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The Teacher - Missing Scenes	By : pip Category: -Multi-Age > General Views: 4116 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Tolkien's world, middle earth, Lord of the Rings or any characters. I make no money from this.

Chapter List
- 13
- 14
- 15
Author's Note: This story was written for paradis_artificiels for leaving the one hundredth comment on my story: The Teacher. Thank you so much for that!
This story is set before the white council meeting in The Teacher, and shows the first of Celeborn's visits to Thranduil. By the time Elrond encounters Thranduil at those meetings, Thranduil and Celeborn are already in a relationship. Here is how it begins. I hope you enjoy it.

Gold and Green
In contrast to many others of his kin, King Thranduil of Eryn Galen felt the latter centuries of the watchful peace keenly. They did not fly by; they were endless years of grief that never seemed to fade. As soon as she was gone, the spiders encroached on his realm. Though he knew in his mind it must be coincidence, the coming of the spiders would forever be entangled with her loss. Nimbrethil. Each day he walked alone in the great wood, and even her name was a torment, because she was named for a wood just like this.
Thranduil tried not to think about finding her that day, nor the horrific task of burying her body beneath the ground, because it bore too uncanny a resemblance to planting a seed. He did not visit that place. As a consequence it seemed to him as if she was forever hiding, and he was left forever searching. The woods then became a kind of prison, with the underground palace his only refuge.
He was King. He was careful and attentive to his realm and his subjects. Also to Legolas, although their relationship became more and more strained as the years passed. At times he could see that resentment in Legolas, but could never answer it. Better for him to bear the sadness alone. What could knowledge of his mother's terrible passing do to ease him?
The seasons passed as they will, an unending cycle of death and rebirth: blossom followed snow, seeds danced in the air, only to be followed by the fall of leaves. Thranduil made regular pilgrimages to the place where Elrond had once stayed with his father, remembering those years clearer than ever. Yet for as long as Thranduil waited and wished, Elrond did not return. The rejection of his old teacher was as of a knife that he could not remove. It twisted deep into his soul until he gave up seeking out that part of the wood too, allowing the flet there to fall into ruin as it would. Let Eryn Galen reclaim it.
At times he sat behind his desk in the palace, pen in hand, a letter written to Imladris giving the news. Then into a drawer it would go, unsent. Thranduil could not bear to draw Elrond based on sympathy – that was not what he wanted. When the drawer became full of such letters, Thranduil would pull the drawer out and stand by the fire, dispassionate, reading his own words of grief and longing, throwing the letters into the flames one by one.
Thranduil became weary, and yet he could not depart. He did not believe in his heart Nimbrethil would be waiting in that blessed land – not yet, anyway – and besides, Legolas was not ready to take on the responsibility of King. Indeed he might never be. As Prince he spent months at a time away from the palace, fighting the spiders. How could he leave all of that for Legolas to face alone? No... he must stay. And he remained King. He participated in each feast and festival, smiling, apparently at ease. He took lovers, had friends, and not one of them knew his secrets. Long ago, Elrond had taught him how to hide his true desires. Later, Nimbrethil had taught him how to bear pain. He told himself that this was nothing.
His father's servant became a comfort eventually. To him Thranduil found himself confiding things – lonely things. They became close, and Thranduil found in Galion a willing partner. When he was at his worst, Galion alone could soothe him. When he was at his best, they played together.
Then one day a runner came to notify him of a delegation approaching the palace, an elf lord, and Thranduil felt something that had long been locked away inside him flare into sudden life. Elrond was here! It must be! Thranduil was panicked, so he did what any King would do, he barked out orders left, right and centre until the servants were more panicked than him. Elrond had returned at last.
He was waiting outside looking spectacularly regal when the party arrived. He held his head high, and kept up the appearance of calm even when he saw from the livery that this was a visitor from Lothlórien. Visiting dignitaries! Who had issued this false alarm? Thranduil was busy thinking what kind of sanction would suit when he noticed how tall his visitor was from afar. Too far to see his features, but was it true? Was Celeborn himself in Eryn Galen?
