Part 7 - Turning Point

Posted: May 2004
Author: Khylaren

*****

A touch brought him sharply awake, reverie sliding from him quickly as his eyes focused on Lindir's face.

"Maur aur, ernilen," Lindir whispered. His hand curled around Galathil's length, stroking it slowly. It was this touch that had brought the Prince awake.

"Maur aur, Lindir," Galathil replied, smiling. His body was sore, but pleasantly so, and his shaft was already hard and pulsing with eagerness beneath Lindir's hand. He could see that the sun was barely up by the light shining through the bard's window. "It is early yet."

Lindir smiled down at him. "I have you this entire day to myself," he said. "And I mean to take advantage of every moment, and not waste it by sleeping."

"Mmm," was all he could reply, as Lindir's mouth had already claimed his. Galathil sighed into Lindir's kiss, his arms reaching around the minstrel's lithe body to stroke his back. Lindir rolled into him, half-sprawling across his body, his other hand exploring Galathil's chest. Galathil insinuated a leg between Lindir's, pressing his thigh upward with gentle pressure, and was rewarded with a low moan.

"Wicked ernilen," Lindir murmured, his mouth moving upward to seek Galathil's neck, nuzzling the sensitive skin beneath the prince's ear. "You are in a fine mood this morn."

Galathil slid one hand between their bodies, finding Lindir's length and giving it a firm stroke. "Aye," he replied, tracing the edge of Lindir's jaw with his tongue. "Perhaps it is due to my manner of waking, melethron."

Lindir moaned, his teeth nipping the soft golden skin of Galathil's neck in response. He moved his hips closer, bringing their ridged lengths into contact, and both elves groaned heatedly in response. Lindir spread his hand wide so that it covered both of their shafts, stroking them together. Galathil matched him, his own fingers wrapping around Lindir's length and the edge of his own.

A taut nipple beckoned, and Galathil's lips closed around it, drawing it into his mouth fiercely, causing Lindir to cry out. Lindir rocked against him, stroking their lengths together in delicious friction, his breath quickening as Galathil lifted his hips to meet his movements.

Galathil's release claimed him quickly, leaving him shuddering against Lindir as the minstrel continued to stroke his length. He shifted, pulling away slightly, before using his leverage to roll Lindir beneath him.

"It is my turn," Galathil said softly, running his hands slowly over Lindir's chest. "I wish to taste you."

Lindir smiled lazily up at the prince, though his smile quickly faded as Galathil bent to take his length into his mouth, swallowing him deeply. He threw his head back with a low, helpless groan, his hands burying themselves in Galathil's hair.

Galathil's tongue lapped against the underside of Lindir's shaft, sliding up the heated length of it before swirling in teasing strokes around the tip. He tasted the salty sweet flavor of Lindir's arousal on his tongue, savoring it for a moment, before taking his length deeply once more. He cupped the soft pouch of skin beneath Lindir's shaft, squeezing it gently as he drew the hard length of flesh deeper into his mouth.

"Ai," Lindir gasped softly, his hips arching off the bed to meet Galathil's mouth. His eyes closed tightly, his breath coming in short, harsh pants. "So good," he whispered, licking his lips. "Ai, so good."

Gathering the cooling moisture of his own release from his skin, Galathil brushed his slick fingertips between the cleft of Lindir's buttocks, seeking the small opening hidden there.

Lindir's eyes flew open as Galathil pressed a singer finger against his entrance, his body tensing. "No," he whispered, though his hips were already arching, pushing towards the touch. He shuddered, eyes closing once more, as Galathil slid a single finger past the tight ring of muscles that endeavored to keep him out.

Galathil raised his head, resting his cheek against Lindir's twitching arousal. "I will stop if you wish," he whispered, sliding his finger slowly in and out of Lindir's body. "But I want to do this. Please." His tongue swept out, swirling around the swollen head of Lindir's shaft, gathering the moisture there. "Please," he repeated.

