Ahyamë

Title: Ahyamë : Change
Chapter: Six
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 Fifth 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.

---

November, Tirion, Aman

Erestor laughed. "You cannot be serious!"

Thranduil frowned, as he was very much serious, and his annoyance was clear on his face. His eyes glinted conspiratorially as he said, "It is a situation that must be remedied."

Erestor looked back down at his book with a scoff, turning to the next page. "Yes, well... I doubt establishing a House of Consorts in the heart of Tirion will change social conservatism."

"We won't know unless I try," Thranduil said with a haughty lift of his chin. He leaned on the nearest bookshelf of his rather impressive personal library. "Erestor, I go without company far too often! I've resulted to calling upon you almost every week now! This is a travesty!"

"It is the way of the Noldor, I'm afraid." Erestor did not look up from his book, though his mouth curved into a small grin. "Just consider yourself lucky that I so frequently make time for you... and that Elrond is forgiving. My duties have been allocated to two others on my days off so I can slake your desires, meldir." Even in Aman, the Imladris councillor worked tirelessly. And he was *good* at what he did, the product of millennia of experience. That Elrond had needed two Elves to replace him spoke volumes.

Thranduil snorted. "You like slaking my desires, Erestor." His voiced turned into a sensual purr as he continued. "In fact, you like slaking them several times in your days off. I've yet to hear a complaint out of you except when I *stop*."

"If I recall correctly, *you* are the one with the tendency to pounce me when I am minding my own business," Erestor quipped, trying his best to ignore that purr as he was forced to read the same paragraph for the third time. "You have nothing to complain about."

"I believe it was you who was complaining," Thranduil murmured, pitching his voice in the manner he knew tended to go right to a lover's more sensitive parts. He pushed away from the bookshelf, eyes dark and lazy, his smile almost feral, and crossed the room to Erestor's side. "I dislike complaint."

A shiver ran the length of his spine as his friend's voice deep and enticing called to something primal inside him. Erestor forced his eyes to stay on the flowing Tengwar script of the book in his hands, but when he read through the same section for the fifth time, a twinge of annoyance coloured his voice. "And I dislike being interrupted as I read." Not that his book was overly exciting -- a study of the various plants which could be harvested for use in dyes -- but that was beside the point.

Thranduil reached out, his hand sliding under the thick, black hair at the nape of Erestor's neck. "There is a simple solution to that." His right hand snatched the book from Erestor's hands, tossing it to a nearby table. "Now I cannot interrupt you, can I?"

Erestor made a show of twisting his face into the perfect expression of disapproval. "I was in the middle of a sentence, you chuff git."

"And you love me just as I am." Thranduil bent down, licking from the lobe of Erestor's ear to the pointed tip. "Don't you?" he whispered hotly against the wet skin.

Erestor's facade cracked a bit as he bit back a moan that threatened to escape his lips. "Don't... come between a scribe and his books..." he gritted out in warning, though his resistance was weak to begin with and in serious danger of faltering with the Elvenking so close. Rising from his chair a bit, he leaned forward to retrieve his book from the table, stubbornly refusing to give into Thranduil's advances.

Thranduil was not an Elf who took to rejection. Before Erestor could reach the table, Thranduil had wrapped his arms around his lover and pulled him towards the sofa. "Don't come between a king and his desires," he murmured, taking Erestor's mouth in a heated, dominating kiss. He fell back into the cushions of the sofa and, without consulting Erestor -- their mouths too busy for words -- settled the Noldo across his thighs. Suckling Erestor's tongue, Thranduil's hands made their way down the scribe's narrow waist, over his hips, and lower, to cup his buttocks and press their groins closer together with a moan.

Hopeless in the wake of such an onslaught, Erestor gave in instantly, all resistance crumbling like a sand castle caught in the tide. Straddling his lover, his hands gripped at Thranduil's neck and shoulder for several moments before sliding up into the blond's hair. Moaning into Thranduil's mouth, he brought his fingertips to the Elf's ears, running them up and down the pierced outer shells lightly.

