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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 Forty-one

When he entered the playroom, Thranduil had fallen asleep again, laid on his front, his arms at either side of his head, hands relaxed. The curve of his body from his lower back over his buttocks made Elrond long to touch him all over again. He was very tempting. Though he had carelessly pulled the thick braid out of his hair, much too soon. Elrond frowned at that and put down the goblets and the bottle he had decanted onto the floor. Patient, he sat down on the side of the bed and tenderly moved strands of Thranduil's hair away from the lash marks on his back before they could set and stick there.

Thranduil awoke again while he was doing this, and he pulled his hands in beneath his chin, screwing them up into fists. Elrond saw, and dropped his head for a kiss that Thranduil reciprocated. Then he poured them both a small glass of the wine. Thranduil smiled.

“So you found Galion, then?” he asked, sitting up and reaching out his hand to take his cup. He sipped at the contents, then tilted his head back slightly in satisfaction, tongue just visible in between his lips.

“After I collected this, I found him in the laundry, starching your sheets,” Elrond said, sitting back and taking a sip of his own wine. The carefully constructed image of loveliness that Thranduil was trying to portray faltered just a little bit.

“Is that true?” he asked, suspicious, as if he didn't believe it.

“It's what I'm saying,” Elrond replied, without actually answering the question, letting that be final. Thranduil huffed a little bit, and then cuddled close. Elrond lowered his arm and let his hand rest on Thranduil's lower back where it wouldn't hurt. They passed a little time in this manner before there was a knock at the door, and Elrond got up to find a servant with the things he'd asked Galion to arrange, exchanging Thranduil's clothes for new ones.

There was no time like the present. Elrond had Thranduil lie on his front again while he cleaned the wounds with warm water and soft cotton. Then he reapplied the ointment he had stashed in their aid supplies and layered long strips of thin and finely woven cloth over the worst of the lashes.

“It's just odd, really,” said Thranduil as Elrond made him sit up straight.

“What is?” Elrond asked. “Raise your arms,” he instructed, and Thranduil did so, enabling Elrond to wrap a long bandage around his chest to keep the dressings in place. He wove it back and forth while Thranduil spoke, and he couldn't help thinking it resembled a kind of corset as he worked down towards the King's waist.

“Galion,” Thranduil said with a sigh. “One, he wouldn't know how to starch sheets if he was given diagrams. And two, he knows how much I dislike starch.”

Elrond became serious for a moment. “You do have his consent, don't you?” he asked, although he wondered if Galion would even be here if he didn't want to be. Elrond had a feeling Galion did exactly what he wanted all of the time. That he had been doing what he wanted for centuries in fact.

“Of course I do!” Thranduil replied, affronted. “I inherited him from Ada.” Elrond continued to layer the bandages slowly.

“You can't inherit a person!” he responded, pausing in his work, shaking his head. To his surprise, Thranduil suddenly came out with a heavy and long-suffering sigh.

“Do you think I haven't tried to tell him that?” he asked quietly, his eyes wide. “I am not a monster! But... he likes it this way. So I let him have it this way.” Thranduil was beginning to sound quite helpless, and when he paused to consider Galion, Elrond actually felt a stirring of pity for the King of Eryn Galen. “It works out quite well, really. Besides, there is something about him. I can't help it.”

Now he really was troubled, and Elrond stopped completely, watching the emotions at play on Thranduil's face. Perhaps Galion should be asking the King for consent? “I can't think far enough ahead to release him from my service. I always seem to need him for something,” Thranduil said with increasing astonishment.

“Yes, I can imagine,” Elrond said, hiding his sudden smile behind one hand.

“You really can't,” Thranduil argued, looking at Elrond earnestly. “He gets himself into trouble. On purpose! With me! Can you imagine that?”

“Easily. You enjoy it, Celebmîr nín,” Elrond pointed out, amused now, beginning to work with the bandage again. All was well with Galion; Thranduil was not serious in his protestations.

“Well, yes,” Thranduil admitted grudgingly. “I don't think I could do without him now if he were to leave.”

“You need not worry. I think he will remain with you.” Elrond finished off the work with the bandage, and stood up from his position where he'd been kneeling in front of Thranduil's body.

