Title: More Lessons
Author: Khylaren
Contact: Khylaren@yahoo.com
Fandom: LOTR/AU
Rating: NC17
Beta: Orchyd Constyne
Cast: Erestor/Galathil (OMC)
Warnings: Graphic Homoerotic (slash) content, mild BDSM

Summary: A continuation of where “Lessons” left off. Galathil’s observations are noted by Erestor. 

Notes: I needed to have some more fun with these two, and explore their relationship just a little more. Smut that wouldn’t go away, pretty much. So here it is.

Chapter 1 - Observations

Galathil looked up from his breakfast when Lindir entered the room, his eyes narrowing slightly as he watched the minstrel prepare a plate for himself from the heavily laden sideboard. Oblivious to the Prince’s regard, Lindir turned and found an empty seat at the long table and began to eat, interspersing long sips of juice between bites of food. Galathil watched the graceful column of Lindir’s throat as he swallowed, followed the movement of his hands and mouth as he brought each bite of food to his lips. His own breakfast forgotten, Galathil watched hungrily as Lindir bit into a strawberry, catching errant drops of juice with the tip of his tongue. 

A hand closed on the back of his neck, warm and familiar, and Galathil tore his gaze away from Lindir to smile up at Erestor.

“Maur aur, ernilen,” Erestor said, his hand tightening briefly on the back of Galathil’s neck. “Are you not hungry?” He glanced pointedly at the Prince’s mostly untouched plate. 

Galathil’s smile faded and he swallowed, his body reacting to Erestor’s commanding presence the way it always did; a combination of anxious excitement mingled with desire. 

Erestor smiled faintly. He bent down, leaning to murmur in Galathil’s ear. “Or perhaps it is not food you hunger for?” His breath was warm and caressing, his voice low. It sent a delicious thrill down Galathil’s spine, though he struggled not to show it. 

“I know not what you mean, my lord,” Galathil managed to answer, taking a bite of something he did not even taste. A soft, knowing chuckle answered him. 

“I will see you this afternoon in my study, ernilen, after tea. Do not be late.”  Erestor’s hand caressed the back of his neck, before withdrawing. 

“Yes, my lord,” Galathil whispered, watching his lover stride away, his black robes flowing gracefully behind him. A soft, needful sigh escaped him, before he returned to his breakfast. As he slathered a soft roll with strawberry preserves, something made him glance over at Lindir. 

The minstrel had obviously overheard Galathil’s exchange with Erestor, for he glanced hurriedly away as if embarrassed at having been caught. A moment later, Lindir rose, gathering his empty plate with him, and departed the dining chamber without a glance back. 

A slow smile graced Galathil’s lips as he watched Lindir retreat. Just before the elf had glanced away, their eyes had locked, and Galathil had read something in them he had not expected to see; a mixture of interest and curiosity. 

So, Lindir was curious about his relationship with Imladris’ Chief Counselor, Galathil mused, taking a bite of his roll. He wondered how the fair minstrel would feel if he knew what sort of tutoring Erestor did with Galathil when the door to his study was locked. 

~ * ~

“You are late.”

“I am sorry, my Lord,” Galathil replied, stepping past Erestor and watching him lock the door. “I was practicing archery and lost track of the time.”

Erestor folded his hands behind his back and looked at Galathil, his expression utterly mild, except for the heat in his dark eyes. “I told you not to be late.”

Galathil’s body reacted to the soft steel in Erestor’s voice, to the unquestionable heat in his eyes. He dropped his head, looking at his hands. “I am sorry, my Lord,” he repeated. His arousal was already hard and aching beneath his leggings.

“Disrobe, please, and stand by the desk.”

His fingers trembled slightly with anticipation as he complied, fumbling over the laces of his leggings before sliding them over his hips. He folded his clothing neatly and placed it on the chair, before taking his position by the desk.

“Palms flat on the desk, please,” Erestor said, moving away from the door to open the small cupboard in the corner. 

With his hands on the desk, his back was to Erestor as he rummaged through the cupboard. He knew better than to turn his head to watch. He kept his gaze forward and waited, knowing from the familiar sounds that his lover had shed his outer robe and was standing behind him, clad only in his leggings. 

“Legs further apart, ernilen,” Erestor chided softly. “I should not have to remind you of this.”

“Yes, my lord,” Galathil whispered, parting his legs even further, so that his back arched in a way he knew Erestor found most pleasing. He felt the touch of his lover’s hand glide down his spine and shivered, his arousal throbbing in response.

“Very nice, ernilen. Very nice.” Erestor’s hand moved lower, ghosting lightly over his buttocks before giving them a firm squeeze. “Tell me why you were looking at Lindir this morning.”

Galathil’s mind blanked for a moment. It was not a question he had expected. “My Lord?”  Then he heard the sound he had been anticipating, the low whistle of leather through the air as Erestor swung the riding crop. It connected with a loud, crack against his buttocks and he flinched, more from the noise than from the pain of it.

“Do you want him?” Erestor crooned, swinging the crop again. Galathil hissed through his teeth as the sting of it sizzled against his skin. “Do you want to see him kneeling for you?”

“Yes,” Galathil groaned. “Yes, my lord.”  Another stinging blow caressed his buttocks, and he arched his back, moaning softly. Tears spilled unheeded down his cheeks.

“Tell me,” Erestor demanded softly. “What would you do?”  His breathing had quickened as he continued to punish Galathil’s buttocks, the leather turning the pale golden skin a becoming shade of pink. 

Galathil swallowed, tasting his tears. “I would make him strip for me so I could see all of him.”  His buttocks burned now, feeling swollen and on fire from the strap. Still, Erestor did not stop. “I would make him pleasure himself in front of me.”

“Then what?”

“Ai!” Galathil gasped, trembling uncontrollably. “I would…I would…” It was difficult to think. His body was on fire from pain and from desire, knowing that Erestor would take him roughly when he was through punishing him. A sob escaped him as he struggled to answer the question. “Then I would blindfold him and make him pleasure me with his mouth.”

The blows stopped as suddenly as they had begun, and Galathil bowed his head, shuddering silently.  Erestor’s hand touched him, as if testing the heat of his skin. 

“I would permit this,” Erestor said softly, squeezing the abused flesh tenderly. “If you will grant me two things.”

Galathil’s eyes were closed as he struggled to control his breathing. “What is it you wish from me, my lord?” he whispered.  Though he could not see Erestor’s face, he could practically feel him smile.

“I would punish you every day after tea, so that every time you sit down, you are reminded of who you belong to.”  Erestor squeezed his buttocks again, eliciting another helpless moan from Galathil’s lips.  “And, if you endeavor to convince Lindir to submit to you, I would watch.”

He heard the bottle of oil being opened and swallowed noisily. “Just watch?”  Slick fingers probed his entrance, making him gasp.  The fingers were replaced by a hard thickness as Erestor pushed into him with one, fluid thrust. He gasped, arching against him.

“Just watch,” Erestor whispered. His long fingers gripped Galathil’s hips tightly as he began to move, and the Prince was incapable of any further coherent thought. His hands moved to grip the edge of the desk, to steady himself as Erestor claimed his body. His arousal wept, aching and ignored, while the sound of flesh meeting flesh filled the study, punctuated by their harsh breathing and low groans. 

He loved this, loved being taken by Erestor, loved being made to surrender his body and his will to his lover. The thought alone was almost enough to make him achieve his own release. Erestor’s breathing became ragged, his movements erratic as his climax took him, and he reached forward, grasping Galathil’s length in one hand, pumping it in time with his thrusts.

Galathil cried out, his body shuddering as he felt the heat of Erestor’s seed fill him, his own release spilling from him and onto his lover’s hand. His body spasmed, twitching in the aftershocks as Erestor leaned against him, his own breathing far from calm.

Erestor pressed a soft kiss against his shoulder, before pulling away. Galathil winced as his lover’s movement brushed against the over-sensitive skin of his buttocks. 

“Sore?” Erestor asked tenderly.

Galathil turned and took the soft cloth his lover handed him, cleaning the evidence of their passion from his skin. “Yes,” he admitted.  He knew he would not be able to sit this evening without discomfort.

A smile warmed Erestor’s lips before he leaned forward and kissed Galathil. “Good,” he murmured. “I would keep you that way.”

Galathil’s cheeks flushed as he looked away. “Yes, my Lord,” he whispered, smiling a little. “Hannon chen.”  Strong fingers lifted his chin, directing his gaze back to Erestor’s. 

“Melin chen, Galathil,” Erestor replied, wrapping his arms around him and holding him gently. “Go and take a nice, relaxing bath. The heat will help a little.”

“Will you join me?” Galathil asked, pulling back slightly to look at Erestor.

His lover considered his request for a moment, before nodding. “Yes,” he replied. “I will.”

Chapter 2 – Pursuit – or Who Seduces Who?

Galathil waited until Lindir took a seat at the breakfast table before taking his own right next to the minstrel.

“Maur aur, Lindir.”

Lindir looked up from his plate and gave Galathil a faint smile. “Maur aur, Prince Galathil. How fare you this morning?”

Galathil smiled and took a drink from his juice. “Well enough. How goes it with you?”
He watched Lindir’s slender fingers as they spread butter on a soft roll, watched as he brought the roll to his lips and took a hungry bite. Honestly, he did not know which he found more erotic: the way Lindir’s fingers curled around the roll, or the way his lips wrapped around the soft bread. He found himself suddenly envious of a simple breakfast roll.

Lindir swallowed and glanced at him. “I am well,” he answered quietly, his voice low and musical. His tongue flicked out to catch a stray smear of butter on the edge of his mouth. 

You are wicked, Galathil thought, biting back a groan as he looked away. He was not certain, but he wondered if Lindir’s action had been deliberate. Deliberate or not, it certainly had an affect on his anatomy. He dropped his napkin into his lap to hide the evidence of his growing arousal.

“I was wondering,” Lindir said, reaching across Galathil for the honey, “if you were free this afternoon.” He drizzled the honey over the remainder of his roll.

Galathil swallowed hard as drops of honey spilled over Lindir’s fingers. “Why do you ask?”  He wanted to grab those fingers and suck the honey from them right there.  He managed to meet Lindir’s gray-blue eyes without blushing. He lost the battle when Lindir brought his honey-smeared fingers to his own lips and licked them like a hungry kitten. “I – uh…” he stammered, unable to look away. “I have to go!” He bolted from the table without a backward glance.

Lindir watched him disappear through the doors and chuckled softly.

“You really are wicked, meldir,” a familiar voice purred softly in his ear. “I have not seen Galathil so undone so quickly since I first met him.”  

Lindir turned his head, smiling up at Erestor. “He is quite the innocent, despite your tutoring, mellonen vrûn.”

Erestor smiled faintly and took Galathil’s recently abandoned seat. “Aye,” he agreed. “That he is. In a way, it is refreshing.”  He reached for a roll and poured a generous amount of honey on it without spilling a drop. “He wants you,” he said abruptly, glancing at Lindir. 

“Does he?” Lindir mused, smiling wickedly. “I could not tell, to be sure. The way he bolted just now gave me some doubts.”

The Noldo chuckled softly. “You were no different when I first met you, mellonen vrûn.”  He took a bite from his roll and chewed it with relish, following it with a long drink of tea. He wiped his mouth delicately with his napkin and glanced at Lindir again. “Will you seduce him?”

“Or allow myself to be seduced?” Lindir finished for him, his smile widening. He tilted his head slightly, looking at Erestor shrewdly. “Tell me, my old tutor, which would you prefer?”

Erestor smiled and shook his head. “No, I will not interfere. Do as you will, Lindir nín. I will be only an observer in this chase.”

Lindir’s eyes narrowed a moment. “And reap the benefits from it, I am certain.”

“Aye,” Erestor replied smoothly. “Though to be honest, the thought of having both of you in my bed does have its appeal.” 

The minstrel rose from his seat, bending down to press his lips against Erestor’s ear. “Then perhaps you should have kept me there when you had the chance, melethron vrûn.” His tongue flicked against the delicate point of Erestor’s ear. “Good day to you, my Lord.”  

Erestor sighed and watched Lindir depart before turning to finish his breakfast.

~ * ~

Galathil leaned his forehead against the wall, resisting the urge to bang his head against it. The Hall of Fire was blessedly empty; there was no one to witness his embarrassment.

He was hopeless. Lindir had turned him into a stammering youth in less than five minutes. How could he possibly think that he had a chance of seducing the innocent-seeming minstrel when he could not hold a simple conversation?  His mind kept replaying the image of Lindir’s pink tongue licking the honey from his fingers, and he felt himself grow hard beneath his leggings. 

It was far too easy to imagine that tongue licking something else.

Galathil lifted his forehead from the wall and glanced surreptitiously around him, before sliding his hand beneath the waistband of his leggings. He grasped the hardness he found there, coating his palm with the moisture that leaked from the tip. A soft groan escaped him as he stroked himself, imagining it was Lindir’s hand that held him, Lindir’s tongue giving him pleasure. 

He leaned back against the wall, using his other hand to open the lacings of his leggings, giving him more freedom of movement. His head fell back against the wall and he closed his eyes, giving into the fantasy that Lindir’s tongue had started.

Slow, even strokes, just the right speed to give him pleasure without rushing towards the finish. His mind’s eye saw Lindir, naked, on his knees before him, his head moving up and down in time with the strokes. His breathing quickened, another low groan escaping him as he pictured Lindir’s hand sliding up his tunic, across his stomach and up his chest, long fingers pinching his nipple roughly, just the way he liked. 

His mouth fell open as his breathing grew ragged, his quiet moans punctuated by the soft sound of his fist working his flesh. He slipped two fingers into his mouth and wet them, sliding them beneath his tunic to caress his chest, his body beginning to tremble with his impending release. 

Warmth and wetness touched his lips and Galathil’s eyes flew open as he stared in shock into the gray-blue eyes inches from his own. 

“Do not stop,” Lindir breathed, his eyes darkening with lust as he ran the tip of his tongue across Galathil’s lower lip. “Do not stop.”

Galathil closed his eyes, embarrassed and so painfully aroused his whole body seemed to throb with need. “I... I...”

“Let me help you,” Lindir murmured, capturing his lower lip with his teeth. Galathil felt Lindir’s hand cover his own. “I want to see you come for me.” Slowly, Lindir’s hand began to stroke him, and Galathil moaned helplessly.

One slender hand pushed him against the wall, sliding up his tunic to touch his chest. Fingertips, calloused from years of playing instruments, brushed across his nipples, pinching them almost painfully. Galathil’s legs trembled, his body collapsing against the wall as Lindir touched him without mercy, stroking him, caressing him. Lindir pressed his lips against Galathil’s ear, his own breathing far from calm. 

“Banwain,” Lindir murmured softly, his tongue tracing the outer edge of Galathil’s ear. His hand stroked the velvet length of heat between the Prince’s legs and he felt the fine tremor that went through the lithe frame. “That is it, my lovely,” he crooned, pressing his own body against Galathil’s as his fist moved faster. “Come for me. Let me hear you.” 

Lindir’s soft words, combined with his touch, sent Galathil over the edge. With a loud groan, he shuddered, bucking against Lindir as his release spilled from him. His hands clutched the minstrel’s shoulders as he struggled to catch his breath, his body twitching with the aftershocks of his release. 

Gradually, he became aware that Lindir’s talented hands were lacing his leggings, even as the minstrel placed soft kisses against his neck. He pulled away slightly and met Lindir’s bemused and heated gaze.

The minstrel smiled, before bending his head and brushing his lips lightly with his own. “That was lovely,” he murmured. His hands slid down to Galathil’s waist, holding him as he tilted back to look at him. 

Galathil felt his cheeks redden under Lindir’s intense gaze. “I… hannon chen,” he managed.

Lindir chuckled. “You will be late with your practice session with the guard if you do not hurry, though I would recommend that you at least change your leggings.”  He kissed him again, and Galathil found it difficult to think of anything but the way Lindir’s tongue curled and teased against his own.

Smiling, Lindir released him. “I will see you later,” he promised. “You had better hurry now. You do not wish to be late.”

Lost for words, Galathil could only nod, his legs still trembling as he made his way to his room to change his soiled leggings.

~ * ~

Erestor opened the door to his study just as Galathil raised his hand to knock.

“You are early,” Erestor said with a nod. “Good. Come with me.”

Confused, Galathil followed Erestor through the halls of the Last Homely House, wondering where they were going. This was not part of the usual routine they had established.  

His confusion only grew when they reached Erestor’s room and his lover pushed him inside. Erestor had no sooner locked the door than he was pulling Galathil’s clothing from his body, tossing the tunic and leggings aside with utter disregard to where they landed.

“Over there. On the bed,” Erestor instructed, removing his own robes with similar haste. “Now!” he snapped when Galathil did not move quick enough to suit him.

Galathil crawled onto the bed, watching his lover toss his robes aside and reach for the vial of oil.

“On your knees, ernilen,” Erestor growled. “Hands on the headboard.”

Alarm bells rung in Galathil’s brain as he complied, gripping the headboard tightly. “Is something wrong?” he asked. A sharp slap to his buttocks made him wince.

“I did not tell you to speak, ernilen,” Erestor replied. “The only thing I wish to hear from your lovely mouth are groans as I take you.”  Galathil’s hurt expression made his own soften slightly. He reached out, caressing the buttock he had just slapped. “Nothing is wrong, melethen,” he said softly. “Melin chen.”  

