LOTR FIC: In a Shady Bower (2/3)
Apr. 2nd, 2006 08:42 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
fimbrethielTitle: In a Shady Bower (2/3)
Author: Fimbrethiel
LiveJournal: http://www.livejournal.com/users/fimbrethiel/
Email: fimbrethiel @ yahoo.com
Type: FPS
Pairing: Glorfindel Haldir/Rúmil/Orophin/Celeborn in various permutations
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: Incest between siblings. Explicit depictions of homoerotic acts between consenting males. Romance. Unrepentant lack of plot. Also, really, really filthy. *grin*
Disclaimer: Don’t own the Elves, they are owned by Tolkien’s estate. Master Tolkien, I mean no harm. No profit has been made.
Beta: Nuwing. *massive hugs* Any remaining errors are mine.
Original date of completion: April 2, 2006
Summary: In the end, what do we really have left but love? The Lórien brothers make their lord an offer he is powerless to refuse.
*~*~*~*~*
“You are very beautiful, Celeborn,” Haldir whispered, leaning in to nip gently at an ear, his hands already working at the clasps of the lord’s tunic and slipping it from the broad shoulders. “It will be no hardship at all to share our bond with you.”
Without waiting for a response from the stunned Elven lord, Rúmil leaned in and kissed him ever so gently, pressing their lips together in a brief but altogether wonderful kiss, and then stood and extended his hands to his brothers, pulling them to their feet as well.
Before Celeborn even had the chance to collect his thoughts, the trio had stripped off their own clothing and now stood gloriously naked and aroused before him, the filtered sunlight casting a silvery sheen on their ivory bodies. All three were tall and lithe, long of leg, with aquiline noses and gray eyes, and hair so radiant it glowed like molten silver.
He was not so naive that he did not understand that their intention, by so shamelessly baring themselves, was to keep him off guard and not allow him time to reconsider. Was he not, after all, a skilled diplomat who had often used similar tactics of distraction and redirection in dealing with both foe and ally throughout the years?
As though from outside himself, he watched through a disbelieving, almost disconnected haze as three pairs of hands divested him of the remainder of his own clothing. It was with a lover’s discerning eye now, rather than as mentor and friend that the differences among them became apparent, and he was slightly abashed to realize that he had never truly seen these subtleties before.
Haldir stood a fraction shorter than his brothers but was most heavily muscled and broadest through the shoulders. ‘A stallion,’ Celeborn thought as he stepped out of the trousers that had somehow been unlaced and slid over his hips, ‘He is like a stallion, bred for strength and stamina. Rúmil is an otter – sleek and energetic, mischievous and quick. And Orophin – he is the slender birch tree, languid and graceful, swayed in the breeze.’
When finally Celeborn stood as nude and as aroused as they, the brothers stood together silently for a long moment, awestruck at the beauty of their lord – the one who would soon be their lover.
He was impressively built, his body having lost none of its mass through the years of ruling from a treetop – he was first, and still remained, a warrior, and bore the same swordsman’s physique he had in Ages past. His length stood proudly out from his body, long and thick, as magnificent to their eyes as the rest of him.
Haldir was graceful as a panther, sidling toward him until their chests were a hand’s breadth apart. He raised his hand to touch the lord’s face, his bow-roughened fingertip rasping softly over the curve of Celeborn’s cheek. “Why do you tremble, my lord?”
“I – I – ”
“Shhh,” Haldir crooned, silencing the Silver Lord with a finger to his lips. “So very beautiful, and so strong, but so vulnerable… you have nothing to fear from us, Celeborn. We would never harm you, body or soul. Please, trust us.”
Oh gods, this is really going to happen…can I do this? Am I ready? There is no going back after this. Should –
His thoughts were silenced, any lingering doubt fading away as Haldir closed the distance between them and drew his face down for a kiss. The Marchwarden’s lips were soft and warm against his, flavored with berry wine. A strong tongue slipped between his lips, exploring and seeking, and Celeborn heard himself moan against Haldir’s mouth.
Rúmil’s hands caressed the gentle curve of his backside, his mouth ghosting over a pink nipple, causing it to contract and pucker. He flicked it with his tongue, and Celeborn gasped and shivered.
“Yes?” The younger Elf’s voice was muffled against his chest; warmth teased the curve of his ear as Orophin drew the tip into his mouth and suckled lightly, sending a bolt of heat straight to his core.
“Oh, yes…”
Orophin’s lips replaced Haldir’s, gently probing, exploring the deepest recesses of his mouth, yet it seemed his touch had some hesitancy, as though he were holding back, fearful of pressing too far or too quickly.
How differently the two kissed. Haldir’s touch had been firm and insistent, but Orophin’s lips were soft and pliant, so very welcomed and reassuring that Celeborn nearly sobbed from the sudden surge of affection he felt toward these three. He was not certain he was worthy of such devotion, but vowed with his last lucid thought that he would live out each remaining day of his life doing everything within his power to surpass their expectations.
His head fell back, his eyes closed, his hands clenching in silver locks as soft as the finest of spun silks – he soon lost track of everything but the sensation of three pairs of hands and three mouths roaming freely over his body, kissing and licking, patting and pinching, then soothing the sting with gentle touches.
