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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.

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Chapter Thirty-seven

Elrond awoke in the dark alone. It was pitch black, but he heard movement in the room, then he saw shapes separate themselves in the darkness as Legolas kindled a flame and began to light candles here and there on the mantel and the walls. The Prince looked around and smiled when he heard Elrond sit up.

“Good morning,” Legolas said. “It's still quite early; the sun has not yet risen.”

Stretching out, happy and content, Elrond sighed with pleasure when Legolas came into his arms as he lowered them, sitting on the bed, naked and warm, the candlelight so mellow over both of them. “How do you even know the time?” he asked, for he had not seen Legolas consult any of the clocks.

“To be underground takes practice. It is a feeling,” Legolas responded, and he became still as a carved statue in Elrond's embrace. “Listen to Arda, Peredhil.” His voice became low and lilting. “Where we are, deep in the earth, amongst the roots of the living trees above, and you will sense it too.”

Elrond quietened, becoming like Legolas, hearkening, as if to the very rock that surrounded them. He reached out with his mind, and where he would have expected to encounter nothing, he sensed something ancient below the ground, something that understood and answered the call the seasons. In his mind's eye, that morning, it resolved itself into the tuning of a great orchestra before the music begins. Little bits of harmonious melody, not quite joined up, the moments before the symphony. Everything was making ready for the day to come.

They sat there in silence for long minutes, both listening to it, the jumble of unconnected life resolving into a gathering hush, an expectant silence, the tapping of the conductor's baton. Then at last the swell of the concerto. The sunrise. Elrond could picture it easily, the first fiery gold peeking over the horizon.

“Thank you,” he said, full of wonder even now, grateful to have been shown it, and Legolas looked up, then laughed deeply, touching Elrond's neck.

“If you ever plan to blindfold me again,” he said. “You should probably come to bed with your armour on.”

“If I ever blindfold you again,” Elrond replied, feeling quite playful. “I'll be sure to restrain you first.”

Legolas groaned and pushed him away, but he was smiling. “You should not tease me now.”

“You believe I tease you?” Elrond asked. Before Legolas could stop him, he pushed the Prince back onto the bed and moved over him, on his hands and knees. His hair hung down and brushed over Legolas' shoulders. “Come to Imladris again. Come back to me.” He spoke as if it were a promise he gave, staring deep into the Prince's eyes. “As soon as you wish.”

“I swear I will carve a clear swathe through those tangled webs between the trees,” Legolas vowed suddenly, entranced, reaching up to hold Elrond's face. “I shall have dominion over the wood. At least the part that leads to you.” He sighed. “For the sake of myself and for Ada.”

“I believe it.” Elrond let his weight down gently. The sun had only just risen, and there was time for them still, away from its light.

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

Much later, when the sun was shining on him, Elrond found that the events of the previous night bothered him a just a smidgen more. They were stood outside, watching as Lord Celeborn's small party went off into the wood, with Legolas and some of Mirkwood's archers for protection. He did not have any fear for them. They would be safe with Legolas and his patrol.

Celeborn hadn't returned to the deep, mystical conversation of before, and Elrond was glad of it. In fact, he hadn't said much of anything at all except for Elrond to remember him to Celebrían, Arwen and the twins. Elrond had nodded, embraced him as a friend, and let him go, all the while knowing he must see it: the mark Legolas had left on his neck. At least he did not blush, he told himself.

Thranduil had not said much either, but Elrond felt him looking several times. Self-conscious while they were in the company of others, unable to help it, he had tried to keep that side of himself away from the King, and yet that made him feel even more uncomfortable. He even drew the length of his hair forward to hide it, until all he could think about was how it might look in the light of day.

“We are alone again,” Thranduil said eventually, when the last of the small group had disappeared among the trees. He peered around deliberately to stare again, and Elrond shook his head, smiling a little. He knew these wiles the King employed very well.

“Are you worried?” the King asked, some kind of infernal delight in the words.

“Thranduil,” he admonished. “It was just a game. I do not even think he meant to, not really.” He remembered Legolas' reaction when he saw what he had done, and sneaked a sideways glance at the King.

“I know,” Thranduil said, then laughed warmly, walking over to stand close behind him, taking hold of Elrond's hands. “You're so easy to unsettle, aníra-nín,” he said into Elrond's ear, as if it were a secret. “And much too rewarding when I do it. I cannot resist.”

