Thranduil's Bane

"Good evening, Prince Isildur," the tall blond elf purred as he seated himself beside the man.

Isildur looked up, his dark eyes alight with puzzlement. He'd been in the drinking tent all night long, but none had approached him. He was the youngest son of the great king and valiant warrior, Elendil, and a nonentity, really, beside his brother, Anarion. As the heir, Anarion was frequently at his father's side during council sessions and involved in every stage of the planning of the war against Sauron. Isildur, on the other hand, was a mere captain. He placed his troops where he was told. His gaze met the elf's and he wondered what brought so high a ranking personage to the tent of men, rowdy with drink and fear. "Well met, Prince Thranduil."

"Do you mind if I join you? I saw you sitting alone and thought that I would sample your company. If you would prefer I left, I will take no insult." Thranduil admired the other's broad stature and wondered how the beard would feel grazing his skin. He shifted uncomfortably as the image stirred his loins. He would not even dream of suggesting such an arrangement to the son, even the second son, of Elendil.

"Not at all," Isildur hastily replied, lest the elf come to the conclusion that he actually enjoyed his solitude. That couldn't be further from the truth. He hated being alone. He hated being the second son. Not that he wanted to be the first or even wished his beloved Anarion ill. Only, sometimes he wished that he could just be Isildur. Not Prince Isildur or the Son of Elendil. His lot as the younger, extraneous son was a burden and he bore it with as much dignity as possible. His full lips hesitated and then curved upwards in greeting. "I was ..I was…"

Thranduil looked around and realized that Isildur was not, in fact, alone by choice. Suddenly he understood. "Lonely?"

Isildur felt heat rise in his face and he glanced down at the hand holding his mug of thin, bitter beer. "Not so lonely, maybe. I am used to it. Being alone, I mean. I am the extra son, the heir in case. I have status, but no standing." He at last managed to get his treacherous tongue under control and ceased his ramblings. He pushed his beer away. Too much alcohol, he mused.

Thranduil wanted to place his hand on Isildur's shoulder in comfort, but did not dare. He'd seen Isildur, working daily with his troops and riding on patrol, and knew that he was not close to anyone. Perhaps the reason lay not in Isildur but in other's perceptions. Men were an illusive quality to the Mirkwood elf. "Then come, let us name you elf-friend and you can make merry with me."

Isildur's head shot up. He was uncertain of Thranduil's intention. Surely the elf did not mean? Oh, but what they said, in hushed whispers, of course, about the elves was unthinkable. The gossip and tales titillated him. He wondered, too, if there was any truth. Were they so unselective and uncaring with whom they lay? Were they the lovers some of the men claimed them to be?

Reading the surprise and suspicion on his new friend's face, Thranduil laughed. "Rest easy, Prince, for I did not mean to imply a different liaison. An elf-friend is just that—friend of the elves."

Isildur's shoulders relaxed and a grin flashed his white teeth. "Would you do me the honor, then, of calling me Isildur? I am 'captained' and 'princed' to death."

"Then I name you Isildur, elf friend. And you shall know me as Thranduil. Come, Isildur, while I find the company of your kind fascinating, I long for something else. Let me show you the ways of the elves in merriment. Perhaps you will enjoy the diversity?" The archer rose and extended his hand to Isildur.

Isildur left his chair, but ignored the hand, and followed Thranduil from the tent. Few said anything to him as he left, for he was their captain and nothing more. As with the ways of men, they did not form lasting friendships with those who outranked them. The man's armor clinked faintly as he followed the elf across the broad expanse of camp. The armies of the Last Alliance took up the entire plain and beyond, spilling out and around Mordor like the ocean. The man had never been in the elven encampments. He concentrated his time and energy on the men of his father's army and that left little time for exploration.

"Where are we going?" he asked.

"To listen to the bard's songs of glory and lost loves and to drink elven wine and be light of heart."