Celeborn opened his eyes and looked down as Haldir dropped to his knees, nosing around the sparse silver curls at the base of the lord’s length. He gave the tip a kittenish lick, gathering the moisture on his tongue. Orophin joined him, and the two took turns licking up the proud flesh, meeting at the tip to kiss and allow his flavor to mingle through their mouths.
Blessed Elbereth, that is the most arousing sight I have ever seen.
He felt Rúmil kneeling behind him, nuzzling the spot just above the curve of his backside, nipping at that tiny dimple that never failed to set his blood to boiling. He felt strong hands parting his buttocks and a soft warm swipe over the crease. Without warning, he was speared by a hot, wet tongue, plunging in deep. He howled and his knees went weak.
“Too – too much,” he gasped, squirming away from probing tongue and wet licks. He sagged on his feet and Haldir and Orophin caught him as he swayed, lowering him smoothly to the ground before he fell.
“Valar, Rúmil, have you never heard of moderation?” Orophin was heard to mutter as he helped his eldest brother settle their lord on the blanket.
Haldir’s throaty chuckle was unquestionably decadent. “Moderation is one quality our dear brother is sorely lacking. Have a care there, Rúmil,” he said, “have some pity on him, hmm?”
Rúmil affected a put-upon look and pouted most beguilingly. “Spoil sport.” Turning to Celeborn, he rested his hand on the lord’s shoulder and enquired, “Are you well, my lord?”
“Aye, trouble not, I just need to sit down for a few moments.” He took a few great shuddering breaths and rested his head on his bent knees, pulling them close to his chest.
Orophin glared at his middle brother; Rúmil flashed a trace of an apologetic smile and shrugged. Haldir simply shook his head in bemusement with his middle sibling’s oft exasperating impulsive behavior. There were times throughout the years in which Haldir wondered if his brother had ever truly grown up.
Yet, he wondered, could Rúmil’s impetuous streak now be used to their advantage?
“Now what?” Orophin whispered with a sidelong glance at the still figure seated on the blanket, careful to keep his voice from carrying outside the circle formed by he and his siblings. “Honestly, Rú, what were you thinking? The idea was to seduce him, not eat him alive.”
“If we had left it up to you, we would still be sitting in our talan listening to you analyze the situation to death,” Rúmil hissed back.
“Enough, you two,” Haldir interjected, cutting off his brothers’ squabble before it could escalate further. “He is overwhelmed and more than a little fearful, and one could not blame him, in truth. We need to distract him somehow, take his mind off his fear…”
Rúmil thought for a moment, and the smile he gave his brothers was nothing short of predatory. “I think I know just the thing.”
Sitting with his head bowed, Celeborn did not observe the further wordless exchange the siblings passed among themselves: a furtive glance in his direction, sensual lips forming a silent question, brows that quirked in surprise, a lingering, speculative look while argent eyes assessed the Silver Lord appraisingly, a nod, a sly smile that was hastily concealed by the time Celeborn again raised his head to look at them.
Rúmil opened his arms to beckon his brothers back to his side, and when they wrapped their arms around him, engaged them in an erotic, open-mouthed, three-way kiss that left Celeborn’s toes curling and his groin tightening painfully.
But as the Silver Lord looked on, watching the groping hands and tangling tongues, Haldir growled and nipped none-to-gently at his middle brother’s bottom lip, the sharp slap of his hand on the tender flesh of Rúmil’s backside punctuating his desire more effectively than mere words.
“Get on your knees, Commander. I want you.”
Rúmil pulled away, silver-gray eyes dark with lust, but shook his head. “I think not, Captain. On the fences you give the orders, but elsewhere, we are equals, and I shall not kneel for you, here or anywhere else.”
Haldir’s laugh could only be described as mocking. “I am still your commanding officer, as well as your elder, be we in combat or no. Now get on your knees, little brother, and that is an order.”
Rúmil pushed his brother roughly on the shoulder. “We are not out in the field, and I do not take direction from you here ‘Tis high time someone put you in your place, big brother.”
With no warning, he broke away and in the next moment, with a sweep of his foot and a quick twist to Haldir’s arm, Rúmil had knocked his brother’s legs out from under him and laid him out flat on his back. Haldir went down hard, his breath knocked out of him with a loud ‘whoosh’.
“Oro, quickly, get his hands!” Rúmil barked, taking advantage of Haldir’s momentary confusion in order to withdraw a small flask from the satchel lying within reach. “Someone needs to be taught a lesson in humility, I believe,” he sneered, lifting his brother’s hips up onto his own thighs, holding them in place with his elbows, then quickly thumbed open the stopper on the vial. “I will not play your bitch any longer, Marchwarden.”
Haldir found himself on the ground, blinked owlishly up at the canopy of greens and golds overhead, with his middle brother kneeling between his legs, Rúmil’s erection probing between his buttocks, and his arms held firmly over his head, held tight by Orophin’s strong grasp.
Blessed Varda, he cannot mean to take him without consent! What in the name of all that is sacred is going on here?
Scarcely aware that he had even moved until he was towering above the three, Celeborn was on his feet, ignoring the throbbing in his groin and disregarding the fact that he was completely nude, painfully erect, and – most importantly – outnumbered. It had been many years since his body had last known battle, but he had been a warrior once and would not sit idly by while Rúmil performed the most dreadful act known to Elven kind. He would not stand down without a fight, though the brothers were far younger and battle-hardy, and would more than likely tear him to pieces in the process.