"Aye," Lindir whispered, parting his legs to allow Galathil better access. He moaned wantonly as Galathil drew his length between his lips, drawing it deep, his finger sliding into him with slow, deliberate thrusts. His head fell back against the pillow, hips rising to meet Galathil's mouth, his body welcoming the penetrating touch of his lover's finger.

"Banwain," Galathil murmured, before drawing Lindir into his mouth again, adding a second finger to the first. He pushed deeply, index finger curling, seeking the spot inside Lindir's body that would give him pleasure.

Lindir cried out hoarsely, his body stiffening as Galathil's fingers struck their mark.

Galathil rolled his eyes upward as he swallowed Lindir's length, feeling it pulse against his tongue. He watched the minstrel lose himself and was nearly undone by the sight. He felt the telltale throb of Lindir's length and heard his low groan as his release claimed him. His mouth was flooded with Lindir's essence, and he swallowed. The muscles surrounding Galathil's fingers pulsed with the aftershocks of his lover's release.

He moved up the bed, curling next to Lindir's body, resting his head on the minstrel's chest. He felt Lindir's hand stroke his hair idly.

"What shall we do this day?" Galathil asked, turning his head so he could see Lindir's face.

The minstrel stroked Galathil's chest lightly, following its downward progress with is gaze. "First, we shall break our fast," he said, lifting his gaze to Galathil's face. "Then perhaps we might visit the baths for a leisurely soak. After that?" he shrugged elegantly. "We shall see."

Galathil's stomach growled its agreement with the thought of breakfast, and he moved to rise off the bed. Lindir's hands pinned him quickly to the mattress, and he looked up at the minstrel in surprise.

Lindir smiled wickedly, reaching across him for the cloth wrapped bundle on the table beside the bed. He unrolled the fabric, tossing it aside. "Remember what I told you last night, ernilen?" Lindir crooned softly, holding the phallus up with a naughty smirk.

"Aye," Galathil answered, his eyes widening. "You would not…not during breakfast," he stammered, watching as Lindir spread a thin coating of oil on the leather.

"I will," Lindir replied. "Roll over, ernilen."

"Please, Lindir," Galathil protested. "It is far to humiliating. I cannot…"

Lindir's eyebrows lifted as he looked at Galathil sharply. "You can, ernilen," he said mildly. "You can, and you will. I meant what I said last night. You will yield everything, and in return I will give you everything."

Galathil looked away, swallowing. "Please, Lindir," he repeated weakly.

"Do you not wish to please me?" Lindir murmured, leaning down to brush his lips across Galathil's. "And please me it would. ‘Tis such a simple thing, Galathil," he breathed softly. "Wear it for me. Please." He drew back, frowning as the prince continued to avoid his gaze. "Very well." He set the phallus on the table, nestling it carefully in the cloth so that the wood was protected from its oiled surface.

The prince breathed a sigh of relief, though he had to admit that part of him had almost hoped Lindir would have pressed the issue and made him submit to wearing the phallus.

"You are not angry?"

Lindir shook his head, stretching out beside him. "No. But I find you impossible to resist like this, tousled and naked in my bed," he said with a small smile.

Galathil groaned softly as Lindir rolled, covering him with his body, his lips claiming his in an almost bruising kiss. The minstrel's hands slid slowly up Galathil's chest and shoulders, bringing the prince's arms up and above his head, pinning them against the mattress by his wrists. Lindir's kiss deepened, and he ground his hips against Galathil's growing arousal.

"So hungry and eager for me again," Lindir murmured against his mouth. "I like that very much, ernilen." His lips moved to explore the tip of Galathil's ear, drawing the point between them and sucking on it lightly.

The sensation of it shot straight to his groin, and Galathil arched his hips against Lindir's. He was dimly aware of his lover shifting his hold on his wrists, passing them to one hand, while the other traveled slowly between their bodies. He groaned again as Lindir's hand grasped his rapidly hardening arousal and stroked it deftly, spreading the moisture leaking from the tip along the length of his shaft with the palm of his hand. He arched against the caress, moaning Lindir's name.

