Ahyamë

Title: Ahyamë : Change
Chapter: Fourteen
Author: Orchyd Constyne and Ashek Thordin
Contact: ashekandorchyd@gmail.com
Website: http://www.hithanaur.net/
Update List: http://groups.yahoo.com/group/nairn_orchyd/
Fandom: LOTR
Archive: OEAM
Feedback: Yes! Always!
Disclaimer: We do not own LotR or any characters, lands, or items from the Tolkien world. They belong to their respective copyright holders.
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: slash, het, incest, twincest, rape, torture, BDSM, kink, mpreg (eventually), violence, angst
Beta: Helena Snow-Renn, Chloe Amethyst
Cast: Thranduil/Erestor, Thranduil/Gwindor, Gwindor/Erestor, Gwindor/Thranduil/Erestor, Maglor/Maedhros, Maglor/Daeron, Maedhros/Fingon, Daeron/Thranduil, Thranduil/OMC, Daeron/OMC, Erestor/OMC, Glorfindel/Gelmir, Amrod/Amras, Legolas/OMC, Námo/Ingwë, OMC/OMC, OFC/OFC, OMC/OFC... just to name a few!
Summary: In the Seventh Age of Man, all the Elves who had wandered through Arda have returned to the shores of Aman.
Author Note: This fic is dedicated to the memory of Di, who had been a great lady. She left us far too soon.

---

April, Lórien, Aman

Gwindor ran up the remaining stairs and into the moonlit room, a slight breeze ruffling his dark hair and causing him to shiver with a grin. He leaned back against the trunk of the tree, breathless and aroused, his cheeks flushed from chasing Thranduil to the Elvenking's flet. As he looked around, however, Thranduil was nowhere to be seen. The shadows of the room were ever-changing as the wind blew through the leaves, throwing the surfaces of the ornate furniture and the smooth wooden floor into deeper contrasts. For a few moments, Gwindor searched the flet with dark eyes, but soon the wind settled, and with it came columns of indiscernible gloom. In the silence, Gwindor's heart pounded in excitement, and he took a careful step away from the silvery bark of the trunk, knowing Thranduil could not be far.

Shadows hid him well, and Thranduil used them to his advantage. He stalked towards Gwindor with the silence and grace of a great cat, a feral smile on his lips. How long had he wanted the Noldo? How long had he waited? This was his reward for the patience and understanding he had not known he possessed. He reached out, arms wrapping around Gwindor's waist, and he pulled the other Elf against his chest. His lips teased Gwindor's ear as he breathed, "I've caught you." Thranduil drew his tongue up the outside edge of his lover's ear, chuckling richly as he pressed his arousal against Gwindor's backside.

A startled yelp escaped Gwindor, and he inwardly cursed the way Thranduil could escape his keen sense of hearing. Such thoughts were quickly lost when he felt his body pressed against the taller Elf's strong frame. His laughter lilted up as he pushed back, squirming playfully, though he had no intention of escaping. "You have," he conceded with a sharp intake of breath, his voice little more than a purr as he continued to pant. "What do you plan to do now?"

"I possess a varied imagination," Thranduil murmured. He slipped his hand down Gwindor's stomach, the tips of his fingers playing along the ridge hidden under fabric. His other arm tightened as Gwindor squirmed, and he nosed thick hair out of his way. Thranduil's lips parted, and his tongue slid along the pale flesh of Gwindor's throat.

Gwindor stilled; he had to bite his lip to keep from moaning. A shiver ran the length of his spine as he reached up behind him, burying his hand in Thranduil's silken hair. His fingertips shook as they drew down along scalp, ears, and neck. "You are not the only commander of forces in this room," he reminded Thranduil, pulling teasingly on a lock of the blond's hair.