When Celeborn stood before him, for it was indeed he, Thranduil had the disconcerting experience of looking up at someone. It was not a welcome impression. Generally that didn't happen, since he was very tall himself, and it reminded him of long ago, during the War of the Last Alliance, when he and Celeborn had known each other better than they did now. The Lord of the Golden Wood smiled kindly.
“My height is ever a disappointment to you,” he said presently, his eyes twinkling. Thranduil shook his head.
“Not at all. I just never expected to see you here, Lord Celeborn.” His mind worked quickly, trying to ascertain the reason for such a visit – through spider infested woods no less! He could see that by the state of Celeborn's guards. He gave a signal for them to be taken in and looked after at once.
As they spoke over an informal lunch, after they had exchanged the necessary pleasantries, Celeborn told him that Galadriel had seen the loss of Nimbrethil in her mirror, and that was that. He offered condolences and apologised they had not seen it sooner. He did not press Thranduil for any further details at all, which was a relief, since Thranduil had no idea what he would say.
Later, Thranduil showed Celeborn to the most opulent rooms in the palace bar his own. Celeborn turned around slowly, considering. His eyes lingered on the bed, as if noting the proportions of it, then he nodded.
“Yes. These appointments are quite adequate,” he said softly, almost to himself. Thranduil bristled with sudden resentment.
“Adequate?!” he repeated in shock. Celeborn blinked and appeared to notice him, as if he were a servant that should be long gone. Thranduil shook his head slightly, still frowning.
“Oh!” said Celeborn, his eyes laughing. “Of course they are beautiful and luxurious. I thank you for your generous hospitality.”
Thranduil grunted in response, but he could not bring Celeborn up on his rudeness now.
They walked in the woods at Celeborn's request day after day, hardly speaking. Thranduil questioned as he might, but he did not find out the reason for the appearance of his honoured guest, and most of the time he did not even realise Celeborn had evaded answering him. So he humoured the Lord of Lothlórien. What else was there to do? It was winter, and the snow clung to the hem of Celeborn's robes in clumps as they dragged along the ground. Why he insisted on wearing them, Thranduil could not fathom.
One day, when Celeborn stopped short, Thranduil almost walked into him. Celeborn stood beside a beech tree, head tilted back to look up at its skeletal branches. As Thranduil watched he reached out, his palm flat to the bark, and skimmed it upwards. He was so tall he could reach the lowest bough, and his long fingers moved outwards in a kind of caress. He smiled as he brushed his thumb over the new pointed buds on the ends of the twigs.
“See here, Thranduil,” he said, serene. “See how winter always passes.”
Thranduil gave him a sharp look, but Celeborn's smile did not even falter. “I see it every year,” Thranduil replied stubbornly, refusing to answer the meaning behind the words. He did not intend to confide in Celeborn. Such a thing was unthinkable. Celeborn only laughed, and quite suddenly Thranduil disliked him, mostly because he had correctly sensed the unending season in Thranduil's heart.
“This winter will pass too,” Celeborn noted, and that same hand which had touched the new life in the tree rested heavily on his shoulder. No more, no less than that. Thranduil felt the bitterness drain away, only to be replaced by despair. Celeborn did not know of what he spoke. He could not know, and Thranduil was glad of it. No one deserved this grief he endured.
They continued walking as they had these many days hence, in contemplative silence. The nights they whiled away in games of strategy. They sparred with swords; contests which Thranduil always won, despite Celeborn's advantage in height and reach.
The season did indeed begin to change. Thranduil observed it as ever. Walking in the woods each day was not a new pastime for him. If Celeborn believed that encouraging him in it would make any difference, he was in for a disappointment. Thranduil had never once neglected Eryn Galen.
