Forever Mine, Forever Young

Chapter 2.

“We are here to serve you, if you will but allow it.”

Orli’s breath came very fast then, as he considered what he was being offered. He could feel Sean behind him and Viggo in front of him, and had there ever been any place he wanted to be more?

“Yes,” He answered. Yes, he wanted them to serve him, to take him, as Aragorn and Boromir, as Viggo and Sean, as two men take a third. Totally.

They understood, moving until he was trapped completely between them, both of them older and broader and stronger than he. Barbarians, he thought muzzily to himself. In reality and fantasy. Bent on rape and plunder. Plundering him.

He whined a little, and he wasn’t ashamed of it, because, who wouldn’t? And who wouldn’t want to move, to slide and grind a little against them, with his front against Viggo and his back against Sean. And, oh God, there was so much *man* to slide against. Surely a Legolas thought, that. An elf thought.

Then there was a mouth on his neck and he knew from the smell, the spicy, cinnamon smell, that it was Sean who was nipping at him and making him cling to Viggo’s arms. But Viggo’s arms and hands were moving. They were busy, nimble, ranger’s hands . . . and they were unbuttoning his shirt and touching his skin. His burning skin. *Do elves burn?* he wondered, gasping as Viggo’s fingers tweaked a nipple and Sean’s mouth moved to his shoulder, pushing his shirt off along the way. Maybe only Orlandos catch fire, was his conclusion, as he arched back into Sean’s arms, linking his hands behind the other man’s head.

He knew, from the growl that he heard in front of him, how he must look: blindfolded, half naked, and clinging, arching, backward against Sean. It had to be enticing, even for a king.

Ah, he’d thought so. He felt Viggo’s hands glide over his straining crotch and deal swiftly with his fly. And when Sean gasped into his ear and swore softly, he knew that Viggo had knelt before him. He took his hands from behind Sean’s neck, but the older man caught him and swiftly pinned him with his arms locked behind his back. And then, oh then, Sean began to talk to him. Whispering terrible, naughty things to him.

“D’you know what I see, Legolas, Elven Prince?”

Orli just moaned and shook his head, rubbing his check against Sean’s rough chin.

“I see a king on hises bes before you, with your cock deep in his mouth.” He tightened his hold on Orli’s arms, lifting them higher. “Can you feel it? Can you feel him sucking you, elf?”

The words were dirty but Sean’s voice was gentle and Orli nodded. He could feel it. He could feel Viggo’s familiar mouth around him, and it had been too long since he’d felt it. But he wasn’t thinking about that now. God no. He was thinking about Viggo and Sean, and Sean holding him just so it almost hurt; and thinking about being blind and helpless, and Viggo sucking him off, and bloody hell, Sean *watching* it.

Then Viggo’s finger, wet from his mouth, found its wayt hit his balls to his hole. He went up on his toes, pulling on his and and moaning.

Sean laughed, an arrogant Lord of Gondor laugh, and ground his erection into Orli even as the boy squirmed against Viggo’s finger. “That’s what you’ve been wanting, isn’t it?” He bit Orli’s ear, not gentle any more. “Needy elf, wanton elf.”

Orli clenched his teeth against the wail of pleasure attempting to burst from him, settling for a choked, strangled noise as Sean continued to torment him with words, and Viggo with his tongue and hands. “Later, pretty Elf, pretty Orli, you’ll tell me that you want it. And you’ll tell me how you want it . . .”

But it was his undoing when Sean asked him, “Will you come for us, Elven Prince?” as he slammed his hips into Orli’s and forced the boy’s cock deep into Viggo’s throat. “I want to see his face when you come. I want to see it *on* his face.”

Suddenly the blindfold was slipped away from his eyes and he could see Viggo looking up at him, and Sean’s arms around him, and it was enough.

“Oh God . . .” Orli growled as he came into Viggo mouth, and as the other man pulled away, onto Viggo’s face. Just like Sean had wanted.

Orli felt Sean release his arms, and then the big man picked him up and carried him to the bed, for which he was grateful. He legs were not likely to support him for a while. A long while.

He heard the sounds of Viggo and Sean talking, but he paid little attention, simply trying to breathe and slow his heart rate. And think. He needed to think . . .

