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Lorinand Memoirs: The Bough Breaks	By : Avaloyuru Category: +Second Age > Threesomes/Moresomes Views: 2206 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own any form of copyright to Tolkien’s world, Middle-Earth, or associated characters or the Middle-Earth Fandom. I receive no form of compensation monetarily or otherwise from this work of fan-fiction

Chapter List
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WARNING: This story contains material that may be offensive to some readers. Content includes but is not limited to child abuse both physical and sexual that is discussed ‘after the fact’ or described in ‘flashbacks’ and/or nightmares of the victim. This story also includes one canon-character father on son rape scene. Additional warnings include M/M both anal and oral sex, anal fingering as well as M/M/M group sex. There are also scenes with M/F sex. All sexual activities are explicitly described. Additional warnings will be added as necessay, however I do not foresee any at this time.
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Frowning deeply, Thranduil walked nervously across his sitting room toward the entry door. Pressing his ear against the slight crack, he listened for any sounds from the sentinel guards in the antechamber separating his private chambers from those of his father. There were always two guards posted once the king had retired for the evening, a measure Thranduil found to be unnecessary.
It seemed as though hours had passed since his father had checked on him, a recent routine that had become more than a little bothersome for the young prince. Questioning his father about it had only served to anger him while providing no answers. It was easier to simply pretend that he was already asleep to avoid further discussion of his fathers’ ideas about his responsibilities and duties to the crown. Particularly when those duties have recently included that he consider the prospect of taking a wife, which was the last thing on his mind. It wasn’t that he was directly opposed to the idea, he understood and accepted that it was required of him but there would be plenty of time for that later, he was still too young in his own opinion.
Thranduil felt his stomach twist into a painful knot at the sound of a door opening then close quietly, releasing a breath he had not realized he was holding as he heard Thalieth joking with the other sentinel. He allowed himself to relax somewhat as he waited a few more minutes before backing slowly away from the door.
Finally! His father had retired and he would have the rest of the evening for his own adventures. Smiling mischievously, he sprinted on tiptoe across his public sitting room toward the small door that opened into his private garden. Carefully turning the handle, he poked his head outside and glanced around in search of Aldalómës’ familiar figure. Spotting him as he stepped out from behind one of the tall plants and into the moonlight, his stomach fluttered nervously as the glow washed over his lover, illuminating his long golden tresses. Quickly pressing his forefinger to his lips, he warned him to be quiet as he approached. Clasping hands, the two moved quickly yet silently across the sitting room to his bed chamber.
“I thought something happened!” Aldalómë whispered, pulling him into a strong embrace, capturing his mouth in a deep searching kiss.
“Adar (Father) has retired for the evening.” Thranduil whispered more from breathlessness than the need to be quiet as he buried his face in his neck. “He never comes out of his rooms once he has posted the second guard.” He said quietly, enjoying the feel of his lovers’ arms around him.
“Are you sure you want to do this here?” Aldalómë asked, smoothing his hair as if he were quieting an upset child. “We can always meet in my rooms tomorrow.” He added reluctantly.
“I am not a child.” Thranduil answered without hesitation as he pulled back far enough to look up into his face, admiring the beauty of his chiseled features.
“I am well aware of that.” Aldalómë said quietly as he leaned down slightly, pressing his lips to the soft trembling ones of his love.
Opening his mouth to him, Thranduil swayed against his muscular frame, savoring the feel of his strong arms tightening around him. Aldalómë was his first real friend in those early days. He had been almost like a brother to him and had grown into a confidante who actually understood the arguments he had with his father. Although he had not seen battle, Aldalómë was strong and confident, with broad shoulders. His tall figure was easily recognizable on the training field with his long golden tresses flying as he faced off with numerous opponents, the sun glinting off his pale honey colored skin.
It had not yet been five hundred years since their arrival in Greenwood the Great. Their families having known each other in Lindon and had been among the Sindar that departed from the shores of the Gulf of Lhûn when Thranduil was only five years old. Aldalómë’s father had become his fathers’ chief advisor when he was accepted as King by the Silvan elves and had renamed the forest to the Woodland Realm.
