Part 6 - Playing for Keeps

Posted: May 2004
Author: Khylaren

*****

The practice grounds were empty when Galathil arrived, which was not unusual, considering the early hour. Erestor had left for Lórien an hour ago, and he was in no mood to seek his lonely bed for more rest. Nor was he hungry for breakfast. Instead, he retrieved his sword and made his way alone to the practice grounds of Imladris, hoping that the exercise would help to clear his mind.

Things were much simpler at home, he thought, shedding his tunic and setting it across the top rail of the fence that enclosed the grounds. In the halls of his father, it had all seemed so very clear to him how he felt about Erestor. Then he came here, to Imladris, and met Lindir, and things had never been the same.

The sun felt warm against his back as he stretched, breathing deeply, moving his body through the intricate dance that would leave his muscles well-limbered and ready for vigorous use. He tried to keep his mind clear, to focus on his breathing, to keep his movements fluid and graceful, but he failed. Instead, he found himself thinking of Erestor and Lindir, and berating himself for his fallibility.

He loved Erestor, of that he was fairly certain. There was little the Noldo could ask of him that he would not willingly give, however Galathil suspected that Erestor did not feel the same; he sensed there were things that his lover would never freely give him. Even on those rare occasions when Erestor yielded to him for the night, Galathil never truly felt in control of the situation. It was as if, even when kneeling, Erestor was still the master. The thought that his lover was merely humoring him in this was more than disturbing; it was disheartening.

At least with Lindir, Galathil knew squarely where he stood. The minstrel had not minced words. He wanted Galathil completely. The Prince knew that if Erestor and Lindir's roles were reversed, the minstrel would not have been pushing him to explore pleasure in the arms of another elf!

That was another thing that troubled him greatly. How was he to trust that it was Erestor he truly loved when he found such pleasure in Lindir's embrace? How was he to know where his heart truly lay, when his body trembled at the memory of the minstrel's mastery of him?

His thoughts were no clearer when he finally picked up his blade and began several practice moves, sparring with an imaginary enemy. Thankfully, he found himself able to focus on his movements, and his worries faded into the back of his thoughts as he concentrated on his footwork and swordplay.

Galathil was so intent on dispatching his invisible foe, he did not notice he was no longer alone, until he finished deploying a rather daring move that would have decapitated his enemy neatly.

"Nicely done, Prince Galathil." Lindir's voice startled him out of his thoughts. "Though your stance was too wide. If I had been your opponent, you would have been on your back with my blade at your throat."

Galathil turned and frowned, his chest heaving slightly from his exertion. "So say you," he retorted, irritated by the conflicting emotions that raged through him at the sight of the fair minstrel sitting on the edge of the fence, watching him with open admiration. He was both glad and dismayed to find himself alone with Lindir. "Yet I do not see you here with a sword in your hand." The last was said with mocking emphasis.

Lindir did not seem bothered by his insulting tone. "On the contrary, ernilen vain," he replied, stepping off the fence and giving him a low, flourishing bow. "I have brought my blade. You promised to spar with me, remember? We have both been rather busy of late, but I had not forgotten your words." He rose from his bow and his gaze met Galathil's challengingly, a wealth of innuendo in his voice. "Unless you have somewhere else you need to be right at this moment." The glint in his blue eyes told Galathil that Lindir was well aware that he had been avoiding being alone with the minstrel, and that Lindir did not like it.

"No," Galathil replied with a shake of his head. "I do not." Against his better judgment, he found himself smiling at Lindir. "Come then, if you wish to spar with me. I would be glad of the practice."

Shedding his tunic and laying it beside Galathil's, Lindir picked up the sword that he had set against the railing and unsheathed it in a fluid movement, tossing the scabbard aside.

"Do you wish a warm-up first?" Galathil inquired politely.

Lindir smiled wickedly, bringing his sword up in a salute. "I always enjoy a warm-up before any physical exertion," he said softly.

Galathil felt his cheeks warm at Lindir's knowing look. He struggled not to stare as Lindir began to stretch, feeling the familiar warmth pooling in his groin as he watched the intricate play of muscles beneath Lindir's pale skin. The minstrel was not unaware of his regard, Galathil was certain, for it seemed that his movements were a little more exaggerated, the flexing of his back, the taut muscles of his arms and stomach gleaming as he stretched.