“Unhand him this moment! You have gone too far, Rúmil, you will not take him against his will!”
Rúmil glanced back over his shoulder and stared him directly in the eye, and then to Celeborn’s utter amazement, winked.
“Against his will? Nay, Celeborn, not against his will, never that. ‘Tis only a game we play, fear not. Watch him and you will see that he is most willing.”
Amazingly, Celeborn realized that Haldir was thrusting his hips down toward on brother’s, his thighs splayed apart and baring him in all his glory. The Marchwarden’s broad shaft was curved up tight against his belly, leaking clear fluids that were slowly forming a glistening pool in his navel.
Clenching his eyes tightly at the touch of his own hand upon his rigid length, Rúmil slicked his shaft well then opened his eyes and lined himself up at his brother’s waiting entrance. “You can see from his rather responsive state that it is the excitement of being controlled that arouses him so. It was quite by accident that we discovered one night that our dear brother quite enjoyed a bit of rough treatment. He works too hard, poor thing, and sometimes just needs to let go. Just watch, and you will see something incredible.”
A flicker of understanding crossed Celeborn’s face and he dropped back on the blanket with a heavy thud. This ‘forcing’ of Haldir was a charade that the siblings had staged, and it should have been obvious before, now that he thought about it, that their actions were just a bit too well rehearsed to be entirely believable. From the practiced manner in which the trio moved together, they had engaged in this game, or another one similar, many times before. They played their parts well. One or the other of them – Celeborn had a strong suspicion he knew who the instigator of this ruse was – had contrived this performance to distract him from his fears. And their efforts were successful; he could not have resisted, even if he had the desire.
Rúmil slowly and steadily pressed forward into the moist, welcoming heat of his lover’s passage. There was no need to stretch and prepare his brother; Haldir was well used to such attentions and groaned throatily when Rúmil’s hard shaft sank deep into his body.
The transformation that came over Haldir with those first few thrusts was almost beyond Celeborn’s belief. None would never have guessed the Captain of the Lórien guard – fearless in battle, slayer of Orcs and Wildmen uncounted – would play the bottom, and so readily at that, if they had not seen his eager surrender with their own eyes. Nowhere was there a trace of the controlled, proud Marchwarden who guarded the Wood so dutifully, always in complete command of himself and his men. This Elf was brazen and shameless in his lust, moaning and whimpering, crying out and begging to be ridden harder, deeper, faster.
Haldir groaned, turning his head to press his cheek into Orophin’s belly. The younger Elf sought no relief for his own arousal, but gripped Haldir’s hands firmly with his own, keeping them trapped over his head, ensuring his eldest brother was pinned almost motionless and helpless to do more than writhe in Rúmil’s lap.
In long, lazy thrusts, Rúmil pumped in and out of Haldir’s body, slowly stroking his brother’s erection with one hand and the other curved around the swell of his brother’s hipbone, pressing him into place. Haldir moaned and thrashed his head, sweating and shaking, while Orophin held his hands tightly and whispered words intended to be soothing, but clearly did the opposite and only ignited Haldir’s passion further.
“Do you see now, Celeborn? Is he not beautiful in his surrender?” Rúmil said, speaking to Celeborn but keeping his eyes trained on his elder brother’s face. “One would never imagine Haldir, famed Captain of the Wood, would submit, and so wantonly at that. He loves it, Celeborn; he hungers for it. How well he plays the part of the whore. He begs me to fuck him, and when I am through, he still wants more. Is that true, brother?”
He thrust once, hard, and Haldir barked, “Yes!”
“He is ready, Celeborn. You should feel how tight and hot he is, how he trembles and strains around me. He is always tight, no matter how often I make love to him. Do you want him, Celeborn? To ride him until he screams? To plunge into his body over and over and take him over the edge with you?”
Celeborn’s mouth went dry. His eyes were riveted to the stretched skin where Rúmil’s shaft plunged in and out of Haldir’s clenching passage. He licked his lips and managed to croak, “Aye,” around a tongue that seemed two sizes too large for his mouth.
“Haldir? Do you want him? He is larger than I – do you think you can take him?” Rúmil swiveled his hips, reaming Haldir from top to bottom and sideways. The Marchwarden groaned.
“What was that, dear brother?” Rúmil thrust again, angling to brush his brother’s sweet spot.
“FUCK!” Haldir yelped and tossed his head, straining against the strong grip that restrained him. “Yes, damn you, I want him!”
“Then you shall have him, brother, as soon as I am finished with you,” Rúmil ground out between clenched teeth. His thrusting became more rapid and more erratic as his orgasm approached, and he squeezed his eyes tightly shut as sparkles flared behind his eyelids.
“Oh gods, yes, yesss,” Haldir moaned, clenching his muscles around the pulsing shaft.
At length Rúmil shuddered and groaned deeply, his entire body straining when he spurted in scalding bursts into his brother’s body. A moment later he pulled out, still gasping and dribbling threads of milky fluid, and Haldir howled in protest, thrusting his hips up and down in frustration, lashing out with his legs to pull his brother back toward him.
