Lofty Aspirations

Lofty Aspirations

Posted: January 11, 2008
Title: Lofty Aspirations
Author: Minuial Nuwing
Type: FCS
Characters: Elladan/Elrohir
Rating: NC-17
Disclaimer: Only the quirks and perversions are mine. Everything else belongs to the creator-god of Middle-earth, J.R.R. Tolkien. I am awed by his gifts and humbled by his vision. I promise to clean them all up and return them with smiles on their faces when I am done playing!
Warning: Rather graphic twincest, shameless PWP fluff, questionable language
Author's Notes: For my dearest Fimbrethiel, who helps me manage the elves, weather the storms, and keep my sanity. Love you, Fim. **hugs and smooches**

Summary: Elladan is wet and annoyed.

*****

Elrohir is on top because that is where Fim likes him. Elladan does not really mind.

As some may remember, ‘Thônvelui’ is an invented species of evergreen. ‘Sweet pine’ is a fair translation.

*****

The squish, squelch and slap of wet leggings and wetter boots drew Elrohir’s attention from the book that lay across his lap. He put aside his reading and rose from the bed, one eyebrow arching sharply as he took in the sorry sight before him. “What happened to you?”

“If you are going to be a smartass, ‘Roh, just be quiet.”

Elrohir tried unsuccessfully to smother a smile. Even Elladan’s voice was soggy.

The elder twin tugged ineffectually at the soaked leather of his jerkin. “It is raining,” he announced in a put upon voice, “again. My horse is wet, my tack is wet, and,” Elladan paused to twist a stream of water from his sodden braid, “I am wet.”

Elrohir’s cheeks puffed as he struggled to hold back his mirth, his control almost overcome by the petulant glower on his brother’s face. “It is your own fault, tôren,” he said mildly, pushing away Elladan’s hands to make quick work of the ties and buckles of the waterlogged clothing. “You volunteered to lead the holiday hunting party, remember?”

“But not in the rain,” Elladan retorted, in no mood to be reasonable. “Whoever heard of a Yuletide hunt in the rain? It should be snowing.” Clad only in half-laced leggings, he stalked to the arches that led onto the balcony, dragging Elrohir along. “Look at the gardens,” he commanded. “What do you see?”

Elrohir’s nose wrinkled. “Mud, mostly. And water.”

“Exactly,” Elladan agreed. “I did not realize I was volunteering to sit in the rain atop a slipping, sliding horse while trying to teach overzealous novices to hunt nonexistent game.” His eyes lit on the fading scar that circled Elrohir’s sword arm just below the elbow, and his voice softened. “Nor did I realize I would be without you, rohir nín.”

There was a ghost of remembered horror in Elladan’s eyes, and Elrohir squeezed his brother’s shoulder, firmly pushing away his own memories of that hauntingly beautiful day on the cusp of autumn, a day when the well-placed slash of an orcish blade had nearly severed his arm.

“I am healed in all but strength, and that is coming quickly,” the elf-knight said stoutly, tightening his grip as though to prove his words true. “I could have gone with you, had Ada not balked so.” Shaking off the somber air that had fallen, Elrohir grinned. “But then we would both be wet and miserable.”

Elladan’s affronted expression made his twin laugh aloud.

“Go bathe, tôren,” Elrohir insisted, pressing a sweet kiss to Elladan’s down-turned mouth. “I will take care of the rest.”

Elladan returned from the bathing chamber to find the fire freshly stirred and mulled wine steaming on the bedroom hearth. The floor was dry, his wet clothing had vanished, and on the turned-down bed lay not his robe, but a suggestively short, vividly patterned sarong, one of a pair they had brought back from the south many years earlier. Elladan exchanged his towel for the scant length of red and orange fabric, an agreeable tingle settling at the base of his spine as he caught sight of the bottle of oil that sat promisingly on the night table.

Elrohir never had been one for unnecessary subtlety.

“Are you hungry?”

Elladan turned at the question, accepting the mug of spiced wine that was offered, but he did not answer immediately. His eyes roved over his brother’s body, taking in Elrohir’s unbraided hair and the brilliantly colored wisp of fabric that was tied jauntily around his hips. Elladan grinned wolfishly, his foul mood completely forgotten. “In a manner of speaking, perhaps.”

Elrohir’s eyes twinkled, but he slapped away Elladan’s reaching hand chidingly. “That is not the sort of hunger I was referring to, ‘Dan. I will call for a tray if you wish. I am trying to make up for my absence on the hunt.”

“I think that can be arranged,” Elladan replied, a wicked smirk curling his lips as he sipped at his drink.

“It is arranged,” Elrohir said cheekily. “Sit down, and I will untangle your hair.”

“I have already...”

“Do not be difficult, tôren. Sitdown.”

Elladan sat obediently, closing his eyes as the comb began to move rhythmically through his hair. Though he was perfectly capable of combing his own hair - in fact, had already done so - there was something at once soothing and oddly intimate about the steady pull of Elrohir’s fingers as they followed the comb through the damp strands.

