Rationalising MPreg

Title: Rationalising MPreg

Author: sylc

Summary: Lindir, a former thrall, is forced against his will to become a witness in Sauron's trial on Taniquetil in the Fourth Age.

Characters/Pairings: Glorfindel/Lindir, Sauron/Lindir, OMC/Lindir, OMC/Lindir, Ingwë, Eönwë, Silmo, Elrond, Ecthelion, OMCs, OFCs

Rating: NC-17 (for series)

Warnings: Slash, MPreg, Angst, Slavery, Noncon, Tentacles, Body manipulation, Mind control, Oral, Violence, Minor involved

Disclaimer: I do not own nor do I make money from this.





The room behind Silmo’s bedroom had none of the intricate woodwork of the Maia’s abode. It was, like Sauron’s quarters, carven out of the stone, but instead of curtains, the walls were bare save for a few lamp sconces, each of which was fixed into the wall beside various unveiled archways that led to passageways that were equally unadorned and whose destinations were hidden. Silmo now led Lindir down one of the passageways, a cold and closed one that did not let in the outside air or light and which seeped often with the icy water of the mountain flows. It reminded Lindir of the fact that beyond the lands around Ingwë's halls, it was almost winter.



They walked in silence for most of the journey. Lindir had no wish to discuss what had recently happened or to try to learn more about his upcoming ordeal regarding the trial. Truly, he did not wish to think more on it than he already had done, especially now, and he had a feeling, from Silmo’s lack of questions as they walked, that the Maia perceived and understood his reluctance.



It was almost midnight when at last they arrived at a door – the end of the passageway. Lindir knew that it was the end for when he looked out of the window carven in the stone wall adjacent to the door, he saw that they had, by some miracle, come level with the lower hills around the base of the mountain and that a few thousand of miles height had been crossed in the space of a few mere hours.



Silmo did not open the door immediately, but instead turned to face him. “This is where we must part for today,” he said. “Ingwë’s servants lie beyond this door, awaiting you. I will contact you when it is time for you to present your evidence to the court. You may decide then whether you wish to convey your evidence directly to the court or through me.”



“When am I likely to be summoned?” Lindir asked. “Will it be weeks, months…” He hesitated before saying, “years?” If the latter were the case, perhaps he should advise Glorfindel and his children to return to Tirion in the meantime; he doubted Glorfindel would leave his side, but his children certainly should be persuaded from tarrying here – they had their own lives in Elvenhome to embrace. He was therefore slightly relieved when he heard Silmo’s response.



“It is likely to be a few months,” the Maia said. “It depends, however, on the wishes of the court. Once they learn of what has transpired today, it is probable that they will wish to bring the day of the fulfilment of Sauron’s favour closer.”



Lindir nodded. “And if I have further questions to ask you in the meantime about the court?”



Silmo smiled softly. “I am a servant of Irmo, the Master of Dreams,” he said. “Speak to me in your dreams and I will attend to you.” Then he bowed. “I wish you well.”



Lindir returned the courtesy. “As do I. Thank you for your concern today.”



“There is no reason to thank me. Please forgive me my treatment of you. In spite of the circumstances, it was still ill. Thank you for your cooperation.” Then Silmo turned and opened the door, revealing the high windy plateau of a hill path beyond it and a group of elves sitting and standing some hundred or so feet away on the low grass near the beginning of the descent. Lindir saw Laiglas among those standing. “Now go.”



~*~



Glorfindel had stirred from slumber in the small hours of the morning with the inexplicable feeling that he should be somewhere else. So, not one for ignoring his instincts, he had donned his cloak (he had not changed out of his day clothes) and made his way back to the start of the mountain path at which he had met Linden the afternoon of the previous day.



Not long after he had exited the city and found a place to sit beneath a tree, he saw, in the distance, a small party descending the path. As they neared, he recognised them by their livery as servants of his grandfather’s house. And then he saw Laiglas. Behind the elf, his eyes fixed on the ground as if he were tired or occupied with troubled thought walked Lindir. Glorfindel’s eyes filled with tears and he ran forward, splitting the party, to envelop the smaller elf in his arms.



“I am so glad,” he said, smiling when he felt Lindir sag bonelessly against him and his head fall forward to his chest, his tresses brushing against Glorfindel’s chin and throat, slightly damp from a coldness that Glorfindel could not perceive in the warmth of the night.



Lindir said nothing, but after a moment, Glorfindel felt the elf’s shoulders start to shake and hands coil into the front of his tunic beneath his cloak. He frowned, alarmed. “What is wrong?” he asked, running a hand up to cup the back of Lindir’s head. “My love, why are you crying?”



But Lindir said no more and indeed, seemed too exhausted to even speak at all to even greet him. Worriedly, Glorfindel gently raised him in his arms – his lover really was little heavier than an elfling and little taller than one as well – and turned to follow Laiglas and the rest of the group down into the city and to Ingwë’s halls. By the time they reached the halls and entered them, Glorfindel, on looking down at Lindir’s face, realised that the elf was fast asleep. He smiled.



“Be gentle with him.”