Galathil nodded, relieved. He turned his head and faced the headboard as Erestor climbed onto the bed behind him. He whimpered slightly when his lover’s oiled fingers pressed inside of him, stroking deeply, preparing the way. His hands gripped the headboard even tighter when Erestor entered him, hissing at the familiar and brief pain of being breached by his lover’s hard length. 

Erestor gripped Galathil’s hips with his hands as he buried himself to the root in his lover’s tightness. He remained motionless for a long moment, savoring the feel of the heat encasing his length. He shut his eyes, the scene he had witnessed this morning replaying behind closed lids. 

Lindir’s hand down Galathil’s leggings, stroking him, working him towards completion. Galathil’s expression of ecstasy, his low cries of pleasure as his release claimed him.  At that moment, Erestor had wanted them both so badly it was all he could do to remain hidden in the alcove, watching. 

He felt Galathil tremble beneath his hands and opened his eyes. The prince’s head was back, exposing the long line of his throat, and his eyes were closed tightly.

“Melin chen,” Erestor repeated, and began to move. He thrust with deliberate slowness, watching Galathil’s lithe body sway with the motion of his thrusts. He watched the graceful motion of his lover’s throat as he swallowed, moaning softly. His hand moved from its place on Galathil’s hip to stroke his back. “Banwain.”

Galathil groaned, feeling Erestor fill him completely. He had not expected their coupling to be this slow, this gentle. The way his lover had acted earlier made him think that he would be taken quickly and thoroughly. The unexpected tenderness of it nearly undid him.

Erestor reached forward, leaning his weight against Galathil’s back as he found his lover’s rigid length. He stroked it, loving the velvet feel of it against his hand, loving the breathless groan Galathil gave with each thrust, each stroke. He felt his lover quiver beneath him, heard the rising urgency of his moans, and thrust deeper, his own release hovering just on the edge. 

Galathil cried out his pleasure as his release claimed him, and he heard Erestor’s answering moan. His lover thrust deeply one last time before he felt the heat of his seed fill his body. Arms wrapped around his waist and pulled him down onto the bed as Erestor spooned his body behind him. 

For a while, all that could be heard was the soft sound of their breathing. It was Erestor who finally broke the silence.

“I am sorry, melethen.”

Galathil turned his head to gaze at Erestor in a puzzled fashion. “What are you apologizing for? That was wonderful.”

Erestor smiled, placing a soft kiss against Galathil’s temple. “I watched you and Lindir this morning. It put me in a mood.”

“Oh,” Galathil said faintly, uncertain what else to say. “I am sorry,” he said finally. “I should not want another.”

“Nonsense,” Erestor replied firmly, giving him a faint smile. “I do not expect that from you. I do not think you are ready to commit yourself to a relationship of that nature. You are young, and inexperienced. I want you to experience more of what life has to hold before you agree to become my mate.”

“But I love you, Erestor,” Galathil said firmly. “I should not want any others besides you.”

“And I love you as well, ernilen. More than I should, more than I thought possible. But, I am not selfish enough to take you for myself alone.” Erestor sighed, holding Galathil tightly for a moment. “I would not have you bind yourself to me only to discover that you love another. I wish only to give you the chance to discover what you truly want, before you decide.”

Galathil looked at his lover a moment, before finally nodding. “I suppose you are wiser than I in this.” A playful smile curved his lips. “You are my elder, after all, by several hundred years.”

Erestor swatted his buttocks with his hand, scowling. “Never forget it, youngling.”

The prince squirmed under the blow, a soft gasp of surprise escaping him. Erestor chuckled and did it again, a little harder than before. “You squirm so delightfully, ernilen,” he murmured. “Would you like Lindir to handle you thus?”

Galathil whimpered softly as another stinging blow landed on his buttocks. “Aye,” he whispered, feeling himself growing hard against the mattress. He gasped when Erestor’s fingers closed around his re-awakened length, stroking it firmly. 

“That,” Erestor crooned, swatting Galathil’s upturned bottom again, “would be a sight to see.”  He chuckled at the Prince’s plaintive moan. “I have not forgotten your promise to me, ernilen. I do believe your bottom needs a good warming.”

“Please,” Galathil pleaded softly as Erestor’s hand continued to tease his length. 

“Hand or strap, ernilen?” Erestor demanded, his hand connecting sharply with Galathil’s buttocks.  His other hand never ceased its merciless movements, pumping the prince’s arousal with sure, even strokes. 

“Ai! Hand! Hand!” Galathil panted, not wanting to have to move to fetch the strap. He never wanted to move, never wanted the delicious torture of pain and pleasure to end. 

“Strap it is then,” Erestor replied wickedly, releasing Galathil abruptly. “Go and fetch it, ernilen.”

Galathil groaned his disappointment, but did as he was bid, rising from the bed to fetch the soft, leather strap from the storage chest. When he returned, Erestor had dressed in his robes, and was sitting on the divan.  Wordlessly he handed his lover the strap and assumed the position across Erestor’s lap, feeling both foolish and deliciously naughty as his naked skin rubbed against the velvet of his lover’s robes.

“I expect you to not stain these robes, ernilen,” Erestor told him mildly, his hands caressing his already warmed buttocks with light touches. “I shall be most displeased if you do.”

Galathil shivered at his words and at the sudden loss of Erestor’s hands against his skin. Unconsciously, his body tensed for the blow he knew was coming. 

“Lift your hips a little,” Erestor told him, sliding his hand beneath his stomach to grasp his throbbing length. 

He cannot mean to, Galathil thought, gasping as Erestor began to stroke him again. I will not be able to keep from… All rational thought fled as he felt the first stinging blow of the strap against his buttocks. He closed his eyes, a soft whimper escaping him. As Erestor spanked him, his hand continued to slowly pump his length. Galathil struggled not to give into the release that was slowly, inevitably building with each delicious lick of the strap and accompanying stroke. It was a battle that he could not win. 

“Erestor,” Galathil panted roughly. “Please. I am going to… Ai!”  His body arched as his seed spilled from him, coating Erestor’s hand and spilling onto his robes. Tears of relief and humiliation sprang from his eyes and he sobbed quietly, feeling his lover stroke his back in gentle, soothing strokes. He sniffed, wiping his eyes with the back of his hand and raised himself up, looking shamefacedly at the stain on Erestor’s black robes. “I am sorry,” he said softly.

Erestor’s fingers gripped his chin and lifted his gaze. His lover was smiling gently at him. “You did fine, melethen. I expected nothing else.”  His smile broadened as he stroked the side of Galathil’s cheek. “In fact, you lasted longer than I thought you would.”

Galathil managed a smile, sighing when Erestor kissed him. There was something delightfully decadent about being naked in his lover’s lap, feeling the soft brush of his robes against his skin while his lover kissed him senseless. 

“Now, go and bathe. Get dressed, and enjoy your afternoon,” Erestor told him quietly. “I must change and return to my work.”

“Yes, Erestor,” Galathil said, rising to his feet to gather his strewn clothing. He paused, leaning down to kiss Erestor softly. “Melin chen.”

“Melin chen, ernilen,” Erestor replied, pulling at his robes with a sigh of resignation. 

“I suppose there is a penalty for mussing your robes?” Galathil asked with a challenging grin.

Erestor looked up at him, his own smile wicked. “Oh yes, ernilen. There is.”

Chapter 3 – Raising the Stakes

His life in Mirkwood had been so much simpler, Galathil mused, surreptitiously rubbing his tender bottom. Not that he was complaining. Life in Imladris might be more complicated, but it was infinitely more interesting, and for an immortal, that was an important distinction.

He took a seat at the breakfast table, unable to keep from wincing as his sore buttocks made contact with the overly firm wooden seat of the chair. There was little he could do at this point except grit his teeth and bear it. After all, he had brought his condition on himself willingly.  Perhaps he would soak in the bath later and see if that would help.

As he reached for a piece of fruit, his mind flashed back to the prior evening; the feel of the carpet beneath his knees, the sting of the crop on his already sore bottom, and the salty sweet taste of Erestor’s seed in his mouth. His punishment for soiling his lover’s robes had been a wondrous mix of pleasure and pain one he would not quickly forget. He had never been so aroused. 

Afterwards, Erestor had tied his hands to the headboard, denying him any means of relief for his aching arousal. How he had managed to finally fall into reverie that way, with Erestor’s nude body spooned against him, was a mystery. Somehow, though, he had managed. 

When Erestor had untied him this morning, he had expected that his lover would take pity on him at last, or reward him for being good. Erestor did neither. Instead, his lover kissed him quickly and informed him that he would be busy all day, and that their regularly scheduled tutoring after tea would have to be postponed until tomorrow.  He would not see Galathil until probably late this evening. With another, frustratingly quick kiss, Erestor had left their room and closed the door behind him.

Now Galathil sat eating his breakfast trying to ignore the throb of his buttocks and the ache in his loins. 

“Maur aur, my Lord.” Lindir’s familiar voice tickled his ear, bringing him abruptly out of his thoughts. “Is this seat taken?”

Galathil looked up and shook his head, his cheeks flushing in embarrassment. “No,” he replied. 

Lindir smiled and took the empty seat beside Galathil. “Good. I was hoping we could continue our conversation from yesterday morning. You ran off before I could ask you if you wanted to go riding with me.”  He looked slyly at Galathil. “That is, if your afternoon is free. I know you have… lessons… with Lord Erestor after tea.”

His cheeks were probably scarlet, but Galathil did not look away. He would never win Lindir by being shy. “Well,” he drawled with a confidence he did not feel, “Lord Erestor has informed me that he will be busy this afternoon, so I am free.” He smiled his most charming smile at the minstrel. “Riding sounds lovely. I am certain you know the best and most picturesque sights in Imladris.”

Actually, riding sounded like a form of torture considering the way his bottom felt, but he was not about to admit that to Lindir.

Lindir nodded and rose gracefully from the table. “I will meet you in an hour at the stables, my Lord,” he said. He paused and leaned down to murmur in Galathil’s ear. “I would recommend a nice soak in a hot bath first, ernilen, or you will not enjoy this afternoon’s… activities.” He smiled knowingly and left, leaving Galathil to stare after his retreating back.

~ * ~

The bath had helped considerably, as did a nice slathering of muscle ointment. Galathil discovered riding was not as uncomfortable as he had feared – as long as they walked or cantered. Trotting was another matter and was borne only by gritting his teeth. 

Thankfully, Lindir seemed inclined to take their ride slow, and they rode side by side down a path that wound through the trees that surrounded Imladris. Leaves of orange, brown and yellow fell around them, making a colorful carpet on the forest floor. 

Galathil had been tense, unsure what to expect from the minstrel after this morning’s innuendo; however, their conversation remained light with no hint of the double meanings that had laced their earlier discussion. That was a relief, for Galathil knew he had no skill when it came to wordplay. 

“There is a nice clearing up ahead,” Lindir was saying, turning to grace him with a smile. “I thought we might stop and take our afternoon tea there.” He patted the rucksack that lay over his horse’s withers for emphasis.

“That sounds fine,” Galathil agreed. His stomach grumbled audibly, as if voicing its agreement as well. He had not eaten very much for breakfast; he had been too unsettled after Lindir’s invitation to eat. 

“I thought you might appreciate stopping as well,” Lindir added with a wicked grin. “How are you holding up?” He glanced pointedly at Galathil’s posterior and raised an eyebrow.

Galathil flushed and looked away, his actions eliciting a laugh from the minstrel.

“I cannot believe that, after being Erestor’s lover for six months, you are still so shy. You blush far too easily, ernilen,” Lindir laughed softly. “I would not bait you otherwise.”

The Sinda struggled for some intelligent reply. “I am not shy,” he replied finally, looking back at the minstrel. “I merely find it embarrassing that you know so many details of my relationship with my lover.” 

“Hmm,” Lindir said, sidling his horse closer, “It is only an educated guess, ernilen. I know well the type of games that Lord Erestor prefers.” He offered Galathil an understanding smile. “I have been there myself, you see.” He lowered his voice as he continued, “Bent over the desk in his study, or across his lap. Once I could not sit for an entire day.” 

Galathil could not help but laugh, though his body warmed at the memory Lindir’s words evoked. “Yes,” he said simply. They rode in silence for several moments, before Galathil ventured to ask, “What happened?”

Lindir glanced at him sharply. “You mean, why is it I am no longer with Lord Erestor?”  When Galathil nodded, he smiled faintly. “He does not fall in love with those he tutors,” he said softly. “Although, you would seem to be the exception.”  He tilted his head slightly as he regarded the Prince riding beside him. “I wonder, though, why it is that he does not mind you spending time with me?”

“I am free to spend time with whomever I choose,” Galathil said, stiffening. “He wants me to be certain of my love for him.”

“Or maybe,” Lindir said slyly, “he is hoping you will fall in love with someone else and thereby free him of his obligation towards you.”  

Galathil frowned, not liking the direction the conversation was headed at all. “Someone like you?” he asked haughtily. How dare this minstrel imply that Erestor did not want his love!

Lindir only nodded and smiled. “Aye, someone like me.”  He cued his horse into a canter and shot ahead of Galathil, leaving him to follow or remain behind.

When Galathil reached the clearing, Lindir had already dismounted and was spreading a large blanket beneath the shade of a large oak tree. He glanced up as Galathil brought his horse to a halt. 

“Hungry?” Lindir asked, placing the bottle of wine in the center of the blanket beside the two cups, fruit and cheese he had brought.

Galathil slid stiffly from his horse’s back and watched it amble off to graze alongside Lindir’s mount. “I suppose,” he admitted.

“Do not be angry with me, please,” Lindir said, looking up at him as he knelt on the blanket. “It is far too lovely an afternoon.” He smiled so cheerfully; Galathil found it difficult to keep from smiling in return. 

He sat across from Lindir, sipping his wine and nibbling on slices of apple and cheese. He tried not to watch the way Lindir’s hands curled around the slices of fruit or the way he licked spilt drops of wine from his lips. He was conscious of the way the minstrel’s tunic fell open at the neck, revealing the smooth column of his throat, and of the long, graceful-looking legs that were splayed casually in front of him while he ate.  He did not realize that he was staring at Lindir’s lips until they curved into a knowing smile.

“You really are dreadful at this, ernilen,” Lindir said softly, his eyes bright with amusement.

Galathil started, meeting the minstrel’s eyes in confusion. “Dreadful at what? Picnics?” 

Lindir laughed and shook his head. “Seduction. I have been waiting for you to make the first move; instead, all you have done is watch me as though you want to eat me but do not know where to start.”

The Prince licked lips gone suddenly dry. “I – I did not realize I was staring.” His cheeks warmed under Lindir’s bemused regard, and he looked down at his hands. “But you are correct,” he sighed heavily, looking up in chagrin. “I am dreadful at this.”

“Do you want me?” Lindir asked seriously, all playfulness gone from his expression. 

Galathil swallowed, nearly choking on his wine. “Yes,” he admitted faintly.

Lindir plucked the now-empty wine glass from Galathil's fingers and tossed it carelessly aside. He leaned close to Galathil, and the Sinda looked up into his eyes. “I can see then, that it is I who must make the first move.”  He leaned closer, his lips just brushing the tip of Galathil’s ear. 

The words, combined with the warmth of Lindir’s breath against his ear, caused a thrill of pleasure to tingle along Galathil’s spine. Slender fingers touched his chin, turning his head slightly, before Lindir’s mouth covered his.

He opened his mouth under the gentle pressure of Lindir’s lips, moaning softly at the first velvet swipe of the minstrel’s tongue against his own. He met it eagerly, his hands reaching out to grasp Lindir’s shoulders to steady himself. He was only marginally aware that the minstrel was pushing him gently back until his shoulders touched the blanket and Lindir released his mouth. 

“I want to see you,” Lindir breathed, his eyes darkened with lust. “I want to taste you.”  His gaze lowered, fixing on Galathil’s mouth, and he licked his lips reflexively. “I want to hear you cry my name.”

Galathil could not move or speak. He watched as if mesmerized as Lindir’s clever fingers undid the laces of his tunic and spread the fabric apart, revealing his chest. His breathing hitched slightly as Lindir’s lips fastened on one already hardened nipple, drawing it into his mouth with heat and suction. He groaned, his arousal straining against the laces of his leggings. His hands reached for the laces of Lindir’s tunic, but he could not seem to make his fingers work well enough to untie them. With a low growl, he pulled, ripping the delicate cloth apart and baring Lindir’s skin to his gaze. 

The minstrel pulled the shredded fabric from his shoulders and gave Galathil a heated look that made the Prince shiver. “You will pay for that, ernilen,” he promised softly. 

Galathil did not care. His hands were already busy exploring the smooth flesh his hands uncovered. Lindir’s body was as firm and muscled as any warrior’s, and he commented on it.

Lindir smiled, capturing one exploring hand with his own. He brought it to his mouth, his tongue flickering out to tease the sensitive skin between Galathil’s fingers. “That is because I am also trained as a warrior, ernilen,” he said between licks. “I cannot sit idly by all day, playing and singing.”

Galathil closed his eyes, reveling in the sensations Lindir’s tongue elicited. He had not known his fingers were so sensitive! He opened them again at the minstrel’s words and smiled. Somehow, it pleased something inside him to know that Lindir was a warrior. 

“I would enjoy sparring with you some time,” he said, gasping when Lindir drew two of his fingers into his mouth, swirling his tongue around them. 

