor grabbed him too tight in the perfect spot, and Annatar ended up dry-humping him instead, sobbing and pleading in his husband’s mind, screaming for more and less at the same time.
I really like you like this, Celebrimbor whispered in his head, turned on, sure, but there was also something else in his voice, something Annatar wasn’t quite sure he wanted or liked, and he couldn’t help but wonder for a moment if maybe he’d challenged his luck a little, trying to corrupt someone so pure for his needs. All your holes spread open and waiting for me to fuck them … I could get used to this.
Annatar groaned a protest, his untouched cock bopping and jerking from his need for release, his wrists and ankles raw and bleeding from his ceaseless, useless attempts to free himself.
And then his body suddenly went stock-still, because Celebrimbor had obviously decided, he hadn’t humiliated him enough yet and spread a thick black cloth over his face, tying it behind his head, braiding it into Annatar’s hair so he couldn’t just shake it off.
He wasn’t pleading anymore. He wasn’t sure he was breathing. There was nothing all of a sudden, no desire, no heat throbbing in his loins, no yearning for his height, no anger, not even the dangerous, lenient kind of affection he felt for that elf who, in the end, was nothing more but another of his very talented but expendable toys, much like a beloved pet.
That pet had learned a few really nasty tricks though in the last few years.
Annatar could handle being used and fucked and even bound for a little while if it pleased his husband enough for Celebrimbor to tell him another secret after another mind-blowing orgasm. Enough for this naive, trustful fool to give himself to Annatar even another bit more. He could also deal with only communicating in his mind if he had to.
Darkness, he couldn’t deal with. Darkness was too much like the void that he had lost his Lord to. He wasn’t afraid of what he might see there, who might be waiting there for him. The void was empty, at least the parts that Annatar could reach. When he was in the dark, shut away from the world, then the only person around was the worst beast of them all. His own wretched, tormented, lost soul.
There was none of this he could have told his husband without opening up the last, firmly locked part of his thoughts to him though, thereby revealing himself as the doom that had long ensnared Celebrimbor before it was time. So he lay still with his eyes wide open, unflinching, stiff, as his husband’s hand rubbed over his sore arms and chest and legs, trying to smooth out the echoes of fear and reluctance throbbing like a heart encased in ice for safe-keeping in their bond.
Then wet warmth suddenly closed around the white-dripping head of Annatar’s cock, and the world fell back into place with a hoarse scream of lust on his lips. He sobbed and bucked and started wriggling in his bonds again, but that awful second of being lost and in danger to reveal all of him before he was allowed to, was over, and he hated himself for how thankful he was for it.
As he spilled down his lover’s throat, screaming his name in unintelligible syllables, he wondered if maybe in truth it wasn’t him, being in way too deep.
Chapter 2: Arwen/Original Female Elf Character | Ritual
“So, you really have no idea why your father never wanted you in Imladris for Mid-summer rituals before.” There was a mirthful glistening in Arwen’s eyes Tarisilya couldn’t quite read.
“He still doesn’t,” Tarisilya admitted, glad that the darkness prevailing in the bathing houses at this hour, only broken by a couple of candles on the edge of their tub, hid her blush.
It was ridiculous. Almost five hundred years on her back, and it was still a challenge, escaping her father’s over-protectiveness and the watchful eyes of what felt like half the population of Lórien at least for a few weeks every other summer. Sometimes that meant, getting creative.
“He thought, we’d only be arriving here in a few days when everything was over. We cut our last rest short. Tegiend insisted.”
Apparently, her twin brother knew something about what was supposed to be so special, spending this one day a year in this valley that had, in truth, always felt quite expendable and boring to Tarisilya, at least in her home realm. Just another feast with far too many boring conversations about an alleged upcoming war that she, at least, had rarely sensed anything about yet, and with too many suitors trying to get her attention.
For some reason, her explanation only had Arwen grin wider, a gesture she was hiding more or less skillfully behind her half-filled wine cup. “Well, Haldir also happens to be in town, so I’m not surprised. Don’t expect your brother to show up in your guesthouse tonight, is all I’m saying.”
There was no mistaking that lewd smile or innuendo, but imagining such an absurd scenario alone had Tarisilya snort, throwing her head back as she stretched in the pleasantly hot water. It was rare that they had this place to themselves, but apparently, tonight, every second elf in this valley seemed to be busy celebrating, judging by the loud music, the laughter midtown they could hear even from here.
If she was listening closer than she cared for, she was also pretty sure she could hear quite unambiguous sounds of two she-elves being busy with each other in the bathtub next door.
Apparently, the first really hot night of summer encouraged married couples in Imladris to drop certain inhibitions of decency and tradition.
Well, Tarisilya was pretty sure, she would rather find her brother kissing an orc than being part of that. “I doubt it. They aren’t wed, you know, they’re not even courting. They’re both only interested in their work, even though everyone can see from miles away they’re crazy for each other.”
“That’s the good thing about this night. It doesn’t require any bonds or oaths for a little bit of physical pleasure for anyone.” Arwen watched, amused, as Tarisilya almost dropped her own cup, a few rivulets of the content spilling on her chin, running down her throat and mixing into the lavender-scented foam on the surface.
“Careful. That’s an expensive one.” Suddenly, her friend was right in front of her, her bare, slender body far too close to Tarisilya’s while Arwen wiped the traces of red from between her collarbones and her throat with a soft washing cloth. To clean her chin, she used her sinful, broad lips and the tip of her tongue instead, and Tarisilya feared she might pass out and drown in a second.
“I’ve missed you. It’s been too many years,” Arwen murmured against her lips, and then they were kissing as they had at the beginning of this century, both curious about what this felt like, both knowing they would never be anything but close friends … but ready to cross one or the other line from time to time when no one was around. Just …. to learn. To be ready, someday, when they would be with someone they should be keeping themselves pure for …
The heat suddenly pooling in Tarisilya’s groin made her wonder if there weren’t another few of these invisible social boundaries they could bend without falling into each other too deeply, without any kind of bond connecting them that apparently, people in this valley knew how to avoid well when the mood struck.
Instead of protesting, she was kissing her best friend back before she’d finished the thought, the glass long forgotten on the tub edge behind her. Burying both her hands in Arwen’s raven, wavy hair, she started to re-familiarize herself with that exciting feeling of a tender, curious tongue exploring her mouth, and shyly, carefully crossed her legs behind Arwen’s back to pull her closer.
“Just playing around, right?” She only needed another second to go sure when they finally pulled back, both breathing faster, Arwen’s flawless bright skin flushed from more than the bath, a redness reaching deep below where the whitish surface was hiding her curves, and suddenly Tarisilya really wanted to touch that soft flesh.
It was impolite not to give in to the traditions of your host, right?
But Arwen knew … Arwen knew this was all there could ever be between them, for reasons, and sometimes, Tarisilya needed to hear it from her.
Her friend rolled her eyes at her a little, playful fingertips wandering from Tarisilya’s waist up higher, long, strong nails scratching her skin before a first curious touch of knuckles closed around one of her pebbled nipples and she moaned out, her head falling back against the tub edge.
Arwen caught her by her neck before she could hit her head too hard by accident and lowered her lips to Tarisilya’s neck, gently nibbling and sucking until the heat collecting between her legs had her arch against her friend’s body, searching for badly-needed friction.
“You’re the one and only person I like to play around with, moon-child, and I’m not sure that’s ever going to change,” Arwen softly whispered into her ear, her hand reaching lower, swift fingertips finding wetness that no longer came from the water around them.
“But don’t worry, I haven’t forgotten you’re still waiting for someone who’s too busy holding his father’s hand to send a letter once in a while. I’m just making sure when he actually remembers you exist someday, you’ll be confident enough to show him the door when he deserves it.”
Her fingertips found just the right place that had Tarisilya writhe and thrust her hips against her hand. A tender pair of lips traced the curves of her bosom and found the hardened, darkened skin right above the water surface, biting down just hard enough to make Tarisilya cry out in lust. “You’re beautiful, you’re strong, you’re unbelievably talented. Just look at you. You know what you want and what you need and you’re never afraid. I wish you could finally see all that yourself. Because then you can finally start fighting for what you deserve.”
Tarisilya still wasn’t convinced, it didn’t border on blasphemy being called pretty or any other of these things when you were in the same room as the literal physical reincarnation of Lúthien Tinúviel, but somehow, she forgot to object because those long, slender fingers were inside her now, and this was nothing like the clumsy things she’d tried out on her own, reaching maturity. The delicious clench of muscles inside added to the heat throbbing in her veins and made her dizzy enough to close her eyes, surrender to that touch of someone she could trust, someone never pushing her further than she could take it.
Summer holidays in Imladris still were the very best thing to happen to her in these long centuries of her youth, she decided.
Chapter 3: Sauron/Celebrimbor| Tentacles
When Annatar was displeased, that never boded well for anyone in these realms and often meant fire raining down on all life, and blood in the streets. That was a lot to clean up, but it was at least predictable and usually quick to solve.
When Annatar was displeased with him, Celebrimbor was devastated.
He didn’t know what he was doing wrong, and it drove him up the wall. He always forged everything his husband - his master - was asking him to. He served him with his body, his soul, and skills whenever he was being called upon, no matter where and how and how many were watching.
His master liked to show him off, and Celebrimbor had found, after the first natural reluctance, that maybe he liked being shown off. His husband was his; all of Annatar’s attention and lust and possessiveness, pain- and shameful as they might be sometimes, were his and his alone. Celebrimbor didn’t mind people knowing that even if that meant kneeling naked by his lover’s throne for days on end, covered in his master’s seed and blood from his whip and his loose hole filled with massive toys the sharp spikes of which often made him sob and beg.
But there was never a moment when he wasn’t longing for his husband and he would have come all over himself more than once a day untouched, had he been allowed to. His lust, like his body and his soul and his land and people, belonged to the Dark Lord. Celebrimbor had seen the world fall apart in Annatar’s mind, he had seen all life end, had seen that Annatar was the only one who could keep Middle-earth together and at peace and in order. It was Celebrimbor’s obedience and devotion that kept his people alive, so he didn’t question and never said no. When he said no, people died. Celebrimbor didn’t want any more people to die.
His failure was always bought with blood, so he didn’t fail.
And when he did anyway, he became better so the next blood staining the pitch-black walls of the throne room or a dungeon wasn’t an elf’s.
Not knowing what was wrong, how he could improve was so much worse than being punished for it.
And something was definitely off. His master hadn’t been using him for days, and Celebrimbor was beginning to feel empty. He had become accustomed to feeling his husband’s cock at least twice a day. Being alone in his forge was almost worse than serving his lover as his cocksleeve in public. It gave Celebrimbor nothing to do. It gave him time to think. That wasn’t good. He was Annatar’s hands and his problem-solver and that was as good a calling in a world doomed to die as they came. Celebrimbor wasn’t made to sit around idly.
He didn’t complain, of course. He knew better than to do that.
Unfortunately, even after all these decades, he sometimes still forgot, his lover didn’t need him to talk to know all about his thoughts.
He came to Celebrimbor when Celebrimbor had just decided to rearrange his tools in the spacious forge that Annatar had gifted him with when they had moved here, for the third time. Moving soundlessly as his master had perfected it in this preferred shape of his and shielding his thoughts from Celebrimbor’s mind as he so often did, Celebrimbor didn’t notice him before his lover was standing right behind him where he was bent over the shelf with pliers.
He knew that it was probably pointless, straightening up and tried it anyway, only to find that his master had already taken control of the metal collar that his songs had melted with the skin of Celebrimbor’s neck after he’d revealed himself to Celebrimbor back then, giving him the choice to die with all of his kin or serve the only master he would have from now on.
It had been an easy choice, back then, but on days like these, Celebrimbor sometimes wondered if his family had not maybe had the right idea, always steering away as far away from the alleged easier path as possible.
With the piece of his soul that he put into so many of his possessions, Annatar kept him bent over, the razor-sharp tip of a boot kicking Celebrimbor’s legs apart almost painfully wide, the just as sharpened fingertip of a metal glove cutting his clothes off of him with no concern for the gashes and scratches it left on his back, his arms, his loins.
Celebrimbor dully watched his blood drip down on the grey tiles of his workplace and wondered how big that pool would be at the end of this night; not that it mattered. It never mattered, because soon, his lover would take him again, take his soul out of his body and soothe all his anguish with the sweet nothingness of desire and unquestioning devotion …
The warm, almost loving touch of the hands he’d come to worship never came though. Instead, that unforgiving hardness of an armored finger slowly started to circle his tight, dry hole, and it slowly started to dawn on Celebrimbor, he might be in even more trouble than he knew.
I should fuck you like this, whore, his master growled in his mind. Have I not told you to keep yourself prepared for me at all times?
Celebrimbor wanted to protest, wanted to point out that his master hadn’t touched him in days, that he couldn’t have known he would show up, but his lips were sealed both by caution and two more metal-clad fingers rawing his lips before thrusting between them, scratching his tongue until he tasted copper.
Oh, Tyelpe, Annatar cooed in his mind again, unwilling to grace him with the gift of his beautiful, melodic voice, relishing in Celebrimbor’s disgusted shudder at a name he did no longer want to wear. Have I not taught you better than thinking? Your only use is serving me whenever I feel like it. I should fuck this lesson into your useless body once more but I have grown tired of scraping myself raw on your insides. Maybe we should get rid of that useless hole of yours for good since you are unable to keep yourself loose and slick for me.
Celebrimbor whined and tried to shake his head that was feeling dizzy from being forced low. But the collar had grown thicker, its matter manipulated by an expert hand, and was restricting his movements and robbing him of too much air to speak. He didn’t think his master would really do this - for that, he enjoyed it far too much, balancing Celebrimbor’s on his balls like a ragdoll when his servants and minions came to see him, to let everyone know what that the former royal family of the Noldor had been reduced to. But the threat was enough to make his empty stomach sink and his eyes water.
What was he, if he could no longer be of any use for his husband? Where would he go if his place was no longer in this fortress?
Please, master, I will do better, take me, please, I’ll be so good for you, please …
He was babbling mindlessly in his head with no way of knowing if his lover even listened to what he was saying in their bond and screamed out when Annatar slapped his behind with all the strength in this mighty shape, leaving a bloody handprint on both cheeks.