Isildur wrapped his cloak closer about him in the fog. "I have heard that the elves are mixture of deadliness and merriness that confuse and confound those who are unfamiliar with them."

They reached a pavilion where a host of elves sat either in chairs or on the ground. They spilled out beneath the covering and some lay prone in the dust staring at the stars. Inside, a tall dark haired elf stood and recited in his own tongue. Even though Isildur did not understand the words, he understood the gist of them by the tone. Shivers went down his spine as he listened for a moment.

"Do we confuse the men?" Thranduil wondered aloud. "Aye, I can see where we might. For we are a light hearted people by nature. And we can turn as deadly as a cornered beast when threatened. I do not think it such a contradiction, however, as men do the same." Thranduil placed his hand under Isildur's elbow and guided him through the throng of elves. He was welcomed and his guest given the once-over before they welcomed the man also.

"Perhaps you are right. Maybe it is only the appearance," Isildur flushed and stammered. He did not mean to imply that the elves were effeminate. "Forgive me. What I mean to say is that in elves, the contrast seems more defined.

"We live forever, unless you stick a sword in our chests or emotionally wound us so that we cannot recover." Thranduil found a seat that suited him on one side of the pavilion and dimly lit by a single lantern. Shadows danced between the backdrop of night and the foreground of the flame. "Here will suit us, I think. I shall fetch us some wine."

Isildur sat cross-legged, feeling somewhat out of place. Even though Thranduil had invited him, he was one of only a few men and he was uncomfortable by the scrutiny he was receiving. Bucking up his courage, he squared his shoulders and concentrated on the bard.

"Interesting choice of friends."

Thranduil sipped from one of the silver goblets he'd fetched for Isildur and himself. "How so, Elrond?"

The Standard Bearer's smile was mischief filled. "He is the son of Elendil, for starters."

"I saw him in the men's drinking tent and he looked lonely. In fact, he always looks lonely. I took pity on him."

"In hopes of?" Prompted the captain.

"In hopes of nothing, Elrond. You are an unconscionable scoundrel. I do not envy him his position and I feel a little sorry for him. And, yes, before your broad hints carry you further, I do find him attractive, in a rough sort of way."

"You always did prefer blonds," snickered Elrond.

"I can think of once or twice when I have favored dark hair and eyes." Thranduil winked at Elrond. "Whenever you desire a repeat performance, come find me."

Elrond laughed merrily at the suggestion. "Oh, no, Thranduil, you shall not tempt me again." He glanced around Thranduil to take a peek at the mortal. Isildur's eyes were wide and his face bore an expression of delight. "Someone should warn him."

"Warn him?" Thranduil turned and looked back. "Warn him of what?"

Elrond's fingernail clinked softly against the silver cup. "Your seduction techniques."

Thranduil laughed heartily at Elrond's back as the elf melted in to the crowd. He was dear friends with Elrond and once, even lovers. They parted company on good terms though, when Elrond fell in love with the High King. Thranduil was not bitter and only wished the best for his friend. He returned to Isildur and proffered the brimming cup. "Here, my friend, drink deeply of this sweetness."

Isildur accepted the cup and gingerly tasted the contents. The wine was cold and sweet and flavored like sun-ripened berries. He sipped more deeply. "I have never before tasted the drink of elves."

"Then drink your fill, my friend." Thranduil leaned closer. "Shall I translate for you?"

Isildur thought for a moment. "Nay. I do not understand the words and the mystery puzzles me. But I rather like the way the words flow together and to unravel that mystery in to the tongue of men would leave it wanting, I fear."

Thranduil clapped the prince on the back. "Well said."

