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The Deer Hunt	By : Celebdil Category: -Multi-Age > Slash - Male/Male Views: 1039 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
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
- 1-The Deer Hunt
- 1
"I wounded a stag," Elu stepped into the light of the young men's fire, interrupting a fascinating, but ultimately uninformed, debate about the giggling going on at the other side of the camp, in the circle of tents occupied by the unmarried women. "I need someone to help me track him down and carry him back. You, Celeborn, you'll do. Come with me."
Getting up dutifully, Celeborn withstood the taunts with rueful humour. It seemed whenever the king had an especially long, or dull, or tedious task to do he would call upon his youngest relative to help. "It is because he hates you!" Oropher would say, grinning.
"Ah, it is one of the drawbacks of leadership," Now� would say, if he sat with them, "Always to be chosen first to serve."
Only Amdir knew the truth, and as ever, he said nothing, just giving his friend a look of scandalized admiration as Celeborn packed together rope, bandages and ointment, a few wafers of coimas and a waterskin in his bag. Slinging his rain-proof leather cloak around his shoulders he fastened it with a bone pin, picked up his bow and stone knives, and was walking out of camp at the king's side before the chanter - who had begun the song of awakening just as Elu spoke - was come even to the first appearance of Orome.
They went silently for a long while, until the faintly glowing smokes of the host were no longer visible, and the full, unshuttered blazing glory of the stars shone on them. Trees whispered, and the empty spaces of the night were filled with the music of water and stone. Overhead, a flit of bats wheeled, piping in small voices.
Alone, away from the clamour of other souls, the music between them wound, quietly at first, into the cool shine of the sky. Conscious always not only of the deer tracks, but of the grace and easy pace of the tall elf by his side, Celeborn began to listen for his breathing, to hear the warm pulse of his blood. He could track the way Elu moved, by the yearning in his flesh.
The stag's prints were faint on hard ground. As Celeborn hunkered down to move aside a leaf, searching for marks, Elu's hand came to rest on the back of his neck. It lingered, quickening his breath, before pushing up into his hair - a long, firm caress from nape to crown which made him want to arch like a stroked cat, mutely, like a cat, entreat a more thorough petting.
But the deer was almost a full day ahead of them, and - even with its wound - no slower than they. So he stood, leaned just a little closer than he needed, lips brushing the curve of Elu's ear as he whispered, 'This way, my Lord. We must go fast."
The hand in his hair fell, comradely, to his shoulder, and two fingertips insinuated themselves beneath his collar, rubbing along the bone, sliding gently down to the 'v' in his throat. At the small, exploratory touch he allowed himself to really look at Elu for the first time, the music swelling in him as he did so.
The king wore a cloak of white fur. His hair, like starlit water, poured over broad shoulders and fell straight to the hollow of his back. His tallness gave him a lissom look, so that Celeborn was always surprised to find himself slender and breakable by comparison. In Elu's eyes, from his skin, there shone faintly a light of otherworldly beauty, and if he stood still for any time and gazed on it, as he was now, Celeborn found himself aching to have that light break over him, to swim in it, to feel it crash, hot and bright over his body; to open and arc and bloom in ecstasy beneath it...
"Lead on then," said the king, and smiled wickedly as Celeborn had to shake himself, gasping in air to calm the breathless panting of his desire.
Thus Celeborn hunted the stag, and Elu hunted Celeborn, with equal patience and skill; every pause a snare, a lure, a promise of bliss and never its satisfaction.
On the morning of the third day, they came upon the carcass of the deer. Blood loss and infection from the barbed stone head of a single arrow had finally brought it down many miles from the place of its wound. Setting aside thoughts of play, they butchered it and hung the usable parts, inside the skin, from a high tree branch, above the grasp of bears.
It was heavy work, and by the time they had finished and washed, they had a good appetite for the fine venison stakes they cooked and ate with berry wine, which Elu had brought in his waterskin. Then, some way away from both fire and meat, they built a shelter - bending withies to form a windbreak, piling bracken onto a platform of springy branches. There, on that soft mattress, with Celeborn's cloak beneath them, and Elu's pale fur above, they slept for the first time since the hunt began - too tired to be other than chaste, lying side by side.