"Shall we have a practice bout first, to test the strength of each other's mettle?" Lindir asked, when he had finished stretching.

"Yes," Galathil agreed, assuming a defensive stance, his sword raised and ready. Lindir raised his sword as well, and after a moment, he nodded, signaling his readiness.

As their blades met, Lindir's eyes locked with his and the minstrel gave him a small smile. "Why have you been avoiding me, ernilen?"

The question surprised him, and in seconds, Galathil's sword went flying out of his grasp and he found himself at the end of Lindir's blade. The minstrel smiled and stepped back, dropping his sword to his side.

"I am sorry," Lindir said, his tone anything but apologetic. "Were you not prepared for my attack?"

"I was not prepared for you to ask me such a question in the middle of a fight," Galathil retorted, bending to fetch his blade. "I have not been avoiding you," he added, as an afterthought.

Lindir saluted him with his sword once more. "I am not a fool, Galathil," he said quietly. "You have, and I wish to know the reason." He sprang forward in attack, his sword engaging Galathil's as the prince immediately went on the defensive. "Tell me, ernilen. Did you not enjoy our picnic in the woods?" His breathing was slow and steady, though he pressed Galathil from all sides.

"Yes," Galathil gritted, managing to block Lindir's blow with his sword, even as he took yet another step back.

"Then why?" Lindir saw his opening and took it, hooking his foot behind Galathil's and sweeping him from his feet. His sword was at the prince's chest in an instant. "Why have you been avoiding me?"

Galathil looked down at the sword and back up at Lindir. "I..I…" Words failed him. He licked his lips and struggled to formulate an intelligent and truthful answer. "I do not know," he said weakly.

Lindir stepped back, and watched as the prince rose gracefully to his feet. He waited as Galathil brushed the dirt from his leggings in an excuse to avoid his gaze. "Galathil," he said finally. "Look at me, ernilen." When the prince finally looked up, Lindir gave him a faint smile. "I told you before, I would not ask anything of you that you were not willing to give. But I will not give up on my pursuit of you until you tell me that there is no hope in it. Is that what you are trying to tell me?" He stepped forward, closing the distance between them, and reached up to brush a bit of dirt from Galathil's cheek. "You wish for me to leave you alone?" he asked softly, his touch lingering.

Miserable and confused, Galathil shook his head. "Yes. No. I do not know." He leaned slightly into Lindir's touch, mentally berating himself for giving into even that much. "I do not know what it is I want," he whispered, closing his eyes. He felt Lindir's hand cup his cheek gently, and shivered at the soft brief touch of the minstrel's lips against his.

"I will tell you what I think it is you want," Lindir replied, his voice a low murmur. "You want the decision taken from you."

Galathil opened his eyes in shock and stared into the eyes that were so close to his own. "What?" he whispered, shaking his head in denial. "You are wrong."

A smile curved Lindir's lips. "Am I, ernilen? Tell me, would it be simpler for you if I left you alone?" His mouth hovered over Galathil's, the warmth of his breath caressing.

"Yes," Galathil whispered, mesmerized by Lindir's heated gaze.

Lindir chuckled softly. "Easier, yes, but not nearly so pleasurable," he murmured. "I think not, ernilen. Not unless you tell me yourself." He tilted his head slightly, his thumb caressing Galathil's cheek. "Perhaps I should take the choice from you?" His eyes focused on the curve of the prince's mouth as he spoke. "Perhaps I should claim you completely while Erestor is gone, and wipe any memory of him from your mind and body, so that it is only my touch that you yearn for." He leaned closer, brushing his lips over Galathil's, smiling at the soft whimper that escaped the prince. "The things I could show you…"

Galathil struggled to collect himself, and pushed himself weakly away. "No, Lindir," he said, his voice low and shaking. "I would not have you make my decisions for me."

Smiling, Lindir stepped back. "Very well, ernilen. Then perhaps what I ask is merely a fair chance to woo you, as Erestor has."

"Wh-what do you mean?" Galathil's heart was beating much to quickly.

