LOTR FIC: In a Shady Bower (3/3)
Apr. 2nd, 2006 08:45 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
fimbrethielTitle: In a Shady Bower (3/3)
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. Unrepentant lack of plot. Also, really, really filthy. *grin* 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.
*~*~*~*~*
As the day waned, the bower was awash with a watery golden light. Late-afternoon sunlight filtered through the mellryn above, casting a chaotic pattern of stripes over Celeborn’s pale chest and sculpted cheekbones.
He lay in a lethargic haze beside Haldir, gooseflesh rising on his skin as Orophin gently wiped his stomach and between his thighs free of sweat and semen. Though his body was sated, his eyes limpid and limbs heavy with exhaustion, his emotions were a riotous jumble of half-formed thoughts, colored with a hint of embarrassment. There were so many things he wanted to ask, needed to say, but the words would not come. All that came out when he finally opened his mouth was a rusty croak, a single word.
“Why?”
“The question of the Ages, and Celeborn the Wise presumes that a lowly guardian would know the answer, when he himself does not!” Orophin’s laugh was as clear and pure as a bell, completely without guile or malice, and Celeborn felt the disorder in his mind trickle away as the sound washed over him like a warm spring rain.
“Why, the answer is no more complicated than this: It is a part of who we are, Celeborn, though not all of it. ‘Tis not always this way, rough and feral. Nay, there is tenderness, too, and love. Always love.”
He scattered a few gentle kisses along the Lord’s strong jaw line. “And now, my lover, it would please me greatly to make love to you, if you are willing. Closing the circle between my brothers and you will seal our oath. Do not be afraid, I will be very gentle and promise you will feel only minimal discomfort.”
A glassy, oily stab of anxiety roiled in his guts, and for a moment, Celeborn was filled with doubt. Now that the time had come, as he had known it would, the truth was that he was afraid. But the brothers had given him hope for his remaining days in Middle-earth, had shared their love with him. He could not refuse, nor, did he truly desire to, despite the churning in his belly, the tremor in his hands. He wanted to be cherished and loved, safe in the knowledge that these three would never leave him, and set free the desires he had kept safely under tight reign for many years.
The Silver Lord breathed deeply, once, twice, and finally nodded. “Aye, but slowly, my friend.”
Orophin smiled down at him, a trace of humor lightening his gray eyes and breaking the tension that had arisen. “Aye, slowly; so slowly that you will weep from the blissful prolonging of your pleasure.”
Dipping his head, he pressed his lips to Celeborn’s, not in a kiss, but to trace the outline of the Lord’s mouth with his own with agonizing, blissful slowness. “When I was a youngling just learning the ways of love, I fantasized about one day kissing you like this,” Orophin murmured, insistently nipping at the swollen lips until Celeborn parted his mouth, allowing his tongue to slip inside. “’Tis a dream come to life, and I will cherish this moment for all the rest of our days.”
When Orophin finally drew away and looked down at him with a gaze that was lust-darkened and glittering, Celeborn was breathless, his own eyes glazed and unfocused. “Your kisses are sweeter than honeyed mead,” he sighed.
Orophin cracked a lazy, lopsided grin. “I could say much the same of you, but there is much more of you to be tasted before I decide.”
Dipping his head again, he kissed the fluttering pulse in Celeborn’s neck, with his tongue following the regal arch of his lover’s neck, down to the tiny dip above his breastbone, and traced a damp trail along the collarbone. Opening his mouth wide, he closed around the tender flesh and suckled and nipped until it bloomed crimson, ignoring the Silver Lord’s whimpers as his sensitive skin was pulled and tugged cruelly.
“Ours. Mine,” he whispered, surveying his handiwork with a critical eye.
Methodically, one succulent inch of muscled ivory flesh at a time, from head to toe, Orophin set about working his lover into a frenzy. He flicked and kneaded one nipple into a tight bud while his mouth teased the other into a stiff pink peak, his own shaft pressed snug against Celeborn’s body, weeping freely and coating his lover’s thigh with a glaze of his seed. Reaching down between their bodies and gathering a few slick drops on his fingertips, he drew one slippery finger up over Celeborn’s rapidly filling shaft. While he was not quite recovered enough to become fully erect, even at half-mast, the Lord was formidable.
Orophin circled the firm, warm flesh with his hands and pumped lightly, long and lazy strokes that soon had Celeborn at complete attention and thrusting up and into his lover’s hand.
