My Heart's Desire - Part 1. To Wait for you.

Warning for this chapter: NC-17,ghtlghtly non-con and bondage, though nothing serious really. :)

Chapter 12. Dark Corners.


“Gildor, what is it?” Thranduil kneeled in front of his friend in concern. When he did not answer, Thranduil took him by the shoulders and shook him slightly. “What is wrong?”
Gildor looked at him with wild eyes. “I’m an idiot,” he whispered. “An idiot and I do not know what else.”
“Tell me what is wrong,” Thranduil demanded.
“Not now.”
“Again?” Thranduil exclaimed in exasperation. “Do not hold back on me!” He squeezed Gildor’s shoulders, his fingers digging into the flesh.
Gildor’s eyes narrowed and Thranduil saw the first storm clouds swirl in their depth.
“Do not press me, Thranduil.” There was a warning in Gildor’s voice. “I cannot think coherently right now, let alone explain anything. Leave me be, I need time for myself. I must think it over.”
Thranduil felt that Gildor was drawing on his protective armour of ice again. So, nothing of what Thranduil had said before managed to reach his friend’s heart. When in trouble, Gildor was shutting him out as he had done many times before, refusing to share his fears and pains with him. Thranduil thought he deserved better. He felt his own irritation stir.
He rose to his feet. “Fine,” he said, his tone harsher than intended. “I’ll see you at lunch then.”
Gildor looked up at him warily. “Do not worry if I miss it,” he answered.
Thranduil’s lips pressed into a tight line and Gildor sighed. “Thranduil, I swear I won’t be running away to Valinor the moment you turn your back to me. We’ll talk later when I feel more like myself.”
To feel more like himself was exactly what Thranduil did not want Gildor to do. But he did not voice his thoughts, just nodded and left.

Gildor did not come to lunch and Thranduil sat to table in gloomy silence. The princes looked at each other, troubled. Aranaur nodded his head slightly at their father and mouthed silently, “Know why?”
Legolas shook his head but then chewed on his lip. Could he and his love affair be the reason, after all? He looked at his brother in worry. “Me?”
Aranaur sighed and turned to Thranduil. “Ada,” he said resolutely, “have you quarrelled with Gildor?”
“… over me?” Legolas added, unhappily.
Thranduil looked up from his plate. “What?” When he saw his sons’ concerned faces he felt an instant pang of guilt. “Oh, no. We haven’t quarrelled. Gildor simply has some important things to think over and he needs time for that. You’ll see him in the evening.” Thranduil wondered if he could be lying.
He did not see Gildor during the afternoon but stubbornly refused to go looking for him. By the time he got ready for the party he started to ask himself in earnest if their guest of honour would show up at all. Thranduil sighed as he took his mithril circlet out of its casket. He had to have some excuse ready in case Gildor chose not to appear. There came a soft rap on the door.
“Come in,” Thranduil called absently.
The door opened. Gildor entered the room, closed the door behind him and leaned against it. He and Thranduil looked at each other silently for some time, then the Vanya said, “I’m sorry.”
“About what?” Thranduil made no attempt to cross the distance between them.
“I refused to talk to you earlier today. You were offended, I could tell.”
Thranduil looked down at the circlet he was twirling in his hands.
“Thranduil, try to understand,” Gildor pleaded. “I cannot change in the blink of an eye. Believe me, I heard you and I understood your point. But I cannot just shrug off my – as you call it – armour. Even if I wished it with all my heart I could not become someone quite different just like this,” Gildor snapped his fingers. “I do not know if I can change at all. I’ve suddenly become a stranger to myself. I’ve found that I do not know myself in the least. And it looks like I never did. The Valar promised to grant me my wish but now I’m not sure what that wish was. I thought I knew my heart, but now I find dark corners in it I’ve never been aware of. I feel confused. I do not know which way to go now.”
“What are you going to do?” Thranduil asked.
Gildor shrugged. “I have no idea what I can do right now so I think I’ll float with the stream for some time and give my problems a chance to settle themselves.” He gave Thranduil a faint smile. “The only thing I can say for sure is that I’m not leaving for Valinor in the nearest future.”
Thranduil nodded. There was another silence. Then Thranduil looked up at Gildor again and frowned. The Vanya sighed. “Now what is it that you do not like?”