Lindir's smile broadened slightly. "Simply this: you will be my lover during the time that Erestor is gone. You will sleep in my bed each night, and wake to the dawn in my arms. When he returns, you will know better where your heart and body truly belongs. If you chose Erestor, I will give you my blessings, and trouble you no further."

Galathil considered the minstrel's words, turning them over in his mind. It seemed a fair suggestion, except for the warning in his heart that it would be betraying Erestor. He sighed, shaking his head. "I cannot willingly betray Erestor like that."

"Betray?" Lindir's eyebrows lifted mockingly. "Did you know your lover granted me permission to seduce you, Galathil? There is no betrayal involved. He wishes you to be certain of your love for him, and I wish the same. It is as good a solution as any."

"I cannot simply agree to be your lover like this, Lindir," Galathil replied. "It seems wrong."

Lindir regarded him keenly for a moment, and then nodded. "Very well. I have an idea that will solve the problem, and will assuage you of any guilt. We will spar as we have been doing. Three rounds we will fight. If I should best you all three rounds, you will agree to my offer and come willingly to my bed without any guilt, for it is a wager lost fairly. If I lose even one round, then I will leave you alone until Erestor returns."

"And after Erestor returns?" Galathil asked, surprised that he was even considering Lindir's proposal.

The minstrel's smile was wicked. "We shall cross that bridge when we come upon it, ernilen. Now, do we have an agreement?"

Confident that he could best Lindir at least once out of three bouts, he nodded. "Yes. I agree to your terms."

Lindir's smile was triumphant. "I shall enjoy having you in my bed, Galathil," he murmured, raising his sword in a salute.

Galathil felt an answering smile curve his lips. "You shall have to earn it first, Lindir," he said, bringing his own sword up in front of his face. "Are you ready to taste defeat?"

The minstrel's smile widened. "I have something worth winning, ernilen, and I have beaten you twice now in practice bouts. What makes you so confident you will best me this time?" He did not wait for Galathil's answer, but moved swiftly to engage him.

He should have known better, Galathil thought, rising from the dirt of the practice yard with a scowl. While his skills in swordplay were good, it was painfully obvious that Lindir had the upper hand. He used all his knowledge and all his skill against the minstrel, and it was not enough. It was apparent now that Lindir had not been serious in their previous bouts, for he'd had no inkling of how truly skillful the minstrel was with a blade until he had something he felt worth fighting for.

Galathil's sword locked with Lindir's for the third and final time, and he used all his strength to try to knock the minstrel's sword away. He succeeded in blocking the strike, but the position left him open to attack. Lindir stepped in before he could bring his sword around for another strike and bowled him over, knocking him flat onto his back and pinning him to the ground with his weight.

"I do believe that is three rounds," Lindir told him, making no effort to move from his position atop Galathil's body. "Fairly fought, and fairly won. Will you honor the terms of our wager?" he asked softly.

"Aye," Galathil said, his voice low. "I will, for it was indeed a fairly fought match, and I lost." He met Lindir's gaze and swallowed, feeling both apprehensive and relieved. "I will honor your terms."

Lindir smiled gently. "You understand now, do you not? How do you feel, ernilen? Confused? Guilty?" He leaned down, resting his forehead against Galathil's. "Or have those fears of yours left you at last?"

Galathil closed his eyes, his fingers loosing their grip on the hilt of his sword. He brought his arms around Lindir's waist and simply relished the feel of the minstrel's lithe body pressing against his. "I do not know," he answered honestly. "But yes, my guilt is gone."

"Good," Lindir murmured, brushing his lips over Galathil's closed eyes. "I would not have your guilt come between us. I meant what I said before, Galathil, ernilen vain," he whispered. "I would have you completely."

"I know," Galathil replied faintly, wondering if the situation would truly make things clearer or merely muddle them further. "I know."

~ * ~

A hot bath and change of clothing later, Galathil waited for Lindir to join him for breakfast. He wondered what the other inhabitants of Imladris would think when the realized that he and Lindir's relationship had changed. Considering that it was common knowledge that he and Erestor were lovers, he wondered if he would be under censure for his behavior now.