Elrond turned around, and Thranduil embraced him, resting his chin on Elrond's shoulder. “I have missed you these past days,” he said, and this time there was no teasing in his voice. He sounded needy. Elrond relaxed and wrapped his arms around Thranduil's waist. “Come inside, aníra-nín,” Thranduil said, and it was like a spell he could not resist, because he'd missed Thranduil too.

“One day soon,” Elrond said, as they made their way back inside. “I will have to leave here and go home.”

“But not yet,” Thranduil replied, squeezing his hand. “Not today.”

The walk to the King's suite was quiet and uneventful, but then, once the door was shut, Elrond gasped in alarm as he found himself pushed suddenly against it, Thranduil's forearm under his chin, holding him still. He didn't struggle, but waited, Thranduil's body pressed hard against his. All of a sudden, Elrond remembered back to when he'd been here with Thranduil and Nimbrethil, and how easily Thranduil had been able to switch back and forth. As quickly as clicking fingers. To be the recipient of that sudden, drastic change took his breath away, and he felt a thrill of excitement and erotic fear that seeped into his very bones.

He turned his head to display the mark, as Thranduil seemed to want, an old but familiar trembling beginning in him that he could not hope to control.

“This,” Thranduil emphasised the word. “This is so very tempting, lass nín.” The King's voice was darker now, and Elrond closed his eyes, because he knew exactly how Thranduil would look, and he suspected it might be better to remain standing while the King appraised the mark Legolas had left on him. “I should layer my own touch over the top,” he said, pressing a finger on it, so close Elrond could feel the warmth of his breath as he spoke. Elrond's own breathing was fast, very shallow, silent. “You're almost asking for it too, so still and inviting. Barely breathing.”

“Do as you will,” Elrond said, his voice as faint as his breath, his eyes still closed.

“You would feel it deeply,” Thranduil warned. “And here I thought you did not care for pain.” The statement was deliberately menacing, Elrond was certain, and yet it affected him as Thranduil must know it would.

“Not as you do, no,” Elrond choked out, wondering with a stunning fear if Thranduil would use any of those toys on him, wondering if he would even have the temerity to attempt a refusal, if he did.

“But this you would take?” Thranduil questioned, curious.

“If you wish it.” Elrond himself wished for mercy already, and here they were, merely stood close together near the door. He opened his eyes and dared to look, but Thranduil was every bit the Master he remembered. There was none of that vulnerability in him now.

“And what if I wish for more, lass nín?” Elrond lowered his eyelashes, shook his head slightly. “We have played here, yet it is long since I reddened your pale and pretty skin with my hand.” Suddenly Elrond looked up, knowing that Thranduil understood him intimately. He knew the more refined tortures were too much, and Elrond felt such a strong surge of glad relief – even gratitude – he might have stumbled if Thranduil was not still pressed so tightly against him. “I should remind you of it.”

Elrond drew in a quick deep breath. “I do not need –”

“Not need. But you do want it. You long for the release it gives,” Thranduil noted, and everything he said was correct. Elrond looked into his eyes helplessly. It was not lust, but it was something very similar, just as irresistible. It was the same thing that had tempted him back here time and again after the war. “Do you remember how you would become tame to my touch? Begging, writhing, pleading with me? Every last vestige of responsibility taken from you?”

“Yes,” Elrond whispered. Everything Thranduil said brought out his surrender. Everything he did. Those times when he'd had Thranduil at his mercy seemed far away now, like a half-forgotten dream. This was much more real. This submission had been first, and despite himself Elrond longed to taste it again.

“You have been so good to me,” Thranduil said, coaxing, his eyes knowing and assured. “Would you rest here? I would give it back to you, that freedom.”

“Thranduil...” His name spilled from Elrond's lips and it was almost a moan. A plea he couldn't possibly put into words. At least, not until Thranduil forced it from him, as he promised.

“Address me properly, or that will be your first lesson.”

Elrond blinked, astonished to have been so remiss. “Master,” he said immediately, correcting himself, completely caught. Thranduil smiled then, easing back to give him some space, and Elrond reached up to Thranduil's shoulders, leaning on him, pulled forward as if Thranduil held some part of his soul, something he could not be without.

“Yes, that is better.” Thranduil dislodged his hands, but didn't let them go, drawing him forward to the bedchamber step by step. “Let me take care of you. And when you are broken and breathless – only then will I mark it for you to remember. You will do more than submit to me, Elrondlas. You will do more than passively accept. You will beg me for it, and then thank me when I have done.”