"Ah, but I am the only king," Thranduil whispered before he bit Gwindor's neck gently. "All within my kingdom kneel before me." His hand cupped the Noldo's erection firmly, his voice thick with desire. The caress to his ear and neck caused him to pulse against Gwindor's buttocks, and a moan tumbled from his mouth. He returned to the spot on Gwindor's throat he had bitten and sucked the skin between his lips once more. Thranduil felt the rapid pulse under his tongue, and he lightly worked until the flesh became hot and flushed.

Gwindor's moan was low, a deep rumble in his chest as he let his head fall back and to the side. While one hand continued teasing Thranduil's ear with soft pinches, the other gripped at the Elvenking's thigh and backside. A flush of arousal bloomed on his features, colouring his cheeks and warming his skin even further. "What would it take to make a king kneel before a simple warrior?"

Thranduil's breath hitched at the image that came to his mind. "A valiant warrior deserves the praise of his king," Thranduil breathed, stepping around Gwindor, his hands clinging. His bright blue eyes never left Gwindor's grey gaze as he gracefully fell to his knees before him. Very rarely had Thranduil taken this position with his lovers; in fact, only two in his memory had been gifted with his submission in this manner. His long fingers moved along Gwindor's narrow hips and across his pelvis to the laces restraining his lover's arousal. Eyes ever on Gwindor's, Thranduil unlaced the trousers, exposing the hard flesh. "The highest praise," he said, his voice full of want. He licked up the gentle curve of Gwindor's erection, and in a swift, practiced motion, he swallowed the Noldo whole.

A sharp cry pierced the hush that had settled over the flet. Gwindor threw his head back and wound his fingers into his lover's hair, anchoring himself as an intense wave of pleasure rushed through him. His pulse surged as he righted himself. The sight of Thranduil on his knees before him was one of the most erotic visions Gwindor had ever seen. His lover's eyes, darkened to midnight blue with arousal, were utterly ensnaring, and Gwindor had trouble breathing as he watched Thranduil pleasure him. "Just *any* valiant warrior?" he asked with another moan, fingers tightening for a moment. "How many have... had you like this, Thranduil?"

Slowly, he allowed Gwindor's shaft to slip from his lips. Slick with fluid, they curved into an honest, amused smile. "Not just any. In fact, no warrior has before passed my lips. A bard and a scribe," Thranduil explained. "Two who hold places of honour within my heart." He took Gwindor back into his mouth, deep into his throat. Convulsively, he swallowed around the long shaft, savouring the feel of the organ. It surprised him how much he craved this, and how eager he was to taste Gwindor's seed. Thranduil took Gwindor with swift, sure movements, determined to bring the other Elf to a blinding climax.

Warmth stirred in the depths of Gwindor's torso, something that transcended lust and brought a brilliant smile to his face. His eyes fluttered shut, and his bangs fell into his eyes as the night's breeze rustled once again through the flet. Encouraging Thranduil with gentle movements of his hips, Gwindor moaned passionately. The sensation was exquisite, and when Thranduil began expertly moving up and down upon him, his eyes locked onto the place where his flesh disappeared into the blond's mouth. It was only a short time before Gwindor felt his body begin to tighten with release, and he pulled urgently at Thranduil, hands and voice pleading for him to ease off.

Thranduil paused, having been caught up in what he had been doing, and allowed Gwindor to slip from between his lips. He looked up at his lover, his face flushed and lips swollen, and smiled lazily. "I don't believe I've ever been asked to stop," he murmured.

Gwindor's breathing was erratic and it took several moments for him to articulate a response. "So perfect..." he complimented breathlessly. "Just... not yet..." His shaking fingers combed through Thranduil's hair, caressing lightly along the strong features of jaw and cheeks, trailing down the lines of the Elf's neck. "Trust me... this is no slight to your skill."