Still, there was nothing to be done for it. A wager had been made, and he had lost. He was honor bound to fulfill the terms, whether his fellow elves approved of it or not.

He buttered a slice of bread and took a bite, barely tasting the food as he chewed it. His stomach churned from his nervousness, his anxiousness, and, yes, his eagerness to see Lindir. It surprised him how much he was anticipating their first moment alone as lovers, and he barely dared to speculate what was in store for him.

Lindir took his customary seat beside the prince and gave him a warm smile, pressing the length of his thigh alongside Galathil's. "Maur aur, ernilen," he murmured, reaching for a roll.

"Maur aur, Lindir," he replied softly. He fidgeted with his piece of bread, tearing it into little chunks.

"Relax," Lindir told him with a light, knowing laugh. "I am not about to ravish you here at the breakfast table."

Galathil flushed slightly, and busied himself by cleaning up the bits of shredded bread he had scattered on his plate. "What are your plans this day?" He risked a glance up at Lindir and saw the minstrel's bemused look. "I need to know what you expect of me," he explained, feeling his cheeks warm.

Lindir shook his head. "I do not own you, Galathil. Your day is yours to do with as you wish. I have work that needs doing and duties to attend as well." His voice dropped low, for Galathil's ears alone. "I am not Lord Erestor, to order you about."

"Oh," Galathil replied, flustered for a moment. "Very well." It was not what he had expected at all.

The minstrel's lips curved knowingly. "That is not to say, that there will not be days when I will have you for the entire day to myself. In fact, I have arranged for such a day for tomorrow."

Galathil nodded, and shivered in anticipation at the thought of an entire day with the minstrel.

"What have you planned for your day, Galathil?" Lindir asked, turning to his breakfast again, though he slid his leg teasingly against the prince's.

"I had promised Adar I would write, and I have been woefully negligent in that regard," Galathil replied with a sigh. "I should also write my brother, and see how he fares. I hope they are happy with Elladan and Elrohir."

They spoke amiably through breakfast, and while Lindir continued to tease him, there was no further talk of intimate matters until breakfast was finished.

"I will see you tonight," Lindir said, his low voice full of unspoken promise as he leaned down and kissed him briefly. "After supper."

"Yes, Lindir," Galathil agreed, his pulse quickening. "Tonight." He returned the kiss with feeling, and watched as his lover-to-be left the room.

It was going to be a long day.

~ * ~

Galathil entered Lindir's room and waited as the minstrel shut the door, swallowing nervously. The feeling of uncertainty and apprehensive excitement was familiar to him; he was suffering the same gamut of emotions he'd felt when he had gone to Erestor that first time, what seemed like ages ago. Though he and Lindir had already been intimate, this was wholly different, and they both knew it.

Lindir turned and studied him carefully for a moment, before moving across the room to pour two glasses of wine, offering one to Galathil.

"Tell me your thoughts, ernilen," he said quietly, taking a sip of his own wine. "What are you thinking?"

Even though he was still fully clothed, he felt naked under Lindir's shrewd gaze. He took a drink of his wine to steady himself. "That I do not know what to expect, even though we have…" he gestured vaguely, flushing in embarrassment. He was not good at speaking like this. Erestor knew it, and he could tell by the sudden gleam in Lindir's eye that the minstrel was now aware of it as well.

"I see," Lindir replied, setting his glass carefully on the table. "Continue, and do not stop until I tell you to." He settled himself on the edge of the bed and looked at Galathil expectantly. "What are you feeling, right now?"

"Afraid," Galathil answered, knowing that Lindir wanted his complete honesty. "Excited. I want to please you, but I worry that I will not."

Lindir held up his hand to stop Galathil's rushed prattle. "You will please me, ernilen, have no fear on that account. What else makes you afraid?"

Galathil shifted, taking another sip of wine. "There is something about you…" he trailed off, not certain how to express his thoughts into words.

"Go on," Lindir urged. "You will not anger or offend me. Continue."

"You are harder than Erestor," Galathil said finally. "Though that is not exactly the word I was searching for. The day we shared before, I sensed that you have…higher expectations of me."

"Meaning that I expect you to yield everything to me?" Lindir asked with a small smile.

