Küssen Verboten

Title: Küssen Verboten
Author: Nikkiling
Pairing: Thranduil/Erestor
Rating: R
Disclaimer: Characters and places are property of Mr. Tolkien. I get nothing from this but the enjoyment of writing.
Warning: Fluffy-ish. Now when did I start writing fluffy? HELP! I’ve been corrupted!
Beta: LaurMelyanna (Thank you, babe!)
Summary: Like the title suggests, Kissing Forbidden.
Authors Note: I stole the idea from a song I leaned in German class in high school, by the same name. One of the very few things I can remember from German class, actually…


It was the holiday season once more. Outside the world was covered in a blanket of snow, while inside the Last Homely House most elves were in good cheer preparing for the Midwinter’s celebration. Verdant green holly hung from walls, and sharp scented fir boughs were entwined around pillar and banister, strung with bright crimson and snowy white berries. Feasts were being prepared to observe the longest night of the year, and gifts were accumulated and wrapped… Many an elf could be seen wandering through the halls with secret smiles upon their faces or humming solstice tunes under their breath.

Erestor hurried towards Lord Elrond’s study, a large sheaf of papers in hand. While most elves seemed intent upon making light of the joyous season, Erestor’s duties increased as much of the organization fell to him. Certainly other elves helped with the decorating of Imladris’ halls, but Erestor had to take care of the placement of visitors from other realms and the management of the festivities that Elrond was currently too busy to see to himself.

As he turned down a side hall several of the papers slipped from his hands, and he paused to retrieve them. When he straightened he realized he was no longer alone. Before him stood King Thranduil, recently arrived from Mirkwood with his children to share the holiday season. His brilliant blue eyes sparkled with merriment, flickering upwards once before settling upon the dark-haired advisor. Erestor followed the quick glance, and groaned inwardly upon noting what hung above them: a sprig of mistletoe tied with a festive red ribbon.

At last I have you, Thranduil thought with a smile. Ever since he had first seen Erestor many years ago at a meeting between kingdoms, he had been intrigued. The darker elf was a beauty to be sure; black hair falling to his waist, deep green eyes that shone with a shrewd intelligence, sinuous body that was evident no matter how he covered it with those thick, dark robes… however his manner was so aloof! Thranduil had long wished to see more of the elusive advisor, but each had duties which kept them apart. Conversations about things other than politics were a rarity.

Now, as they stood below the helpful mistletoe, Thranduil found his chance to express himself, and with something other than mere words. He leaned forwards, intent upon showing his blossoming affection by bestowing a kiss to those luscious lips, but was suddenly blocked by a single hand.

“No,” Erestor told him bluntly. “Do not kiss me.”

“No?” The golden elf looked confused, not used to being so denied, particularly with such a simple thing as a holiday kiss. “But you stand beneath the mistletoe. It is tradition.”

“A tradition I do not follow.” Erestor replied, and attempted to push past the king. It was true, and most elves had long since realized this. Upon his first few years in Imladris he had spent the holidays ducking through corridors and carefully avoiding all instances of the green parasite. It was usually hung in unexpected places, and with some elf intent upon taking advantage of the plant’s traditions waiting nearby. One year he had even tried to take down all the offending mistletoe, yet it did not prove very successful as by the next day, still more had been hung. It wasn’t as though he hated the plant; he just didn’t care for the kissing that went with it. Finally, after several winter seasons had passed and many elves slinked away from beneath the plant with blackened eyes, they left him alone. Unfortunately every so often there were elves that needed to be reminded.

Thranduil prevented Erestor from passing with a strong hand upon his shoulder. “Have I done something to offend you?”

Erestor shrugged, and his mouth twisted into a slightly disgusted frown. “No. Kissing is just not something I care for. The mere thought of another’s mouth on my own makes me nauseous. I am sorry.” And he truly was, for the Mirkwood king was a handsome elf. But he had long since come to realize that it didn’t matter how fair the elf was, the results were still the same. He was no prude or virginal creature, although his experiences in the sexual arena were somewhat limited. When potential partners discovered his intense dislike of mouth to mouth exchanges of affection, they tended to fairly quickly seek other elves who would happily satisfy them. Erestor thought the whole thing both ridiculous and annoying, but refused to be put out by it. He was who he was, and was not about to concede to a partner so they could feel happy and he could feel ill.