The hawthorn came first, that delicate white blossom, the odd stray petal drifting through warmer air as snowdrops and crocuses appeared. Before long it was everywhere, the glitter of the season, replacing the falling snow. It occurred to him that Celeborn might soon leave, so as not to miss spring in Lórien, and he was surprised to feel melancholy at the thought.
As the temperature became milder, his feelings towards Celeborn warmed too, so that Thranduil found himself giving the elf lord unconscious little touches; a hand on his arm, standing closer when Celeborn encouraged him to observe something. Close enough that Thranduil could feel Celeborn's body heat. In his dreams he imagined them together, and those fantasies confused him when he awoke from them, since they featured none of the darker games Thranduil had always loved to play. Instead, in his dreams, Celeborn was himself: gentle, encouraging and loving. It was different and pleasing. Thranduil was dismayed to find himself wanting that. Wanting it as surely as he often wanted Galion.
Some nights he spent with Galion now just resting in his arms, demanding nothing. The servant seemed happy to indulge him, but it was impossible to pretend. Galion lacked the sheer physical presence of Celeborn. With Celeborn, Thranduil had the disconcerting idea that he would feel sheltered in some way. He resisted those feelings, even as they settled in his heart and soul like the blossom that carpeted the forest floor. He became angry at himself for what he interpreted as a weakness in his character – but it did not go away.
Then, one night, when Thranduil was once more drunk on the strong wine he imported from the east, something changed. He'd taken to drinking during the evenings, because without it he found he could not relax around Celeborn. His mind was always leaping to ways to seduce him, and yet he did not attempt it. It felt as though it would be disrespectful in some way. And so the wine helped him to get through the evenings as they played games, or read to each other. If sometimes he was a little familiar, Celeborn would always put the proper distance between them, or brush him off in some kindly way that Thranduil hardly even noticed. In fact, when he was drinking, he felt quite safe in Celeborn's company. It was a ridiculous notion, but it was there nevertheless.
They were playing a version of chess that had existed in Doriath, and Celeborn was winning. If Thranduil was the better swordsman, Celeborn was the better strategist, especially since Thranduil had taken to dulling his wits with wine. When one of his pieces was taken, he leaned over and rested a hand on Celeborn's knee. “I should yield,” he said, feeling defeated already. “We both know who will win this game.”
Celeborn's eyes met his, and there was something different about him now. In his eyes was not the same look of wry expectation that Thranduil's touches usually inspired. Now he seemed... interested. Thranduil looked down in amazement as Celeborn's hand covered his, fingertips drawing light tickling circles on the back of his hand.
“Thranduil, you might never yield,” said Celeborn in amusement. “Yet I have more than enough patience to play with you.”
He was not talking about the chess game. Thranduil swallowed and groaned out loud. “I have been drinking, and it is not fair to tease me,” he complained. Celeborn smiled.
“Such an easy victory,” he murmured. Thranduil felt a flash of indignant anger at that, but he could not keep it up, and in the end he only sighed. Celeborn kept caressing the back of his hand, and it was making it difficult to think clearly.
“It has taken you weeks,” Thranduil pointed out.
“What is time to me? To us?” Before Thranduil could begin to form an answer, Celeborn took hold of his hand and pulled him forward hard, so that he found himself straddled over Celeborn's lap, in his embrace. It was warm and right. Thranduil pressed himself against Celeborn without stopping to think, inviting all he wished, wanting something he didn't know how to put into words. It surprised him that he still had to tilt his head back to look into Celeborn's eyes.
“My height is ever a disappointment to you,” Celeborn said at last, repeating the words he had spoken upon his arrival many weeks ago, and Thranduil shook his head slightly.
“No,” he protested quickly. “It is not. I hardly notice it. I swear.”
“Really?” Celeborn asked, as if he didn't believe a single word, and Thranduil closed his eyes to avoid the look of tolerant amusement. It was not fair!
A thumb brushed over his bottom lip, just the barest touch, and it reminded Thranduil of how Celeborn had considered the buds of waiting spring. New life. Is that what he was doing here? Was all of this some kind of charitable endeavour? Thranduil snapped his eyes open.
