Adult-FanFiction.org : Lord of the Rings

The Teacher	By : pip Category: -Multi-Age > Slash - Male/Male Views: 14764 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 1
Disclaimer: I do not own the Lord of the Rings (and associated) book series, nor any of the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
- 33
- 34
- 35
Author's Note: Well, here we are again! This chapter took much longer than I thought it would to write, and it's one of the longer ones. But, really, there was no way I could have broken this scene up. I wouldn't be that cruel.

I should warn you for piercing in this chapter. But, really, this is probably the nicest BDSM scene I have ever written. Thranduil doesn't need torture the way I usually write it. This is what he needs.

Full translations are at the end, but you might find this one useful at the beginning:

Le melin, a sen estel daer anna-lín. Av-'osto. – I love you, and this great trust you give. Do not be afraid.

I've probably got it wrong, and I know it's not necessary to put it in, but say it out loud. Elvish sounds so nice... *sighs*

Chapter Thirty-three

When Thranduil eschewed the heavier and more serious restraints, Elrond was at first surprised, until the King sorted through them and handed him several lengths of elven rope which he hadn't noticed before. Yes, this would serve their purposes here better than anything else the trunk might possess.

It was thin, yet it would not cut or burn the skin, regardless of how much Thranduil might fight to be free. It was silky, but it would not give, despite the King's considerable physical strength, and whatever knots he put into this would remain until they were no longer needed. It was ideal. Elrond draped the lightweight coils over his forearm, and picked up a simple piece of heavy black velvet to blindfold the King with. Then, before Thranduil could walk into the bedchamber, Elrond called him back.

“Wait, Thranduil, please,” Elrond said, placing a hand on his shoulder, and when Thranduil turned to face him, he kissed the King's lips briefly. “Le melin, a sen estel daer anna-lín. Av-'osto. I will not fail you,” he promised, “or us.”

Thranduil suddenly smiled and clasped his hand, and Elrond could not help returning the smile. “I knew you would understand this, Peredhil,” he said happily. Elrond nodded before leading the King back into the bedchamber to tie him down.

Once Thranduil was completely undressed, it didn't take very long to secure him. The rope seemed to want to be used, almost as if it appreciated the purpose it was being put to. “Try to move now, celebmîr nín,” said Elrond when he had finished tying the final knot.

“Ai!” Thranduil cried out, after some long moments spent flexing his muscles while Elrond watched, to no avail. “I cannot! I am completely helpless, aníra-nín.” Clearly, he was utterly delighted to discover it. Elrond smiled, amused, and walked around the bed slowly, admiring Thranduil from every angle, drinking in the sight of him.

His skin gleamed almost golden in the torchlight, and his limbs twitched and writhed as he savoured the restraints. His arms and legs were stretched out to the four corners of the bed. There was nowhere for him to hide, nothing he could do to stop what was about to happen to him. Elrond stopped by the side of his left hip, and ran his fingers slowly up the inside of the King's left thigh. Then, before he would touch Thranduil more intimately, he stopped, and stroked his fingers against that sensitive skin, looking further up the bed to observe the effect of his simple caress, noting that Thranduil had stopped moving altogether.

“Aníra-nín,” Thranduil said again, but now he was more subdued. His eyes were darker, his lids sliding down as if to hide his reaction.

“Be calm now, silver treasure,” he said softly. “I find that after all that has passed between us, I want to keep you all to myself,” Elrond confided, and left off the touch to take a couple of slow small steps that led him to the head of the bed. “Time for this,” he said, and picked up the blindfold he had brought in with the ropes.

Thranduil obediently lifted his head, allowing Elrond to gather his hair behind him and onto the pillows, so he would not inadvertently pull it if he struggled later. Then he laid the black velvet over the King's eyes and tied it loosely behind his head.

“You will not see me,” Elrond said, “but you will feel my touch.” He turned away to walk back down the side of the bed, only this time, he let each of the fingertips of his right hand brush carelessly down the centre of Thranduil's chest, over his midriff, his stomach. Thranduil gave a sound of quiet delight that made Elrond smile again.

When he reached Thranduil's erection, his fingers were less careless, less impersonal, curling around in a sure grip that made his lover arch up from the bed. “Elrond,” he gasped, “îr-nín! Please!”

“You will also hear my voice,” Elrond said, ignoring the subtly altered address even though it made a frisson of sexual desire echo through his entire body. He moved his hand slowly, ensuring that Thranduil felt thoroughly caressed. “I want you to stay like this,” he said, squeezing gently so that Thranduil would know what he meant. “I want you to wait, just like this, while I fetch the things we will play with. I want to imagine you, hard and longing, waiting for me.”