Lindir bit lightly on Galathil’s fingers before releasing them. “Would you?” he challenged softly. In a swift move, he covered the Prince’s body with his own, his hands on either side of Galathil’s head as he smiled down at him. “Well then,” he purred, rocking his hips forward deliberately. “Tomorrow morning? After breakfast?”

Galathil’s legs fell apart, allowing Lindir to settle between them. He let out a low hiss of pleasure at the contact against his length. “Yes,” he agreed, his hands traveling down the smooth planes of Lindir’s chest before settling on his narrow waist. 

“That is,” Lindir said with a smirk, leaning down to lick Galathil’s ear, “If you can walk tomorrow. I intend to make you quite sore, ernilen.”

The words Galathil had meant to say were forgotten as Lindir captured the point of his ear between his lips, and all the Prince could manage was a gasp. His hips rose off the blanket, seeking contact with Lindir’s body, and he heard the minstrel’s soft groan. Pleased with the small victory, he moved one hand from Lindir’s waist to trace a path up his flat stomach, feeling the muscles quiver slightly beneath his touch. He lifted his hips again, rocking their arousals together as his fingers brushed against Lindir’s nipple. Another low groan escaped the minstrel, before Lindir captured his hand, pulling it away from his chest. He sat up slightly and caught Galathil’s other hand as well. Transferring his hold to Galathil’s wrists, Lindir pinned them over the Prince’s head with a low growl. 

“Leave them there,” he instructed, his tone leaving no doubt in Galathil’s mind that he expected to be obeyed. 

A slow smile curled Galathil’s lips. “Make me,” he breathed, his body tensing in fevered anticipation. 

Lindir held him, his grip tightening on Galathil’s wrists as he stared down at the Prince with slightly narrowed eyes. “You like that, do you?” he murmured, pressing harder as Galathil squirmed beneath him. He ground his hips forcefully against the Prince’s, causing him to groan and close his eyes. “Yes, I can see that you do.” He leaned down, running his tongue over Galathil’s lower lip before catching it lightly between his teeth. “Leave them there, ernilen, or else.” His eyes locked with Galathil’s, and he heard the Sinda's ragged breath. 

Slowly, Lindir’s hands released their punishing grip on his wrists, but he did not move them. Later, perhaps, when he knew more of what Lindir expected and wanted from him, he would push the boundaries. For now, however, he would obey.

Lindir moved back, settling on his heels, and looked down at Galathil with a thoughtful expression. “Now that I have you, I cannot decide what I want to do with you first,” he mused, chuckling softly. His gaze slid down Galathil’s chest and lingered on the bulge readily apparent in the prince’s leggings. “Banwain,” he murmured. “I could torment you for hours and still not tire of it.”

Galathil looked boldly at the minstrel. “Then torment me, my lord,” he whispered. “Aníron han.” 

“So be it,” Lindir replied. His hands made swift work of Galathil’s boots and leggings, stripping them from the Prince’s body in haste. He paused to admire Galathil’s body; Lindir's fingers lightly traced the muscles of his chest and across his ribs, sliding down his flat stomach to curl in the soft dusting of hair at the base of Galathil’s arousal. The Sinda made a low, whimpering noise in the back of his throat, his shaft twitching slightly against his stomach. 

“So needful already,” Lindir purred, his fingers wrapping tightly around Galathil’s shaft. “Let me ease the burden a little before we truly begin.”

Galathil groaned at Lindir’s touch, his hips rising and falling with the rhythm of the minstrel’s strokes. It did not take long for him to reach his climax, and he shuddered when it overtook him, feeling the hot splash of his seed against his stomach. 

Using the torn remains of his shirt, Lindir gently cleaned the evidence of Galathil's passion from his skin before tossing it aside. Galathil watched with half-closed eyes as Lindir finished undressing, his eyes widening in appreciation as the minstrel slid his leggings down over his hips and revealed his arousal to the Sinda's hungry gaze. Lindir kicked his leggings away and stood smiling down at Galathil, noticing the direction of his stare. 

“Use that lovely mouth of yours, ernilen. Pleasure me,” Lindir crooned softly, spreading his legs further apart.

Galathil needed no further prompting. He rose to his knees, his hands reaching up to grip Lindir’s hips to steady himself. Lindir slapped them away.

“Put them behind your neck, ernilen, and leave them there. Touch me with your tongue and lips; nothing else,” the minstrel commanded quietly. 

He moved closer, linking his fingers behind his neck as he had been told to do. He felt Lindir’s fingers in his hair, guiding him closer, and he opened his mouth eagerly. Galathil felt the hardness of Lindir’s length against his tongue like living velvet, the texture both hard and soft, before he wrapped his lips around it. He drew back, letting the shaft slide between his lips, taking it deeply once more. 

“Open your throat, ernilen,” Lindir whispered, his hand in Galathil’s hair both guiding and steadying the Prince. Lindir’s eyes were half-closed as he watched his length disappear between Galathil’s lips. A soft groan escaped him as Galathil struggled to comply, the Sinda gagging slightly as he tried to take Lindir’s length deeper. 

Lindir’s eyes closed, and his head fell back against his shoulders as he gave into the pleasure. Galathil’s mouth, inexperienced or not, was bringing him quickly to the brink of his pleasure. He debated briefly on pulling away, to hold his release at bay for as long as possible, but decided against it. He knew his own body well enough to know that he would recover quickly enough. 

Galathil felt Lindir’s fingers tighten in his hair, holding his head still as the minstrel took control. He struggled not to gag as Lindir thrust into his open mouth with increasing force. He felt the hard shaft give a warning pulse and heard the minstrel’s deep cry of pleasure before the salty warmth of Lindir's seed was filling his mouth. He swallowed, using his lips and tongue to catch every drop, wringing another soft cry from the minstrel. 

Abruptly, Lindir released his hold on Galathil’s hair, and the Prince nearly toppled backwards. His hands slipped from their position on the back of his neck to catch himself before he fell.

“Did I tell you to move?” Lindir asked sharply, his chest still heaving from his pleasure. “Hands on your neck, ernilen.”

Galathil trembled at the steel in Lindir’s voice and hastily complied, clasping his neck once more. His arousal, which had started to harden when Lindir began thrusting into his mouth, did not flag, but grew harder still. 

Lindir drew his leggings on and laced them swiftly but left his feet and chest bare. He looked down at Galathil, nude and kneeling before him, and smiled with satisfaction. “Do not move from that spot, ernilen,” he warned him. “And keep your eyes straight ahead.”

Galathil heard Lindir move away, but could not look to see where he went, though it was sorely tempting to sneak a peek. Several moments passed, and he heard the sound of the pack being opened before he heard Lindir return. 

“Come here.”

Galathil turned, nearly forgetting himself in his surprise. Lindir was seated on a fallen log with the pack at his feet. His long hair was braided in a long, single braid that fell down his back. He was pulling on his riding gloves, smoothing them over his long fingers. Galathil's legs trembled slightly as he made his way to where Lindir sat. 

Lindir looked up at him, his expression utterly neutral except for the heat in his blue eyes. “You are cheeky, ernilen. Your tongue says things it should not, and you forget your place, do you not?”  He arched an eyebrow at Galathil. “Answer me, ernilen.”

“Yes, my Lord,” Galathil whispered, his whole body trembling. He could imagine the feel of those gloves on his skin, the sting of the crop on his buttocks. His arousal throbbed almost painfully at the thought. 

“I am going to teach you a lesson in manners, ernilen. That is, if you agree. I will not do anything you do not wish me to.”

Galathil licked his lips and opened his mouth to speak. He hesitated, and Lindir gave him a warm smile. “You may speak freely this time, Galathil. Tell me what you wish to tell me.”

“You – you will not hurt me?” Galathil asked faintly. Despite their games, Erestor had never truly hurt him; their relationship was a trusting one – Galathil trusted Erestor never to push him too far. He did not know Lindir well enough to give him that trust blindly.

Lindir reached up, caressing his cheek gently. “I will not do anything you do not truly want. I will not really harm you. There will be pain, but also pleasure. You can stop it at any time you wish.” His fingers drifted lightly over Galathil’s lips. “I know I am asking a lot from you, but I ask you to trust me as you would trust Erestor. He is the one who taught me all I know, and I would never betray his teachings.”

Galathil nodded and swallowed audibly. 

“You will trust me?” Lindir asked. Galathil nodded again, and Lindir drew him downward onto his lap. He wrapped his arms around the Prince’s shoulders, pressing their bare chests together as his lips claimed Galathil’s. His tongue slid into the Sinda's mouth hungrily, feasting on the Prince’s lips until he heard him give a soft, needful groan. 

Gloved fingers pinched Galathil's nipples, sending a jolt of pleasure straight to his groin. His groans grew in intensity and volume as Lindir worked first one nipple, then the other, until he was writhing in the minstrel's lap. 

Lindir released Galathil’s mouth to latch onto the delicately pointed tip of one ear, drawing it between his lips even as one gloved hand slid lower, grasping the Prince’s arousal and giving it several firm strokes. Galathil whimpered plaintively, eliciting a soft, pleased chuckle from Lindir. He released his hold on Galathil’s length abruptly.

Firm hands pushed Galathil down until he was kneeling, his waist and hips against Lindir’s thighs. He shuddered as his arousal brushed against the fabric of the minstrel’s leggings, unable to keep from rubbing himself against it until Lindir shifted his legs slightly, removing the source of that delicious friction. A slap against his buttocks, louder than it was painful, warned him that his slip had not gone unnoticed.

“You will not come until I tell you,” Lindir told him quietly, stroking his back with his gloved fingers. 

Galathil nodded, his breath coming in short, anxious gasps as he struggled to stay still, keeping his hands behind his neck. Another stinging slap on his bottom made him wince.

“Answer me, ernilen.”

“Yes, my Lord,” Galathil whispered.

Lindir pulled Galathil’s hair back from his face, leaning down to kiss him. His tongue twined against Galathil’s hungrily, and he felt himself harden beneath his leggings once more. He released the Prince’s mouth reluctantly, and placed one hand between Galathil’s shoulder blades, steadying him. The other hand picked up the riding crop, and he used the end of it to tickle the cleft between the Prince’s buttocks. 

“Knees a little further apart, ernilen,” he murmured. “Lean your weight against me.”

Galathil’s eyes closed as he complied; his breath quickened as the tickling touch of the crop abruptly left him. 

“Look at me,” Lindir demanded quietly. “Keep your eyes on my face. I want to watch you.”

“Yes, my Lord,” Galathil answered in a whisper, turning his head slightly and meeting Lindir’s burning gaze. He did not know if he would be able to stand it, looking at Lindir as his body succumbed to the pleasure and pain of the crop. He bit his lip, holding himself in stillness the way Erestor had taught him. Lindir gave him an approving smile.

There was no real way to prepare himself for the first, stinging blow. It spread like fire across his skin, and he barely had time to accept it before the next landed just beneath it. He gasped, his back arching slightly, but he kept his eyes dutifully on Lindir’s face. The minstrel’s expression had softened somewhat during his punishment, but the crop never ceased or slowed in its rain of blows upon his buttocks. He groaned, tears blurring his vision as he struggled not to flinch away from the crop.

Lindir groaned as well, nearly undone by the vision before him. Galathil’s body arched, softening under the blows beautifully even as tears spilled down his cheeks. His mouth was open, his breathing harsh as he struggled even now to keep himself still, to yield utterly to Lindir’s will. His buttocks were an even shade of pink, starkly contrasting to the pale gold of his skin. 

Galathil cried out under the next blow, closing his eyes. He bit his lip, waiting for the next, and felt Lindir’s gloved fingers lift his chin instead. He opened his eyes anxiously, and was rewarded by a gentle smile.

“You did well, ernilen,” Lindir said approvingly. “Erestor has been soft with you, that much is apparent.” He leaned down and licked the tears from Galathil’s cheeks before giving him an open-mouthed kiss. 

The Prince leaned into the kiss, grateful for the tender touch. His buttocks were one continual burning ache, throbbing in time with his pulse. His arousal, which had flagged during the final few strokes of the crop, hardened once more under Lindir’s kiss.

Lindir pulled back, releasing Galathil’s mouth. 

“The log, ernilen. I want you to kneel against it with your arms over the side,” Lindir told him, brushing his thumbs against his cheeks. 

Galathil moved to comply, shivering as the rough wood came into contact with his chest and arms. He laid his cheek against one arm and waited, his arousal weeping copiously against his stomach. 

He heard the unmistakable sound of a bottle of oil being opened, and smelled the sweet smell of vanilla and nutmeg, before he felt the first touch against his opening. He gasped as Lindir’s gloved fingers, coated generously with oil, pressed into him. They felt utterly foreign: cool and smoother than any skin. The strangeness of it aroused him further, and he gasped again as they pressed deeper, stretching him, preparing him to be taken. His gasp became a full-throated groan as Lindir’s other hand caressed his recently punished buttocks; the touch of the glove against the sensitive skin brought tears to his eyes once more. 

Galathil felt Lindir move behind him, and shivered at the warmth of the minstrel’s breath against his ear. “I would keep you this way if I could,” he murmured, pressing his fingers deeper and eliciting another groan from Galathil’s lips. “So tender, the merest brush of my fingertips would make you moan.”  He withdrew his fingers from Galathil’s body and slipped his gloves from his hands, tossing them aside.

With quick movements, he stripped his leggings from his body once more and set them aside, before resuming his place behind Galathil’s kneeling body. He took a moment to admire the prince’s form, from the smooth column of his neck to the tender skin at the backs of his knees. The redness of Galathil’s buttocks made him only more appealing. 

“Ernilen vain,” he murmured, stroking the reddened buttocks lightly. “I would make you mine now.”

Galathil shivered, quivering beneath the light touch. His whole body ached with the thought of being taken this way, hungered for it the way a starving man hungers for food. He felt the heat of Lindir’s length press against him, and he pushed back reflexively, groaning as the hardness of it filled him. Lindir’s hips cupped his sore buttocks, making him hiss at the combination of pain and exquisite pleasure. 

Lindir wrapped an arm around Galathil’s waist as he began to thrust forward and back, first deeply, then shallowly, until the Prince was moaning breathlessly. Galathil’s hips rocked back to meet his thrusts, drawing a grunt of surprise from Lindir’s lips.

“Harder, ernilen? Is that what you want?” he whispered between clenched teeth, grateful that the edge had already been taken from his need. The tight heat of Galathil’s body was better than he had imagined, and he did not wish to end it too quickly. 

Galathil moaned helplessly, his fingers curling around the rough bark of the log as Lindir rode his body with harder thrusts. His arousal ached, untouched, and he whimpered as the need for release grew with each driving thrust. 

“Touch me,” he groaned, not caring if Lindir punished him later for his transgression or not. “Please, Lindir.” He nearly sobbed with relief when he felt Lindir’s fingers curl around his length, stroking it in time with his thrusts. His body began to tighten, his breath coming in short, harsh gasps as he was driven towards his peak. 

“Not yet,” Lindir panted, his other hand tightening its grip on Galathil’s hip. He drove harder, his hips slapping against the prince’s almost painfully. His own release hovered just at the edge, and he struggled to keep from reaching it too soon. 

“Please.” Galathil’s body trembled. “I cannot… I am going to…”

Lindir could no longer hold his own relief at bay. “Tolo sí, Galathil,” he ground out, thrusting deeply one last time. He shuddered, crying out, filling the Prince’s heat with his essence.

Galathil needed no further words, for his control was lost. His release claimed him utterly, leaving him weak and spent, shuddering against the log. He felt Lindir kiss the back of his neck tenderly before withdrawing, but he could not move for the moment, all his energy completely spent. Only Lindir’s soft chuckle finally roused him enough to move away from the log. He collapsed face down on the blanket, refusing to move any further.

He heard Lindir move away for a moment, but did not open his eyes to investigate. The blanket felt so good beneath him, he never wanted to move again. 

Soft, gentle hands soothed something cool and slippery on the tender skin of his buttocks, and Galathil finally lifted his head, curious enough to want to see what Lindir was doing.

The minstrel met his gaze with a pleased smile, and gathered more salve on his fingers, rubbing it gently into the welts on Galathil’s buttocks. “Sleep, ernilen,” he told him quietly. “Take your rest. I am in no hurry to return.”

Galathil blinked at him, managing a faint smile, before he lowered his head to his arms once more. Lindir’s hands were soothing, the ointment he was using taking some of the sting from his buttocks. It was not difficult, therefore, for him to comply. With a small smile of contentment, he drifted into reverie. 

Chapter 4  - Caught in the Middle

Galathil woke from his reverie, feeling rested and refreshed. His eyes focused slowly and he became gradually aware of the warmth of Lindir’s body, spooned behind his. 

“Sleep well?” Lindir asked softly.

He rolled to his other side so he could see the minstrel’s face. Lindir’s expression was thoughtful, though a smile curved his full lips. 

“Why?” Galathil asked quietly, his gaze intent on Lindir’s face. 

Lindir’s smile grew wider for a moment. “Why what, Galathil?”

He hesitated a moment, and instead of answering, he shook his head. “I was supposed to seduce you, not the other way around.”

The minstrel laughed, a low, musical sound. “You are young and inexperienced yet, Galathil.” His laughter faded and his voice dropped low. “I imagine you wished to do to me what I have done to you?”

Galathil blushed and looked away. “Aye,” he whispered. “Just so.” He felt Lindir’s fingers touch his chin, turning his face towards him again.