Will you now? Unexpectedly, the same iron-covered hand gave his caged cock a few almost bored strokes until Celebrimbor whined and the thin bars dug cruelly into his hardening, oversensitive flesh. Let’s see if we can make you into a useful fucktoy again then, shall we?
The hand withdrew, leaving Celebrimbor panting and yearning, the heat of arousal finally setting in, chasing away the acrid tar of hate and hopelessness choking his soul. He didn’t expect gentleness - he hadn’t ever expected gentleness from his lover. Not even in the beginning when their love had burned higher than all the fires in the forge and Celebrimbor had enjoyed every second of pleasure-pain in those hours that had made him forget where he had come from and what he was supposed to be.
But usually, his master at least enjoyed preparing him a great deal. Feeling Celebrimbor’s overstretched muscles twitch around him, seeing his legs shake as Celebrimbror tried his best to stay on his feet for his lover …
He had a hard time, not making even the smallest noise at the back of his throat when there was metal pressing against his unprepared hole instead, thin enough and slick from whatever often irritating substance Annatar might have grabbed from the next best corner this time. Lifeless. Almost freezing his tense flesh as it breached him.
Expecting one of the many toys his husband liked to use on him, he hissed in surprise and confusion when he felt the intruder moving, worming around inside him almost like it was alive, driven and manipulated by his lover’s mind similar to his collar. It had him moan and gasp as it made its way deeper until it rubbed over his prostate, again and again, until his trapped cock was leaking white all over the ground, swimming on top of the blood from his cuts with a faint, salty shine.
Celebrimbor didn’t beg, he was pretty sure, not even silently, but he screamed, when the toy unexpectedly slipped deeper, so much deeper, deeper than it should be even possible and allowed. Not much unlike that one time Annatar had stretched him open far enough to ride half of his forearm until Celebrimbor had been sobbing and coming over himself …
None of that would happen tonight, and not only because Celebrimbor couldn’t even remember when his master had last let him out of that cage. The metal snake just kept on exploring his tight channel - not a snake, no. A living appendix of his Lord, a tentacle covered in slick that coated his insides and left them itching and oversensitive. It was reaching beyond the point where he could feel it now but he could see it, Valar, he could see it crawl under his skin thanks to his body almost being thinned down to the bone. It vibrated softly against his most sensitive point as it thrust forward, making him leak more and more until he had no more cum in his oversensitive, swollen balls left and was only quietly sobbing away, longing for an orgasm kept so cruelly at bay. He saw himself swell up, filled up and stretched by something that did not belong inside of him until he almost looked as if he was expecting, his insides cramping painfully.
Still, there was not a single sound from his lips. Only a gag when he could feel the tentacle push cruelly against his stomach, trying to empty it of something that wasn’t even inside. There was nothing he could throw up and he knew better than not to swallow it down anyway.
He sobbed almost in relief when he could feel the pressure lessen, at last, could feel the intruder pull away from him as slowly as it had impaled him.
Only he didn’t feel any less full, and it took him a while to understand, he was being filled up even as he was emptied. The scar- and bruise-covered skin of his stomach was stretched under new weight, fluid sloshing inside of him and running down the back of his legs when the tentacle finally retreated, only to be replaced by his lover’s cock.
Celebrimbor wasn’t stretched enough, not by a long shot, and yet he thrust his hips back against his Lord’s in relief, groaning and moaning with his Lord’s approval again, now that he had proven himself worthy of his touch, of his passion.
In the end, when even Annatar’s iron composure crumbled the slightest bit and he lost his invisible grip on Celebrimbor’s collar, he even dared to straighten up a little for better purchase, bracing both hands against the shelf to ride the thick piece of flesh spearing him open. The slick dripping from his hole was wetting his skin and his lover’s armor, and he knew he would be leaking it for weeks to come, plugged up and ready anytime for his Lord like he wanted him to be, sitting on his heel for each of his orders and desires.
It wasn’t the life Celebrimbor had imagined for himself when coming to Middle-earth, but he supposed, everything on this world had its purpose and its fate. And if this was his part in the doom that had befallen his family, well … At least he was the only one who had survived it.
Chapter 4: Elrond/Celebrían | Ritual
“What are you doing here?” Elrond stopped in the door, dumbstruck, watching with wide eyes as his visitor got up from the bed on his guest talan, the light satin cover dropping to the floor to reveal their completely nude shape.
“Is that a way to greet your wife?” Celebrían’s thin brow shot up, a slight pout on her thin lips that were the perfect resemblance of her mother’s disappointed expression, one that Elrond had had to see far too often this afternoon.
He really didn’t want to be thinking about his mother-in-law when he was in the same room as his naked wife - who actually shouldn’t even be in the same city right now but traveling the woods of her homeland while he was doing the boring political duties.
He especially didn’t want to be reminded of his mother-in-law’s displeased frown when the said room had only three walls and a thin leaf canopy for a fourth, with holes instead of windows, and when it was being located far too close to the talan of the Lord and Lady of Lórien for his taste.
He had to fight the urge to take his cloak off and wrap it around his wife immediately to shield her from keen eyes in the surrounding treetops. There were always marchwardens around somewhere in Caras Galadhon. But stars, she wasn’t just naked; her cheeks and her chest were flushed, her small, bright nipples hardened, and there was the faint smell of her lust in the air and … Just imagining what she had been doing before he’d come here was enough to make him hard for her within seconds.
Admittedly, he’d been a little more eloquent in the meeting earlier, though not by a lot.
Celebrían’s grin only widened. “Our day of the week, remember?”
Right. Their day.
They always tried to find at least one night for themselves between leading their valley and keeping it safe, between being welcoming to everyone who still wanted to dwell on this world in spite of a new war being on the horizon, and being kind to those who were leaving and needed rest. Sometimes, they forgot that they, occasionally, needed rest, too.
So they took their time for that when they could. Celebrían was always wearing something especially nice for him on such nights - wearing nothing definitely counted in his book -, and he always made sure he got out of whatever needed to be done that day early. Which meant, he had failed his part of the deal already. He also always cooked something nice for her on such evenings. Failure number two.
With a deep sigh, he pulled her in his arms and buried his face in her hip-length silver curls, trying to let the tension of the day melt away from him. “I’m a terrible husband. Can you forgive me once more?”
“Always at least one time more than you deserve it, remember, milord?” she jested in return, nimble hands very busy with the laces of his cloak and then the buttons of his tunic already.
“Besides, while you were keeping nana and ada happy, I took care of the dinner part of the deal for you.” She nodded down on the nightstand where there was a plate with bushberries and a bowl with some sweet, fluffy cream waiting.
“Straying from tradition, my love? A Noldo cooking for her husband, really? What would your mother have to say to that?” Shaking off the annoying layers of clothes from his upper body and toeing off his boots, his eyes slowly raking up and down her pale, beautiful silhouette, he was drinking in her sight, possible watchers suddenly as far from his mind as could be. Indeed, there was a shining layer of slick glistening on the insides of her thighs, and he really felt like licking it away.
“You want to talk about my mother when I’m about to fuck you senseless, really?” Repeating his thoughts from earlier with a grin, she caught his lower lip between her teeth before he could grumble and then slipped her tongue inside his mouth. She tasted like berry and desire, and Valar, he wanted her.
“Besides, I’m only half a Noldo as you might remember. And I might or not have had second thoughts about those …” She sank down on the bed again but stopped him when he wanted to follow her, first with a small push against his chest, then with the pressure of her bare feet trailing up and down the tented front of his breeches while she reached for the plate and the bowl. Putting both down beside her on the mattress, her eyes never leaving his, she slowly opened her legs for him, letting him see her wet swollen folds - a clear invitation.
“Get down on that carpet for me, my love.”
There were orders from some parts of this family that Elrond very happily obeyed.
By the time he scooted towards her on shaking knees, she had one of the berries between her lips, drenched in cream, a few golden drops of it dripping down her chin, her throat. He licked it all away before stealing the fruit from her, the tip of his tongue seeking every smallest rest of cream in her mouth. Her moans vibrated against her lips because his yearning hands had found her pebbled, tender nipples and he reveled in the sound, heat throbbing in his veins, under his skin, flowing towards his groin where he was lusting for her so badly already.
She moved away from him then, and he pouted but only for a moment, because between her fingers, she had the next berry, and leaning back on her elbows, before his hungry eyes, she started painting thin, golden lines across her bosom and down her belly with it, finally slipping it between her pink, swollen folds. “Hungry, my love?”
Some things, Elrond didn’t need to be told twice.
Chapter 5: Maedhros/Fingon | Spanking
“You’re going to be really good for me tonight, right?” Maitimo purred, and what was Findekáno supposed to say to that?
It was hard, objecting when you were bound to the bedpost by all four limbs, naked and desperate for your husband after almost half a year of waiting, and the only touch you got was the threatening caress of a wooden riding crop touching your bare behind.
Well-deserved, probably, given the first thing Maitimo had been forced to do at his husband’s very first visit to Maitimo’s new land and the fortress was saving him from a bunch of orcs trailing behind him, but …
The tip of the crop was moving away from him and then very gently, almost playfully tapping his right cheek. Findekáno moaned pitifully, grinding his rock-hard cock into the soft covers.
The answer was a first harsh smack to the spot right below his ass cheeks, with enough force to make him cry out and grip the wooden pole tight that his hands were being tied to. The coldness of Himring that not even the thick glass of the windows could keep out completely, started to seep from his bones with the heat throbbing and burning in an angry welt on his skin and the one collecting in his middle.
He almost remembered a second too late that he was supposed to be counting. Stay focused, right. Even when he was yearning for his husband with every fiber of his body. Never being too distracted to take care of himself, so that next time, his husband might not possibly come too late to save him from a whip or an ax far too close to his head.
He thought he could do that, if only it was to please his lover and make up for all those nights he had missed spending in his bed lately.
“One. Thank you. Milord.” It was also a really good chance to practice a dozen ways of making a Thank you sound like Bite me.
“You really shouldn’t add insolence to your list of failures today, my Prince,” Maitimo murmured against his bare, tense shoulder, a fleece of red falling over his back when his husband’s strong teeth closed around the tip of his ear, sucking and nibbling until Findekáno was sobbing his name and the salty scent of his lust was heavy in the air.
“And stop hurting yourself. That’s my job tonight.” A more serious tone in his voice, Maitimo grabbed his arm with his good hand and used his teeth to loosen the dark blue scarf around his wrist just a little before Findekáno could seriously rub himself sore by pulling on his restraints.
“If you call that hurt …” Findekáno couldn’t resist wriggling his naked behind at his lover, flexing his thigh where that small bruised spot had already stopped giving him a hard time.
Maybe not his brightest moment.
The next smack hit that same spot again, not once but twice in a row, hardly leaving him enough air to groan in protest, not to mention count. “Ow?”
Another hit right across his cheeks, hard enough to bruise badly. Well, so much for going on a ride to see the area in the morning.
“You realize they don’t count until you do, right?” Maitimo asked outrageously calmly, threading his fingers through Findekáno’s braids ever so softly, the crop dropped next to him on the mattress for a moment. His stump sneaked under Findekáno’s body, rubbing over his aching length in slow strokes, collecting the beads of white from its head and then thrusting between his cheeks to slick his twitching, waiting hole with them.
“Maybe you need a little motivation to remember …”
“If this is supposed to be punishment, you’re really doing something wrong.” Somehow, he still managed to be cocky, though his breathing was coming in heavy panting from his lips at this point, a sound that turned into needy moans when it was Maitimo’s wicked tongue between his cheeks next, licking at him. Licking into him.
“Are you sure?” A non-too gentle bite hit one of the welts on his sensitive skin, making him cry out and writhe, making him thrust into the mattress frustratedly once more. “You realize you don’t get to come until you learn how to count to ten, right?”
The riding crop was being grabbed again, and Findekáno buried his face into the pillow with a groan. This would be a long night.
Chapter 6: Beleg/Túrin | Sex in public
The woods of Doriath were maybe not the very best place to masturbate, but Túrin was certain, he would die of need right this instant if he didn’t keep touching himself.
It was his own fault, he chided himself even as he was hastily wriggling his way out of his boots and breeches, putting both out of reach on a low-hanging limb nearby, out of habit alone. More than one unpleasant encounter with his foster father’s chief councilor or his equally unpleasant friends had taught Túrin early in life never to let his guard down. Especially when he was feeling unwatched. But his hearing was very good, Beleg always said that; he would know if anyone was nearby …
Still, he should have waited for the night, of course. For being alone in his tiny but at least private room in Beleg’s cottage, ever until he would be sure that the elf who was his companion would be asleep or at least too busy to heed any treacherous noise next door …
But Túrin couldn’t get the image of what he had just accidentally seen off his mind, and he was hard, painfully hard. There was no way he could have walked back to their hut like this.
His friend would know, even worse he would ask, and Beleg always saw through him with these huge, storm-blue eyes of his, somehow, he always knew what Túrin wasn’t saying, and Beleg could never know …
He wouldn’t understand, Túrin told himself as he was sinking down on his knees, his cloak hastily spread on the wooden ground to protect his bare knees, his throbbing, aching cock in the stale, harsh grip of his own hand.
Beleg wouldn’t understand, because he was of the fair folk, and he was immortal and older than the stars and wise, and gifted, and Túrin was …
Túrin had only just outgrown youth and still stumbled over his own feet sometimes when he wasn’t looking where he was going. Mostly because his yearning eyes had once more caught a glimpse of silver-white, hip-length hair in a loose ponytail in the distance, shining golden in the morning sun, or because he lost himself for a second too long in the sight of Beleg’s dancing muscles when the elf was carving another arrow for his quiver.
Or because Túrin happened to walk into his hunting companion changing clothes in the middle of the day, bent over a drawer in his bedroom, with the most perfect ass Túrin had ever seen nude on display for his bulging eyes.
Oh, Eru be damned.
With a frustrated groan, Túrin tugged on his straining erection, his hand rapidly moving up and down, trying to chase these images from his mind, to get rid of this excess energy, because surely, it was nothing more. It was only his youth that made him lusting for someone he could never have. But it wasn’t enough, it was never enough …
His other hand reached further between his legs, his thighs falling open, trembling fingertips circling his hole, and that was better, a little.
