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The Voyeur	By : RosainWonderland Category: +Third Age > Slash - Male/Male Views: 3130 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: This is a work of fanfiction and I don't have any ownership over any part of Tolkien's work or the Tolkien fandom. No money or profit will be made from this story

Chapter List
- 1-The Voyeur
- 1
She had considered taking an occupation with her; a little paperwork, some sewing, a book. There was a new discourse she was eager to study. She refrained; it would have pushed the entire situation into ridicule. Instead she reclined upon a settee, carefully appearing relaxed and only vaguely interested as Thranduil watched her husband close the door behind them.
In the past, when her husband had indulged with others, he had done so elsewhere, and alone. She had done the same, once or twice; minor diversions, not even a taper in comparison to their beacon. Thranduil was different, somehow. Ever knowing Celeborn’s heart, she had raised this opportunity herself, had offered it freely, and been intrigued by his suggestion of her attendance for the sake of her comfort. Even the long affinity and familial devotion he shared with Thranduil was no rival to the depth of their abiding love, but it felt better somehow, that she witness this in the light, rather than have it hidden in shadows. So she let him believe that this was a necessary condition to her consent. How long she had lingered here in the East, that the thought of familial devotion in relation to intimacy did not wake even a note of disquiet in her.
They were too different, and too much the same. In Thrandul was that same practicality she so loved in her dear Celeborn, but an unfortunate, if understandable, tendency to be obdurate. Oropher’s capricious volatility tempered by the influence of Celeborn’s wisdom, and by experience. She wondered if it was also the effect of Oropher’s peripatetic existence, that Thranduil so valued home.Home and security. Family.
They were so dear to one another. She gave her husband a reassuring smile, and a light mental embrace.
For weeks she had watched the wavering indecision, until finally, finally, yearning had prevailed and Thranduil had come to them tonight.
Now, it seemed that some of Thranduil’s audacity had fled, faced with their chamber, with the bed his cousin shared with his wife.
Husband
Celeborn’s answer was warm and fond.
I know, Alatariel
Celeborn turned back from the door and smiled in that reassuring way of his. Thranduil uncrossed his arms. You see? She thought, in the privacy of her own mind. He is but Celeborn, whom you have always known. A thread of her connection to Celeborn’s mind remained as he met Thranduil before their bed. For a moment, they paused; an anticipatory rest in a bar of music.
Their kiss was more chaste than that which they had shared in the sitting room, but more considered. Through Celeborn, she felt their lips meet, soft but not yielding. She felt the strong form stood firm against him and was acutely aware of the alluring smell of him. When Thranduil’s lips parted, his breath held the tang of blackberries. Hands wavered briefly at Celeborn’s cheekbones, before weaving into his hair. She felt the movement of Thranduil’s body against Celeborn’s as he inhaled, and in Celeborn’s mind there was deep satisfaction and a wash of desire. She drew back fully to her own psyche, though not before she felt his attention on her, a tenderness as real and gentle as the kiss he shared with Thranduil.
He traced from Thranduil’s ear to his chin with his thumb, and guided him into a deeper kiss.
Their forms were familiar to each other, of course, but not in this way. A relief, she imagined, to allow themselves to see, and to end the pretence. Celeborn was wise to linger in this, to allow time for them both to transition from cousin to lover.
Thranduil began to unbraid the beautiful silver hair, letting it fall over Celeborn’s shoulders. He ran his hands through it and she saw him smile into a slow parting kiss, before resting their foreheads together.
‘I recall you saying once that you prefer to lead,’ he said.
Celeborn’s hands came to rest at the small of his back. She appreciated the movement; it held Thranduil’s robe closer, and let her see a little more of the shape of his form.
‘Unless you object, I do yearn to love you thus. Though I would not say it were a preference; merely a desire.’ He kissed Thranduil’s cheek, his temple. ‘Ever have I found you beautiful.’
Over his shoulder, Thranduil’s gaze met her own. She let a smile bloom, did not cover her breasts, and saw him glance to where her nipples had hardened under her delicate gown. His surprise swiftly gave way to mischief, never far from the surface, and he turned his attention to the clasps at Celeborn’s throat. In a short while, her husband stood bare before her, his hroa beloved and as familiar to her as her own, beautiful as the day she met him, and more. Thranduil guided him to sit on the edge of the bed.