“It would never be so,” Lindir told him seriously. “For I have not yielded to another since Master Erestor, and I will not again. That role will never be mine again.” He lifted an eyebrow, his gaze sliding slowly over Galathil’s body. “As yours will never truly be that of a master.”

The Prince stiffened, jerking his head away from Lindir’s touch. “How say you so?” He pulled himself into a sitting position, wrapping his arms around his legs, glaring angrily at the minstrel. Quicker than he could have thought, Lindir knocked him flat, capturing his wrists with the strength of his hands and pinning him with his body. 

“I know so,” Lindir breathed in a low growl, grinding his hips slowly against Galathil’s already rising arousal. “You enjoy this far too much, ernilen, to ever wish to relinquish it. To be held, thus, at my mercy. To be taken, used, loved, shaken and spent or left burning with need. A firm hand drives your lust, and well I can see it.” He bent his head, nipping lightly at Galathil’s lips, before smiling hungrily at the Prince. “Lord Erestor saw it.” He rocked his hips forward again, wringing a low groan from Galathil’s lips. “Perhaps your Adar knew it as well.”

Galathil’s eyes flew open in anger at Lindir’s words and he bucked beneath him, trying to throw the minstrel off. “Get off me,” he snarled, even as his body betrayed him with his desire, his legs parting further, bringing their bodies into closer contact. 

Lindir captured his lips in a searing kiss, his tongue plundering the depths of Galathil’s mouth. He kissed him ruthlessly, relentlessly, hungrily, until Galathil moaned, the will to fight abruptly leaving him. 

The minstrel drew back, his breathing a little more than ragged, and regarded the prince beneath him with glittering eyes. 

“Erestor does not know what he has in you, or he would not allow you out of his sight,” Lindir whispered. “If you were mine, I would not let you dally with others.”

“I am not yours,” Galathil answered weakly, though his hips rose to meet Lindir’s in a silent entreaty. 

Lindir smiled wickedly and bent his head, biting the soft flesh of Galathil’s neck lightly. “Not yet, ernilen vain,” he whispered, licking the skin he had just assaulted with his teeth. “Not yet.” He moved lower, keeping a tight hold on Galathil’s wrists. His teeth grazed a taut nipple before he drew it between his lips, flicking it with his tongue until the prince cried out beneath him. 

“I would make you mine, Galathil,” Lindir murmured, turning his attention to the other nipple, laving it gently with his tongue. “I would love you until you fell asleep in my arms and then wake you to a new day with more of the same.” His tongue moved lower, sliding across the taut skin of Galathil’s stomach, circling the indentation in the middle with slow, teasing flicks. “Your skin would carry the marks of my possession, and your passions would burn for me alone.” His tongue plunged into the center of the indentation, mimicking the act of passion he spoke of, making Galathil writhe beneath him. 

While his heart denied Lindir’s words, Galathil could not deny the affect they had on him. He whimpered softly as Lindir’s tongue swept over the tip of his shaft and lapped at the moisture there. His wrists ached from being gripped so tightly, but he was only marginally aware of his discomfort as Lindir’s mouth moved over him, swallowing his length whole. He cried out, arching beneath the minstrel, surrendering to his body’s desires wantonly. 

Lindir tasted him greedily, flicking his tongue over the velvet hardness in his mouth, Galathil’s soft keening moans filling his ears like the sweetest music. His hands released their grip on Galathil’s wrists to slide down his body, before coming to a rest on the Prince’s narrow hips. His fingers splayed wide, thumbs pressing into the soft flesh where Galathil’s leg met his groin, palms cupping the sides of his thighs. 

He drew back, running his tongue slowly along the backside of Galathil’s shaft, swirling it teasingly around the head, before taking it deeply into his mouth again. Galathil’s answering groan was loud, and he felt the Prince’s fingers brush his shoulders almost hesitantly, as if asking permission. Lindir drew back, looking up the line of Galathil’s body to his face. The Prince’s eyes were closed, his heat thrown back, golden hair spilling over the blanket like a molten waterfall. His lips were parted, soft moans escaping them as Lindir’s hand took over the duty his mouth had been doing before. 

He had meant every word he had spoke to the Prince, he realized, dropping his mouth to suck lightly on Galathil’s inner thigh. He would make Galathil his, if he could. 

Lindir moved lower, lapping at the soft, round pouch of skin beneath Galathil’s length, drawing it into his mouth and sucking lightly. An answering shudder wracked Galathil’s lithe frame, a soft plaintive moan coming from his lips. 

Galathil was lost to the sensation’s Lindir’s skillful caresses elicited. His hands clutched at the minstrel’s shoulders tightly as Lindir took him in his mouth again, swallowing his length deeply. He would not last much longer under such treatment – and he realized that he wanted it to; he wanted more. 

His hands pushed at Lindir gently, and the minstrel paused in his attentions, looking almost feral as he rolled his eyes up to Galathil’s gaze. 

“I want to taste you as well,” Galathil gasped, struggling to regain some control. “Please.” He swallowed hard, gasping again as Lindir let his length slowly slide free from his lips. “Ai!” He shuddered, licking his lips. “Let me put my mouth on you, Lindir.”

The minstrel smiled, dropping his head to nuzzle the soft hairs that grew at the base of Galathil’s arousal. “If that is what you wish, pen-vaelui,” he murmured. His body practically hummed in anticipation as Galathil shifted beneath him, rolling to his side. Lindir moved, lying beside him so that his hips were level with Galathil’s shoulders, his own shoulders equal with the Prince’s thighs. He felt Galathil’s hands come to rest on his legs, parting them slightly, and sighed in pleasure when the Prince’s lips brushed the end of his length. His sigh became a full-throated groan as Galathil took his shaft between his lips and swallowed his length whole. 

Lindir relished the feel of Galathil’s lips and tongue for a moment, before bending to his own task with equal enthusiasm. His hands gripped Galathil’s thighs, parting them further, allowing him unrestricted access to the Prince’s more sensitive areas. He was more than pleasantly distracted by Galathil’s mouth, and for a moment, he could only groan appreciatively as the Prince took him deep into his throat, before he turned his mind to the pleasurable work before him. 

Galathil arched, crying out softly when Lindir’s mouth left his length, his tongue flickering over the crease of his thigh, before delving between his buttocks. He whimpered at the first, velvet swipe of tongue against his opening, his eyes glazing at the sensation of it. He forgot himself for a moment, lost to the pleasure of the feel of Lindir’s tongue pressing against him, circling his opening, before pressing firmly inside. 

The breath he had been holding escaped him in an explosive gasp. “Gods, Lindir,” he moaned, burying his face between the minstrel’s thighs. Never had he felt anything quite as exquisite as the feel of Lindir’s tongue working its way inside him. He whimpered, spreading his legs further apart. He could not bear it, yet he never wanted the blissful torture to end. 

When Lindir wrapped his hand around Galathil’s length and stroked it in opposition of the insistent thrusting of his tongue, the prince was lost. He cried out, arching against Lindir’s body, shuddering as his release claimed him and left him utterly spent.

Lindir licked the quivering opening one last time, making Galathil tremble beneath him, before he drew himself up with a satisfied smile. He went to move, to turn and lay frontwise beside Galathil, when the Prince surprised him by grabbing his hips and holding him immobile.

“Stay there,” Galathil whispered, nuzzling the soft, blonde hair that grew at the base of Lindir’s arousal. He lifted his head slightly and met the minstrel’s gaze with a hungry smile. “I would return the favor.”

Nodding, Lindir lay back, his head cushioned by Galathil’s thigh. The prince had greatly surprised him by his request, but he was more than happy to comply. A startled moan escaped him as Galathil’s tongue teased the crease of his buttocks, before delving between them deeply. 

Galathil rolled, pushing Lindir on his back and shifted position, coming to kneel between the minstrel’s thighs. He glanced up briefly, smiling at the look of hunger and need on Lindir’s face, before returning to his exploration. His hands cupped the smooth cheeks of the minstrel’s buttocks, lifting them higher as he nuzzled the soft pouch of skin that nestled below Lindir’s length. His tongue flicked out, tracing the sensitive flesh, before sliding lower, earning himself a soft, pleading groan for his efforts. He smiled against the heat of Lindir’s skin, before his tongue swept out again, this time brushing over the small, puckered opening between the minstrel’s buttocks. 

Lindir moaned, his head falling back, his body alternately tensing and going utterly limp as Galathil tasted him, circling the silky skin with the tip of his tongue. He used his thumbs to spread Lindir before him, opening him to his gaze and touch. Lindir cried out softly, stiffening beneath him as he pressed into him, feeling the muscles flutter and clench around his tongue. Galathil warmed to his task, pushing deeper, thrusting his tongue into Lindir’s heat until the minstrel began to whimper softly. 

Galathil shifted his hold on Lindir’s hips, raising them higher to give him better access. His tongue stiffened, thrusting deeper, and Lindir arched beneath him, uttering a plaintive wail. 

“Ai, Galathil, please…” Lindir realized he was pleading and did not care. 

The minstrel’s plaintive words pleased Galathil, as did the trembling of Lindir’s fair limbs. He slid one hand over Lindir’s hip and across the flat of his stomach, brushing teasingly close to the hard length of flesh that wept for attention. He withdrew his tongue completely, only to thrust it forward again as deeply as he could, and Lindir bucked against him.

Holding him tightly with one arm across his hips, Galathil worked his tongue in a maddening rhythm, until Lindir was arching, gasping, and pleading for him to touch him. With a feeling of triumph, he ran his fingers over Lindir’s length, pushing his tongue into his body as far as it could go. With a shuddering cry, Lindir came, nearly throwing Galathil off of his body with the force of his climax. 

Lindir fell back against the blanket, feeling as if he had just run several leagues with a party of orcs at his heels. He was trembling, twitching every so often from the aftermath of his release, and it was all he could do to simply catch his breath. He felt Galathil move, felt his body slide along side him, and turned his head to look at the prince with a glazed expression. 

Galathil smiled smugly at him, before dropping a kiss against his open mouth. 

“You…look entirely too pleased with yourself, ernilen,” Lindir managed weakly. 

“I am,” the prince agreed, looking down at Lindir’s spent form approvingly. “I like seeing you like this.”  He bent to taste Lindir’s mouth once more, slow and lingering. When he drew back, he gave the minstrel a thoughtful look. “I could get used to seeing you this way.”

His words brought Lindir slowly out of his pleasant reverie. He rose up on one elbow and regarded the prince steadily. “What are you saying, Galathil?” he asked quietly. 

Galathil frowned and looked away. “I do not know,” he answered, after a long moment of silence. “I – I need to think about this.”  He rose to his feet gracefully and began to dress, pulling his clothing on without looking at Lindir. 

Lindir watched him expressionlessly for a moment, before he rose as well. 

They did not speak as they rode back to the Last Homely House, though Lindir caught Galathil looking at him with a thoughtful frown more than once, as if he were trying to puzzle something out. They parted at the stables, and Lindir could tell that Galathil was uncertain how to make his leave taking. The confusion on his fair face was understandable, Lindir thought. After all, how does one leave a lover to go knowingly into the bed of another? What does one say at such a moment?

Lindir caught Galathil’s arm and drew him close for a moment, kissing him gently. “Go, ernilen. I am certain Erestor is wondering where you are.” There was no reproof, no censure in his soft words. 

Nonetheless, Galathil flinched as though struck, and turned away.

“I am sorry, Lindir,” he said quietly. “I…”

Lindir stopped him before he could say anything further, placing his fingers against Galathil’s lips. “No apologies, ernilen. I had a wonderful afternoon and I thank you for it. I am not asking for anything you cannot give me.”

Galathil nodded slowly, and offered him a faint smile. “I did as well. Thank you.”  He turned, then, and left Lindir standing by the stables, watching him go.

A smile curled Lindir’s lips and he turned, whistling a cheerful tune as he made his way to his quarters. 

~ * ~

Galathil lay back against Erestor’s chest, closing his eyes as his lover poured water over his hair, rinsing it clean. 

“Did you have a good day, ernilen?” Erestor asked, pouring a large amount of soap in his hands and rubbing them against Galathil’s chest. 

“Yes,” Galathil answered softly, nearly purring with pleasure as Erestor’s skillful hands caressed him even as they cleaned him. “I went for a ride with Lindir.”

Erestor’s hands stilled for a moment, before resuming as before. Galathil waited for his lover to speak, to question or chide he did not know which, but Erestor remained silent. Finally Galathil broke the silence.

“Are you angry with me, Erestor?”  When his lover still did not speak, Galathil turned in his arms, pulling back slightly to see his face. The Noldo’s expression was mild, pleasant, and unreadable. They could have been discussing the weather for all the interest shown in his lovely features. 

“Erestor?”

His lover sighed, rinsing his hands of the soap residue and drying them quickly on a nearby towel. “I am not angry, Galathil. Why would you think that?”

Galathil bit his lip. 

Erestor sighed again, reaching for the comb on the ledge of the tub and running it through Galathil’s hair. “I told you before, melethron, that I wanted you to be certain of your heart. I want you to explore and discover the pleasures that life can hold before you make your choice. I would not have you bind yourself to me until you know that it is what you want.”

“It is what I want, Erestor,” Galathil interjected earnestly. “More than anything.”

The dark-haired elf tilted his head slightly, smiling in a faintly mocking manner. “Is it, melethron? How long did it take Lindir to get you where he wanted you? Hmm?”  He shook his head as Galathil opened his mouth to explain, or perhaps protest. “It matters not, Galathil. Though you say you love me, and I do not doubt that you indeed have strong feelings for me, as I do for you, I do not believe it is the kind of love that will last until the end of time. Your desire for Lindir has told me that well enough.”

“But you told me I should…” Galathil began, halting confusedly. “I do not understand.”

Erestor put the comb away and drew Galathil close in his embrace, resting his chin on the prince’s hair. “You are young, Galathil. Well past your majority, aye, but young nevertheless. Until you met me, your experiences in love and passion were limited, am I correct?”

“Aye,” Galathil whispered, laying his hands on Erestor’s arms and leaning against his lover with a sigh.

“I am your lover,” Erestor continued, placing a gentle kiss on his brow. “But I do not believe, when all is said and done, that we will be bound. You will come to understand that our relationship is based on the physical, not the emotional. I think you think you love me, because no one has given you the things that I have given you, ernilen. I think that one day, someone will come into your life, who will open your eyes to what love truly is. And while passion is indeed an important aspect of love, it is not all encompassing. There are other things equally important, if not moreso, than physical pleasure.”

Galathil shifted in Erestor’s arms, turning his head to look up at the older elf. “What do you want, Erestor?” he asked softly.

The Noldo smiled at him, his hold loosening slightly. “I want you to be happy, ernilen. That is all I truly want.”

The prince shook his head stubbornly. “No, I mean, what do you want for yourself?”  He blinked and looked away. “Would you want me?”

~ * ~

Erestor hesitated, torn between speaking his heart, his truest dreams and desires, or telling the prince what he thought he should hear. He remembered his words to Thranduil, his promise, and knew he had to speak the absolute truth.

“Aye,” he replied finally, his arms tightening once more. “I would.”

Galathil turned fully in his arms, straddling his hips and looked Erestor firmly in the eyes. Erestor was startled to see the strength of resolution he saw in their blue depths.

“What do you want me to do, melethron?” Galathil said quietly. “Tell me the truth, not just what you believe is best for me. No more games.”

Erestor shifted and glanced away a moment before replying. “I still believe you should taste the world, ernilen, before you settle your heart on me.” He looked back and met Galathil’s gaze evenly. “I swore to your father I would not hurt you, that I would not break your heart. Please do as I ask, Galathil.” His hands stroked the prince’s back soothingly, sliding over the bare wet skin with ease. “I cannot be so selfish as to keep you for myself when you have so much yet to learn of this world and all it has to hold. No matter how much I may want to.”

Galathil tilted his head, and Erestor saw the challenge in his eyes. “And if I fall in love with another? If I chose another to be my mate?”

Ignoring the pang in his heart at Galathil’s words, Erestor replied evenly, “Then I will wish you all the happiness you deserve, ernilen vain.”

Chapter 5  - Give and Take

Galathil’s head fell back against his shoulders, his hair sweeping against his buttocks. His hands rested against his thighs, alternately clenching and unclenching as he struggled to hold back. Erestor knelt between his thighs, his hands clasped dutifully at the nape of his neck as his mouth worked Galathil’s shaft. His nude body glistened with a light sheen of oil and sweat, displaying the flex and play of his muscles as he bent to his task. The ends of his unbound hair tickled the tops of Galathil’s feet as it swayed with his movement.

“Ai,” Galathil groaned helplessly. He buried his hands in Erestor’s hair, his hips rising and falling off the bed as he began to thrust forward into his lover’s warm mouth.  His eyes closed, his body tightening as his release took him. With a loud cry he came, his body shuddering as he spilled his essence deep into his lover’s throat. 

Galathil fell back on the bed, his body twitching with the aftershocks of his release, his breath coming in ragged gasps. His breathing gradually slowed, and he opened his eyes. 

Erestor still knelt at his feet, his arousal jutting proudly against the smooth, oiled skin of his stomach. Pearly drops of moisture were visible, gathered at the tip. It was difficult not to drop to his knees beside his lover and taste him, to roll Erestor’s flavor on his tongue and savor it. 