“Your attire.”
“My attire?” Gildor looked down at his formal dark green robes in surprise.
“Yes,” Thranduil regarded his long-sleeved and high-necked garment disapprovingly. “You are wrapped in velvet from head to heel. I can see nothing of your… splendour!” The corners of Thranduil’s mouth twitched.
Gildor chuckled. “Exactly my aim. If you cannot see anything, then no one can. So you can safely let me out of your sight. Besides,” he added with a coy smile, “you can always see whatever you want to see later.”
“Hmm… ” Thranduil pretended to be thinking it over as he crossed the room slowly to stand in front of Gildor. “Whatever I want to see? I cannot say no to such a tempting offer. A deal, then.”
“A deal,” Gildor confirmed, glad that there was no tension between them any longer.
Both princes breathed a sigh of relief when they saw their father and Gildor enter the hall side by side. A whisper of admiration flitted over the crowd of courtiers at the sight of their king and his guest. Both elves were gorgeous, green-eyed and golden-haired, though Thranduil was taller and of more powerful build. Both wore green velvet robes, mithril adornments and sunny smiles. And both radiated unbridled sensuality.
“I think we’ve made an impression,” Thranduil murmured.
“We couldn’t help it.” Gildor shrugged. “Beauty is a lethal force.”
Some time later, when Thranduil’s attention was claimed by some ladies of his court, Gildor got a chance to speak to the princes.
“Where have you been?” Aranaur asked him. “Ada was down in the dumps the whole afternoon and wouldn’t tell us the reason.”
“I thought you might have quarrelled over me,” Legolas added.
“Oh no, merilinen, of course we did not quarrel. Why should we? Your father accepted your choice, didn’t he? He is even going to reestablish relations with Imladris. He is doing it for *you*. Soon there will be regular correspondence between our realms, as well as visitors.” He winked at Legolas.
“Ah, so this is the reason for Ada’s blues!” Aranaur laughed.
“What reason?” Legolas asked in confusion.
“Don’t you see? Now *your* lover will be coming to Mirkwood instead of *his*.”
“Oh.” Legolas blushed: he was yet unaccustomed to hearing Glorfindel being referred to as *his lover*. But then he looked at Gildor pleadingly. “You’ll never stop visiting us, will you?”
“Never,” Gildor promised. “Do not worry, Leafling, your brother is just teasing you.”
Legolas shot a glance at Aranaur, his eyes narrowing slightly. “He’s simply envious. No one will be coming from Imladris to see *him*.”
Aranaur chortled, amused by Legolas’s little fit of testiness.
“Perhaps,” Gildor said thoughtfully, “we should introduce him to Elrond’s sons. They will be glad to come here to see him. I am only afraid, Aranaur,” he turned to the elder prince, “that your acquaintance with the twins will be twice as exciting and exhausting as your meeting with the Marchwarden of Lórien.”
Legolas sniggered. “Then he definitely won’t be able to walk after that.”
Aranaur glared at him. “I’ll look at you, little brother, on the next morning after your majority celebration.”
Legolas stopped laughing and blushed again. Gildor shook his head in amusement and left the princes to banter on their own. As he threaded his way through the assembly he smiled to himself. It seemed Glorfindel would be spared questions like ‘How *that* will fit in *there*?’ Thanks to his brother, Legolas knew the basics.
Soon Gildor was drawn into a whirlpool of laughing, chattering and flirting elves. He was happy enough to talk, to joke and to flirt back. But when pairs started drifting onto the dancing floor Thranduil found his friend by his side. Aranaur, who was regarding a group of four pretty maidens unable to decide which of them to ask for a dance, turned to look at Gildor. “Aren’t you going to dance?”
“No, I do no think I am,” the Vanya answered.
“Why not?”
“For me, dancing is similar to love-making. I must feel if not affection, then at least some attraction to my partners.”
“Now this is an interesting philosophy,” Aranaur laughed. “Do you mean to say that your partners in dancing are your potential partners in bed?”
“Perhaps,” Gildor smiled.
“Does it work for singing?” Aranaur asked innocently. “I heard you sang a duet with Haldir when in Lórien.”
“It does, to some extent,” Gildor replied, unabashed. “You see, singing does not require bodily contact.”