They sat for a while, sipping their wine and saying nothing as the bard recited. Later, other elves added their own bits and pieces to the tale and some gathered in a circle and sang a lament. As the evening wore on, the elves slipped away. Isildur felt the wine, combined with the beer he'd drunk, begin to go to his head. He kept watching Thranduil, the way the light played upon the silver tresses and lit the deep blue of his eyes. The lips were firm, sculpted for kissing and Isildur wondered. He'd never been with a man and had never even wondered at those who did. Men did not attract him with their hairy bodies and corded muscles. Yet, this elf did attract him. He was not feminine, but nor was he masculine. His muscles were firm, defined and there was no doubt in the strength of his arms. His features were ethereal and Isildur had discovered through observation, capable of concealing much or revealing all. They were illusive, and perhaps that was their attraction.

Thranduil felt the scrutiny and glanced at his friend. He saw the wide brown eyes travel the length of his body and could almost hear the mental comparison of elves and men. He'd never found a mortal to whom he'd been attracted for they were coarse and rough. Isildur seemed different somehow. There was a shyness to him, an innocence that juxtaposed his status as a warrior and prince. Thranduil found the contradiction a pleasant contemplation. Deciding the risk was worth the threat of rebuke, he leaned his body closer to Isildur's and placed a soft, chaste kiss upon the flushed brow. He tasted salt and smelled the heady musk of men. With an effort he pulled away.

First the gesture stunned Isildur. He did not know quite what to make of the cool lips pressed against his forehead. He tried to consider the elven ways and take in to account their ideas of friendship. Still, when he thought to their conversation in the wine tent, he had to wonder if perchance Thranduil did not mean more by the act. Then he was forced to consider his own thoughts on the matter. How did he feel about Thranduil's kiss? Would he welcome more? He turned away and thought about it.

Thranduil shrugged mentally. Obviously, he'd mistaken Isildur's feelings for the man turned away. He was attracted, had been, really since his father's troops had first stepped upon the plain. He knew from camp gossip and observation that Isildur had no attachments, either male of female off or on the plain. Was he celibate by choice or was there some thing wrong with him? Was he simply shy?

"The hour grows late," Isildur muttered staring at the night sky.

Thranduil stared up that the white slice of moon riding among the scant clouds. "Aye. I shall help you back to your tent." He rose laboriously to his feet and felt the effects of the wine. Though by no means incapacitated, he did feel the wine and bitter hops brew favored by the men. He wondered how far gone Isildur was.

Isildur rolled to his feet and stood far more steadily than either he or Thranduil would have thought possible. "Thranduil? Did you bring me here to seduce me?" At last he could no longer contain his question.

Caught, as it were, Thranduil lifted his shoulders and spread his hands. "The thought went through my mind," he admitted. "I find you attractive."

The man scrubbed one booted toe in the dirt. He was attracted to Thranduil but could not decide if it was the alcohol, loneliness or something else that made him so bold or so willing to try something beyond his ken. His teeth captured his lower lip in consternation.

"You find me attractive." Thranduil did not pose his observation as a question. The facts were plain on Isildur's face. "But you do not understand from whence this attraction stems and you are confused by it."

Sheepishly, Isildur grinned. "So it is true that elves have the power to pluck a man's thoughts from his brain?"

"I do not have to read your mind, for I can read your face." Thranduil's hand reached out and lightly touched Isildur's cheek. "I have seen you striding through camp as you go about your business. I know you have few whom you call friend and there is none who warms your bed at night. You are alone and that loneliness is something you carry with you, wrapped around your shoulders like a cloak. In your eyes there is a sadness that breaks the heart of any who would dare to look deeply."

Isildur did not flinch away from the warm fingers that brushed feather light across his face. His mind screamed that he should move, step back, and slap the hand away. His heart ached with the force of Thranduil's words and he stayed rooted. He was painfully lonely and had been most of his life. He had always felt out of place, unneeded and unwanted. Those who would so willingly share his bed or his life did so for reasons that were beyond Isildur. And he loathed them and shunned them for their callous greed. He'd longed for someone to touch him and hold him. "I am the younger prince, I have nothing to offer except myself. I cannot gain you favor in court. I can not pour riches in to your hands."