“There,” he said, stifling a yawn as he peeled off his clothes and finally crawled back onto the bed, feeling absolutely shattered. “Now, at long last, I am going to sleep for a while.”

“I am no longer tired,” remarked Thranduil.

“Then get dressed. Leave me in peace, if you will.” Elrond was already pleasantly drifting off on the warm sheets. There was just one thing missing, and he wondered how long it would take to make Thranduil lie down with him again, tired or not.

“What... is this?” Thranduil's voice said, and Elrond looked up in time to see the King twirling about in the ridiculous loose smock he'd asked for, open at the front halfway down to Thranduil's waist. Elrond thought he might have smirked, but couldn't be absolutely sure. Not without a mirror.

“It won't irritate you. Wear it,” he advised, then laughed helplessly when Thranduil flapped his arms about, looking alarmed as the cotton billowed around him. The sight of that combined with his long legs, blond hair, and the bandage Elrond had put on him was strangely appealing. If he was not so desperately tired, Elrond was sure his interest would be stirred.

“It's a very good look on you,” Elrond teased deliberately. “Soft. Romantic.”

Thranduil's eyes widened in a kind of horror, and he pointed at the door. “Go. Send for something else. I will wait here until it arrives.”

Elrond only smiled and did not otherwise respond. He really was tired. His eyes were closed when he felt the bed dip beside him.

“You know, I think I might be able to stay for a while, after all,” he said. They had both known he would, in the end. Where else would he go to sleep at night while Elrond was here except for in his arms?

“Good,” Elrond said. Thranduil had removed the oversized shirt. Elrond moved to make room, and watched, leant on one arm as Thranduil lowered himself down onto his back, hissing slightly in pain. Then his face cleared, and he sighed.

“Are you all right?” Elrond asked, a little concerned.

“As long as I don't move even half an inch, yes.” Thranduil smiled. “You always make it all right.” He held out his arm, and Elrond moved into his embrace happily, resting his head against Thranduil's chest and the bandages there. He could hear Thranduil's heart beating. Yes. This was better than being alone.

“You are just as incorrigible as me sometimes, lass nín,” Thranduil said quietly. “Don't think I don't know this.”

“Mmm, but no one will ever believe you... let me sleep,” Elrond grumbled, good naturedly, patting his hand against Thranduil's chest. “Here. Stay with me.”

“Until you wake up,” Thranduil said, one arm around his shoulder, resting there heavily. It felt very nice. “Yes. Rest, Elrond,” Thranduil said, his voice deepening. “Weary traveller, friend, lover, Master, elder, Lord, warrior, healer...”

“Thranduil...!” Elrond snapped before he could carry on with any more. Then he did fall asleep, to the sound of Thranduil's quiet laughter.

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

When he did wake, it was morning of the next day, and as he had promised, once he and Thranduil had bathed lingeringly together, Elrond dressed in new clothes, then went to find Legolas while Thranduil went to his own quarters to change. Being forbidden by his father to venture outside, there were not that many places to look, and Elrond finally found him in the library.

Without drawing too much attention, Elrond sat down beside him and inspected his reading material: some dry and meticulous history of the world of men if Elrond was not mistaken, complete with lines of lineage that ran over many centuries. He knew precisely how dull and dreary that book was. He had a copy of it in his own library.

“Elrond,” Legolas said with a smile, leaning back in his chair. He looked very happy to be disturbed, and Elrond couldn't blame him. For a moment then all Elrond could think about was the day before, on the settee, when he'd awoken Legolas and wanted him, despite Thranduil's presence. Those stolen sleepy kisses, Legolas' body warm and heavy on top of him. Elrond found his gaze drawn to Legolas' lips, so soft and full. He reached over and closed the book with a decisive thud, making Legolas jump slightly.

“Enough of that,” he said, rescuing Legolas from his reading material. “I told you I would seek you out, melethron neth nín.” One of the scribes nearby heard him, and his mouth hung open in shock. Elrond found that he really did not care what others thought any more. Not one bit. If the servants at Imladris could accept his tangled relationships – if Celebrían could – he was certain Thranduil's palace staff must learn to live with it, or suffer for their own sense of moral outrage. Even those who'd known Elrond as Oropher's lover must become used to it.