“Yes, I see,” Aranaur’s eyes danced with mirth. “Did you enjoy your performance, by the way?”
“I did. He is an excellent singer. And he is good at duets.”
“Oh, that he is!” the prince laughed.
“That he is,” Thranduil repeated under his breath, looking at the high collar of Gildor’s robe that hid the evidence of Haldir’s skills.

Thranduil and Gildor stayed in the hall till the last guests left and then, finally, they were able to retire to their chambers.
“*My* rooms,” Thranduil said in a voice that left no place for argument.
Gildor raised an eyebrow at that but refrained from comments. When they entered the royal suite, Thranduil led the way straight to his spacious bathroom. Gildor was surprised to see a large wooden tub placed there; a tub that was filled with dark fragrant liquid. Gildor recognized the sweet scent: it was wine.
He walked up to the tub, dipped his fingers into the wine and licked them tentatively. His eyebrows shot up. “Naurdirith? Wherefore?” He looked at Thranduil inquiringly and sucked on his digits before dunking them in the wine again. Thranduil’s breath quickened at the sight. He came up to Gildor, took his hand and brought his wine-coated fingers to his own mouth. “I want you to get drunk,” he admitted huskily.
Gildor’s lips quirked up in mirth. “I never get drunk. Besides, I won’t be able to drain a vessel as large as that.”
“I do not want you to *drink* the wine,” Thranduil murmured.
“No?” Gildor had to make an effort not to lose the thread of the conversation as Thranduil started sucking and nibbling gently on his fingers. “What do you want me to do with it, then?”
“I want you to soak in it.”
“What? A wine bath?! What could this fit of extravagance mean?” Gildor was genuinely bewildered.
“I thought that, perhaps, if wine seeped through your skin straight into your blood you could become intoxicated enough… ”
“Enough for what?”
“For allowing me to dominate you tonight,” Thranduil’s voice fell to the level of a sensual rumble.
“Oh, I see.” Gildor pulled his hand from Thranduil’s and walked around the tub slowly, tracing its rim with his finger. “I’m aware that you are not happy with our sleeping arrangements.” He finished the circle to stand in front of Thranduil. “But these are my ways and I’m not going to change them. You are welcome to take any willing elf to your bed and dominate him all you want. I won’t mind.”
“There is no need to become so testy,” Thranduil sighed. “I only wanted to show you that there is nothing frightening in giving up control for a while. That surrendering oneself to the one you care for can be fulfilling and restful.”
“I respect your views, Thranduil, but I’m not going to reconsider mine.”
“Well, it was worth trying,” Thranduil shrugged. “Now strip and get into the tub.”
Gildor looked at the wine-filled container and then back at Thranduil. “I’m not making a fool of myself sitting dunked in wine like some piece of biscuit. If I go in there, you go in there too.”
Thranduil rolled his eyes. “As you wish.”
Gildor unfastened the hidden clasps on his robe and shrugged off the garment. Thranduil could not suppress a gasp of surprise and admiration. Except for his soft leather boots, Gildor was gloriously naked under his formal clothes. Thranduil shook his head and laughed.
“What’s so funny?” Gildor inquired suspiciously.
“Not funny – symbolic. Under the surface of your icy public self you are all temptation and sinful flesh.”
Gildor snorted, gathered up his hair in a loose knot on his nape and fastened it with some hair clasps he borrowed from Thranduil’s dressing table. Then he kicked off his boots and climbed into the tub. “We are going to be sticky all over and smell like wine barrels,” he complained.
Thranduil brought two goblets and put them onto a stool near the tub. Then he secured his hair the way Gildor had done with his and shed his clothes. But when he began to lower himself into the bath next to Gildor the wine splashed over the rim.
“Get up, get up!” Gildor cried. Thranduil obeyed. “Oh, what a waste,” the Vanya sighed looking at the dark puddle on the floor.
Thranduil chuckled. “We’ll have to drink some of it if you want me in there with you.”
“Then we’d better start on it right away.”