***
Elu awoke and stretched. He was warm, lapped in comfort, the million silveres oes of the stars shining upon him. As he turned, the leather cloak gave a small creaking sound beneath him and a homely smell, like new butter above the earth and fragrance of the bracken.
There beside him his young kinsman lay, sprawled on his stomach, head pillowed on one arm, with the other outstretched, flung out into the cold night air. Celeborn's hair was like a piece of the night sky spread glimmering over his shoulders and throat; all stars and darkness in light and shade. His young face was faintly flushed, his lips slightly parted, begging to be awoken with a kiss. Does he dream of me? Elu wondered, and was sure he did.
Cautiously as though he was stalking, his weight making no indentation in the ferns, Elu crawled closer, leaned down to set his cheek against the heavy spill of hair, watching as it flared into mithril glory in his reflected radiance. Oh... it was soft and sleek. It would feel so good against the naked skin of his chest, sliding like warm oil over his loins.
He breathed in, a gulp of air to try and ease the speeding of his heart, then he brushed the long locks aside, exposing the young man's neck. Leaning in, he grazed his tongue along the edge of the fine jaw, dipped lower, to kiss the throat, take flesh between his teeth and gently worry it.
"Mmm," said Celeborn drowsily, turning over, throwing an arm over eyes that seemed reluctant to open. "Mmn... Elu."
There was a tone in the voice that made the king lift his head; a husky warmth, yes, and something more pure, more painful. He eased the concealing arm away and looked at his lover's fair, youthful face. Unselfconsciously the boy yawned, opened his eyes and smiled at Elu, radiant with devotion. "My Lord."
Ever since their brush with Gorthaur folk said Celeborn had changed - had become more secretive, more sullen. They little knew that what he hid was not some torment of the darkness, but this - that he had, beyond reason or the bonds of kinship, lost his heart to the brother of his own grandfather. The brilliance of his smile was reserved for Elu now, and it made the king feel both humbled and guilty. He should have turned this love away, for he could not match it. He could not return the adoration, the earthshattering ardour, which Celeborn had for him. Yet at times like this the great affection, and the lust, which he did have seemed to meld in his chest into something indistinguishable from love, and his ribs were tight with a feeling he could not name or comprehend.
"Awake yet?"
"Parts of me, at least. Distressingly so." Celeborn stretched, confident of his beauty, smiling in pleasure as the arch of his lithe body made the king breathe hard. The movement bared his throat completely, tilting it back, offering it to Elu's mouth. Crawling closer, hovering over the lithe body, enjoying the promise that at any moment he might press himself into it, the king obliged, tasting the long curve of muscle, the heat and fine dew of salt - for the fur cloak was over warm above them. He lowered himself down, pinning the youth beneath him, grinding their hips together - the hard contact filling his belly with heat. His hands craved for the touch of flanks and shoulders, swept over a chest frustratingly encased in too many clothes. A glow began in every place where they met, and spread, tingling, through his whole body; like the glow of wine, but with hunger behind it, and even the hunger felt good.
***
Never, Celeborn thought. He would never bring himself to believe this was true; it was actually happening, that it was Elu who touched him... That thought alone was enough to make him feel aflame. But he needed the king to do more than touch. Furious at the stupid tunic which came between them, he wriggled hard, trying to get an arm out of the sleeve.
"Here, let me," Elu shifted onto his knees, straddled Celeborn's lap, settling there, the weight and round smoothness of his buttocks the only thing the younger elf could think of for a moment, until his tunic hem was pulled up over his face, and left there, the tangle of fabric blinding and shackling him. Elu's clever mouth settled over one nipple, suckling, nipping it between his teeth, his tongue tormenting, while his hands unlaced Celeborn's leggings, slipped inside and closed over him, ungently. Reeling with pleasure, utterly vulnerable, his mind returned to the shock and delight of their first encounter, when he had been blind in truth, and for a moment he could feel the imprint of Elu's body all over his; possessed, and aching for more.