“You will not rescue me!” he declared, defiant and insulted in equal measure, and he tried to move away, only to find that Celeborn's arm around his lower back was like iron.
“No,” said Celeborn seriously, his eyes dark. He took in a deep breath that Thranduil could hear, his chest rising. “No one will rescue you, Thranduil.”
His words had exactly the effect they aimed for, in that Thranduil felt a thrill of desire race through his nerves. “That's really not fair either,” he complained bitterly. “That is my game. You cannot hope to win it.”
Instead of replying, Celeborn simply leaned forward and pressed his lips against Thranduil's, lingering until Thranduil could not help but answer the kiss. As he gave in to it, he felt suddenly dizzy with more than drink, and all he could think about was giving Celeborn everything he wanted. But then the elf lord drew back, leaving Thranduil with a terrible hunger for more.
“Celeborn...” Thranduil whispered, almost spellbound, pressing forward again, only to find the lord's lips were out of his reach.
“Well,” Celeborn said, deliberating. “I feel I should invite you back to my rooms.”
Thranduil could only nod in agreement, rocking against Celeborn without meaning to, and yet his body burned with desire for it, and the blood rushing down did not ease the fuddled feeling in his head one bit.
“I must warn you, however, that I will not indulge your darkness if I do, Thranduil. I will make love to you, I will enjoy you, and I will pleasure you until you have forgotten all else. But I will not hurt you, and neither will you hurt me.” He felt fingers under his chin, raising his head, and he looked into Celeborn's grey eyes.
“Take me there,” Thranduil said, only a moment later realising how that sounded, and then that it didn't matter. It was what he wanted. Celeborn took his hand as they stood up.
“This is very gratifying,” Celeborn mused, looking down upon him. “Galadriel was certain it would take until to the end of summer to tame the King of Eryn Galen.”
“I am not tame!” Thranduil uttered explosively, pulling his hand back, offended that Celeborn would speak of him in such a way. Galadriel too. Celeborn merely raised his eyebrows.
“Oh, indeed?” He let Thranduil's hand go, and cast his glance back to the chess board. “Then perhaps we should wait, after all,” he commented mildly.
As Celeborn reclaimed his seat, Thranduil looked to his own lonely chair at the other side of the table. He could not endure another endless night of this. It could not be borne! And yet, to have what he wanted required some kind of surrender. Thranduil was not sure what the precise terms of that were despite his extensive experience, and he narrowed his eyes in sheer frustration.
“No,” he said. “I will not play with you.” So saying he stalked away to the door, only to realise that Celeborn was not following him. He glanced back, sighed loudly, then left the room to seek out his own chamber... and Galion.
Several nights passed as they had before, until Thranduil felt he might go insane if Celeborn did not give him what he wanted. Now that he knew it was possible, his desire had increased ten-fold. He found himself staring at their game board. Again, he was losing. Thranduil sighed, and deliberately made a move that would ensure his utter defeat. He looked up and met Celeborn's gaze across the table. There was a question in his eyes. With a sullen sigh, Thranduil got up and sank to his knees in front of Celeborn.
To his surprise, Celeborn did not move other than to ruffle his hair in an annoying and undignified way that made him suppress a sharp comment. At length, he looked up.
“I am as tame as I am going to get,” he warned darkly, almost growling the words, hoping Celeborn would get on with it before his own temper got the better of him and caused him to leave the room again.
“Thranduil. I do not require your submission, only your participation.”
Thranduil rolled his eyes in disbelief. “You are the most infuriating elf I have ever met!” he vowed, relaxing back onto his heels as he folded his arms. Celeborn shrugged elegantly.
“Yes. So I have been told,” he said, then smiled merrily. “I married the last person who said that.”
For a moment there was silence, then Thranduil laughed, and for once it was real. So real that he could not stop. For a few moments it felt as though everything he had kept inside might come spilling out, but then he brought himself under control. When he next looked up, Celeborn was holding his hand out. Thranduil grasped it and allowed Celeborn to pull him to his feet.