He could imagine it to be Beleg’s fingers probing his twitching opening, slowly slipping into him, and it would burn a little, because Túrin hadn’t thought to bring oil, but it would be the best stretch imaginable. And Beleg’s fingers were long and strong, he would find Túrin’s sweet spot in no time. Maybe he would kiss him while Túrin rode his hand, sobbing and moaning as he did now, begging for more …
He remembered that glimpse of a long, thick cock he’d seen just a few minutes ago before slipping back out of the door as silently as possible before Beleg could fully turn around and see him. He’d been mortified, he still was, but he had also never been harder in his life, just from imagining himself worshipping that beautiful cock with his mouth and his hands. He wouldn’t be able to take all of it because Beleg was big, he was huge, and Eru, he hadn’t even been hard yet …
But Beleg would be patient with him, he would teach him how to swallow all of him down until Túrin mastered another skill under his favorite teacher’s kind guidance …
Túrin would reach up and cradle those large balls with his hand, squeezing them like he was squeezing his own now as he approached orgasm but unwilling to let that beautiful fantasy behind his firmly closed eyes end just yet.
Yes, Beleg would show him how to suck his cock properly, and maybe he would allow Túrin to taste him, and Túrin would be happy too, but what he wanted, even more, was that beautiful, curved cock spearing him open. He moaned pitifully and thrust his hips down against his fingers, chasing his height as he was thinking about Beleg in his bed, naked and flushed, waiting for Túrin to kneel over him and impale himself on his cock …
It was too much, all of it, and before he knew, he was coming over himself in hot spurts of white, the elf’s name a lustful groan on his lips.
In a treetop not too far away, it was that very lewd, hoarse sound that made a certain, silver-haired Doriath marchwarden spill into his own breeches like an unbridled youngling while he watched his mannish companion get himself off right out here in the open with no care for who would see.
Out of breath, shaking, Beleg slummed back against the trunk, feebly holding on to a limb above him, trying to get his body and his racing thoughts under control, to no avail. This wasn’t exactly what he’d been expecting to find, following his friend out here to let him know that it was alright, that he’d done nothing wrong, that things didn’t need to be awkward between them just because Túrin was grown now …
Well, it looked like that conversation - once Beleg could come up with enough courage to have it -, would take a very interesting turn.
Chapter 7: Maedhros/Fingon | Vibrator
Findekáno had just been through a year of literal hell, saving his husband’s pretty behind from the very pits of Angband, but Eru help him, he would kill Maitimo himself before this evening was over.
He should already have been suspicious when his husband had insisted on sneaking away to one of the slightly offside located lakes of Eithel Ivrin on this evening of all times when not only both their families were there who had no business knowing anything about their relationship. They were also literally just about to seal their reunification and friendship with other elvish folks in the course of a lavish feast.
But Findekáno could seldom refuse Maitimo any wish, not when his husband was staring at him with this unlimited yearning and tenderness in his narrow, grey eyes.
Plus, the shine of the high bonfire had turned his hair, slowly regrowing its old length after the tortures he’d been through, into a flame of unbridled curls, barely held back by this beautiful golden and diamond-studded circlet …
A few minutes of harmless kisses and enjoying his husband’s nearness after far too many months of being apart, that couldn’t hurt anyone, right?
I will kill you, Findekáno promised his husband via their marriage bond, for what was probably the hundredth time tonight, only to be regarded by an innocent look from those mischievous eyes from the other side of the table.
Then Maitimo turned back to Findekáno’s father again, quietly chuckling at one of Ñolofinwë’s jokes as if he hadn’t just bent his son over the next best bench out of sight earlier, bunched up his robe and eaten him out for five minutes straight.
Findekáno’s hand tightened around his half-full wine glass at the memory while he tried in vain to pay enough attention to whatever Pityafinwë to his left was talking about, to throw in a nod or a buzzword every now and then that made enough sense for the red-haired young elf to just keep talking. As long as someone was talking to him, the others wouldn’t pay attention, he hoped, and wouldn’t notice the faint sheen of sweat on his forehead or how he was shifting his weight on his chair every, again and again, shuddering as the toy inside of him rubbed him in all the right places.
I will kill you, Russo, I swear, someone will notice, they will know …
You’re doing so well for me, my love, Maitimo answered in his head, with so much tenderness and proud admiration that Findekáno could almost forget the madness that his husband had persuaded him to take part in.
No one will know. Just breathe and relax. Think about how good it will feel when we’re alone later when I will take that toy out of your sweet ass and replace it with my cock … And you’ll be all ready and stretched and slick for me … I can fuck you right against that door …
Russo, you’re not helping!
Findekáno had to let go of that damn glass because he would have broken it any second. He reached for a couple of berries instead, with his hands shaking, and forced a rough laugh on his lips, because he was pretty sure, Pityafinwë had just made some kind of joke, and Eru, he hoped the other elf hadn’t just talked about his father’s unpleasant demise instead, but …
The toy was moving.
Findekáno almost choked on the fruit on his tongue and gasped for air, tears in his eyes, almost thankful for a few questioning side-glances he earned, and for Pityafinwë slapping his back a little too tightly because he could pretend, his deeply flushed face came only from being too stupid to eat.
A nice little extra feature, isn’t it?
His husband was casually tapping the table, Findekáno saw with lust-addled eyes, only with the finger that bore a strange, massive silver ring that Findekáno had already been wondering about earlier. Now he knew what it was for.
I asked Atarinkë to help me with it. Don’t worry. He thinks I’m courting some pompous bastard who comes to try and sell us overpriced gems every other week. You look a little flushed there, darling.
I hate you, Findekáno groaned in his husband’s head, not meaning it for even a second.
Russo, stop it, I swear to Eru … How am I supposed to ever get up from that chair again?
It took all the self-restraint he had, not grabbing the edge of the table and moan out helplessly because Maitimo wouldn’t stop. He was circling his finger almost invisibly now, and the thick head of that damn toy inside of Findekáno did the same, stroking his prostate, and he couldn’t remember when he’d last been so hard.
Don’t worry about that, my love, Maitimo said cheerfully in his mind. I’ll make sure you spill all over those fancy robes of yours more than once before dessert is served.
Findekáno had not found enough focus yet to give him an offended answer when his husband tucked his thumb against his palm and slowly started to slip that damn ring back and forth over his middle finger.
Findekáno who’d just picked up his glass again, in the vague hope he could drink himself numb enough to ignore that he was being fucked by his husband in front of everyone’s eyes, promptly spilled wine over the front of his robe, much to the confused and amused glances of the elves sitting around him.
He started to have a vague idea, he would be long dead himself before he would get around to take revenge on his beloved tonight.
Chapter 8: Sauron/Celebrimbor | Sounding
“Come on, Tyelpe, it’s for science.” Annatar looked up at him expectantly, the low-burning fire of the forge mirrored in his strange, almost cat-like eyes. Too-sharp teeth were buried in his sinfully broad lip as he waited for Celebrimbor’s decision, holding out the evil metal device he’d just finished forging in his palm to him, almost as if Celebrimbor truly had a choice; as if there was anything he wouldn’t do, to never see this fire of passion and admiration burning for him in his husband’s eyes go out.
“You would never come in the way of science, right?” Celebrimbor didn’t think there was anyone on this whole damn world who could make a single word sound so very tempting, with so much smoke and rasp in his musical voice as if the very fires of this universe had forged the maia’s flawless body. Celebrimbor still wasn’t convinced that was not exactly how it had happened.
“How is it, you always end up having to do science on me, whenever you come up with something new in here?” he grumbled, just to be a pain, as if he wasn’t long hard for his lover under his apron and breeches, his lips just a little too dry not only from the smoke-filled air.
He wasn’t entirely sure about this, truly, because the place where this silver-shining rod is supposed to go was definitely not meant to take anything up there. But it always drove his husband especially wild when Celebrimbor surrendered his body to him and to whatever Annatar wanted to do with it willingly. Being speared on his lover’s handsome cock at the end of this will definitely be worth it, he thought.
Of course, it was below him, just giving in though, especially since they didn’t even close the door. Someone could come in here anytime, and Celebrimbor had told Annatar a thousand times, the forge was not a safe place for sex.
But somehow, his husband always managed to protect him from sharp edges and flying sparks even in the middle of their most passionate games, and it might or might not have been Celebrimbor himself who had dragged a broad leather cot in here some time ago, for naps, officially, when he was working especially hard on a particular piece …
Well, technically that was not even a lie, only it was Annatar, working him on that bed, most of the time.
“This is not going to hurt, right?” he finally asked because Annatar was still staring at him pleadingly, his pale cheeks flushed, his breathing going just a little too quickly. Also, it had been a few weeks which was definitely too long.
Celebrimbor could deal with a little discomfort and he enjoyed being stretched beyond his limits, sometimes. Sometimes he also enjoyed carrying Annatar’s handprint on his ass for a few hours, or these wicked teeth biting down on the silver rings in his nipples just a little too hard … But real pain, actual injuries were not something he allowed on either of them in bed. There were enough masochists in his family, and Celebrimbor knew how that usually ended.
“Oh please. Would I ever hurt you, Tyelpe?” Annatar purred.
Celebrimbor chose to believe him.
He did make Annatar lock the door this time because he definitely didn’t need any of his people walking in on him while he let his husband put yet another thing into him.
But by the time Annatar came back to him, deliciously naked safe for the orange flame that was his hip-length curls, with his newest toy and a bowl of oil in his hand, Celebrimbor, too, had shed his clothes. He was waiting for his husband on the cot the way he knew Annatar to like it, with his hands folded under his neck and his legs widely spread for his lover, presenting all of his most vulnerable spots to him.
Annatar rewarded him with a few minutes of unexpected tenderness, velvety lips sucking bruises into Celebrimbor’s neck, the insides of his arms, his pecs. A playful tongue twisted and tugged on his piercings until he was shamelessly moaning away, his cock leaking white all over his tense stomach. His husband licked away every single drop and closed his mouth around the head of his rock-hard cock then, the tip of his tongue rubbing against the sensitive slit, leaving no doubt where this was going, still.
At this point, Celebrimbor was too relaxed and turned on for another protest. He watched with clouded eyes as his lover bathed the thin, long rod in the oil and groaned, his hips thrusting up into the strong touch of Annatar’s hand around his length, the careful press of always slightly too-cool fingertips squeezing the head of his cock.
The first slide of coldness entering him was … weird, a foreign sensation that he wasn’t sure he liked. He squirmed a little, gasping, not surprised when his husband sat down heavily on his thighs to keep him in place. Celebrimbor sometimes did need a little persuasion to know what was good for him, admittedly. And when the rod slowly went deeper, stroking his sensitive flesh from the inside, a first moan came from his lips.
“See? I knew you would love it,” Annatar murmured huskily, his own ungodly long cock straining against his bare thigh, leaking the sweetness that was his seed which made Celebrimbor’s mouth water immediately.
Later, maybe, if he was being good … He whimpered, still torn between budding lust and the slight burning inside his cock, his hands clenching around a pillow when the rod went further, almost sliding into him by itself with gravity helping at this point until it was finally stopped by the large, smooth ball at the end.
“How is it?” Annatar asked, watching him writhe and pant with light, almost casual caresses up and down his stuffed length, over his balls, his twitching, empty-feeling opening. It sounded honestly curious, and Celebrimbor wondered if this was one of the things he would end up trying on his husband, in turn, the next chance he got.
“Like being jerked off on the inside.” The slightly crude expression described it best, especially when Annatar slowly pulled the rod back an inch or two and pushed it back inside, and again, finding in a maddening slow rhythm.
His balls were feeling too full, too heavy, too fast, Celebrimbor could already feel the familiar pressure build inside his groin. But with that thing inside of him, there was no coming anytime soon, he suddenly realized, and a dismayed sound came from his lips.
Annatar hushed it by kissing him, deep, licking into his mouth until Celebrimbor relaxed down against the cot again, shaking all over but willing to hold out for his husband at least a little longer.
“Such a good toy,” Annatar sighed against his lips, and Celebrimbor wasn’t sure if he was talking about the rod or about him. “Let’s see how much of it you can take, aye?”
Celebrimbor frowned, about to ask how much more he was supposed to take when the whole length of that thing was already in him. Then he cried out, a choked sound of arousal and surprise on his lips when he felt the toy grow where it was lodged so deeply inside of him. Not in length but in girth, manipulated by his husband’s powerful gift, to expand, to slowly stretch its victim open.
Celebrimbor’s hands scrambled to grab Annatar’s hair, his shoulder, something to hold on to while he moaned and shuddered and sobbed, torn between too much and wanting even more. “Please …”
“Sh, my sweet little toy. You’re doing so well …” Annatar reached down to wrap his hand around Celebrimbor’s oversensitive, too taut length, slowly moving up and down, fucking his cock around the rod spearing it open, and Celebrimbor was coming, his body tried to come although his mind knew better, his balls painfully contracting as the seed they were so eager to spill was blocked, pushed back where it didn’t belong.
“Annatar, please … Need … please …”
Celebrimbor was babbling mindlessly, wriggling in vain under his husband’s far stronger body, with no mind of who might hear and what they mind think. He needed to come so badly, and that awful stretch in his cock was threatening to tear him apart, but at the same time, he never wanted it to stop, because his husband was looking down on him with so much desire and pride as if he was the most beautiful thing in the world.
“Don’t worry, I know exactly what you need.”
Annatar scooted lower again, between his legs, forcing him to pull them close to his body again, to open himself up for his lover’s nimble fingers which had reached for the oil again. This time, they were going deeper, scissoring him open quickly and efficiently, just enough for Celebrimbor to take the head of his lover’s thick cock, for Annatar knew exactly how much Celebrimbor loved it when he speared him open with his length, inch by inch.
Celebrimbor arched up and cried out his lust shamelessly, trying to thrust his hips down against the iron grip around his thighs, his own trembling fingertips pulling harshly on the rings in his nipples. As if he didn’t know better, as if that wouldn’t make it worse, the throbbing and heat in his loins, the clench of his muscles around his lover’s cock, while his own was so cruelly caged from the inside.
“Please, milord, let me come, please …”
Not even the tender nickname he sometimes used for his lover in bed could sway him this time. Annatar took his sweet time, fucking him, watching him sob and beg, watching his cock twitch uselessly against his stomach while his lover’s length was hammering his prostate again and again, causing his sore balls to swell up even more from a height that just wouldn’t happen.