It was not long after that when things changed between them, his father began to visit him in the adjoining room that had served as a nursery. Thranduil didn’t like the things his father did to him, it hurt even though his father said he would get used to it. He was afraid of him and his threats, so he kept quiet about it, telling no one. He could not even tell Aldalómë until years later when he could no longer hide it and swore him to secrecy. He knew his father was more than suspicious of his friendship with Aldalómë and he became overly protective of him, to the point Thranduil felt smothered and trapped.
Over the years his father had grown bolder with his demands of him. Forcing him to remove his leggings and bend over his desk in his study so he could have his way with him. Sometimes he would be nice and sit him up on his desk using his mouth on his sex, Thranduil did not resist because it felt good until he realized his father had tricked him. His father told him he was now tainted because he enjoyed it and if anyone ever found out they would be banished from the kingdom and forced to live alone in exile.
Slowly as they spent more time together, Thranduil had begun to feel differently toward his friend when they would go on their brief excursions into the forest when his fathers’ special tutors had no more lessons for him. He loved the forest and had begged his father to permit him enlistment in the forest patrol yet his pleas had fallen on deaf ears. The king had only relented enough to grant his permission to allow him to train with them, elated beyond words Thranduil worked hard and excelled in the use of the bow. It was only when Aldalómë had been given the task to train him with the sword that things began to change between them.
It had been nearly two weeks since they had managed to arrange the chance to be alone. Early on his father seemed to find more and more ways to keep him within his halls, contriving some task he must perform in the name of learning his duties as the heir to the throne. Forcing him to sit through hours of council meetings where he had no say, summoning him to his private study under the guise of seeking his opinions when Thranduil knew full well that in the end his father would find fault with his advice and stubbornly reject anything he offered. It was merely a game he played with him, just as he did with their heated debates on strategical positioning of border patrols, as if he enjoyed tormenting him with what he longed for yet could not have.
At first Aldalómë had seemed content to just hold him but then he started stealing kisses during their wrestling matches in their secret hiding place. Slowly, he began finding ways to touch him in ways that excited him, the arousal he felt causing him to cringe from him in fear. It wasn’t Aldalómë or the feelings he stirred within him that he feared, rather it was his father’s wrath. It was only after a particularly brutal whipping that Aldalómë had found him hiding in the safety of the cave, sobbing in pain that he finally revealed his secret. Seeking comfort in the arms of the older elf, Thranduil surrendered himself to him. In spite of the pain his father had inflicted upon him, Aldalómë had been such a gentle lover that night as he caressed and pleasured him beyond anything he had imagined.
“I am so afraid for you.” Aldalómë whispered, his arms tightening around the slender body as he leaned down, burying his face in his neck. “Yet I cannot resist you.”
“I can bear my fathers’ punishments if it means we can be together.” Thranduil whispered as he pulled away from him, slipping out of the sleeping tunic.
Aldalómë openly admired the body of the young prince as he quickly shed his own clothing, leaving them in a pile as he climbed into the bed with him. “You are so beautiful.” He breathed softly, slipping on top of him. “I could get lost in your eyes. I have never seen such a color, it’s like they are filled with sapphires and diamonds.”
Since the days of their long journey east, Aldalómë had appreciated the prettiness of the little elfling who would become his prince. The long tresses, so blonde they appeared as finely spun silver threads in the sunlight. The years had only added a slightly sculpted appearance to his once childish oval face, defining an exquisiteness that became his own unique beauty. Thranduil had a natural manner of speaking volumes with even the slightest change in his expression. The way he could barely lift one corner of his lips in a teasingly sensual gesture or suddenly appear childlike with a broad smile or a grin. Aldalómë found it frustrating that Thranduil didn’t even realize the power he wielded in those expressions, how he had tormented him with them over the long years he had desired him in silence.
Whatever response Thranduil would have given was swallowed as Aldalómë kissed him softly, teasing him. Clinging to him, his mind swirling with the overwhelming feelings, his body felt as if it were on fire. Every touch from Aldalómë sent delicious shivers through him. His breath caught in his throat as the kisses trailed lower, down his neck to his chest.