“Your hands are skilled at more than drawing a bow, my young friend.”
“Aye,” Orophin murmured agreeably, lapping softly at a peaked nipple with the flat of his tongue, his hand never ceasing its steady motion. “And you were well named, my lord. Silver Tree, indeed,” he replied against his breast, watching from under lowered lashes as the shaft lengthened and swelled before his approving – and impressed – gaze. “'Tis the mightiest tree in the Wood.”
Celeborn let his head fall back against the soft blanket, relishing the warm, firm stroke of the hand upon his flesh. It felt good… so good. Orophin’s strong archer’s hands stroked firmly, agonizingly slowly, from base to tip, then circling around the fleshy head, while his skilled tongue lapped and suckled first one hardened nub and then the other.
An indistinct sound was like cold dash of water in the face, wrenching Celeborn from the chaotic mantle of pleasure Orophin had woven around him, and sending him crashing back to himself and the profusion of greens and golds of the bower. For a moment, he was confused; he had nearly succeeded in forgetting that he and his lover were not alone.
It was not until he turned his head inquiringly toward the mysterious sound that he recognized it for what it was – a low, breathy moan. Haldir lay full-length over his brother’s body, resting on his elbows, their fingers woven together over Rúmil’s head.
The kiss they shared was, as far as kisses went, not especially erotic; yet it was deeply intimate, for the nuances of the way they touched spoke of a great love between them. Hands clasped, Rúmil’s thumb brushed the knuckles of his brother’s hand, Haldir’s toes curled and caressed the arch of Rúmil’s slender foot, Rúmil’s pale neck curved gracefully to receive his brother’s kiss, the synchronicity of their breathing.
Following his lover’s preoccupied gaze, Orophin watched his siblings for a moment, a smile on his face, though it seemed that his smile was a bit wistful.
“They are beautiful together, are they not? You may watch them if you wish; certainly, they would not begrudge you that after. They love me, I know, but my brothers have always experienced an extraordinary closeness, one that has not quite included me. Perhaps ere I was born, their bond had already been firmly established, or mayhap they could sense that my heart would someday be divided, I do not know.”
He turned back to his lover and kissed him softly. “’Tis no matter, really; I know they love me, and I them.” Gently he turned Celeborn’s face back to meet his eyes. “Now my need is great, and I can wait no longer.”
Celeborn’s stomach did another slow, sickening flip as he was gently urged to his hands and knees. His lover’s hands were warm and reassuring, stroking his back, gently spreading his buttocks, baring him to Orophin’s eyes. He distracted himself from the churning in his guts by watching the lovers beside him, the slow grinding of hips and the kissed and caresses that were becoming ever more demanding by the moment.
Something warm and wet and velvety soft slicked over his most private of places, and he shivered. Oiled hands traced lightly over his buttocks and around his hip, stopping to tease the hollow of a hipbone, and then followed the smooth curve of flat stomach. Warm, callused fingers gently cupped his sac and tested the weight of the heavy orbs within.
The hand left his sac and ghosted across a trembling thigh. Strong fingers curled around his aching length and did not grasp, as he expected, but simply skimmed lightly up and down over the shaft, pausing at the end to brush the sticky-wet fluids around the tip, while strong, slippery fingers carefully spread him open.
How can hands that have known war and death yet be so gentle? Celeborn marveled. He had witnessed the younger Elf in combat once before. The ruthless assassin who had single handedly beheaded three Yrch in a solitary strike bore only a passing resemblance to the gentle Elf with him now.
Celeborn breathed deeply and slowly when a finger slid into him, fighting the instinct of his body to pull away from the intrusion. It had been a very, very long while since he had been touched in such a manner, and it burned. The few occasions in the past in which he indulged in self-pleasure of this sort had left him feeling unsatisfied and vaguely lonely. It was not shame so much as a feeling of disloyalty to Galadriel to imagine it was a lover’s touch delving deep within his body, when in all other aspects of bedplay, his wife had been a keen and adventurous partner. There were some things she simply would not consent to do, and so he subdued those desires.
Add now here he was, long silver hair pooled on the blanket, his head resting on clasped hands, his rear in the air, while a young Galadhel stroked him from within – and he wanted it, he craved it, without shame, and without loneliness.
His body remembered even after all those years, and he loosened with little difficulty to accept the added mass as a second finger joined the first, widening and stretching, oiling and massaging the strong muscle until it was pliant and willing, until he was panting and squirming.