Glorfindel looked up at Laiglas, who had spoken. The elf was standing ahead of him in the entrance hall with arms folded across his chest and watching him with a sour expression. Beyond his adopted son, the rest of the group had already dissipated in different directions of the halls. Glorfindel frowned.



“Why do you think I would not be gentle?” he asked.



Laiglas gaze slid away, his lips thinning. “You intend to question him on what happened, do you not?” He paused, letting the truth of his words hang in the air between them for a few moments before continuing. “If he does not answer and weeps in your presence, do not ask him for an explanation.”



Glorfindel stiffened. Laiglas words could almost be taken as an insult of his character and a small part of him argued that it probably was meant as such. But he crushed his resentment and nodded.



Laiglas inclined his head. “Then, if you wish, I will leave him in your hands tonight,” he said. “Please watch him carefully.”



This time, his words were definitely meant to hurt and hurt they did. The reminder of how he had fainted in the bath while Lindir had been taken away was like a slap to his face. Face tense, Glorfindel watched as Laiglas, with a thin smile, turned and walked away down the passageway of the wing that led to his and Glorfindel’s his rooms. After a few moments, Glorfindel exhaled and turned after him, careful not to awaken his sleeping lover.



~*~



It was still dark when Lindir awoke, stirred not by a lack of tiredness or Glorfindel, who was spooned around him and, from the sound of his breathing, fast asleep, but by a persistent throbbing in his groin. He winced, realising immediately what was the matter. One millennia of freedom could not wipe away this knowledge, what had been imprinted on his spirit, what had become his livelihood and then own yoke to suffer for over three millennia.



It had been well over twelve hours since he had last been milked.



Carefully, wary of waking Glorfindel if he suddenly jolted the elf, he slid his hand down beneath the sheets to grasp the source of the tension. Moments later and he drew back his hand as if stung.



Glorfindel arm was slung over his waist.



Lindir stared wildly around the bedroom. What was he to do? If he awoke Glorfindel now, whether by creeping from the bed or by jostling his arm, then he would surely face the other’s questions. He would have to explain himself and he truly did not feel capable of answering such inquiries yet… if ever. He felt tears spring to his eyes. Elbereth help him.



Willing the erection away would do naught. But maybe… maybe he could find a way to avoid the arm around him. Even a little attention to his hardness, even the barest and lightest stroke, would release some of the liquid caught up within and behind it and then he could wait awhile longer in less torment until Glorfindel moved his arm.



So he reached down again, carefully avoiding his lover’s arm, and tentatively, cautiously, gathered up the ends of his nightshirt and found the throbbing hardness with the tips of his fingers. At the first brief touch, he exhaled shakily, trying desperately to restrict the heaving of his ribcage.



Unable to reach far enough to grasp the whole organ in the palm of his hand, he instead took it between his fingers and thumb and drew upwards, his body thrumming with the delight of anticipation and sobbing with his frustration. He could have cursed Glorfindel’s presence at that moment.



As he reached the tip, intending to reverse the motion, he suddenly halted, alarmed as he felt his fingertips wet, suddenly slippery on his organ. Alarmed, he hurriedly slid his middle finger right around the throbbing flesh and his eyes widened as he found a steady stream of wetness on the other side. His arousal was not only dewing with milk, it was weeping with the stuff -- nay, drooling. He could feel it descending across his hip and seeping into the nightshirt and sheets beneath them.



Aghast, he felt a choke of anguish escape his lips and before he could muffle it completely, it escaped and he screwed his up face in despair as he felt the elf behind him, finally, stir awake.



Horrified, Lindir froze, his hand on his erection, his arm awkwardly bent over Glorfindel’s arm. Would Glorfindel notice that he was awake? Had Glorfindel known that he had cried out? Would Glorfindel bother to question him?



He knew, even before Glorfindel ran a hand down his back and kissed the top of his shoulder, that Glorfindel knew that he was awake. Indeed, he knew that he was a fool to even hope that Glorfindel would not notice that he was awake. Any mildly attentive elf as close as Glorfindel was to him now would be aware of his current state, much less a lover, much less a renown captain (and diplomat) who was honed through battle, court debates, and many hunting exploits to read the body language of elves and beasts.





“You are already awake?” Glorfindel’s voice was soft, curious. “You seemed exhausted earlier. I expected you to sleep much longer.”



“Mm.” Earlier? Ah yes, he had been exhausted then, back when Glorfindel had met him outside the city. It had seemed that the very sight of Glorfindel had released his tension. He had surprised himself at how fatigued he really had been by the events that he had endured over the previous two days as he had, for some reason, not noticed his exhaustion until that moment. He smiled, feeling the tears in his eyes well even more. Did Glorfindel truly realise how trusted, how loved… how safe he made him feel?



Glorfindel kissed his shoulder again. The arm over Lindir’s waist shifted slightly, callused fingers rubbed over the base of his ribcage and at the question, at the touch that seemed to run straight to his groin, Lindir felt himself start to silently weep. If only Glorfindel would remove his arm and go back to sleep. If only Glorfindel would touch him and ask no more questions. If only there was no need for explanations and Glorfindel already knew and had forgiven all his secrets. If only… oh, if only he never had this condition, never knew what he knew, never kept hidden what he kept hidden, and their love could be pure.



