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fimbrethielTitle: Winner Takes All (2/6)
Series: Games of Love - Part I
Author: Fimbrethiel
LiveJournal: http://www.livejournal.com/users/fimbrethiel/
Email: fimbrethiel @ yahoo.com
Type: FPS
Pairings/Characters: Elladan/Elrohir/Glorfindel, Glorfindel/Erestor, Estel
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: explicit depictions of homoerotic acts between consenting males, twincest, 3-way, voyeurism, masturbation. Mostly PWP, a wee bit of story
Disclaimer: Don’t own the Elves, they are owned by Tolkien’s estate. Master Tolkien, I mean no harm. No profit has been made.
Betas: Helena, Donna, NimrodelJen, Orchyd Constyne (various chapters)
Original date of completion: June 8, 2004 (revised January 2015)
Summary: During a game of cards, the sons of Elrond decide to make a private wager, and the Golden One will be the prize. They have a witness, who will soon meet someone who will change his life.
Italics not used for simple emphasis denote mindspeak
*~*~*~*~*
Imladris, Third Age 2941 (ten years previous)
One late night, Elrohir walked slowly through the gardens, returning to his rooms after spending an exhausting and pleasurable evening of debauchery. Tired, slightly sore, and blissfully spent, he cut through the center gardens rather than taking the side path of his normal route.
About to step onto the wide porch and turn to the suite of rooms he shared with his twin, he noticed that the lamps in the library were still ablaze. The heavy drapes were slightly parted, allowing a sliver of light to pierce the otherwise dark night. As it was quite late, he was certain no one was actually in the library at that late hour. He thought to snuff the candles and douse the lanterns, and leave a note for the staff to be more careful next time.
The library of Imladris was legendary and contained countless scrolls, maps, and books of lore. An entire section was dedicated to the battle plans and diagrams penned by the hand of Gil-galad, the High King himself. In fact, one of Elrond’s prized possessions was a journal written by King Turgon, passed down hand to hand from Tuor to Eärendil, then in turn to Elrond and Elros. The journal was one of the few items salvaged from the ruins of Gondolin, and Elrond cherished it, the token of that great hidden city that fell ere he was even born. If a wayward spark were to set things aflame, the loss would be devastating.
Elrohir neared the entrance and had raised his hand to push the door open when he spied a shadow moving. Listening carefully at the window that had been left slightly open to catch the warm evening breeze, he thought he heard the hum of a quiet voice. Relieved that there was a living presence in the library and that his father's renowned literary collection was not about to be reduced to a smoldering ruin, he prepared to leave. But as he turned, his breath caught in his throat at the vision revealed by the parted draperies. There was not one someone, but two. Elrohir drew a hand over his eyes to ensure that his mind was not playing tricks on him.
"Sweet Elbereth," he gasped, pulling his hand back from where it lingered, inches from the door.
There before him, spread in all his glory, was his father’s captain of the guard - Glorfindel - being taken forcefully from behind by his father’s Chief Counselor Erestor.
Stunned and immediately aroused, Elrohir was unable to tear his eyes away. Sneaking back into the shadows – and thinking giddily to himself that given their current activities, the two in the room were not likely to notice him anyway – he watched, unable to resist the vision in front of him.
Erestor wore only a flowing night robe that had dropped off his shoulders to hang down his back and over his arms, draping loosely behind his elbows to pool on the floor. Mandos, he is much more muscular than those somber black robes lead one to believe, Elrohir thought appreciatively, his eyes roaming over the surprisingly impressive form of his former tutor. Erestor’s long, slender scholar’s hands gripped the pale hips before him, his head thrown back in abandon, his unbound raven hair swaying provocatively with each masterful thrust of his hips. His eyes were closed in bliss, his mouth was slightly open, and he was panting heavily.
While the sight of the staid counselor completely lost in sensual ecstasy was evocative enough, it was the exhibition of the former lord of the House of the Golden Flower, Glorfindel of Gondolin, spread before Erestor and being mounted like a mare in heat that was nearly Elrohir’s undoing. He watched, spellbound, as Erestor’s hardness, glistening wetly with oil, disappeared over and over between the perfect globes belonging to the fair-haired one spread so widely and wantonly before him.
