Victory is a Pleasure

Disclaimer: LOTR belongs to the creative genius of JRR Tolkien, not me.

A/N: This vignette is mild Elrond/Thranduil slash, with a bit of Glorfindel as well. No other warnings are necessary.


Victory is a Pleasure

The midsummer heat was stifling, even beneath the shade of the great trees of Mirkwood where Elrond and Thranduil were taking refuge from the council meeting that had gone on all morning. The bell signalling the noon meal had called the proceedings to a halt, and the two elder Elves quickly absented themselves, desiring to seek their usual form of relaxation in the solitude of the forest.

Despite rumours to the contrary, the Lord of Imladris and the King of Mirkwood were really very close friends, if not occasional lovers. Both were possessed of a wicked sense of fun, and a mischievous streak that, had anyone even thought to look deeply, was the same as that inherited by their sons. Of course, having passed their majority millennia ago, and now being bound by their respective responsibilities, they seldom had time to indulge in their fanciful behaviour. Besides, Erestor and Thranduil’s Steward were both stalwarts in expecting decorous behaviour from their lords at all times, much to said lords’ annoyance. Elrond found it even more difficult to maintain such a façade, for he had the added challenge of dealing with the infamously incorrigible Glorfindel who delighted in trying to put the occasional crack in the lordly demeanour. Elrond knew he did so more in the hope of aggravating his nemesis, Erestor than of a desire to see Elrond simply have some fun, as he so eloquently phrased it.

Elrond’s only recourse when the war between his seneschal and chief advisor became too unbearable was to send one of them, and on occasion both of them, off on a nondescript diplomatic mission to Mirkwood. Usually the trip lasted several months, and Elrond awoke each day with a twinkle in his eye and a smile on his face as he imagined Thranduil’s attempts to hold his temper and remain diplomatic in the presence of the Imladris Elves. The latest mission had belonged to Glorfindel alone after Elrond received several complaints from Erestor that the seneschal was constantly trying to bed him. Secretly Elrond thought that might not be such a bad thing, but dared not voice his opinion to Erestor, who despite his scholarly pursuits, wielded a sword with great skill when necessary.

“Your seneschal’s company has been unusually annoying this time,” said Thranduil as he led Elrond to a secluded glade that was regarded by the Mirkwood Elves as the King’s private haven. He was well aware of the reason Erestor and Glorfindel were sent to his Realm, and was pleased to allow his friend the brief respite from their presence. It was no hardship since at least Thranduil had the option of ordering them back to Imladris if eitherame ame too obnoxious.

“Really? In what way?” asked Elrond as he settled on the grass that was cooled by the shade of the thick canopy overhead and set out the contents of his pack. As usual he had brought all the requirements for a pleasant diversion, wine, food, chess board and scented oil.

“Let me just say that I think it is perhaps well past time he visited that handsome march warden in Lothlorien again,” he smirked. Elrond laughed out loud, Haldir was not immune in the least to Glorfindel’s many charms.

“Has he been making unwelcome advances again?” he asked, delighted to learn something that would possibly make Glorfindel squirm a little should Erestor hear of it, from, say, a thoughtlessly casual remark uttered during one of their long days working together in the library.

“More like shameless attempts at seduction. I leave you to imagine what his hand was doing under the table at dinner before he kissed me soundly, in front of everyone mind you, Legolas included,” Thranduil replied actually sounding a little affronted to Elrond’s surprise.

“I do not see the problem, Glorfindel is a sensuous kisser, with extremely talented hands,” shrugged Elrond, speaking from a brief experience in the Balrog slayer’s arms.

“Ai, but that is beside the point. Legolas was shocked to see such a display between two males,” Thranduil said a little more seriously. “It took me several days to convince him Glorfindel was just being a nuisance.”

“Legolas is still young, and does not fully understand the ways of love, or simple lust for that matter,” commented Elrond as he poured two cups of wine, one of which he handed one to Thranduil.

“Whereas Elves of our age and experience do?” enquired Thranduil with a gleam of mischief in his eye. Elrond merely raised an eyebrow.

“It is rather warm today, is it not?” he asked. Part of his mixed heritage meant that the Peredhel felt the temperature of the day more than a full Elf, but he noticed that Thranduil also appeared to be a little uncomfortable with the heat.

Thus, being of like mind, it was not long before the formal robes required for the White Council meeting were discarded, and soon even under tunics were removed, leaving the Elves both naked to the waist and relishing the sensuous feeling of a soft, warm breath that dried the slight sheen of sweat on their skin as the light summer breeze wafted through the glade. Although neither spoke the words, they were enjoying their escape and their game, immensely.

Thranduil reached behind his head and removed the clasp that held his golden braids in check, and then shook his head slowly allowing the fine, silken locks to regain their freedom. As he leaned over to casually throw the leaf shaped green jewel onto the pile of clothes beside Elrond, the Lord of Imladris dared to brush the few stray hairs back from the King of Mirkwood’s extraordinarily handsome face.

“You are only delaying the inevitable, Thranduil,” he whispered softly into a pointed ear, then laughed as his companion changed his position so that he was lying in the grass, his hands folded behind his head. Elrond sighed at the stunningly inviting picture Thranduil presented and wondered briefly if the King had been taking lessons in seduction from Glorfindel. He decided if so that he should send his seneschal to Mirkwood more often for he was an excellent teacher.

“Do I try your patience, Elrond or do you merely seek to distract me?” the King of Mirkwood asked a hint of wickedness in his deceptively soft voice, as he considered his next move.

“I thought we merely sought a few moments of pleasure that were not to be taken seriously,” replied Elrond. He had Thranduil right where he wanted him, and was in no mood for serious conversation. He reached past his supine companion to retrieve the wine skin to refill his cup, allowing his hair to trail over the naked chest as he did so. He smiled inwardly with satisfaction as Thranduil tried to stifle a moan.

Distraction was a good ploy, and Elrond was not averse to using such a tactic to obtain victory. The stakes were well worth a little dishonourable conduct in the pursuit. Besides, it was obvious Thranduil was doing likewise, as he allowed his fingers to rest on Elrond’s wrist as he finally made his move.

“And so I do. It is your turn, mellon nin,” Thranduil said with deliberate huskiness in his voice that sent fire through coursing through Elrond’s veins. ‘Ai, Thranduil was definitely distracting,’ he thought. Nonetheless, his eyes were filled with wicked glee as he discerned that his next move would bring him a hard fought victory.

“Hah! Checkmate, I win!” Elrond exclaimed in a manner morfittfitting an excited elf child than a stately lord. Thranduil tipped his king over and Elrond suddenly realised there was no defeat in the seductive smile, or in the eyes now darkened with openly displayed lust. The certainty that Thranduil had deliberately lost this match to allow Elrond to take control sent a thrill to every part of his being.

“And will the forfeit be the same as always?” Thranduil asked, unable to contain his anticipation as he saw his lust reflected in Elrond’s eyes.

“Remove your leggings at once,” the Lord of Imladris demanded as he moved to claim the extremely pleasurable spoils of victory.