Thranduil almost yanked his hand back, but something in Isildur's face stopped him in time. Now he understood the loneliness he saw. He knew what kept Isildur away from the rest of the men. "What makes you think I have need of mortal riches or favor? I am a prince, Isildur, of Mirkwood. One day, I shall wear a crown and all those who live within the dark wood will be my subjects. Can you improve upon that? No, I do not think so. For as you say, you are a second son. What I want from you, Isildur, has nothing to do with wealth or favor."

Isildur's armor felt too tight and too heavy. His cloak, which moments before had kept the night chill from seeping in to his bones, suddenly dragged at his throat and strangled him. His breeches were too tight in the crotch and his hand itched to pull at the material.

The elven prince saw the emotions swirling in Isildur's eyes and watched the play of thoughts across his features. Pressing his advantage, he stepped closer. "I will give you my love, if you will have it, for however long you may want it. What I will ask in return is your love, your body. But never will I ask for favors or riches. Never will I ask that you go against your father and king or give me more than you are willing. In short, I ask only for you."

Isildur stood eye level with Thranduil and he gazed deeply in the azure eyes, searching for the truth. Thranduil met his gaze squarely and a slight smile played upon his lips. "Your words are like honey."

"Because, according to some, my tongue is coated in the golden liquid," Thranduil answered.

Isildur stepped a fraction closer and his breath fanned Thranduil. "Coated in honey? I do not believe you. Show me," he breathed the last in a whisper.

Thranduil dipped his head and captured Isildur's mouth with his own. The beard abraded his flesh, left it feeling scratched and raw, and he ground his mouth harder against the man as the new sensation made his senses reel. His tongue teased the edges of Isildur's mouth until the warm cavity opened and granted him access. He tasted wine,the bitterness of beer, and Isildur. He slid his tongue over the man's tongue, letting the tip brush against the roof of the man's mouth, before pulling it out again.

Isildur groaned and clamped his lips around the warm invasion, refusing to release Thranduil's tongue, but sucking it greedily. His hand came up and fiercely clutched the elf's shoulders, trying to hold him in place while gaining greater access to his mouth.

With an effort, Thranduil pulled away. "Perhaps some place more private would be appropriate?"

Regaining his senses, Isildur looked around and realized that there were still many elves present. He could scarce believe his wanton behavior and wondered at his own boldness, his own willingness to succumb to the elf; the male elf. He shivered. There was no denying his arousal or his need to feel more of Thranduil, to taste more of his kisses.

Thranduil placed his hand on Isildur's shoulder. "You do not have to go any further."

"Forgive me," Isildur gulped. "I am confused by this. I have never before desired a male, yet I crave your touch as a thirsty man craves water." His hand crept up and grazed Thranduil's silver hair. "I want you."

In the darkness, Thranduil smiled. "My tent is closest, but if you prefer, we can go to yours."

"Nay," Isildur added emphasis to his words with a shake of his head. He envisioned his father's reaction to hearing of a male elf in his youngest son's tent and grimaced. No, he could never explain to his father that he had taken an elf to his bed, even as much as Elendil admired the elves. He would never understand. And Isildur was not sure he could bear his father's scorn. "Your tent would be better, I think."

Thranduil understood but said nothing, lest Isildur accuse him of mind reading again. "Come."

Isildur followed Thranduil to a large tent and entered quietly. He was surprised by the luxury. The tent was large, divided in to four rooms by heavy canvas and tapestries. There was a sitting room, sleeping room, bathing room, and even a dining room, although each room was small. Thick carpets kept the cold of the ground from permeating the tent and braziers offered both light and heat.

"Elves do seem to enjoy their creature comforts, more so than men." Isildur stared around with large eyes.

"We do." Thranduil agreed. "Come, let us get out of our armor and be comfortable."