With a gasp, Thranduil pulled away from Erestor's mouth. His sapphire eyes glittered from under golden lashes as he rocked their bodies against one another. His favourite spot to be touched was his ears, and Erestor was driving him to distraction. "You... didn't answer my... question..." he panted, lips finding their way to Erestor's throat. "Answer it." He punctuated the command with a sharp, intense bite at the junction of throat and shoulder, hands gripping tightly to Erestor's backside.

Erestor's eyes went wide, and his breath caught in his throat before releasing in a shaky cry. "Yes," he breathed, the pain emanating from the sensitive skin of his neck making his growing arousal all the more acute. "Yes, I love you as you are... infuriating... barbarian."

***

Gwindor had been setting up his workspace in the kitchen to prepare the midday meal when a note caught his attention. Sighing, he read the short sentence a few times, Rhovandir's handwriting legible and precise. Thranduil wanted something specific for luncheon, but had not related precisely *what* to Rhovandir, and Gwindor stood there for a long moment, considering the option of ignoring the piece of paper and continuing with his planned meal. But he could not pretend Rhovandir failed to relay the message, especially when it was expertly placed where he could easily see it. Untying his apron, Gwindor sighed once more and exited the kitchen to search out Thranduil.

He rounded the final corner of the hallway leading to the Elvenking's personal library. Thranduil, no doubt, had something planned that --

Gwindor stopped dead in his tracks a few steps into the library, his eyes becoming impossibly wide as they took in the scene of Thranduil in a very compromising position with Erestor, the Elf Gwindor had met but three days prior in the Tirion library.

"I..." he flushed a deep shade of crimson. "The door was... and I... Excuse me." He bowed quickly to Thranduil before turning, prepared to flee.

Thranduil lifted his face from Erestor's neck, eyes dazed and face flushed. "Gwindor?" He'd forgotten the other Noldo was in the house. The damned prat, interrupting a completely good tryst! Thranduil groaned, resting his head on Erestor's shoulder, but making no move to part their bodies. "What do you need, Gwindor?"

Though he wished very much to leave, Gwindor slowly turned to face the pair, his eyes averted and partially hidden by his dark bangs. "You... left word that I was to... seek your wishes for luncheon." Valar, he felt he would die of embarrassment if he were made to stay much longer.

Erestor, panting and undeniably aroused astride Thranduil's thighs, bit back his chagrin and the amused laugh that threatened to escape him. So much for revealing his relationship with Thranduil *gradually* to the younger Noldo.

"I was in the middle of having exactly what I wanted for luncheon," Thranduil muttered. And just to be a bastard, he allowed one of his hands to slide forward around Erestor's body and stroke his erection through his trousers. "Care to join me?" he asked, devilish eyes turning to Gwindor.

Shock was evident in the wide charcoal eyes as Gwindor's head shot up and, if it was possible, his face turned a shade darker. Luckily, Erestor responded before Gwindor could find his voice, a muffled moan lilting softly in the silence of the library. "Thranduil," he admonished, even as his hands tightened in the blond's hair.

Thranduil sighed. "Erestor." He looked up into his lover's eyes. "I can send him off to putter about in the kitchen while I bring us both shattering, fulfilling climaxes, and then we can dress and go have luncheon with the prudish Noldo." He smiled, all teeth and acid. "Does that sound agreeable, Councillor?"

"Stop it, Thranduil. You are scaring him," he whispered, resting his forehead on Thranduil's shoulder as he fought to not moan loudly and distress the Elf further. Indeed, Gwindor did look a bit like a frightened child with the way his posture collapsed in and his face became partially hidden again by his dark hair... but Erestor could not deny that Thranduil's plan corresponded with his own desires, which he conveyed with subtle movements of his hips.

With more consideration than he felt like giving, Thranduil softened his tone as he spoke to Gwindor once more. "Make enough for three, and I don't much care what it is you make, so long as it is edible. We will come to the kitchen in a little while. Now, go," he ordered, eyes smouldering as he stared at Gwindor with open sensuality and arousal.