Drawing Thranduil close to him, Gwindor bent at his waist. He outlined Thranduil's swollen lips with his tongue before kissing the Elf deeply, the taste of himself mingled with that of the Elvenking strange, but not unpleasant. Gwindor's wandering hands settled at Thranduil's jaw line and gently drew him up to a standing position again. Finally breaking their kiss, Gwindor brushed the hair away from Thranduil's ear and, leaning in with a small lick, he whispered words he never thought he would say. "I want you inside me, Thranduil. I want you to take me."

A shudder travelled down Thranduil's body, and he moaned as his eyes fluttered. "You are certain?" he breathed, lips ghosting against Gwindor's cheek. He didn't want to do anything Gwindor wasn't ready for, and he hadn't expected to be asked that for... actually, he hadn't expected to be asked ever.

Gwindor smirked up at Thranduil, his eyes shining brightly through the dark bangs that had fallen into his face. "I brought it up, didn't I?"

Thranduil's body thrummed with the desire Gwindor roused within him. His hands gripped tightly at his lover's body, their groins rubbing absently as Thranduil clung to what little reason still resided within his lust-addled mind. "We don't have to," he insisted, cupping Gwindor's backside to press them closer together.

Blushing when a wanton moan escaped him, Gwindor let his nails scrape lightly over Thranduil's pulse. "I want to. Please, Thranduil..."

Slowly, Thranduil walked Gwindor backwards until they reached the edge of the bed. His lips teased further at the Noldo's throat while his hands unlaced and removed the shirt hiding Gwindor's torso. "Anything, Gwindor," he swore, nipping the underside of his jaw. "I will give you anything." The words were heartfelt, and his hands moved over newly exposed skin, mapping the planes and angles of the dark-haired Elf's chest. Thranduil's thumbs brushed over Gwindor's nipples until the flesh tightened, adoring each sound Gwindor uttered. Fingers hooked into the waistband of Gwindor's trousers and, with a grin, Thranduil swept them down and away. He paused for a moment, staring up at the body revealed, and need rushed through his blood. "By the Valar, I want you," Thranduil confessed hotly against a hip as he rose from the floor.

Though his skin was already flushed, Gwindor's cheeks darkened a shade. He had never heard such words directed at him; he had never fully *desired* to hear them. But the tone of Thranduil's voice, all that he could hear in those sonorous words that were breathed against his skin, somehow put his heart and mind at ease, filling him with warmth, desire, and a strange, abiding trust. While Thranduil rose again, Gwindor let his hands run along the planes of the blond's bronzed chest and abdomen. Pausing at the nipple rings, he flicked the mithril several times with the tips of his fingers, and then circled around them until the flesh pebbled.

Thranduil cupped Gwindor's face, taking the other Elf's mouth in a deep, passionate kiss. His tongue slipped between lips, duelled and caressed Gwindor's. Quiet, needy groans were fed into the mating of mouths. Never before had he given such voice to his desires, and now, he couldn't keep silent! His chest arched into Gwindor's touch, each movement of the fingers sending bolts of pleasure through his body to settle in his groin. He did not rush their foreplay, drawing out every moment, for in the far reaches of his mind, Thranduil feared this was all he would ever have from Gwindor -- and thus, this one night had to last him for an eternity.

Pliant in Thranduil's arms, Gwindor hummed his pleasure into the kiss, enjoying the possessive strength in Thranduil's movements. His fingers continued their ministrations, pinching and twisting gently until his head became light and his hands stilled from the distraction. Reluctantly, he pulled his lips from Thranduil's, gasping for breath. Pressing small kisses along his lover's cheek, Gwindor whispered, "I want you, Thranduil."

The unspoken 'now' was loud enough for Thranduil to hear, and he smiled while fingers trailed up and down the curve of Gwindor's backside. He gently pushed Gwindor to the mattress, and, gazing down at his lover, shed his trousers. Crawling onto the bed, he dragged his tongue from navel to throat, growling when he bit lightly at Gwindor's chin. He was trying very hard to take his time, make it last, but Thranduil gave off the impression of an impatient, wild animal eager for the kill. His hand slid between their bodies, stroked along a tense thigh. "Spread your legs," he whispered against kiss-swollen lips, eyes dark and knowing.