“Finish your wine.”

The order was given softly, and Elladan obliged automatically, tipping his mug to down the final mouthful before surrendering the empty cup to Elrohir’s determined grasp.

“Now lie down. On your stomach.”

One ebony eyebrow reached skyward. “Pardon?”

Elrohir sighed. “I am going to rub your back, ‘Dan. Lie down.”

Elladan stretched out on the smooth sheets, his head pillowed on his arms, and hummed his approval as Elrohir’s weight settled comfortably across his hips. Deft hands twisted his hair into a thick rope and draped it across the piled pillows, baring his back. He heard the soft ‘pop’ of a corked lid, and the familiar scent of Thônvelui filled the air, brisk and clean and vaguely arousing. Strong fingers kneaded his bath-warm muscles, working out the last of the tension and soothing the dull ache that lingered, a reminder of long hours in the cold rain.

“Tmmfmlmhess...”

Elrohir snorted affectionately at the unintelligible mumbling. “What was that, el nín?”

“That feels nice,” Elladan murmured, his eyes closed and his mind drifting in that foggy realm between sleep and waking.

“Good,” the elf-knight replied distractedly, sliding his hands firmly down Elladan’s spine in a hypnotically repetitive motion.

Elladan was only vaguely conscious of his brother’s careful shifting, but awareness returned with a vengeance a heartbeat later, when the warmth of Elrohir’s body blanketed him and a teasing flurry of whisper soft kisses rained down on the nape of his neck. His breath hitched sharply as Elrohir’s lips wandered lazily to his ear and then down, over his back, the trail ending at last with a wet, open-mouthed kiss just above the loosely-tied sarong.

There was a tense moment’s silence, colored by the harsh rasp of uneven breathing, then the soft fabric fell away and Elladan let out a strangled oath as oiled hands spread him and an aggressive tongue breached his body without warning. “Entertaining lofty aspirations tonight, are we?” he panted, the remark’s snide edge dulled considerably by the quaver in his voice and the reflexive buck of his hips against the mattress.

Elrohir snickered, the burst of warm, moist air sending a visible shudder through his brother’s body. “We are,” he purred, lowering his head back to the task.

Elladan did not answer, his hands grasping convulsively at the linens until at last he grabbed a pillow, burying his face in it in an attempt to muffle the howl that was quickly building in his chest. The swirling caress vanished abruptly and Elladan raised his head to protest, the complaint becoming a breathless moan as slick fingers replaced wet tongue, the moan giving way in turn to the sound Elrohir had sought from the beginning. “Please, ‘Roh...please...”

“Up,” Elrohir ordered hoarsely, giving his twin’s hip an encouraging slap. “Just knees.”

Elladan obeyed the cryptic command instantly, pulling his knees up under his body and tightening his grip on the pillow. Then there were firm hands on his hips and an insistent nudging below and he forced himself to breathe through the searing burn as he was taken in one determined thrust, Elrohir’s relieved moan blending with his own pained hiss.

Elrohir stroked his brother’s flank soothingly, the echo of Elladan’s discomfort dancing around the edges of his own intense pleasure. He stared at their joined bodies raptly, the sight of his own flat stomach pressed tight against his brother’s bottom still novel enough to captivate.

Elladan shifted restlessly, at last rising to his elbows to look back at his mesmerized twin. “’Roh?”

There was no response, and Elladan’s passion-dark eyes sparkled with affectionate amusement.

“Elrohir!”

“Hmm?”

“Are you going to fuck me, or simply enjoy the view?”

The wickedly aimed thrust that answered his question made Elladan’s vision blur, and those that followed left his throat raw and his body trembling uncontrollably before Elrohir relented, settling tight against his brother’s back, opening his mind and heart fully as he gave in to the warm, persistent tug that preceded their soul’s fusing.

Elladan sighed blissfully as the familiar silvery glow began to curl around them, but, as always, it was too soon over, a final thrust and a rush of exquisite pleasure answering their bodies’ demand for the completion that would, in the end, leave their spirit once again sundered.

Elrohir shifted to the side, pulling Elladan snugly back into the curve of his body, reluctant to let go even as his thoughts and movements again became his own.

After a while Elladan sighed, reaching unsuccessfully for the linens and blankets that had been shoved to the foot of the bed. “Love you, ‘Roh,” he mumbled drowsily.

“Love you, too, tôren,” Elrohir answered, sitting up to straighten the twisted bedcovers. As he pulled up the blankets, he glanced outside, a smile spreading slowly across his face.

The balcony gleamed softly, the sharp edges of the stone oddly indistinct, and the very air seemed to shimmer in the faint glow of the shrouded moon.

“’Dan?”

“Mmm?”

“It is snowing.”

*~*~*~*~*

tôren - my brother
rohir nín - my knight
el nín - my star

*****

THE END

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