Legolas appeared to be of the same mind, for he leaned over and his lips brushed against Elrond's, lingering just a mite too long for polite company. Oh, Legolas knew. Elrond cleared his throat, unable to look away from Legolas' eyes. “I have arranged a meeting for you later on with your father,” he said then, without hinting what it was about. Legolas would be happy when he heard it from Thranduil himself. “But first I'd very much like to drag you from your studies.” He pushed the offending book to the other side of the table, beyond Legolas' reach. “Will you take some exercise?” he asked mildly.

After a moment Legolas laughed. Then his hands rested on Elrond's shouders and he bowed his head. “Ai! You have no idea how bored I have been, peredhil,” he said. “Being here for so long is like being trapped in a cage.” He moved back and gave Elrond a deliberately flirtatious look. “I would have exercise, yes. With you.”

They stood up, hand in hand, both of the same mind, and Elrond was reminded strongly of a much earlier time. Stealing books from the library, and he knew there were copies here. Knew exactly where they were. “Wait!” Elrond said, feeling quite mischievous, but he could not seem to help it. He led Legolas to the shelf where copies of Oropher's journals were. It wasn't the journals he wanted, it was one of the story books they were hidden within. He selected their favourite one, smiling at it for a moment. “Now we are ready,” he said.

“Books?” Legolas asked, a look of confused disappointment on his face. “I think my mind is improved enough over these last weeks,” he warned, somewhat darkly.

“Trust me, this one is different,” replied Elrond mysteriously, and now he led Legolas out of the library at last. At first he had the thought of heading for the Prince's rooms, but then he guided Legolas to the palace entrance. It was a bright morning, and they could roam wherever they wished.

Legolas loved to be out in the open air. It was something Elrond had learned about him as they had become reacquainted, and since he was not wearing formal robes, but was instead dressed in breeches and a tunic, they could run. It was like setting free a coiled spring after the weeks of being kept indoors. Legolas' energy was such that Elrond had all on just to keep up with him, and he grinned when he realised Legolas was leading them to one of their special places, where they'd loved each other so often before.

It was private, and when they reached it, Legolas stopped and turned, kissing him under the trees so gladly Elrond was sure it stirred his very soul. It was a kiss of freedom – for him too – for the way his attitude had changed over these last decades. His heart was lighter than it had ever been, especially when he was with with Legolas. As it turned out, he hadn't forgotten the lesson Celeborn taught him at all. At least, not this part, and he drank of Legolas' passion like it was sweet wine, one hand on his hip to keep him close, another on his shoulder, holding the book he'd stolen.

When the kiss broke, Legolas moved back and held out his hands. “Give me the book,” he said, and Elrond only laughed and held it out of his reach when he went to grab it.

“Not yet,” he taunted, then nodded at Legolas in challenge. “Clothes first.”

Legolas was clearly taken aback, and yet his hands strayed to the first of the buttons on the tunic he wore as if to tease. “Truly?” he asked, smiling, as if he didn't believe in the request. Elrond nodded, already beginning to undress himself. As if that gave him permission, Legolas laughed and hurried to catch him up, and they watched each other, baring skin and toned muscle under the golden light of the morning sun.

How often had he known Legolas? Elrond could not possibly count, but he was strongly reminded of their first time, when he'd beheld Legolas staring out of the window in Imladris, how he'd looked then, how the sight of him had stirred Elrond to worship and reverence as he experienced his own lust. No poor relation to love, but love's immediacy and urgency. A sensational rush.

He knew he was giving Legolas the same heated look he could see reflected in the Prince's eyes. Elrond licked his lips, moved closer, his clothes forgotten on the grass, and something else... Elrond blinked, looked back, and then stooped to pick up the book. As he stood up, Legolas embraced him from behind, one soft cheek pressed against the back of his shoulder as Elrond laid his hands on the archer's forearms.

“How is your Quenya?” Elrond asked as he turned around in Legolas' arms, his warmth and body heat a perfect counterpoint to the cool morning air. It made Elrond want to be closer to him, and there was a frisson of awareness where their skin touched. Legolas bit his lower lip, as if to consider, and for an instant he was so beautiful Elrond could do nothing but gather him close. Legolas held him too, their foreheads touching.