“Yes, Master,” Elrond said when Thranduil paused expectantly. They were at the bed now, and Elrond shivered when Thranduil pushed the robes from his shoulders. He lie down on the bed when Thranduil was done undressing him as if this was all foretold, and he could no more go against it than he could change the world. That, he had already tried to do and failed.

He was hard, excited by Thranduil's words and intentions, and he moaned slightly, moving on the bed, but he knew Thranduil would not satisfy him that way. Not for a while, at least. He'd forget his desire and remember it again before Thranduil gave him that kind of pleasure or attention.

“Good,” Thranduil said, joining him on the bed, sat back against the head of it, with his legs stretched out in front of him, long and sprawling, arrogant as only he could be. He was still dressed in breeches, though he had removed his tunic so he was bare chested, and he patted his own thigh expectantly.

“Now, bring yourself here over my knees, lass nín. I wish to be comfortable for this.”

Elrond felt a flutter of nervous dread in him at that, but he complied quickly, arranging his body the way Thranduil wanted, somewhat embarrassed to do it after all this time. He hoped Thranduil did not notice, for he would use it. He knew Thranduil would notice his arousal, but that had always been the case, and the King did not acknowledge it at all.

“Do I need to bind your hands?” Thranduil queried. Elrond thought about it, in so much as he could think.

“I do not know,” he said at last, quiet and subdued.

“Well,” said Thranduil, considering. “We shall see how far we can get without it.” Elrond closed his eyes and rested his head on his crossed arms as Thranduil's palm came to rest on his buttocks. “Don't fight me,” Thranduil warned.

“No, Master. Never.”

The first slap fell before he'd even finished speaking, and the last syllable turned into a cry of surprise and shock. After that, they came slowly, heavily. Elrond was quiet for these, and almost entirely still. Thranduil breathed in deeply, deliberately, as if to taunt him. Elrond did not dare to take more than the shallowest of breaths. He knew from experience it would dull the inevitable pain that was coming.

For these minutes, Elrond knew his face burned more. The humiliation was precise with this act, which was why Thranduil had loved to expose him to it. He lay there resigned, but he knew it couldn't last long, and sure enough he soon began to flinch at each sharp, stinging slap that landed on him.

He gasped, taking in a deeper breath at one particularly vicious stroke. Thranduil stopped.

“Elrondlas?”

“I am sorry!” Elrond gasped, realising he'd moved his arms beneath him, and that he was gripping Thranduil's thigh hard, as if for mercy. He let go. “Please!”

“You have become undisciplined, lass nín, haven't you? Tell me.”

“I am undisciplined,” Elrond repeated quickly, so humiliated now he wondered how he could even speak. “Please, correct me.”

Thranduil placed his free hand on the small of Elrond's back, his palm warm and dry, heavy. Elrond whimpered, knowing what was to come. The hail of blows that landed on him next made him give a sustained loud cry, landing as they did on sore and heated skin. The worst of it was that he could still feel his erection, rubbing slightly against Thranduil's thigh. He must feel it too.

At last, they slowed, but now it did hurt, and Elrond was not surprised to realise he was sobbing. No tears yet, but they would come in time. His breath came and went in wretched shudders while Thranduil continued to punish him. Eventually, he stopped again.

“Is that discipline?” Thranduil asked, already knowing the answer. Elrond did not speak quickly enough, and below him, the King jerked his thigh up deliberately, so that Elrond moaned in sexual awareness as that movement nudged at his hardness. He'd nearly forgotten, and it was almost ready to fade, but Thranduil would make this last.

“Not yet, Master,” he confirmed in dismay. Thranduil chuckled.

“Spread your legs,” he ordered, and Elrond complied, trying to steady his breath. But when he felt the slaps rain down on the more sensitive skin there he wriggled.

“Stay still!”

Elrond tried his best, but wasn't sure he entirely succeeded. He did cry, and as he knew it would, his arousal subsided. He trembled now like the leaf Thranduil had named him long ago, strange needful sounds of desperate surrender drawn from him. Still Thranduil punished him, heedless of his begging, until he felt like curling his body around Thranduil's waist to make him stop. Maybe he would never stop. Forever, just like this, waiting and pleading for his mercy.

The constant painful fall of Thranduil's hand was still his touch, and at last Elrond finally became truly still beneath it, recognising it. His wrenching sobs ceased, and the pain actually eased, leaving him floating and suspended, weightless, somewhere that was almost pleasant.

“Elrondlas?”