Swallowing against his heartbeat, Gwindor hurriedly squeaked out, "Yes, Sire." He all but fled out the door, rushing back to his kitchen as if it was a haven, impenetrable by the sexual predilection of Thranduil and all the harsh memories that seemed to push through his consciousness. He sat for many moments before he could continue with the task appointed to him, eyes squeezed shut against the images that threatened to overwhelm him as he tried to calm his breathing and forget what he had just seen. Slowly, however, the sounds and smells of the kitchen soothed him as they always had, and he simply baked, concocted, and cooked away his troubles.

***

"That was... particularly evil of you," Erestor moaned loudly as soon as he thought Gwindor far enough away to not hear him.

Thranduil began to unlace Erestor's trousers. "He annoys me," he said, slipping his hand between the ties to stroke hard flesh. "His... prudish innocence is grating."

Erestor groaned, his hips moving of their own accord into Thranduil's grasp. "You do know -- Ai! -- who he is, don't you? What he... endured?" He knew Thranduil paid little attention to Noldorin history, but surely he had done a bit of research after Gwindor had arrived. The smallest footnote about Guilin's elder son was more than adequate to give a bit of depth to Gwindor's actions, in Erestor's opinion.

"Rhovandir mentioned his spending a lengthy stay in Angband," he said, licking along Erestor's collarbone as his hand moved between the Noldo's legs in a building rhythm. "I have little desire to scour through your histories to locate what, if anything of note, happened in that pit." Thranduil ceased his actions at Erestor's groin, choosing instead to yank his shirt up and over his dark head. His right hand rested on Erestor's hip, his left sliding back under fabric and embracing his shaft in a tight grip. With a rakish smile, Thranduil's mouth surrounded a pert nipple, sucking and nipping gently as he expertly worked his lover's body.

"There aren't many accounts," he responded quickly in that brief respite as his shirt was tossed aside. Even in Aman, those who had been tortured in the deep pits of the Iron Prison rarely shared their experiences. "I can... Gods, Thranduil! ...give you notes later." His voice was then lost in a shuddering groan as his hands clenched in Thranduil's hair, holding the Elf's mouth to his chest as he undulated against the wicked hand on his length.

Thranduil suckled forcefully at one nipple, and then he began on the other. His thumb swiped over the slick head of Erestor's sex; he pulled away, staring up at his lover with hungry eyes. "I want you in my mouth, buried in my throat. I want to feel your seed slide down my throat, Erestor," he whispered, his breathing harsh as he squeezed his hand around the hot shaft.

A forceful moan was the only response Erestor could manage as his chest began to ache, and his groin throbbed painfully in time with his rapid heartbeat. Leaning down, he dared to pull Thranduil's lips to his in a deep, fiery kiss, before releasing him and sliding off Thranduil's lap. He stood, albeit a bit unsteadily, and removed his trousers, sliding the dark fabric down his long legs. Gathering his long hair, he twisted it and threw it over his shoulder, waiting for Thranduil's direction.

The Elvenking smiled, standing as well. He guided Erestor to sit on the arm of the sofa, his feet on the cushions, and he knelt on the sofa, hands on the insides of Erestor's thighs. "I will mend things with Gwindor," he murmured. And he would, as he hated the Elf to be frazzled because of him.

Erestor took the position with a smirk. "If I fall from this perch, Thranduil, I swear--" but the threat never passed his lips as the sight of Thranduil between his legs stole his breath away. With a wild grin, Thranduil ducked his head and drew his tongue over the tip of Erestor's length, rolling the clear fluid around in his mouth. Erestor shivered at the first touch of the blond's tongue on his heated flesh, reaching to brush an errant strand of spun gold behind the Elf's ear.