Lindir's hand moved away from his length so that he could align their bodies perfectly, sliding his own hardened shaft along Galathil's, making them both gasp at the contact of heated flesh against heated flesh. Lindir leaned over him, kissing him deeply, covering his body, stretching above him.

By the time he felt the rope tighten around his wrists, it was too late. In a matter of moments, Lindir had his hands securely fastened to the headboard. Thinking it was merely another level to the game they were currently playing, Galathil paid little heed to them. He was no stranger to the feel of rope, and it made his lust burn all the brighter at being helpless.

Galathil writhed as Lindir moved lower on his body, trailing hot and wet kisses down his torso. His lover lingered at the center of his stomach, his tongue thrusting teasingly into the indentation there, making Galathil moan wantonly.

Lindir's strong hands caressed his thighs, pressing them apart, before traveling lower. Slender fingers teased the sensitive skin behind his knees, and his mouth followed after, licking the tender creases with long, lingering swipes of his tongue. Galathil was fairly quivering with need when Lindir reached back to touch his length again.

He felt the soft touch of silken rope at his ankles and did not protest when Lindir secured them to the footboard, spreading his legs as far apart as he could manage. He trembled, breathless, when Lindir finished, anxious and eager for the sweet torment to continue.

A soft cry escaped him when Lindir's mouth moved up his body again, his tongue laving the soft pouch of skin beneath Galathil's length until the prince was shuddering with need.

"So wanton, ernilen," Lindir murmured, drawing back with a wicked smile. "It suits you."

Galathil waited anxiously for the caress to return, and whimpered as Lindir drew completely away, reaching for the object that had lain, forgotten, on the bedside table.

"No!" Galathil breathed, his eyes widening as he realized his lover had tricked him.

"Yes," Lindir countered with a low chuckle, his eyes half-closed as he oiled the phallus once more. "You must realize by now, my sweet prince, that you will deny me nothing I truly want."

Galathil shook his head as Lindir moved between his spread legs, positioning the tip of the phallus at his entrance.

"Since you would not wear this for me to breakfast, you will wear it here." With slow and careful movements, he eased the phallus into Galathil's passage, smiling at the prince's soft groan as it spread him open. He slid it in and out of the prince's body, spreading the oil deeply within him, before sliding it deeper and rocking it gently. Galathil could do little but arch against the invasion, gasping helplessly.

Satisfied that the phallus was seated well, Lindir rose from the bed and left, returning after several moments with the straps he had shown Galathil the previous evening. With deft movements that spoke of long familiarity, Lindir ran the straps over and under Galathil's thighs, before hooking them snugly to the ring at the back of the phallus, securing it so the prince would not be able to dislodge it.

Galathil closed his eyes to hide his tears of humiliation, moaning softly, despising the way his body betrayed him. Lindir's long fingers gripped his length again, stroking it slowly.

"Look at me, ernilen," he crooned.

Galathil opened his eyes, feeling his face burn with the heat of his shame and arousal.

"Do you understand now that you will deny me nothing?" Lindir asked, his voice dangerously soft.

"Aye," Galathil whispered, choking back a sob of need as Lindir's hand left him.

"I shall return shortly, and I will bring you something to eat," his lover told him with a wicked chuckle.

His body throbbed around the leather phallus, and his arousal ached, twitching against his stomach as Lindir rose from the bed and dressed. His lover paused between articles of clothing to kiss or caress him, but did nothing except ensure that Galathil's need only grew with each touch. A soft plea escaped him as Lindir turned to go.

"Please, Lindir. Do not leave me thus."

Lindir gave him a heated smile, and without speaking, pulled a silken scarf from his pocket. Mindful of Galathil's hair, he blindfolded him, before dropping a soft kiss on his lips.

