Elladan’s lips curved into a satisfied smile as another plaintive moan broke through the drone of ragged breathing that filled the darkened chamber.
Even in the dim light of a quarter moon, the pale skin under his hands gleamed like starshine, warmed by the faint flush of desire and the scattered ovals of red and blue that marked the passage of his own mouth over the restlessly shifting body.
The muted creak of the ancient bedstead was pleasantly familiar, recalling other nights, other days spent here, his arms and legs and soul comfortably entangled with his brother’s – other moments spent seeking the only sound more beautiful to his ears than Elrohir’s impassioned moans. As his teeth closed gently on the tender skin of his lover’s inner thigh, the most precious of sounds echoed at last.
“Please, ‘Dan. Please...”