“It probably does not meet your exacting standards,” Legolas confessed, his voice husky with desire.

“Good enough to read a child's story? A fairytale?” Elrond questioned, as Legolas' hands roamed over his back. Elrond stretched and arched pleasurably, feeling Legolas' short fingernails against his skin. He sank down onto the cool grass, pulling Legolas with him, and instantly they were pressed together, their legs tangled, their lips exploring each other, the book all but forgotten beside them.

Being outside with Legolas always felt like this – wild and untamed, and Elrond knew he'd forever associate Legolas with the Greenwood the Great, even though both Oropher and Thranduil had been before him. Back when he'd first met Legolas at Imladris... even then he'd walked off into the woods in the dark. A forest sprite.

“You are almost feral,” Elrond teased as Legolas rolled onto him, teeth nipping at his ear. It made his laughter dissolve into a low moan. “Should I gentle you?”

“You may try, but I shall not attend your lessons today,” Legolas told him lightly, his hands gliding over Elrond's skin as if to touch him everywhere all at once. “I am finally out of doors!”

His enthusiasm was completely infectious, and Elrond laughed as they rolled around on the grass together, kissing and touching – playing – it was quite wonderful. But then, at last, Elrond stopped, reaching out for the book and putting it in Legolas' wandering hands. The Prince groaned and rolled his eyes, but he was overdoing it. He knew there was something different about this.

Guiding him as he turned the pages, Elrond sat close beside him and pointed to the beginning of one of the stories, fascinated after all these centuries to see how this would be with Legolas. It occurred to him it was a long time since he'd played this part too, but he would give it his all. “There. Begin,” he said, interesed to see what Legolas would make of it.

“I Antolókë,” said Legolas, then frowned as if he didn't understand. “I Amlug?” he said, hesitantly. Elrond nodded, then watched as Legolas' eyes skimmed down the first page. He began to laugh. “This is no child's story!” he said. Elrond opened his mouth and breathed out hotly, enough coolness left in the morning air so that his breath fogged slightly in front of his lips. Almost like the smoke of a dragon. Legolas watched, then laughed again, and this time Elrond laughed with him.

“Continue,” Elrond said, challenging him. “Begin the story.”

Legolas drew in a deep breath and smirked. Then he began.

“The Dragon,” he said, reading the title again. “He was not born, but hatched in the darkness. Yet you of the light shall know him when he attacks.”

The translation into Sindarin was slow and halting for Legolas, yet as soon as he had completed the sentence, Elrond rolled over on top of Legolas in a sudden swift movement, settling between his spread thighs, hands clutching at his waist. Legolas laughed, his attention diverted, but Elrond didn't do anything else, waiting for Legolas to read.

“You will know him by the rush of air when he beats his wings above you.” Elrond lifted his head so that his hair hung down and shook his head swiftly, causing the length of his hair to swish back and forth over Legolas' naked body. The Prince laughed silently, then continued.

“By the kiss of his hot breath.” Elrond hummed in satisfaction, and then allowed his lips to trail back up Legolas' body from his stomach, over his chest, as Legolas spoke.

“Do not be stilled when you feel that, but be roused.” Elrond smiled as he continued. Legolas was definitely roused. He could feel it beneath him, and since he knew what came next, he let his lips glide over Legolas' neck to his right ear, breathing hotly on his skin so that the younger elf drew in unconscious little breaths of desire.

“Listen for him,” Legolas said, holding the book up high in his hand so as not to drop it, his voice faint as Elrond kissed the very tip of his ear.

“What do we have here?” questioned Elrond, slipping into character as he whispered the words of the dragon. “Ah, prey! A little breakfast elf. I will taste you first.” Elrond dragged his lips back down slowly, fastening on Legolas' throat for a moment.

“Be alert and aware always to his nearness, for he will be aware of you.” Elrond kissed his way further down again, pausing at Legolas' left nipple. The archer gasped and pressed upwards into Elrond's touch, but a kiss was all he gave.

