Chapter 6

~Imladris 2151 III~

Elrond hid a smile as he watched Thranduil succumb to Erestor’s gentle but insistent public seduction. The king quickly fell under the spell of the Erestor’s quiet attention and light touches, his earlier unease fading in the comfortable surroundings.

The crowd was large in the Hall of Fire, many elves joining the gathering simply to catch a glimpse of the Mirkwood royal. “You are causing quite a stir, my friend,” Elrond remarked, his smile widening. “It is a good thing you are spoken for, else I should have a riot on my hands.”

Thranduil snorted good-naturedly, shifting closer to Erestor in his attempt to reach the bottle of miruvor the three elves were sharing. “I cannot believe-” he began, stopping to nod his thanks as the advisor poured more miruvor, “-that your people are so taken by my hair, Elrond, when they live daily with Glorfindel and the Lady Celebrían.”

“It is not the hair in this case,” Erestor explained, his indigo eyes sparkling with mirth, “but what it crowns. The exotic King of Mirkwood is a figure of legend among the younger elves of the valley.”

As Thranduil began to shake his head in disbelief, Elrond broke in seriously. “It is true, my friend. Anteruon is what, fifteen centuries?”

“Nearly sixteen,” the proud father agreed with the ghost of a smile.

“It was several years before his begetting when you last visited Imladris,” Elrond pointed out. “Legolas came to us one winter as an elfling, but you could not leave Mirkwood to travel with him.”

“Has it truly been that long?” Thranduil mused in amazement.

“It has, indeed,” Erestor answered, smiling at his friend’s surprise. “Many of those vying to see you are of an age with the twins, or even younger. The rest are elders who wish to see how Oropher’s son turned out in the end.” Falling silent, he tilted his head as though listening, then turned and took Thranduil’s arm. “Glorfindel has returned from patrol, and he is going up to bathe. Come along. We will take up a tray, as he is sure to be hungry.” Leaning closer, his breath tickling the king’s ear, Erestor murmured, “Quite hungry.”

*******************

~Grey Mountains 2151 III~

Legolas walked slowly back toward the camp, reluctant to face Elladan, yet eager to have the meeting behind him. When he reached the tent site, he stopped in consternation, watching as the lightweight fabric was expertly folded and packed away. “Where is ‘Dan?” he asked Tiriadon, looking around with a frown. “I must speak with him before we leave.”

“I am not sure,” the captain replied uneasily. “He headed for the stream.” Looking intently at Legolas, Tiriadon lowered his voice. “Is something amiss, my friend? I have never seen him so solemn, not even in the midst of battle. And his face...his throat...it looks as though...as if....”

“It is as if he were mauled. Say it and be done,” Legolas said hoarsely, casting a bleak look at his captain. “Aye, Tiri, something is amiss.”

The prince hurried toward the shallow stream, his heart pounding in his throat, and caught sight of Elladan almost immediately. The elder twin had obviously bathed in the icy water. He stood tying his leggings, a sheen of moisture still visible on his bare chest and arms, his raven dark hair tied back to reveal the full extent of the past evening’s folly.

Legolas inhaled audibly as he came near enough to see the myriad of bruises, bites and scrapes that marred the Elladan’s skin. Stopping several paces from his silent lover, he found himself at a loss for words, and started visibly when Elladan addressed him without meeting his eyes. “Was there something you needed?”

“I...I...wanted to talk to you,” Legolas said in a rush, taking an uncertain step forward. “I know it is little comfort, but I am sorry, 'Dan. So sorry.”

“You are right. It is little comfort,” Elladan replied after a moment, his voice carefully neutral. Raising clouded grey eyes, he met Legolas' gaze. “But I know you meant no harm.”

“My intention matters little when my actions have hurt you so, ‘Dan,” Legolas said, reaching toward his lover. The prince’s stomach knotted sickeningly as Elladan stepped back, avoiding the impulsive touch. “Will you forgive me, el nín? Can you forgive me?” he asked fearfully.

“I have already said that I know you meant no harm, Legolas,” the elder twin answered. “Let us speak no more of it.”

“But we need to speak of it, “ the prince began imploringly. “There must be...”

“We need to prepare for the journey,” Elladan interrupted, pulling on his tunic. “There is much still to pack.”