"Aye," Galathil said with a gust of breath. "That is it."

Lindir nodded. "I see. You believe I will expect things of you that Erestor has not?" At Galathil's nod, Lindir's smile grew. "And this is what you fear?"

Galathil looked away from the minstrel's sharp gaze, taking another drink from his glass. "Yes," he whispered. "That is it." Gentle fingers took his glass from him and tipped his chin up, bringing his gaze to Lindir's.

"I do expect you to yield everything to me," Lindir said quietly. "That and more. I swore to you that day in the woods that I would not harm you, and to that I will hold true. You will suffer no harm at my hands." He lifted an eyebrow at Galathil's barely audible sigh. "There will be pain, and there will be pleasure the likes of which I think you have not yet experienced. For I will yield myself as well, giving you all that I am." A small smile curved his mouth as he studied Galathil. "For you see, there is much at stake for me in this; much more than a simple month's pleasure. I wish to win you utterly, and I cannot do that if I hold back." His thumb brushed lightly over Galathil's lower lip, before he dropped his hand away. "Nor is it fair of you to hold yourself back from me. Your complete surrender, ernilen; that is what I ask of you. That is what I will demand of you." He lifted his eyes, his gaze holding the prince's steadily. "Will you give it?"

There was a moment of silence, when all that could be heard was the soft sound of their breathing.

"Aye," Galathil whispered. "I will."

Lindir's smile was gentle, and he stepped back, settling himself in a large, oversized chair by the small fireplace. "Disrobe, ernilen," he told Galathil softly. "And come here."

His hands shook slightly as he undid the clasps that held his robe closed and slid it from his shoulders. He folded it neatly and set it aside, before turning to undo the laces of his leggings. He could feel Lindir's eyes watching him, observing his every move, studying each blush, each tremor of his limbs as he finished undressing. He felt himself grow hard beneath Lindir's gaze, and heard the minstrel's soft murmur of approval as he moved to where he was seated.

Lindir turned away a moment, opening a drawer in the small cabinet beside him. He searched through its contents, before retrieving a small item Galathil could not see.

"On your knees, ernilen," Lindir commanded quietly. "Face the fire."

The position put him with his back to the minstrel, and Galathil was uncertain what to do with his hands, so he rested them on his thighs. He felt Lindir gather his hair, drawing the length of it together in one hand.

"Normally, I prefer your hair loose," Lindir said softly, his fingers busy pinning the long, gold locks up and off of Galathil's neck. "But tonight, I wish to see all of you. There." He patted the last of the prince's hair in place. "Turn around, ernilen. Hands at your neck."

Galathil swallowed, and did as he was told, linking his fingers behind his neck. Lindir's fingers touched his chin, lifting it slightly, bringing his gaze to his face.

"Banwain," Lindir murmured, his voice softly awed. "Again I am struck by the inability to decide what to do with you, now that I have you willingly kneeling at my feet." He shook his head, seeming to come back to himself. "I have questions for you, ernilen. You will answer them honestly." He leaned forward, his fingertips brushing the light pink welts on Galathil's buttocks. "Did Lord Erestor give you these yesterday?"

"Aye, my lord." Galathil flinched slightly as Lindir's fingers touched his tender skin.

"Did you enjoy it?" Lindir asked, drawing back once more.

He felt himself flush under Lindir's steady and knowing gaze. "Aye," he whispered.

"Why?" Lindir took a sip of his wine, studying him shrewdly. "Surely it was painful at the time. Why did you enjoy it?"

Galathil shivered slightly, his arousal twitching against his stomach. "I do not know," he answered.

"Yes, you do," Lindir replied sharply. "Answer me, ernilen."

"I-I…I enjoyed having him mark me." His voice shook. "I liked knowing I belonged to him."

Lindir nodded and gave him an approving smile. "Good, ernilen. That tells me much about you. Did you feel pleasure with the discomfort?" He leaned forward, his hand cupping Galathil's cheek. "Were you hard the entire time he was whipping you?"

"Aye," Galathil whispered, blushing hotly.