By contrast, Thranduil’s body was as yet unseen, and held new delights; his lean waist, the muscles of his thighs, the way his aureate hair swayed just at the arc of his tailbone as he knelt straddling Celeborn’s lap.
When Thranduil shifted, she saw Celeborn’s member prod up against his testes and perineum. Thranduil murmured an oath and let his head fall forward to rest on Celeborn’s shoulder for a moment. Celeborn chuckled and ran his large hands over his back.
‘If that has you overcome, cousin, this will not last long.’
Thranduil huffed.
‘Let us see how well you maintain your composure, shall we?’ he replied.
So saying, he took Celeborn in hand with unexpected confidence. Celeborn hissed and shifted his legs restlessly, muttering about deviousness.
When she saw Celeborn smile and clasp his arm tightly around Thranduil’s waist, she knew what he would do. Thranduil evidently also did, and resisted, but was nevertheless manhandled on the bed to lie upon his back in a peculiar echo of youthful horseplay.
‘Celeborn!’ Thranduil exclaimed, and laughed, and feinted low, only to be caught and pressed back under a powerful kiss. Celeborn used his knees to part Thranduil’s thighs and rocked down. He sat back on his heels, and, setting his hands on Thranduil’s thighs, hauled him further down the bed. She watched them explore each other in the soft lamp and star light. After a time, Celeborn retrieved a sealed jar of ointment. Thranduil snorted inelegantly.
‘So certain?’ he asked.
‘Say ‘hopeful’. And prepared. How long has it been?’ He began slicking his fingers.
‘Quite long enough,‘. He purloined the jar and efficiently used the contents upon Celeborn. He stroked slowly, apparently savouring the feel of him in his hand, but paused and released him obligingly when Celeborn touched the back of his hand. Celeborn kissed him again, slow and patient and loving, this time, before he kissed down his body to the sensitive skin of his inner thighs.
‘By the way,’ he murmured, ‘I intended to ask you earlier: have you been wearing those robes deliberately, this last month?’
‘What robes?’ Thranduil asked hoarsely.
‘You seem to have been favouring clothing which shows these off to best advantage.’ He bit ever-so-gently. Thranduil frowned.
‘Are you truly attempting to take me to task over perceived teasing whilst you are doing that?’
‘Perhaps you would prefer this?’
Peculiar, that it should so interest her to see Celeborn’s wet lips on another elf in this manner, other fingers tangled in his silver hair. Although his breathing was harsh, Thranduil remained quiet. Even when Celeborn’s fingers were put to use, Thranduil was quiet; she heard little more than harsh breathing, sometimes hitching, sometimes the barest edge of a moan, or, once, in response to some sharp twist of those fingers, a muffled cry. He was carefully looking away from her into middle distance. Guilt, or discomfort in her observance? Or something else altogether? She could not know without prying.
Thankfully, Celeborn had also noticed and, supported on one elbow, he kissed Thranduil’s cheek. When Thranduil refocused on him and smiled tightly, he gently removed and cleaned his fingers and held Thranduil’s hip, rubbing his thumb over the skin there. He murmured something she couldn’t hear. Thranduil shook his head and ran his hands up Celeborn’s arms to his biceps.
‘No. No, continue.’
Celeborn took the base of his own shaft in hand and slipped it between them. They settled into a relaxed embrace, brow to brow, with Celeborn on his elbows, his strong hands cradling Thranduil’s head, his thumbs stroking his temples, and Thranduil’s arms around his shoulders and sketching lazy patterns on his back. Celeborn began a sedate rock. His member must be sliding between Thranduil’s buttocks, over his entrance, with every languid roll of his hips. There was a minute change of angle, a momentary pressure. Then release, full of anticipation, and pressure. Release, and pressure. Thranduil lifted his legs around Celeborn’s waist and rocked upwards. Celeborn hissed and pushed more forcefully, pulling an answering moan from him. He went deeper each time now, until he was fully inside.
‘Many a time have I imagined this,’ he gasped. ‘It seems unreal to finally have you here.’