Clenching his jaw to remain silent, Thranduil tangled his fingers in the softness of his lovers’ hair as he trailed his kisses downward over his taut stomach. His mouth opening in a silent gasp as he felt the warmth of Aldalómë’s lips close around the crown of his sex, his tongue swirled over the sensitive flesh, teasing the small slit with the tip of his tongue. It felt as if his entire body was about to explode as the hot mouth engulfed the length of him, his hips jerked forward as he drove himself deeper into the warmth.
Clamping his hand tightly over his mouth as Aldalómë used his larger body to hold him still, he could still hear the groans boiling in his throat as his lover buried his face against his lower belly. The flexing muscles of his throat as he suckled him firmly, massaging the crown brought him quickly to his release. Laying weakened and breathless beneath him, he slipped his arms around his slender waist as Aldalómë moved upward over him. The kiss was hungry as his lover captured his mouth, thrusting his tongue deeply, forcing him to taste himself as he feasted on his mouth.
“If I could I would keep you like this.” Aldalómë told him quietly as he released his mouth. “I would make love to you every night.” He added, brushing his lips with his own as he spoke.
“You promise?” Thranduil asked breathlessly, his arms tightening around him as the hungry mouth possessed his own once more.
“Roll over.” Aldalómë whispered, releasing his mouth as he reached for the broken slat in the headboard, collecting the small bottle of oil.
Trembling in anticipation, Thranduil felt the flutters in his stomach as he did as he was told. Hugging his pillow as Aldalómë pushed his thighs apart, his breath caught in his throat as he felt him pour the oil into the crack of his backside, gentle fingers slipped between the firm mounds in search of his entrance. A soft whimper escaped his lips as he felt him penetrate him, first with one finger, grasping the softness of the pillow as he felt the second finger enter him as he gently stretched the resisting muscle.
Stroking his own aching shaft, coating it with oil as he moved upward over him, Aldalómë positioned himself at his entrance. Teasing him at first as he rubbed the crown of his sex firmly over it before slowly pressing into the tight hot sheath. Wrapping his arms tightly around him, he just held him, kissing his cheek and whispering softly to him as he felt him struggling to relax against the intrusion.
“Okay.” Thranduil gasped as he hugged the pillow tighter, spreading his legs a little farther apart.
“Ahhh.” Aldalómë groaned in his ear as he rocked his hips against him, thrusting deeply within the warmth of his tight flexing muscles.
“Get out!” Oropher roared as he stormed into his sons’ bed chamber. “Get out now!” He bellowed as he strode purposefully across the room.
“Adar! Please!” Thranduil screamed as Aldalómë scrambled quickly out of the bed, not even stopping to gather his clothing before disappearing from the room.
“You think I did not know the goings on under my own roof!” Oropher thundered angrily as he descended on the cringing form of his son. “Now I find the truth! You are nothing but a pirá zan kurv!” (Little elf whore) He spat as he grabbed Thranduil’s wrist, callously yanking him from the bed with such force he stumbled hard into the oaken wardrobe.
“Adar! Please!” Thranduil repeated his plea, tears streaking his cheeks as fear and the pain of his fathers’ grasp on his wrist overtook him.
“Cover yourself, pirá zan kurv!” (Little elf whore) Oropher ordered as he reached down to collect the sleeping tunic. “Do not make me wait.” He stated, throwing it at his son before storming out of the bed chamber.
Trembling to his very core, Thranduil quickly pulled the sleeping tunic over his head, adjusting it as he hurried toward the sitting room. Swallowing back the threat of more tears, he wiped his face on the sleeve in preparation to meet his father. There had been numerous verbal arguments between them in recent years as he began to push back against his fathers’ suffocating control, conflicts that had changed much between them. The punishments administered by his father grew even more severe yet the marks of his anger where always hidden and he dared not seek out the aid of the healers lest he suffer additional punishment.