And start they did, drawing wine from the tub with their goblets. But before long, Thranduil got tired of sitting perched on the edge of the bath and slid down into it. There was more splashing and more wine spilled on the floor as they tried to find more or less comfortable position within the limited space of the tub. They ended up facing each other, Gildor sitting in Thranduil’s lap with his long, slender legs curved past the king’s hips. Thranduil could not resist the temptation and gave the Vanya a deep kiss, savouring the sweetness that was a blend of Naurdirith and Gildor’s own taste. That was how they proceeded further on: combining drinking and kissing, splashing wine at each other and licking it off of each other’s skin. They made a thorough mess of themselves and had to wash before moving to bed.
What followed was a session of slow and sensuous lovemaking. When later they lay in a relaxed sprawl side by side Gildor chuckled. “Get the wine from the tub bottled, could you? I’ll take it with me when I leave. With the addition of our flavours to it, it has definitely acquired an aphrodisiac effect.”
Thranduil chortled, rolled on his side and propped himself on one elbow. “I would never guess you need a stimulant.”
“Hm.” Gildor smiled languorously without opening his eyes.
Thranduil drew lazy patterns across Gildor’s chest with his fingertips till they touched the fading mark on the juncture of his shoulder and neck. “Will you not tell me what transpired between you and Haldir?” Thranduil asked.
Gildor’s relaxed expression did not change but Thranduil felt his body tense ever so slightly and was sure he would get just another of Gildor’s legendary ‘not now’ responses. To his utter bewilderment, the Vanya started speaking. Keeping his tone completely neutral, he told Thranduil everything that had happened in Lórien. When he finished, Thranduil gave a long whistle. “I’m impressed,” he said. “The young Galadhel definitely managed to get under your skin. And very deep.”
“The wrong place at the wrong time. That was all,” Gildor said evenly.
“You think so? I somehow doubt you would have done the same thing to me or, say, to Glorfindel should we have happened to be in Haldir’s place.”
“You would have known better than to press me so recklessly,” Gildor retorted.
“True. But still, if it had been one of us, a punch on the jaw would have been likely, I agree. But I strongly doubt you’d have carried it any further than that.”
“What are you trying to say, Thranduil?” Gildor looked up at him.
“If I didn’t know better I’d say you have developed a soft spot for the Galadhel.”
“Sweet Elbereth,” Gildor sighed. “If you don’t stop talking nonsense, Thranduil, I’ll bind you to the bed and leave you to be found by some of your servants. That will prove you wrong, I believe.”
“No, you won’t. I’m stronger than you,” Thranduil teased.
“But I’m more guileful,” Gildor smiled.
“That you are,” Thranduil agreed affectionately, lying back and pulling Gildor into his arms.
True to his nature, Gildor showed brief resistance but then relaxed and let Thranduil hold him.
“You know,” he said softly after a long silence, “it’s a funny thing but when I touched him it felt surprisingly… ”
“Good?” Thranduil prompted.
“Right. It felt right.”
Thranduil pulled away a little to get a better look at Gildor’s face. “Let me get it straight. You mean to say you enjoyed touching him?”
“Well, yes. He feels very pleasant to touch. And to taste.” Gildor looked at Thranduil in innocent mischief.
“But you didn’t take him. Why?”
Gildor was shocked. “That would have been nothing short of rape!”
“As far as I understood, he was willing, wasn’t he?”
“Because I made him willing.”
“He came to that glade wanting you,” Thranduil pointed out.
“He came to seduce and to conquer, not to be mastered and tamed. True, his body begged for my touch, but I can swear he hated me at that moment.”
Thranduil chuckled. “To hate you is sometimes an amazingly easy thing to do.” Then, after a brief contemplation, he asked, “Why didn’t you take him to your bed earlier, before you two managed to get each other riled?”
Gildor moaned. “Thranduil, have I ever told you how much I hate your why-questions?”
“Yes, you have, many times. Will you answer, please?”
Gildor knew that Thranduil would not let the matter lie now. The king was in the habit of getting to the root of a problem and of drawing disturbingly correct conclusions afterwards. Sometimes Gildor preferred just *not* to know his deductions. He sighed and resigned himself to a bout of interrogation.
“I did not take him to bed because Galadriel behaved like a mother-hen to this particular elf. She watched my every step. As my relations with her have never been warm I decided not to make bad things worse.”
“I will never believe that you did it – or rather did not do it – in consideration for Galadriel’s feelings. Or in fear of her wrath, either. No, not good enough. Try again.”