"Perfect," Thranduil purred, and then he took Erestor into his mouth. Erestor's other hand joined the first, and he cried out harshly as he was suddenly seated deep in Thranduil's throat. Very few were given the privilege of receiving such favour from the Elvenking, and Erestor found himself as awed as ever by Thranduil's skill. The Sinda was one of the most skilled Elves he had come by in this act, as he had made it his life's mission to master sex in every manner. It was Daeron who had taught him all there was to know about pleasuring a lover with his mouth, and he had only improved on Ages-old lessons. Erestor had continued the chain of knowledge, learning all he could from Thranduil in this respect, but his mentor, Erestor feared, would always be superior in this particular case.

Thranduil sucked on the head of Erestor's sex before diving down and embedding him in his clutching throat again with a loud, rumbling groan. He built a steady rhythm, driving Erestor's shaft as deeply into his throat as he was able, his lips brushing against the flesh of his lover's groin. He had no need of his hands to stroke what his mouth could not consume, as Thranduil had yet to find an organ he could not swallow with ease. More than once, he had been told he would have made an excellent whore, but he had merely laughed the comment aside. He had no desire for pay for his sexual games. His hands gripped at Erestor's hips, keeping the scribe balanced on the sofa's arm as his speed and the strength of his suction increased with his fervour. Thranduil adored the flavour and feel of Erestor's sex, as he found it ideal for the Noldo's size and form. Each time he fell down on the hard flesh, he swallowed with as much force as possible, and then he drew back up, tongue swirling around the tip, before he repeated himself. Over and over, he assailed Erestor's arousal, intent on making the beautiful Elf scream with pleasure.

As Thranduil's pace increased, so too did Erestor's cries, both in frequency and intensity. He could hardly help himself, with how deftly Thranduil worked him, knowing his preferences but also surprising him every so often by enhancing his patterned movement with unforeseen pleasures. Sweat broke out on his skin as it flushed under Thranduil's attentions, and in his rare moments of coherency, he stroked his lover's ears, fiddling with the piercings and pinching the sensitive tips. "Thranduil!" he gasped with a shudder as he felt his climax approaching. Such perfection between the Elvenking's lips!

A scrape of teeth was added as Thranduil felt Erestor begin to swell. He redoubled his efforts, moaning wantonly around the shaft in his mouth, his own arousal burning hotter as his ears were touched. Thranduil forgot that anyone else might be in the house, forgot everything but the pleasures found in this room with this Elf at this very moment.

He was a creature who lived in the moment, fearing his past, ignoring his future, finding himself always seeking the moment that would encompass all moments, which would ease his troubled heart and breathe life into his dead soul. Millennia had passed, and since Arasiel's death, none had quickened his heart or enlivened his spirit for any true length of time. Instead of lamenting that, Thranduil threw himself into an endless stream of lovers and consorts, Elves who spent a night with him and were sent from his side before dawn.

Except Elves like Erestor.

Erestor, whose quiet wisdom and affectionate understanding challenged Thranduil's opinions of love and friendship.

Thranduil's grip tightened on slim hips, and he took Erestor in down to the base, swallowing repeatedly around him, milking his lover through the steps towards release.

It was everything Thranduil had promised: shattering and fulfilling, his body brought to the heights of pleasure by his lover's mouth. Erestor screamed his release, the sound keen and echoing off the book-filled walls up to the high ceiling. With a powerful surge of his hips, and an arching contraction of his back and neck, he spilled himself down Thranduil's throat. His body was on fire for a few blissful moments before he slumped forward over his lover's shoulders, his black hair falling about them both and sticking to sweat-kissed skin.

Everything Erestor offered, Thranduil drank without hesitation. His mouth moved over Erestor's sex until the flesh began to soften and his lover's moans became whimpers. Only then did Thranduil lift his head, cheeks flushed, lips swollen and slick, his eyes like midnight. "You taste as wonderful as ever, meldir," he whispered, kissing up Erestor's stomach and chest until their lips were almost touching. "So wonderful..."

"Barbaric... Wood-Elf..."

Thranduil laughed softly, licking Erestor's lips sensually. "I revel in my barbarism, lover. As do you."

"Guilty as charged, I'm afraid," Erestor chuckled, slowly catching his breath. "What is to be my punishment?"

