Tattoo

Posted: November 2003
Title: Tattoo
Sequel to: Bound
Author: Larien Elengasse
Rating: NC-17
Characters: Elladan/Elrohir
Warnings: graphic homoerotic (slash) content, incest.
Disclaimers: I do not own these characters; they are the property of JRR Tolkien and his estate. I am not making money off this story; it was written for the pure pleasure of it.
Author's Notes: This is the second experimentation in writing first person for me, this time it is done in present tense. It follows Bound, and is Elrohir's musings about his brother shortly after they enter into their doomed relationship.

Summary: Elrohir thinks of his brother and makes a request.

*****

I sit on the edge of my brother's desk, watching him transcribe a volume of human history with artful skill. Elladan is with the quill as I am with the blade, accurate, graceful, and deadly. His hair is pulled into a single braid, to keep it from interfering with his work. I love his hair this way; it looks like sable rope, luminescent and silken soft. He bites his lower lip as he strains to read the almost faded parchment, and I feel a familiar heat blossom in my loins. My brother's mouth is irresistible, lush, ripe, and full, like a pomegranate; and I long to taste of it.

It has been but a few short weeks since my brother took me on the banks of our favorite swimming hole, a few short weeks since he forced me to see what was in my own heart. Every night since I have gone to him, laid myself at his feet and begged him to do it to me again. I love Elladan. He is my heart, my soul, my lust; he is my reason for being, my twin. At first I was raw, ravaged, like I had been eaten from the inside out. The pain had been near unbearable, but then, so had the pleasure. The simple decadence of it all was so overwhelming; I could not refuse him. Each time it is less painful, more pleasurable, physical pain replaced by overwhelming need and want, by burning lust.

As I watch him go about his work, my hands unconsciously find their way inside my tunic, my callused fingers tracing over my pebbled nipples, imagining it his hands that touch me thus, hands that can wring cries from my trembling body. I see the brief flicker of his eye; he is watching me. His tongue darts out and wets his lips, he likes what he sees; I can tell.

I wait for him, patiently; we are to take a walk before the dinner hour, try to steal a moment or two alone. "How much longer will you be, gwanur?" I ask.

"Just a bit longer, Elrohir." he answers softly, the corners of his lips curving into a bewitching smile.

I looked about the room and shifted uncomfortably, the beginnings of my arousal stirring inside my suede leggings. We are alone; Erestor and our father have departed for their nightly ritual before dinner. My fingers nimbly work the clasps on my tunic as I rise from my place upon the desk. I cross the room and close the door, latching it securely. I then turn to face my brother, tossing my tunic into a large chair by the door.

"You are an artist, gwanur." I softly croon to my brother-become-lover.

Elladan looks up from his work to see me standing before him, my fingers unlacing my leggings as I smile with as much wanton desire as I can manage. His smile is bewitching as he gazes up at me, setting down the quill and placing the parchment aside, slowly pushing back his chair.

"That I had a canvas as beautiful as you to work on everyday, gwanur…" came my twin's husky reply.

I lay myself upon his desk, arching my back and splaying my legs, offering myself shamelessly to him. "Mark me, Elladan, make me your canvas," I whisper.

Elladan rifles through the center drawer, withdrawing a quill with a sharp metal point. "By Elbereth, you are beautiful, gwanur," he whispers to me as he rounds the desk, armed with the quill.

I pull the waist of my leggings low, just above the swell of my arousal. "Your name, mark me with your name, gwanur, for I belong to you," I whisper.

I hear his sharp intake of breath, I can see that my words inflame him, I watch his eyes darken in passion. "You do belong to me, Elrohir, you are mine and mine alone," his deep voice growls.

He draws a candle closer, holding the tip of the quill in the flame until it glows hot. "This will hurt, Elrohir. Are you sure this is what you want?"

I hear the hesitation in his voice, and I answer, "Uma, gwanur. (Yes, brother)"

"Amin mela lle (I love you), Elrohir," he whispers to me quietly.

The first touch of the red hot point causes me to hiss through my clenched jaw, and I groan audibly as he alternately drags and pushes the sharp tip into my flesh. He pauses to add ink and reheat the point, softly blowing upon my inflamed flesh, his sweet breath raising gooseflesh across my stomach. My arousal is pulsating now, a steady throb that mirrors the beating of my heart, and I imagine his lips upon my heated length, his skilled tongue tormenting me in ways that defy explanation. More burning, piercing, stinging, I can ignore it now, somewhat, my mind mastering the pain my body feels, bringing it to heel as he continues his work.

The candle burns low now, flickering as its flame wanes, and my brother's soft hair and sweet breath caress my skin. He stands upright and smiles and I sit up, looking down at my abdomen. My twin's name is emblazoned upon it in his elegant hand.

He smiles at me and leans over me, his lips so close to mine, and whispers, "We will be late for dinner, gwanur. We must go back to our room and change and I need to place a bandage over it so you will be more comfortable."

I whisper against his lips in return, "You take such good care of me, melethron." I lean forward, pressing my lips against his, my tongue sliding into his sweet mouth, his low, rumbling growl issuing from his chest.

We break from our kiss and he whispers, "I will indeed take care of you, gwanur, always."

"I am yours, Elladan," I whisper.

"Mine, Elrohir," he answers.

*****

THE END

Go to the sequel to this story: Between Love and Agony

If you enjoyed this story, please send feedback to: Larien Elengasse