Entering the sitting room, he saw his father leaning on the mantel of the hearth, his large hands grasping the oaken mantel piece as he stared into the few flames that still flickered on the logs. Even in the dim light he could not only see but feel the rage now etched in his handsome face that now looked more like a polished marble statue. His wrist throbbed horribly where his father had twisted it, as did his face and shoulder where he had been flung into the wardrobe, yet he dare not show any sign of the pain. Struggling to gain control of himself, he stood there in silence, feeling small and insignificant as he waited for his father to speak. The expression when he turned to face him was hard and cold, Thranduil felt as if the wind had been knocked out of him.
“Long now have you continued to defy me.” Oropher stated, his voice trembled slightly as he struggled to control his anger. “I will no longer tolerate your insolence Thranduil.” He told him, his pale gray blue eyes narrowing as he approached him.
“How do I defy you Adar? (Father) When do I not do what you ask of me?” Thranduil asked, his voice almost choked. He was terrified yet he refused to back down from his fathers’ cold stare.
“How dare you?!!” Oropher growled angrily as he approached his son. “You belong to me!” He hissed through clenched teeth as he walked around the trembling form of his son. “How dare you let someone else touch you?!” He snapped, quickly grabbing a handful of Thranduil’s hair at the nape of him neck before he could duck away from him.
“No! Adar (Father), please...” Thranduil cried out, his plea cut off as his fathers’ mouth clamped down hard onto his own. Struggling to breathe, he shoved against his fathers’ chest as he felt his tongue ravishing his mouth. “I hate you! I hate you!” His mind screamed as his father pushed him against the wall, his cruel fingers roughly fondling his sex through the silk of the sleeping tunic.
“I hate you!” Thranduil screamed at him as soon as his father pulled away from him. Breathing in gasps, he glared angrily at him as he continued to hold him pinioned to the wall. Tears burned at the backs of his eyes but he refused to give him the pleasure of seeing them fall.
It had been months since his father had come to his rooms to slake his needs with his unwilling body, he had prayed that he had finally tired of him. Even the whippings had lessened over the past months, dwindling to only those times when he dared argue with him after one of their so called meetings in his fathers’ study.
“Get over here.” Oropher growled as he grabbed his wrist, twisting his arm roughly behind his back. Using his grip on the handful of his sons’ hair to guide him toward the settee in front of the hearth. “You keep fighting me and I will beat you until you cannot walk!” He stated angrily as he bent him over the back of it, hiking up the back of the sleeping tunic.
“You will anyway!” Thranduil hissed as he continued to struggle against the heavier weight that now pinioned him down. Closing his eyes against the threat of tears as he felt him fumbling with the lacings of his leggings, Thranduil swallowed against the tears that burned the backs of his eyes. A strangled whimper escaped his lips as he felt the hard length of his father enter him. There was no love, no gentleness like it was with Aldalómë, only the relentless thrusts of one who sought to own him.
“You will not see him again.” Oropher stated, releasing him as he adjusted his leggings, retying them as he turned away from him.
“I will see him again!” Thranduil exclaimed as he pushed himself away from the settee to face his father. “You cannot stop me!”
It was only Thranduil’s strangled cry that snapped him out of his rage as Oropher reacted without thinking and struck his son with such force he watched in horror as his body fell back, landing in a crumpled heap on the floor. Stunned at what he had done, he stood there silently and stared at his son. His hair tossed wildly about his head, face and shoulders from the force of the blow, a single trail of blood trickled between his fingers as he held his face. The wide-eyed look of fear like a caged animal cut into him like a knife. There was a part of him that wanted to pick him up and hold him, to take away the pain and the fear, yet the other part in him was stronger and he would not show weakness.
Thranduil had heard his own scream and felt it ripped from his throat, yet it had sounded as if it came from someone else. So unexpected, he had not even seen it and was not prepared for the attack much less the force of the blow.   His mind spinning, he tasted blood in his mouth and felt it in his hand as tears blurred his vision but again he refused to allow them to fall. As severe as his punishments were, never had his father lashed out at him in such an uncontrolled rage.
Closing his eyes as his father turned away from him without a word, Thranduil felt his stomach twist into painful knots. Crumbling completely to the floor as his father closed the door behind him, he finally allowed his tears flow and wept silently as the pain matched only by the feeling of emptiness overwhelmed him until he felt sickened.
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Lorinand Memoirs: The Bough Breaks