“Master,” he said, his voice calm. All forgotten now, except for him. Some moments afterwards, it finally occurred to Elrond that the punishment was over. That too, was good. Whatever Thranduil wanted he would have.

“Turn around and face away from me. I want to be inside you.”

Elrond did not reply; there was no need now. Instead he merely obeyed, while behind him Thranduil freed himself. He moved until he was resting with his legs spread, folded at the knees, either side of Thranduil's thighs, feet touching his hips, then lowered himself until his chest touched Thranduil's shins. His hair fell around him as he lowered his head and his arms stretched out in front of him.

“Very good, lass nín,” Thranduil praised, his voice deep with desire, and Elrond felt a stirring of pride at Thranduil's pleasure. He made no protest when he felt fingers seek entry inside him, his body was stretched wide and relaxed to allow it. There was only an instant where Elrond gasped, when Thranduil nudged at his prostate. But it was accidental, after all.

“There,” Thranduil said when he was done. “Do you remember how to please me?” he asked, as if he needed to. All Thranduil did was hold his hardness against Elrond there, oiled and ready, waiting.

Elrond drew in a breath and moved his body back onto it, accepting Thranduil into himself deliberately, then moved forward, using the muscles in his lower back, keeping as low as possible. Thranduil moaned in pleasure and lust, but did not move or otherwise help him except to rest his hands lightly on Elrond's hips.

This was how it had been between them before. Elrond was truly Thranduil's slave in these moments, impaling himself on Thranduil's erection, minutely aware of how it felt because he was doing it, but just as aware of the sounds of appreciation Thranduil made behind him, and it made his heart swell.

“You feel good, Elrondlas,” Thranduil murmured, all tender satisfaction, and Elrond shocked himself with a moan of pleasure at hearing those words. Slowly he fucked himself on Thranduil's length, every movement back and forth drawn out and deliberate. Elrond felt every sensation in exquisite detail. Thranduil's breathing became heavier, and the hands on his hips tightened, but didn't attempt to control or direct him.

Elrond began to gasp, as now with each movement he felt his own renewed and neglected arousal dragging over the soft weave of the breeches Thranduil wore. When he was at the point of deepest connection, he began to pause, his body fluttering in awareness at being filled. At one of these moments, Thranduil held him and kept him still. Elrond made a sound of helpless lust low in his throat.

Thranduil moved him forward and back several times, hard and fast, then pushed him away and let him go. Elrond knew better than to ask, and Thranduil moved from beneath him, his body covering Elrond's from behind as Thranduil penetrated him again, deep and purposeful, breathing heavily. His hands were on the bed at either side of Elrond's head as if to keep him prisoner, and then one of them lifted just long enough to sweep his hair to one side.

“Stay,” commanded Thranduil in his ear, and Elrond trembled at the darkness in his tone as Thranduil's teeth grazed the back of his neck, and then gripped him there.

He remained as still as he could while Thranduil abandoned all restraint and claimed him. He was only a warm inviting body for Thranduil to spend himself in, and when the King did come, Elrond whimpered, quivering with need, but he remembered what was required of him.

“Thank you, Aran-nín,” he whispered meekly.

“Turn over,” Thranduil instructed, then pulled suddenly away from him. Elrond gasped at that, but complied, straightening his legs and rolling over, only to hiss and arch away from the sheets when his buttocks made contact with the bed. He looked up to see Thranduil on his knees on the bed, pulling the laces closed on his breeches roughly, the waistband riding low on his hips, and he was reminded that the King hadn't even bothered to undress to use him that way. Elrond covered his face with his hands.

Thranduil chuckled.

“Move your hands, lass nín,” he said, and Elrond moved them to the bed at either side of his head in immediate surrender. He looked up, and Thranduil fell down suddenly, his own hands at either side of Elrond's hips. “Good,” he remarked, but his attention was on Elrond's erection. Elrond waited, as breathless as Thranduil had predicted. As broken. The King lowered his head and nuzzled against Elrond's hardness, moving up so that Elrond felt the sharp nudging of his nose, the strong line of his jaw, the mere impression of his lips. He throbbed and ached, but he did not dare to move.

“Please, Master,” Elrond begged, eyes closed, without shame, but Thranduil did not oblige him. Instead he moved further up the bed, his silver hair gliding over Elrond's skin like silk, and did not even acknowledge Elrond's pleading. Warm, soft lips brushed against his and Elrond opened his mouth in response, allowing Thranduil whatever he wanted. The kiss was short and deep, and then Elrond almost yelped in surprise when Thranduil bit his bottom lip, hard enough to hurt.