Gildor sighed. “Thranduil, you might fail to realize it but I have no habit of taking to my bed every elf I find attractive.”
“Oh, come, Gildor!” Thranduil smirked. “I’ve seen Haldir, remember? ‘Attractive’ is not a word to describe him. ‘Gorgeous’ suits him better.”
“Hm? But I happened to be on my way to visiting another elf, just as gorgeous.” Gildor gave Thranduil a provocative smile. “Is that a good enough reason for you?”
“Yes, this is definitely a very good and very cogent reason,” Thranduil agreed. “Very, very good reason, indeed. But… ” Gildor gave a huff of frustration. “But,” Thranduil went on as if he hadn’t heard, “I have a feeling that there was more to that than you are telling me.”
“There is only one thing I hate more than your ‘whys’. And this is your ‘having a feeling’,” Gildor grumbled.
Thranduil did not reply, just went on looking at him expectantly.
“All right, all right!” Gildor exclaimed in exasperation. “I didn’t bed him because I felt that he wanted it to be something more than just a one night stay. And as I was not going to stay in Lórien, actually was not going to return to it for another millennium, I didn’t want – here goes that stupid phrase of Galadriel – to break his heart. Here. I’ve admitted to having compassion for my fellow-elf. I hope you are happy now.” Gildor threw a dark look at Thranduil. “But you must promise me not to tell anyone, or my cherished Ice Blade reputation will be ruined past redemption.”
“You have my most solemn promise,” Thranduil assured him.
“And *I* promise that if you even mention it again I’ll sleep with him on my way back, just to close the subject. Eru!” Gildor sighed. “It does seem easier to bed him than to explain to you why I haven’t done it yet. It’s really strange, you know. It almost looks like you are trying to push me into his arms.”
Long after Gildor had fallen asleep, Thranduil lay stroking his hair gently and staring into the darkness. ‘Compassion for my fellow-elf.’ Indeed! Interesting... How very, very interesting…

During the days that followed Thranduil did not speak about Gildor’s Lórien encounter again, neither did he ask his friend about the things that were gnawing at him. That there were such things he had no doubt. He watched Gildor covertly and saw that he was brooding, though he hid it well. He saw that the Vanya held his shield raised up once again, though his hands were trembling with exhaustion. Thranduil cursed Gildor’s pride and his stupid code of honour. According to the standards Gildor had set for himself long ago, he always strived to be just perfect in everything, a paragon of guarded emotions and unwavering strength. Weakness was the worst imaginable sin for him. Not to be able to cope with anything and everything on his own was weakness. To need support was weakness. To ask for help was weakness. To *admit* to weakness, to give up control and let others do something for him and instead of him was unspeakable. Langveleg that was what he had since long become.
Thranduil did not make any more attempts to have a heart-to-heart talk with Gildor for words had failed to reach his friend. He tried to find some other way to get through to him, but in vain so far.

The treaty Gildor had brought was duly discussed with the Mirkwood council. After a rather lengthy round of negotiations a compromise was found and the treaty was sighed to the mutual satisfaction of the parties. Gildor then left the council room but Thranduil had to stay as he had some more things to speak to his councilmen about. When the meeting was finally over Thranduil went to look for his friend and found him on the training grounds, engaged in a sparring match with Aranaur. Thranduil sat down on the grass in the shade to watch. Both Gildor and Aranaur were dressed only in leggings and boots and the prince looked much dirtier and sweatier than his opponent. Thranduil smiled to himself. His son was in no way a match for Gildor but these sparring sessions did him a great amount of good, as Gildor was an excellent swordsman and a patient teacher. Thranduil looked at the Vanya marveling anew at the fluid and sure grace of his motions, at the clean lines of his form. In spite of his slenderness there was nothing lanky about him, he was all sinew and rounded muscle and controlled power. He was like a fine sword forged by some ancient blacksmith: all strength and grace and lethal beauty; a weapon to be proud of and to be handled with caution.
Thranduil remembered this metaphor again later in the evening when coming out of his bathroom, he found Gildor standing by the window in the bedchamber. The Vanya was looking onto the garden, lost in his thoughts. He wore nothing but a towel, wrapped around his hips. His bare skin seemed to glow in the moonlight. Erect, proud and dangerously beautiful, he looked like a blade made of silver; or of ice. Thranduil could tell by the set of Gildor’s shoulders that his thoughts were not happy. But the king was sure that when Gildor turned to him, his face would betray none of his worries.