Thranduil tucked wayward silver hair behind his ears.
‘I am here,’ he said. ‘You feel wonderful.’
Celeborn moved to rest his weight on his hands and began to make love to him in earnest, with gentle thrusts and long, clinging slides, with teasing, circular rocks and with demanding thrusts that jarred the body beneath him. As their passion waxed, she delighted in the changes in pace and cadence and was transfixed by the sight of Celeborn’s muscles with each drive forward and the sweep of his hair.
The familiar sounds of her husband in ecstasy, the delightful novelty of Thranduil’s, of flesh on flesh and an occasional intimately slick sound. A guttural cry from Thranduil had her rock her pelvis, just the once, into the cushion of the settee.
But the sound that brought her so much pleasure was clearly regretted; Thranduil grew quiet once more, his body grew tight with desperate restraint and he was looking away again, though she thought she could see that his eyes were closed. Clearly grasping at his thin pretense of neutrality. Celeborn didn’t slow, but stoked one cheekbone with the knuckles of one hand.
‘Do not go elsewhere,’ he entreated. Thranduil looked back at him and nodded, and pulled him down for a quick kiss between gasped breaths. They whispered words of love to each other. Perhaps she should leave? Celeborn was hers, she knew that; there was no need to tarnish this for them. But Thranduil was relaxing once more, focused upon Celeborn, so she waited a little longer.
It would never be simple, this; love and devotion bound up together with resentment and anger and grief. But Ai, it was delicious.
Celeborn paused fully seated within, a caesura, and held still and close, pressing as deeply as he could. That fullness… Thranduil moaned, languorous beneath him. More secret indulgences; the line of Thranduil’s neck, the writhe of his hips, the curl of his toes against Celeborn’s calf.
Celeborn’s gasp cut through her belly. Thranduil must have contracted around him… it was such an intimate thing to know of Thranduil’s body that it seemed a violation. Fair due, a cruel, dark part of her whispered,  for the infringement upon our union. In truth it was no contravention, and no rival was he. If she were insecure enough to prohibit this, Celeborn would never challenge her decision. Thranduil was welcome to this, yet he would not walk away without paying his own toll and this pleased her. She knew it, and was unashamed.
She had her own love for him, too. Kinsman by marriage, once younger by what seemed a great distance. The passing of the long Yenihad changed that perception, to make the different negligible. Once sweet and amiable, she ached for what that time had done to him. The intermittent semblance to her beloved often caught her unaware, unexpected resonances which echoed him and stirred affection in her anew.
Thranduil’s fingers gripped Celeborn’s shoulders. She watched in fascination, want clutching her, pleasure spreading from her centre through her body and skittering across her skin. She ached, and rubbed together the fingertips of her right hand.
Was he trembling? It looked like he might be. Perhaps Celeborn heard her, for he took one of Thranduil’s hands in his own and kissed his knuckles.
‘Dear cousin,’ he whispered, and took what little breath Thranduil had in a kiss. Celeborn’s bright hair spilled across their faces, giving a little privacy as he continued his now tender movements. How wonderful to watch from this angle that leashed strength, that restrained might, and Thranduil’s yielding bliss, however much he appeared to abhor her gaze.
Her beloved Celeborn’s deep moans. Low, quiet, bitten off sounds. A choked sounding uttering of her husband’s name and a cry as Thranduil’s climax was wrenched from him. A dozen more thrusts and Celeborn followed with familiar shuddering gasps.
Celeborn stayed rapt for a moment, intent on Thranduil as he lay regaining control of his breathing, the back of one hand flung over his closed eyes. When Celeborn slipped from him, he lay to the side and took Thranduil’s hand in his own. He kissed his palm as they lay facing one another, and looked over to her with gratitude and adoration. She wanted him in her, but this little moment she could give them. She could see now how they both trembled, how Thranduil’s legs twined with Celeborn’s, and how he was held covetously in return. There was seed on his thigh.
At their height, she had longed to touch, to know Thranduil also in that way, to join them. She deferred; to do so would surely disturb their aria. It would have been, she thought incredulously, an intrusion.
Next time, perhaps.
- 1
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The Voyeur