He winced as Orophin repositioned, and bucked back when those long, archer’s fingers expertly curled to stroke the firm bunch inside.
“Aaah, oh gods, do it again,” he yelped, and Orophin did.
He had forgotten how wonderfully perfect the heat and fullness was, and the tingle when the gland was rubbed just in a certain way – the way Orophin was touching him right now.
“May I?” Orophin’s voice was uneven, the extent of his need unmistakable in his raspy tone.
“Oh yes,” Celeborn answered, his own voice a breathy sigh that wrapped around Orophin like a lover’s touch.
Warm liquid spilled along his cleft, running in a slick trickle over his sac and down his length. The feeling was maddening – it tickled, and drew his attention to the throbbing in his loins, the clenching of his backside.
Firm flesh nudged at his entrance and then there was pressure, so much pressure, and then Orophin was pressing inside, breaching him. It hurt, oh Valar it hurt, he was being split in two; what madness possessed him to think this was a good idea? He keened, a pathetic wretched sound that he choked back as soon as he realized he had uttered it.
But Orophin heard his lover’s distress and shushed him. “Easy, lover, ‘tis the best way. Only a moment more and I will be there.”
No pleasure comes without a measure of pain, and he gritted his teeth and fought the rising of his gorge while Orophin ever-so-slowly pressed forward, until his hipbones cradled Celeborn’s buttocks.
Each heartbeat was a dull, hot pulsing where he was parted. Celeborn rested his head on his hands, his breathing shrill and ragged, while Orophin held himself in check, running warm, soothing hands over his body and whispering soft words of love and praise.
“Oh gods, you feel so good around me, Celeborn, as though you were made for me. “Tis such a gift that you would allow me to be your first after so long. Making love to you is like a dream come to life. Open yourself; feel my thoughts and see into my heart, melethron.”
Orophin’s heartspoken words assuaged the burning sensation, fading to a warm, agreeable fullness. A tentative brush against his thoughts calmed him, and he opened his mind to the Orophin's thoughts. He saw himself as his people saw him, as steady as the mountains, a man whose every action was selfless and driven out of love for his people.
He saw himself as Orophin saw him, flushed and panting, and achingly beautiful.
As the burn faded and pleasure welled in his belly, Orophin made love to him unhurriedly, his aim true and angled to wring sharp cries of pleasure from Celeborn's lips.
*~*~*~*~*
“Haldir, look.”
Rúmil’s breath was a silken caress against his ear. Haldir paused in the middle of a long, slow thrust into his brother’s body. “You broke my concentration,” he grumbled.
“’Dir, look,” Rúmil insisted, twisting his head away from the lazy wet sweeps where his brother’s tongue had been slowly exploring the curve of his jaw. “Look at them.”
Celeborn rested on his knees, his head bowed and resting on his clasped hands, his eyes tightly shut. Orophin arched over his lover’s back, rocking ever so slowly, his hands smoothing the curves of Celeborn’s shoulders. His face clearly showed the extent of his restraint; his siblings recognized the look of concentration and knew that Orophin was close to orgasm but was holding back for his lover’s sake. Perhaps it was a trick of the light, but Rúmil thought there was a tear glistening on the Silver Lord’s cheek.
“Have you ever seen such beauty?” Rúmil asked reverently.
“I have,” Haldir replied, silencing his brother with a kiss, and resumed the deliberate motions deep within his lover’s body. “And I am making love to him right now.”
*~*~*~*~*
Celeborn felt himself gently but insistently raised and lifted onto his lover’s lap, his thighs spread wide, straddling Orophin’s hips, the reassuring strength of Orophin’s chest pressed to his back. A heartrending moan escaped his mouth as Orophin’s length settled more deeply within him, until he thought he would be cleaved in half. A warm hand closed around his aching shaft; he looked down to see Rúmil’s eyes looking up at him, long legs wrapped around Haldir’s lean hips.
“Is it too much, lover?” Orophin’s voice was ragged. He ached for release, was trembling with the need for climax, but would stop immediately, no matter the cost to himself, if it was what Celeborn desired. After so long, the act of being taken was surely to be uncomfortable, and he would not cause his lover any more discomfort than necessary. Later he would find the inside of his cheek raw and bloody from biting it to keep himself from spending.
But a low growl provided the reassurance Orophin needed that all was well. Rather much more than well, from his own point of view; as most marvelously perfect as it was possible for things to be, in fact. He could not imagine anything that could be any more well than where he was at that moment – in a balmy, wooded hideaway, making love to the Elf he had idolized ever since he could remember.