Instead, Galathil rose to his feet, his legs trembling slightly. “On the bed,” he commanded softly. “Now!”

His lover rose to his feet gracefully, his hands still clasped behind his neck, and knelt on the bed.

“Legs further apart, my lord,” Galathil ordered. “Spread them wide.”

Lean muscles gleamed, straining as Erestor complied, his hair falling forward and into his face. Galathil gathered the silken mass in one hand and knotted it around his fingers, pulling Erestor’s head back and exposing the long line of his neck.

“Look at me, my lord,” Galathil whispered, shivering when Erestor’s heated gaze met his. “You are mine.”

“Yes, ernilen,” Erestor replied quietly.

“Your pleasure is mine to give and mine to withhold, is it not?” Galathil continued, holding Erestor’s gaze. To his delight, he saw the finest tremor wrack his lover’s body.

“Yes, ernilen.”

He was gaining confidence in this game. “Touch yourself, my lord,” Galathil whispered. His other hand slid slowly down Erestor’s spine to rest on the curve of his lover’s buttocks. “Show me how you would pleasure yourself.” The tips of his fingers, slick from the oil on his lover’s skin, brushed against Erestor’s opening.

Erestor groaned softly, his mouth falling open as Galathil pressed a single finger inside his body. His hand moved from the back of his neck to grasp his length, squeezing the tip firmly, before sliding down to the base. 

“Aye,” Galathil whispered, his lips burning a trail across the back of Erestor’s neck. “Show me, melethron.” His finger moved slowly, sliding in and out of his lover’s tight heat. “Tell me what you want.”

“More,” Erestor breathed, his eyes closing as his fist moved over his flesh, pumping it in long, fluid strokes. 

Galathil captured the tip of Erestor’s ear with his lips, sliding his tongue over the point. “More?” he murmured, pressing another finger inside. “I will give you all you can take, my lord.”

Erestor gasped softly as his breathing became more ragged. Galathil added a third finger, working it into his lover’s body, watching the tension in Erestor’s frame as his pleasure built. He pressed his lips to Erestor’s ear, feeling his arousal twitch and harden once more from the excitement of it. “More?”

A low, keening moan spilled from Erestor’s lips, his eyes closing tightly. “Aye,” he managed, his hand moving almost roughly over his length. “More. Fill me, ernilen.”

“As you wish,” Galathil whispered, nearly undone by the sight before him. A fourth finger was added, and Erestor shuddered against him, groaning. Galathil felt the muscles flutter against his fingers, buried deep in his lover’s body, felt Erestor take what he gave him willingly. He thrust, working his fingers in opposition to his lover’s stroking, his own arousal now throbbing almost painfully with need. 

Erestor cried out, his whole body stiffening as his release shattered through him. Galathil felt him spasm around his fingers as he watched Erestor’s milky seed spill over his lover’s fist. 

He did not wait for his lover’s trembles to subside. Pulling his fingers from Erestor’s quivering body, he pushed the Noldo onto his back, gripping his legs behind the knees. With one fluid thrust, he entered Erestor’s well-prepared body, a low groan of pleasure escaping him.

Galathil’s eyes closed, surrendering to the bliss he felt when he was sheathed in Erestor’s body. It was a rare gift his lover gave to him, to be taken thus, and Galathil savored each soft gasp, each moan that spilled from Erestor’s lips. His fingers gripped the soft skin behind the Noldo’s knees tightly, almost bruising, knowing well the type of caress that would please Erestor best. He thrust forward, burying his shaft to the base, hearing his lover’s soft, breathless groan like the sweetest of endearments. He stilled for a moment, his own breathing coming raggedly, feeling the steady pulse and throb of his shaft against the silken heat of Erestor’s passage. 

“Is it enough?” he ground out, beginning to thrust, withdrawing almost completely before filling Erestor again. 

The Noldo’s dark eyes were closed against him, his lithe body taut, back nearly arching off the mattress as he struggled to meet Galathil’s thrusts. “Harder,” he whispered. “Take me harder, ernilen.” Erestor’s eyes opened and his dark gaze burned with lust. 

Galathil felt the heat of Erestor’s eyes almost sear him on him as he endeavored to comply, his hips slamming against his lover’s body as he thrust into him with abandon. His pleasure built deliriously with each driving thrust. He was lost to the sensation, the exquisite pleasure of mastering the one who mastered him. Erestor cried out beneath him, and Galathil felt his passage constrict around his length almost painfully, the Noldo’s body shuddering with his release. With a low growl, Galathil thrust home, burying his shaft in Erestor’s body, his own release leaving him breathless and utterly spent. 

Gasping and trembling from the intensity of his passion, Galathil collapsed against his lover, his hands releasing their bruising grip on Erestor’s legs to wrap around his body. He felt Erestor’s arms encircle him, holding him close, and felt his lover press a kiss against his hair. 

Their breathing gradually slowed, their thudding heartbeats returned to normal, and Galathil felt the peace of reverie begin to descend on him. He pushed against it, rising up on his elbow to look down at his lover.

“We are a mess, melethron,” Galathil said, smiling down at Erestor. “We should bathe before retiring, or the maids will have a fit upon seeing the sheets.”

A soft chuckle escaped Erestor and he nodded. “Aye, ernilen. That is a sound plan, and a welcome one.”

After their bath, Galathil curled next to Erestor on the bed, loving the feel of his lover’s skin against his. He could tell from the slow, even sound of Erestor’s breathing and by the relaxed state of his lover’s limbs that the Noldo had succumbed. If he could see Erestor’s lovely eyes, he knew they would be glazed in dreams. 

Though he had been weary earlier, he was not quite ready to surrender to reverie. Instead, he was content to lie beside his lover and listen to the soft sound of his breathing. Something in the back of his mind troubled him, but he could not quite form it into a complete thought. It lingered there, teasing him, but he was too weary and too satisfied to be overly concerned by it. Eventually, his thoughts quieted, and at last he surrendered to the rest his body craved.

~ * ~

Galathil decided it would be best to avoid being alone with Lindir, and thereby avoid the temptation of yielding once more to the lovely bard’s charms. He had tasted what Lindir offered, found it pleasurable indeed, but his heart belonged to Erestor. He did not wish to confuse himself further. Sooner or later, and he desperately hoped it was sooner, Erestor would realize that Galathil’s love for him was not the naïve, blind trust of a pupil for his tutor.

He threw himself into his studies; when he was not practicing his swordplay and archery with the guard, he was kneeling for Erestor, learning ways to show his lover the depths of his feelings. His buttocks were constantly tender from the crop or the strap, and on those rare, delicious occasions, his lover’s hand. He had learned to crave the heat of the strap, the feel of his clothes rubbing against the tender skin a constant reminder of Erestor’s possession. 

Lindir, however, became a constant source of confusion for him. His body could not easily forget Lindir’s touch, no matter how hard he tried, so he avoided the minstrel as much as he could. Since that day in the forest, they had only shared a few words, nothing more. Galathil could not truly answer whether he was relieved or disappointed in this. 

Nearly two weeks had passed since his picnic with Lindir when he stopped before Erestor’s study and knocked on the door, holding the tray with their luncheon in his free hand. 

At Erestor’s command to enter, he stepped inside, closing the door behind him, and brought the tray to his lover’s desk. 

Erestor looked up from his work with a welcoming smile, rising halfway from his seat to kiss Galathil tenderly. “Hannon chen, ernilen,” he said, resuming his seat. He held Galathil’s gaze a moment and sighed. “I am glad you brought lunch, for I lost track of the time.”

“Do you wish to postpone our session?” Galathil asked, though he hoped the answer would be ‘no’. 

“No, ernilen,” he said with a knowing smile. “Though, I have much to do this afternoon, and will most likely be working late into the evening. I must finish this letter to Lord Celeborn for Lord Elrond’s approval, as well as organize the trip to Lothlórien with all its details.” The Noldo sighed again, frowning as he poured a cup of tea for them both. “I am leaving at dawn tomorrow with an escort, Galathil. Lord Elrond wishes for me to place this missive in Celeborn’s hands and be ready to answer any questions the Lord may have.”

Galathil sat in the chair across from Erestor, wincing slightly as his tender buttocks came into contact with the hard wood. He took a sip of his tea, trying desperately to quell his unhappiness at Erestor’s words. “How long will you be gone, my Lord?”

“Nearly a month, ernilen, possibly longer, depending upon how things progress,” Erestor replied, looking weary. 

“Can I not accompany you, melethron?” Galathil asked quietly, cradling his cup with both hands. “Please. I do not wish to be parted from you that long.” He bit his lip as Erestor’s expression smoothed, taking on the familiar and utterly neutral façade.

“No, Galathil,” Erestor replied quietly. “This is not a trip for pleasure. As much as I would enjoy having you at my side and in my bed in Lórien, I cannot afford the distraction.”

Galathil dropped his gaze to his cup and nodded. “I understand, my lord,” he replied. “I will miss you greatly while you are gone.”

“Will you?” Erestor murmured, so softly Galathil almost missed it. He raised his eyes, opening his mouth to speak, when his lover shook his head. “No words, Galathil. We have only a little time before I must return to my task.” He rose to his feet gracefully and he gestured for Galathil to rise as well. “Disrobe, ernilen.”

His arousal hardened almost immediately at his lover’s words. Fingers trembling with anticipation, he peeled his clothing away, pausing long enough to fold it neatly, before turning his attention to Erestor.

Erestor regarded him intensely for a moment, as if memorizing every detail of Galathil’s face and form. “Turn and grip the desk, ernilen. Feet apart.”

Galathil fell into the familiar position, his arousal throbbing in response. He braced his arms, hands gripping the edge of Erestor’s desk, and waited breathlessly. He felt the warm touch of Erestor’s hands glide down his back before coming to rest on his buttocks and shivered in anticipation. His lover’s mouth pressed heatedly against his ear.

“I will not see you for a while, ernilen,” Erestor said quietly. “I would give you something that you will not quickly forget. Is that what you wish?”

“Aye, my lord,” Galathil whispered, licking his lips. “Please.”

Erestor’s soft chuckle warmed his neck. “Very well, ernilen.”  He left Galathil for a moment, and the prince heard the familiar sound of the cupboard being opened, before Erestor returned to his side. Something cool and leathery tickled his backside a moment, tracing the cleft between his buttocks lightly. 

“This is a flail, ernilen,” Erestor said, bringing the object into Galathil’s view. A long rod, similar to a crop was gripped in his lover’s hand. The end of it was decorated in several, thin strips of leather, each about the width of two of his fingers. “I wish to mark you,” Erestor murmured. “Will you allow me this pleasure, ernilen?”

Galathil tried to imagine the way those thin, long strips of leather would feel against his skin and shuddered, his body tightening in expectancy. “What…” he lost his voice momentarily, licked his lips, and tried again. “What will it do?”

Erestor slid the flail down Galathil’s arm, across his ribs, and over the small of his back. “It will leave the most beautiful welts, ernilen,” he crooned softly. “Such lovely stripes to decorate your golden skin. Its sting is more fierce than the crop, less bruising than my hand or strap, and the heat of it lingers.” His tongue flicked out, teasing the tip of Galathil’s ear. “You will be quite sore when I am through.” 

The leather straps caressed his backside teasingly, almost tickling him, and Galathil quivered, sucking in his breath. 

“One thing more, pen-velui,” Erestor said quietly, his voice utterly mild. “If it becomes to much for you to bear, you must tell me. This is more than you have ever experienced before.” His hand squeezed Galathil’s buttocks gently. “I do not expect you to outlast the strength of my arm,” he added with a low chuckle. 

Galathil nodded, closing his eyes, and braced himself for the first, stinging caress of the flail. It was not as bad as he expected, stinging, yes, with a lingering warmth that grew with each, firm stroke. A fine sweat broke from him, and he could hear his lover’s breathing, calm and steady, even as his own breathing became quickly ragged. A low sob escaped him as the heat in his buttocks swelled, and he struggled not to flinch now as the lashes licked at his skin. He waited for it to end, both dreading and desiring it, but Erestor’s arm never seemed to tire in its ceaseless work. Not an inch on his buttocks was spared, and Galathil wondered how he would be able to sit that evening for supper. 

The blows came quicker now, in a steady rhythm that had him groaning each time the leather punished his flesh. Through it all, his arousal never withered, never softened, but seemed to throb in counterpart with the throbbing of his buttocks. He was beyond controlling his breathless sobs, tasting his own tears as they spilled into his gasping mouth. It was too much, not enough, he wanted it to end, he wanted it to go on forever. With each blow he gave himself to Erestor; gûr, rhaw, and faer.

Erestor landed a blow just on the curve of his buttocks that made him cry out, body twisting away. He bit his lip, holding back his pleading words, wanting to give his lover as much as he could. The straps licked over his skin, feeling like flames now, and with a shuddering cry, Galathil broke.

“Please, Erestor.”  The words spilled from his lips even as he buried his head in his arm, cheeks burning in shame for giving in to the pain. 

The whistling sound of the flail halted, and Galathil felt the lightest of touches against his punished buttocks. A plaintive whimper escaped him at the touch, his whole body quivered, flinching away.

“Very good, ernilen,” Erestor crooned softly. “You did much better than I expected.”  His hands cupped Galathil’s face tenderly, his thumbs wiping the tears that stained his cheeks. 

Galathil felt his heart swell at Erestor’s loving praise, and moaned when his lover’s mouth touched his. He poured his heart into the kiss, trying without words to show Erestor the depths of his feelings for him. Erestor drew back finally, and gave him a pleased look. 

“On your knees, ernilen, thighs apart,” he commanded softly.

“Aye, my lord,” Galathil whispered, moving as gracefully as he could to comply. He gasped when his heels touched his backside, blinking back tears as he positioned himself to Erestor’s wishes. 

Erestor perched on the edge of his desk, adjusting his robes carefully. “Touch yourself, ernilen. I want to see you come for me now.”

Galathil groaned at his lover’s soft command, moving his hand over his weeping length in long, sure strokes. He gathered the moisture from the tip in his palm and spread it over his shaft, easing his strokes with the slippery fluid. He closed his eyes, his pleasure building quickly, and knew he would not last very long. The sound of Erestor’s robes and the soft brush of them against his thighs made him open his eyes.

“Pleasure me with your mouth, ernilen,” Erestor purred, pulling his robes open to expose his length. “Swallow me.”

Galathil opened his mouth obediently, his body thrilling at the taste of his lover against his tongue. He felt Erestor’s hand press against the back of his neck and obediently stilled, allowing his lover to control his movements. His hand stroked his shaft in slower movements, though his body trembled with his impending release. 

Erestor groaned, thrusting into Galathil’s mouth, withdrawing almost wholly before sliding it deep between his lips again. Galathil’s body tightened, and he moaned wantonly around Erestor’s length, his release claiming him as his lover claimed his mouth. The vibration of his moans made Erestor cry out softly, his hips settling into a slow, pumping rhythm. His throat was filled again and again, his lips feeling almost bruised by the velvet hardness of Erestor’s shaft as it slid between them. He closed his eyes, moaning once more, loving the feel of his lover’s hand against his neck and the thick length filling his mouth. Erestor’s breathing grew ragged, his low moans coming more frequently, and he felt the shaft give a warning pulse in his throat, almost seeming to swell against his tongue. His lover gave a deep groan, and his mouth was filled with Erestor’s essence. He swallowed rapidly, the salty sweet taste of it lingering on his tongue. 

His lover thrust forward one last time, burying his twitching length in Galathil’s throat, holding him by the press of his hand on the back of his neck. Erestor’s breath came in harsh gasps, his body trembling with the aftershocks of his release. Galathil felt his eyes water as he struggled to breathe around the thickness in his throat, his nose pressed into the soft curls of Erestor’s groin.

Finally, Erestor released him, drawing away reluctantly, and Galathil sucked in his breath in a low gasp. 

“Melin chen, Galathil,” Erestor murmured, running his thumb over the prince’s swollen lips. “I shall miss you greatly while I am away.”

Galathil watched his lover straighten his robes, feeling sore and pleasantly weary. He waited patiently, though his thighs ached from kneeling and his buttocks throbbed against his heels. 

“Get dressed, ernilen,” Erestor commanded him with a rueful smile. “Though I would keep you thus for the rest of the day, unfortunately, I have things that need my attention. Go and bathe and take some rest. I hope to see you this evening.”

“Yes, my lord,” Galathil replied, rising to his feet. He dressed slowly, wincing as the material of his leggings slid over his abused flesh. If he took any rest at all, it would be laying on his stomach, for certain. He allowed himself a small smile at the thought. He would be sore for many days, a constant and tangible reminder of his lover.

He turned to leave, and Erestor stopped him, pulling him easily into his embrace and kissing him soundly before releasing him.

“Melin chen, Erestor,” Galathil murmured, before moving away. His lover gave him a brief smile, before he turned to his work. He did not look up again as Galathil closed the door.

Chapter 6 – Playing for Keeps

The practice grounds were empty when Galathil arrived, which was not unusual, considering the early hour. Erestor had left for Lórien an hour ago, and he was in no mood to seek his lonely bed for more rest. Nor was he hungry for breakfast. Instead, he retrieved his sword and made his way alone to the practice grounds of Imladris, hoping that the exercise would help to clear his mind. 

Things were much simpler at home, he thought, shedding his tunic and setting it across the top rail of the fence that enclosed the grounds. In the halls of his father, it had all seemed so very clear to him how he felt about Erestor. Then he came here, to Imladris, and met Lindir, and things had never been the same. 

