50passages: JRR Tolkien - Elladan & Elrohir
Role Reversal
*Title: Role Reversal (Written for the 50passages challenge)
*Author: Minuial Nuwing
*Fandom: JRR Tolkien – Sons of Elrond
*Characters: Elladan/Elrohir
*Type: FPS
*Prompt: 03 - I suppose you feel that everything has gone off splendidly and according to plan?
*Word Count: 458
*Rating: PG-13
*Summary: A game gone wrong.
*Disclaimer: Only the quirks and perversions are mine. Everything else belongs to the creator-god of Middle Earth, J.R.R. Tolkien. I am awed by his gifts and humbled by his vision. I promise to clean them all up and return them with smiles on their faces when I am done playing!
*Author's Notes: This started out to be a funny little drabble. Truth. **head-->hand**
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Role Reversal
“I suppose you feel that everything has gone off splendidly and according to plan?”
Grey eyes sparkled with amusement. “I do, indeed. Though I take it that you do not agree?”
For a long moment, the only reply was the repeated thud of wood against stone, then a growl of frustration sounded.
“Well?” The voice was lyrical, taunting.
“When I get free, you son-of-a-warg-suckled-orch, I am going to kill you!”
Laughter bubbled dangerously near the surface of the chiding reply. “Temper, tôren, temper ...and ‘tis not right to speak so of our parents.”
“Release me.” Something that might have been real anger flashed unnoticed in darkened eyes as the tormentor leaned closer, his breath tickling his captive’s ear.
“Nay. I rather fancy you like this...” The teasing reply trailed off as an agile tongue was put to other uses, curling wetly around the tender ear tip, tracing the delicate whorls before thrusting suggestively inside.
A reluctant whimper brought a smirk of triumph to the questing mouth, but before the satisfaction could be given voice it was washed away in a wave of helpless anger and humiliation.
Pulling back in horror, Elrohir caught his brother’s chin, forcing the lowered face up to meet his searching gaze. His heart torn by the sight of welling tears and shame-flushed cheeks, the elf-knight quickly untied the leather sash that bound Elladan’s arms to the carved wooden headboard, rubbing the chafed wrists anxiously.
“I am sorry, melethen,” he murmured, aghast at the thought that his mischief had caused such pain. “I was but playing.” Gathering the limp form close he stroked his brother’s hair helplessly as Elladan’s chest began to heave with great shuddering sobs.
Burying his face in Elrohir’s neck, the elder twin cried unabashedly, his disjointed whispers finally taking shape as he calmed. “Forgive me, tôren. Forgive me.”
Astounded, the elf-knight tightened his grip. “You ask my forgiveness? For what, ‘Dan? ‘Twas my foolish game that went awry.”
“Nay, ‘tis my game, rohir nín,” Elladan replied earnestly, biting his lip as he met Elrohir’s confused gaze. “I never knew you felt so exposed...so powerless....”
Understanding came suddenly, bringing with it a touch of exasperation. “Elladan!”
The rare use of his given name brought the elder twin’s rambling to a halt, and he met his brother’s eyes warily.
“Do you not think you would feel my distress, as I felt yours?” Elrohir demanded, softening the words with a chaste kiss. Without waiting for a reply, he pressed on. “I do not feel exposed or powerless, ‘Dan. I feel safe and loved. And desired. ‘Tis not a pleasure I would willingly forgo.”
“Truth?” Elladan mumbled sleepily, burrowing closer as the emotional storm waned, replaced by relieved exhaustion.
“Truth, el nín,” the elf-knight promised. “Truth.”
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