“Your bed or mine?” Thranduil asked, still feeling slightly giddy.
“As I noted to you some time ago, my own suite is quite adequate.” Thranduil just had time to glare in consternation before Celeborn was leading him out of the room.
When they were safely behind Celeborn's closed door, Thranduil did not waste time, but began unbuttoning his tunic with a meaningful stare to ensure Celeborn followed suit. Before he began, Celeborn used the lamp he carried to light others, making the room bright enough that no detail would be missed. Thranduil approved, and so did not raise a protest, especially since Celeborn began undressing immediately when he was done.
Always he wore robes, and after all of these weeks Thranduil found himself hungry for more than just a suggestive glimpse of Celeborn's body. He wanted to see Celeborn naked. The very thought of it made his mouth water.
They undressed without touching, without even kissing, and Thranduil did not take his eyes away from Celeborn.
First to be revealed was his upper body. Celeborn tossed aside the robes and a thin undershirt, uncovering his torso. Thranduil could see the muscles ripple in his stomach as he moved. His shoulders were powerful, and his biceps, but despite his height and strength, Celeborn did not seem like a giant. Instead he seemed athletic, his long limbs made him the epitome of grace and elegance.
Though Thranduil was aware Celeborn was watching him in turn, he did not mark it. He rid himself of his breeches just as Celeborn did, and when Celeborn was at last completely naked, he was so beautiful he seemed like a mirage. His skin was pale, cast golden in the light, but healthy, almost glowing. His hair draped over his shoulders and chest like finest silk. Entranced, Thranduil stepped forward to touch, his hands already reaching out. Celeborn stood still and let him.
His proportions were so pleasing, he would be a painter's dream of a subject. Thranduil touched Celeborn with a kind of reverence, entranced by his perfection, marvelling at the quiet sigh of sound his palms made as they skimmed over that flawless skin. Thranduil ran his hands up over Celeborn's chest, feeling the hard nubs of Celeborn's dusky nipples under his palms, the shape of his pectoral muscles. Up further to his shoulders, which meant Thranduil was reaching upwards as he stepped close enough that their bodies were touching, and he found himself gazing up into Celeborn's eyes.
After all of this time spent in proximity, the scent of him was familiar and it put Thranduil at ease. Without thinking, he moved his arms until they were wound around Celeborn's neck, face tilted up for the kiss. He wasn't prepared for Celeborn to take hold of him, hands pressed into the small of his back as the elf lord's tongue delved deep into his mouth. Just that simple unspoken act lit sparks between them, throwing all the the past weeks into sharp relief, as if the world had been waiting just for this. Thranduil groaned into the kiss: he could feel Celeborn's cock, semi-hard, stirring against him, but it was not right. Celeborn was tall and Thranduil felt it against the bottom of his belly. He stood on tiptoe as if that might help – it didn't, and he was glad when Celeborn began guiding him backwards to the bed.
Once there, he explored further, and so did Celeborn, the two of them caressing, nibbling, licking and tasting each other without any words being spoken. Thranduil endured Celeborn's gentle exploration in silence because it meant he could touch in turn. Every now and again, Celeborn would do something which drew a small sigh of pleasure from him; fingertips glancing over his stomach, or a perfectly delivered nip of teeth to his ear.
Celeborn's body was a source of fascination and desire. Yes, Thranduil wanted to know every single inch of him, and he drew the same quiet moans of encouragement from Celeborn as they writhed together on the bed, their limbs becoming entangled in the lamplight.
It could not continue indefinitely, because he was so hard it almost hurt, and so was Celeborn. There was a demand to be satisfied which neither of them could hope to defer or control, not even for these moments of tenderness. Thranduil stared into Celeborn's eyes as he wrapped his hand around the elf lord's cock. It was hot and hard in his palm, and Thranduil decided then and there that there was time for one more thing. His mouth watered at the thought of it, and he moved down the bed quickly, letting the sight of Celeborn's cock fill his mind, so beautiful.