The sun felt warm against his back as he stretched, breathing deeply, moving his body through the intricate dance that would leave his muscles well-limbered and ready for vigorous use. He tried to keep his mind clear, to focus on his breathing, to keep his movements fluid and graceful, but he failed. Instead, he found himself thinking of Erestor and Lindir, and berating himself for his fallibility. 

He loved Erestor, of that he was fairly certain. There was little the Noldo could ask of him that he would not willingly give, however Galathil suspected that Erestor did not feel the same; he sensed there were things that his lover would never freely give him. Even on those rare occasions when Erestor yielded to him for the night, Galathil never truly felt in control of the situation. It was as if, even when kneeling, Erestor was still the master. The thought that his lover was merely humoring him in this was more than disturbing; it was disheartening.

At least with Lindir, Galathil knew squarely where he stood. The minstrel had not minced words. He wanted Galathil completely. The Prince knew that if Erestor and Lindir’s roles were reversed, the minstrel would not have been pushing him to explore pleasure in the arms of another elf!

That was another thing that troubled him greatly. How was he to trust that it was Erestor he truly loved when he found such pleasure in Lindir’s embrace? How was he to know where his heart truly lay, when his body trembled at the memory of the minstrel’s skillful mastery of him?

His thoughts were no clearer when he finally picked up his blade and began several practice moves, sparring with an imaginary enemy. Thankfully, he found himself able to focus on his movements, and his worries faded into the back of his thoughts as he concentrated on his footwork and swordplay.

Galathil was so intent on dispatching his invisible foe, he did not notice he was no longer alone, until he finished deploying a rather daring move that would have decapitated his enemy neatly.

“Nicely done, Prince Galathil.” Lindir’s voice startled him out of his thoughts. “Though your stance was too wide. If I had been your opponent, you would have been on your back with my blade at your throat.”

Galathil turned and frowned, his chest heaving slightly from his exertion. “So say you,” he retorted, irritated by the conflicting emotions that raged through him at the sight of the fair minstrel sitting on the edge of the fence, watching him with open admiration. He was both glad and dismayed to find himself alone with Lindir. “Yet I do not see you here with a sword in your hand.” The last was said with mocking emphasis.

Lindir did not seem bothered by his insulting tone. “On the contrary, ernilen vain,” he replied, stepping off the fence and giving him a low, flourishing bow. “I have brought my blade. You promised to spar with me, remember? We have both been rather busy of late, but I had not forgotten your words.”  He rose from his bow and his gaze met Galathil’s challengingly, a wealth of innuendo in his voice. “Unless you have somewhere else you need to be right at this moment.” The glint in his blue eyes told Galathil that Lindir was well aware that he had been avoiding being alone with the minstrel, and that Lindir did not like it. 

“No,” Galathil replied with a shake of his head. “I do not.” Against his better judgment, he found himself smiling at Lindir. “Come then, if you wish to spar with me. I would be glad of the practice.”

Shedding his tunic and laying it beside Galathil’s, Lindir picked up the sword that he had set against the railing and unsheathed it in a fluid movement, tossing the scabbard aside. 

“Do you wish a warm-up first?” Galathil inquired politely. 

Lindir smiled wickedly, bringing his sword up in a salute. “I always enjoy a warm-up before any physical exertion,” he said softly.

Galathil felt his cheeks warm at Lindir’s knowing look. He struggled not to stare as Lindir began to stretch, feeling the familiar warmth pooling in his groin as he watched the intricate play of muscles beneath Lindir’s pale skin. The minstrel was not unaware of his regard, Galathil was certain, for it seemed that his movements were a little more exaggerated, the flexing of his back, the taut muscles of his arms and stomach gleaming as he stretched. 

“Shall we have a practice bout first, to test the strength of each other’s mettle?” Lindir asked, when he had finished stretching. 

“Yes,” Galathil agreed, assuming a defensive stance, his sword raised and ready. Lindir raised his sword as well, and after a moment, he nodded, signaling his readiness. 

As their blades met, Lindir’s eyes locked with his and the minstrel gave him a small smile. “Why have you been avoiding me, ernilen?”

The question surprised him, and in seconds, Galathil’s sword went flying out of his grasp and he found himself at the end of Lindir’s blade. The minstrel smiled and stepped back, dropping his sword to his side. 

“I am sorry,” Lindir said, his tone anything but apologetic. “Were you not prepared for my attack?”

“I was not prepared for you to ask me such a question in the middle of a fight,” Galathil retorted, bending to fetch his blade. “I have not been avoiding you,” he added, as an afterthought.

Lindir saluted him with his sword once more. “I am not a fool, Galathil,” he said quietly. “You have, and I wish to know the reason.” He sprang forward in attack, his sword engaging Galathil’s as the prince immediately went on the defensive. “Tell me, ernilen. Did you not enjoy our picnic in the woods?”  His breathing was slow and steady, though he pressed Galathil from all sides. 

“Yes,” Galathil gritted, managing to block Lindir’s blow with his sword, even as he took yet another step back. 

“Then why?” Lindir saw his opening and took it, hooking his foot behind Galathil’s and sweeping him from his feet. His sword was at the prince’s chest in an instant. “Why have you been avoiding me?”

Galathil looked down at the sword and back up at Lindir. “I..I…” Words failed him. He licked his lips and struggled to formulate an intelligent and truthful answer. “I do not know,” he said weakly.

Lindir stepped back, and watched as the prince rose gracefully to his feet. He waited as Galathil brushed the dirt from his leggings in an excuse to avoid his gaze. “Galathil,” he said finally. “Look at me, ernilen.” When the prince finally looked up, Lindir gave him a faint smile. “I told you before, I would not ask anything of you that you were not willing to give. But I will not give up on my pursuit of you until you tell me that there is no hope in it. Is that what you are trying to tell me?”  He stepped forward, closing the distance between them, and reached up to brush a bit of dirt from Galathil’s cheek. “You wish for me to leave you alone?” he asked softly, his touch lingering. 

Miserable and confused, Galathil shook his head. “Yes. No. I do not know.” He leaned slightly into Lindir’s touch, mentally berating himself for giving into even that much. “I do not know what it is I want,” he whispered, closing his eyes. He felt Lindir’s hand cup his cheek gently, and shivered at the soft brief touch of the minstrel’s lips against his. 

“I will tell you what I think it is you want,” Lindir replied, his voice a low murmur. “You want the decision taken from you.”

Galathil opened his eyes in shock and stared into the eyes that were so close to his own. “What?” he whispered, shaking his head in denial. “You are wrong.”

A smile curved Lindir’s lips. “Am I, ernilen? Tell me, would it be simpler for you if I left you alone?”  His mouth hovered over Galathil’s, the warmth of his breath caressing. 

“Yes,” Galathil whispered, mesmerized by Lindir’s heated gaze. 

Lindir chuckled softly. “Easier, yes, but not nearly so pleasurable,” he murmured. “I think not, ernilen. Not unless you tell me yourself.” He tilted his head slightly, his thumb caressing Galathil’s cheek. “Perhaps I should take the choice from you?” His eyes focused on the curve of the prince’s mouth as he spoke. “Perhaps I should claim you completely while Erestor is gone, and wipe any memory of him from your mind and body, so that it is only my touch that you yearn for.”  He leaned closer, brushing his lips over Galathil’s, smiling at the soft whimper that escaped the prince. “The things I could show you…”

Galathil struggled to collect himself, and pushed himself weakly away. “No, Lindir,” he said, his voice low and shaking. “I would not have you make my decisions for me.”

Smiling, Lindir stepped back. “Very well, ernilen. Then perhaps what I ask is merely a fair chance to woo you, as Erestor has.”

“Wh-what do you mean?” Galathil’s heart was beating much to quickly. 

Lindir’s smile broadened slightly. “Simply this: you will be my lover during the time that Erestor is gone. You will sleep in my bed each night, and wake to the dawn in my arms. When he returns, you will know better where your heart and body truly belongs. If you chose Erestor, I will give you my blessings, and trouble you no further.”

Galathil considered the minstrel’s words, turning them over in his mind. It seemed a fair suggestion, except for the warning in his heart that it would be betraying Erestor. He sighed, shaking his head. “I cannot willingly betray Erestor like that.”

“Betray?” Lindir’s eyebrows lifted mockingly. “Did you know your lover granted me permission to seduce you, Galathil? There is no betrayal involved. He wishes you to be certain of your love for him, and I wish the same. It is as good a solution as any.”

“I cannot simply agree to be your lover like this, Lindir,” Galathil replied. “It seems wrong.”

Lindir regarded him keenly for a moment, and then nodded. “Very well. I have an idea that will solve the problem, and will assuage your misplaced feelings of guilt. We will spar as we have been doing. Three rounds we will fight. If I should best you all three rounds, you will agree to my offer and come willingly to my bed without any guilt, for it is a wager lost fairly. If I lose even one round, then I will leave you alone until Erestor returns.”

“And after Erestor returns?” Galathil asked, surprised that he was even considering Lindir’s proposal. 

The minstrel’s smile was wicked. “We shall cross that bridge when we come upon it, ernilen. Now, do we have an agreement?”

Confident that he could best Lindir at least once out of three bouts, he nodded. “Yes. I agree to your terms.”

Lindir’s smile was triumphant. “I shall enjoy having you in my bed, Galathil,” he murmured, raising his sword in a salute.

Galathil felt an answering smile curve his lips. “You shall have to earn it first, Lindir,” he said, bringing his own sword up in front of his face. “Are you ready to taste defeat?”

The minstrel’s smile widened. “I have something worth winning, ernilen, and I have beaten you twice now in practice bouts. What makes you so confident you will best me this time?” He did not wait for Galathil’s answer, but moved swiftly to engage him. 

He should have known better, Galathil thought, rising from the dirt of the practice yard with a scowl. While his skills in swordplay were good, it was painfully obvious that Lindir had the upper hand. He used all his knowledge and all his skill against the minstrel, and it was not enough. It was apparent now that Lindir had not been serious in their previous bouts, for he’d had no inkling of how truly skillful the minstrel was with a blade until he had something he felt worth fighting for. 

Galathil’s sword locked with Lindir’s for the third and final time, and he used all his strength to try to knock the minstrel’s sword away. He succeeded in blocking the strike, but the position left him open to attack. Lindir stepped in before he could bring his sword around for another strike and bowled him over, knocking him flat onto his back and pinning him to the ground with his weight.

“I do believe that is three rounds,” Lindir told him, making no effort to move from his position atop Galathil’s body. “Fairly fought, and fairly won. Will you honor the terms of our wager?” he asked softly.

“Aye,” Galathil said, his voice low. “I will, for it was indeed a fairly fought match, and I lost.”  He met Lindir’s gaze and swallowed, feeling both apprehensive and relieved. “I will honor your terms.”

Lindir smiled gently. “You understand now, do you not? How do you feel, ernilen? Confused? Guilty?” He leaned down, resting his forehead against Galathil’s. “Or have those fears of yours left you at last?”

Galathil closed his eyes, his fingers loosing their grip on the hilt of his sword. He brought his arms around Lindir’s waist and simply relished the feel of the minstrel’s lithe body pressing against his. “I do not know,” he answered honestly. “But yes, my guilt is gone.”

“Good,” Lindir murmured, brushing his lips over Galathil’s closed eyes. “I would not have your guilt come between us. I meant what I said before, Galathil, ernilen vain,” he whispered. “I would have you completely.”

“I know,” Galathil replied faintly, wondering if the situation would truly make things clearer or merely muddle them further. “I know.”

~ * ~

A hot bath and change of clothing later, Galathil waited for Lindir to join him for breakfast. He wondered what the other inhabitants of Imladris would think when the realized that he and Lindir’s relationship had changed. Considering that it was common knowledge that he and Erestor were lovers, he wondered if he would be under censure for his behavior now. 

Still, there was nothing to be done for it. A wager had been made, and he had lost. He was honor bound to fulfill the terms, whether his fellow elves approved of it or not. 

He buttered a slice of bread and took a bite, barely tasting the food as he chewed it. His stomach churned from his nervousness, his anxiousness, and, yes, his eagerness to see Lindir. It surprised him how much he was anticipating their first moment alone as lovers, and he barely dared to speculate what was in store for him. 

Lindir took his customary seat beside the prince and gave him a warm smile, pressing the length of his thigh alongside Galathil’s. “Maur aur, ernilen,” he murmured, reaching for a roll.

“Maur aur, Lindir,” he replied softly. He fidgeted with his piece of bread, tearing it into little chunks. 

“Relax,” Lindir told him with a light, knowing laugh. “I am not about to ravish you here at the breakfast table.”

Galathil flushed slightly, and busied himself by cleaning up the bits of shredded bread he had scattered on his plate. “What are your plans this day?” He risked a glance up at Lindir and saw the minstrel’s bemused look. “I need to know what you expect of me,” he explained, feeling his cheeks warm.

Lindir shook his head. “I do not own you, Galathil. Your day is yours to do with as you wish. I have work that needs doing and duties to attend as well.” His voice dropped low, for Galathil’s ears alone. “I am not Lord Erestor, to order you about.”

“Oh,” Galathil replied, flustered for a moment. “Very well.” It was not what he had expected at all.

The minstrel’s lips curved knowingly. “That is not to say, that there will not be days when I will have you for the entire day to myself. In fact, I have arranged for such a day for tomorrow.”

Galathil nodded, and shivered in anticipation at the thought of an entire day with the minstrel. 

“What have you planned for your day, Galathil?” Lindir asked, turning to his breakfast again, though he slid his leg teasingly against the prince’s. 

“I had promised Adar I would write, and I have been woefully negligent in that regard,” Galathil replied with a sigh. “I should also write my brother, and see how he fares. I hope they are happy with Elladan and Elrohir.” 

They spoke amiably through breakfast, and while Lindir continued to tease him, there was no further talk of intimate matters until breakfast was finished.

“I will see you tonight,” Lindir said, his low voice full of unspoken promise as he leaned down and kissed him briefly. “After supper.”

“Yes, Lindir,” Galathil agreed, his pulse quickening. “Tonight.” He returned the kiss with feeling, and watched as his lover-to-be left the room. 

It was going to be a long day.

~ * ~

Galathil entered Lindir’s room and waited as the minstrel shut the door, swallowing nervously. The feeling of uncertainty and apprehensive excitement was familiar to him; he was suffering the same gamut of emotions he’d felt when he had gone to Erestor that first time, what seemed like ages ago. Though he and Lindir had already been intimate, this was wholly different, and they both knew it. 

Lindir turned and studied him carefully for a moment, before moving across the room to pour two glasses of wine, offering one to Galathil.

“Tell me your thoughts, ernilen,” he said quietly, taking a sip of his own wine. “What are you thinking?”

Even though he was still fully clothed, he felt naked under Lindir’s shrewd gaze. He took a drink of his wine to steady himself. “That I do not know what to expect, even though we have…” he gestured vaguely, flushing in embarrassment. He was not good at speaking like this. Erestor knew it, and he could tell by the sudden gleam in Lindir’s eye that the minstrel was now aware of it as well.

“I see,” Lindir replied, setting his glass carefully on the table. “Continue, and do not stop until I tell you to.”  He settled himself on the edge of the bed and looked at Galathil expectantly. “What are you feeling, right now?”

“Afraid,” Galathil answered, knowing that Lindir wanted his complete honesty. “Excited. I want to please you, but I worry that I will not.”

Lindir held up his hand to stop Galathil’s rushed prattle. “You will please me, ernilen, have no fear on that account. What else makes you afraid?”

Galathil shifted, taking another sip of wine. “There is something about you…” he trailed off, not certain how to express his thoughts into words. 

“Go on,” Lindir urged. “You will not anger or offend me. Continue.”

“You are harder than Erestor,” Galathil said finally. “Though that is not exactly the word I was searching for. The day we shared before, I sensed that you have…higher expectations of me.”

“Meaning that I expect you to yield everything to me?” Lindir asked with a small smile. 

“Aye,” Galathil said with a gust of breath. “That is it.”

Lindir nodded. “I see. You believe I will expect things of you that Erestor has not?” At Galathil’s nod, Lindir’s smile grew. “And this is what you fear?”

Galathil looked away from the minstrel’s sharp gaze, taking another drink from his glass. “Yes,” he whispered. “That is it.”  Gentle fingers took his glass from him and tipped his chin up, bringing his gaze to Lindir’s. 

“I do expect you to yield everything to me,” Lindir said quietly. “That and more. I swore to you that day in the woods that I would not harm you, and to that I will hold true. You will suffer no harm at my hands.” He lifted an eyebrow at Galathil’s barely audible sigh. “There will be pain, and there will be pleasure the likes of which I think you have not yet experienced. For I will yield myself as well, giving you all that I am.”  A small smile curved his mouth as he studied Galathil. “For you see, there is much at stake for me in this; much more than a simple month’s pleasure. I wish to win you utterly, and I cannot do that if I hold back.” His thumb brushed lightly over Galathil’s lower lip, before he dropped his hand away. “Nor is it fair of you to hold yourself back from me. Your complete surrender, ernilen; that is what I ask of you. That is what I will demand of you.”  He lifted his eyes, his gaze holding the prince’s steadily. “Will you give it?”

There was a moment of silence, when all that could be heard was the soft sound of their breathing. 

“Aye,” Galathil whispered. “I will.”