Gwindor shuddered in anticipation, and slowly parted his thighs. There was no hesitation, no haze of doubt or cause for anxiety. Gwindor's trust in Thranduil was absolute, and his eyes seemed to spark in the moonlight as he gazed up eagerly at his lover. He bit his lip when Thranduil's mouth went on the move again, his teeth grazing against the skin of his throat and neck, biting every so often. He could not contain his voice for long, and soon his back was arching wantonly. Gwindor pressed into every touch, and he reached up to smooth Thranduil's hair back from the beautifully shadowed face.

Thranduil's slick fingers penetrated gently, forcing a possessive growl from him. Gwindor clenched around him, the tightness overwhelming to Thranduil. He returned to Gwindor's mouth, kissing him repeatedly, each one deepening every time the finger thrust further in. He ached to take Gwindor, to mark the Elf as his like no other had. Burning eyes gazed down while fingers parted from body. "I will never harm you," he murmured, positioning himself against Gwindor. "Never." With tenderness Thranduil only exhibited with one of his lovers, he eased himself into Gwindor's body, blue eyes locked with grey, breath held in respect for this sacrosanct moment.

It was breathtakingly intense, the way Gwindor's mind and spirit were filled to the brim along with his body. His grip on Thranduil tightened as he was entered, and he forgot to breathe for a moment, the sapphire eyes above him holding him captive. Several heartbeats passed before Gwindor released a breathy moan, his gaze never leaving Thranduil's though his head fell back in pleasure.

Dipping his head down, Thranduil licked and sucked along Gwindor's throat. He nuzzled near Gwindor's ear as he made that first withdraw, pushing forward with just a little more force than he had initially used. Thranduil groaned quietly, and his hands gripped the bedsheets, the pleasure acute and wondrous. He set an easy, enjoyable rhythm for them, keeping eye contact with his lover.

Gwindor hissed his appreciation, his senses in near overload as he pushed easily into Thranduil's rhythm, into the profound fullness of their joined bodies. Gwindor whimpered against the silken hair pressed to his cheek, his voice thick with emotion. "Thranduil..."

His name whispered with so much meaning... Thranduil had never heard anything so beautiful. He wrapped his arms tightly around Gwindor and brought their lips together. Thranduil's pace became fast and sure, his body so close to what it craved. He buried his face back against the side of Gwindor's throat, biting more harshly into the skin when he shuddered, a moan pressed to the flesh. His mind was completely awash in white, his body shaking as he held himself in check, waiting for Gwindor. His belly moved slickly over Gwindor's hot arousal, and Thranduil's fingers dug into the muscles along his lover's sides, his body swelling within the Noldo.

Heat overtook Gwindor, and in a single blinding moment he felt closer than he had been to any other. Sensation seemed to erupt all around him, from every nerve in his body, and he cried out as his body tightened. His fingers clung to Thranduil's shoulders as he arched and his muscles contracted in rippling waves. Then all seemed lost in light and sound.

Thranduil groaned as muscles clutched and pulled at him, and holding back his release was no longer possible. His climax rushed through his body as he slid deep into Gwindor, his seed flooding the gripping passage. On a shaky breath he whispered Gwindor's name, feeling the restless impatience of his spirit still for the first time in millennia. His limbs twitched with the aftermath of their coupling, and he pressed damp, affectionate kisses along Gwindor's shoulder and throat.

Gwindor collapsed, his whole body throbbing in time with his racing pulse. Hearing Thranduil breathe his name brought another wave of warmth through him, more subtle, but no less profound. His hands shook as his senses slowly cleared, and he guided Thranduil's lips to his with trembling fingers.