“Ride me, then. You are in control; take your pleasure as you will.”
Orophin allowed his lover to control the speed and intensity of their lovemaking, though with each clenching of Celeborn’s muscles, it threatened to milk his orgasm from him. It took every fiber of his will to keep from thrusting ever harder up into Celeborn’s clinging heat; he distracted himself from the ever-spiraling coiling of tension in his belly by allowing his hands to stray across the Silver Lord’s stomach, up his broad chest, seeking a peaked nipple. He pulled and tweaked, never harshly, but enough to stir Celeborn’s lust further and draw ragged moans from his lips. Celeborn’s fingers gripped tightly on his thighs, and he knew he would bear the marks upon his flesh for many days.
The trees whirled overhead in a swirling vortex of earthy colors, narrowing until nothing else existed but pleasure so excruciating that it was almost pain. The blood of desire running hot in his veins, Celeborn moved more quickly, raising himself further aided by hands and strong thighs, and back down with more force, until at the apex of each surge, he was dropping back into Orophin’s lap with his full weight. His own heartbeat was like thunder, drowning out all sound but for the roaring of his own pulse in his ears. He was aware of nothing but the heady shroud of bliss that Orophin had woven around them: not the ragged panting of his own breath, nor the animalistic grunts of his lover’s voice in his ear. He did not hear two shouts of completion from beside him, one after the other, nor did he feel the hand that had been stroking his arousal still and tighten upon his flesh as Rúmil reached orgasm. Celeborn howled, a primal, raw cry emanating from deep in his chest, and climaxed powerfully in thick, milky ribbons of white.
The strain of maintaining a state of sustained arousal for so long was too much for Orophin to bear. It was only through strength of will alone that he had held on this long, and he finally broke, uttering a long moan as he lunged up into the gripping heat of his lover’s body. As he reached the pinnacle and hurtled over the edge into rapture, a great shudder wracked his body. Copper and warmth filled his mouth, a not entirely unpleasant taste, as his teeth broke through the skin of Celeborn’s shoulder and drew blood. He bucked one more and strained deeply as he could, filling his lover with seed.
Long moments had passed before Celeborn became aware that he was lying on the blanket, enfolded in comforting arms, three pairs of gray eyes watching him, sloe-eyed and satiated. A hand touched his hair, stroking the tangled mass, soothing nonsense whispered in his ear. It was only when he felt wetness on his cheeks that he realized he was sobbing quietly. He wiped the dampness away quickly, embarrassed.
“How do you feel, lovely one?” Rúmil’s hand was cool and soothing on his sweating face, smoothing the lank strands of hair back, tucking a stray tendril behind his ear.
“I feel…” Celeborn was quiet for a moment, searching and introspective. “Good. At peace. Loved.”
“And in the end, that is all that matters, hmm?”
They dozed in the thready, waning sunlight, wrapped in the blanket they had made love upon, until full night had fallen, and then returned to Caras Galadhon, walking slowly and planning for the future.
~*~*~*~*~
In a quiet bedroom in the nearly uninhabited sanctuary of Imladris, in the Fourth Age of the Shire Reckoning, Celeborn again set quill to the creamy parchment spread on the desk in front of him, and once again sighed. In a few days’ time, Círdan would set sail, bearing the last of the Elves of Middle-earth to the Undying Lands. Celeborn’s final farewell to his wife would be written on the page before him, but he found himself once again at a loss. What words were there to express all the things he wanted to tell her?
The unusual union that had begun on a warm spring day in the shade of a wooded bower had evolved into an unforeseen outcome, and something far different than any of the four had expected. He had come to love Haldir and Rúmil deeply, but it was the youngest of the siblings to whom Celeborn found himself most drawn. Galadriel may have been his mate, his soul, but it was Orophin who had become his heart.
He leaned back in his chair and looked around the room he had called home for nearly a century. Eventually his gaze returned to the rumpled coverings of the bed in the corner, and its sole occupant, sprawled on his back and deep in the sleep of the well and truly sated, the sheets a tangled mess around his slender hips. Crimson ovals dotted the graceful arch of his neck, marks of passion peeking through the muss of moonlight hair spilling across his chest.
The scene brought a small smile to Celeborn’s lips. Leaning forward over the pristine page once more, he again loaded his quill, carefully inking runes that formed his name, and then added two simple words.