Galathil heard his lover leave, heard the sound of Lindir's door closing; he was alone, painfully aroused, and could do nothing to alleviate it.

~ * ~

When Lindir returned, he set a tray carrying Galathil's breakfast on the table, before settling on the bed. He leaned forward, removing the prince's blindfold, and smiled down at him.

Galathil looked away as Lindir untied his feet, tossing the rope aside with a casual flick of his fingers. His arousal was flaccid against his thigh, and Lindir ran a finger across it, watching it begin to twitch to life.

"Are you hungry?" Lindir asked softly.

"No." Galathil replied shortly. "Untie me, Lindir."

The minstrel sat back, his hands on his thighs as he regarded Galathil, his expression perplexed. "You are angry with me?"

Galathil finally met his gaze, and Lindir flinched from the coldness in the prince's blue eyes. "Untie me. Now."

Without another word, Lindir leaned forward and untied Galathil's wrists. He was not prepared for the swiftness of Galathil's attack. In moments he was pinned to the bed, Galathil's face hovering above his. He struggled for a few seconds, trying to regain control of the situation, but the prince held him fast, his body pressing him into the mattress.

"We are going to do this my way," Galathil ground out, the muscles in his jaw twitching.

"Ernilen," Lindir began, only to be silenced by the bruising press of Galathil's mouth against his.

"Be quiet, Lindir," Galathil said, before kissing him again. His thigh pressed between Lindir's, spreading them apart, and Galathil settled between them.

Lindir groaned, and the sound was swallowed by Galathil's mouth. He could feel the prince's arousal through the fabric of his leggings, pressing insistently against his own hardened length. He fought back the urge to struggle against Galathil's hands, closing his eyes with a soft whimper as his desire rose hard and fast within him.

Galathil seemed to sense the change in Lindir immediately, how his body had softened, yielding beneath the press of his. Lindir parted his legs further, his hips lifting in silent supplication as Galathil ground his hips against him. He released Lindir's mouth to explore the soft skin at the base of his throat, nipping at the sensitive flesh with his teeth. Galathil bit hard at the junction of Lindir's neck and shoulder, marking him. Lindir shuddered, moaning softly.

"Please." The word escaped him before he could stop himself.

Galathil lifted his head, looking down at Lindir's face. "Please what, Lindir?" There was nothing mocking in his gaze.

Lindir swallowed noisily. "Aníron…"

Galathil's grip on Lindir's wrists loosened, his hands sliding down the minstrel's arms slowly. "Be still, Lindir," he ordered quietly.

Lindir trembled beneath him, his breath coming in short, quick gasps, but he did not struggle when Galathil released him. He left his arms where the prince had pinned them earlier, though his hands gripped the bedclothes tightly. He was confused by this change in the prince, though painfully aroused by it.

Galathil's fingers made short work of the ties that held Lindir's tunic, and he pulled it free. A low groan escaped him as Galathil moved to the fastening at the waist of his leggings, stripping them from his body in one fluid motion and tossing them carelessly aside.

It was difficult to lay still, not to reach for Galathil when the prince covered him again, not to struggle against the intent behind Galathil's actions.

Fingers slick with oil brushed his entrance before pressing swiftly inside. Lindir moaned, lifting his hips, biting his lip as his body re-accustomed itself to being filled. Galathil prepared the way carefully, coating his fingers several times and spreading the oil deeply, stretching Lindir's passage until it accepted his invasion. He felt the press of Galathil's shaft against his opening and stiffened, shutting his eyes.

This was not what he had intended, yet he found himself yielding nonetheless, gasping as Galathil filled him in one, smooth thrust.

"No more, Lindir," Galathil ground out, rocking slowly against him. "I cannot do this any more. Not for you. Not for Erestor." A fierce trembling seemed to grip him and the prince closed his eyes, his breathing low and ragged.

Lindir arched against him, his hands fisted into the sheets as Galathil claimed him. The prince's words troubled him, but he could not consider them, could not think what he meant by them. Nothing mattered except the pleasure that coursed through him with each slow and punishing thrust.