“Burdens are easier to carry if their weight is shared with someone,” Thranduil said.
Gildor looked at him over his shoulder, his expression carefully neutral but his eyes dark and stormy. “I thought we agreed not to speak of it again,” he replied coldly and turned back to the window.
Stubborn, proud fool! Thranduil’s temper suddenly flared up, his worry and frustration gaining the upper hand over his patience and compassion. Gildor did not want to talk? Fine! Words failed to reach him anyway. Perhaps, he would understand things better by feeling them.
Gildor heard Thranduil move and started to turn around, but not fast enough. He was caught off-guard. He felt Thranduil’s strong arms wrap around his waist and the next moment he was hurled onto the bed unceremoniously. Thranduil was on top of him instantly, pinning him to the mattress with his weight. The king caught one strong wrist, slammed it against the headboard above Gildor's head, leaning on the arm with his own. In a flash he had Gildor's other wrist in hand, twisted it up and trapped it with the first. He used one hand to cover both, pressing them hard against the wood of the headboard, as he untied the belt of his bathrobe and used it to bind Gildor’s hands to a bar of the headboard.
Gildor tried to struggle but Thranduil was stronger and had a much better strategic position. When finally Thranduil sat up straddling his hips, Gildor glared up at him; the waves of fury coming from him were almost palpable.
“What are you doing?” the Vanya hissed.
“I want to show you something.”
“I think… ”
“Do not! Do not think, just feel. This is what I want you to do. You cannot do anything about it now. No decisions to make, no responsibility to take. You are helpless here.”
“I do not want it,” Gildor whispered, his eyes wide.
“Exactly. As you do not want but are made to surrender, there isn’t your fault in it. So you can enjoy it and feel no guilt about it. Believe me, there is pleasure to be had in giving up control. It can be restful and fulfilling. And you need it badly.”
“’I promise you’ll enjoy yourself’.” Gildor almost laughed. “I cannot believe it! This is too ironic.” Then he looked up at the king with eyes full of resentment. “Come on, do it already, Thranduil, and let us be through with it.”
Thranduil shook his head. “I do not think we should hurry. This is not about punishment, remember? This is about pleasure and comfort.”
Thranduil shrugged off his bathrobe, stripped away Gildor’s towel and lay on top of his lover. Gildor’s face was expressionless but Thranduil could feel the frantic pounding of Gildor’s heart against his chest. Was it caused by rage or by fear, he wondered? Thranduil kissed Gildor’s lips, gently at first, then more demandingly. The Vanya showed no resistance but refused to cooperate as well. He was tense and unresponsive under Thranduil. But Thranduil would not be discouraged so easily. He started on a thorough job of kissing, licking and nipping at the rigid body beneath him, well-acquainted with Gildor’s most sensitive spots. He felt that the Vanya was making his best efforts to control his body’s reactions but by the time Thranduil reached his abdomen Gildor’s skin was flushed and covered with a fine sheen of sweat and his erection was fully hardened. Though, the only sound Thranduil heard from him was his breath hissing through his clenched teeth.
When Thranduil took him into his mouth, Gildor squeezed his eyes shut and bit hard on his lower lip. His breathing became shallow and quick. Thranduil knew he could bring his lover to completion quite soon in this way but he had other plans for him. When Thranduil sat up and reached for the bedside table, Gildor’s eyes flew open. He followed Thranduil’s every movement, his heart beating so fast that it became almost painful. Thranduil opened the vial of oil, poured a generous amount of it on his palm and slicked Gildor’s straining shaft with it. He thought he could see a tinge of relief in Gildor’s eyes. He shook his head in disbelief. “Gildor, were you really afraid I would take you unwilling?”
Gildor gave him a dark look. “I think anything is possible these days.”
“I told you: do not *think*. Feel.”