Thank you.
~*~*~ finis ~*~*~
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. Unrepentant lack of plot. Also, really, really filthy. *grin* 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.
*~*~*~*~*
As the day waned, the bower was awash with a watery golden light. Late-afternoon sunlight filtered through the mellryn above, casting a chaotic pattern of stripes over Celeborn’s pale chest and sculpted cheekbones.
He lay in a lethargic haze beside Haldir, gooseflesh rising on his skin as Orophin gently wiped his stomach and between his thighs free of sweat and semen. Though his body was sated, his eyes limpid and limbs heavy with exhaustion, his emotions were a riotous jumble of half-formed thoughts, colored with a hint of embarrassment. There were so many things he wanted to ask, needed to say, but the words would not come. All that came out when he finally opened his mouth was a rusty croak, a single word.
“Why?”
“The question of the Ages, and Celeborn the Wise presumes that a lowly guardian would know the answer, when he himself does not!” Orophin’s laugh was as clear and pure as a bell, completely without guile or malice, and Celeborn felt the disorder in his mind trickle away as the sound washed over him like a warm spring rain.
“Why, the answer is no more complicated than this: It is a part of who we are, Celeborn, though not all of it. ‘Tis not always this way, rough and feral. Nay, there is tenderness, too, and love. Always love.”
He scattered a few gentle kisses along the Lord’s strong jaw line. “And now, my lover, it would please me greatly to make love to you, if you are willing. Closing the circle between my brothers and you will seal our oath. Do not be afraid, I will be very gentle and promise you will feel only minimal discomfort.”
A glassy, oily stab of anxiety roiled in his guts, and for a moment, Celeborn was filled with doubt. Now that the time had come, as he had known it would, the truth was that he was afraid. But the brothers had given him hope for his remaining days in Middle-earth, had shared their love with him. He could not refuse, nor, did he truly desire to, despite the churning in his belly, the tremor in his hands. He wanted to be cherished and loved, safe in the knowledge that these three would never leave him, and set free the desires he had kept safely under tight reign for many years.
The Silver Lord breathed deeply, once, twice, and finally nodded. “Aye, but slowly, my friend.”
Orophin smiled down at him, a trace of humor lightening his gray eyes and breaking the tension that had arisen. “Aye, slowly; so slowly that you will weep from the blissful prolonging of your pleasure.”
Dipping his head, he pressed his lips to Celeborn’s, not in a kiss, but to trace the outline of the Lord’s mouth with his own with agonizing, blissful slowness. “When I was a youngling just learning the ways of love, I fantasized about one day kissing you like this,” Orophin murmured, insistently nipping at the swollen lips until Celeborn parted his mouth, allowing his tongue to slip inside. “’Tis a dream come to life, and I will cherish this moment for all the rest of our days.”
When Orophin finally drew away and looked down at him with a gaze that was lust-darkened and glittering, Celeborn was breathless, his own eyes glazed and unfocused. “Your kisses are sweeter than honeyed mead,” he sighed.
Orophin cracked a lazy, lopsided grin. “I could say much the same of you, but there is much more of you to be tasted before I decide.”
Dipping his head again, he kissed the fluttering pulse in Celeborn’s neck, with his tongue following the regal arch of his lover’s neck, down to the tiny dip above his breastbone, and traced a damp trail along the collarbone. Opening his mouth wide, he closed around the tender flesh and suckled and nipped until it bloomed crimson, ignoring the Silver Lord’s whimpers as his sensitive skin was pulled and tugged cruelly.
“Ours. Mine,” he whispered, surveying his handiwork with a critical eye.
Methodically, one succulent inch of muscled ivory flesh at a time, from head to toe, Orophin set about working his lover into a frenzy. He flicked and kneaded one nipple into a tight bud while his mouth teased the other into a stiff pink peak, his own shaft pressed snug against Celeborn’s body, weeping freely and coating his lover’s thigh with a glaze of his seed. Reaching down between their bodies and gathering a few slick drops on his fingertips, he drew one slippery finger up over Celeborn’s rapidly filling shaft. While he was not quite recovered enough to become fully erect, even at half-mast, the Lord was formidable.
Orophin circled the firm, warm flesh with his hands and pumped lightly, long and lazy strokes that soon had Celeborn at complete attention and thrusting up and into his lover’s hand.
“Your hands are skilled at more than drawing a bow, my young friend.”