Rúmil turned to meet Celeborn’s lust-darkened gaze and nodded, motioning toward Haldir’s parted thighs, the writhing and whimpering Elf thrashing in Orophin’s grasp. “He wants you, Celeborn. Do not leave him wanting.”
The Silver Lord was on his feet and already settling in to take the younger Elf’s place between Haldir’s trembling thighs, yet despite what he had witnessed, despite the fact that his own arousal had reached almost desperate proportions, he was still wary of causing the Marchwarden harm. His own shaft primed for entry, he leaned in bringing their faces close, and forced Haldir to meet his eyes.
“Is this what you want, Haldir? Do you truly want me, or is this just another part of the game? I need to know, right now.”
“Ai… Celeborn… Please… please…”
Celeborn’s eyes flitted around the bower, searching for the elusive vial of oil, but Rúmil shook his head, gasping, “Not needed – just do it.”
With one great thrust, Celeborn had breached the entrance and was embedded to the root in the clinging heat of Haldir’s channel.
Though oil and Rúmil’s seed eased the way and he was already loosened from his brother’s loving, Haldir was not quite anticipating the extent of Celeborn’s length or girth, for he was considerably larger than Haldir’s other lovers. Though Celeborn would not have believed it at the moment, given the zeal of the Marchwarden’s response, the truth of the matter was that in all his three and a half millennia, Rúmil and Orophin had been Haldir’s only lovers, and he theirs.
Haldir's face contorted and he shrieked, nearly wrenched out of Orophin’s grasp, but Orophin was far stronger than his willowy build indicated and was well acquainted with the grip necessary to deliver his eldest brother vulnerable and at their mercy.
Troubled, Celeborn did not move, though his body urged him to, but looked up and met Orophin’s eyes with concern. The younger Elf nodded, his clear gray gaze untroubled. “He likes to be used roughly, Celeborn. You will not harm him, I promise you. Listen to his moans – already his body accepts you.”
Celeborn did not bother with any of Rúmil’s finesse but being large and strong, bodily lifted the Marchwarden’s hips off the ground and settled the Elf on his lap, giving Haldir little choice but to wrap his legs around the lord’s flank and hold on. He wrapped one large hand around Haldir’s twitching, neglected length and stroked speedily and long, matching each glide of his hand with the slide of his shaft deep within his lover’s body.
“Oh gods, so good,” Haldir cried out, surging up into the seed-slicked grasp and back down onto the invading shaft. With barely a dozen strokes he convulsed as far as his straining body would allow and screamed, “Ai, yes…oh, OH…coming!” He climaxed torturously, spraying great jets of pearlescent fluid across their bellies.
Milked by the Marchwarden’s rippling passage, Celeborn climaxed harder than he had remembered doing in years, his essence spurting in great, creamy gouts to join Rúmil’s within Haldir’s slick channel.
Panting, he fell forward onto the prone, shivering form to rest his sweating brow against Haldir’s shoulder. “Blessed Elbereth,” he cursed between wheezing breaths, “that was amazing. If every time is like this, I shall not live long enough to worry about eternity.”
From somewhere off to his right, a throaty chuckle resonated from Rúmil, who had recovered and now lay on his side cleansing himself, languidly swiping a soapy cloth from the bucket over his groin. “He does tend to have that effect on one, my friend.”
Orophin released his brother’s hands and bent over to smooth the clinging strands of hair from Haldir’s forehead. He pressed a gentle kiss to the clammy brow and Haldir blinked up at him with unfocused eyes. “Love you, ‘Dir. Are you all right?”
It took a moment for Haldir to come back to his senses. Finally he replied in a tremulous voice, “A bit sore – “ he winced when Celeborn withdrew from his body and grimaced at the slow trickle of fluids that seeped from his backside. “Oh. Ouch. Perhaps more than ‘a bit sore’,” he amended, “but I am well, Oro.”
Haldir raised trembling arms and wrapped them around the Elf-lord who had just given him so precious a gift. Their coupling had been more than just sex to Haldir; he was a sensuous being underneath that usually unflappable exterior, but he had never given his body or his heart lightly. The fact that Celeborn was only the third, after his adored brothers, to know him in such a manner spoke of the strength and veracity of his affections.
Groaning, Celeborn rolled off and lay beside Haldir. “By Manwë’s golden crown, I am too old for this,” the Elf-lord moaned.
Haldir chuckled weakly, turning his head to kiss the pulse fluttering in his lover’s neck. Orophin rose from his perch and stretched out along Celeborn’s opposite side. His arousal had not abated, and he pressed his hips against the lord’s thigh, rocking gently back and forth.
Rúmil brought over two wet, warm cloths, and used one to gently swab first Haldir’s stomach and then his brother’s tender backside. Haldir hissed when the cloth brushed his abused opening. When he deemed his brother to be clean enough, Rúmil tossed the cloth back in the direction of the bucket and curled up in Haldir’s arms, lazily fingering the silver strands of hair that spilled across the Marchwarden’s broad chest. Haldir sighed contentedly. “Love you, ‘mil,” he whispered.
“I know,” Rúmil answered with a sanguine smile. “I love you too.” He kissed Haldir’s nose and rested his cheek against his brother’s shoulder. A mild breeze rustled the branches and dried the sweat from their bodies.