Thranduil moaned, and his arms and legs began to move again as he struggled. “Can you do that?” Elrond asked, as if curious.

“Yes!” Thranduil cried, hips lifting in an attempt to match the pace of his touch. “I will, I swear it!”

“Good. I love to see you obedient like this,” Elrond said, and placed a firm kiss to the head of the King's erection, feeling it jump slightly beneath his lips so that he smiled at the proof of Thranduil's desire.

He walked out of the room to the eloquent sound of Thranduil's moans as he began to fight the ropes again. He did not intend to be long, and he wasn't. It took no time at all for him to gather the things he wanted: what they had agreed upon, plus a few more practical necessities and at least one surprise. He put them on the desk, then he paused, and took a deep breath to steady and sort through his thoughts. To be prepared.

Now, in these short moments of free time, he let the feelings come, while he was some safe distance away. He was still melancholy at the significance of those needles, and at the thought of causing real pain, and it was a sorrow he knew he could not take with him into the neighbouring room. If he did, it would affect Thranduil's experience; either because he would sense it, or because his own actions would be a fraction different, a little too deliberately cold or careful instead of loving.

He stood, leaning forward over the desk, the flat of his palms against the carved edge of it. In his mind were terrible scenes. Moments of blood and terror on the battlefield when he'd used very similar tools to those needles, to stitch together skin when his patient was already screaming in agony beneath his fingers. Even when it was hopeless, when his meagre skills were not enough, when there was no time nor resource to ease their pain, or their inevitable passing. There really was nothing worse than to feel another's life ebb and then finally fade away under your hands. Your frantic, working hands.

Thranduil's realm was an elven one, and it was not like Imladris. Known as Rivendell to the race of men, Imladris had been founded after he himself had failed to hold back Sauron's attack on Eregion, and so it had been built with the aid of many refugees from that war. Elrond did not withhold his skills from anyone in need, and the idea of creating disfigurement purposefully – even if it were only temporary – made him heartsick. Thranduil did not know what he asked. He may understand the lasting effects of war, but he could not know the range of diseases and malformations that Elrond had seen and observed in the race of men, things that he was powerless to change, present in children so innocent it hurt his fëa to behold.

And yet, Elrond was aware that all of these experiences were things he carried into this with him. They did not have anything to do with this situation, and it was probable they had no place here. In fact, he found himself reasoning that if Thranduil were determined to engage in such practices, then he couldn't do so with a better suited partner than Elrond himself. Although the idea saddened him, Elrond was not likely to become afraid of what was happening to Thranduil, physically or otherwise. He had seen so many terrible things that even the strange sight of those needles inserted into Thranduil's flesh would not make his hands less steady, nor panic him into withholding or neglecting to provide necessary care and attention.

As his thoughts turned this way, he caught sight of Thranduil's tunic on the floor by the side of the desk, where he'd dropped it after taking it off at Elrond's insistence. He sighed and stooped to pick it up. Indulgent, and wanting something to settle and steel his resolve for the next hour or so, he held it close, and swayed with it, breathing in deeply, his face buried in its folds. It seemed to him that Thranduil's very presence clung to it, and once upon a time long ago, Thranduil's presence had been able to absorb all of Elrond's fears, doubts and terrors. Thranduil had been strong enough to hold his grief for him, and he let it flow from him again now.

He let the item of clothing soak in all of his anguish and pained reminiscences, and then remembered his earlier offhand daydream about throwing it from the balcony. He couldn't do that for it would be noticed, but there was another way to be rid of it and all he had imbued it with. Elrond turned, and deposited the tunic in the hearth, the fire there catching at it, shrivelling the silver threads in an eye catching display of fiery light.

He watched it burn for a moment or two, and felt that for as long as it took for him to do this thing for Thranduil, this strange contradictory version of healing, then he was free of those disturbing memories and impressions. They died along with that awful tunic, at least for now. With fresh calm and determination, Elrond gathered up the things in his arms, and walked back into the bedchamber.

Thranduil was almost as he had left him, mere minutes ago. His hair, which Elrond had so carefully arranged, was mussed due to his turning his head to the left and right. His hands clenched into fists and relaxed again and again as he pulled at the ropes, his muscles straining. His lower lip was a little red because he had bitten it while waiting. But his arousal was still the same, his erection rolling around upon his lower belly while he twisted this way and that.