“Aye,” Orophin murmured agreeably, lapping softly at a peaked nipple with the flat of his tongue, his hand never ceasing its steady motion. “And you were well named, my lord. Silver Tree, indeed,” he replied against his breast, watching from under lowered lashes as the shaft lengthened and swelled before his approving – and impressed – gaze. “'Tis the mightiest tree in the Wood.”
Celeborn let his head fall back against the soft blanket, relishing the warm, firm stroke of the hand upon his flesh. It felt good… so good. Orophin’s strong archer’s hands stroked firmly, agonizingly slowly, from base to tip, then circling around the fleshy head, while his skilled tongue lapped and suckled first one hardened nub and then the other.
An indistinct sound was like cold dash of water in the face, wrenching Celeborn from the chaotic mantle of pleasure Orophin had woven around him, and sending him crashing back to himself and the profusion of greens and golds of the bower. For a moment, he was confused; he had nearly succeeded in forgetting that he and his lover were not alone.
It was not until he turned his head inquiringly toward the mysterious sound that he recognized it for what it was – a low, breathy moan. Haldir lay full-length over his brother’s body, resting on his elbows, their fingers woven together over Rúmil’s head.
The kiss they shared was, as far as kisses went, not especially erotic; yet it was deeply intimate, for the nuances of the way they touched spoke of a great love between them. Hands clasped, Rúmil’s thumb brushed the knuckles of his brother’s hand, Haldir’s toes curled and caressed the arch of Rúmil’s slender foot, Rúmil’s pale neck curved gracefully to receive his brother’s kiss, the synchronicity of their breathing.
Following his lover’s preoccupied gaze, Orophin watched his siblings for a moment, a smile on his face, though it seemed that his smile was a bit wistful.
“They are beautiful together, are they not? You may watch them if you wish; certainly, they would not begrudge you that after. They love me, I know, but my brothers have always experienced an extraordinary closeness, one that has not quite included me. Perhaps ere I was born, their bond had already been firmly established, or mayhap they could sense that my heart would someday be divided, I do not know.”
He turned back to his lover and kissed him softly. “’Tis no matter, really; I know they love me, and I them.” Gently he turned Celeborn’s face back to meet his eyes. “Now my need is great, and I can wait no longer.”
Celeborn’s stomach did another slow, sickening flip as he was gently urged to his hands and knees. His lover’s hands were warm and reassuring, stroking his back, gently spreading his buttocks, baring him to Orophin’s eyes. He distracted himself from the churning in his guts by watching the lovers beside him, the slow grinding of hips and the kissed and caresses that were becoming ever more demanding by the moment.
Something warm and wet and velvety soft slicked over his most private of places, and he shivered. Oiled hands traced lightly over his buttocks and around his hip, stopping to tease the hollow of a hipbone, and then followed the smooth curve of flat stomach. Warm, callused fingers gently cupped his sac and tested the weight of the heavy orbs within.
The hand left his sac and ghosted across a trembling thigh. Strong fingers curled around his aching length and did not grasp, as he expected, but simply skimmed lightly up and down over the shaft, pausing at the end to brush the sticky-wet fluids around the tip, while strong, slippery fingers carefully spread him open.
How can hands that have known war and death yet be so gentle? Celeborn marveled. He had witnessed the younger Elf in combat once before. The ruthless assassin who had single handedly beheaded three Yrch in a solitary strike bore only a passing resemblance to the gentle Elf with him now.
Celeborn breathed deeply and slowly when a finger slid into him, fighting the instinct of his body to pull away from the intrusion. It had been a very, very long while since he had been touched in such a manner, and it burned. The few occasions in the past in which he indulged in self-pleasure of this sort had left him feeling unsatisfied and vaguely lonely. It was not shame so much as a feeling of disloyalty to Galadriel to imagine it was a lover’s touch delving deep within his body, when in all other aspects of bedplay, his wife had been a keen and adventurous partner. There were some things she simply would not consent to do, and so he subdued those desires.
Add now here he was, long silver hair pooled on the blanket, his head resting on clasped hands, his rear in the air, while a young Galadhel stroked him from within – and he wanted it, he craved it, without shame, and without loneliness.
His body remembered even after all those years, and he loosened with little difficulty to accept the added mass as a second finger joined the first, widening and stretching, oiling and massaging the strong muscle until it was pliant and willing, until he was panting and squirming.
He winced as Orophin repositioned, and bucked back when those long, archer’s fingers expertly curled to stroke the firm bunch inside.