Thranduil looked at him strangely, but the expression quickly passed into something more thoughtful. “But what of your cheek?”

“My cheek?” This time it was Erestor who looked confused as he resettled the papers in his arms.

“Yes”

“Well, I don’t know.” He had never been asked that before. When elves had tried to kiss him in the past, they always went for his lips. “I suppose that is permissible.”

Thranduil leaned forward and softly brushed his lips across Erestor’s cheek, noting how silky and warm the pale flesh felt. At that moment he knew he wasn’t about to end it there and his mind began to plot furiously. As he drew away he smiled lightly, noting the faint rose color that had drifted up to Erestor’s face, despite his patient expression. It seemed the dark advisor wasn’t as unaffected as he would like to make out.

“Are you satisfied?” Erestor asked, once more shifting the papers in his hands.

“For now,” Thranduil replied, his smile broadening slightly. And with that he moved past Erestor and disappeared down the hall.

Erestor frowned, fighting the urge to rub at his cheek. It was obvious the arrogant king was going to keep trying to gain a proper kiss, and Erestor wasn’t about to give in. He felt certain he could last longer than Thranduil, who would eventually have to return to his own kingdom. And it wasn’t as though he were defenseless, as many an elf had since discovered.

He straightened his shoulders and continued on his way. However he couldn’t help but think of how pleasant Thranduil’s warm lips had felt against his skin…

***

Thranduil was biding his time. He watched Erestor move warily through the corridors, always with one eye focused on places where mistletoe could easily be hung. It seemed he was determined to keep from lingering in doorways, as well as away from the Mirkwood King. Yet as the holidays progressed, the advisor’s workload seemed to increase, and Thranduil knew Erestor would slip. He only needed to be there when it happened.

Three days later Erestor was waylaid outside of the Great Hall by Elrond to speak of the seating arrangement for the Midwinter’s feast. A vibrant sprig of mistletoe hung in the entryway just above where the two elves conversed. For the moment Erestor seemed oblivious to its existence as he gestured into the room, his mind already seeing the decorated tables and the room’s occupants as he pointed to various locations within the hall and upon the sheet of paper he held.

Thranduil silently watched the two elves converse from the shadows of a side corridor. He had not intentionally followed the elf this day. He had been walking to Elrond’s study to meet with the lord, and it was merely happenstance that he came across his quarry in such a promising position. It was a moment he wasn’t about to let slip away.

Finally they finished, nodding in agreement to whatever they had been speaking of, and Elrond walked away down the corridor. He could have sworn he the Imladrin Lord had seen him standing in the shadows, and he thought there may have even been a conspiring twinkle in the half-elf’s eye, but he shook it off as mere fancy.

Thranduil stepped up just as Erestor turned, causing the darker elf, who still appeared to be deep in thought, to run into the other’s arms. Erestor quickly pushed away, brushing down his robes with his free hand as he glared at the Mirkwood King. It was then he thought of looking up, and a look of exasperation filled his features as he realized where he was standing. He swore there was more and more of that plant hung every year!

“I suppose you are expecting another kiss,” he said darkly.

“Well, you are once more standing beneath the mistletoe.”

“I told you before-“

“You do not like kissing,” Thranduil interrupted, “particularly on the mouth. Yes, I do remember. But I have no plans on kissing you there.”

Erestor sighed. “On the cheek again, I gather. Your actions are pointless. Why do you persist in this game?”

“You intrigue me,” was the reply, and Thranduil leaned forwards. Erestor lifted his hands in an automatic attempt to fend off the unwelcome advance. His free hand closed into a fist; king or no, he had no qualms over striking the tall elf.

However Thranduil passed by the flushed cheek to place his lips on the curve of Erestor’s ear, kissing it affectionately before tenderly suckling on the tip. He didn’t miss the sudden hitch in the elf’s breath the action produced, and how the paper he had been holding fell from his grip to flutter to their feet.

When Thranduil finally pulled away Erestor remained motionless. Part of him wanted to strike out, yet the erotic shocks that traveled down his body proved to be his undoing. He suddenly didn’t know what he wanted. He watched silently as Thranduil bent to pick up the errant sheet of paper and placed it back in his hand. Then, without a word, he turned and walked away. Yet the sparkle in his eye had been clearly seen, and Erestor shivered as he realized that his position in this game was not as sure as he had previously thought.