"Hmm," Thranduil mused, lying back on the sofa. His fingers slowly began to work on the laces of his trousers. "I think it best if you learned how to keep silent." With a final flick of his wrist, Thranduil bared his arousal to Erestor's sight, full and heavy with unspent desire. He raised an eyebrow expectantly, fingers lightly stroking his own erection.

"I am rarely silent with you," Erestor mused with a smirk, waiting a few moments until his pulse returned to normal before leaning forward. Eyes still dark and dilated, he looked up at Thranduil as he batted away the blond's hand and licked from the base of the shaft up to the leaking tip, where he swirled his tongue before sucking the head of the ample length into his mouth. With a slick sound, he pulled away every so often, mixing the element of sound with sensation as he sucked eagerly and hummed against the dark flesh.

Thranduil hissed, his eyes never leaving Erestor's face. He watched as his lover lavished attention upon his sex, reaching down to stroke his fingers through Erestor's dark hair. "Yes," he breathed, impressed with the vague vibration travelling along his shaft.

Opening his mouth wide, Erestor moved down the hot column slowly so that each fraction of the flesh passing his lips was felt keenly by his lover. Once Thranduil was seated as deeply as he could take him, he lifted a hand to encircle the rest of the shaft he could not take in, pumping in a steady rhythm that closely mirrored the languid actions of his mouth and throat. After swallowing a few times, he drew his mouth back up the shaft, increasing his suction the closer he came to the tip and flicking his tongue across the slit before plunging back down quickly. He varied his speed upon the thick column, sometimes swift and other times painfully slow. Eventually, his variance lessened and a rhythm emerged, building as he bobbed his head and stroked with a firm grip.

He was a quiet lover. Very few had ever moved Thranduil to voicing his pleasures, and Arasiel had been the last. He knew Erestor did not expect noise from him, and he relaxed utterly under the scribe's ministration. Thranduil panted, his body moving in time with Erestor's movements, his hands tugging gently at the black locks wrapped around his fingers. He whispered direction, encouragement; Thranduil was a master of his own body, and he let himself go. He allowed himself to be pulled along the tide of rising pleasure, his thighs tensing and releasing, his back bowing slightly against the sofa. It was wonderful. It was swift. He had taught Erestor exactly how to please him, and he was never disappointed. He gasped, eyes staring without sight at the ceiling of the library. "Close," Thranduil warned, his toes curling, his body beginning to twitch uncontrollably.

That single word spurred Erestor, causing him to intensify his efforts. Increasing his pace, he put his whole body into the motions, sacrificing a bit of depth in order to keep the movements smooth and swift as he moaned around Thranduil. His fist moved rapidly on the shaft, twisting and pulling while his free hand scratched lightly at his lover's abdomen and thigh.

Thranduil tossed his head back, mouth open in a silent cry as his body shuddered with the force of his climax. All breath ceased, all sound, and Thranduil knew only the brightness and silence of pleasure. His release poured over Erestor's tongue, and with the final pulse of his sex, his body fell limp against the sofa. Erestor moaned as he drank deeply of his lover's essence, milking Thranduil's sex for all it would yield. He continued his motions a bit longer than necessary, his voice humming with pleasure at the fullness of his mouth, and the taste and texture of Thranduil's seed coating his tongue and throat.

Thranduil panted heavily, the pleasant afterglow leaving him feeling almost drunk. "That... was indeed shattering and... quite fulfilling, Lord Councillor," Thranduil managed. "I should... steal you from Lord Elrond... have you as my Chief Adviser." Though he doubted Loniel would appreciate being demoted so Thranduil could keep his lover within hand's grasp.

"I would... fit right in, but for my inadequate experience speaking the Silvan tongue," Erestor panted, his voice a bit hoarse. It was a widely known fact in Laicanan circles that Thranduil had slept with every member of his senior staff at one time or another throughout the millennia. Some had gone so far as to deem it impossible to be appointed to a high-ranking position in the woodland realm without sharing Thranduil's bed for a night. Others merely aspired to the post in order to have a chance at receiving his attentions.