Isildur dropped his cloak over a chair and began to unbuckle his sword. The armor he wore was bulky and heavy and designed to protect from every angle and every style of weapon. However, the design did not accommodate removal with speed and ease. Each strap and buckle interlocked with another so that, if one was not careful, one could easily spend an entire day locked in a futile wrestling match. As Isildur was working on a particularly difficult strap, Thranduil came and slapped away his hands.

"Allow me." His deft fingers made short work of the armor and each piece was carefully laid aside. Within moments, Isildur was divested of the one piece of clothing that took him and an aide nearly an hour to don.

Elven armor had no such design flaw. For elves needed only half the protection of men. They were quick and lithe and their armor was designed to give them the room they needed to move freely. Thranduil began working on his own armor and Isildur watched in fascination.

Once they were both standing only in shirts and breeches and boots, the elf motioned to a small table with cups and decanters. "There are several different wines, why don't you chose one that suits you?"

"You will join me?" Isildur did not wish to be drunk.

"Of course. In a moment." Thranduil left the main room.

Isildur idly picked up a decanter and removed the stopper. He sniffed experimentally. He was no connoisseur of wines so one smelled like the rest. His palette, too, was lacking and after a few sips, could not distinguish one from the other. With a shrug, he poured two goblets half full.

Thranduil returned wearing a light silken robe that accentuated his blond hair and blue eyes. Draped over his arm was another robe made of green silk. "Come, remove your boots and tunic."

Isildur set aside his goblet and sat down on a chair to remove his boots. He slipped out of his tunic more reluctantly. The bulge in his breeches was obvious but at least the shirt had covered it. Thranduil made no comment as he ghosted the garment over the man's broad shoulders and secured the front, concealing the muscled and hairy chest.

"As you said, we enjoy our creature comforts," Thranduil grinned as he took up the other goblet. "Now, come and sit with me for awhile. We shall talk quietly, you and I, and explore one another."

Isildur moved to sit in a chair, but Thranduil stopped him and motioned him to a low couch piled high with cushions. When Isildur balanced precariously on the edge, like a blushing virgin ready to flee the cavalier, Thranduil laughed heartily. Seeing the humor, Isildur, too, laughed. And the laughter felt good. He settled back on the cushions, squirming to find a comfortable position, when he felt Thranduil's arms come around his waist and haul him back. Isildur went rigid at first and then relaxed. After all, he had agreed to be here and he doubted that Thranduil had rape on his mind. Seduction was at the foremost, but did he not wish to be seduced?

The man settled against him and Thranduil sighed in contentment. That his guest was so willing and pliant was something he'd not really expected. Nay, he'd not really hoped for. His palms longed to feel the short hairs on the man's chest, to know their texture. His lips wanted more kisses. He placed his face against Isildur's hair and sniffed. He smelled like a warrior. Sharp and tangy. Thranduil's mouth watered.

Isildur tilted his head slightly and watched his host from the corner of his eye. "What are you thinking?" He felt Thranduil's warm breath and shivered in anticipation.

"I am thinking," Thranduil decided on honesty. "I am thinking that I want to know if you taste as you smell. I want to feel your skin on mine and taste your kisses."

His soft lyrical voice made Isildur's flesh hum. "More honey."

The comment caught Thranduil off guard for a moment and he pondered. At last he realized the reference. "Was that a complaint or a request?"

"A request," Isildur prompted and blushed at his own boldness.

Thranduil lifted a lock of Isildur's hair and rubbed it between his forefinger and thumb. The texture was heavy, like hemp rope, and thick. He lowered his head and touched his tongue to Isildur's neck. The heated flesh was salty and Thranduil lapped greedily.

"Do I taste as I smell?" The prince could barely form the thought, never mind the words.

"Aye, salty and tangy." Thranduil nipped at Isildur's ear. "Like a warrior should taste."
His hand slipped inside the robe and his palms slid over Isildur's furred chest. The hairs were soft and thick and the skin beneath firm. He encountered a flat nipple and grazed it with his fingertips. To his delight the nub hardened and pebbled and Isildur hissed his appreciation.