Thranduil slowly lowered himself on Gildor’s rigid member and breathed a long sigh as his body accepted the proud length to the hilt. Then he paused to give himself time to adjust to the sensation. Gildor shut his eyes and was biting on his lip again. Thranduil braced his hands on Gildor’s chest and started to move in sure, steady motions. He could feel the Vanya’s heart pounding against his palm but Gildor remained completely still under him. He moved only once when he shifted his hips slightly to change the angle of penetration and Thranduil gave a harsh groan as his pleasure spot was stroked forcefully. Gradually Thranduil built up the rhythm striving to bring his stubborn lover to completion, even if against his will. That Gildor was still fighting his desire was obvious. Thranduil could see blood on his chin: the Vanya bit his lip trying to keep his body in control.
“Let go, Gildor,” Thranduil panted. “Just let go.”
Gildor did not answer. He remained silent to the end. And even when he came, spending himself violently deep inside Thranduil’s body, the only sound that escaped him was a ragged sigh. Thranduil leaned forward swiftly, caught his chin in his hand and gave it a squeeze. “Let me hear you!” he demanded.
Gildor looked up at him defiantly, his eyes only slightly hazed. “Make me.”
Damn this elf’s stubbornness! Thranduil raised himself a little allowing Gildor’s softened member to slide out of his body and then moved forward to straddle Gildor’s chest. The Vanya suddenly found Thranduil’s still stiff and demanding sex right in front of his face.
“As you do not want to talk to me I think I can find other use for your mouth,” Thranduil informed him. He took himself in his hand and demanded, “Open.”
Gildor pressed his lips tightly. Thranduil chuckled at this silent resistance. He caught Gildor’s chin in his hand again and circled his mouth with the leaking head of his erection smearing the Vanya’s lips with his pearly essence. Gildor’s tongue darted out of its own accord to lick at his lips and Thranduil pushed inside his mouth instantly. Gildor sighed and let him in. To fight Thranduil now was out of the question, as he did not want to hurt him. So he relaxed his lips and jaw allowing Thranduil to adjust the force and depth of his thrusts to his liking. Thranduil knew surrender when he saw it. He made Gildor tilt his head a little to be able to sheathe himself fully in the overwhelming though not particularly welcoming warmth of Gildor’s mouth and throat. He knew he would be undone very soon. He could restrain his own body’s demands no longer. He grasped the bars of the headboard and began to thrust in earnest.
As Gildor felt the hot unyielding thing slide down and up his throat he was caught between anger and shame. He closed his eyes and let his mind go blank. And then, to his shocked surprise, he understood that he was actually enjoying it. His body told him quite definitely that it liked every minute of it. Gildor moaned in frustration – would he ever be able to say that he knew himself?
The vibrations produced by Gildor’s moan were the last straw for Thranduil. Crying out his pleasure, he spilled himself deep down his lover’s throat. Then he sat back and looked at Gildor. The Vanya’s face wore a stormy expression; his eyes were wild and haunted. Thranduil felt a sharp pang of fear. Had he made a mistake? Had he misjudged Gildor’s nature so badly? Was his friend too proud to see Thranduil’s point and, thus, had taken affront at what had been done to him?
“Get off me,” Gildor said, his voice strained and hoarse.
Thranduil’s heart sank. “Gildor… ” he started to say.
“Get off me!” Gildor bucked forcefully, throwing Thranduil off.
Thranduil landed on his side and then to his utter surprise and relief he saw that Gildor’s sex was almost fully hardened. “You’ve enjoyed it,” he breathed.
“Untie me,” Gildor demanded. “Now!”
Thranduil reached for the belt and undid the knot. As soon as he was released Gildor rolled over to leave the bed. Though, before he could get up, Thranduil gripped him by the waist and jerked him back. “Admit you enjoyed it!”
Strong and lithe like a panther, Gildor twisted swiftly in his embrace and this time Thranduil was the one who was pinned to the mattress. Gildor glared at him ferociously. “All right, I enjoyed it. But if you ever try to do it again without my consent I swear I’ll never set foot in Mirkwood again.”
“And if I do get your consent?” Thranduil asked innocently.
“If you manage to talk me into it, then you are the most silver-tongued son of a dragon in whole Middle-earth.”

Several days later Gildor left Mirkwood carrying away in his saddlebags the signed treaty between the two elven realms, Legolas’s multi-paged letter to Glorfindel and a healthy amount of Naurdirith with the unique blend of Mirkwood and Imladris flavours.

Merelinen – my nightingale
Langveleg – Ice Blade