Lindir’s smile was gentle, and he stepped back, settling himself in a large, oversized chair by the small fireplace. “Disrobe, ernilen,” he told Galathil softly. “And come here.”

His hands shook slightly as he undid the clasps that held his robe closed and slid it from his shoulders. He folded it neatly and set it aside, before turning to undo the laces of his leggings. He could feel Lindir’s eyes watching him, observing his every move, studying each blush, each tremor of his limbs as he finished undressing. He felt himself grow hard beneath Lindir’s gaze, and heard the minstrel’s soft murmur of approval as he moved to where he was seated. 

Lindir turned away a moment, opening a drawer in the small cabinet beside him. He searched through its contents, before retrieving a small item Galathil could not see. 

“On your knees, ernilen,” Lindir commanded quietly. “Face the fire.”

The position put him with his back to the minstrel, and Galathil was uncertain what to do with his hands, so he rested them on his thighs. He felt Lindir gather his hair, drawing the length of it together in one hand. 

“Normally, I prefer your hair loose,” Lindir said softly, his fingers busy pinning the long, gold locks up and off of Galathil’s neck. “But tonight, I wish to see all of you. There.” He patted the last of the prince’s hair in place. “Turn around, ernilen. Hands at your neck.”

Galathil swallowed, and did as he was told, linking his fingers behind his neck. Lindir’s fingers touched his chin, lifting it slightly, bringing his gaze to his face. 

“Banwain,” Lindir murmured, his voice softly awed. “Again I am struck by the inability to decide what to do with you, now that I have you willingly kneeling at my feet.” He shook his head, seeming to come back to himself. “I have questions for you, ernilen. You will answer them honestly.” He leaned forward, his fingertips brushing the light pink welts on Galathil’s buttocks. “Did Lord Erestor give you these yesterday?”

“Aye, my lord.” Galathil flinched slightly as Lindir’s fingers touched his tender skin. 

“Did you enjoy it?” Lindir asked, drawing back once more.

He felt himself flush under Lindir’s steady and knowing gaze. “Aye,” he whispered. 

“Why?” Lindir took a sip of his wine, studying him shrewdly. “Surely it was painful at the time. Why did you enjoy it?”

Galathil shivered slightly, his arousal twitching against his stomach. “I do not know,” he answered. 

“Yes, you do,” Lindir replied sharply. “Answer me, ernilen.”

“I-I…I enjoyed having him mark me.” His voice shook. “I liked knowing I belonged to him.”

Lindir nodded and gave him an approving smile. “Good, ernilen. That tells me much about you. Did you feel pleasure with the discomfort?”  He leaned forward, his hand cupping Galathil’s cheek. “Were you hard the entire time he was whipping you?” 

“Aye,” Galathil whispered, blushing hotly. 

“Very good,” Lindir said, obviously pleased. “I knew you were hard when I used the crop on you, but I wondered how you would react to a stronger form of discipline.”  He dropped his hand away from Galathil’s cheek and sat back in his chair, taking another sip of wine, his expression thoughtful. “Has he used any other implements on you, ernilen?”

Galathil shook his head. “Just his hand, the strap and the riding crop. Until yesterday, he had never used the flail.”

“No, that is not what I meant,” Lindir said, laughing softly. His eyes were half-closed as he regarded Galathil. “I meant clamps, or a phallus, or other such devices.”

The prince did not think he could blush any hotter. “No,” he whispered, his voice sounding choked. 

Lindir smiled wickedly. “Has he taken you with his hand yet?”

Galathil paled, visibly shaken by the question. “I-I…what do you mean?”

The minstrel’s smile widened. “I can see your education has been sorely lacking, ernilen,” he murmured. “For which, quite honestly, I am exceedingly glad. It is a gift without measure that I will be the first to introduce such things to you, to show you the heights of pleasure that can be achieved.”  He set his wineglass on the table and rose to his feet. “Come with me, ernilen. There are things I must show you now, for it will be your responsibility from here on out to know where these items are kept, what they are called, and to bring them to me as I ask for them.”

He followed Lindir into a smaller, adjacent room, feeling very conscious of his nudity behind the fully clothed minstrel. They stopped at a large, oak wardrobe, and Lindir opened the doors.

“This is where everything I might ask for will be kept. I do not expect you to learn what everything is called tonight, but I do expect you to remember the names of things as we go,” Lindir explained, pulling out several items. 

Galathil swallowed, looking in shock at the wardrobe filled with crops, straps, flails, and other devices he did not know the names for. Several items made him weak-kneed just by looking at them, and he was not sure he wanted to know for what purposes they were used.

Lindir smiled at his dazed expression, holding up a long, cylindrical-shaped item made of leather. It was easily as wide as a male’s shaft, but broader at the base. “This is a phallus,” he explained. “As you might well imagine, they come in all shapes and sizes. This one is a particular favorite of mine,” he mused, giving Galathil a heated look. “Shall I show you why?”

He did not know if Lindir truly wished for him to answer or not, so he simply settled on nodding. His heart was pounding, his eyes fixed on the leather object in the minstrel’s hands. He could well imagine the feel of it inside him, the coolness of the leather sliding into his body. 

“Turn around, ernilen,” Lindir murmured. “Lean against the wall and spread your legs as wide as you can.”

Galathil did as his lover bid him, quivering when he heard the minstrel move behind him. He heard the sound of a bottle being opened, and the scent of vanilla and cinnamon assailed his nostrils. He whimpered slightly at the first, delicate probing of Lindir’s oiled fingers at his opening, but held himself in stillness. 

“This one is only slightly larger than my own length,” Lindir said, thrusting his well-oiled fingers into Galathil’s body, coating him generously with the slick substance. 

A low moan escaped him as Lindir slid the phallus inside him, pushing it slowly and carefully, until it was well seated inside of him. It felt deliciously cool, and harder than the object it resembled. He bit back a groan as Lindir worked it slowly in and out of his passage. 

“Yes, ernilen,” Lindir crooned softly. “That is very nice, is it not?” A chuckle escaped him at Galathil’s breathless moan. “That is not what I wished to show you, however.” He pushed the phallus in deeply once more, rocking it gently so that it was well seated. 

Galathil heard the soft, swish of leather and the distinctive click of metal, and he felt a sudden weight on the end of the phallus that protruded from his body. Before he could digest this added bit of sensory input, he felt the slide of leather around his hips and glanced down. Lindir’s hands held four thin leather straps and he hooked them between his legs and over his hips, using the tiny buckles on the ends to fasten them in place. 

“You may look,” Lindir said quietly. 

He followed the line of leather and glanced over his shoulder. From that angle, he could barely see that the four straps fastened to the end of the phallus, effectively holding it in place. He could see it would prevent him from accidentally dislodging it. The contraption, he thought, was fiendishly clever, and delightfully wicked. 

Lindir smiled, making a minor adjustment to the straps, tightening them. “You see, but I think you do not truly see why this is one of my favorites.” His eyes glinted wickedly beneath their silver lashes as he turned Galathil around, his hands resting lightly on his arms. “Imagine, ernilen, wearing that all day beneath your robes. Feeling it move inside you with each step you take. Knowing that no one else knows you have been made to wear it, but knowing that I know you wear it. Knowing that only I will remove it, and when I do, that I will take your well prepared body and bury myself deeper than the phallus ever could.”

Galathil whimpered softly at his lover’s words. Surely Lindir would not do that to him, make him suffer in such a manner. 

As if reading the direction of Galathil’s thoughts, Lindir smiled in a slow and knowing fashion. “Oh yes, ernilen, I will do this. Make no mistake.”  His hands slid from Galathil’s arms to his waist, fingers toying lightly with the straps, tugging on them, making the phallus rock inside its tight prison. Galathil moaned softly, his arousal throbbing in response. 

Nimble fingers undid the straps and slid them from Galathil’s hips, but Lindir left the device in place. His hands lightly skimmed the welts on the prince’s bottom, and the prince flinched in response. 

“Still a bit sore?” Lindir asked, lifting a silvery eyebrow. At Galathil’s nod, he smiled faintly. “That will serve nicely for now.” He removed the phallus carefully and wiped it clean, wrapping it carefully in a small cloth. He did not put it back among the other devices, but slipped it into his robes. “Come to bed, Galathil.”

He followed the minstrel, and crawled onto the bed as he was directed, lying flat on his back. Lindir undressed, watching Galathil hungrily all the while. He draped his robes carefully across the back of a chair after removing the cloth wrapped phallus and setting it deliberately on the small table beside the bed. He smiled when Galathil’s gaze flickered towards the innocuous looking object, before returning to Lindir’s face, his eyes wide with apprehension and no small amount of lust.

Lindir reached for the decorative vial of oil, opening it and spilling the slippery, amber colored liquid over his palm. A soft groan escaped him as he coated the length of his shaft, stroking the oil on the heated skin with long, lingering movements. 

Galathil wet his lips with his tongue, his gaze fixed on Lindir’s hand as he worked the oil onto his length. He groaned when the minstrel moved between his thighs, spreading them almost roughly, opening him wide to his lover’s gaze. 

Lindir grinned wickedly, pushing Galathil’s legs further back, pressing his knees against his chest. “I am going to taste you, ernilen,” he crooned softly, before bending to his task.

“Ai!” Galathil shuddered as Lindir’s velvet tongue fluttered lightly over his opening, before pressing insistently inside. Heat flooded him, making him whimper with need. “Please,” he whispered, clutching his knees to his chest tightly. 

The minstrel paused in his task long enough to give Galathil a stinging swat on his buttocks. “Hush, pen-vaelui,” he admonished. “I will have you this way, and there is naught you may do but suffer it. Do not speak, nor beg, for I will not be dissuaded, no matter how sweetly you plead.” He swatted the other cheek and then kneaded it gently, eliciting a plaintive moan from the prince. “Now silence your tongue, or I will silence it for you.”

Galathil swallowed, clutching his knees tighter, and nodded. Lindir gave him an approving pat on his tender buttocks, before resuming his pleasurable task. He squirmed, gasping helplessly as Lindir’s tongue circled his entrance before pressing inside once more. Strong fingers grasped his hips, lifting him higher, allowing his lover’s tongue to penetrate him deeper. He bit his lip to keep from crying out, biting back his pleading words before they could betray him. His knuckles whitened, fingers grasping his knees so tightly he knew he would bear bruises from their grip tomorrow. He did not care. Another groan spilled from his lips as Lindir’s tongue curled and thrust inside him. 

Lindir felt the muscles surrounding his tongue contract, felt the lithe body tremble against him as he worked his tongue as deeply as he could. Galathil’s breathless, plaintive moans were growing in strength and frequency, and Lindir knew the prince would not last much longer under such sweet torment. One hand left its grip on Galathil’s hips to reach forward, grasping the prince’s length. He worked it firmly in his fist, stroking it in opposition with the relentless thrusts of his tongue.

It was too much. Galathil shuddered, shouting wordlessly as he came, his body straining against Lindir as his pleasure swept through him. His body twitched almost violently as his lover continued to stroke his length, his tongue gently laving the sensitive, quivering opening. 

Gradually, Galathil’s trembles subsided, though he twitched occasionally from the aftershocks, and from the touch of Lindir’s tongue. He whimpered softly as his lover finally drew back to regard him with a heated gaze.

Lindir offered the hand that was coated in Galathil’s seed. “Clean me,” he ordered softly. “Use your tongue. Get every drop.”

Galathil’s hands, stiff from gripping his knees, reached up to grasp Lindir’s wrist, bringing the minstrel’s hand to his lips. His tongue darted out, flicking lightly between Lindir’s fingers, tasting his own essence. Dutifully and carefully he cleaned every droplet he had spilled, lingering on the sensitive webbing between Lindir’s fingers, the action of his tongue making the minstrel gasp softly.

When his hand was clean, Lindir drew it back, resting it on his shaft and stroking it slowly. “On your knees, ernilen,” he commanded in a low purr. “I wish to see your lovely backside while I take you.”

Trembling with anticipation, Galathil rolled, bringing his knees under him and resting his cheek against his forearms. He stiffened slightly when he felt Lindir’s shaft nudging his entrance, and then sighed as the minstrel entered him in one, smooth thrust.

“Ai, so tight, so ready for me,” Lindir groaned, burying himself to the base of his shaft. “You were made for me, ernilen.” He stroked Galathil’s back, reaching up to loosen the pins that held the prince’s long hair, running his fingers through it to free its silken length. Carefully he wound a handful of it around his fist, and reached back to grip Galathil’s hip tightly. 

“Do you want me?” he asked softly, squeezing the flesh beneath his hand and tightening his grip on Galathil’s hair. “Tell me, ernilen.”

“Ai! Yes,” Galathil groaned, his head forced back by Lindir’s hold on his hair. “Please, Lindir.”

“Please what, ernilen?”  He withdrew slightly, and rocked forward, feeling the soft pouch beneath his length bounce lightly against Galathil’s with the force of his thrust. “More of this?”  He withdrew and thrust again with more force, earning a whimper from the prince in response. “Tell me you want me, ernilen.”

“Aníron chen, Lindir,” Galathil breathed, his eyes closed tightly. “Please.”

Lindir smiled triumphantly and began to thrust in earnest, Galathil’s lithe body swaying with the force of his movements. Low, helpless moans spilled freely from the prince’s lips as he filled him, withdrew, and filled him again. “You are mine, Galathil,” he whispered heatedly, stroking deep within his lover’s heat. “Mine alone until I release you.” He shifted slightly, adjusting the angle of his penetration, and heard Galathil’s sharp pleasure filled cry as he struck his mark. “I am going to fill you until you come for me, melethron. I will not stop until you do.”

Each time Lindir ran his length over his mark, Galathil was rewarded with a fiery jolt of pleasure he felt deep in his groin. His shaft was stiff against his stomach once more, weeping copiously, and he longed to stroke it in time with Lindir’s thrusts. He reached for it, only to have is hand pushed away, and was given a stinging slap on his buttocks for his efforts. 

“No, ernilen,” Lindir growled low, his breathing coming harsh and fast. “You will come for me without that.”

Galathil groaned, his mouth falling open as he gasped for breath, Lindir seeming to fill him impossibly with each, driving stroke. He could feel his release building each time Lindir struck his mark. He cried out, arching beneath Lindir’s thrusts.

“Ai, yes, pen-velui,” Lindir growled, his own release imminent. “Come for me.”

With a loud cry that was almost a sob, Galathil came, his seed spilling from him in erratic spurts as Lindir continued to pound against him. His lover’s shaft seemed to grow larger for a moment, before Lindir gave a heartfelt groan, filling his body with the heat of his essence. 

Lindir lay against his back, his cheek pressed against Galathil’s shoulder, as they both struggled to catch their breath. He could feel the prince’s body trembling, quivering beneath his, and sighed quietly in satisfaction. 

Galathil winced as Lindir pulled his softened length free and stretched out on the bed beside him. The minstrel reached up, pulling Galathil into his arms, and cradling him against his chest. He sighed, snuggling closer to Lindir, closing his eyes blissfully as the minstrel stroked his hair away from his face.

“You are more than I could have dreamed, Galathil,” Lindir whispered softly, reaching out to snuff one of the candles that lit the bedroom. A single candle remained lit, bathing the two sated elves in warm light and shadow. 

Chapter 7 – Turning Point

A touch brought him sharply awake, reverie sliding from him quickly as his eyes focused on Lindir’s face. 

“Maur aur, ernilen,” Lindir whispered. His hand curled around Galathil’s length, stroking it slowly. It was this touch that had brought the Prince awake. 

“Maur aur, Lindir,” Galathil replied, smiling. His body was sore, but pleasantly so, and his shaft was already hard and pulsing with eagerness beneath Lindir’s hand. He could see that the sun was barely up by the light shining through the bard’s window. “It is early yet.”

Lindir smiled down at him. “I have you this entire day to myself,” he said. “And I mean to take advantage of every moment, and not waste it by sleeping.”

“Mmm,” was all he could reply, as Lindir’s mouth had already claimed his. Galathil sighed into Lindir’s kiss, his arms reaching around the minstrel’s lithe body to stroke his back. Lindir rolled into him, half-sprawling across his body, his other hand exploring Galathil’s chest. Galathil insinuated a leg between Lindir’s, pressing his thigh upward with gentle pressure, and was rewarded with a low moan. 

“Wicked ernilen,” Lindir murmured, his mouth moving upward to seek Galathil’s neck, nuzzling the sensitive skin beneath the prince’s ear. “You are in a fine mood this morn.”

Galathil slid one hand between their bodies, finding Lindir’s length and giving it a firm stroke. “Aye,” he replied, tracing the edge of Lindir’s jaw with his tongue. “Perhaps it is due to my manner of waking, melethron.”

Lindir moaned, his teeth nipping the soft golden skin of Galathil’s neck in response.  He moved his hips closer, bringing their ridged lengths into contact, and both elves groaned heatedly in response. Lindir spread his hand wide so that it covered both of their shafts, stroking them together. Galathil matched him, his own fingers wrapping around Lindir’s length and the edge of his own. 

A taut nipple beckoned, and Galathil’s lips closed around it, drawing it into his mouth fiercely, causing Lindir to cry out. Lindir rocked against him, stroking their lengths together in delicious friction, his breath quickening as Galathil lifted his hips to meet his movements.

Galathil’s release claimed him quickly, leaving him shuddering against Lindir as the minstrel continued to stroke his length. He shifted, pulling away slightly, before using his leverage to roll Lindir beneath him. 