Glorfindel's powerfully built form was bent forward at the waist over the divan, his long legs spread broadly. He was slicked with a sheen of sweat, which made his sculpted body appear to glow in the candlelight. Pooled, forgotten, on the floor near his ankles were his leggings. His arms were outstretched, palms flat on the low couch, trembling with the strain of supporting his torso in place against the onslaught of the driving force behind him. His head hung toward his chest, shimmering golden hair carelessly pushed to the side over one broad shoulder. A few damp tendrils clung to his sculpted cheekbone.
From his view through the window, Elrohir could just catch a tantalizing glimpse of Glorfindel’s proud, erect cock pulsing and twitching, untouched. Glorfindel's eyelids were partially closed in passion and fluttered over glazed blue eyes with each of Erestor’s thrusts. A glimpse of a pink tongue peeked between slightly parted lips as his mouth moved. Elrohir realized with a bolt of pure lust that stabbed him low in the stomach that Glorfindel was groaning and muttering erotic words of encouragement to his lover.
Elrohir knew he should leave. This intimate moment was obviously not intended for the eyes of another, and he knew that both parties involved would be scandalized if they were aware they were being watched, and quite intently, at that. Yet Elrohir stood and watched anyway.
Ever since he was a boy, he had idolized Glorfindel. As Elrohir grew, his youthful idolization gave way to a growing and lasting respect for the golden-haired captain. Now that his majority was long past, he could finally put a name to those feelings.
Love, and lust. Yes, his heart belonged to Elladan; they both believed that somehow the Valar had created their soul as one and bound it separately in two bodies. They were lovers; partners, their spirits bound together for all eternity. They sometimes took others to their beds, but each knew they were incomplete without the other. Yet…
Elrohir would have given anything to be Erestor at that moment.
As he stood in the shadows, watching hungrily, Elrohir unlaced his leggings and slipped his hand down to his erect shaft. He had spent his lust well several times this night, and as impossible as he would have thought it to be just a few short moments ago, he knew this evening was far from over.
The panting and grunting that emanated from the open window intensified in both pace and volume as Erestor increased his cadence. Glorfindel gasped as Erestor’s hard flesh pounded into him, striking that hidden spot inside his tight channel that sent bursts of stars through his vision.
“Harder, Restor, harder… yes, that’s it… please, end it, I cannot - ahhhh - take much more - "
Panting, Erestor growled and chuckled, a low throaty sound, his words punctuated by each thrust into the velvety tightness of the beautiful, golden body beneath him.
“Do you - uhhh - like that, Fin? Do you like what I - nggg - do to you? Do you like to - ahhhhhh - give up control? Do you like it - gods - when you are rendered - mmmm - helpless by another - uhhh - and begging for your release? Beg me, Fin, beg me…”
“Aaaahhhh, yes, yes, do it, finish it, please, Restor, uhhhh, I beg you,” Glorfindel pleaded.
Unbelievably, Erestor's hips pistoned forward and back even faster, driving into the tight sheath that engulfed him. One hand remained on Glorfindel’s hip, holding him in place against the onslaught. The other reached below and gripped Glorfindel's throbbing, weeping length and began stroking firmly in opposition to each push of his hips.
Thrust. Stroke. Thrust. Stroke.
The slender hand on Glorfindel's shaft stroked more quickly, and suddenly as a single unit, the two gave a great shudder, shouting out their climaxes, Glorfindel’s essence pulsing white and thick from his cock and coating Erestor’s hand. Glorfindel collapsed with a great shudder, finally, across the arm of the divan and Erestor slumped, exhausted, across his lover’s broad back, both of them gasping for breath.
Quickly, before the two fully returned to their senses and noticed the labored breathing outside the window, Elrohir turned from the scene before him and ran silently back through the garden to the shared suite of rooms. He threw open the door to the common room, grabbed his unsuspecting and amused brother by the hand, and literally dragged him into his bedchamber. He paused only long enough to shed his tunic, lock the bedroom door, and seize a vial of oil from a table before throwing a startled but thoroughly aroused Elladan across the bed.
“Ro? What is it?”
“Shut up, El, and turn over.” He said nothing more as he slaked his re-awakened lust on his twin.
The night wore on toward Anor’s rising before Elladan ever did get an explanation.