“When you are like this,” Elrond said, struck by the urge to claim Thranduil again, “you look so beautiful I cannot but wonder what song the Ainur sang of you.”

“Oh, do not tease,” begged Thranduil, and his lips turned down. Carefully, Elrond put everything down in order on top of the small set of drawers next to the bed and sat down beside Thranduil. He smiled, knowing it would show in his voice even if Thranduil could not see it.

“You are temptation, telling me not to tease,” he said, and wrapped his fingers around Thranduil's erection to stroke him again as the King drew in a shivering breath. “You are desire, telling me not to lust. There is a song for you, and a line in it that says you belong to me. Because you are mine, aren't you?”

“Yes,” Thranduil said, his biceps bulging as he sought to free himself, likely to escape the slow torment of Elrond's hand.

“And you will do anything I ask, bear anything I wish?” Elrond asked, letting the helpless King go so that he could undress. When they had made themselves presentable earlier, Elrond had worn more formal garments. Now he divested himself of them one by one. He had some idea of what he planned, and it would make the work he had to do easier if he was naked.

“Yes, please just touch me,” Thranduil begged.

“And if I want to hurt you, just to hear you breathe my name?” Elrond asked, picking up one of the silver clips that Thranduil had demonstrated to him earlier.

“Please... anything you want,” Thranduil said, trying to turn towards the sound of his voice. Elrond sat down again, loosening the screw enough so he could begin, but he stayed for a moment longer with the device in the palm of his hand.

“I know,” he said quietly, and with his free hand he caressed Thranduil's face. “You want it too. You cannot help it. You are beautiful when you surrender to me,” he said seriously. “I do not tease, mîr nín.”

Before Thranduil could reply, Elrond simply bent his head to the King's chest to suckle at his right nipple, leaning his upper body weight on his sternum. Thranduil gasped and writhed, but he couldn't move, and when Elrond had finished with his lips and tongue he blew gently against the wetness he had made there, seeing the nipple tighten even more, enough for him to fit the clamp on it properly.

Slowly, he tightened it, as Thranduil gasped and muttered curses and pleas at him. Until the point he flicked at it with a finger and the King surged up into his touch, first begging for him to stop, then begging for more.

“Does it hurt, mîr nín?” he asked, and Thranduil moaned expressively.

“Yes! Please... touch me again.” Those words stirred something in Elrond he hadn't expected to feel, and he paused to examine the new emotion. Almost experimentally, he fingered the device again, and his breath fell from his lips in a sigh when Thranduil cried out an affirmative.

“Elrond!”

“Are you mine? Tell me again,” he ordered, feeling the answer was somehow important to them both, especially now.

“Yes, I am. I only want to please you, Pengolodh,” Thranduil whimpered. He'd reverted to calling Elrond teacher, as if he'd forgotten, and that too made Elrond want to possess him.

Without any hesitation, he reached for the second of the silver ornaments and loosened it, before treating Thranduil's left nipple to the same attention with his mouth, taking real pleasure in the act, making it last longer as the King's chest rose and fell with each breath.

When he pursed his lips and blew against it, Thranduil trembled as his nipple stood proud of his chest. “Stay still, mîr nín,” Elrond commanded, and the trembling didn't stop, but it did ease. He positioned the silver clamp and turned the screw that tightened it little by little, listening to Thranduil's breathing get deeper and calmer. It was as if he had truly given in. When he was done, Elrond looked up and caught his breath.

Thranduil's silver hair surrounded the black velvet of the blindfold that covered his eyes, his dark brows just visible above it. Below it, his cheeks were flushed pink, his lips red and shiny with moisture, slightly parted, so inviting.

“Thranduil,” said Elrond quietly, respectful of the hush that had fallen now, altering the timbre of his voice to match it. The King didn't reply, he only breathed deep, his body warm and pliant under Elrond's touch, all of his struggles over. “I am going to move on now, to something else. Do you understand me?”

“Yes, Pengolodh,” he said on a sigh of acceptance. He sounded like he might be dreaming, and Elrond kissed each of the silver clamps as he stood up, knowing that even the pressure of his lips there was enough to send Thranduil deeper into that submission. He remembered the feeling after all, and though it hadn't taken as much as this for him to get to that place of peace, it had taken longer. Thranduil had fallen into it so fast and so gracefully that it surprised him. But then, the waiting was over.