***

When next Erestor was caught beneath the mistletoe, he could never say whether he had intended to be there or not. Certainly a part of him was incensed to be found; however, the anger was more directed at himself then towards the erstwhile Mirkwood King. He knew he was playing with fire. No elf could grant such attention to another and not inevitably go for what they perceived as the most intimate of acts. Some might believe the ecstasy of intercourse was such, but that was just an act that satisfied the body’s needs. A kiss, the sharing of breath and sound and language, was far more intimate and personal.

However, as intimate as it was, and as soulfully stimulating as he sometimes imagined it to be, it didn’t negate the fact that Erestor still found it to be physically sickening. He knew he was an oddity in that regards, a mental aversion that made no sense, yet had to be accepted. So why did he find himself slowing his pace slightly upon reaching that symbol of intimate friendship and mutual desire? What was that slight pang of disappointment he felt upon glancing around and finding no sign of Thranduil in the vicinity?

So when, two nights before the midwinter’s celebration, Thranduil cornered him in the hall near his rooms with a sprig of the accursed parasite hanging merrily overhead, he knew that despite his anger at the tall elf, he could only truly be angry with himself.

“I was merely on my way to check on the condition of the remaining guest rooms,” Erestor explained quickly, suddenly appalled at how nervous he sounded.

“Really?” Thranduil grinned. “You could have easily sent one of the underlings to attend such a task.”

His knowing smile only fueled Erestor’s irritation, and felt his back go rigid in response. “Some things are better done by oneself.” He told the king succinctly. “Now if you will excuse me.” He pushed past Thranduil, fully intending to continue to said guest rooms. However the blond elf was quick and before he knew it, Erestor’s shoulder was grabbed from behind, causing him to spin around.

“Not so fast. Did you forget something?”

“I forgot nothing,” Erestor told him, and it was true. He knew very well what hung above them, and knew what Thranduil would want next.

“Then you know that tradition demands a kiss.”

Erestor’s arms crossed over his chest. “And what will it be this time. I told you before-”

“I know. You dislike kisses as they make you nauseous. But I have no intention of taking your sweet lips. There are many other places for me to explore, such as your lovely neck.”

“My neck?”

Thranduil grinned. “I am sensing an echo here.”

Erestor sighed heavily, although inside he felt a ripple of something warm rush into his stomach. Then his eyes narrowed suspiciously.

“But not your lips,” the blond elf quickly reassured him.

“No. No lips.” He glanced around to be certain no one was around to see them. If other elves knew he was accepting of such advances, he would never live it down.

Thranduil chuckled softly at Erestor’s nervousness before moving forward to brush the thick black hair back over the elf’s shoulder. He delicately passed his lips along the juncture where neck met shoulder, just above the collar of his robes. His touch was so soft it could scarce be considered a kiss, and his breath was like a hesitant summer breeze, his heated lips the dappled fingerlings of the sun. Erestor found himself automatically tipping his head further to one side, exposing more of the pale flesh to Thranduil’s attentions.

The kisses grew firmer as they traveled up the long column of his neck, and then paused to nibble at a particularly sensitive point just below his ear. Erestor couldn’t help but moan at the shivering sensation, and just as his hand rose to rest upon Thranduil’s shoulder, the king pulled away.

”Come to me tomorrow night beneath the old oak in the north garden.” He lifted a single finger to place upon Erestor’s forbidden lips, halting the inevitable protest. “I promise I will do nothing you do not wish to. Your mouth, your lips, are safe from me.”

Once more Thranduil left, leaving Erestor with no chance to respond. The kiss had felt incredible, and his neck still tingled warmly. He hadn’t wanted the blond elf to stop, and yet he was suddenly glad that he did. His willpower was slowly cracking under the strain. It had been so long since he had felt another elf touch him in such a way. The attention was stimulating to say the least, and as long as Thranduil respected his boundaries, he didn’t see why meeting him beneath the oak would present much of a problem.

***

The next evening Erestor slowly approached the tree, every step filled with trepidation as he carefully made his way through the freshly fallen snow. The night was clear and sharp. Storm clouds had passed earlier that afternoon, and now the sky glittered with frosty stars and a brilliant haloed moon. His heated breath fogged before him as he walked, although he himself did not feel the cold. It took temperatures more chill than this before his kind would suffer from winter’s bite.