Thranduil took the goblet from the man's unresisting fingers and placed it on the floor. Then he turned Isildur's head so that he could capture the man's sweet lips with his own. His mouth still felt raw from the last kisses and he ground himself hard against the bearded face, enjoying the slight stinging far more than he'd ever thought possible. His tongue danced inside Isildur's mouth and explored to his heart's content.

Isildur wrapped one arm around Thranduil's neck and held him firmly in place as he sucked the wicked tongue invading his mouth. He closed his eyes and imagined that he sucked Thranduil's cock and the idea blossomed in his head until he could barely sit still. He whimpered and moaned deep in his throat and held Thranduil's tongue locked in his mouth and applied suction and pressure. Beneath his leggings, his cock jerked and pearly white semen soaked the cloth.

Thranduil moved his hand along the contours of Isildur's stomach, splaying his hands wide to feel each ripple. When he encountered the bulge in the man's leggings, he groaned. Already the cloth was damp and the straining material revealed far more than it concealed to his questing hand. Thranduil pulled his mouth from Isildur and stared for a moment in to warm brown eyes that sparkled with passion and need and wonder. Thranduil squeezed gently and Isildur's back arched.

"Ah," he gasped as his own hand slammed atop the elf's, grinding his erection in to Thranduil's palm. His labored breathing stirred Thranduil's long hair.

Slipping from beneath his lover, the elf pushed Isildur down on the couch and then climbed atop him so that their bodies were perfectly fit. The silk robes offered scant modesty and did nothing to prevent Thranduil from feeling every rippling muscle and bulge of Isildur's ripe body.

The man claimed handfuls of the elf's hair and pulled his head down to capture his lips even as his legs parted. Thranduil settled nicely in to the 'v' of Isildur's legs and rocked his hips slowly, grinding their erections together. The kiss went on forever, until neither could breathe. When Thranduil lifted his head, Isildur frowned.

He traced around Thranduil's mouth, outlining the angry red abrasions left by his beard upon the alabaster skin. "My beard has scraped your skin."

The skin around his lips burned but Thranduil did not care. In fact, he welcomed it. "I am not hurting." He kissed the full lips lightly. "In fact, I am enjoying it, for elves do not have beards and the sensation is new to me." He kissed along Isildur's jaw and scraped his face against the soft beard. He nuzzled Isildur's throat, biting and nipping contentedly as the man wriggled and moaned with pleasure.

Thranduil unfastened the robe and kissed down Isildur's chest until he encountered a nipple. He let his tongue circle the flat disk, leisurely at first, then with increasing speed. Isildur's hands on the back of his head were strong and demanding. He allowed his head to be pushed downwards and he took the pebbled disk between his teeth to roll it gently.

"Yes," breathed Isildur.

The elf clamped his teeth harder on the brown nipple and flicked his tongue over it. He could hear the staccato rhythm of Isildur's heart. He glided his thumb over the other nipple, feeling it, too, pebble and distend. With one final, rough nip, he moved his head, kissing a direct line to the other side of Isildur's chest. Hands dug in to his shoulders and he knew he'd bear the bruises on the morrow and he did not care. He scraped his teeth on the nipple and felt Isildur's cock twitch in response. He rubbed his face against the hairy chest and laughed as it tickled his flesh. And Isildur laughed with him.

Thranduil scooted down and dipped his tongue into his lover's navel and when Isildur sucked in his stomach, pushed harder. He plunged his tongue rapidly in and out until Isildur caught on to the rhythm so that when his tongue dipped in, the man breathed out.

Isildur moaned and thrashed and felt a burning need so deep inside him that he could not name it. His body ached in ways he'd never dreamed. And his thighs clamped tightly around Thranduil's torso, locking him in place so that he ground his hardened cock against the elf's chest. Hands touched the bulge in his breeches and he nearly came up off the couch. Deftly, the laces were undone and his member sprang free, spraying little droplets of cum across his stomach. He watched with fascination as Thranduil's pink tongue lapped them up.

