Royal Flush

A soft rapping at his door roused the sleeping royal from his reverie. Stretching in a decidedly feline manner, Thranduil of Mirkwood gently plucked away the youthful limbs that knotted about him and squirmed out from beneath the softly breathing blanket of young Elven flesh. It was difficult to ascertain in the dim light of the chamber where one body ended and the other began, but that posed little concern for the king for he knew not their names in the first place and details were not important. They were merely the flavor of the evening. A distraction.

Thranduil's tongue ghosted along his lips to taste again the sweet tang of the two brothers who had offered up their innocence so freely. It had not taken much convincing on his part to separate them from the crowd during the evening; a well placed hand upon a nubile thigh at dinner, a rather adequate vintage of wine and a chance meeting on the terrace, and they were his. It was quite predictable really, enchanting, but drolly predictable.

"Heruamin..."

The insistent rapping at the door continued, forcing the Mirkwood king to dispense with his erotic ruminations and stalk towards the door throwing it open with little regard for ceremony and even less for clothing.

Beran had hesitantly raised his fist and brought it towards the door to rap again when it burst open revealing the tousled King of Mirkwood in all his nat spl splendor.

Stepping back from the threshold, the secretary averted his gaze momentarily, more out of respect than shocked impropriety. This was not the first time, and most assuredly not the last, that Thranduil had seen fit to attend him donning nothing more than the gleam of his impossibly blue eyes.

"Speak..." The king's command was neither friendly nor threatening, alluding more to a statement of fact than any ill content.

"You wished me to inform you momemoment Lord Glorfindel arrived Heru," answered the secretary calmly, his eyes wandering towards the now rustling pile of bedclothes in the king's chamber.

"He has been given the room you suggested and has since retired to the baths," continued Beran absently, a smile ghosting across his lips when not one, but two pairs of large blue eyes peeked from beneath the lush mound of tangled bedding with sleepy curiosity.

Thranduil's eyes narrowed and crinkled at the thought of the legendary beauty resting within his palace. He had indeed more than a fleeting interest in the Balrog slayer of Gondolin; in fact one might call it an obsession as of late. Elrond had seen fit to keep the fair Glorfindel to himself for far to long, sending Erestor in his stead when matters of politic were to be discussed. That was not to say that the young advisor was not without his own charm, in fact, most fell at the darkling's feet readily. Simply stated, the seneschal of Imladris was a rare and finely aged vintage that Thranduil was determined to sample, and warm and slippery in the baths was about as good of a place to taste as any.

Retrieving his discarded robe from the colorful trail of clothing that littered the proximity of doorway, Thranduil draped the sapphire brocaded garment over his shoulders and met Beran's serene gaze directly.

The covering was a mere formality, thought the young secretary, for it hung full open in the front affording a fine view of the king's rather impressive masculinity.

"How wonderfully exciting," Thranduil replied, the corners of his mouth twitching in anticipation, "I do believe I could use a bath myself..."

With a flutter of indigo fabric, the king breezed by the nodding secretary, the heady scent of jasmine and musky maleness billowing in his wake as he passed.

"Show my guests Mirkwood's finest hospitality mellon-nin," he drawled over his shoulder as he padded down the dimly lit corridor, "I would hate for them to return home unsatisfied."

Beran glanced in at the two youthful playthings that lay sprawled on the royal pallet and bit his lip with a smirk. It seemed his duties for the time being had shifted rather favorably.

"As you wish sire," he purred into the echoing hallway, slender fingers releasing his heavy dark tresses from the filigreed clip that held them fast behind his head. Shakihe fhe fragrant soft waves loose to fall about his shoulders, Beran slipped quietly across the threshold and closed the door with a soft click.

Two pairs of wide blue eyes followed his lithe form in the pale candlelight as the secretary's robes added to the clutter upon the chamber floor. Approaching the bed with a reassuring smile, Beran crawled in between the nested younglings and drew them both against his naked body, tracing the soft curve of a slim jaw with the brush of one hand while smoothing a muscular thigh with the other.

"Thranduil sends his apologies", he purred demurely, before pulling a supple pouty mouth to his own.

~*~*~*~

The moist heat of the baths reached well into the tunneled corridor blanketing the rough hewn stone walls with a smattering of green lichen, and slickening their surface with a sheen of glistening dew. This treasure was one of the many boons Thranduil acquired from maintaining his residence below ground level. It seemed that an underground lake lay beneath his stone fortress, and as if that was not a prize enough, its crystal waters were heavy with healing minerals and soothing warmth. Many sought its rejuvenating properties and so Thranduil had partitioned off the rather large bathing pool into small, more intimate chambers, affording both he and his guests the privacy and privilege that was characteristic of Mirkwood and its hedonistic king.

Given the early hour of the morning, Thranduil had not expected the baths to be otherwise occupied and was therefore quite taken by surprise by the soft sounds of lovemaking coming from behind one of the nearby partitions. Perhaps another, like him, found more arising at dawning than just Anor.

Unable to stave his voyeuristic curiosity, the king pressed his stirring body into the darkened recess behind the dividing tapestries and parted the heavy fabric with care as to not alert the bathers to his presence. Soft candlelight and the flickering of one small torch illuminated the chamber within casting the water and an its inhabitants in a golden glow, their shadowed forms ghosting against the curtain in an erotic pantomime.

Tall, fair, and warrior lean was the one who mastered, eliciting delicious moans of pleasure from the other who was pressed hard against the ledge of the pool. Rivulets of water ran in shimmering trails from the pale hair of the warrior, catching and pooling in the chiseled planes of his sinuous body as he undulated against his lover.

Thranduil's hand strayed between his thighs, teasing the curls that nested his burgeoning desire. He chided himself at his fickle libido. He was supposed be seducing Glorfindel, enjoying the golden Lord's sinfully delectable attributes, not palming himself in the shadows like an Elfling in heat.

He was about to pry himself away from the lurid scene unfolding behind the drapery when a familiar breathy moan caught his attention, halting his hand midstroke and catching his breath.

"Glorfindel... Aye... mellon-nin... saes..."

For a slight moment Thranduil was not sure that he had heard right, but another sigh more desperate and heated than the former sealed away all doubt.

"Ayia malthen... ( golden one) Saes si.... (Please now)"

Tenaciously, the king fingered the draperies again, knowing that what lie beyond the curtain was not going to please him, but needing to verify his discovery, uncomfortable or not.

Glorfindel had raised his lover from the embrace of the water and had bent him firmly over the edge of the pool, his hands traveling seductively over the pale globes of flesh that pressed back against his jutting arousal.

Thranduil gasped as the other's body was breached and a shivering moan was uttered to echo off the stone walls.

"You are so wonderfully tight my young Prince..."

The golden Lord's soft words were almost lost amid the splashing of the water as their joined bodies struck a fervent rhythm.

"Mmmmm... Legolas... lirimaer... Aye..."