Galathil's hand closed over Lindir's length, stroking it in time with his thrusts. All too soon the pleasure overwhelmed him and he came, shuddering beneath the prince, spilling his seed over stomach. He heard Galathil's hoarse cry, and felt the prince tremble almost violently as his release claimed him.

For a moment, all that could be heard was the sound of their ragged breathing, and the pounding of their hearts, and then Galathil pulled away abruptly.

Lindir watched as the prince's fingers fumbled with the unfamiliar buckles that held the phallus in place, nearly tearing through the thin strips of leather in his haste to remove them. Galathil growled softly in triumph as at last, the straps came free and he pulled the phallus from his body, throwing it forcefully away from him.

"Ernilen…"

"No more, Lindir," Galathil told him, his voice trembling slightly as he bent in search of his clothing. "I cannot…" He pulled his leggings on and fastened them with rough, jerking movements.

"I do not understand," Lindir said finally, his body still twitching with the aftershocks of his release. "What is wrong?"

Galathil pulled his tunic on and fastened the clasps swiftly, before finally meeting Lindir's gaze.

"I need to think, Lindir. I…I did not like what you did to me."

Lindir smirked, pulling himself upright and leaning on his elbows. "You seemed to like it well enough."

Galathil's eyes closed and he took a deep, calming breath before he opened them again. "No, Lindir," he told him, his voice deadly quiet. "After you left me like that…no. Promise or no, I cannot continue like this. It is not what I want."

Lindir's smile faded as Galathil's words sank in. "What do you want, Galathil?"

The prince shook his head and turned away. "I do not know," he whispered dejectedly. "But I know it is not this."

The door closed behind him, and Lindir slumped back against the pillows, wondering where his carefully laid plans had gone awry.

~ * ~

How did things get so confused? How did his relationship with Erestor become what it was? Why did he ever let himself become involved with Lindir? Was there some inherent weakness in his character, some vital flaw he had not been aware of, that he reveled in being treated in such a fashion? Even sought it out?

Flawed or not, Galathil Thranduillion was not happy with the way things were.

I should have stayed in Mirkwood, he thought miserably, packing his belongings carefully for his journey ahead. I should have never left with Erestor.

The tension between his shoulders was palpable, and he realized as he packed, he was waiting for Lindir to arrive, to demand he return, to uphold his promise to him. His movements quickened, shoving clothing into his bags with haste, wanting nothing more than to flee the room he had shared with Erestor before Lindir arrived.

He did not want to confront Lindir. He did not want to find out he was truly weak, so weak the minstrel would be able to entice him back to bed; he was afraid he would give in, despite the wrongness of it all.

How did it go so wrong?

He remembered asking Erestor if there would be more lessons, now that they were lovers. He remembered Erestor's sleepy reply, asking him if that was what he wished. He had wished for more lessons, but he also wished to have moments of tenderness, of pure and simple passion, without the trappings of manipulation and psychological games. He had given himself wholly to Erestor, heart, body and soul, believing that it would be enough.

Apparently it was not, for Erestor had changed when they returned to Imladris. Their relationship did not grow more equal as time progressed. Instead, the scales had tipped unevenly. Galathil did not mind the games, in fact he found great pleasure in yielding to Erestor's firm hand. The problem was that Galathil gave and Erestor took without giving anything back.

Erestor had told him in Mirkwood that he hoped, one day, their relationship would be everlasting. Then here, in Imladris, his lover practically said their love was merely physical, a casual passion, that would pass eventually.

Which is it? And why did Erestor practically push me into Lindir's bed? Is he right?

He must be right, Galathil concluded with bitterness. How else could he explain the ease in which he found himself in Lindir's arms?

Well, the only certainty he knew at this point was that he did not love Lindir, and that their relationship, though pleasurable, did not make him happy.

It was time to go home.

*****

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