*~*~* to be continued *~*~*
Author: Fimbrethiel
LiveJournal: http://www.livejournal.com/users/fimbrethiel/
Email: fimbrethiel @ yahoo.com
Type: FPS
Pairing: Glorfindel Haldir/Rúmil/Orophin/Celeborn in various permutations
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: Incest between siblings. Explicit depictions of homoerotic acts between consenting males. Romance. Unrepentant lack of plot. Also, really, really filthy. *grin*
Disclaimer: Don’t own the Elves, they are owned by Tolkien’s estate. Master Tolkien, I mean no harm. No profit has been made.
Beta: Nuwing. *massive hugs* Any remaining errors are mine.
Original date of completion: April 2, 2006
Summary: In the end, what do we really have left but love? The Lórien brothers make their lord an offer he is powerless to refuse.
*~*~*~*~*
“You are very beautiful, Celeborn,” Haldir whispered, leaning in to nip gently at an ear, his hands already working at the clasps of the lord’s tunic and slipping it from the broad shoulders. “It will be no hardship at all to share our bond with you.”
Without waiting for a response from the stunned Elven lord, Rúmil leaned in and kissed him ever so gently, pressing their lips together in a brief but altogether wonderful kiss, and then stood and extended his hands to his brothers, pulling them to their feet as well.
Before Celeborn even had the chance to collect his thoughts, the trio had stripped off their own clothing and now stood gloriously naked and aroused before him, the filtered sunlight casting a silvery sheen on their ivory bodies. All three were tall and lithe, long of leg, with aquiline noses and gray eyes, and hair so radiant it glowed like molten silver.
He was not so naive that he did not understand that their intention, by so shamelessly baring themselves, was to keep him off guard and not allow him time to reconsider. Was he not, after all, a skilled diplomat who had often used similar tactics of distraction and redirection in dealing with both foe and ally throughout the years?
As though from outside himself, he watched through a disbelieving, almost disconnected haze as three pairs of hands divested him of the remainder of his own clothing. It was with a lover’s discerning eye now, rather than as mentor and friend that the differences among them became apparent, and he was slightly abashed to realize that he had never truly seen these subtleties before.
Haldir stood a fraction shorter than his brothers but was most heavily muscled and broadest through the shoulders. ‘A stallion,’ Celeborn thought as he stepped out of the trousers that had somehow been unlaced and slid over his hips, ‘He is like a stallion, bred for strength and stamina. Rúmil is an otter – sleek and energetic, mischievous and quick. And Orophin – he is the slender birch tree, languid and graceful, swayed in the breeze.’
When finally Celeborn stood as nude and as aroused as they, the brothers stood together silently for a long moment, awestruck at the beauty of their lord – the one who would soon be their lover.
He was impressively built, his body having lost none of its mass through the years of ruling from a treetop – he was first, and still remained, a warrior, and bore the same swordsman’s physique he had in Ages past. His length stood proudly out from his body, long and thick, as magnificent to their eyes as the rest of him.
Haldir was graceful as a panther, sidling toward him until their chests were a hand’s breadth apart. He raised his hand to touch the lord’s face, his bow-roughened fingertip rasping softly over the curve of Celeborn’s cheek. “Why do you tremble, my lord?”
“I – I – ”
“Shhh,” Haldir crooned, silencing the Silver Lord with a finger to his lips. “So very beautiful, and so strong, but so vulnerable… you have nothing to fear from us, Celeborn. We would never harm you, body or soul. Please, trust us.”
Oh gods, this is really going to happen…can I do this? Am I ready? There is no going back after this. Should –
His thoughts were silenced, any lingering doubt fading away as Haldir closed the distance between them and drew his face down for a kiss. The Marchwarden’s lips were soft and warm against his, flavored with berry wine. A strong tongue slipped between his lips, exploring and seeking, and Celeborn heard himself moan against Haldir’s mouth.
Rúmil’s hands caressed the gentle curve of his backside, his mouth ghosting over a pink nipple, causing it to contract and pucker. He flicked it with his tongue, and Celeborn gasped and shivered.
“Yes?” The younger Elf’s voice was muffled against his chest; warmth teased the curve of his ear as Orophin drew the tip into his mouth and suckled lightly, sending a bolt of heat straight to his core.
“Oh, yes…”
Orophin’s lips replaced Haldir’s, gently probing, exploring the deepest recesses of his mouth, yet it seemed his touch had some hesitancy, as though he were holding back, fearful of pressing too far or too quickly.
How differently the two kissed. Haldir’s touch had been firm and insistent, but Orophin’s lips were soft and pliant, so very welcomed and reassuring that Celeborn nearly sobbed from the sudden surge of affection he felt toward these three. He was not certain he was worthy of such devotion, but vowed with his last lucid thought that he would live out each remaining day of his life doing everything within his power to surpass their expectations.
His head fell back, his eyes closed, his hands clenching in silver locks as soft as the finest of spun silks – he soon lost track of everything but the sensation of three pairs of hands and three mouths roaming freely over his body, kissing and licking, patting and pinching, then soothing the sting with gentle touches.