He almost did not come to the gardens, and several times had even convinced himself that he would spend the evening alone in his rooms, safe from Thranduil’s persistent affections. However the midwinter eve’s festivities had called him forth and he ended up spending some time amidst the music and gaiety within the Hall of Fire. Curiously, Thranduil was nowhere to be found. Several elves remarked his absence, but Erestor kept silent, even when Elrond pressed him as to the king’s whereabouts. Finally, though, he found his feet drawing him towards the north gardens, despite his latest decision to stay away.

I am no coward, he told himself as if to justify his actions. And if things progress farther than I wish, well, I am certainly not defenseless!

Yet upon reaching the stately oak, his gaze drawn upwards towards the thick branches, he suddenly recalled what was so special about this particular tree. Mistletoe naturally grew in thick bunches amidst the stately limbs. This was one of the places the elves of Imladris gathered the plant for decorating with, and in the winter was a favorite trysting spot for youngsters. A kiss beneath this tree’s boughs was sure to bring the lovers luck in the following year.

Erestor stopped, and even backed up a step. Perhaps this wasn’t such a good idea. After all, he would only be encouraging the king in his little games; a game in which the only outcome would surely be the undesired kiss that every elf seemed to crave. His mouth tingled in a faint reminiscence of his last full kiss, by an elf who insisted that it would be different that time. It wasn’t any different, and he had spent a sleepless night afterwards drinking all sorts of vile teas in an effort to rid himself of the terrible, grotesque feeling that had plagued him.

Besides, he doubted that there was truly any real affection involved anyways; merely the delight of conquest. And if such was the case, well, Thranduil could just find another elf to conquer this night.

He spun around to leave, yet as he did so he slammed into something solid. He had been so lost in thought that he had been taken completely unawares, yet that awareness quickly flooded his senses as strong hands gripped his upper arms and his own hands lifted to press against the velvet surcoat of the Mirkwood King.

“You came,” Thranduil smiled congenially. Nothing in his tone betrayed anything more than convivial friendship, yet his bright eyes seemed to sparkle with feeling deeper than simple familiarity.

“Against my better judgment, I assure you,” Erestor quickly replied, his own voice almost caustic. “I was just leaving.”

“Were you now?” One of Thranduil’s hands lifted to caress the darker elf’s lengthy hair. “So soon?”

“I do not wish to play these games,” Erestor insisted, pulling away, albeit reluctantly. Parts of him, mainly those physical, did not want to leave. However, his mouth and mind were quick to remind him of the potential consequences of staying.

Thranduil could sense Erestor’s indecision, and wasn’t about the let the elf flee; not when he was so close! He didn’t understand the strange aversion to kisses upon the lips, yet if that was how it was to be, then he would accept it. He had promised Erestor that he would not kiss him in such a fashion, and he was a creature of honor. Yet the dark advisor did not seem to believe that his word was true.

That and his insistence upon this being merely a game. Certainly in one sense it was, but Erestor wasn’t looking past the game to see the budding affection within Thranduil’s heart. It may be a game, but not one he would play with an elf he did not care for.

“Sometimes one must look past the games,” Thranduil said meaningfully before walking past Erestor towards the ancient oak.

The advisor frowned, unable to come up with an immediate response. He turned to watch Thranduil disappear into the shadows beneath the expansive limbs. He could leave now, but his feet would not retreat to the warmth and relative safety of the house. Thranduil’s words intrigued him, despite his weakening misgivings. Perhaps there was indeed something more, and he was suddenly eager to find out.

He moved to follow into the darkness where the king waited; elven sight allowing him to see his surroundings without any trouble. Strong limbs towered above him, and the trunk was heavily knurled with rounded protuberances that provided natural places to sit within the oak’s embrace. The ground was clear of snow, nearly dry and covered by a thick layer of moss. He could see his quarry standing in a patch of moonlight that broke through a hole in the tree’s upper foliage.

Thranduil watched as Erestor moved towards him. He had half expected the dark advisor to leave – had given him every opportunity to do so – yet here he was, much to the blond elf’s delight. “You stand beneath the mistletoe of your own free will.”