“Tell me who you belong to, my love,” Annatar whispered, his tightening fingertips leaving deep-red bruises on the insides of Celebrimbor’s thighs, every inch of his length buried in Celebrimbor’s tight channel. “Tell me who you want to serve …”
“You, only you, always … Please …”
Just when Celebrimbor thought, he couldn’t take it anymore, his husband’s hand was suddenly back on his reddened cock, and the pressure was finally gone, and then he was coming over his stomach and his chest, so hard that a few drops even landed on his chin and lips, salt filling his mouth as he screamed out his lover’s name to the flames smoldering around them.
It would be morning before he had somehow managed to gather enough strength and composure to leave his forge and get somewhat decent. The markings his husband had left on and inside of him faintly still throbbed faintly, reminding him of the promise he’d given his lover that night once more.
Chapter 9: Túrin | Forced prostitution
All his life in Doriath, Túrin had been told that the only way he would ever earn as much respect and renown as the bold elven warriors he was looking up to in awe, was to serve the Elf-lords who had taken him in so willingly.
So when he came of age, he did not speak in his fear and confusion when his King and foster-father gave him to the care of the one royal counselor Túrin hated the most.
Saeros’ pale eyes were always cold and full of loathing when they turned to Túrin, and he had rarely ever spoken a word to him.
But Thingol told him that if he wanted to be a brave knight, like the marchwardens, then he had to go through all parts of such training and even master the ability to sway and distracting a possible enemy with the deceit of pleasure if need be.
So Túrin let himself be taught, practicing what he needed to know. When he set his mind to something, he was good at it, had always been, and learning how to control and manipulate his body’s reactions turned out to be a useful challenge.
Like all Firstborn, Saeros was fair enough to look at, he supposed, and when he closed his eyes, he could almost imagine, it was a much stronger, taller body moving over his, far more skilled hands touching him, calloused by a lifetime of wielding a bow, and a mouth on his skin that unlike the counselor’s never failed to smile at him whenever they met out there in the woods.
He didn’t like the toys that Saeros used on him to mark him for hours on end after he had spilled his seed in Túrin’s body, because after a while, they hurt, and he could feel people grinning in his back when he walked down the halls of the counselor’s house, his hole aching and his guts sloshing with thick white. But he knew better than to object. This, too, would end.
After a few months, it did. He had done his part, therefore, with great reluctance, he was being allowed to join the Chief Marchwarden’s group and learn how to survive and fight and defend out there in the wilderness.
For a few years, Túrin was happy, and if maybe he stole a glance too much at his captain’s bare form during their morning bath and if maybe sometimes, at night, he thought about how it would feel, trying out all that he had learned with someone he actually cared about, well that was his business and no one else’s.
When he was being called back to Menegroth every now and then to fulfill some dull representative duty at the court - Thingol made very sure to never let people forget about his graciousness and all the efforts and inconveniences he had gone through, turning an uncouth, mannish child into such a fine, well-groomed adult -, he always hated it, but usually, he could get back to where he belonged pretty quickly.
That was until one day, his foster-father showed up on his doorstep before Túrin could slip back out into the woods before the break of dawn. Thingol‘s eyes were clear-cut sapphires in his gaunt face when he let Túrin know that he had a special quest for him that was far more important than wasting his time, trying to be a hero. And that it was time, Túrin started paying his dues.
Túrin begged and pleaded but Thingol would not give him, reminding him that Túrin had promised his family he would be good for them, that he would do what he was being told.
So Túrin gave in and only asked his foster father for the one boon of letting Beleg know where he was and that he would be back with him as soon as possible. Thingol put him off and nodded lightly and then asked him to come along to the tailors, and Túrin relented with a heavy heart.
They put him in clothes that he hated, far too tight and flimsy and adorned with jewels, impractical to run and climb in, not to mention fight. Then, before he knew, they put him in a carriage and brought him to a house where people of royal blood sometimes liked to go when they sought forbidden pleasure outside their partnerships.
Túrin knew this because Saeros had sometimes boasted about being a regular customer there when he thought Túrin had not been listening. Saeros had had a habit of underestimating Túrin’s skills, and sometimes, Túrin had thought, he could easily have killed the ashen-haired bastard in his sleep.
He wondered, dully, as they pushed him through the door and into his room, ignoring his reluctance if that was a skill he would soon need.
His foster father hardly left him with more than a letter, too much of a coward to tell Túrin to his face that he finally wanted to get rid of him. That was of course not the official explanation. Officially, Túrin was supposed to seduce the high-paying and high-ranking customers of this house and listen to what careless words were coming from their lips after they’d had their way with him.
Thingol was looking for Ñoldorin traitors, that letter said, for thrall-lovers and Quenya speakers and threats to his rule. When Túrin would have found a satisfying big number of them, he would have earned his reputation and his valor, and then … Then he would be free and given a high position within the ranks of the marchwardens, the letter said, but Túrin knew a lie when he saw one.
He could have sent his foster father a letter in return, telling him to look no further than in the mirror if he wanted to see an enemy so badly, but even if such a message had ever reached the palace, there would have been no answer.
Túrin could have run, sure; bars in front of his window had never held him for long. But where would he go? They had marked him, in the first night, after he’d drunk himself to sleep and hadn’t been able to defend himself, and everyone who would see his naked arm would know that he was nothing but a slave.
Beleg, he thought, Beleg might not care, he might take him in, and maybe they could run together. But Beleg was the last person Túrin wanted to know what had happened to him.
Firstborn sometimes forgot that time passed a lot faster for men. Túrin thought, maybe Beleg had forgotten about him already or thought him dead, and that was better for both of them.
Túrin had never been worthy of his love and friendship, and now even less so.
Thingol had once told him that many elves loved to lay with men, because they burned hotter and didn’t require any mental shields to save an elf from accidentally bonding a lesser creature, in a casual night of pleasure. At least about this one thing, his father had been right, it turned out.
The Lords and Princes, they loved him, and Túrin had been taught well enough to love them back and to let his body enjoy what they did, to protect it from harm and his soul from damnation, and his efforts were greatly rewarded. Soon, they started to bring him gifts on top of the money they paid to the palace to have him, lavish clothes and rich jewels that he saved, sewing them deep into his mattress, for a time when he might be able to give them to people who needed them more.
They also brought fine food and wine, the good stuff, and Túrin found himself less and less caring about how many he saw a week as long as his day started and ended with enough glasses filled. He let them pierce jewels through his nipples and his cock because it felt nice when they sucked on them, and he served them with his mouth until they screamed his name and begged him for more, for anything, for the heat of his hands groping and slapping and squeezing them and often for his cock to fill them, for he was well-built and these people did not care much for hierarchy in bed.
When they panted under him then, they talked, sometimes, in the forbidden language more than once, and about how people were increasingly unhappy with how the King ruled.
Túrin remembered all their names but he would not give a single one of them to his foster father. Let them stab the bastard from behind if any of these pitiful creatures came up with the courage to; Túrin would not have shed a tear.
But sometimes, it was one of the higher ranking marchwardens who came to see him and that hurt. That reminded him of the only home he’d ever had, short as it might have been.
Sometimes, he wondered if Beleg was still out there, and when he was not drunk enough for it, he wept.
It was one of these nights when miles and miles away, unknown to Túrin’s broken mind, a distraught and ashamed messenger joined the host of his marchwarden unit again, after a trip to the city that had ended with a most unpleasant surprise.
And in the forests of Doriath, far beyond the King’s reach and influence, the wrath of Beleg Cúthalion roared through the darkness.
Chapter 10: Maedhros/Fingon | Mirror sex
“Look,” Findekáno said, no, he ordered, and Maitimo was well-conditioned to follow orders.
He gasped when he opened his eyes because he had been caught up in his pleasure too much to realize, his husband had moved them gradually closer to the edge of the bed, his shorter but equally strong - and, most importantly, complete - arms wrapped tightly around Maitimo’s waist, the rock-hard, twitching cock stretching Maitimo open never slipping from his swollen, slick hole.
Now Maitimo could not only feel but see it; so this was why Findekáno had insisted on Maitimo riding him tonight, with his back to him, though the angle wasn’t the best for either of them. But it gave Maitimo a good chance to see himself cradled against his lover’s chest as his lover was fucking up into him.
He tried to look away, at first, because he’d got used to avoiding his reflection.
But Findekáno stopped moving immediately, his hand closing just a little too tightly around Maitimo’s swollen balls to keep him from moving, to keep that delicious orgasm further at bay that had been tugging on Maitimo ever since Findekáno spent the dinner they’d had with his family, filling his head with all kind of images of what Findekáno planned to do to him tonight.
Having to look at his disfigured shape while his husband was taking him had not been part of that deal.
But Maitimo was burning for his lover, and Findekáno was the most stubborn elf under the son, so he forced himself to open his eyes again, reaching back to bury his hands in Findekáno’s gold-threaded braids; for purchase, when his husband thrust up his powerful hips against him again. Or maybe to keep himself from reaching out and ripping that damn mirror from the wall.
“Look at you,” Findekáno huskily murmured in his ear. “Look at us.”
His hands started to wander, letting go off Maitimo’s oversensitive cock, his too-full balls, to slowly caress up his stomach and his chest, tweak his nipples in a strong grip until Maitimo whimpered and tightened up enough around the cock spearing him open to make it twitch and jerk inside of him. Findekáno’s dark, flawless skin was everything that the scar-covered ruin covering Maitimo’s flesh was not. His dark eyes were not broken as they sought Maitimo’s gaze in their reflection, admiring him, lusting for him. There was no split in the lips that were sucking down on Maitimo’s neck that will never heal.
Yet his husband was sitting here right behind him, joined with him in the most intimate way as their love and care and passion for each other sizzled through their souls and their marriage bond. He wanted Maitimo, so badly, no matter what his body looked like and what they had done to him and how many times Maitimo would wake him from his sleep, screaming in his nightmares.
Look at us, Findekáno whispered in his head, good and warm and right, nothing like the voice that had tortured Maitimo for three decades, the maia’s body taking all kinds of shapes for him, including his husband’s, to torture him.
But this, right here, this feeling of unbridled and unquestioning adoration, was something the enemy could never have reproduced.
Findekáno had gone to the literal hell of this world for him to save him and their marriage and their souls. A few scars and bones damaged beyond repair wouldn’t change that.
Maitimo turned his head to kiss his husband, tears streaming down his cheeks as he moaned his orgasm against Findekáno’s lips, finally, and could feel his husband spend himself inside of him, too.
When he slumped back into his lover’s arms, completely bonelessly, he thought, chances were pretty good there wouldn’t be any dreams tonight, at least.
Chapter 11: Idril/Tuor | Aftercare
It had been Tuor‘s idea, funnily enough, not Idril‘s, and in the beginning, she had not been sure.
Experimenting a little in their marital bed, of course, wasn’t new to them. They both enjoyed a certain friendly exchange of power and devotion, of too intense and too exhausting sensations, including the occasional twinge of pain, from time to time. Not too often and nothing too extreme - they were only in their first years of marriage and had a thousand things to try and do and then to do all over again left. Idril doubted, either of them would get bored anytime soon, especially since they had their child, and nights, when they were undisturbed, were rare.
This was one of these nights because their son had taken a great liking to his grandfather and the palace, especially the beautiful fountains there, and often spent the night there when he was too tired even for a brief horse ride after swimming and diving all day.
Sadly, Tuor had come home late from training his soldiers, and Idril had spent equally long hours hidden away in the still highly secret project that she was working on. Which meant, they’d almost fallen asleep, taking a bath in the underground hot spring of their house, to both their embarrassment.
But upon entering their sleeping chambers, hair and bodies still dripping wet, skin flushed and sensitive, seeing her husband’s shoulder-length, dark blonde hair a heavy mass sticking to his strong neck … That was when the mood had struck again quickly enough.
He’d had her twice then, and she had still been longing for him, and the hour had been early enough. But his body - though in many regards almost as strong and resilient as a Firstborn’s - was still mannish and limited; at some point, he’d simply needed a break.
And that was when her husband had come up with the idea of involving a very special toy, after taking some refreshments from the fruit plate on Idril’s nightstand.
Idril carefully pulled a light cover Tuor’s bare, sweat-covered body, very careful not to wake him from a beginning slumber. She nestled close to him, wrapping her leg around his, only loosely, to not come too close to the firm, round curve of his behind. He was still very sore, his skin reddened, and the healing lotion she’d tenderly rubbed into his stretched opening hadn’t helped a lot yet. Sometimes, she wished, her healing skills were better.
But her husband also looked decidedly fucked out since she’d sucked the third height out of him, a blissful smile playing on his lips, and maybe, she thought, this wasn’t so bad.
Her concerns had been regarding his soul more than his body anyway; that evil little piece of a certain sour fruit she had used, carved into a very unambiguous shape, to stretch him and then keep him spread and open, had an evil bite. It was often used by people who didn’t care or didn’t know better, to tame and groom some animals. Reminding Tuor of what had easily been the worst time of his life wasn’t exactly something Idril thought wise in bed.
Yet he had been the one to insist, knowing how much she enjoyed it, seeing him writhe and plead and desperate for her for any reason at all, so she had given in. Indeed, that continuous, slight burn and itch in some of his most sensitive places had apparently only turned him on even more. It had been a sight to behold in the mirror opposite their bed, having him bent deeply over her body as he’d proceeded to eat her out for what had felt like hours, while the sensations on and in his well-filled, twitching hole had left him unable to hold his broad hips still for even a single second.
Idril couldn’t resist pulling the blanket aside a little to check on him once again. With relief, she saw that his skin was starting to take a more healthy color. When she pressed a tender kiss to one cheek, she smelled and tasted ginger and felt him shudder. Not that asleep then.
“You’re a menace,” Tuor murmured drowsily, straining his head to look at her until she lay down by his side again, pressing herself as close to him as possible. Going again was out of the question for a while at last, but he looked very content just burying his face against her breasts that sported more than one bruise from his teeth and breathing against her, breathing her.
“Where did you even get this?” With just the hint of a grimace, he nodded at the remnants of the root on the night table. “I’ve last seen one of these in Mithrim.”
“I really don’t want to discuss my father’s trade relations in our bed, mîl,” Idril chuckled. She pressed her lips to his, tasting a little copper from where he’d used his teeth on himself a little too hard as well.