"You could learn," Thranduil said as he sat up, cupping Erestor's cheeks tenderly. "You are an apt pupil, after all." He smiled wickedly before taking Erestor's mouth in a sweet, slow kiss. "Of course, you've already met the most important requirement to be my Chief Adviser," he murmured against his lover's lips, his own curved in a seductive, slick grin.

A soft sound escaped him as his abused lips were drawn against Thranduil's. "I know I have," he murmured with a soft chuckle. "But I do not think the rest of your staff would approve of a foreigner taking such a prominent post. Your people would fear that you would be allowing outside influences to rule over your judgment."

Thranduil gave a final lick at Erestor's lips. "You speak the truth," he sighed dramatically. "I suppose we shall just have to continue as we have."

"I suppose so, unless you can think of another adequate arrangement," Erestor smiled, his hands brushing back Thranduil's hair and stroking the sides of his neck and shoulders affectionately. "I have enjoyed your company these last weeks... though I fear we may have just frightened off your new kitchen-hand. I did not tell him about our relationship when I first met him. It must have come as quite a shock..."

Thranduil snorted as he stood up from the sofa, tucking himself back into his trousers and lacing them up. "He is terrified of anything sexual. When I do have intimate company, the git leaves the house until dawn. It's ridiculous!" Annoying. Frustrating. And terribly intriguing. "He hides, and if I even look at him with the smallest hint of want in my eyes, I might as well have... have... well, I might as well have forced myself upon him!"

Erestor smiled calmly as he retrieved his clothes from the floor and began dressing. "Perhaps that is exactly what he expects you to do. Nargothrond was a very conservative realm even by Noldorin standards. There is no doubt he endured physical torture in Angband, since he returned to Nargothrond reportedly looking like an aged mortal. Those two facts in tandem may explain part of his reticence. Be patient with him, Thranduil."

"I have no need to be patient with him," Thranduil said, lifting his chin. "I've no interest in the mouse, so whatever tortures he may have endured are of no consequence to me." He glanced to the door. "Luncheon is most likely ready. Shall we go make amends?"

Relacing his tunic and leggings, Erestor eyed Thranduil closely; he chose not to comment on what he saw, just to observe. "Aye, let us go. I am quite famished and could use a cup of herbal tea."

With a nod, Thranduil walked from the library, down the hall, through the dining room, and into the kitchen, padding softly on bare feet with Erestor at his heels. He must have looked quite the sight, low-slung trousers loosely laced, shirtless, his hair mussed, and his skin flushed. He stepped into the kitchen, blue eyes seeking out the only occupant who could be in the delightfully smelling room.

Gwindor heard the pair approaching long before they entered through the swinging door. He was calm now, the shock of finding the two elves preoccupied with one another having lessened a bit thanks to his time cooking. With a quick glance over his shoulder, he took in Thranduil's appearance and blushed. "I see this will be a very informal midday meal."

"Aren't all meals with me informal, Gwindor?" Thranduil said as he hopped up onto an empty worktop. "He is so adorable when he blushes, Erestor, and he does it quite often."

Gwindor tried to ignore his own blush. "Sadly, yes. You could do with an occasional formal function, in my opinion. It would make my job a bit more interesting." He had been trained to handle large banquets and feasts. There was a challenge in such events that he missed to a certain extent. "Good day, Erestor," he added softly with a look in the Noldo's direction.

"Good day," Erestor said brightly, approaching the dark-haired cook's workspace and picking at the fruit he was cutting and arranging, only to have his hands half-heartedly batted away. He chuckled, "Don't bother, Gwindor. He is as set in his ways as a river in a deep gorge. Stubborn barbarian." Finding a kettle of hot water on the stove, Erestor poured himself a glass and gathered some tea into a steeping bag, letting the herbs flavour and lightly medicate the steaming liquid.