He barely gave himself time to imagine how it would taste and how it would feel in his mouth before he began licking out with his tongue, drawing it up heavy and flat from the base to the tip, tasting the slightly salty arousal there. He pointed his tongue and dipped it into the slit for more, ignoring Celeborn's louder moan.
His cock was in proportion to the rest of him, Thranduil noted, long and thick, and he shivered in lust and anticipation. When he covered his teeth with his lips and took that length inside his mouth, Thranduil was not thinking of Celeborn's pleasure at all. He wanted this badly, for himself.
Thranduil did not even bother to tease. He did not toy with it, but began bobbing his head quickly, exercising his mouth and tongue eagerly, feeling Celeborn get a little deeper every time. With every movement his throat relaxed still further, until he could take the entire thing, his nose pressed into the skin above Celeborn's cock. Thranduil did not waste time looking up to see what Celeborn thought of his skill – he could hear that well enough. Could feel it the way Celeborn's hands had fallen to cover the back of his head.
When he had to take the time to breathe, he continued to flicker and swirl his tongue, until Celeborn's cock was slick with his own saliva. Above him Celeborn was moaning, his breath stuttering amid little gasps of pleasure. With a sound of satisfaction, Thranduil went to take it all again, to get more, but the hands in his hair tightened to stop him.
“No...” he whispered, so close his lips were almost touching that hot velvet skin, and it really was a hunger. “Let me...”
“Thranduil.” Celeborn had only to say his name to make him look up, and he was instantly caught in the spell of the lord's clear grey eyes. A fever of desire had taken hold of him – it must have done – there was no other way to account for the quickening within him. He felt as though he had spent these last centuries behind a veil, and now it was finally lifted. Thranduil obeyed the unspoken summons, and crawled over Celeborn's prone form, straddling him on the bed, dipping to taste his lips again as Celeborn's arms wrapped around him.
Celeborn tasted of that quickening – of life – and Thranduil suddenly wanted to drown in it.
As he relaxed his body down, their cocks touched, and it made Thranduil jerk in sudden awareness. He wrenched his mouth away as Celeborn reached down between them with one hand and caressed them both. His mouth open and his eyes closed, Thranduil thrust lightly into that grip, a low groan of want coming from somewhere deep in his chest.
“Have you oil here?” Celeborn asked, his hand falling still, and Thranduil opened his eyes. Immediately he leaned over to fumble desperately in one of the drawers of the bedside table. Had he never looked in them all these weeks?! When his fingers closed around the small bottle, Thranduil smiled in victory, his heart leaping. He sat up straight again and passed the bottle to Celeborn, suddenly understanding what it meant that he did it.
“Participation,” Thranduil said seriously, needing to make the point despite himself, and Celeborn smiled.
“Good.”
Thranduil watched mutely as Celeborn shook some of the oil onto his hand and scrunched his fingers. “Now lean forward,” Celeborn said, and Thranduil could not even think to deny him, moving to rest on his hands and knees above Celeborn's body, head lowered to the elf lord's shoulder as Celeborn reached around to penetrate him with those fingers.
Thranduil hissed at the first intrusion. It was true he hardly ever granted this kind of intimacy to anyone, but Celeborn's touch was gentle and careful, not merely a preparation but a caress in and of itself. His fingers were long, and it was easy for him to make Thranduil moan in fresh desire, until he was sure he must be begging. He felt hot and helpless, at the point of climax though he didn't come, his body trembling. Wasn't that his voice, saying please over and over again?
When the fingers withdrew, Thranduil shakily managed to raise himself up straight, ready to sink down onto Celeborn, but the lord shook his head.
“Not this way,” he said, and rolled them over so that Thranduil was beneath him. He deftly manipulated Thranduil's limbs until his legs were pointed upwards, almost bending him double. Then Celeborn slid inside slowly, moving forward so that his fair form covered Thranduil completely. He felt overcome, utterly dominated, and closed his eyes, only to encounter something he did not expect at all.