Now he’d brought it up himself, the early years before everything in his life had gone downhill, but to her relief, his back still felt relaxed under her slowly caressing hand, under her fingertips that were cautiously circling his scars, never touching the skin where it was rough and numb. Wounds of a whip, reopened, again and again, made deeper and uglier with all kinds of irritating substances, whenever the young man had not worked efficiently or fast enough for his slaveholders’ taste. More than once, probably, by irritating substances and fluids not unlike the one they’d used earlier. Some wounds, not even time could heal.
Others would maybe never quite vanish, either, but they could be covered up a lot easier. At times, maybe, by a far better memory to replace the terrible ones.
“I love you,” Idril murmured against the slightly trembling hand caressing her cheek. “So. Much.” She punctuated her words with small kisses to his palm and a little nibble in the end that actually had her husband hiss with something between exhaustion and excitement, though he could barely keep his eyes open. “Not a chance, my love. You still need to be able to get out of bed tomorrow, or ada will not let me hear the end of it.”
She pulled the cover over them both, though her body seldom used to froze, just to be close to him, and carded her fingertips gently through his messy hair until he was breathing deeply and evenly beside her and wouldn’t see the faint glistening of joy in the corners of her eyes.
She couldn’t and had never expected perfect from her marriage, because their time together had been finite from the start, but what happiness they could get together in this time of war and loss, they would steal without regrets and never look back. That, this night had made her remember once more.
Sharing your life with a Secondborn was far too precious for anything else.
Chapter 12: Maedhros/Fingon | Cum inflation
“Look at you, Finno.” Maitimo sounded in total awe when he rubbed Findekáno’s swollen lower belly. For that aroused glistening in his lover’s silver eyes and that proud tone in his broken, rough voice, Findekáno would have taken upon a lot more than spending three days in a row with a huge artificial phallus up his backside.
Spending three days without being allowed to come though, after they had not seen each other for almost a year, was a whole different story.
“Russo,” he whined, too exhausted to wriggle much in the soft ropes around his wrists and ankles but far too turned on to hold still. He didn’t want Maitimo’s hand on his belly, he wanted it lower, preferably busy with the lock of that cruel device that his husband had caged his cock in right after his arrival, claiming it was about high time Findekáno learned some self-control.
Maybe rightly so, given that he’d almost jumped Maitimo in his own throne room, tempted to feed him his cock right there in front of everyone while his husband had been kneeling before him, these sinfully tight riding breeches hugging his strong, endlessly long legs …
In the end, that had been too many naughty images in their wedding bond, and they’d both left the room with their tunics awkwardly folded over the respective tent at the front of their pants.
Had Findekáno known how Maitimo would take revenge for that embarrassing little episode, he’d sent all of his soldiers out of the room, bent his husband over his throne, and fucked him right there and then.
“Later, my love,” Maitimo said briefly, almost absently patting the stretched skin of his stomach, and Findekáno sobbed in unfulfilled need, feeling his husband’s seed sloshing around in his guts.
He’d lost count of how often Maitimo had fucked him in those last three days. Occasionally, he allowed him to sleep, very miserably, though, with Findekáno humping Maitimo’s thick thigh or the mattress half of the time, and he always made sure to feed him enough water or cream or soup to keep his energy up.
But Maitimo never put his hands on him except for emptying another half vial of oil into his sore hole or replacing his softening cock with that huge wooden toy once more.
It was maddening. It was infuriating.
“Russo,” he protested again, pulling harder on his restraints only for his wrists to be pressed down into the mattress by one good, large hand. “You need to touch me.”
“But I am touching you, my beautiful King.” His husband grinned down at him with that predatory smile curling on his split lips, the mass of his flaming red hair falling down over both of them when he bent lower to kiss Findekáno, slowly, thrusting into his mouth with his tongue in the same rhythm that his stump was nudging the phallus in Findekáno’s hole now, leaving him thrusting up into thin air in despair.
An offended shout via their bond didn’t seem to impress his husband much either.
“What? You’d rather have me in you again, Your Majesty?” Maitimo bit down on his lower lip, none too gently, and scooted lower to do the same to his nipples before licking the small but unmistakable curve under Findekáno’s belly button with a hum. “I’d reckon you’ve been filled plenty at this point, but let it not be said I wouldn’t give you what you want …”
“Take it off, Russo, please …” Findekáno cried out when Maitimo’s tongue found the heavy, aching swelling of his balls instead, so cruelly caged with a thick ring behind them, and then the tip of his angrily reddened cock that was steadily leaking white through the thin, silver bars surrounding it.
“Oh, but I like seeing you like this.” The bastard was actually chuckling at his misery, and oh, Findekáno was so getting back at him for this, as soon as he would be able to move again. “Stuffed with my seed and desperate for attention … What would your people say if they could see their High King like this, reduced to a begging mess? Maybe I should send you to the audience like this tomorrow …”
He reached down to slowly thrust the toy in and out of Findekáno’s hole, moaning in delight at the obscene wet sound of seed dripping from the swollen flesh. “Wouldn’t you like that, my sweet King? Everyone knowing what a wanton whore you are for your husband? Everyone knowing you belong only to me?”
Findekáno cried out and tried to pull away, in vain, or to thrust his hips down to get more, anything, because yes, he wanted that, it was all he ever wanted, but their marriage was the probably best-kept secret in all of Middle-earth, so all they could have was this.
And Findekáno was growing a little tired of being only on the receiving end. Not that he couldn’t have freed himself if he’d really wanted to, but that wasn’t the point. The point was … The point was …
“Russo, let me come!”
“Bossy … No wonder your people obey you unquestioningly …” Wholly unimpressed, Maitimo sucked one of Findekáno balls into his mouth, rubbing it with his tongue while angling the toy in Findekáno’s behind just so.
Another cruelly staved-off orgasm hit Findekáno head first, leaving him shouting and trembling and cursing his husband in three languages at once.
By the time, he could see somewhat clearly again, his wrecked hole felt painfully empty, but not for long, because Maitimo was kneeling between his legs and had pulled Findekáno’s hips close to his massive, throbbing cock, feeding it to his loose channel inch by inch with a shameless moan of enjoyment.
“Sadly for you,” he rasped, caressing the faint outline of his massive length through the bulge that was his flesh and seed protruding from Findekáno’s stomach, “I’m none of your subjects. You’ll just have to find a different way to convince me.”
It began to dawn on Findekáno that this could be a very long, very exhausting diplomatic visit.
Chapter 13: Elrond/Gil-galad/Celebrían | Rituals
“How does this even work?”
Given that it had taken Elrond more than 200 years since he’d arrived at these shores to convince his former King that there was nothing wrong about his feelings, that Elrond wanted and needed him more than ever, and that Elrond’s wife very much wanted in on that arrangement, technicalities was really the last thing he’d expected Gil-galad to bring up as an argument against getting married. But here they were, sitting in the garden of his new-founded house for the second night in a row over a discussion that was long over, each on their fourth bottle of wine, and Celebrían’s calming, gentle touch of his thigh was the only thing that kept him from biting his cup in half.
“Well, usually you start by getting everyone involved naked,” he deadpanned, with what humor he could still come up with in spite of feeling enough frustration at this point to just climb that damn armchair over there, and then climb the elf sitting on it, just to make him shut up. “Between the three of us, there’s a variety of options to choose from. I can write you a list.”
The scathing glance from Gil-galad’s storm-grey eyes over the edge of his half-full cup quickly had him shut up. Old habits died hard, even though it had been millennia since he’d been serving the former High King.
“Careful,” Gil-galad growled, with that certain raspy drawl in his soft voice, and Elrond’s cock reacted with a very interested twitch under his robes. “I may no longer have a crown, but I’m still perfectly able to take you over my knee and spank that bony ass of yours, Half-elven.”
His eyes widened at Elrond’s half-embarrassed, half turned-on grunt, and Celebrían’s chuckle that she tried to hide against his shoulder, her hip-length, silver tresses falling over both their bodies, thankfully hiding what Elrond’s midsection thought of that not exactly threatening proposal.
“Can you stop thinking with your gwib for five seconds?”
“You sure didn’t mind when you fucked me back to the First Age in your tent before we rode out against Sauron.” Elrond didn’t need to feign the pout on his lips, more heat creeping down from his cheeks to his collar at the extremely stimulating memory.
“That was … different. We always said we wouldn’t bond.”
For a change, it was Gil-galad who blushed, who stole a glance at Elrond’s wife that was still filled with a certain kind of nervousness, and Elrond didn’t hold it against him. Most of their kin were perfectly happy with living monogamously after all; casual sex was a rarity, and it always took a little bit of navigating to not let things become awkward.
But in this case, Gil-galad was worrying too hard. Celebrían had had centuries to heal and find her peace since she’d sailed. Elrond’s and her relationship had basically taken right off where they left when he’d joined her. And in the meantime, his wife had heard enough stories about his former King and him to push for expanding their relationship before he himself had even thought about bringing that idea up.
“Because we were at war and because I was in love,” Elrond explained for approximately the tenth time since last night. “War is no more, and nothing has changed about my feelings, except I am no longer afraid to tell you that I love you, as well, since I first met you. And I believe, you and my wife have taken a very deep liking to each other during the time when I couldn’t be around. We want you, Gil. In how many words do you need to hear this?”
Even the tips of Gil-galad’s ears had taken a very interesting color now. He still tried his best to pretend, he couldn’t be less interested in the proposal, but Celebrían had started to move her lower arm almost casually against that bulge under Elrond’s clothes where she had her arm wrapped around him, and their hopefully soon-to-be-lover could hardly take his eyes of that spot.
Only certain kinds of restrictions that Elrond and him - both born in Middle-earth - had only ever been vaguely told about and that had long stopped mattering were still in the way of his very obvious wishes. “How about in some of the Valars’?”
Elrond rolled his eyes so hard he was certain, they’d just get stuck that way. “You didn’t care about the rules of the Valar when you had me ride your gwib in the throne room with your soldiers gossiping about us outside.”
He thought to see the hint of a tent at the front of Gil-galad’s robe now as well, but his former lover just buried his face in his hands with a groan. “Can you stop bringing that up? That was another place and another time …”
“Exactly.” Celebrían finally spoke up. In spite of her own arousal that Elrond had been able to faintly smell in the air for a few minutes now, her deep voice was completely clear and calm, betraying the lustful glistening in her sapphire eyes and the obscene filth he could see in unambiguous pictures in her mind via their wedding bond.
“The only difference is that either of you won’t be called to a battlefield anytime soon now and that we’re living a two days’ journey from the mainland and any settlement of people who could give a damn about what we’re doing. Not to mention that both of you are Ring-keepers and the Valar tend to not meddle in such people’s affairs.”
“Not for a lack of wanting to, mind you,” Elrond added with a shrug. “But since Thranduil’s kid showed up here with a Dwarf on his boat and Glorfindel and Erestor started a relationship with Glorfindel’s wife and got her pregnant? If they’d actually take a stand regarding such little scandals, they’d have to admit that their so-called laws and customs are more like … guidelines. So as long as you don’t plan to draw a weapon on anyone here or tie your soul to some jewel, you can do pretty much what you want.”
“I don’t need their permission,” Gil-galad grumbled, visibly a little hurt in his pride. “I’m only getting a little old for games, Elrond. I’ve known for a while now that if I ever was to commit to someone, I wanted it to be for good. So I’m asking you again, how does this work? They say a bond is between two people alone.”
“They also say, cousins shouldn’t marry, but that sure as hell didn’t stop my foster father from fucking Findekáno, the Valiant in every corner of Hithlum.”
For that, he earned an admonishing bite to the tip of his ear even from his wife now, and if he hadn’t been so damn turned on and anxious, waiting for his former lover’s decision, he might have had the decency to blush.
For a few minutes, his old friend was silent, just playing with the cup in his hand, and Elrond was not sure if that was a good or a bad sign.
“I need to think,” Gil-galad finally muttered, and well, that at least was no longer a vehement no.
“Then do that somewhere else,” Celebrían told him sweetly, waving towards the house where one of the guest rooms had long been turned into Gil-galad’s bedroom and study, and somehow, none of them had ever thought that strange.
“Why?” Apparently, that wine was finally taking effect, because Gil-galad looked back and forth between them with a frown, maybe deliberately ignoring the way Celebrían was moving her arm in circles across that hardness almost bursting the seams of Elrond’s breeches … or maybe memorizing it to think about it when going to bed in a minute, who could tell?
“Because,” a predatory grin, all teeth, and narrow eyes, lit Celebrían’s round face as she grabbed Elrond through his clothes shamelessly, drawing a breathless groan from him, “I’m about to get a harness and a toy about as thick as your arm from that box over there and fuck my husband loud enough for the people in the village below to hear.” She wrapped her strong fingers only tighter around him when he bucked against her uncontrolled. “So, unless you feel like watching or joining the fun …”
Gil-galad apparently decided he’d seen enough about their love life for an evening and hurried to get inside the house.
They had decided to forego most rituals, in the end. Since they had no Kingdom, respectively a huge valley to lead left, neither of them was hot on throwing parties anymore.
People who knew them well enough would find out quickly that after two decades of debates and arguments and tears and flirting, and one or the other night almost spent together in either of their bedrooms, Gil-galad had finally forgotten he was the most stubborn elf under this sun and had given in to his yearning for the two people he cared about most in this world. Those who wanted to celebrate that would come up with ideas on their own for that, once a single look into their eyes would reveal to people that this marriage was no longer between Elrond and Celebrían alone.
It made Elrond wince with embarrassment already, just thinking about what Glorfindel and Erestor together with his sons would come up with to let half of Valinor know.
Enough reason to keep the actual wedding between only the three of them. So they’d come up with an excuse to escape to a lonely hut in the mountains that no one had used for years. Elrond had delegated his co-mayor leading duties to Lindir for a week or two, and Celebrían had perfected her ability to shield her mind even from her mother’s possibly curious thoughts. They brought enough wine and fruit, and weapons to hunt, and oil and toys to last them for a month if they felt like it. The stars couldn’t be better.
The vows had been mercifully short enough, and somehow, Elrond had even managed to keep his eyes dry at Celebrían’s equally choked mention of all the things they’d achieved and the ones they’d lost in their marriage so far. There were wounds that, unlike physical scars, and similar to memories of assault and humiliation, would never close completely. But they’d both found their ways to deal with the pain and put it away in a place where it would not come to stab them from behind.