All at once the glory was withdrawn. He struggled out of his tunic and threw it to the ground impatiently, checking to see if anything was wrong. But Elu had only moved away to free his legs, so that he could draw the leggings off and cast them aside in a heap on the damp ground. Completely bare, he lay down again, and the leather cloak was slick against his back, his chest and groin were tormented by the softness of fur. Still fully clothed, Elu came to lie once more over him, and if his hands were cheated by the fine suede of the king's garments, his skin loved them, the slight coarseness as they rubbed over him, the knowledge that he was naked, and Elu was not. He raked his hands down the king's back, exulting in the planes and shapes of muscle, wrapped his legs around the long, leather-clad limbs, and gave back some of the hard kisses, forgetting gentleness, forgetting poise, forgetting everything save the need to pull some of that breathtaking strength into him. His need was so great that it hurt. "Elu... please!"
Hands trembling, his eyes dilated and brilliant with desire, the king tore off his own clothes gracelessly - no question of seduction, only how to get rid of them fast enough. "Where...?"
"In my bag."
The ointment was comfrey and marigold - lavender for scent - a sovereign remedy for bruises, burns and cuts. No one had commented when he packed it. Why should they - it was only sense to go prepared, the wild could be a dangerous place. And if he made it with almond oil, so that it melted and dripped glistening from Elu's long fingers, what of that? If the very perfume of it made him bite his lip and moan with lust, that was a secret he shared with his king alone, like the many other secrets of his desire.
Sitting up, he curled himself around Elu. The king had slept with the mass of his hair braided, but Celeborn pulled the braids out and spread the shimmering curtain of it over the muscular, ivory shoulders, pushing his face through so that he could bite the nape of Elu's neck, pressing himself into the hard, toned back, feeling the slide of silver-grey hair, cool and silken, and the touch of hot flesh beneath, shockingly sensual against his aching need.
Kissing across the shoulders, he could feel Elu trembling with leashed power. He brought one hand round between Elu's legs, closed it on a manhood already painfully hard, and grinned as his lover gasped and thrust into the grip. Without letting go, his fingertips circling the sensitive ridge, he shifted position until finally he could kiss the commanding mouth - firm lips both demanding and yielding beneath his, the kiss a diving into darkness, wet, hot. Both of them were whimpering a little when it was over.
He drew back and looked, adoring the fine face, the clean shapes of Elu's chest, the way the flat stomach and the muscles of the hips arrowed down to proud desire, hard as stone, covered with skin smooth and soft as satin. "You are so beautiful!" he exclaimed, carried away by wonder, overcome once again by the astonishment that a creature of such perfection would want anything to do with him.
Elu's lips crooked with embarrassment, and his gaze was rueful for a moment, until Celeborn leaned down and kissed the blunt tip. When he had licked the whole head, pushed it into his throat to the base and risen again to admire the way it glistened, there was no trace of discomfort left in Elu's gaze.
"Look," full of joy, Celeborn could not quite help the irreverence - his hair was pooled in Elu's lap, glowing slightly with reflected light, "It is the tower of Kor-tirion, standing up from Cuivienen in the starlight!"
"Beloved idiot!" said Elu and laughed, though there was a glitter in his eyes, "If you have wit left for such fantasies then plainly I have not been working hard enough."
He pulled Celeborn into his arms, one large, oil-covered hand gliding down his belly to take him in hand. The other slid gently over the curve of Celeborn's buttocks, kneading the strong muscles, stroking into the cleft between. He barely had time to cry out at what the hand above was doing to him before fingers, slick and wet, were pushing into him, breaching him, opening him. "Valar!" he shouted, ecstasy sweeping through him like a fever, shaking him, blurring his sight, "Valar! Oh Elu!"
His cheek lay against Elu's throat, he turned and fastened his mouth on it in a blind yearning to have all of Elu inside him, however he could. The movement brought their hips into alignment, and he closed his eyes, a divine fire arrowing through him as he felt his lover's desire against his own, moving together, both now coated in skin-warmed oil, so hard that it hurt, with an agony that inflamed, when they were pressed against each other. Pushing back on the hand sent a ripple of torment through him - it was fantastic, but it wasn't enough. "More."