“Is something wrong?” And then Glorfindel’s arm bumped against Lindir’s – that arm that was frozen, its fingers guiltily clasped over his throbbing hardness. There was a pause and then, moments later, Glorfindel’s hand had darted down, almost as if it were a race, and found his hand and what it held within it.



“You should have woken…” Glorfindel began to say, taking him in hand and firmly stroking him. And then he stopped. Froze. And Lindir, as he realised that Glorfindel had registered the liquid coating his hand, choked again, not bothering to muffle his frustration, his pain, his delight.



Glorfindel drew back slightly and turned him over, rolled him onto his back and pushed down the sheets, pushed up so that he could gaze down at him and scan his body. “My love, why are you…” As Glorfindel looked back up and saw his face, his eyes widened and his face filled with concern and confusion. When he next spoke, his voice was soft and pained. “Why are you crying?”



Lindir attempted to roll away from under him, but Glorfindel caught him by the shoulder and firmly, but gently pressed him back down beneath him. The hand with which he caught him was the same and Lindir felt the wetness as though someone had touched him with a brand. He sobbed anew and thrust away again at his lover.



“Lindir!” Glorfindel tugged harder and Lindir fell back beneath him. He would have pushed away again – anything to flee from his lover’s sight and questioning gaze when he felt Glorfindel’s hand return to his hardness and the elf squeeze gently, achingly on it. And at the touch, Lindir felt the strength of resistance flee from his limbs and turning his head away, covering his face with his hands, he sobbed in both despair and delight.



~*~



Glorfindel stared down at his crying spouse, wondering if he had done right in stopping him fleeing in such a way. He had never seen Lindir in such a state, never felt or seen so much milk. What had happened? He looked down at the throbbing organ in his hand. It was seeping with the white liquid and as he kneaded it he saw more of the stuff flow out, piqued by a moan that sent ripples of desire straight to his own groin.



Long ago, a few years into their relationship and before Elrond’s final operation, he had often entertained tormenting Lindir like this -- keeping the elf from his twice daily milking so that the elf might end up as he did now – hard, unfulfilled, desirous, helpless, wanton beneath him. Begging like a frustrated cow would a lazy milker at dawn. The very thought that Lindir could not orgasm, could not release his pent up tension until the very last drop had been taken from him had never ceased to arouse him then and it seemed it did not fail now. One hand gently stroking the other’s swollen need, he bent his head to the centre of the other’s chest to press kisses over the other’s skin, pushing aside his puddled tresses as he went, feeling the other’s body heaving beneath his lips, and tasting the other’s sweat. When he came across one of Lindir’s nipples, he paused to lick at it, hearing Lindir’s gasps turn to soft cries as he encircled the nub with his tongue a few times, then gently tugged at it with his teeth.



He moved lower, shifting his limbs so that he now knelt between Lindir’s legs, which obligingly spread themselves to accommodate him. Hands suddenly rested on his head, pushing him downwards, Lindir urging him to move his mouth lower, an unspoken request in the other’s motions and an enthusiasm that made Glorfindel smile as he realised that Lindir was no longer crying, save perhaps with joy. Although he wanted to ask the reason behind the elf's returned condition, he knew that now was not the time.



The skin was now wet beneath his lips, sweet and sticky with the other’s milk and he paused in his ministrations to raise his free hand and push his tresses out of the path of his lips, snickering when he heard Lindir groan in frustration, the elf’s fingers dragging on his hair.



“No more,” the elf suddenly gasped. “Glorfindel, no more.”



Glorfindel smirked as he bent his head to nuzzle against the other’s arousal, felt the other’s milk wet against his cheek as he pressed kisses to its side. With his hand, he rubbed the base of the erection, his hand, covered with liquid, slipping on the silky flesh. He could sense that Lindir was close to completion. How long had the elf been trying to relieve himself of his hardness before he had awoken?



“Glorfindel.” Lindir’s voice sounded strained. “Please, my love. Glorfindel.” His fingers dragged harder on Glorfindel’s hair and finally, Glorfindel relented and wrapped his lips around the weeping tip, his hand working rapidly to draw the elf’s release from him. Lindir shuddered, the last of the milk was drawn from him, and then, with a deep sigh, his body slumped, gasping to catch his breath.



Glorfindel, smirking again, crawled up to look at his face and at the old trails of tears that glistened on his cheeks and on either side of his eyes where they had run into his hairline. Lindir gazed back exhaustedly, but there was a smile on his lips that was echoed by his following words.



“I love you,” he whispered. And hearing this, Glorfindel leaned down to press their lips together, feeling Lindir’s lips dry against his own and the elf’s breathing laboured on his face as he pulled away at the end and drew his lover into his arms. The sheets were damp, but he sensed that Lindir did not care and so neither did he. As he rubbed the exhausted elf’s back and pressed kisses on his chest, he whispered his response.



“I love you too.”