In that instant, Thranduil was transported to a time when his dreams were like this, only then his dream lover was not Celeborn, it was Elrond. Yes, because when he was an adolescent, Elrond had been this much taller than him. Even Celeborn's cock was large inside him, slowly but insistently opening him up as if were still a virgin. It hurt a little, enough so that he felt tears behind his closed eyelids. His body tensed suddenly, and he half-sobbed, half-moaned.
“Celeborn!” he cried out, anguished, struggling even though it was useless. Celeborn stopped moving, and lips brushed against his forehead.
“I am aware of it,” Celeborn said, his voice fair as ever, but tense with restrained lust. “Your desires do not frighten me. Relax again. Let me in.”
“No...” Thranduil moaned, thrashing his head. Let me in. He heard those words spoken in Elrond's voice, and in his confusion his heart felt like it might burst. “You are not aware. Not of this.” Elrond... suddenly it was all he could think of. How could Celeborn possibly know?
For a moment, there was silence, and then Celeborn said: “When you call his name, I will not hold it against you.” At that Thranduil opened his eyes wide in shock, dispelling the old dream instantly. If he kept his eyes open, he could not possibly imagine himself anywhere else, and he made himself easier, relaxing deliberately to allow Celeborn to move.
“Celeborn...” he whispered in an act of defiance as the elf lord began pressing forward again, a little harder, a little faster. “Celeborn...” Despite the prediction, Thranduil determined not to call Elrond's name, and he was successful in that while Celeborn worked upon him, loosening his body up until it was all pleasure. Then Celeborn stopped, pulling away slowly.
At first Thranduil did not understand, but then the lord turned onto his back and guided Thranduil to sit upon him, facing away. Thranduil lowered himself, then felt his body pulled back into Celeborn's waiting arms.
“Perhaps this will help,” Celeborn said, and lifted his hips suddenly, getting so deep Thranduil could only moan. Before he had even recovered from the sensation of being so thoroughly filled and possessed, he felt Celeborn's hands travelling over the front of his body, plucking at his nipples, stroking his skin. One hand wrapped around his cock, pumping it expertly, and he moved into that grip, fucking himself on Celeborn's cock at the same time.
“Ah, yes...” Celeborn said with a little growl of a sigh. “Now you are open to me.”
Thranduil could do nothing but give and receive pleasure, every nerve ending was tuned into Celeborn, every part of him. It was completely out of his control. He found himself remembering all the times he and Celeborn had met, and spoken. Had Celeborn known their paths would lead here all along? All of this time, all of these centuries, only to know this now...
“Celebmîr...” Celeborn mused deeply as they continued to move against each other. “I can see why he would think so. Yes.”
Thranduil threw his head back against Celeborn's shoulder with a moan of pleasure at the strange-sounding endearment, lips brushing against Celeborn's pulse, his eyes closed, lost in a dream of endless waiting, finally resolved. A dream that was not only his. It was Celeborn's dream too. It must also be Elrond's... it must be! And yet even as he had that thought he knew he would lose it again. It was a clarity lent to him by participation, and he felt a sudden, almost painful blossoming of sheer love for Celeborn in that moment. “You are very precious, Thranduil...”
So saying, Celeborn changed their position again, this time without leaving Thranduil's body, turning them until Thranduil found himself pressed into the pillows as Celeborn held his hips, taking him from behind. It was all so fluid and seamlessly done it made him suddenly aware of the other elf's greater age and experience. Somewhere deep in him, he tried to absorb the lessons he was learning in technique and seduction.
“Elrond...” Thranduil moaned, and then immediately realised his mistake. “Celeborn... I am sorry!”
“I said you would do it. Do not fret, Thranduil,” Celeborn said without losing his rhythm, and while it sounded as if he truly did not mind, Thranduil could not allow it to pass.
“But I do not want to,” he responded, stubborn to the last vestige of himself.