"If you are so displeased in being my cook, Gwindor, then pack your things and leave with Erestor. I am certain Elrond can always use another employee, and the idiotic Half-Elf has no end of social events you could cater." His eyes then moved to Erestor. "And you... you snobbish City-Elf... you had best watch your step. You may trip over an extended leg if you do not look were you tread," he said with a smirk at his lover. "I may be set in my ways, but I am also quite... flexible... when given the right motivation."

"I am not displeased..." Gwindor said quietly, though the phrase was nearly lost in the wake of Erestor's response.

"Flexible?" Erestor scoffed. "In bed, perhaps, though few know it... but in every other aspect of your life, you, my friend, are about as flexible as a piece of marble brick. Perhaps it is a Silvan ailment." He winked at Gwindor, who turned a slightly deeper shade of pink, causing Erestor to approach Thranduil with a grin on his face. "You are right, meldir. He is adorable when he blushes."

Thranduil drew Erestor between his parted thighs, tracing a finger lightly up the Noldo's throat. "If I were ever given the right incentive out of bed," he purred, eyes sparkling. He then glanced at Gwindor, marking that deeper flush, and smirked. "He's beautiful," he whispered before he could stop himself. He covered the slip, though, by swiftly saying, "When he isn't covered in filth and grime, that is."

Gwindor rolled his eyes, sparing the Elvenking a mild glare, but Erestor openly laughed. "I could say the same thing about you! I remember you looking less than charming covered in the blood and gore of battle in Greenwood. One could not even tell you were blond! And that is quite a tragedy with hair like yours," he said, twirling a lock of spun gold in his fingers as he took a sip of tea.

A soft, affection smile crossed Thranduil's face. "Aye, my hair is lovely, isn't it?" he murmured, leaning in to kiss Erestor briefly, tasting the herbal liquid upon the scribe's tongue.

Gwindor was *not* staring, regardless of the way he had paused while filling a bowl with water so that it overflowed. With a very slight, highly embarrassed smile, he returned to his task of boiling the chunks of potato and rutabaga he had chopped, feeling a bit like an uninvited onlooker and quite out of place.

Thranduil noticed the reaction, and he parted from Erestor's lips. "I could give you a kiss, too, Gwindor," he offered. "However, it does ring terribly of marriage... you cooking... me giving you kisses..." He gave a playful swat to Erestor's backside, sliding off the worktop. "I don't need another wife. One was more than enough."

"Ai, Gwindor, no one deserves that treatment," Erestor teased Thranduil indirectly. "His poor wife and all she had to put up with from this barbarian. I always pitied her."

The banter between the two Elves had begun to ease Gwindor's discomfort, reminding him vaguely of the days long ago in Nargothrond when he and his brother had teased one another mercilessly over their starkly different approaches to intimacy. Though he was still blushing, he tried to hide it, letting his bangs fall into his face as he worked, glancing over his shoulder at Thranduil. "I fear I would greatly disappoint you, in any case." It was the most he had said when addressed with a subject even remotely concerned with physical affection. A large step forward for him, even if the two elder Elves took no note of it.

Thranduil stalked towards his cook, eyes curious as he approached. "Why do you say that?" His voice was pitched low, and he knew how to manipulate the very air around him so that his mere presence could overwhelm.

Gwindor shifted uncomfortably under the scrutiny, the subtle change in the air stifling, though he wondered if it was just his imagination playing tricks with the heat from the stove. He looked over his shoulder, eyes downcast, and he hesitated a few times before his response was properly articulated. "I... have very little... experience, is all." He could have taken it a step further, however, since he truly had no experience in kissing beyond quick pecks he had dared to steal with Finduilas Ages ago, before the Nirnaeth.

"Experience can be gained," Thranduil murmured, stopping inches from Gwindor. "I have more than enough experience to share. Every Elf can be taught the pleasures of a kiss... of the body."

Visibly tensing at the thought, his face burning, Gwindor reacted the only way he knew how in order to keep his memories from coming to his mind. He rounded on Thranduil, keeping him a short distance away by poking him in the sternum with his spatula. "Back away, Thranduil. I'm cooking. Go... seduce him instead," he said sternly, pointing the spatula in the tea-sipping Elf's direction before turning back to his stove, hearing Erestor's amused chuckle as the elder Noldo set down his teacup.