Taking up the box and the other things he would need, Elrond walked to the other side of the bed and sat by Thranduil again, this time on his right side. He had an idea from the beginning about what he wanted to do with these things, so before he began, he soaked a square of folded cotton cloth in a preparation of distilled spirit and decocted yarrow and swept it over the first patch of skin he would work on just below Thranduil's collarbone.

Beneath that ministration, Thranduil gasped and shivered. Elrond did not pause, opening the box to obtain the first of the needles. “Be still celebmîr nín, and let me do as I wish,” he said.

“Yes, Pengolodh,” Thranduil said, his voice soft with love and surrender. Elrond looked up from his task, and delayed placing the first needle in favour of kissing the King's lips.

“Very good, Thranduil,” he murmured then, feeling their lips still touching.

At last, he turned to his dedication. His hands were sure and certain, because it was very similar to making sutures, and the needle pierced Thranduil's skin easily, Elrond holding the cotton at the point where he turned the needle back out, before letting go of it. Thranduil gasped quietly, but he didn't move and he didn't speak.

Elrond moved onto the next one immediately, and perhaps after all Thranduil was used to hesitation during this, because he whimpered. “Just as you are, mîr nín, just as you are,” Elrond soothed, and when Thranduil fell quiet he placed that one a short distance away from the first.

His fingers were nimble and practised at this, and as he worked his way down the King's body, the efficiency seemed to have an interesting effect on Thranduil. When ten or so of the piercings were complete, he moaned, almost in pleasure. Elrond looked up again. Where each of the needles entered and exited Thranduil's skin there oozed a single scarlet drop of blood that stood out against the King's pale complexion.

“Does it feel good?” Elrond asked then, curious, and Thranduil stretched his body as far as possible.

“Yes,” he whispered, turning his head away as if in shame. “Because it is you. Because you are doing what you wish to.”

Was he? Elrond frowned, and looked at the needles he had pierced Thranduil with, evenly spaced, methodical, and suddenly he realised something. Thranduil might have played with these before, but it was unlikely he'd had someone use all of them. Perhaps some other lover had given him one or two, as part of a game. Thinking that, Elrond found that it did please him very much.

“No one has ever done this to you, have they? Not like this. No one has ever touched you as deeply as I am doing now.”

“No,” Thranduil replied, his breaths coming faster now as he concentrated on what Elrond was saying, as well as what he was doing. “Not so many,” he admitted, then moaned, and it was pleasure in him. Elrond could see it so clearly. He smiled.

“Then it pleases me, meleth nín,” Elrond said warmly. “You please me. There are still many more to go. Do you think you can take them all?”

“Yes. I want to. Please,” Thranduil said, finally turning his head back in Elrond's direction.

“Very good.”

Elrond set to his task again, and this time there were no interruptions besides little hisses of momentary pain and sighs of increasing ecstasy to accompany him as he worked.

When he had finished, he was seated much further down the bed, at Thranduil's hip. The needles swept in a long curve from below his right clavicle, around the outside of his pectoral muscle and over his waist until curling in again to end just above his right hip. The symmetry was aesthetically pleasing. Though Thranduil did not move, the long tips of the needles quivered constantly as if longing for Elrond to sweep a finger across them.

“It is done,” he observed quietly, and it had not taken him long at all, perhaps ten or fifteen minutes. Thranduil sighed softly. “I have changed you,” he whispered. “By my own hand I have redesigned you.” So saying, Elrond gave in to the temptation and ran a single finger over the trembling ends of the piercings. It was a wicked little sigh of a sound, almost mechanical. Thranduil sobbed then, but it wasn't a broken sob. Instead it was as if Thranduil had finally reached some long-awaited conclusion. Some kind of deeper acceptance.

Elrond walked back to the other side of the bed, and picked up the fresh quill he taken from the desk. He dipped it in the yarrow mixture, aware it would feel like ink when he began to use it. Settling on Thranduil's left side, he used the nib of the quill to begin making shapes on Thranduil's skin, on his chest. “Can you tell the tengwar?” he asked softly, continuing very slowly so that Thranduil would be able to make sense of it.

Thranduil gasped. “Elrond!” he cried out as the name was written over his heart.

“I want to write this so that all will know you are mine. So that all will know who you give yourself to so completely.” After each letter he blew against the skin, as if to dry new ink, and when he was done, he lay the quill down and moved his body forward to kiss Thranduil again. “I will not forget this, Thranduil. Le melin.”