Especially not on beautiful nights like this. Not least thanks to another star of hope and warmth that had risen in their sky in these last few years, that would finally find its proper place in the constellation that was their love tonight.
After the vows, there had been a little bit of wine involved, not enough to drown anyone’s senses, of course, and a lot of cuddling that had helped drop the last shyness and inhibitions. Right before midnight, they stumbled into the bedroom then, chuckling and excited, lips meeting and hands groping where they could reach, all three of them already short of some parts of those gem-studded fancy robes and dresses they’d worn for the ceremony.
Not nearly enough for Elrond’s taste. The door had hardly even closed behind them yet when he went to his knees in front of his wife to impatiently bunch up her underskirt, extremely pleased to see that there was nothing she was wearing underneath. He buried his face between her legs with a greedy sigh, licking the first sweet glistening off her slightly reddened folds that their banter and teasing earlier had left.
He was not the least surprised to see, from the corner of his eyes, that their new husband had taken the same position on Celebrían’s other side and was very busy, worshipping her round, soft behind with massaging movements and open-mouthed kisses and licks. They didn’t always agree on everything, but if there was one thing they were both very convinced of then that they had fallen into love with a literal goddess who deserved every second of attention and worship.
The she-elf in their middle knew this, of course, and having been brought up by a Sindar Prince and a Finwëan Lady, Celebrían had never been shy about what she wanted. She buried her hand tightly in Elrond’s braids to pull him closer, making him gasp against her slick folds, and from the way her hips tilted, he knew she was doing the same to their lover.
Even drowning in her wonderful thick taste and her delicious scent filling all his senses, he could pinpoint the exact moment when Gil-galad first slipped his tongue into her hidden opening, because that was when she tightened up around the two slowly circling fingers Elrond had in her heated middle while sucking on her clit; and Valar, did he know from experience what that wicked, long tongue could do. Biting back a grin, he grazed his teeth softly over his wife’s most sensitive point and thrust deeper into her, curling his fingers towards her front when they found a certain rough patch of skin.
A gush of wetness hit his jaw, his throat as Celebrían screamed out. Her hand tightening on his hair until it hurt in the best way, she rode his hand and Gil-galad’s face, enjoying the first wave of orgasm to its fullest before finally her legs would no longer carry her and she fell into both their arms, still shivering and moaning. Her hands flailing, she somehow found his collar and pulled him close, slipping her tongue into his mouth to taste herself.
Her other hand must be busy … somewhere else, because Elrond could hear Gil-galad’s strangled groan, could sense another salty, faint fragrance hit the air, mixing into his wife’s sweet scent … one he remembered very well, and his mouth was watering.
“Come on, my queen, let’s get somewhere more comfortable,” he murmured against her lips, gently cradling his wife into his arms.
He didn’t need to tell their other lover to come, because Celebrían made very sure to pull him along when they tumbled towards the bed … and not by his hand.
They ended up in a heap of limbs and sucking mouths and hands tugging and ripping fabric apart, and by the time they were finally all naked, Elrond was maddeningly hard. He knew, one touch by either of his lovers would be enough to send him over the edge, and he didn’t want that, not yet.
Somehow, he managed to shove his former King down on the mattress with an impatient push against his chest and kneel between his legs to get his mouth and that long, curved cock he’d missed so much, reveling in Gil-galad’s loud moan, in the uncontrolled way, his lover shoved his hips towards him immediately, fucking deep into his willing throat, making Elrond gag and gasp for air and only suck him down harder. They could do gentle and slow another night.
“Eru, you two are beautiful.” Celebrían sounded vaguely dazed, her hand still agitated when she grabbed Elrond by his neck, dictating the rhythm of his head bobbing up and down, while her mouth was busy sucking Gil-galad’s small, dark nipples into hardness, biting down harshly until their lover cried out and thrust up harder into Elrond’s throat.
With his wife’s unrelenting hand on his neck, Elrond had nowhere to go and could only take it as he was being used just the way he loved it best, that thick piece of flesh stretching him open until he was sure he wouldn’t be talking tomorrow and dark spots were dancing in front of his eyes as he panted for air, in vain.
Only now, Celebrían let go of him so that he could retreat for a much-needed gasp.
At the same time, she seemed to do something especially naughty to one of Gil-galad’s nipples, because their lover bucked up with a shout and spent himself all over Elrond’s face and in his mouth.
As if that hadn’t been enough to destroy all good intentions of restraint yet, Celebrían straightened up to give Elrond’s bare behind a few tight slaps. Next he knew, he was coming over those ridiculous expensive silken sheets, completely untouched, whimpering his lovers’ names around Gil-galad’s softening cock while he licked off every drop of thick white he could catch.
A craving his wife obviously shared, because when she pulled him in her arms, she spent a few long minutes only cleaning his white-streaked face with her fingertips and the tip of her tongue, occasionally feeding him another few drops of seed which had him shiver and mewl every time.
Elrond happily leaned into the warm, broad embrace of his other lover who had come to sit behind him, pampering his shoulders and neck with tender kisses. It was close and intimate and satisfying but it was not entirely yet what they all wanted and needed.
Therefore, Elrond wasn’t exactly surprised when his wife whispered something in Gil-galad’s ear that he didn’t quite catch.
Their lover seemed to be very satisfied with whatever it was though because he immediately sat back against the headboard and got his large, calloused hands on Elrond’s slightly sore behind when Celebrían guided Elrond to stand up on the bed, heavily braced on the sturdy wooden frame while a thin pair of lips closed around his already re-hardening cock.
Elrond didn’t really think much after that. He lost himself completely to the sensation of wet warmth encasing his most sensitive spot, his body covered in sweat and soft bruises from his lovers’ teeth and the occasional slap on his behind or the back of his thighs. By the time the smooth glide of oil dripped down on his cheeks, he was a shaking mess, babbling unintelligible encouragements and filthy curses in three different languages, torn between thrusting his hips forward to bury himself deeper into Gil-galad’s eagerly sucking mouth or towards a couple of long, slender fingers stretching him open, drumming his prostate every now and then so that it took his whole willpower and a lot of very un-arousing images in his head to not spill early a second time.
So far, he hadn’t been exactly sure where this was going - there were a lot of options indeed, all of them alluring enough - but his wife had obviously thought about this beforehand. When she moved away from him for a few cruel seconds of cold- and emptiness, she did it only to get a bag lying ready somewhere next to the bed.
Just glancing down between lust-heavy lids to what she was having there almost made Elrond’s knees give out under him.
At this point, it was probably only Gil-galad’s hard grip around his thighs keeping him in place, but he suddenly wasn’t sure how happy should be about that, because his former King took one look at the collection of toys Celebrían had scattered next to her and stopped choking on Elrond’s cock long enough to take the very generously-sized phallus she just wanted to reach for away with a brief head-shake. “No, the thinner one. He likes it better when I stretch him open with my cock.”
Elrond gave a small, protesting noise but forgot about that pretty quickly because his wife’s hand harshly closed around his too-full, too-heavy balls, with that certain mean pressure that let him know, he had a say in this when they decided he did.
“Behave,” Celebrían murmured against one especially large print of her five fingers on his left cheek and then bit down on it, just when Gil-galad decided, this was a great time to suck Elrond’s throbbing cock down to the hilt again, and Eru, he was not going to survive this night.
At least his wife didn’t make him wait long now. She’d had centuries of practice in opening him up not only for her short, circling fingers but with the help of a hefty, rippled toy of glass that reached far deeper into him, rubbing him in all the right places, preparing him for something else that was supposed to go up there soon. Soon enough, she was fucking him hard and quick into their lover’s mouth until it was Gil-galad now, having trouble breathing but not stopping to swallow around Elrond’s rock-hard cock or rubbing his tongue over the underside and his balls even for one second.
Just when he thought, he couldn’t take it anymore, when he was sure he would be taken by another height before they could even start with what his wife had in mind, the toy was suddenly withdrawn, and Celebrían pressed an almost chaste kiss to his tailbone, caressing up and down his trembling thighs.
“Come here, my love. And turn around. I want to see your face when you ride your King’s cock.”
A choked noise in the back of his throat, Elrond reached down with a shaking hand to grab the base of his cock and his balls firmly, the moment his other lover let go of him too, and somehow managed to convince his aching length that it was not time yet. No matter how badly he needed to come. The prospect of finally being speared open by his lover again, and this time without the annoying focus on certain mental barriers to keep the two of them from falling into a bond they’d not been ready for back then, was enough to pull himself together for another few seconds.
While he somehow, not exactly gracefully managed to get to his knees, Gil-galad had been busy with the oil their wife had handed him already so that the thick head of his beautiful cock slipped into Elrond’s equally slick, swollen opening easy enough, but fuck, his lover was a lot bigger than he’d remembered. He mewled in lust and longing and reached back tremblingly to bury his hand in Gil-galad’s messy, raven hair, the other braced heavily on his wife’s shoulder while he lowered himself on that veiny shaft more and more.
Pleasantly full and turned on beyond belief, he was completely boneless in his lovers’ arms at last and let them manhandle him as they wanted him until he was comfortably seated in his lover’s lap, with his legs stretched out in front of him. Well, comfortable except for the length pulsating inside his quivering channel, touching all the right places, which had his own reddened cock twitch and jerk against his leg, untouched.
Elrond had his face buried against Gil-galad’s neck, his teeth biting down every now and then, hard enough to remind his lover that he occasionally showed surprisingly masochistic tendencies for a former King himself and that he might just find himself on the receiving end on Celebrían’s strict dominance in bed very soon.
For now, it was still Elrond sandwiched between his two lovers, and he couldn’t be happier about it. The scream on his lips when Celebrían finally joined the two of them, the tight wetness of her cunt encasing him, was one of pure ecstasy, and of the desperate struggle to hold back for at least a few more minutes to enjoy this wonderful sensation from two sides.
Sensing that, his lovers were gentle with him now, two pairs of lips and playful tongues mostly busy with each other across his trembling shoulder, Celebrían’s warm hands almost shyly on his waist as she slowly rode him, never moving her hips too harshly, sighing his and their husband’s name in turn.
Only when her own wetness was bathing his balls and thighs more and more and Elrond could feel the familiar twitch of his lover’s cock deep inside of him, did she ride him harder, thrusting her hips against him in a way that slammed his most sensitive spot right against the hardness stretching him open with every move, and there was no stopping the orgasm slamming into him headfirst at that point.
As Elrond lost himself to the heat flooding his soul, to the beautiful tide of silver and blue that was his wife’s and his wedding bond as it was alight with unbridled desire, he watched, in awe, as another, deeply purple shade flooded that ocean that was only them and their love, melting into them as if it had always belonged there. He could feel his second lover’s overflowing ecstasy as if it was his own in an instant, and together with the screams of lust from his wife against his ear and in his mind, he was pretty sure, he had actually just come a third time.
There wasn’t a lot that he remembered of the rest of the night in the morning.
Chapter 14: Legolas/Aragorn | Deephroat/Mirror sex/Scars
“I’m pretty sure, ada didn’t mean to insu…”
“I love you, Legolas, but if you finish that sentence, I’ll have to cut your throat while you sleep.”
Legolas gave a resigned sigh and followed Aragorn silently to his chambers, not even bothering to tell his father he’d be gone for the night.
Thranduil had long given up trying to discourage him from his entanglements with that Dúnadan anyway.
Partly, surely, because Aragorn was betrothed and would wed Elrond’s daughter someday, and whatever Legolas and he were up to at those rare opportunities when they were alone a little, would end someday. Until then, Arwen was happy about Legolas helping Aragorn relax a little from his demanding duties and Legolas …
Well, getting fucked into his mattress every now and then was maybe not all he had ever wanted or expected from a relationship with anyone. But it was better than spending another century or two without any physical attention at all because there just didn’t seem to be an elf or she-elf left in these realms that he was interested in.
More than that, though, Elrond’s step-son had become a real friend to him, not to mention an extremely capable combat partner who’d just kept him from getting eaten by an especially ugly spider.
Legolas might know that when his father told Aragorn that he really needed to get himself cleaned up and that he should stop by the tailors, that it really meant Thank you for saving my stupid son’s behind yet again, now get some rest while we make clothes for you without holes in them for a change, but not everyone was fluent in Cynical Elvenking.
And after that long day of bathing in orc intestines, burning countless webs, and destroying two nests, Legolas was simply too exhausted to try and explain.
Aragorn was already in the hot grotto adjacent to his bedroom by the time he was finally finished pulling and cutting his spider blood-drenched clothes and boots off his body - very grudgingly because the latter had been fucking expensive to make.
The faint bubbling on the surface from the water constantly flowing through the pool was hiding most of his friend’s tanned body, and Legolas found himself being grateful for it because he was even too exhausted for that tonight.
Even more, than he’d realized, apparently, because, by the time, the thick veil of nothing in front of his eyes dissolved next, he was laying on his bed, wrapped in a thick towel, and his hunting partner was just busy wrapping a thin bandage around his right shoulder. Right. The water had turned a slightly unhealthy shade of red when Legolas had got in earlier … Maybe he’d not exactly fallen asleep, actually.
He moved his arm cautiously and grimaced at the hated, taut sensation of a fresh stitch. “Oh.”
“Oh.” He could see Aragorn roll his eyes without turning his head, could feel him shift on the mattress as he put away his healer’s bag, one of the blankets protecting his frail Secondborn body from the too-low temperatures inside the mountain.
“You know, your father is just really annoying. You are a walking plague.”
“I love you too,” Legolas grumbled, and maybe he meant it a little.
“If you did, you’d stop trying to kill yourself.” Aragorn pulled the towel down Legolas’ back just enough to reveal a number of faint, crisscrossing lines between his shoulder blades that had still not vanished completely. Valar-damned orc poison. “Mind telling me when that happened?”
“‘t was just a little lashing,” Legolas murmured, his shoulders tightening instinctively. “Nothing else happened, alright? Stop fretting. Just didn’t watch out for a moment. Had to pull my captain out of there and ran into a blade.”
“I said, when.”
Legolas gave another of those exasperated sighs that seemed to become the dominant form of communication between them today and turned aside as if that could make anything better now. “You were traveling in the east. I didn’t want you to worry.”