"Very good," Lindir said, obviously pleased. "I knew you were hard when I used the crop on you, but I wondered how you would react to a stronger form of discipline." He dropped his hand away from Galathil's cheek and sat back in his chair, taking another sip of wine, his expression thoughtful. "Has he used any other implements on you, ernilen?"

Galathil shook his head. "Just his hand, the strap and the riding crop. Until yesterday, he had never used the flail."

"No, that is not what I meant," Lindir said, laughing softly. His eyes were half-closed as he regarded Galathil. "I meant clamps, or a phallus, or other such devices."

The prince did not think he could blush any hotter. "No," he whispered, his voice sounding choked.

Lindir smiled wickedly. "Has he taken you with his hand yet?"

Galathil paled, visibly shaken by the question. "I-I…what do you mean?"

The minstrel's smile widened. "I can see your education has been sorely lacking, ernilen," he murmured. "For which, quite honestly, I am exceedingly glad. It is a gift without measure that I will be the first to introduce such things to you, to show you the heights of pleasure that can be achieved." He set his wineglass on the table and rose to his feet. "Come with me, ernilen. There are things I must show you now, for it will be your responsibility from here on out to know where these items are kept, what they are called, and to bring them to me as I ask for them."

He followed Lindir into a smaller, adjacent room, feeling very conscious of his nudity behind the fully clothed minstrel. They stopped at a large, oak wardrobe, and Lindir opened the doors.

"This is where everything I might ask for will be kept. I do not expect you to learn what everything is called tonight, but I do expect you to remember the names of things as we go," Lindir explained, pulling out several items.

Galathil swallowed, looking in shock at the wardrobe filled with crops, straps, flails, and other devices he did not know the names for. Several items made him weak-kneed just by looking at them, and he was not sure he wanted to know for what purposes they were used.

Lindir smiled at his dazed expression, holding up a long, cylindrical-shaped item made of leather. It was easily as wide as a male's shaft, but broader at the base. "This is a phallus," he explained. "As you might well imagine, they come in all shapes and sizes. This one is a particular favorite of mine," he mused, giving Galathil a heated look. "Shall I show you why?"

He did not know if Lindir truly wished for him to answer or not, so he simply settled on nodding. His heart was pounding, his eyes fixed on the leather object in the minstrel's hands. He could well imagine the feel of it inside him, the coolness of the leather sliding into his body.

"Turn around, ernilen," Lindir murmured. "Lean against the wall and spread your legs as wide as you can."

Galathil did as his lover bid him, quivering when he heard the minstrel move behind him. He heard the sound of a bottle being opened, and the scent of vanilla and cinnamon assailed his nostrils. He whimpered slightly at the first, delicate probing of Lindir's oiled fingers at his opening, but held himself in stillness.

"This one is only slightly larger than my own length," Lindir said, thrusting his well-oiled fingers into Galathil's body, coating him generously with the slick substance.

A low moan escaped him as Lindir slid the phallus inside him, pushing it slowly and carefully, until it was well seated inside of him. It felt deliciously cool, and harder than the object it resembled. He bit back a groan as Lindir worked it slowly in and out of his passage.

"Yes, ernilen," Lindir crooned softly. "That is very nice, is it not?" A chuckle escaped him at Galathil's breathless moan. "That is not what I wished to show you, however." He pushed the phallus in deeply once more, rocking it gently so that it was well seated.

Galathil heard the soft, swish of leather and the distinctive click of metal, and he felt a sudden weight on the end of the phallus that protruded from his body. Before he could digest this added bit of sensory input, he felt the slide of leather around his hips and glanced down. Lindir's hands held four thin leather straps and he hooked them between his legs and over his hips, using the tiny buckles on the ends to fasten them in place.

"You may look," Lindir said quietly.

He followed the line of leather and glanced over his shoulder. From that angle, he could barely see that the four straps fastened to the end of the phallus, effectively holding it in place. He could see it would prevent him from accidentally dislodging it. The contraption, he thought, was fiendishly clever, and delightfully wicked.