“He has sharp claws,” Legolas read, his voice a little shaky with a mixture of lust and amusement. Elrond obliged, digging his short nails in where they still rested on Legolas' waist. “And sharper teeth!” Legolas managed, loudly, as if it was both denial and desperate prayer. Elrond tugged at the nipple with his teeth gently. Legolas moaned, whether at his actions or the next words he read, Elrond could not tell.

“He has a wicked tongue,” Legolas almost pleaded. Elrond obliged, circling his tongue around the nipple he'd tormented as if to soothe it, but then moved quickly down Legolas' body to his hard member. He rested his palms on Legolas' upper thighs to keep him still, and licked with the flat of his tongue. Legolas moaned again then, and it took him a while to remember to read. Elrond continued to lick, and breathe heat, until Legolas was trembling.

“Sometimes, you might see it flicker, like a serpent,” he read, sounding helpless, and again Elrond followed the instruction, enjoying playing his part while Legolas tried to buck up into his mouth. He did not allow it, but teased, letting the head of Legolas' erection pass over his lips again and again.

“Do not be tempted to look into his eyes, for you shall certainly fall under his spell.” Elrond looked up, his mouth open as if to take Legolas inside. Sure enough, Legolas peered from under the book, looking down his own body until they were staring at each other.

“Ai, Elrond!” he said. “Please!” Elrond made no further move, and eventually Legolas looked back to the book, stumbling over the words now.

“He is cunning, and if he speaks you should not answer, or he will surely have you.”

“Should I feast, little Sindar, or save you for later?” Elrond queried, and as expected, Legolas completely disregarded the warning.

“I do not wish to be saved!” he gasped, and then Elrond let his mouth sink down over Legolas' erection, letting him deep and fast, sucking from the back of his mouth, tongue sliding over him. Legolas keened and arched up, despite the restriction of Elrond hands.

Soon enough, he eased back and his attentions became gentler until Legolas was pleading with him. Elrond showed no mercy. Legolas began to read again.

“Should you give him a chance he will devour you, and not even Gil-Estel could save you then.”

“Elrond,” Legolas said his name again, as Elrond rewarded him with tongue and throat. And yet there was a deeper significance to the way Legolas said his name, as if he had just then been reminded of who he was. Between moans and pleas, Legolas managed to read more of the story.

“You are a child of the secret fire, but his flame is borne of Udûn, just as the balrogs of old, and the fire will consume you whole.” At that Elrond gave all of his attention to making Legolas come, and Legolas cried out as he gave in, his essence flooding Elrond's mouth, hot and insistent. Elrond swallowed, just as the story said that he would.

“Pay heed, child of the light. And survive,” Legolas read at last, and then laughed slowly. “I think the dragon won,” he said tenderly, looking down. Elrond only smiled and then pulled over his breeches, digging in the pocket for the oil. Legolas saw and turned over, giving Elrond access to his relaxed body. He took the book with him, and read the last line.

“Dragon slayers are few. But while he may well be hard there is one part of him that is defenceless. He has a heart.” Legolas turned his head, smiling. “Do you?”

“Meleth nín, Legolas nín,” he said in response, as he touched the Prince deep inside. “I've been addicted since my first taste of you, little Sindar.” Elrond growled playfully and nuzzled the back of Legolas' neck.

Legolas laughed, and Elrond could feel it around his fingers. “I love you, Elrond. I hope you know how much. As much as my father does.”

The reminder of the two of them froze Elrond for a moment, but then he continued touching Legolas slowly, happy to draw it out. Thranduil was in the palace. A souce of great anticpation... isn't that how Thranduil had put it? Elrond was quite certain the King would turn out to be right on that score.

As he finally covered himself in the oil, and eased into the willing hot clench of Legolas beneath him, Elrond moaned. He was sheer perfection! Not yet, Elrond thought, his brain hazy with lust. He was not ready to divide his attention between the two of them. Not quite yet. They both deserved all of it.

To be continued...

Author's Note: I hope you enjoyed reading! If you leave a comment, I will respond to you here: http://www2.adult-fanfiction.org/forum/index.php/topic/55964-pippychicks-lotr-fiction-review-responses/
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The Teacher