“I will braid your hair, if you like,” Legolas offered hesitantly, as they started back toward the rest of the camp.

“That is kind of you, but you need not trouble yourself,” Elladan said formally, turning away before the prince could protest. “Elrohir will do it.”

********************

~Imladris 2151 III~

Thranduil smiled as the sounds of an impromptu water fight spilled from the open bathing chamber door. His anxiety much relieved by Erestor’s warmth and Elrond’s cordial, the king slipped off his formal tunic and boots before settling in one of the comfortably overstuffed chairs to wait.

A waterlogged wail was abruptly silenced, replaced by a kiss- smothered chuckle, and Thranduil found himself suddenly a bit melancholy. Though he had taken lovers since his queen’s death, he had not allowed himself to become close to any one bedmate. He could offer naught but pleasure, for his soul was bound, and he feared forming an attachment that might end in pain for an unwary partner.

More than anything, he missed the daily interaction with his queen - the teasing, talking, and cuddling that were so much a part of a strong bond. Thranduil sighed and reached up to unbind his tightly woven braids, only to have his hands pushed aside.

“Let me do that, my friend,” Erestor insisted, leaning down to brush a soft kiss over Thranduil’s mouth. His nimble fingers flying, Erestor soon had his hands full of silken strands. “Your hair is paler than ‘Findel’s,” he announced with interest, smoothing the waves left by the binding. “‘Tis more like sunlight than gold.”

“Is that a fault or a blessing, then?” Thranduil asked teasingly, his spirits brightened unaccountably by the simple attention.

“A blessing, definitely,” Erestor replied with a smirk. “I shall know who has been shedding on my pillow.” Releasing his friend’s hair, he added, “Go on into the bathing chamber. Glorfindel likes company, save when he is in a foul mood. I will lay out our robes to warm.”

Though Thranduil entered the bathing chamber uncertainly, he was quickly put at ease by Glorfindel’s cheerful manner and obvious delight at his company. Glorfindel kept up a continuous stream of banter as he stepped from the tub and toweled himself dry, mercifully ignoring the king’s covetous stare.

A half-hour’s passing found all three elves sprawled on the heavy rug in naught but robes, quickly polishing off the last of the cheese and fruit from the dinner tray. Stretching lazily, Glorfindel turned his sapphire gaze on their guest. “Have you given thought to how you would have us begin this night?”

Drawing a deep breath, Thranduil noted idly that miruvor really did help. He was only vaguely discomfitted by the frank question. “I would have Erestor choose,” he responded readily. As Erestor began to protest, he raised one hand in a plea for silence. “Please, my friend,” he said, touching Erestor's arm. “It would assuage the last of my guilt.”

Arching one ebony eyebrow at Glorfindel, who shrugged agreeably, Erestor turned a contemplative gaze on the king before rising gracefully. “I believe I shall enjoy this greatly,” he said smugly, extending a hand to Thranduil, “and I shall make sure that you do, also.”

The king accepted the offered hand, his glance flickering between his two companions. Some communication to which he was oblivious had passed between the bonded pair, of that he was sure. Fighting a flash of unease, Thranduil allowed himself to be led to the pillow-strewn bed.

Erestor urged his companion to sit, meeting the wary emerald eyes with concern. “We would not harm you,” he said soberly, unbelting his robe. “I would not harm you, nor distress you. A word, and all will cease.”

“Aye,” Thranduil breathed before speech failed him momentarily, his attention completely captured by the sensual slide of blood-red silk over pale flesh. The robe slid unheeded to the floor, revealing a lightly muscled form, the translucent skin warmed by the glow of candlelight. Enormous eyes of an indigo so deep as to seem black met his own with no hint of reticence. Obsidian-dark hair spilled unbound down the advisor’s back, the ends just brushing the tops of his thighs.

“Do I please you, then?” Erestor asked impishly, amusement glimmering in his dark eyes. “Or has distaste stolen your voice?”