“Where shall I mark you?” Thranduil asked rhetorically, and when Elrond opened his eyes, he shivered. Thranduil's heated gaze roamed over his body, as if trying to decide. Elrond licked his lips, and the bottom one felt slightly fuller, tasted hot against his tongue, though it was not bleeding.

“Please,” he began, no idea what he would ask for, but then it seemed the King came to a decision, and dipped his head near the right side of Elrond's waist, picking a sensitive spot along the curve of his ribs and biting him there. Elrond cried out loudly, not quite in protest. He was not daring enough for that yet. But the pain brought him back a little as Thranduil marked him, sucking deeply at his skin and then licking over it.

Thranduil made a satisfied murmur, then moved down his body again. Elrond was fraught with tension. Where would he go next? Elrond watched, as if hypnotised by some dangerous predator, shaking slightly.

Lifting his head, Thranduil looked straight into Elrond's eyes, then sideways at his erection. “See if you can keep it,” he suggested wickedly. “If you can do that, Elrondlas, I may give you some pleasure yet.” Elrond swallowed, and his throat felt full.

Moving further down still, Thranduil sat up on the bed and grasped Elrond's right leg, lifting the inside of his knee towards his lips. The King chuckled again. “How pleasing that my touch should make your legs shake like a female's would,” he noted, and Elrond flushed in fresh humiliation as Thranduil bit and marked him again, just above the inside of his knee.

This one was not so savage, but Thranduil did not stop, holding Elrond's leg still while his head moved further down, placing little bites along the way. Elrond did not cry out this time, but heard himself give Thranduil a deep moan of encouragement. As those bites moved up over the inside of his thigh, the skin Thranduil marked was more and more sensitive. Elrond moved his head from side to side, sure he would come regardless. It hurt, yes, but it also felt so good. In his mind's eye he imagined a perfect line of marks there.

“Please, please, please,” he whispered then, over and over, unaware when Thranduil stopped, his body tight and yearning for Thranduil's touch, however he chose to bestow it. A warm palm was suddenly placed flat over his erection, making that tightness coil closer. Elrond hissed.

“Not yet,” Thranduil said, moving back up the bed, keeping his hand there, but it was no kind of restraint at all. Elrond could not help moving against the flat of that hand, writhing. He craved Thranduil's touch in all ways. At this point he was sure that even if Thranduil punished him again he would not be able to keep his own body from release.

“Show me your neck,” Thranduil whispered into his ear, and Elrond turned his head to give Thranduil access to it.

“Please, touch me,” he moaned. “I beg you, anything at all, anything you wish. Thranduil, please...”

Thranduil bit him then, where Legolas had bitten him the night before, and it was by far the most painful of the marks the King would leave on him. But his hand.. his hand curled around Elrond's erection at the same time. And Elrond continued to beg, through the pain and the pleasure. He felt he must fly to pieces before Thranduil finished, licking at the bruised skin that almost seemed to fizz beneath his tongue.

“Come for me, Elrondlas,” he said, and the tension in Elrond expanded so swiftly he thought he might have swooned. But it was done, and his entire frame jolted beneath Thranduil's weight as shock after shock passed through him, until it was over and the hand on him became still.

For a while after that, the King held him close, and kissed his hair, his closed eyelids, his ears so that he shivered. At last Elrond returned the embrace, even though his limbs were heavy and leaden.

“Le melin,” he said, over and over, just as he had begged, as if to reassure both of them. Thranduil sighed heavily, almost a purr, but he responded the same way, indulgent to the last.

“Now what do you say, Elrondlas?” when there had been silence for at least fifteen minutes, stroking Elrond's hair lazily with one hand.

Feeling more like himself again, Elrond snuggled close to Thranduil and made a deliberate sound of happiness. “Thank you, Legolas.”

Thranduil froze for just a second or two, his hand stopping where it rested in Elrond's hair, then resumed the light petting again. “Yes,” he said, amused. “I suppose you are right at that.” He sighed. “Thank you, ion nín, indeed.”

To be continued...

Author's Note: Thank you. If you enjoyed reading, please leave a comment. I will reply here: http://www2.adult-fanfiction.org/forum/index.php/topic/55964-pippychicks-lotr-fiction-review-responses/

Translations:

Peredhil – Half elf

Ada – Father

aníra-nín – my desire

lass nín – my leaf

Aran-nín – my King

Le melin – I love you
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The Teacher