Eyes wide, blazing, panting slightly, Elu drew away. "On your front," he said, his voice rough.
"Yes." He lay down - the leather, bereft of body heat, now shockingly, delightfully cold against his overheated skin - crooked one arm beneath him to raise his hips a little, spread his legs and felt Elu settle between them, hands on his inner thighs. The ends of the kings hair fell on his lower back like a cool rain. Please!
The hands - big, clever, dextrous hands, swept along his thighs, pushed him a little more apart. One rose to caress the curve of his back, the other invaded him again, the fingers going deeper at this angle, raking back, until they swept hard over the place inside him that made him explode into stars; split him into circling comets, fiery with need, made him yowl with desperation and arc up, out of control. "Please! Oh, please!"
"Mmn," Elu purred with pleaslikelike a lion purring, took his hand away and positioned himself. Eyes heavy with bliss, trembling, Celeborn pushed back just as Elu was pushing forward, feeling the hardness squeeze into him, a slow, sensuous slide; conscious of every inch as a swell of pleasure, and something more - a relief - as though he was at last complete. He breathed out, shakily, panting, and lay lapped in the tide of bliss, luxuriating.
Buried deep, Elu leaned forward to plant his hands beneath Celeborn's shoulders, blanketing the young body beneath his. "Mmn. Yes." Even the weight of him was erotic, Celeborn thought, pinning him, nailing him to the ground. He bucked a little and was rewarded as Elu slid out and back again, this time the long, deep, thorough stroke seeming to pass eternally over the place of stars within him. At that he lost any semblance of restraint, his mind fracturing into a delirium of desire. Having enough of lying passively he rose up onto hands and knees, so he could push back, make it harder, rougher, make it hurt - just a little, so he would bear the marks after, to remember it by.
Their pace speeded, Elu slamming into him ungently, each time the wave of pleasure was higher, more powerful, crashing over him, receding only to build once more; "I cannot... I cannot..." he didn't know what he was trying to say "I will go mad! Elu!"
Calloused and strong, the king's fist closed over him, letting him thrust into that slick channel as Elu thrust into him. He rode the wave as it built and built, carried him into the heavens, the unendurable ecstasy making him shout and writhe. He could bear no more - he wanted it to go on forever - the pleasure peaked; he was become the universe, shattered and strewn among the stars, and the wave broke, bliss curled all over him, and receded, leaving him floating.
"Yes!" Elu cried, "Ai Valar! Yes!" and his arms closed painfully tight, bruising Celeborn's ribs. A final scald of sensation within him, and a sense of triumph because he had not just taken pleasure, he had given it too. He lowered himself down and shifted slightly so that the king could lie beside him in the circle of his arms. Elu's eyes were still tight shut in the aftermath of glory, almost as though he was in pain, and - sated, floating, golden - Celeborn kissed each eyelid and the tip of his nose, the swollen half-parted mouth.
"I love you, my King. I love you so much."
Convulsively, Elu brought him closer, wrapped arms and legs around him as if trying to hold on to something he knew he should not have. He buried his face in Celeborn's neck, held on tight for a long moment. "I know."
***
Later they used the rope to make a travois and tie the bundle of deer-meat firmly onto it. Each took turns in pulling it back to the camp while the other walked by, bow bent, alert for bears and wolves. Watching the youth's graceful, competent stride, the beauty which had tempted him to exchange his position as almost a father, for that of unspoken lover, Elu thought 'he deserves more than this. More than to be a king's plaything; more than to be just the one I turn to for comfort, who dares not speak of it for shame.' But he had no more to give, and he didn't think that Celeborn would prefer it, if the little he did have should be taken away.
When they were come to the outskirts of the camp, Elu stopped, briefly, having found something he could say which was more true than 'I love you too.' "I do not deserve you."
"You deserve someone much, much better," Celeborn gave him the open, heartstopping smile which was reserved only for him. "But in the mean time, you make me very happy." Then he stepped out where the guards could see him and strolled off, to report his week of misery to his friends. Elu took the deer into camp, accepting congratulations for a successful hunt, and told himself that perhaps, after all, all he had to give was enough.
- 1
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The Deer Hunt