Erestor stopped, his gaze flickering upwards to glance at the green parasite growing overhead. “Indeed. And I hope I’ll not regret it,” he murmured.

Thranduil took a step forwards, uncharacteristically hesitant as he lifted a hand to brush his fingers across Erestor’s cheek. “Have I ever given you much cause for regret?”

This time Erestor didn’t pull away from the touch. He realized that, thus far, he actually regretted nothing. Despite his unwilling role in this game, he couldn’t say he hadn’t enjoyed the attention. Thranduil had never mocked his odd aversion; merely sought ways around it that were admittedly pleasurable for them both. It was more than any other lover had done.

He caught himself with that thought, focusing his gaze upon Thranduil’s bright blue eyes. He had alluded to something more than a game. Was it possible his intentions went so far as that? Did the Mirkwood King truly feel something more towards him? Was this his way of asserting those feelings? Certainly Erestor was not adverse to the sentiment. If there was indeed something more, it was something he was willing to explore, just as long as his boundaries were respected.

So Erestor took a deep breath and leaned into Thranduil’s hand, feeling the calloused fingers stroke his cheek. He watched as Thranduil’s smile deepened, and he leaned forward to place the gentlest of kisses upon Erestor’s other cheek. It was immediately followed by another slightly above the first, and no less sweet. The dark elf closed his eyes as the king slowly worked his way upwards, and a soft exhalation escaped him when he felt the tender lips brush his eyelid and the warmth of his clove-scented breath caress the thin skin.

He had the sudden urge to return the gesture, so when Thranduil dropped his hand and shifted to the side, drawing the tiny kisses towards his ear, Erestor twisted as well to ghost his lips across the passing cheek. He noted that the elf paused for the tiniest of moments at the unexpected gesture before continuing on.

Erestor hissed when he felt Thranduil’s teeth scrape the upper edge of his ear. The heated air sent more shivers down his spine until he felt his cock throb in response, and the suckling kisses only increased the feeling. In allowing himself to accept the attentions, he felt as though he was slowly melting into a shivering pool, completely acquiescent to the King’s whims. And when Thranduil pulled back to stare at him in adoration, he was thankful the elf’s gaze at no time moved to contemplate his lips.

Thranduil’s hands trailed languidly down his chest, and then slipped down his sides. Erestor drew a quick breath as he felt himself moved and then lifted up onto one of the large knurls behind him. He gripped Thranduil’s shoulders for balance as his robes were parted, baring his lithe chest to view. Although immune to the cold, the chill was still evident in the way his nipples hardened when exposed to the air. Thranduil brought his lips to one of the taunt pectorals, Erestor’s skin glowing softly in the silvery moonlight peeking through the upper limbs. Searing kisses were trailed down until he reached a single dark bud eagerly awaiting his attentions. With the tip of his warm, wet tongue he circled the erect nub before slowly drawing it into his mouth, suckling and nipping with his teeth. One of Erestor’s hands moved into Thranduil’s hair, fingers stroking the silky tresses and occasionally clenching along his scalp as the pressure built within his groin. He moaned, unable to keep the soft sound of appreciation within, and the forest king felt his own body harden further in response.

Finally Thranduil’s mouth left the eager bud, and he trailed nibbling kisses all the way down the firm abdomen. With his tongue he briefly probed the indentation of Erestor’s navel, causing the elf to both squirm and gasp from the sensation. Then he looked up to find Erestor gazing down at him with heavily lidded eyes filled with need. All hesitance was now gone, having fled in the advent of passion.

Thraundul’s long fingers deftly reached towards the darker elf’s leggings to unlace them, and then after slipping off his light boots, carefully peeled them from Erestor’s lower body. Erestor assisted him by gripping the protrusion of wood he balanced upon and lifting himself. His long, open robes provided a barrier between his flesh and the rough wood as he eased himself back down, his long, slightly curved arousal laying full and waiting along the juncture of his thigh.

Thranduil settled back upon his heels to take in the vision before him. Moon and shadows danced over the lithe form. His long hair fell about his body in dark waves, and his open robes hung from his shoulders creating a look of wanton abandon. His comely face was a picture of desire: dark eyes full of passion, a soft flush staining his cheeks, a touch of nervousness evident in his anticipatory expression… For a moment Erestor seemed born of the tree as he leaned back against the trunk with legs spread slightly to straddle the knobby protrusion that he rested upon. A small bunch of mistletoe completed the picture, growing unnoticed in a juncture just above his head.