Suddenly he could stand no more. "I want to touch you," he whispered.

Thranduil looked up and read the violent need in his lover's eyes. "Yes." He answered and he scrambled to his knees, still between Isildur's legs. He removed the silk robe and unlaced his breeches. At first he worried that Isildur would balk once he was revealed as a male, not an androgynous being of light and air. But the man did no such thing. Rather he reached down and grasped Thranduil's hips roughly and pulled the elf until he gave in and slithered up Isildur's body. Thranduil straddled the well-muscled chest and stared down at Isildur. The bearded lips parted and his tongue darted out to capture a drop of the elf's essence. With a soft moan he opened his mouth wider and sucked the cock deep in to his mouth. Thranduil's body shook and he dug his fingers in to the couch's arm when Isildur locked his arms tightly around his thrusting hips and pulled him almost completely down.

The hot flesh invading his mouth was sweet and Isildur could not get enough of it. Instinctively, he relaxed his throat and encouraged his lover to push deeper until he was
nearly swallowing the member in his mouth. His throat convulsed and he heard Thranduil's low moan as it rumbled from his chest. Isildur felt an overwhelming pride and sense of power, unlike any he'd ever felt before, as the body held taunt above him trembled and shook with his ministrations. He could do that to this prince, he could reduce the elf to a quivering mass. His tongue worked feverishly along the vein, sliding up and down.

Intense heat surround his cock and slid up his spine. Sweat beaded his forehead and chest and every muscle in his body quivered. He could not get enough air in to his lungs and his head spun as sensation after sensation washed over him. "Enough," he growled at last.

Startled, Isildur immediately stopped. Had he done something wrong? He allowed Thranduil to move away from him and watched in consternation as the elf dragged a trembling hand through his sweat-soaked hair. Their labored breathing echoed in the tent.

Thranduil leaned forward and kissed Isildur once before standing up to remove his breeches. Relieved, Isildur lifted his hips and struggled to push down his own leggings. He got them as far as his thighs before Thranduil's hands clasped the edges and ripped them off the man's legs. Sitting on the edge of the couch, Thranduil placed light kisses up and down Isildur's length. He dipped one finger in to the slit and smeared the pre-cum on his digit. He placed his head down and took Isildur in to his mouth while his finger probed gently between Isildur's cheeks.

Uncertainty filled Isildur and his entrance tightened at the first brush of Thranduil's finger. Even as it tightened, his body recognized the desire to be invaded, filled. He took a deep breath and forced himself to relax. His mind went blank and he focused only on the sensation of Thranduil's mouth upon his cock. Reality returned as the finger delved deep within him and he gasped and his cock softened.

"I am sorry," he said with a mixture of embarrassment and pain.

"Ssshhh," Thranduil did not lift his head and the sensation of cool air and heat teased Isildur's cock back to life. Thranduil's finger slid easily in and out of Isildur and then he thrust two fingers inside while his tongue danced and played over the man's cock. He felt the small bundle of nerves hidden deep within Isildur and pressed hard against them until the man's cries became increasingly loud. He withdrew his fingers and raised his head.

Isildur lay gasping and panting and his eyes were passion glazed. "Please do not stop."

"Nay, I am not going to stop." Thranduil rose from the couch and held down his hand. "Come, the bed is more comfortable."

This time Isildur took the proffered hand. This time he needed it. He allowed himself to be led, naked and aching, to the rear of the tent. The 'bedroom' was dominated by a large bed and trunk. He allowed himself to be laid back on the bed and he watched as Thranduil opened the trunk. When the elf turned back around, he held a small vial in his hand.

"I will use this to ease your passage." He said as he coated his fingers. Laying the bottle aside, he stroked his cock until it was coated with the thick oil.