“Well, someone needs to. You apparently long stopped caring.” His lips tight, Aragorn made a move to get off the bed, the muscles playing under the equally scarred skin of his broad back looking like steel cords. A few drops of water ran down from the short tail he’d braided his dark curls into that Legolas suddenly really wanted to lick off.
Their eyes met in the mirror opposite the bed when he came up behind his lover, wrapping his legs around Aragorn’s to keep him in place, and the other gave a semi-annoyed grunt.
But there was also real, deep worry in his beautiful grey eyes, a hint of pain, of grief for all the people the maybe-future King had had to let go in his life already. “You almost died on me today, Legolas.” Aragorn leaned his head back with a sigh when Legolas nibbled on his neck, his ear, pushing his tongue inside.
Apparently, his body had suddenly decided not to be too tired for a little fun, after all. “I’ll never do it again, alright?”
“Don’t make promises you can’t keep.” Aragorn reached back between them without letting go of his gaze in the reflection, biting his lip when he could both see and feel Legolas shudder from the tight grip of his hand on his quickly hardening cock.
“Can we stop talking about this when I really feel like fucking you senseless?” Legolas returned the favor by running his fingertips slowly up and down Aragorn’s chiseled chest, nails scraping lightly through the thin layer of fuzz he loved to bury his head against so much before he took his lover’s nipples in a tight grasp. “Put that damn blanket away. I want to see you.”
“Who says you’re the one who gets to do the fucking? I had to save you, remember? Victor’s merits.” Aragorn was apparently still in a pouting mood, but he obeyed, revealing the throbbing hardness between his legs in the mirror for Legolas’ hungry eyes.
Legolas twisted his nipples only harder, watching hungrily how the first drop of white collected at the head of his lover’s cock, a sight that had him lick his lips in anticipation. “Tell you something. You make it through five minutes of having my mouth on you without coming, then you can do with me whatever you want.”
“You’re selling yourself a little cheap, my dear elvish Princeling.” Aragorn grabbed him harder, visibly reveling in Legolas’ unrestrained moan. “In five minutes, I’m not even warm.”
“We’ll see about that.” Legolas wrapped his arms firmly around his chest and yanked him backward on the bed a little, only to pull away then and kneel down in front of Aragorn instead, his legs spread widely so that his lover would get a very unambiguous view of his ass in that mirror. Grabbing Aragorn’s firm butt cheeks tightly, he lowered his head to lick a first broad stripe over his length.
He just enjoyed both his lover’s breathless groan and his well-known, grounded taste for a few long seconds, getting familiar again, finally, with the heavy weight of a mannish cock on his tongue, the heat filling his mouth and his body, his tongue dancing over every pumping vein, every ridge. He sucked both of his lover’s balls in his mouth and still managed to grin triumphantly when Aragorn yelped and buried both hands in his messy braids for purchase, whispering his name.
Five minutes had actually been quite generous.
Legolas backed away only long enough to look up, provocatively licking his lips, then he thrust his head down in one long, smooth motion, taking his lover’s cock in to the hilt.
He was very thankful that his chambers were quite soundproof, otherwise, his father would probably have heard Aragorn’s scream all the way down in the throne room. Those large, calloused hands tightened in his hair, holding him right where he was while Aragorn bucked against him, fucking even deeper into his throat until Legolas’ face was nestled into the soft hair of his groin and all he could taste and smell and feel was his lover.
“You practiced,” Aragorn somehow managed to groan out.
Legolas gave a nonchalant, one-sided shrug and swallowed only harder around the head of his cock, ignoring the beginning tightness in his chest in favor of stretching out his tongue more, bathing Aragorn’s spit-slick balls further. He’d held his breath longer than five minutes.
His skin was too tight, and the heat was pooling in his middle, just from imagining, feeling that beautiful length not only spearing his throat open at some point this night. Not in the first round, of course, there was no way he would lose that game. He couldn’t resist letting go of his lover with one hand, reaching between his own legs. He made very sure to angle his hips in a way so that Aragorn could watch two of his fingers, glistening with thick drops of precum, circle his hole before slowly pushing in.
The little show was supposed to turn his lover on even more, and indeed he could feel Aragorn’s cock jerk in his mouth while he was moaning obscenely around him, moving his head up and down as much as his lover’s tight grip allowed it.
Unfortunately, the sight also seemed to distract the other far too much from what Legolas was doing with his mouth. The desperate moans on Aragorn’s lips turned into an appreciative growl, and he actually pulled Legolas’ head away a little so that all Legolas could do now was lick the sweet drops from the head of his cock if he stretched his tongue far enough.
“Very thoughtful of you to prepare yourself for me already,” Aragorn whispered hoarsely, his eyes shining with mirth when Legolas looked up at him in defiance and struggled to get his head back on his twitching length that was just out of reach. “Come on, my Prince, one more, then you can have my cock again. Don’t you want to show me how gorgeous you are, fucking yourself on your own hand?”
Legolas gave a protesting whine, but fuck, his own cock was rock-hard and also leaking enough for a little more slick, and his hole was too damn empty, besides, he always loved to please Aragorn, especially in bed.
Also, his time was almost up. “Cheater,” he growled, not unkindly, and then threw his head back with a lustful cry as he was stretching himself further open, while Aragorn’s gaze was fixed at that mirror.
His lover was licking his too-dry lips, his skin flushed from his broad chest to his groin, his dripping length straining against his leg. It was most possibly the prettiest thing on all of Middle-earth.
Legolas had hardly even opened his mouth for another needy mewl when Aragorn pulled him towards him again with a jerk, impaling his mouth on his length, Legolas’ braids wrapped around his hands now in a way that hardly left him a chance to free himself, even if he’d wanted to. His lover really wasn’t playing around now anymore, fucking his throat hard and fast, his swollen balls slapping against Legolas’ chin, and still, the bastard just didn’t come.
“You’re not the only one who practiced,” Aragorn murmured to him between two especially loud moans. “But who knows? You could try to sing a little again for me, my sweet bird. That might help you win after all. Fuck yourself harder, come on. Show me how that tight little hole of yours will look when you’ll ride my cock.”
Tears were prickling at the corners of Legolas’ eyes from the lack of air and from the humiliation that he loved to hate so much but he didn’t hesitate for even a second shoving his fingers deeper, ignoring the delicious burn and stretch. Soon enough, they rubbed just the right place inside himself and he screamed around his lover’s cock, hips bucking when he came over his stomach and the bed before he knew.
His head dizzy, his body heavy, he only realized with half a thought that Aragorn was gently pushing him away, straightening out his braids in a tender gesture. Then his lover leaned forward to give his ass a harsh, admonishing slap, right on his swollen, twitching hole, leaving no doubt that this game was far from over yet. “Up. And turn around. I want to see how beautiful you look impaled on my cock, my sweet Prince.”
Well, so much for his bet.
Even while he was scrambling to obey, on shaking knees, still turned on beyond belief and actually half-hard again already, Legolas made a mental note that, should Aragorn and he ever happen to embark on some quest together, he should better leave the planning to his friend.
Chapter 15: Elrond/Celebrían | Creampie
“Elrond,” Celebrían growled, her deep blue eyes flashing darkly, and if her beautiful, bare body hadn’t been flushed from the tips of her full, soft breasts to where they were finally - finally - joined in the most intimate embrace of all, he might have been worried, she was seriously angry with him. “Stop treating me like I’m going to break in two.”
He smiled at her apologetically and bent down to kiss her that pout of her pillowy lips.
The movement brought his hips closer to hers and she gasped, wrapping one strong leg around his to keep him right there, moving against him shamelessly, rubbing her swollen clit against the tense muscles of his loins until more of her sweet juices were bathing his rock-hard erection, dripping down his too-tight balls.
She was close; he could feel it in the way she was raking her nails down his back and her lovely voice was dropping a nuance lower, something he’d felt and heard far more times than her parents should ever be allowed to know.
But in all those stolen little moments when they’d given in to their impatience - never crossing the last line, of course, never risking a bond building between them prematurely before they’d had a chance to say their vows -, he could never have imagined what it would be like, finally being inside her wet heat. The clench of her muscles was the sweetest torture damaging his self-control too much to move in the way yet that she wanted him to, at least not if this was not to end very quickly.
He gritted out a breathless curse when his lover - his wife - turned her head to start nibbling on the tip of his ear, his oversensitive cock giving a hard twitch inside her which had her moan in appreciation. She knew exactly how sensitive that one spot was, and she was merciless. After she’d already attacked him with her mouth on his aching hard length right after they’d entered their bedroom, she was obviously out to finish him now. “Slowly, dear …”
“We can do slow later,” Celebrían murmured, sweetly almost, tenderly, until she started pushing the tip of her tongue in his ear and Elrond gasped against her shoulder, his hips stuttering against hers instinctively in a first, clumsy rhythm.
“Just like this, my love … Want to feel you …” Her hands went slower, grabbing his ass firmly, encouraging his movements and keeping him in place every now and then for her to rub herself against him once more, her body taut like a bowstring, her eyes firmly closed as she was chasing her height.
“Let go ….” She bit down on his ear again, hard enough for the heat collecting in his groin to grow far beyond any point of holding back. “It’s alright, want to feel it … Want to feel you fill me up …”
Her last words and the obscene image she created with them in his head were too much at last. Crying out her name, Elrond spent himself deep inside of her in thick spurts, shaking all over, all the usual worries and sadness wiped from his mind at least for a few seconds.
But his head wasn’t empty enough for him not to realize how his wife was pressing herself against him once more though, whimpering and trembling, still caught right at that edge of the desire throbbing in her cells and clearly enjoying herself a great deal. “Yes … Feels so good, love … Fuck … I can feel you inside … So hot and good …”
Her mindless, turned-on babbling became a pointed scream when Elrond somehow gathered enough wits to get his hand between their bodies, hasty fingertips finding her most sensitive spot. A few brief strokes were enough for her to yell her first height this night through the room, her muscles tightening around him so violently that Elrond was pretty sure, he was actually going to get hard again before his erection had finished going down.
Well, if his new mother-in-law wasn’t going to kill him tomorrow, for the two of them entertaining the whole palace with their unrestrained sounds, his wife would certainly manage to.
Chapter 16: Maedhros/Fingon | Harness
Findekáno stared at Maitimo with wide eyes and his mouth hanging open, speechless for a moment over the contraption of metal and leather that his husband held out to him.“No.”
It was funny, really, how, when it came to their sex life, Findekáno always managed to let his objections sound like the most enthusiastic approval.
“You’ll love it, I promise.” Maitimo threw the harness on the bed, for now, to wrap his arms around his husband’s half-naked shape, bending down to kiss those sweet, pillowy lips. He didn’t have a lot of time for persuasion.
The High King of these realms was expected to be on time for his duties, whether his secret husband had come to visit him, after almost three months without any real contact, or not. But Maitimo thought he could get away with a little bit of fun before they’d have to leave. And spending his day then seeing his lover squirm on his throne as inconspicuous as possible while he cursed his husband in their bond, for what was probably the hundredth time at this point? Big plus.
“I will make it up to you,” he promised because Findekáno still didn’t look completely convinced. But when Maitimo reached down to grab his firm, round ass through the flimsy fabric of his breeches, there was the smallest moan in the back of his throat.
“Tonight, when we get back from the feast, you can do with me whatever you want …”
A dangerous glint lit Findekáno’s almost black eyes, a fine brow slowly wandered up his forehead, and Maitimo got a feeling, he had just signed his own doom. Again. “Everything?”
Maitimo nodded lightly because this was Findekáno and not the torturers in the Dark Lord’s fortress that had torn apart Maitimo’s body and soul a thousand times and put it back together in a way that would never really fit again. This was his husband, the elf he loved and trusted with all of his heart. The one he lusted for in spite of the horrors that had left his body a scarred mess. And if that sometimes meant Findekáno putting all kinds of things up his backside or fucking his throat until Maitimo couldn’t talk the next day - sometimes both, at the same time -, well, then Maitimo usually only came even harder at the end of the night.
But first, it was his husband’s turn to suffer a little. “We still have more than an hour. Get those stupid clothes off and kneel down on the bed,” he growled when Findekáno nodded, still a little hesitatingly. “Legs spread, arms behind your back.”
Findekáno did so eagerly because once he’d decided to go with something that Maitimo wanted, he always enjoyed it a great deal. Enough for his not too long but very thick cock to stand alert already when he’d taken the desired pose, his flawless dark skin shining in the morning light falling through the window, faint drops of salt glistening on his chest.
Maitimo told him so and then crouched down in front of him to wrap his lips around his husband’s cock, leaving him panting and trembling within seconds. When he could be sure that Findekáno was turned on enough to not forget him for the rest of the day, Maitimo reached for the harness and closed the first of the metal rings behind Findekáno’s slightly swollen balls, effectively staving off any orgasm for the time being.
The next few rings he slipped over his husband’s hard length, keeping it casually in place with the use of his lips around its head, his maimed arm wrapped around Findekáno’s thighs to hold him still while his husband sighed and writhed but said no protest, for now.
The last ring had a hook at the front, with a thin leather strap threaded through it that Maitimo used to gently pull his lover’s throbbing length up against his stomach. Then he wrapped the improvised belt around Findekáno’s waist, closing the buckle in the front with his good hand and his teeth, something he’d inevitably become very good at.
“See?” He backed away enough to admire his work with heated eyes, the way Findekáno’s cock was straining against the restriction that kept it pressed to his body in vain. Small beads of white collected at the head that Maitimo licked away with a groan of enjoyment.
There was another part of that harness that he hadn’t shown his lover yet, but before he would, he would have him, mark him, make certain that Findekáno would indeed be thinking about him all day.
“You wear a nice, wide robe and tunic, and no one in the audience or at dinner will know how desperate you are for me, my sweet King. Now, why don’t you get on your knees and elbows? I can’t leave the room like this either.” He emphasized his words by stroking his own aching length, chuckling when Findekáno licked his lips yearningly.
“Not now. Turn around, my love. Don’t make me ask again.”
He got an idea why Findekáno had maybe been hesitant about presenting himself like this for a moment when he saw his husband’s hole glistening with oil and more than a little swollen. “Looks like you’ve been having some naughty thoughts about my arrival last night … Did you use the big one, my love? The one that I gave you?”