*~*~* to be continued… *~*~*
tôren = my brother (Sindarin)
Series: Games of Love - Part I
Author: Fimbrethiel
LiveJournal: http://www.livejournal.com/users/fimbrethiel/
Email: fimbrethiel @ yahoo.com
Type: FPS
Pairings/Characters: Elladan/Elrohir/Glorfindel, Glorfindel/Erestor, Estel
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: explicit depictions of homoerotic acts between consenting males, twincest, 3-way, voyeurism, masturbation. Mostly PWP, a wee bit of story
Disclaimer: Don’t own the Elves, they are owned by Tolkien’s estate. Master Tolkien, I mean no harm. No profit has been made.
Betas: Helena, Donna, NimrodelJen, Orchyd Constyne (various chapters)
Original date of completion: June 8, 2004 (revised January 2015)
Summary: During a game of cards, the sons of Elrond decide to make a private wager, and the Golden One will be the prize. They have a witness, who will soon meet someone who will change his life.
Italics not used for simple emphasis denote mindspeak
*~*~*~*~*
Imladris, Third Age 2941 (ten years previous)
One late night, Elrohir walked slowly through the gardens, returning to his rooms after spending an exhausting and pleasurable evening of debauchery. Tired, slightly sore, and blissfully spent, he cut through the center gardens rather than taking the side path of his normal route.
About to step onto the wide porch and turn to the suite of rooms he shared with his twin, he noticed that the lamps in the library were still ablaze. The heavy drapes were slightly parted, allowing a sliver of light to pierce the otherwise dark night. As it was quite late, he was certain no one was actually in the library at that late hour. He thought to snuff the candles and douse the lanterns, and leave a note for the staff to be more careful next time.
The library of Imladris was legendary and contained countless scrolls, maps, and books of lore. An entire section was dedicated to the battle plans and diagrams penned by the hand of Gil-galad, the High King himself. In fact, one of Elrond’s prized possessions was a journal written by King Turgon, passed down hand to hand from Tuor to Eärendil, then in turn to Elrond and Elros. The journal was one of the few items salvaged from the ruins of Gondolin, and Elrond cherished it, the token of that great hidden city that fell ere he was even born. If a wayward spark were to set things aflame, the loss would be devastating.
Elrohir neared the entrance and had raised his hand to push the door open when he spied a shadow moving. Listening carefully at the window that had been left slightly open to catch the warm evening breeze, he thought he heard the hum of a quiet voice. Relieved that there was a living presence in the library and that his father's renowned literary collection was not about to be reduced to a smoldering ruin, he prepared to leave. But as he turned, his breath caught in his throat at the vision revealed by the parted draperies. There was not one someone, but two. Elrohir drew a hand over his eyes to ensure that his mind was not playing tricks on him.
"Sweet Elbereth," he gasped, pulling his hand back from where it lingered, inches from the door.
There before him, spread in all his glory, was his father’s captain of the guard - Glorfindel - being taken forcefully from behind by his father’s Chief Counselor Erestor.
Stunned and immediately aroused, Elrohir was unable to tear his eyes away. Sneaking back into the shadows – and thinking giddily to himself that given their current activities, the two in the room were not likely to notice him anyway – he watched, unable to resist the vision in front of him.
Erestor wore only a flowing night robe that had dropped off his shoulders to hang down his back and over his arms, draping loosely behind his elbows to pool on the floor. Mandos, he is much more muscular than those somber black robes lead one to believe, Elrohir thought appreciatively, his eyes roaming over the surprisingly impressive form of his former tutor. Erestor’s long, slender scholar’s hands gripped the pale hips before him, his head thrown back in abandon, his unbound raven hair swaying provocatively with each masterful thrust of his hips. His eyes were closed in bliss, his mouth was slightly open, and he was panting heavily.
While the sight of the staid counselor completely lost in sensual ecstasy was evocative enough, it was the exhibition of the former lord of the House of the Golden Flower, Glorfindel of Gondolin, spread before Erestor and being mounted like a mare in heat that was nearly Elrohir’s undoing. He watched, spellbound, as Erestor’s hardness, glistening wetly with oil, disappeared over and over between the perfect globes belonging to the fair-haired one spread so widely and wantonly before him.