“Le melin,” Thranduil replied. “Touch me, please,” he said. There was no doubt what he meant. With a smile, Elrond got the bottle of oil and scrunched enough of it in his hand to make his caress pleasurable for Thranduil. This time he was not slow and teasing. This time he touched with the intention to draw an orgasm, and it came so quickly Elrond was shocked. Had all of this been so much like pleasure to Thranduil?

But he said nothing, cleaning away the seed with a soft cloth so it would not become cool or uncomfortable. He kissed Thranduil there again, licking away the last of his essence from the end of his member.

“It is time to remove these things,” Elrond said when he sat up straight again, his voice husky with desire, “are you ready?” Thranduil nodded behind the blindfold.

As carefully as possible, Elrond loosened the silver adornments, and took them away, while Thranduil hissed and shuddered as they gave fresh pain when released. Then he strode to the other side of the bed and removed the needles one by one, ensuring the curve of the needles did not pull or snag. He wiped away the blood, applied pressure where needed, and cared for Thranduil's body with the calm and thorough attention of a healer, even to the point of applying some salve to the King's sore nipples, which had him writhing and begging all over again beneath Elrond's fingers.

When at last that was done, he removed the blindfold, noting how quickly Thranduil looked down to the place over his heart where Elrond had invisibly written his own name. The King smiled, and Elrond untied him, needing do no more than pull at the ropes to set him free.

He reclined on the bed, and had Thranduil rest in his arms while his body gave occasional shudders and he sometimes sighed. Thranduil's arms were around his waist, holding him close, head resting against the front of Elrond's shoulder.

“Did you find some peace there?” Elrond asked eventually, after perhaps an hour just holding Thranduil while he rested, slipping in and out of an exhausted sleep in Elrond's arms. Thranduil groaned in contentment, and it reminded Elrond of the way Oropher would have woken with him in the mornings, so satisfied, as if everything he needed were waiting for him simply because they were in bed together.

“I am still at peace,” Thranduil said contentedly, his voice deep. Then he yawned, snuggling close in a way that was more like his usual demanding self. So much so, that Elrond dipped his head to check and see if the smirk was back. It wasn't, but he sensed it wasn't far away either. “Stay with me.”

“I am only here to be with you,” Elrond said, raising a hand to toy idly with a strand of Thranduil's hair. “Where else would I go to? Sleep again if you want. I will wait, and hold you close and safe while you do.”

“Perhaps when I have rested I will have you, lass nín,” he said, his edges of his words blurring even as he spoke them. Elrond laughed softly, and kissed the top of his head. “Or maybe we will go out into the fresh air, and walk in the woods, and the sunshine.” Yes, Elrond thought that sounded wonderful. After some time he drifted into dreams too, and there were no painful memories waiting for him in them. Not this time.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It wasn't until much later, when they were rested and getting ready to leave the King's suite that he had to own up. “Your tunic?” he repeated innocently when Thranduil asked him about it. “Oh, I'm afraid that fell into the fire.”

“Oh, it fell, did it?” Thranduil asked, giving up looking for it and pulling out something else to wear, something that Elrond liked much better. “Right into the back of the grate?” he pointed out, peering at the hearth with a frown.

Elrond sighed. “Did you really like it?” he asked.

“Yes. It was my favourite,” Thranduil said, dejected. Elrond felt a little regretful then.

“I am sorry,” he said then, admitting to it. Thanduil looked at him for a long moment and then smiled.

“It is all right, Elrondlas, really,” he said, throwing an arm around his shoulders as they left the room. “I liked it so much I had the tailor make up three more. I'll have a new one by tomorrow.”

“Three more?” Elrond repeated in disbelief. Thranduil nodded happily.

As they walked out into the more natural sunlight of early evening, Elrond considered. He was sure Thranduil had put aside enough toys to fill some more of these little sessions. If he found out where those awful tunics were, he would be able to dispose of them all, one by one.

To be continued...

Author's Note: Thank you very much for reading, I hope you are enjoying what you see. If you leave a comment, you will receive a reply here: www2.adult-fanfiction.org/forum/index.php/topic/55964-pippychicks-lotr-fiction-review-responses/

Translations:

Le melin, a sen estel daer anna-lín. Av-'osto. – I love you, and this great trust you give. Do not be afraid.

Peredhil – Half elf

celebmîr nín – my silver treasure

aníra-nín – my desire

îr-nín – my (sexual) desire

mîr nín – my treasure/jewel

meleth nín – my love

le melin – I love you

Pengolodh – Teacher

lass nín – my leaf
- 33
- 34
- 35
You need to be logged in to leave a review for this story.
Report Story

The Teacher