“Aaah, oh gods, do it again,” he yelped, and Orophin did.
He had forgotten how wonderfully perfect the heat and fullness was, and the tingle when the gland was rubbed just in a certain way – the way Orophin was touching him right now.
“May I?” Orophin’s voice was uneven, the extent of his need unmistakable in his raspy tone.
“Oh yes,” Celeborn answered, his own voice a breathy sigh that wrapped around Orophin like a lover’s touch.
Warm liquid spilled along his cleft, running in a slick trickle over his sac and down his length. The feeling was maddening – it tickled, and drew his attention to the throbbing in his loins, the clenching of his backside.
Firm flesh nudged at his entrance and then there was pressure, so much pressure, and then Orophin was pressing inside, breaching him. It hurt, oh Valar it hurt, he was being split in two; what madness possessed him to think this was a good idea? He keened, a pathetic wretched sound that he choked back as soon as he realized he had uttered it.
But Orophin heard his lover’s distress and shushed him. “Easy, lover, ‘tis the best way. Only a moment more and I will be there.”
No pleasure comes without a measure of pain, and he gritted his teeth and fought the rising of his gorge while Orophin ever-so-slowly pressed forward, until his hipbones cradled Celeborn’s buttocks.
Each heartbeat was a dull, hot pulsing where he was parted. Celeborn rested his head on his hands, his breathing shrill and ragged, while Orophin held himself in check, running warm, soothing hands over his body and whispering soft words of love and praise.
“Oh gods, you feel so good around me, Celeborn, as though you were made for me. “Tis such a gift that you would allow me to be your first after so long. Making love to you is like a dream come to life. Open yourself; feel my thoughts and see into my heart, melethron.”
Orophin’s heartspoken words assuaged the burning sensation, fading to a warm, agreeable fullness. A tentative brush against his thoughts calmed him, and he opened his mind to the Orophin's thoughts. He saw himself as his people saw him, as steady as the mountains, a man whose every action was selfless and driven out of love for his people.
He saw himself as Orophin saw him, flushed and panting, and achingly beautiful.
As the burn faded and pleasure welled in his belly, Orophin made love to him unhurriedly, his aim true and angled to wring sharp cries of pleasure from Celeborn's lips.
*~*~*~*~*
“Haldir, look.”
Rúmil’s breath was a silken caress against his ear. Haldir paused in the middle of a long, slow thrust into his brother’s body. “You broke my concentration,” he grumbled.
“’Dir, look,” Rúmil insisted, twisting his head away from the lazy wet sweeps where his brother’s tongue had been slowly exploring the curve of his jaw. “Look at them.”
Celeborn rested on his knees, his head bowed and resting on his clasped hands, his eyes tightly shut. Orophin arched over his lover’s back, rocking ever so slowly, his hands smoothing the curves of Celeborn’s shoulders. His face clearly showed the extent of his restraint; his siblings recognized the look of concentration and knew that Orophin was close to orgasm but was holding back for his lover’s sake. Perhaps it was a trick of the light, but Rúmil thought there was a tear glistening on the Silver Lord’s cheek.
“Have you ever seen such beauty?” Rúmil asked reverently.
“I have,” Haldir replied, silencing his brother with a kiss, and resumed the deliberate motions deep within his lover’s body. “And I am making love to him right now.”
*~*~*~*~*
Celeborn felt himself gently but insistently raised and lifted onto his lover’s lap, his thighs spread wide, straddling Orophin’s hips, the reassuring strength of Orophin’s chest pressed to his back. A heartrending moan escaped his mouth as Orophin’s length settled more deeply within him, until he thought he would be cleaved in half. A warm hand closed around his aching shaft; he looked down to see Rúmil’s eyes looking up at him, long legs wrapped around Haldir’s lean hips.
“Is it too much, lover?” Orophin’s voice was ragged. He ached for release, was trembling with the need for climax, but would stop immediately, no matter the cost to himself, if it was what Celeborn desired. After so long, the act of being taken was surely to be uncomfortable, and he would not cause his lover any more discomfort than necessary. Later he would find the inside of his cheek raw and bloody from biting it to keep himself from spending.
But a low growl provided the reassurance Orophin needed that all was well. Rather much more than well, from his own point of view; as most marvelously perfect as it was possible for things to be, in fact. He could not imagine anything that could be any more well than where he was at that moment – in a balmy, wooded hideaway, making love to the Elf he had idolized ever since he could remember.