Thranduil smiled at Erestor’s questioning look. To speak his thoughts would surely invoke an ill-favored response. He already knew that this elf was not one to take much stock in compliments. So instead he took one last long look into Erestor’s dark eyes before bowing his head to brush his lips across the tip of his cock, teasing the small slit with his tongue. Then he chased feather-light kisses down the length of the shaft, following the throbbing vein just beneath the velvety skin.

The sensation was maddening. Erestor’s hands fluttered about before finally dropping to the golden head bowed before him. “More… please,” he whispered, his hips thrusting slightly to somehow achieve further contact with the teasing lips.

The request was granted as Thranduil proceeded to take him fully into the heat of his mouth, causing the darker elf to cry out. Thranduil chuckled as he took Erestor deeper, the vibrations of his throat only causing the advisor to moan all the louder. The dark elf held a musky smell that was vaguely reminiscent of pine and juniper berries. He smelled and tasted of winter, even as his pale flesh recalled the snow beneath the moon’s silvery light.

Erestor reached up with a single hand, groping for another knot in the wood, and gripped it hard when he succeeded. His eyes flickered shut as though closing off one sense to help the others open further and experience the sensations more acutely. He tried to keep his hips from thrusting upwards, to keep from choking the elven king; however, Thranduil seemed to have no qualms. He was able to take Erestor’s length so fully into his mouth and throat that his nose buried itself within the silky hair growing around the root of the organ, and he encouraged movement with steadying, yet supporting hands upon the slim hips.

Finally he withdrew, granting the straining arousal one last kiss, and then he proceeded to spread the advisor’s thighs further apart as he kissed the full sacs and the sensitive flesh just behind.

Erestor made small whimpers of pleasure as he felt Thranduil making his way further between his legs, lifting his ass slightly, and tilting it for better access as he placed another kiss upon the puckered opening. Thranduil’s tongue laved at the hidden spot, occasionally pressing into the ring of muscle. The sensation was exquisite beyond anything Erestor had ever felt and, biting his lower lip, he opened his eyes to glance down, watching the king’s golden head buried between his legs.

“Aie, gods!” he moaned, the warm breath caressing him in a maddening fashion. “That is enough with kissing. You have proven your point. But I need you inside me. Now!”

Thranduil smiled, although he knew Erestor couldn’t see it. “As you wish.” He pushed his tongue into the tight opening, causing Erestor to nearly howl in response.

“Not that way, you dolt!” he ground out between breaths. “Get up here now!”

“Demanding, aren’t we,” Thranduil growled in response, loving the advisor’s suddenly commanding tone. He gave one last kiss to the closing aperture before rising to his feet. One of his hands slipped into his pocket, grasping the vial of oil he had stashed there earlier. While he unstopped the cork, Erestor set to work freeing the king’s straining erection from his suede breeches. The darker elf made quick work of the lacings before reaching in to grasp Thranduil’s impressive girth, and then his eyes narrowed speculatively as he lightly stroked the turgid flesh. It had been a long time, and he knew that no matter how well prepared, it would hurt. A slow smile crossed his lips and he turned his gaze towards the golden king. He never minded a little pain.

Thranduil watched as Erestor pressed back against the oak’s trunk, his legs parting further in a seductive fashion. The oil Thranduil poured over his fingers and, setting the vial within another crook in the trunk, he leaned forwards to press his lips against the side of the dark elf’s neck. His oiled fingers dropped between Erestor’s legs, gently circling and then pressing into the barely loosened opening. Erestor gasped at the duel sensation of the finger moving within and Thranduil’s lips nibbling the side of his neck. He clung to the Mirkwood King, head resting against the velvet clad shoulder, running his hands along the strong back and shoulders, feeling the powerful musculature lying beneath the thick fabric, his eyes once again closed as he concentrated upon the pleasure he was being granted.

The gasp turned into a hiss as a second finger joined the first. It burned slightly, and he shifted his focus on forcing those muscles to relax, a feeling that was encouraged by Thranduil’s teeth now grazing his collarbone. Then the fingers shifted, and as they brushed the small gland deep inside him he cried out, the discomfort overwhelmed by a brief burst of pleasure. Soon his hips were pushing against the hand, seeking more of that incredible feeling.