Lindir smiled, making a minor adjustment to the straps, tightening them. "You see, but I think you do not truly see what this is one of my favorites." His eyes glinted wickedly beneath their silver lashes as he turned Galathil around, his hands resting lightly on his arms. "Imagine, ernilen, wearing that all day beneath your robes. Feeling it move inside you with each step you take. Knowing that no one else knows you have been made to wear it, but knowing that I know you wear it. Knowing that only I will remove it, and when I do, that I will take your well prepared body and bury myself deeper than the phallus ever could."

Galathil whimpered softly at his lover's words. Surely Lindir would not do that to him, make him suffer in such a manner.

As if reading the direction of Galathil's thoughts, Lindir smiled in a slow and knowing fashion. "Oh yes, ernilen, I will do this. Make no mistake." His hands slid from Galathil's arms to his waist, fingers toying lightly with the straps, tugging on them, making the phallus rock inside its tight prison. Galathil moaned softly, his arousal throbbing in response.

Nimble fingers undid the straps and slid them from Galathil's hips, but Lindir left the device in place. His hands lightly skimmed the welts on the prince's bottom, and the prince flinched in response.

"Still a bit sore?" Lindir asked, lifting a silvery eyebrow. At Galathil's nod, he smiled faintly. "That will serve nicely for now." He removed the phallus carefully and wiped it clean, wrapping it carefully in a small cloth. He did not put it back among the other devices, but slipped it into his robes. "Come to bed, Galathil."

He followed the minstrel, and crawled onto the bed as he was directed, lying flat on his back. Lindir undressed, watching Galathil hungrily all the while. He draped his robes carefully across the back of a chair after removing the cloth wrapped phallus and setting it deliberately on the small table beside the bed. He smiled when Galathil's gaze flickered towards the innocuous looking object, before returning to Lindir's face, his eyes wide with apprehension and no small amount of lust.

Lindir reached for the decorative vial of oil, opening it and spilling the slippery, amber colored liquid over his palm. A soft groan escaped him as he coated the length of his shaft, stroking the oil on the heated skin with long, lingering movements.

Galathil wet his lips with his tongue, his gaze fixed on Lindir's hand as he worked the oil onto his length. He groaned when the minstrel moved between his thighs, spreading them almost roughly, opening him wide to his lover's gaze.

Lindir grinned wickedly, pushing Galathil's legs further back, pressing his knees against his chest. "I am going to taste you, ernilen," he crooned softly, before bending to his task.

"Ai!" Galathil shuddered as Lindir's velvet tongue fluttered lightly over his opening, before pressing insistently inside. Heat flooded him, making him whimper with need. "Please," he whispered, clutching his knees to his chest tightly.

The minstrel paused in his task long enough to give Galathil a stinging swat on his buttocks. "Hush, pen-vaelui," he admonished. "I will have you this way, and there is naught you may do but suffer it. Do not speak, nor beg, for I will not be dissuaded, no matter how sweetly you plead." He swatted the other cheek and then kneaded it gently, eliciting a plaintive moan from the prince. "Now silence your tongue, or I will silence it for you."

Galathil swallowed, clutching his knees tighter, and nodded. Lindir gave him an approving pat on his tender buttocks, before resuming his pleasurable task. He squirmed, gasping helplessly as Lindir's tongue circled his entrance before pressing inside once more. Strong fingers grasped his hips, lifting him higher, allowing his lover's tongue to penetrate him deeper. He bit his lip to keep from crying out, biting back his pleading words before they could betray him. His knuckles whitened, fingers grasping his knees so tightly he knew he would bear bruises from their grip tomorrow. He did not care. Another groan spilled from his lips as Lindir's tongue curled and thrust inside him.

Lindir felt the muscles surrounding his tongue contract, felt the lithe body tremble against him as he worked his tongue as deeply as he could. Galathil's breathless, plaintive moans were growing in strength and frequency, and Lindir knew the prince would not last much longer under such sweet torment. One hand left its grip on Galathil's hips to reach forward, grasping the prince's length. He worked it firmly in his fist, stroking it in opposition with the relentless thrusts of his tongue.

It was too much. Galathil shuddered, shouting wordlessly as he came, his body straining against Lindir as his pleasure swept through him. His body twitched almost violently as his lover continued to stroke his length, his tongue gently laving the sensitive, quivering opening.