“Not distaste,” Thranduil managed, as his robe joined the other on the floor, and then he was borne down onto the soft mattress by surprisingly strong arms, his mouth thoroughly explored by an invading tongue. All anxiety fled before the hands and mouth that expertly plied his body, tugging and suckling at his pierced nipples, blazing a trail of wet fire across his chest and abdomen, stroking him quickly to full hardness. A groan of unrestrained pleasure escaped the king’s lips as a gossamer light touch brushed his groin and his arousal was engulfed in a warm mouth, beset by teeth and tongue. Groans and whimpers increased in volume as fingers slick with some unknown fluid pressed into his body, stroking him from within. A fierce pressure began building low in Thranduil’s belly, and he tugged urgently at the silken hair that was spread over his trembling body. “Wait,” he gasped, “I cannot...I will...”

Erestor raised his head to look at his nearly incoherent victim. “Aye, you will, indeed,” he agreed with a grin before lowering his head to swallow his lover’s weeping length, his fingers moving to deftly flip and twist the gold nipple rings.

Thranduil arched off the bed, biting his own hand to muffle the howl that burst from his chest as he spilled into the caressing warmth. Shuddering in the aftermath of his climax, king weakly returned offered kisses, moaning at the taste of his own seed on Erestor’s tongue.

Erestor buried his face in his lover's hair, nipping sharply at one flushed ear. “Now we will play,” he announced silkily, causing goose bumps to crawl over Thranduil’s body. Lifting his head to meet the satiated emerald gaze, he continued, “I would take you, if you will allow it, my friend.”

Not trusting himself to speak, Thranduil nodded, offering no resistence as firm hands urged him to elbows and knees, his flushed face cradled in the rumpled coverlet at the foot of the bed. Then his hips were caught in a sure grip and he was mounted without preamble. There was but a moment’s respite before Thranduil felt his body lifted, and he settled fully onto the impaling flesh with a whimper, his back pressed snugly to Erestor’s chest.

“Are you well?" Erestor breathed, his hands moving soothingly over his lover’s skin.

“Aye,” Thranduil sighed, the practiced touches quickly reawakening his desire. As the word left his mouth, a warm fist folded around his filling shaft and sharp teeth sank into his shoulder. “Watch him, then,” Erestor ordered, his tongue easing the sting of his teeth.

Raising his eyes obediently, Thranduil was unable to suppress a yearning groan, or still the tremor that ran through his body.

Glorfindel stood near the foot of the bed, his blue robe open to reveal a powerfully muscled body, golden hair hanging in sensual disarray over his broad shoulders. As Thranduil stared with rapt attention, the captain ran one strong hand over his own chest, stopping to lazily tweak a pebbled nipple.

The king licked his dry lips as the robe fell away, and the wandering hand moved lower on Glorfindel’s shimmering body, sliding easily across the sweat damp skin. Sapphire eyes dilated with desire met Thranduil’s astonished gaze, and a sultry smile spread across Glorfindel’s face. “Do you like it?” he murmured, shuddering as his hand continued its descent, cupping and kneading his tight sac.

“I do,” Thranduil answered hoarsely, rocking instinctively into Erestor’s grasp, drawing a satisfied chuckle from the advisor. Thranduil watched breathlessly as Glorfindel continued his exhibition, somewhat surprised that watching another pleasure himself should be so arousing.

At last one large hand closed around the Glorfindel’s straining erection, and a groan of relief escaped all three elves as he began to stroke in earnest, his hand moving rapidly as his thigh and buttock muscles began to clench rhythmically.

Thranduil’s head fell back, his eyes closing in anticipation as the hand moving on his aching length drew him nearer and nearer to release. He was taken unaware when Glorfindel’s mouth closed over his arousal and the captain’s fierce grip steadied him against brutal thrusts from below. Eyes flying open in shock, the king watched the golden head move once...twice, then he was wailing without thought or reason, his body trembling in a violent release that left him limp and dazed.

Caught in a complacent fog, Thranduil was only idly aware of Erestor’s climax a heartbeat later, or the hot rush of fluid that dappled his thighs as Glorfindel spilled at the same instant. Long moments passed before he stirred to find himself snugly cradled between his lovers.

Turning his head to meet Glorfindel’s brilliant blue gaze, then Erestor's soft indigo eyes, the king drew a deep breath. “That was amazing,” he said, pleasure warring with exhaustion in his voice. “Amazing.”

Glorfindel chuckled, the affectionate sound sending a wave of warmth through Thranduil’s body. “And it has only begun.”

*~*~*~*~*

el nín - my star