When a third finger joined the two, Erestor found himself biting at Thranduil’s shoulder, the golden hair brushing softly against his cheek. There was pain as the tightness was stretched still further, but he wasn’t about to let it interfere with the pleasure he knew would be forthcoming; and Thranduil was quick to provide. This time his shout was muffled, and he fell back slightly to stroke his dripping cock in time to the rhythm his lover set.

Thranduil finally removed his fingers, leaving the darker elf to bemoan the empty feeling in its wake. Through slitted eyes he watched as Thranduil once again retrieved the vial from the crook of the tree and opened it. The remaining contents were poured over his eager cock, coating it thoroughly before dropping the vial to the mossy loam. He leaned forward, grasping Erestor’s hips in his strong grip, and then slowly pushed his way into the prepared opening.

The dark elf sucked in a breath as the feeling of fullness returned to the point of pain. The king was not so much long as wide, and it would take some time so adjust to his girth. One hand gripped Thranduil’s upper arm tightly, while the other continued to stroke himself, keeping the arousal burning despite the pain.

As soon as he was impaled fully, Thranduil paused, waiting for Erestor to give some signal of when he should move. After several moments Erestor lifted his legs to wrap around the king’s hips and waist, both hands coming up to grip his shoulders. It was then that Thranduil began a slow thrusting that caused Erestor’s head to fall back, a beauteous expression of pained pleasure tracing his features. As his pace quickened, Thranduil lifted the elf from the knurl and shifted over to a flatter section of the tree. Erestor was distantly grateful for the robe he still half wore that would continue to protect his back from the oak’s rough bark as he was systematically thrust into the tree’s embrace. He was caught between the ancient oak and the impassioned elf king, filled and surrounded in a way that was as comforting as was exhilarating. His whole body thrummed with tingling ecstasy as they rocked together. He felt torn as to whether he wanted to bow inwards around the feeling, clutching to Thranduil as though to a grounding line, or to fall back against the oak and float upon the waves of rising bliss.

Thranduil felt as though he were drowning within the dark-haired beauty, within the exquisite tightness and Erestor’s eager embrace. It was better than he had imagined, and he had spent many a sleepless night dreaming of this moment. His gaze moved across the enrapt face, pausing upon the parted lips. How he longed to taste the forbidden flesh, yet now that he had gained the elf’s trust, he wasn’t about to break it with one false move. However if his hands weren’t already full lifting his lover and controlling the steady thrusting, he would surely have moved to caress the tender flesh with his fingers.

Erestor took in that look, but ignored it as the coupling grew rougher, signaling impending release as the pressure within grew to an unbearable level. Their breathing came in harsh gasps, and the darker elf once more moved his hand down between them to stroke at his stiff arousal. When he finally came it was with a strident cry, his body growing rigid and the muscles of his core spasming around Thranduil’s flesh. The king came soon after with a loud groan, his essence being milked from his body by the tight sheath that surrounded him. Then he fell forward, pinning Erestor to the tree as he sought his breath. Erestor let his head fall to Thranduil’s shoulder and his feet descend nearly to the ground, while stroking the golden hair languidly.

After several moments of quiet lassitude, Thranduil turned his head to look at his lover, and Erestor held his breath. This was the moment. Would he forget and insist upon kissing him where he had been told not to? Certainly after the intensity of their coupling if Thranduil wished to do so Erestor would not stop him. Yet his heart began to automatically beat faster in a sort of dreadful anticipation.

Thranduil leaned forward, eyes staring deeply in to the darkness of Erestor’s own. Then he paused, his mouth barely an inch from the advisor’s full lips, and breathed. As his warm breath flowed over the dark elf, he knew that Thranduil did indeed care, and he smiled.

The gesture was completed by Thranduil moving forward the rest of the way and rubbing his nose alongside Erestor’s in a tender caress that was both strange, and perfect. “Would you care to continue this back in my rooms with some wine, and perhaps something to eat?”

“That would be lovely,” Erestor consented. They held that way for several more moments before Erestor was released. He dressed, and together they made their way through the frosty darkness into the light and warmth of the Last Homely House to continue their own private midwinter celebration.


-End-