Celeborn opened his eyes and looked down as Haldir dropped to his knees, nosing around the sparse silver curls at the base of the lord’s length. He gave the tip a kittenish lick, gathering the moisture on his tongue. Orophin joined him, and the two took turns licking up the proud flesh, meeting at the tip to kiss and allow his flavor to mingle through their mouths.
Blessed Elbereth, that is the most arousing sight I have ever seen.
He felt Rúmil kneeling behind him, nuzzling the spot just above the curve of his backside, nipping at that tiny dimple that never failed to set his blood to boiling. He felt strong hands parting his buttocks and a soft warm swipe over the crease. Without warning, he was speared by a hot, wet tongue, plunging in deep. He howled and his knees went weak.
“Too – too much,” he gasped, squirming away from probing tongue and wet licks. He sagged on his feet and Haldir and Orophin caught him as he swayed, lowering him smoothly to the ground before he fell.
“Valar, Rúmil, have you never heard of moderation?” Orophin was heard to mutter as he helped his eldest brother settle their lord on the blanket.
Haldir’s throaty chuckle was unquestionably decadent. “Moderation is one quality our dear brother is sorely lacking. Have a care there, Rúmil,” he said, “have some pity on him, hmm?”
Rúmil affected a put-upon look and pouted most beguilingly. “Spoil sport.” Turning to Celeborn, he rested his hand on the lord’s shoulder and enquired, “Are you well, my lord?”
“Aye, trouble not, I just need to sit down for a few moments.” He took a few great shuddering breaths and rested his head on his bent knees, pulling them close to his chest.
Orophin glared at his middle brother; Rúmil flashed a trace of an apologetic smile and shrugged. Haldir simply shook his head in bemusement with his middle sibling’s oft exasperating impulsive behavior. There were times throughout the years in which Haldir wondered if his brother had ever truly grown up.
Yet, he wondered, could Rúmil’s impetuous streak now be used to their advantage?
“Now what?” Orophin whispered with a sidelong glance at the still figure seated on the blanket, careful to keep his voice from carrying outside the circle formed by he and his siblings. “Honestly, Rú, what were you thinking? The idea was to seduce him, not eat him alive.”
“If we had left it up to you, we would still be sitting in our talan listening to you analyze the situation to death,” Rúmil hissed back.
“Enough, you two,” Haldir interjected, cutting off his brothers’ squabble before it could escalate further. “He is overwhelmed and more than a little fearful, and one could not blame him, in truth. We need to distract him somehow, take his mind off his fear…”
Rúmil thought for a moment, and the smile he gave his brothers was nothing short of predatory. “I think I know just the thing.”
Sitting with his head bowed, Celeborn did not observe the further wordless exchange the siblings passed among themselves: a furtive glance in his direction, sensual lips forming a silent question, brows that quirked in surprise, a lingering, speculative look while argent eyes assessed the Silver Lord appraisingly, a nod, a sly smile that was hastily concealed by the time Celeborn again raised his head to look at them.
Rúmil opened his arms to beckon his brothers back to his side, and when they wrapped their arms around him, engaged them in an erotic, open-mouthed, three-way kiss that left Celeborn’s toes curling and his groin tightening painfully.
But as the Silver Lord looked on, watching the groping hands and tangling tongues, Haldir growled and nipped none-to-gently at his middle brother’s bottom lip, the sharp slap of his hand on the tender flesh of Rúmil’s backside punctuating his desire more effectively than mere words.
“Get on your knees, Commander. I want you.”
Rúmil pulled away, silver-gray eyes dark with lust, but shook his head. “I think not, Captain. On the fences you give the orders, but elsewhere, we are equals, and I shall not kneel for you, here or anywhere else.”
Haldir’s laugh could only be described as mocking. “I am still your commanding officer, as well as your elder, be we in combat or no. Now get on your knees, little brother, and that is an order.”
Rúmil pushed his brother roughly on the shoulder. “We are not out in the field, and I do not take direction from you here ‘Tis high time someone put you in your place, big brother.”
With no warning, he broke away and in the next moment, with a sweep of his foot and a quick twist to Haldir’s arm, Rúmil had knocked his brother’s legs out from under him and laid him out flat on his back. Haldir went down hard, his breath knocked out of him with a loud ‘whoosh’.
“Oro, quickly, get his hands!” Rúmil barked, taking advantage of Haldir’s momentary confusion in order to withdraw a small flask from the satchel lying within reach. “Someone needs to be taught a lesson in humility, I believe,” he sneered, lifting his brother’s hips up onto his own thighs, holding them in place with his elbows, then quickly thumbed open the stopper on the vial. “I will not play your bitch any longer, Marchwarden.”
Haldir found himself on the ground, blinked owlishly up at the canopy of greens and golds overhead, with his middle brother kneeling between his legs, Rúmil’s erection probing between his buttocks, and his arms held firmly over his head, held tight by Orophin’s strong grasp.
Blessed Varda, he cannot mean to take him without consent! What in the name of all that is sacred is going on here?
Scarcely aware that he had even moved until he was towering above the three, Celeborn was on his feet, ignoring the throbbing in his groin and disregarding the fact that he was completely nude, painfully erect, and – most importantly – outnumbered. It had been many years since his body had last known battle, but he had been a warrior once and would not sit idly by while Rúmil performed the most dreadful act known to Elven kind. He would not stand down without a fight, though the brothers were far younger and battle-hardy, and would more than likely tear him to pieces in the process.