“Wanted to be ready for you,” Findekáno breathed, his arousal bigger than his slight embarrassment. Then he actually wriggled his ass at Maitimo, throwing back a seductive glance over his shoulder, and really, it would have taken a bigger elf than Maitimo to resist that.
Thanks to his lover stretching himself open with a phallus that almost resembled his own significant length, he could enter him almost without resistance, impaling Findekáno on his length with a loud moan. His hand buried in his lover’s braids, he started fucking into him hard and fast, all that frustration and waiting of the last few months turning into red heat in his groin so that it didn’t take long at all before he spilled his seed deep in his lover’s guts.
Findekáno mewled a little and thrust his hips into thin air in frustration when Maitimo pulled out, very aware that he wouldn’t be allowed to come anytime soon.
The whine turned into a turned-on noise of surprise when Maitimo got the huge metal toy out from a robe of his tunic that he’d brought and easily slipped it into him, keeping Maitimo’s seed inside. “Fuck …”
“Later, my love,” Maitimo purred comfortably. Then he pulled the two straps between his teeth that were threaded through another hook at the broad base of that toy. One of them went between his husband’s legs on his front where it would rub along his cock and balls teasingly all day, the other parted his sweet cheeks like an exquisite piece of clothing. Then Maitimo wrapped them both around Findekáno’s waist as well before closing them.
While Findekáno was still busy throwing insults at his head and writhing against him, trying in vain to scoot away from Maitimo’s longer, stronger legs around his, he reached for the last item in his tunic and pulled his lover up against his chest, murmuring soothing words in his ear.
“Remember, everything you want, tonight.” It was hard, not letting his own excitement grow again immediately when he threaded the small lock he had brought through matching metal loops in those leather straps, right next to his husband’s trapped length, and closed it. Which meant, his lover couldn’t just get rid of his new plug or that evil little cage so easily.
“But for the rest of the day, my love, you’re all mine.”
“You’ve been so good for me, Finno,” Maitimo purred into his husband’s ear, maybe a little too loudly because they’ve both had a lot of wine at the feast. But the hallway was completely empty, and it was honestly only the icy glance that Findekáno threw him that kept him from shoving his lover against the next wall and taking him right there and then.
Unfortunately, Findekáno’s unusual silence and the pout on his beautiful lips reminded him of their arrangement from the morning, and Maitimo was getting an idea that whatever would happen once they reached Findekáno’s chambers, it would definitely not him, being in control.
Only they weren’t even headed for the King’s private chambers, he realized, in confusion after the next turn. In fact, Findekáno was leading them to the throne room for some reason.
Was there another diplomatic meeting that Maitimo had forgotten about? Somehow, he doubted it.
After their very interesting meeting at dawn, Maitimo had spent teasing his husband a little - well, a little more, admittedly - Well, if you had had even a vague idea what was going on, it had been very intriguing, watching his husband scramble for words in their trade negotiations all day. Findekáno’s beautiful dark skin was still covered in just the faintest sheen of sweat and his body was heated, conspicuous enough for his servants to bring him one glass of water after the other earlier, voicing concerns about the need for a healer that Findekáno had only very barely been able to soothe.
Maitimo actually admired his husband’s iron self-control. It had taken a real keen eye fixated on his slender hips to see how he had shifted his weight on his chair, again and again, Only the filthy curses he’d been throwing at Maitimo via their wedding bond all day had been an indication of how turned on and desperate he’d really been.
No, Maitimo seriously had to doubt, his lover had anything even remotely resembling work on his mind right now.
And yet here they were, walking down the long aisle between marble columns towards the three stairs leading up to a lavish, softly cushioned chair of silver and blue that Findekáno had already had to spend half his day on. Still, he was greeting all the guards and servants scattered in the various corners of the hall with a welcoming smile, ever until they finally reached their destination and Findekáno took his rightful place once more, not even flinching for a second, while Maitimo stood slightly awkwardly a few feet apart.
“Leave us. All of you. Make sure we are not being disturbed. This is a private matter.” In spite of the slightly raspy nuance, Findekáno’s stern voice left no doubt about the order …
And suddenly, Maitimo’s stomach dropped while simultaneously he went from slightly turned on to instantly hard within seconds.
Findekáno was nice enough to wait until the silver double doors had closed behind even the last of the extremely curious-looking members of his court. Only then did he snap his fingers at Maitimo very unambiguously and nodded sharply at the ground.
It was all the invitation he needed to kneel right in front of the stairs, right in front of his husband, with his legs spread and his arms crossed behind his back. The heat started to throb in his veins, wiping from his soul in what was only one or two breaths all the fears and worries about this constant state of war they were living in. Along with all the memories of situations like this not too long ago, in a far darker, fouler place, that had only ever ended with limitless pain and humiliation.
None of that mattered when Maitimo decided to submit to his husband, to the elf he loved and worshiped, to the one who would never hurt him in any way he didn’t want him to. “My King.”
“Key.” Findekáno was still sounding a lot harsher than usual, but Maitimo‘s willing submission had left his cheeks even more flushed, and his baggy robe could hardly hide the straining hardness at his front at this point.
Instead of handing the desired item from a pocket of his tunic right over that would free his husband of his little torment, Maitimo took it between his lips and blinked at his husband wholly innocently, his head slightly tilted.
An expression Findekáno could almost never resist. “Fine, but hurry,” he grumbled, shifting his weight on the chair once more, with a little grimace he’d not been able to allow himself earlier.
“Uh-uh.” He pointed one finger at Maitimo before he could make a move to get up. “You stay on your knees until I tell you otherwise. You have embarrassed your King enough for one day, Lord Nelyafinwë. It’s time you show me how well you can serve me.”
“Anything my King wants,” Maitimo breathed, the key held between his teeth muffling his words, but he meant them all.
The high leather boots he had chosen for today’s duties protected his knees from the cold marble as he followed the impatient gesture of Findekáno’s hand. He put the spit-slick key down on one armrest, then used his teeth and his good hand to bunch up his husband’s robe and tunic, and to undo the laces of his too-tight breeches, so that he could pull them down.
By the time, he finally had his lover naked enough and picked up that key again, Findekáno was breathing heavily, his reddened cock swollen badly inside the five metal rings constricting it, his balls just as cruelly trapped by the thicker ring behind them, his hole twitching around the metal plug. A treacherous groan came from his lips when Maitimo threaded the key into the lock that he’d used to keep his husband from taking all this off only with his lips and tongue. Maitimo’s hot, quick breathing left goose-flesh on his loins and new beads of white on the head of his tortured cock.
Maitimo somehow held back from licking them away because he had not been given permission to do so and freed his lover with brief but gentle movements from the harness, putting it down on the floor unceremoniously. For today, it had fulfilled its purpose.
“What other duty would my King have me do?”
Findekáno was still shaking from the touch on far too many oversensitive body parts, and Valar, he was so hard; it made Maitimo’s mouth water, but that was obviously not what his husband has in mind. “Hold still and keep your mouth shut,” was all he said, and at least his beautiful voice was sounding a little softer now.
But he didn’t give in to any of Maitimo’s yearning glances or greedy sighs when he started touching himself. He stroked his aching length harshly and quickly, no longer in any mood to wait, and then he was coming, long stripes shooting from the thick head of his cock right onto Maitimo’s face and hair, onto his throat, painting his dark-blue tunic white. Marking him like Maitimo had marked his husband earlier with his own seed that was leaking from his swollen hole even while he comes for what feels like minutes.
Maitimo gave a little sob of frustration, and his cock jumped untouched in his breeches in protest but otherwise, he stayed completely still and silent like he’d been asked to. Surrounded by his lover’s sweet taste, the remains of it running over his lips and chin and throat, he wanted nothing more than to stretch out his tongue and taste his lover at least, but he knew better than to displease his King even more today.
Findekáno seemed to like his obedience because he nodded at him graciously and petted his messy hair with a trembling hand before tucking himself in, covering all that flawless skin and bulging muscles up again, much to Maitimo’s disappointment.
He wondered if his lover would make him walk back to his bedroom like this, covered in his seed with not a chance to hide it. It would be kind of counterproductive for the secrecy of their marriage, but right now, in this mood, there was not much he would put behind Findekáno.
But his husband was obviously not through with him yet. He leaned back on his chair a lot more comfortably than before and ordered Maitimo to pull down his pants and undergarments and then bend over his knees.
Maitimo had no words. For a moment, everything in him screamed no, because there was no way they could risk anyone walking in on them while Findekáno was spanking his ass like some parents who didn’t know better maybe would do it with an insolent child. But his husband didn’t look like he was about to accept any objection - unless he would be able to feel in their bond that Maitimo was actually serious about it, of course -, so Maitimo didn’t really have a choice but to share Findekáno’s trust in his peoples’ discretion.
His head was an interesting shade of red even before he’d taken the humiliating position, bracing himself against the cold floor with his good hand. Findekáno’s admonishing slap to the inside of his thigh had him spread his legs as far as the restrictions of his pants allowed it. At least his husband was finally touching him, even if this was not exactly how Maitimo had expected this night to go.
“That’s so much better,” Findekáno purred, and against his side, Maitimo could feel his husband’s cock start to harden again already. “I brought a little something for you. Got it from my chambers in one of our meeting breaks …” He started to rummage in one of the pockets of his multi-layered, thick robe, and just by the weight of that thing alone that was pulling down the piece of clothing on this side, Maitimo suspected that whatever his lover was about to pull out would make the further proceedings a lot more demanding.
“Actually, I wanted to give it to you tomorrow. I meant to have a nice, romantic night with you today, sucking you off in the bathtub, maybe, and then you could have had me … You wouldn’t even have to ask. But you had to to be a brat.” Another slap hit Maitimo’s left asscheek, and he winced because that one had hurt. “If you’re insisting on acting like a brat, then I’ll have to treat you like one.” He put the toy down on the armrest exactly in Maitimo’s view, and Maitimo’s breath hitched in his throat.
It was big and had the weirdest, most intriguing shape he’d ever seen on a device made for such use. Its tip was thin enough but it flared quickly, in a form that resembled a tongue, almost, and the part right before its base was so thick, it almost matched Findekáno’s fist.
Maitimo hadn’t realized he had started to wriggle his hips against his husband’s legs before a slap hit his other cheek, both sides burning equally now, not unlike the heat throbbing in his loins that was betraying his slight anxiety.
“Hush.” Two more slaps, right where the first one had hit, and Maitimo whined quietly, rutting his rock-hard cock against his husband’s leg, only for Findekáno to spread his thighs further, so that the only resistance left was the smooth cushion of the chair. “None of that. It’s up to you how uncomfortable you’re going to sit tomorrow. For every word I hear from your lips, you’ll get ten more slaps. Think you can be good for me now, my love?”
Maitimo shuddered and nodded and nestled his sweat-covered face against the outside of the chair. He wanted to be so very good for his husband. He wanted to make him happy and aroused and come with Maitimo’s name on his lips so badly. He could deal with a little discomfort for that.
Findekáno had brought oil, too, of course, and with enough of it spread on Maitimo’s heated cheeks and his twitching hole, the tip of that phallus slipped into him easily enough. Maitimo groaned, his legs shaking, his hand firmly grabbing one of the throne legs as his cock filled, even more, spreading precum all over that precious fabric, and he faintly wondered who would be the poor guy to clean up this mess tomorrow. Not a thought he could dwell on for very long, because the wooden toy went deeper, the broad shape of the artificial tongue stretching him open gently enough, especially thanks to his husband oiling his hole again and again, tenderly massaging the tender skin with his fingertips until Maitimo could finally feel the tip tease his inner walls, almost touching his most sensitive point … but not quite.
“Please …” It came from his lips before he’d even thought about it, and he was pretty sure to hear his husband chuckle both in arousal and amusement.
“Begging already, mîl? And you didn’t even take the biggest part yet …”
Maitimo yelped because he had almost forgotten about that, only to be rewarded with the first of his punishment slaps. He promptly tightened up so badly around the toy that he would almost have come from that alone if it hadn’t been for Findekáno’s quick, tight grip around his balls. Not surprised but still miserable, he struggled against the rough surface of the chair when he could feel one of his husband's golden ribbons being wrapped around his balls next, and another around the base of his cock. He probably deserved that after today but it was still a maddening sensation that didn’t exactly help him to keep quiet.
“Now, let’s try this again.” Findekáno hummed, almost casually safe for his throbbing, rock-hard erection that Maitimo could feel against his flesh, and grabbed the shallow, wide base of the toy again, slowly starting to push it deeper.
For a moment, Maitimo was convinced there was no way he could take this, that he would have to ask his lover to stop, to take it out because it was just too much. His hand was grabbing the armrest so tightly, he could swear he actually heard it crack a little …
But then Findekáno slapped him again, right below his buttocks, and he yelled and tensed up, only for his muscles to release afterward and allow the rest of the toy to slip into him. He screamed out again, this time in nothing but lust, arching up on his husband’s lap while his King rained down the rest of his punishment on his unprotected cheeks. The impact made him tighten up, fuck himself on that delicious curve right against his prostate, again and again, until the chair was slick from his pre-cum and he lay against his husband’s body trembling all over, trying in vain to catch his breath.
“So beautiful …” Findekáno bent down to kiss one of the bruises on his ass, and Maitimo whimpered feebly. “Maybe later. On your knees, mîl. You’ve wanted to taste me before, didn’t you? You’ve been a very good boy. You deserve a treat.”
Maitimo bit back an exhausted groan, knowing only too well how much of a torture it would be, being back in that position, with his ass stuffed so full and his cock bound too tightly to even think about coming. But his husband said he was being good, and he wanted to do even better.
So he obeyed and crouched over Findekáno’s lap again with a low moan, pulling open the laces of his husband’s breeches with his teeth a second time tonight. He purred, aroused beyond belief and completely satisfied with the emptiness and heaviness in his mind when Findekáno buried his hands in his hair and pulled him down onto his cock in one go, happily swallowing around his husband and stretching his tongue to lick over his over-sensitive balls.
“See? I knew you would be a perfect servant.” Findekáno tenderly caressed his neck as he thrust up into him, losing himself quickly to another approaching orgasm. “If you can pull yourself together enough to make it to our chambers with your new toy in, I might even let you come later. Sounds good?”
All Maitimo could do was nod, but he did it very enthusiastically.