“Ride me, then. You are in control; take your pleasure as you will.”
Orophin allowed his lover to control the speed and intensity of their lovemaking, though with each clenching of Celeborn’s muscles, it threatened to milk his orgasm from him. It took every fiber of his will to keep from thrusting ever harder up into Celeborn’s clinging heat; he distracted himself from the ever-spiraling coiling of tension in his belly by allowing his hands to stray across the Silver Lord’s stomach, up his broad chest, seeking a peaked nipple. He pulled and tweaked, never harshly, but enough to stir Celeborn’s lust further and draw ragged moans from his lips. Celeborn’s fingers gripped tightly on his thighs, and he knew he would bear the marks upon his flesh for many days.
The trees whirled overhead in a swirling vortex of earthy colors, narrowing until nothing else existed but pleasure so excruciating that it was almost pain. The blood of desire running hot in his veins, Celeborn moved more quickly, raising himself further aided by hands and strong thighs, and back down with more force, until at the apex of each surge, he was dropping back into Orophin’s lap with his full weight. His own heartbeat was like thunder, drowning out all sound but for the roaring of his own pulse in his ears. He was aware of nothing but the heady shroud of bliss that Orophin had woven around them: not the ragged panting of his own breath, nor the animalistic grunts of his lover’s voice in his ear. He did not hear two shouts of completion from beside him, one after the other, nor did he feel the hand that had been stroking his arousal still and tighten upon his flesh as Rúmil reached orgasm. Celeborn howled, a primal, raw cry emanating from deep in his chest, and climaxed powerfully in thick, milky ribbons of white.
The strain of maintaining a state of sustained arousal for so long was too much for Orophin to bear. It was only through strength of will alone that he had held on this long, and he finally broke, uttering a long moan as he lunged up into the gripping heat of his lover’s body. As he reached the pinnacle and hurtled over the edge into rapture, a great shudder wracked his body. Copper and warmth filled his mouth, a not entirely unpleasant taste, as his teeth broke through the skin of Celeborn’s shoulder and drew blood. He bucked one more and strained deeply as he could, filling his lover with seed.
Long moments had passed before Celeborn became aware that he was lying on the blanket, enfolded in comforting arms, three pairs of gray eyes watching him, sloe-eyed and satiated. A hand touched his hair, stroking the tangled mass, soothing nonsense whispered in his ear. It was only when he felt wetness on his cheeks that he realized he was sobbing quietly. He wiped the dampness away quickly, embarrassed.
“How do you feel, lovely one?” Rúmil’s hand was cool and soothing on his sweating face, smoothing the lank strands of hair back, tucking a stray tendril behind his ear.
“I feel…” Celeborn was quiet for a moment, searching and introspective. “Good. At peace. Loved.”
“And in the end, that is all that matters, hmm?”
They dozed in the thready, waning sunlight, wrapped in the blanket they had made love upon, until full night had fallen, and then returned to Caras Galadhon, walking slowly and planning for the future.
~*~*~*~*~
In a quiet bedroom in the nearly uninhabited sanctuary of Imladris, in the Fourth Age of the Shire Reckoning, Celeborn again set quill to the creamy parchment spread on the desk in front of him, and once again sighed. In a few days’ time, Círdan would set sail, bearing the last of the Elves of Middle-earth to the Undying Lands. Celeborn’s final farewell to his wife would be written on the page before him, but he found himself once again at a loss. What words were there to express all the things he wanted to tell her?
The unusual union that had begun on a warm spring day in the shade of a wooded bower had evolved into an unforeseen outcome, and something far different than any of the four had expected. He had come to love Haldir and Rúmil deeply, but it was the youngest of the siblings to whom Celeborn found himself most drawn. Galadriel may have been his mate, his soul, but it was Orophin who had become his heart.
He leaned back in his chair and looked around the room he had called home for nearly a century. Eventually his gaze returned to the rumpled coverings of the bed in the corner, and its sole occupant, sprawled on his back and deep in the sleep of the well and truly sated, the sheets a tangled mess around his slender hips. Crimson ovals dotted the graceful arch of his neck, marks of passion peeking through the muss of moonlight hair spilling across his chest.
The scene brought a small smile to Celeborn’s lips. Leaning forward over the pristine page once more, he again loaded his quill, carefully inking runes that formed his name, and then added two simple words.
Thank you.
~*~*~ finis ~*~*~