“Unhand him this moment! You have gone too far, Rúmil, you will not take him against his will!”
Rúmil glanced back over his shoulder and stared him directly in the eye, and then to Celeborn’s utter amazement, winked.
“Against his will? Nay, Celeborn, not against his will, never that. ‘Tis only a game we play, fear not. Watch him and you will see that he is most willing.”
Amazingly, Celeborn realized that Haldir was thrusting his hips down toward on brother’s, his thighs splayed apart and baring him in all his glory. The Marchwarden’s broad shaft was curved up tight against his belly, leaking clear fluids that were slowly forming a glistening pool in his navel.
Clenching his eyes tightly at the touch of his own hand upon his rigid length, Rúmil slicked his shaft well then opened his eyes and lined himself up at his brother’s waiting entrance. “You can see from his rather responsive state that it is the excitement of being controlled that arouses him so. It was quite by accident that we discovered one night that our dear brother quite enjoyed a bit of rough treatment. He works too hard, poor thing, and sometimes just needs to let go. Just watch, and you will see something incredible.”
A flicker of understanding crossed Celeborn’s face and he dropped back on the blanket with a heavy thud. This ‘forcing’ of Haldir was a charade that the siblings had staged, and it should have been obvious before, now that he thought about it, that their actions were just a bit too well rehearsed to be entirely believable. From the practiced manner in which the trio moved together, they had engaged in this game, or another one similar, many times before. They played their parts well. One or the other of them – Celeborn had a strong suspicion he knew who the instigator of this ruse was – had contrived this performance to distract him from his fears. And their efforts were successful; he could not have resisted, even if he had the desire.
Rúmil slowly and steadily pressed forward into the moist, welcoming heat of his lover’s passage. There was no need to stretch and prepare his brother; Haldir was well used to such attentions and groaned throatily when Rúmil’s hard shaft sank deep into his body.
The transformation that came over Haldir with those first few thrusts was almost beyond Celeborn’s belief. None would never have guessed the Captain of the Lórien guard – fearless in battle, slayer of Orcs and Wildmen uncounted – would play the bottom, and so readily at that, if they had not seen his eager surrender with their own eyes. Nowhere was there a trace of the controlled, proud Marchwarden who guarded the Wood so dutifully, always in complete command of himself and his men. This Elf was brazen and shameless in his lust, moaning and whimpering, crying out and begging to be ridden harder, deeper, faster.
Haldir groaned, turning his head to press his cheek into Orophin’s belly. The younger Elf sought no relief for his own arousal, but gripped Haldir’s hands firmly with his own, keeping them trapped over his head, ensuring his eldest brother was pinned almost motionless and helpless to do more than writhe in Rúmil’s lap.
In long, lazy thrusts, Rúmil pumped in and out of Haldir’s body, slowly stroking his brother’s erection with one hand and the other curved around the swell of his brother’s hipbone, pressing him into place. Haldir moaned and thrashed his head, sweating and shaking, while Orophin held his hands tightly and whispered words intended to be soothing, but clearly did the opposite and only ignited Haldir’s passion further.
“Do you see now, Celeborn? Is he not beautiful in his surrender?” Rúmil said, speaking to Celeborn but keeping his eyes trained on his elder brother’s face. “One would never imagine Haldir, famed Captain of the Wood, would submit, and so wantonly at that. He loves it, Celeborn; he hungers for it. How well he plays the part of the whore. He begs me to fuck him, and when I am through, he still wants more. Is that true, brother?”
He thrust once, hard, and Haldir barked, “Yes!”
“He is ready, Celeborn. You should feel how tight and hot he is, how he trembles and strains around me. He is always tight, no matter how often I make love to him. Do you want him, Celeborn? To ride him until he screams? To plunge into his body over and over and take him over the edge with you?”
Celeborn’s mouth went dry. His eyes were riveted to the stretched skin where Rúmil’s shaft plunged in and out of Haldir’s clenching passage. He licked his lips and managed to croak, “Aye,” around a tongue that seemed two sizes too large for his mouth.
“Haldir? Do you want him? He is larger than I – do you think you can take him?” Rúmil swiveled his hips, reaming Haldir from top to bottom and sideways. The Marchwarden groaned.
“What was that, dear brother?” Rúmil thrust again, angling to brush his brother’s sweet spot.
“FUCK!” Haldir yelped and tossed his head, straining against the strong grip that restrained him. “Yes, damn you, I want him!”
“Then you shall have him, brother, as soon as I am finished with you,” Rúmil ground out between clenched teeth. His thrusting became more rapid and more erratic as his orgasm approached, and he squeezed his eyes tightly shut as sparkles flared behind his eyelids.
“Oh gods, yes, yesss,” Haldir moaned, clenching his muscles around the pulsing shaft.
At length Rúmil shuddered and groaned deeply, his entire body straining when he spurted in scalding bursts into his brother’s body. A moment later he pulled out, still gasping and dribbling threads of milky fluid, and Haldir howled in protest, thrusting his hips up and down in frustration, lashing out with his legs to pull his brother back toward him.