"Seduction implies the recipient might be unwilling to accept advances," Thranduil explained in that melodic tone of his. "Erestor is always quite willing to accept mine, as you clearly saw this afternoon." His smile seemed to tease, but his proximity and the pitch of his voice warned that there might be something more than taunting behind the amused grin.

Gwindor attempted to wave it off with a dismissing gesture of his hand, unable to argue the point. "He may be more than willing, but I am not so easily won over." He stilled for a moment, instantly regretting his choice of words, because he knew there was a challenge in them that he had not wished to issue.

Thranduil raised an elegant eyebrow. "Is that so?" He grinned, smugness swirling in his eyes as he looked over his shoulder at Erestor. "Oh, I do so love a challenge, don't I, meldir?" he asked before returning his heated gaze to Gwindor's face. "Something you should know now, Gwindor, before you choose to remain with me." Thranduil stepped a little closer to the Noldo. "I always get what I want, and you are making yourself quite a temptation."

Erestor, who had been watching the entire scene unfold with badly concealed amusement, finally spoke up. "How unfortunate for you, Gwindor," he told the innocent Elf.

"Clearly," Gwindor said with a thick swallow, eyes intently staring at his work on the stove. "Nevertheless, Thranduil, your advances will be in vain."

Hooded, brilliantly blue eyes watched Gwindor. "Why is that?" Thranduil asked, his voice a soft caress.

He paused, and what little of his smile remained fell from his face. Gwindor didn't want to tell the truth, but no other answer seemed sufficient. "Intimacy is... frightening to me." And the admission was not given lightly, even though his charcoal eyes retained the mysteries surrounding the statement.

Thranduil held that gaze for a very long time. He was well-versed in tone and body language, and Gwindor's at that moment told him much more than the cook probably meant for him to know. He held his ground, though, refusing to back down now that Gwindor had given them this information, and Thranduil did what made sense to him. Neither flinching nor questioning, he leaned in and pressed a lingering, chaste kiss to Gwindor's cheek. He inhaled slightly, catching the scent of Gwindor's skin, and it made something in his body rouse. Something... he had long forgotten, long buried, and could no longer name properly or immediately. His lips clung to the soft flesh before Thranduil pulled away, dark eyes holding Gwindor's stormy ones for a heartbeat longer, and then the king strode out of the kitchen, headed for the dining room, without another word.

It was the second major shock for Gwindor that afternoon, and he watched with wide eyes as Thranduil left the room, his hand unconsciously coming up to cup the place where the Elvenking had just kissed him. An odd mixture of surprise, confusion, fear, and nostalgia came over his features, and he simply stared for a long moment at the swinging door before running his hand through his bangs. His voice was barely above a whisper as he turned to Erestor. "Is he always that... spontaneous?"

The elder Noldo offered him a fond smile. "Aye, more often than not." Taking a step toward Gwindor, he gathered the cut fruit that had been abandoned on the cutting board and put it on a plate. "We may tease one another mercilessly, but I promise you that is all it is. Underneath it all, he truly is a wonderful Elf. Spontaneous? Yes, of course. Sexual? Unavoidably." He spared a glance at the swinging door that led to the dining room. "But he also has a beautiful heart when he manages to separate it from the trauma of his past. His invitation for you to live here is a testament to that. I consider myself lucky to be counted as a friend to him, as well as a lover."

His platter full of fruit, Erestor touched Gwindor's shoulder comfortingly, his grey eyes serious, but open and honest. "He will never do anything you truly do not wish him to do. I can promise you that." Walking to the exit, he turned suddenly, his voice soft so that Thranduil would not hear him through the door. "But if you tell him any of what I just said, I will be forced to denounce you as the liar you are." And with a smile, he backed himself through the swinging pane of wood to join Thranduil in waiting for their meal, leaving Gwindor to his contemplation in the relative peace of the kitchen.

TBC...