Isildur watched in silence, feeling naive. He'd long understood the mechanics of male-to-male relationships, though not the exact logistics. He did not know what to expect. He swallowed as Thranduil knelt between his bent legs.

"I will hurt you at first," the elf spoke softly as he positioned Isildur's legs over his shoulders. "I want you to relax and breathe. Above all else, you must breathe or the pain will be worse. Do you trust me?"

Taking a deep breath, Isildur nodded. "Aye, I trust you." He did not know why he trusted Thranduil or why he was so willing to lay naked and exposed, but there it was. He felt Thranduil's cock press against his entrance and every fiber of his being screamed no. His breath caught in his lungs and blinding pain shot up through his body and his back arched even as his mouth opened in a silent scream. He twisted the blankets in his fists.

"Breathe," commanded Thranduil in a voice that moved elves on a battlefield. "Breathe," he said again when Isildur did not respond. He shoved his way past the barrier, giving up on gentleness. He pushed hard and felt the muscles give way. He knew he was hurting Isildur.

Thranduil's words penetrated the pain filled fog and Isildur breathed. The pain lessened. He felt full and he felt stretched. And where Thranduil penetrated him, there was stinging. But the worst of it was gone.

Thranduil withdrew and then pushed back in. As he pushed, he whispered. "Breathe."

And the rhythm that Isildur had learned earlier came back to him. So that with every one of Thranduil's thrusts, Isildur inhaled. Then Thranduil changed his angle and the head of his cock grazed the bundle of nerves and Isildur's back arched again, only this time pleasure motivated him. His hands disentangled from the blankets and found Thranduil's long hair and twisted the silver locks around and around. He moaned as Thranduil repeatedly brushed the same sensitive spot.

"More," he pleaded and did not recognize his own voice.

Thranduil ground his teeth and plunged rhythmically in and out of Isildur's unbelievably tight heat. He felt the muscles constrict around him and he grunted with the effort of holding himself in check. Each thrust brought him closer to the edge and still he hung on, waiting for the moment when his lover was ready. And when Isildur hoarsely begged for more, Thranduil unleashed himself at last. He spread his knees wider beneath Isildur's buttocks and used his powerful thighs to increase his pace. He stared down at Isildur and watched the brown eyes darken.

Isildur panted and writhed beneath the onslaught. He felt pressure building with in him and his muscles tightened around Thranduil, squeezing him. Something snapped and suddenly, Isildur was spiraling out of control as his orgasm took him completely by surprise. He did not know that pleasure could be so intense. And his seed spilled over his stomach and mingled with his sweat and with Thranduil's sweat. Suddenly, he felt the elf stiffen and groan and he felt Thranduil's seed spilling inside him and his muscles clinched tighter, milking Thranduil's cock and trapping it inside his body.

With a soft whimper, Thranduil collapsed atop his lover and they lay panting together. After a time, when they both caught their breath, Thranduil rose and retrieved a cloth and a basin of water. He washed Isildur's body and then moved to wash his own, but Isildur stopped him.

"Let me," he took the cloth from the elf and wiped away the sweat and cum. He put the bowl and cloth aside and shyly kissed Thranduil.

Thranduil kissed him back and rubbed his shoulders and sides. "I want to wake up in your arms."

Isildur laughed. "I must get back to my father's camp by sun rise."

"I shall not let you be late." Thranduil pushed Isildur back on the bed and pulled the covers up over them both.

Later, Thranduil woke from a troubling dream. He turned his head and stared at Isildur who lay curled against his side. Thranduil's eyes roamed the dark tent and he sighed. The dream was real enough, he knew. He kissed Isildur's brow. "You shall be my bane, I fear."

"What?" Isildur sleepily opened his eyes and stared deeply in to Thranduil's blue orbs.

"I said I want to make love to you."

Isildur laughed softly as he snuggled in to Thranduil's embrace.

THE END

If you enjoyed this story, please send feedback to: LadyHawksShadow