Rúmil turned to meet Celeborn’s lust-darkened gaze and nodded, motioning toward Haldir’s parted thighs, the writhing and whimpering Elf thrashing in Orophin’s grasp. “He wants you, Celeborn. Do not leave him wanting.”
The Silver Lord was on his feet and already settling in to take the younger Elf’s place between Haldir’s trembling thighs, yet despite what he had witnessed, despite the fact that his own arousal had reached almost desperate proportions, he was still wary of causing the Marchwarden harm. His own shaft primed for entry, he leaned in bringing their faces close, and forced Haldir to meet his eyes.
“Is this what you want, Haldir? Do you truly want me, or is this just another part of the game? I need to know, right now.”
“Ai… Celeborn… Please… please…”
Celeborn’s eyes flitted around the bower, searching for the elusive vial of oil, but Rúmil shook his head, gasping, “Not needed – just do it.”
With one great thrust, Celeborn had breached the entrance and was embedded to the root in the clinging heat of Haldir’s channel.
Though oil and Rúmil’s seed eased the way and he was already loosened from his brother’s loving, Haldir was not quite anticipating the extent of Celeborn’s length or girth, for he was considerably larger than Haldir’s other lovers. Though Celeborn would not have believed it at the moment, given the zeal of the Marchwarden’s response, the truth of the matter was that in all his three and a half millennia, Rúmil and Orophin had been Haldir’s only lovers, and he theirs.
Haldir's face contorted and he shrieked, nearly wrenched out of Orophin’s grasp, but Orophin was far stronger than his willowy build indicated and was well acquainted with the grip necessary to deliver his eldest brother vulnerable and at their mercy.
Troubled, Celeborn did not move, though his body urged him to, but looked up and met Orophin’s eyes with concern. The younger Elf nodded, his clear gray gaze untroubled. “He likes to be used roughly, Celeborn. You will not harm him, I promise you. Listen to his moans – already his body accepts you.”
Celeborn did not bother with any of Rúmil’s finesse but being large and strong, bodily lifted the Marchwarden’s hips off the ground and settled the Elf on his lap, giving Haldir little choice but to wrap his legs around the lord’s flank and hold on. He wrapped one large hand around Haldir’s twitching, neglected length and stroked speedily and long, matching each glide of his hand with the slide of his shaft deep within his lover’s body.
“Oh gods, so good,” Haldir cried out, surging up into the seed-slicked grasp and back down onto the invading shaft. With barely a dozen strokes he convulsed as far as his straining body would allow and screamed, “Ai, yes…oh, OH…coming!” He climaxed torturously, spraying great jets of pearlescent fluid across their bellies.
Milked by the Marchwarden’s rippling passage, Celeborn climaxed harder than he had remembered doing in years, his essence spurting in great, creamy gouts to join Rúmil’s within Haldir’s slick channel.
Panting, he fell forward onto the prone, shivering form to rest his sweating brow against Haldir’s shoulder. “Blessed Elbereth,” he cursed between wheezing breaths, “that was amazing. If every time is like this, I shall not live long enough to worry about eternity.”
From somewhere off to his right, a throaty chuckle resonated from Rúmil, who had recovered and now lay on his side cleansing himself, languidly swiping a soapy cloth from the bucket over his groin. “He does tend to have that effect on one, my friend.”
Orophin released his brother’s hands and bent over to smooth the clinging strands of hair from Haldir’s forehead. He pressed a gentle kiss to the clammy brow and Haldir blinked up at him with unfocused eyes. “Love you, ‘Dir. Are you all right?”
It took a moment for Haldir to come back to his senses. Finally he replied in a tremulous voice, “A bit sore – “ he winced when Celeborn withdrew from his body and grimaced at the slow trickle of fluids that seeped from his backside. “Oh. Ouch. Perhaps more than ‘a bit sore’,” he amended, “but I am well, Oro.”
Haldir raised trembling arms and wrapped them around the Elf-lord who had just given him so precious a gift. Their coupling had been more than just sex to Haldir; he was a sensuous being underneath that usually unflappable exterior, but he had never given his body or his heart lightly. The fact that Celeborn was only the third, after his adored brothers, to know him in such a manner spoke of the strength and veracity of his affections.
Groaning, Celeborn rolled off and lay beside Haldir. “By Manwë’s golden crown, I am too old for this,” the Elf-lord moaned.
Haldir chuckled weakly, turning his head to kiss the pulse fluttering in his lover’s neck. Orophin rose from his perch and stretched out along Celeborn’s opposite side. His arousal had not abated, and he pressed his hips against the lord’s thigh, rocking gently back and forth.
Rúmil brought over two wet, warm cloths, and used one to gently swab first Haldir’s stomach and then his brother’s tender backside. Haldir hissed when the cloth brushed his abused opening. When he deemed his brother to be clean enough, Rúmil tossed the cloth back in the direction of the bucket and curled up in Haldir’s arms, lazily fingering the silver strands of hair that spilled across the Marchwarden’s broad chest. Haldir sighed contentedly. “Love you, ‘mil,” he whispered.
“I know,” Rúmil answered with a sanguine smile. “I love you too.” He kissed Haldir’s nose and rested his cheek against his brother’s shoulder. A mild breeze rustled the branches and dried the sweat from their bodies.
*~*~* to be continued *~*~*