“You do not believe that,” Celeborn commented, “and neither do I.”
It was difficult to concentrate, what with the way Celeborn kept sliding deep inside him, and now he took Thranduil's erection again, manipulating him with purpose so that he felt his lower body begin to tighten, and he knew he couldn't last. “No,” he managed, gasping. “I mean, I... want to be with you.”
It was the truth, spoken without encouragement, and it was Celeborn he thought of when he spilled onto the bed, Celeborn's name that came from his lips, his body tightening over and over again as the pressure was finally released. Celeborn soon followed, and they ended tangled up together, breathing heavily, resting against each other. Feeling rather wicked, Thranduil flicked out his tongue to lick at one of Celeborn's nipples, tasting the slight tang of his sweat. He was delicious. Thranduil sighed, quite happy to stay here forever.
“Aramîr nín,” Celeborn said at last. “You surprise me.”
“Is that good?” Thranduil asked, feeling lazy and sated.
“It is... unexpected.” Celeborn looked upon him and reached out a hand to run fingers through his hair, moving it back from his face. “I could love you very easily. Indeed, I think I will.”
Thranduil smirked. “No one has ever said that about me.”
Celeborn did not smile, only stared intensely, and in that look Thranduil found all of his questions answered. Here, together, they had begun something that would continue until the ending of all things. It warmed his soul in some way. “In that case, they never truly knew you,” Celeborn said eventually, then with a smile he disentangled himself, stood up, and began moving around the room. “Sleep now,” he said softly. “I will put out the lamps and alert Galion so that he need not worry about you tonight.”
Thranduil blinked in surprise, but then he and Galion were not a secret thing. Perhaps it had been easy for Celeborn to observe.
As the room slowly darkened, Thranduil stretched out on the bed, watching as Celeborn pulled on his breeches and undershirt. “Is there anything you don't already know?” Thranduil asked insolently. He had a sudden graphic vision of Celeborn and Galion, and the difference between them in size alone was so odd he had to suppress the urge to giggle.
“I know your thoughts,” Celeborn said. “Stop it.” But there was a smile in his voice too.
“Can you read my mind?” Thranduil demanded, astonished.
“If I could do that, Thranduil, I could have had you before the winter was out.” In the semi-darkness, Celeborn came close to the bed and bent to place a kiss upon his cheek. It was an affectionate gesture that made Thranduil feel cherished and happy. It also made him imagine what wonders the morning might bring.
“I notice you do not deny it,” Thranduil pointed out, still imagining waking up next to Celeborn and doing all of this again and again. Could he hear thoughts? Really? A little disconcerted, Thranduil tried to keep his mind as blank as possible, and he heard Celeborn laugh softly under his breath as he took the couple of strides to the door.
“Stop laughing at me,” Thranduil warned, and then Celeborn was gone with a whispered promise to return.
Despite the instructions he'd been given to sleep, Thranduil remained awake in the darkness, waiting, pondering.
...I could have had you before the winter was out...
If that was true, then why had he waited? Thranduil sighed and sat up a little, staring at the door as if it would give him the answer.
…What is time to me? To us?...
Somehow, those words made him think of Elrond again. Didn't he wait longer than he should? Millennia, even? What was time, if he would get what he wanted in the end? Before he could think upon that further, Celeborn was back. He was definitely not missing long enough to get up to any kind of naughtiness with Galion. When he slipped naked into the bed, Thranduil drew Celeborn's arms around him and snuggled close under the blankets. He'd been right all along. Celeborn's embrace was a safe, sheltered place to be. Thranduil drifted off to sleep, content, secure in Celeborn's affection, and while he dreamed, some of the pain he'd been carrying around with him finally fell away.
Perhaps that had been Celeborn's aim from the moment he had appeared.

Author's Note: Thank you for reading, I hope you enjoyed it. Please leave a comment!
Translations:
Celebmîr – Silver treasure
Aramîr nín – my royal treasure
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