Glorfindel's powerfully built form was bent forward at the waist over the divan, his long legs spread broadly. He was slicked with a sheen of sweat, which made his sculpted body appear to glow in the candlelight. Pooled, forgotten, on the floor near his ankles were his leggings. His arms were outstretched, palms flat on the low couch, trembling with the strain of supporting his torso in place against the onslaught of the driving force behind him. His head hung toward his chest, shimmering golden hair carelessly pushed to the side over one broad shoulder. A few damp tendrils clung to his sculpted cheekbone.
From his view through the window, Elrohir could just catch a tantalizing glimpse of Glorfindel’s proud, erect cock pulsing and twitching, untouched. Glorfindel's eyelids were partially closed in passion and fluttered over glazed blue eyes with each of Erestor’s thrusts. A glimpse of a pink tongue peeked between slightly parted lips as his mouth moved. Elrohir realized with a bolt of pure lust that stabbed him low in the stomach that Glorfindel was groaning and muttering erotic words of encouragement to his lover.
Elrohir knew he should leave. This intimate moment was obviously not intended for the eyes of another, and he knew that both parties involved would be scandalized if they were aware they were being watched, and quite intently, at that. Yet Elrohir stood and watched anyway.
Ever since he was a boy, he had idolized Glorfindel. As Elrohir grew, his youthful idolization gave way to a growing and lasting respect for the golden-haired captain. Now that his majority was long past, he could finally put a name to those feelings.
Love, and lust. Yes, his heart belonged to Elladan; they both believed that somehow the Valar had created their soul as one and bound it separately in two bodies. They were lovers; partners, their spirits bound together for all eternity. They sometimes took others to their beds, but each knew they were incomplete without the other. Yet…
Elrohir would have given anything to be Erestor at that moment.
As he stood in the shadows, watching hungrily, Elrohir unlaced his leggings and slipped his hand down to his erect shaft. He had spent his lust well several times this night, and as impossible as he would have thought it to be just a few short moments ago, he knew this evening was far from over.
The panting and grunting that emanated from the open window intensified in both pace and volume as Erestor increased his cadence. Glorfindel gasped as Erestor’s hard flesh pounded into him, striking that hidden spot inside his tight channel that sent bursts of stars through his vision.
“Harder, Restor, harder… yes, that’s it… please, end it, I cannot - ahhhh - take much more - "
Panting, Erestor growled and chuckled, a low throaty sound, his words punctuated by each thrust into the velvety tightness of the beautiful, golden body beneath him.
“Do you - uhhh - like that, Fin? Do you like what I - nggg - do to you? Do you like to - ahhhhhh - give up control? Do you like it - gods - when you are rendered - mmmm - helpless by another - uhhh - and begging for your release? Beg me, Fin, beg me…”
“Aaaahhhh, yes, yes, do it, finish it, please, Restor, uhhhh, I beg you,” Glorfindel pleaded.
Unbelievably, Erestor's hips pistoned forward and back even faster, driving into the tight sheath that engulfed him. One hand remained on Glorfindel’s hip, holding him in place against the onslaught. The other reached below and gripped Glorfindel's throbbing, weeping length and began stroking firmly in opposition to each push of his hips.
Thrust. Stroke. Thrust. Stroke.
The slender hand on Glorfindel's shaft stroked more quickly, and suddenly as a single unit, the two gave a great shudder, shouting out their climaxes, Glorfindel’s essence pulsing white and thick from his cock and coating Erestor’s hand. Glorfindel collapsed with a great shudder, finally, across the arm of the divan and Erestor slumped, exhausted, across his lover’s broad back, both of them gasping for breath.
Quickly, before the two fully returned to their senses and noticed the labored breathing outside the window, Elrohir turned from the scene before him and ran silently back through the garden to the shared suite of rooms. He threw open the door to the common room, grabbed his unsuspecting and amused brother by the hand, and literally dragged him into his bedchamber. He paused only long enough to shed his tunic, lock the bedroom door, and seize a vial of oil from a table before throwing a startled but thoroughly aroused Elladan across the bed.
“Ro? What is it?”
“Shut up, El, and turn over.” He said nothing more as he slaked his re-awakened lust on his twin.
The night wore on toward Anor’s rising before Elladan ever did get an explanation.
*~*~* to be continued… *~*~*
tôren = my brother (Sindarin)
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