The kiss was the sweetest touch Thranduil had ever experienced. He stared down at Gwindor's face, lips hovering over lips, awe reflected in his eyes. "Promise you will be here when dawn comes," he breathed, a shadow of insecurity in his sapphire gaze.

With a soft caress to Thranduil's cheek, Gwindor smiled, tears reflected in his dark eyes. "I will be here. I promise."

---

Gwindor gasped as he awoke with a start, his body still humming from his dream. It took him only a moment to realise he had sullied the sheets of his bed, along with the linen trousers he had been given. A sticky mess near his groin gave away the pleasure he had felt in his sleep, and, with no small amount of embarrassment, Gwindor slowly peeled the sheets away from his sweaty body, hissing as he was met with a draft of cool air.

His face burned as he shakily sat, swinging his legs to the side of the small cot. Cradling his forehead in his hands, Gwindor struggled to catch his breath and calm his racing heartbeat. What, in Eru's name, had just happened?

He knew, of course, and the knowledge made him blush even further. As his breathing steadied out, he slowly stood. His trousers were distinctly uncomfortable and tacky against his skin, and he leaned stiffly against one of the supports of his small hut. Rain fell steadily in the late evening, and a small column of water drained off the corner of the roof.

After looking out into the gloom of the torrent, Gwindor stripped and cleansed himself. Confusion raged in his mind as he dressed in clean, dry trousers. He could not deny the pleasure he had felt, and the memory of the intensity of Thranduil's gaze made his heart race. What did it mean, though? He had come to Lórien to escape Thranduil, and instead, he had experienced the most vivid, pleasurable dream he had ever been blessed with. Why?

His flush deepened as he knew Lord Irmo had intimate knowledge of what he'd just enjoyed, and the shame was unbearable. He gazed out at the rain, shivering as a gust of icy wind blew through the hut, and he swallowed. If he wanted to receive any answers, he would have to ask the one who had them. Gwindor closed his eyes and opened his mouth, two words issued to the violent storm.

"Lord Irmo."

---

Thranduil groaned as he rolled onto his back, the rain pelting his overheated, aroused body. It had been too long since he'd last had such a dream, and never had they been so vivid! He threw his forearm over his eyes, trying to ignore the lingering visions of Gwindor in the throes of passion, but his body refused to allow him peace. Cursing loudly, Thranduil did the only thing he knew to do in such a situation.

His left hand travelled down the length of his body, skating easily over rain-slicked skin. He wrapped his fingers around his shaft, hissing at much-desired contact. It was not what he desperately craved, as it was Gwindor's fingers, his mouth, his body he wanted. When dawn came, he would be alone still, in the forest, lost to nature until his mind cleared. How could it clear when Irmo insisted on forcing images of desire on him?

"Gwindor," Thranduil moaned as he stroked himself. It was not the taking of Gwindor's body that filled Thranduil's mind. The fantasy he wove was of kneeling before the Noldo, that slim, long organ sliding between his lips over and over. Mild bitterness would coat the back of his throat each time Gwindor thrust into him, and Thranduil would hollow his cheeks, suck upon him with abandon. He would work the shaft until Gwindor's fingers dug into his shoulders, until his lover was buried to the hilt within his throat and his senses were flooded with nothing but a cry of completion and warm saltiness.

Thranduil arched on the rain-soaked ground, shouting to the sky as his muscles convulsed, his seed spattering up his belly and chest. He lay there, panting with his eyes clenched tightly, and his hand fell from his spent member. Finally, he opened his eyes and stared up at the sky.

There was no easing his restless spirit, and Gwindor would never be his.

He didn't even want the damned Noldo.

Angrily, Thranduil stood, bare feet sinking in the muddy earth, and he began to run. Something inside of him, though, whispered that he could never run far enough, fast enough, to escape himself. Thranduil begged to differ as he bent his head to the wind and rain, his feet carrying him swiftly through the dark forest, away from dreams of creamy skin flushed with need and charcoal eyes moist with loving tears.

TBC...