“It is my turn,” Galathil said softly, running his hands slowly over Lindir’s chest. “I wish to taste you.”

Lindir smiled lazily up at the prince, though his smile quickly faded as Galathil bent to take his length into his mouth, swallowing him deeply. He threw his head back with a low, helpless groan, his hands burying themselves in Galathil’s hair.

Galathil’s tongue lapped against the underside of Lindir’s shaft, sliding up the heated length of it before swirling in teasing strokes around the tip. He tasted the salty sweet flavor of Lindir’s arousal on his tongue, savoring it for a moment, before taking his length deeply once more. He cupped the soft pouch of skin beneath Lindir’s shaft, squeezing it gently as he drew the hard length of flesh deeper into his mouth. 

“Ai,” Lindir gasped softly, his hips arching off the bed to meet Galathil’s mouth. His eyes closed tightly, his breath coming in short, harsh pants. “So good,” he whispered, licking his lips. “Ai, so good.”

Gathering the cooling moisture of his own release from his skin, Galathil brushed his slick fingertips between the cleft of Lindir’s buttocks, seeking the small opening hidden there.

Lindir’s eyes flew open as Galathil pressed a singer finger against his entrance, his body tensing. “No,” he whispered, though his hips were already arching, pushing towards the touch. He shuddered, eyes closing once more, as Galathil slid a single finger past the tight ring of muscles that endeavored to keep him out. 

Galathil raised his head, resting his cheek against Lindir’s twitching arousal. “I will stop if you wish,” he whispered, sliding his finger slowly in and out of Lindir’s body. “But I want to do this. Please.”  His tongue swept out, swirling around the swollen head of Lindir’s shaft, gathering the moisture there. “Please,” he repeated.

“Aye,” Lindir whispered, parting his legs to allow Galathil better access. He moaned wantonly as Galathil drew his length between his lips, drawing it deep, his finger sliding into him with slow, deliberate thrusts. His head fell back against the pillow, hips rising to meet Galathil’s mouth, his body welcoming the penetrating touch of his lover’s finger. 

“Banwain,” Galathil murmured, before drawing Lindir into his mouth again, adding a second finger to the first. He pushed deeply, index finger curling, seeking the spot inside Lindir’s body that would give him pleasure.  

Lindir cried out hoarsely, his body stiffening as Galathil’s fingers struck their mark. 

Galathil rolled his eyes upward as he swallowed Lindir’s length, feeling it pulse against his tongue. He watched the minstrel lose himself and was nearly undone by the sight. He felt the telltale throb of Lindir’s length and heard his low groan as his release claimed him. His mouth was flooded with Lindir’s essence, and he swallowed. The muscles surrounding Galathil’s fingers pulsed with the aftershocks of his lover’s release.

He moved up the bed, curling next to Lindir’s body, resting his head on the minstrel’s chest. He felt Lindir’s hand stroke his hair idly.

“What shall we do this day?” Galathil asked, turning his head so he could see Lindir’s face.

The minstrel stroked Galathil’s chest lightly, following its downward progress with is gaze. “First, we shall break our fast,” he said, lifting his gaze to Galathil’s face. “Then perhaps we might visit the baths for a leisurely soak. After that?” he shrugged elegantly. “We shall see.”

Galathil’s stomach growled its agreement with the thought of breakfast, and he moved to rise off the bed. Lindir’s hands pinned him quickly to the mattress, and he looked up at the minstrel in surprise.

Lindir smiled wickedly, reaching across him for the cloth wrapped bundle on the table beside the bed. He unrolled the fabric, tossing it aside. “Remember what I told you last night, ernilen?” Lindir crooned softly, holding the phallus up with a naughty smirk. 

“Aye,” Galathil answered, his eyes widening. “You would not…not during breakfast,” he stammered, watching as Lindir spread a thin coating of oil on the leather. 

“I will,” Lindir replied. “Roll over, ernilen.”

“Please, Lindir,” Galathil protested. “It is far to humiliating. I cannot…”

Lindir’s eyebrows lifted as he looked at Galathil sharply. “You can, ernilen,” he said mildly. “You can, and you will. I meant what I said last night. You will yield everything, and in return I will give you everything.”

Galathil looked away, swallowing. “Please, Lindir,” he repeated weakly.

“Do you not wish to please me?” Lindir murmured, leaning down to brush his lips across Galathil’s. “And please me it would. ‘Tis such a simple thing, Galathil,” he breathed softly. “Wear it for me. Please.” He drew back, frowning as the prince continued to avoid his gaze. “Very well.” He set the phallus on the table, nestling it carefully in the cloth so that the wood was protected from its oiled surface.

The prince breathed a sigh of relief, though he had to admit that part of him had almost hoped Lindir would have pressed the issue and made him submit to wearing the phallus. 

“You are not angry?”

Lindir shook his head, stretching out beside him. “No. But I find you impossible to resist like this, tousled and naked in my bed,” he said with a small smile. 

Galathil groaned softly as Lindir rolled, covering him with his body, his lips claiming his in an almost bruising kiss. The minstrel’s hands slid slowly up Galathil’s chest and shoulders, bringing the prince’s arms up and above his head, pinning them against the mattress by his wrists. Lindir’s kiss deepened, and he ground his hips against Galathil’s growing arousal. 

“So hungry and eager for me again,” Lindir murmured against his mouth. “I like that very much, ernilen.” His lips moved to explore the tip of Galathil’s ear, drawing the point between them and sucking on it lightly. 

The sensation of it shot straight to his groin, and Galathil arched his hips against Lindir’s. He was dimly aware of his lover shifting his hold on his wrists, passing them to one hand, while the other traveled slowly between their bodies. He groaned again as Lindir’s hand grasped his rapidly hardening arousal and stroked it deftly, spreading the moisture leaking from the tip along the length of his shaft with the palm of his hand. He arched against the caress, moaning Lindir’s name. 

Lindir’s hand moved away from his length so that he could align their bodies perfectly, sliding his own hardened shaft along Galathil’s, making them both gasp at the contact of heated flesh against heated flesh. Lindir leaned over him, kissing him deeply, covering his body, stretching above him.

By the time he felt the rope tighten around his wrists, it was too late. In a matter of moments, Lindir had his hands securely fastened to the headboard. Thinking it was merely another level to the game they were currently playing, Galathil paid little heed to them. He was no stranger to the feel of rope, and it made his lust burn all the brighter at being helpless. 

Galathil writhed as Lindir moved lower on his body, trailing hot and wet kisses down his torso. His lover lingered at the center of his stomach, his tongue thrusting teasingly into the indentation there, making Galathil moan wantonly. 

Lindir’s strong hands caressed his thighs, pressing them apart, before traveling lower. Slender fingers teased the sensitive skin behind his knees, and his mouth followed after, licking the tender creases with long, lingering swipes of his tongue. Galathil was fairly quivering with need when Lindir reached back to touch his length again. 

He felt the soft touch of silken rope at his ankles and did not protest when Lindir secured them to the footboard, spreading his legs as far apart as he could manage. He trembled, breathless, when Lindir finished, anxious and eager for the sweet torment to continue. 

A soft cry escaped him when Lindir’s mouth moved up his body again, his tongue laving the soft pouch of skin beneath Galathil’s length until the prince was shuddering with need. 

“So wanton, ernilen,” Lindir murmured, drawing back with a wicked smile. “It suits you.”

Galathil waited anxiously for the caress to return, and whimpered as Lindir drew completely away, reaching for the object that had lain, forgotten, on the bedside table. 

“No!” Galathil breathed, his eyes widening as he realized his lover had tricked him.

“Yes,” Lindir countered with a low chuckle, his eyes half-closed as he oiled the phallus once more. “You must realize by now, my sweet prince, that you will deny me nothing I truly want.”

Galathil shook his head as Lindir moved between his spread legs, positioning the tip of the phallus at his entrance. 

“Since you would not wear this for me to breakfast, you will wear it here.” With slow and careful movements, he eased the phallus into Galathil’s passage, smiling at the prince’s soft groan as it spread him open. He slid it in and out of the prince’s body, spreading the oil deeply within him, before sliding it deeper and rocking it gently. Galathil could do little but arch against the invasion, gasping helplessly.

Satisfied that the phallus was seated well, Lindir rose from the bed and left, returning after several moments with the straps he had shown Galathil the previous evening. With deft movements that spoke of long familiarity, Lindir ran the straps over and under Galathil’s thighs, before hooking them snugly to the ring at the back of the phallus, securing it so the prince would not be able to dislodge it. 

Galathil closed his eyes to hide his tears of humiliation, moaning softly, despising the way his body betrayed him. Lindir’s long fingers gripped his length again, stroking it slowly. 

“Look at me, ernilen,” he crooned. 

Galathil opened his eyes, feeling his face burn with the heat of his shame and arousal.

“Do you understand now that you will deny me nothing?” Lindir asked, his voice dangerously soft.

“Aye,” Galathil whispered, choking back a sob of need as Lindir’s hand left him. 

“I shall return shortly, and I will bring you something to eat,” his lover told him with a wicked chuckle.

His body throbbed around the leather phallus, and his arousal ached, twitching against his stomach as Lindir rose from the bed and dressed. His lover paused between articles of clothing to kiss or caress him, but did nothing except ensure that Galathil’s need only grew with each touch. A soft plea escaped him as Lindir turned to go.

“Please, Lindir. Do not leave me thus.”

Lindir gave him a heated smile, and without speaking, pulled a silken scarf from his pocket. Mindful of Galathil’s hair, he blindfolded him, before dropping a soft kiss on his lips. 

Galathil heard his lover leave, heard the sound of Lindir’s door closing; he was alone, painfully aroused, and could do nothing to alleviate it.  

~ * ~

When Lindir returned, he set a tray carrying Galathil’s breakfast on the table, before settling on the bed. He leaned forward, removing the prince’s blindfold, and smiled down at him.

Galathil looked away as Lindir untied his feet, tossing the rope aside with a casual flick of his fingers. His arousal was flaccid against his thigh, and Lindir ran a finger across it, watching it begin to twitch to life.

“Are you hungry?” Lindir asked softly.

“No.” Galathil replied shortly. “Untie me, Lindir.”

The minstrel sat back, his hands on his thighs as he regarded Galathil, his expression perplexed. “You are angry with me?”

Galathil finally met his gaze, and Lindir flinched from the coldness in the prince’s blue eyes. “Untie me. Now.”

Without another word, Lindir leaned forward and untied Galathil’s wrists. He was not prepared for the swiftness of Galathil’s attack. In moments he was pinned to the bed, Galathil’s face hovering above his. He struggled for a few seconds, trying to regain control of the situation, but the prince held him fast, his body pressing him into the mattress. 

“We are going to do this my way,” Galathil ground out, the muscles in his jaw twitching. 

“Ernilen,” Lindir began, only to be silenced by the bruising press of Galathil’s mouth against his. 

“Be quiet, Lindir,” Galathil said, before kissing him again. His thigh pressed between Lindir’s, spreading them apart, and Galathil settled between them. 

Lindir groaned, and the sound was swallowed by Galathil’s mouth. He could feel the prince’s arousal through the fabric of his leggings, pressing insistently against his own hardened length. He fought back the urge to struggle against Galathil’s hands, closing his eyes with a soft whimper as his desire rose hard and fast within him. 

Galathil seemed to sense the change in Lindir immediately, how his body had softened, yielding beneath the press of his. Lindir parted his legs further, his hips lifting in silent supplication as Galathil ground his hips against him. He released Lindir’s mouth to explore the soft skin at the base of his throat, nipping at the sensitive flesh with his teeth. Galathil bit hard at the junction of Lindir’s neck and shoulder, marking him. Lindir shuddered, moaning softly.

“Please.” The word escaped him before he could stop himself.

Galathil lifted his head, looking down at Lindir’s face. “Please what, Lindir?” There was nothing mocking in his gaze.

Lindir swallowed noisily. “Aníron…”

Galathil’s grip on Lindir’s wrists loosened, his hands sliding down the minstrel’s arms slowly. “Be still, Lindir,” he ordered quietly. 

Lindir trembled beneath him, his breath coming in short, quick gasps, but he did not struggle when Galathil released him. He left his arms where the prince had pinned them earlier, though his hands gripped the bedclothes tightly. He was confused by this change in the prince, though painfully aroused by it.

Galathil’s fingers made short work of the ties that held Lindir’s tunic, and he pulled it free. A low groan escaped him as Galathil moved to the fastening at the waist of his leggings, stripping them from his body in one fluid motion and tossing them carelessly aside. 

It was difficult to lay still, not to reach for Galathil when the prince covered him again, not to struggle against the intent behind Galathil’s actions. 

Fingers slick with oil brushed his entrance before pressing swiftly inside. Lindir moaned, lifting his hips, biting his lip as his body re-accustomed itself to being filled. Galathil prepared the way carefully, coating his fingers several times and spreading the oil deeply, stretching Lindir’s passage until it accepted his invasion.  He felt the press of Galathil’s shaft against his opening and stiffened, shutting his eyes.

This was not what he had intended, yet he found himself yielding nonetheless, gasping as Galathil filled him in one, smooth thrust. 

“No more, Lindir,” Galathil ground out, rocking slowly against him. “I cannot do this any more. Not for you. Not for Erestor.”  A fierce trembling seemed to grip him and the prince closed his eyes, his breathing low and ragged. 

Lindir arched against him, his hands fisted into the sheets as Galathil claimed him. The prince’s words troubled him, but he could not consider them, could not think what he meant by them. Nothing mattered except the pleasure that coursed through him with each slow and punishing thrust. 

Galathil’s hand closed over Lindir’s length, stroking it in time with his thrusts. All too soon the pleasure overwhelmed him and he came, shuddering beneath the prince, spilling his seed over stomach. He heard Galathil’s hoarse cry, and felt the prince tremble almost violently as his release claimed him.

For a moment, all that could be heard was the sound of their ragged breathing, and the pounding of their hearts, and then Galathil pulled away abruptly. 

Lindir watched as the prince’s fingers fumbled with the unfamiliar buckles that held the phallus in place, nearly tearing through the thin strips of leather in his haste to remove them. Galathil growled softly in triumph as at last, the straps came free and he pulled the phallus from his body, throwing it forcefully away from him. 

“Ernilen…”

“No more, Lindir,” Galathil told him, his voice trembling slightly as he bent in search of his clothing. “I cannot…”  He pulled his leggings on and fastened them with rough, jerking movements. 

“I do not understand,” Lindir said finally, his body still twitching with the aftershocks of his release. “What is wrong?”

Galathil pulled his tunic on and fastened the clasps swiftly, before finally meeting Lindir’s gaze. 

“I need to think, Lindir. I…I did not like what you did to me.”

Lindir smirked, pulling himself upright and leaning on his elbows. “You seemed to like it well enough.”

Galathil’s eyes closed and he took a deep, calming breath before he opened them again. “No, Lindir,” he told him, his voice deadly quiet. “After you left me like that…no. Promise or no, I cannot continue like this. It is not what I want.”

Lindir’s smile faded as Galathil’s words sank in. “What do you want, Galathil?”

The prince shook his head and turned away. “I do not know,” he whispered dejectedly. “But I know it is not this.”

The door closed behind him, and Lindir slumped back against the pillows, wondering where his carefully laid plans had gone awry. 

~ * ~

How did things get so confused? How did his relationship with Erestor become what it was? Why did he ever let himself become involved with Lindir? Was there some inherent weakness in his character, some vital flaw he had not been aware of, that he reveled in being treated in such a fashion? Even sought it out?

Flawed or not, Galathil Thranduillion was not happy with the way things were. 

I should have stayed in Mirkwood, he thought miserably, packing his belongings carefully for his journey ahead. I should have never left with Erestor.

The tension between his shoulders was palpable, and he realized as he packed, he was waiting for Lindir to arrive, to demand he return, to uphold his promise to him. His movements quickened, shoving clothing into his bags with haste, wanting nothing more than to flee the room he had shared with Erestor before Lindir arrived. 

He did not want to confront Lindir. He did not want to find out he was truly weak, so weak the minstrel would be able to entice him back to bed; he was afraid he would give in, despite the wrongness of it all. 

How did it go so wrong?

He remembered asking Erestor if there would be more lessons, now that they were lovers. He remembered Erestor’s sleepy reply, asking him if that was what he wished. He had wished for more lessons, but he also wished to have moments of tenderness, of pure and simple passion, without the trappings of manipulation and psychological games. He had given himself wholly to Erestor, heart, body and soul, believing that it would be enough. 

Apparently it was not, for Erestor had changed when they returned to Imladris. Their relationship did not grow more equal as time progressed. Instead, the scales had tipped unevenly. Galathil did not mind the games, in fact he found great pleasure in yielding to Erestor’s firm hand. The problem was that Galathil gave and Erestor took without giving anything back. 

Erestor had told him in Mirkwood that he hoped, one day, their relationship would be everlasting. Then here, in Imladris, his lover practically said their love was merely physical, a casual passion, that would pass eventually. 

Which is it? And why did Erestor practically push me into Lindir’s bed? Is he right?

He must be right, Galathil concluded with bitterness. How else could he explain the ease in which he found himself in Lindir’s arms?

Well, the only certainty he knew at this point was that he did not love Lindir, and that their relationship, though pleasurable, did not make him happy. 

It was time to go home.

~Finis