Gradually, Galathil's trembles subsided, though he twitched occasionally from the aftershocks, and from the touch of Lindir's tongue. He whimpered softly as his lover finally drew back to regard him with a heated gaze.

Lindir offered the hand that was coated in Galathil's seed. "Clean me," he ordered softly. "Use your tongue. Get every drop."

Galathil's hands, stiff from gripping his knees, reached up to grasp Lindir's wrist, bringing the minstrel's hand to his lips. His tongue darted out, flicking lightly between Lindir's fingers, tasting his own essence. Dutifully and carefully he cleaned every droplet he had spilled, lingering on the sensitive webbing between Lindir's fingers, the action of his tongue making the minstrel gasp softly.

When his hand was clean, Lindir drew it back, resting it on his shaft and stroking it slowly. "On your knees, ernilen," he commanded in a low purr. "I wish to see your lovely backside while I take you."

Trembling with anticipation, Galathil rolled, bringing his knees under him and resting his cheek against his forearms. He stiffened slightly when he felt Lindir's shaft nudging his entrance, and then sighed as the minstrel entered him in one, smooth thrust.

"Ai, so tight, so ready for me," Lindir groaned, burying himself to the base of his shaft. "You were made for me, ernilen." He stroked Galathil's back, reaching up to loosen the pins that held the prince's long hair, running his fingers through it to free its silken length. Carefully he wound a handful of it around his fist, and reached back to grip Galathil's hip tightly.

"Do you want me?" he asked softly, squeezing the flesh beneath his hand and tightening his grip on Galathil's hair. "Tell me, ernilen."

"Ai! Yes," Galathil groaned, his head forced back by Lindir's hold on his hair. "Please, Lindir."

"Please what, ernilen?" He withdrew slightly, and rocked forward, feeling the soft pouch beneath his length bounce lightly against Galathil's with the force of his thrust. "More of this?" He withdrew and thrust again with more force, earning a whimper from the prince in response. "Tell me you want me, ernilen."

"Aníron chen, Lindir," Galathil breathed, his eyes closed tightly. "Please."

Lindir smiled triumphantly and began to thrust in earnest, Galathil's lithe body swaying with the force of his movements. Low, helpless moans spilled freely from the prince's lips as he filled him, withdrew, and filled him again. "You are mine, Galathil," he whispered heatedly, stroking deep within his lover's heat. "Mine alone until I release you." He shifted slightly, adjusting the angle of his penetration, and heard Galathil's sharp pleasure filled cry as he struck his mark. "I am going to fill you until you come for me, melethron. I will not stop until you do."

Each time Lindir ran his length over his mark, Galathil was rewarded with a fiery jolt of pleasure he felt deep in his groin. His shaft was stiff against his stomach once more, weeping copiously, and he longed to stroke it in time with Lindir's thrusts. He reached for it, only to have is hand pushed away, and was given a stinging slap on his buttocks for his efforts.

"No, ernilen," Lindir growled low, his breathing coming harsh and fast. "You will come for me without that."

Galathil groaned, his mouth falling open as he gasped for breath, Lindir seeming to fill him impossibly with each, driving stroke. He could feel his release building each time Lindir struck his mark. He cried out, arching beneath Lindir's thrusts.

"Ai, yes, pen-velui," Lindir growled, his own release imminent. "Come for me."

With a loud cry that was almost a sob, Galathil came, his seed spilling from him in erratic spurts as Lindir continued to pound against him. His lover's shaft seemed to grow larger for a moment, before Lindir gave a heartfelt groan, filling his body with the heat of his essence.

Lindir lay against his back, his cheek pressed against Galathil's shoulder, as they both struggled to catch their breath. He could feel the prince's body trembling, quivering beneath his, and sighed quietly in satisfaction.

Galathil winced as Lindir pulled his softened length free and stretched out on the bed beside him. The minstrel reached up, pulling Galathil into his arms, and cradling him against his chest. He sighed, snuggling closer to Lindir, closing his eyes blissfully as the minstrel stroked his hair away from his face.

"You are more than I could have dreamed, Galathil," Lindir whispered softly, reaching out to snuff one of the candles that lit the bedroom. A single candle remained lit, bathing the two sated elves in warm light and shadow.

*****

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