Then he noticed. The room was full of candles, and the gentle glow illuminated the two men who were getting undressed, and he was reminded of his earlier thought, Legolas’ thought, that they were barbarians. Big, scruffy, longhaired barbarians. And for the love of God, Sean had captured Viggo’s face and was slowly licking Orli’s come off of it. Viggo was running his hands over Sean’s naked flanks, and Orli, for his part, had never seen anything more fiercely erotic.

He couldn’t help it. He made some small noise, and the two men turned back to him, the candles giving their light-colored eyes a feral gleam. He shivered in fearful delight, all worries once again forgotten, as Sean and Viggo advanced on the bed, hunting him.

But Sean stopped and turned toward the door, muttering about thirst and Viggo let him go, crawling onto the bed alone.

“I’m not done with you yet, love,” he said with his hair falling into his face.

“I should hope not,” Orli replied, “Or I shall be vastly disappointed in your skills as both a man, and a king.”

“Oh,” Sean’s voice came from the foot of the bed. “I would watch what you say, Legolas. Men never like to here *any* of their skills disparaged, particularly by elves who are in want of a good, sound fucking.”

Orli let his eyes fall half-closed, knowing how it made him look, debouched and sexy. “And is it you who are going to do the fucking, Lord of Gondor?”

But Sean only chuckled again, “Perhaps. In the mean time, Orli, or Legolas, a toast to you.” He held up another bottle of pink champagne, and Orli assumed that because he had no glasses, he had been drinking it straight from the bottle. He climbed up onto the bed, knelt over Orli and winked at Viggo, clearing his throat:

To Orli: May God grant you always
A sunbeam to warm you,
a moonbeam to charm you,
a sheltering angel so nothing can harm you.
Laughter to cheer you,
faithful friends near you,
and whenever you pray,
Heaven to hear you.

Orli smiled up at Sean and felt Viggo slide a hand into his. “To Orli,” Viggo announced. “Yes,” Sean agreed, lifting the bottle. “To Orli.” And to Orli’s surprise Sean took a large drink of the champagne but didn’t swallow it, rather he bent down to Orli’s flaccid cock and took it into his mouth, surrounding the sensitive flesh with the cool, bubbly liquid.

Orli squealed and bucked, shocked at the feeling of champagne around his dick, leaking out onto his belly and legs. It felt utterly . . . decadent. It also only lasted until he was aroused again, and then Viggo was pushing him to his knees and he *knew knew knew* what was going to happen as Sean sat in front of him, smiling, with champagne making his lips shiny and Viggo knelt behind him.

This was it. This was what he had wanted, wasn’t it? Hadn’t he dreamt about this? Dreamt about the kind of complete and utter submission that this act would require, and craved it?

Yes.

But wasn’t it wrong, he thought, wrong to want somebody more than Viggo? To want something more than Viggo could give? But couldn’t submitting to this be considered penance? Punishment of a kind that Viggo didn’t understand, but perhaps Sean did?

The thought was fleeting. It had to be, because Viggo had slicked his fingers and was sliding them inside, where things became blurry, and Sean was caressing his face and probing his mouth open for his cock . . . And then, Christ, then it happened.

It happened. He was entered, filled, conquered, invaded, from both sides by two men-- by the two barbarians. And Jesus, if he couldn’t keep that image from coming back again and again. Viggo was fucking him, the only man who ever had, thrusting hard and making him moan around Sean, who for chrissake, was in his mouth. He was taking it from both of them, and liking it. Liking the idea that he was out of control, that he couldn’t get *lower* than this, and that was o.k. And, looking at Sean’s hard face, Orli thought that the other man probably did understand . . .

Yet, they hadn’t degraded him. They weren’t using him. Because . . .there. There was Viggo’s hand on him, stroking him as Orli opened his throat for Sean. And Sean’s gleaming eyes were still opened and locked onto Viggo’s over Orli’s back, and Orli knew, realized, that he was a bridge between them. They could feel each other through him, as they would never dare to any other way. Because of him. Because they loved him.

They were saying so. Both of them. He could hear Viggo, reduced to Danish and Spanish, telling him he loved him, and he could hear Sean murmuring endearments above him. Forgiving him, even though they didn’t know why.

He lost himself in it. Let himself float in the feeling of love and release that came from allowing himself to be taken, fucked in the most *complete* way.

He came first, he body convulsing on Viggo, bringing the other man with him, and then Sean a moment later.

Sensing what he wanted,ded,ded, both of them left their mark on him, on his back, and on his face and neck.

And then lying there, entangled with them both and covered in their come, Orli forgot his worries, absolved, for a time.

TBC