Disclaimer: I own nothing, except the plotline and an evil mind. I blame society for the latter.

Feedback: Please!

Warnings: This is for those reviewers who wanted to know what happened with Elrond and Celeborn after the story Changes ended. I wrote a sweet, romantic fic recently (One Last Time), and felt like I deserved a reward for being so good for so long. Since my favourite reward for being good is being bad, this story is very wicked indeed. Basically PWP with just a smidgen of plot, so don't say you weren't warned. Oh, and a bit of BDSM.

A/N: This is a continuation of my previous Unspoken story arc (Unspoken/Revelations/Changes.) Read them first or prepare to be confused.

Quid Pro Quo

By Rune Dancer


Elrohir glared at the gypsy boy--well, technically he supposed he was a man, but he certainly wasn't a very old one--who sat mesmerized, his big dark eyes never leaving Glorfindel's face. Except, Elrohir noted in mounting fury, when that gaze slid down Glorfindel's body to linger on the curve of his buttocks for an inordinately long time. There did seem to be so very many of the gypsies, all crowded into the main hall of Imladris as their leader poured out her story to Elrond, that Elrohir really didn't think they'd miss just one--if, say, he happened to be tipped over a balcony and into the ravine.

He managed to get himself under control briefly, but then his hard won calm was shattered by Glorfindel's laughter with another of the gypsies, this one an older man with a powerful physique, dressed flamboyantly in red and yellow silks that hugged his muscular form. Elrohir literally saw red, a mist seeming to descend over his eyes, until he disbanded it with a shake of his head and quickly left the hall. Elbereth, you'd think he would be used to all that by now. Half of the guests to Imladris, male or female, followed Glorfindel around like acolytes from the time they arrived, those that, is, who weren't busy doing the same to Ada. Of course, both of them could take care of themselves in any situation, but still . . .

It wasn't that Elrohir didn't trust Glorfindel, but so many of his admirers were so very attractive. Plus, there were all those stories the guards kept teasing him with, about Glorfindel's many conquests in the past . . . it was all making Elrohir extremely insecure. If only there was some way to insure that his lover didn't look at him one day and wonder what he'd ever seen in an average looking elf barely past his majority. Biting his lip in worry, Elrohir put as much space as possible between him and the throng in the hall. He hoped their stay would be a very brief one.


The gypsies twirled in ancient patterns, their bronze anklets glinting like gold in the firelight. Elrond watched the leader, a tall dark haired woman who almost seemed to weave a spell with her graceful, exotic movements, and decided that this might not have been one of his best ideas. The small group of wanderers had requested brief sanctuary at Imladris while several of their number recovered from wounds sustained in an orc ambush, and Elrond had agreed. Then their leader insisted that they be allowed to repay their hosts by entertaining the assembled court after dinner, a suggestion that had been greeted with such universal delight that the affair had had to be moved to the large open field behind the house, as the banqueting chamber could not hold all who wished to attend. Hundreds of elves now reclined around the grassy sward, while the gypsies danced around a large fire they had lit in the centre of the field. It was almost the only source of light now that night had fallen.

The mortals were lost in the hypnotic rhythm of the drums, castanets and stringed instruments played by a small group of their number seated somewhere in back of Elrond. He could not see the musicians, as all had insisted he take a position of honour near the front of the crowd. He wished fervently, as the dancers moved in sinuous designs around the blaze, their full lips singing ancient, alien songs, their black lashes throwing shadows onto bronze cheeks, that he resided anonymously in the crowd with everyone else instead of practically within the dancer's circle. When the leader approached him, the fire outlining her voluptuous curves and turning the ends of her flowing black hair to gold, there was nowhere for Elrond to go.

She circled his chair as the movements of all the dancers became more frenzied, almost, in some cases, too swift to follow with the eye. Silks swirled, castanets clicked and chimed, dizzying leaps were made across the highest flames, and the increasingly frenetic pace of the drums seemed to pound through Elrond's very soul. Then suddenly it was over, the leader coming to rest with a final crescendo of sound and movement directly in front of Elrond's chair. She was breathing rapidly, a lock of hair falling across her brow, her smoldering dark eyes piercing his, her red lips curving into a knowing smile. Elrond kept his face impassive, yet somehow he thought she could feel the swiftness with which the blood coursed through his veins, could probably even guess the reason for it, although Elrond did not allow his eyes to stray again to the figure comfortably reclining on the grass a few yards away.

He had made the mistake of glancing at his father-in-law shortly after the gypsies had started their performance and had immediately regretted it. Celeborn, who had laughingly declined a chair when he suddenly arrived in the glade a few moments before the performance began, looked relaxed and completely composed as he reclined on a small blanket on the grass. His informal posture did nothing to detract from his beauty, and Elrond had been at first incapable of looking away from the way the sleeveless white tunic he wore bared his arms and emphasized the perfection of his skin. Several golden armlets encircled his biceps, reflecting the firelight and the golden highlights in his long silver mane. Celeborn must have just come from the baths, for his hair looked slightly damp and tendrils curled intriguingly against his neck. The tunic was long enough to serve as a robe, which had allowed him to dispense with leggings. As he stretched out on his blanket, however, the front of his ensemble rode up to reveal a well muscled leg and part of one strong thigh, the pale skin highlighted with minute silver strands that tantalizingly caught the light. For a moment, Elrond had forgotten to breathe, then managed to tear his eyes away before he was caught staring.

He had not risked looking again, but it now felt like the music, the drums, and the steadily deepening darkness were all conspiring against him, especially as the gypsy leader laughingly informed him that they would do one more, very special dance, just for him. The dancers all left the fire's circle of yellow light, merging almost immediately with the dark, until two figures re-emerged to strike dramatic poses in front of the flames. Both were male, the blond wore white while the dark one was dressed, as was Elrond himself that evening, in crimson. As the drums began again, he swallowed unobtrusively and watched the bits of wood and ash thrown up into the night sky from the flames, looking like little stars amongst the black of the night. No, this had definitely not been one of his better ideas.


Elrohir was not watching the dancers. Instead, his attention had been caught by two elves who lay closely entwined a few feet away from him. They reclined on the grass near the tree line, almost, but not quite, hidden by the flickering shadows. Haldir lay behind Gildor, his head propped up on one hand, while the other absentmindedly stroked up and down his partner's bare arm as they watched the dancers. Gildor looked somewhat different than Elrohir was used to seeing him. His dark hair was swept back at the temples by a mithril clip and his tunic was a rich russet silk over which he wore a matching velvet robe. The change was more than in his attire, however; his eyes shone with a new joy and his smile was so bright that it reminded Elrohir of the sun bursting through on a cloudy day. He didn't think Gildor had stopped smiling since coming into his frame of vision. His eyes, although they followed the dancers, looked a bit unfocused, especially after Haldir's hand dipped under the neckline of his robe, which had slipped down his upper arms, and began to caress his throat and the skin over his heart.

As the dancers swirled and leaped, Haldir's exploration continued. He placed the gentlest of kisses on the exposed neck in front of him while his hand quested lower, skimming over Gildor's silk clad form to where the tunic hem modestly covered his knees. Shadows caused by the dancers' movements momentarily obscured Elrohir's view, but, when the dim light illuminated the couple again, he saw without surprise that Haldir had made progress; his hand was now sliding sensuously up Gildor's thigh. Increasing desire was evident on Gildor's face, and he gave up any pretense of following the performance in front of him when Haldir's arm disappeared completely under the loose folds of his tunic.

Elrohir was somewhat taken aback by the ardor he saw openly reflected in Haldir's gaze as he surveyed his companion, and the exquisite care which he took to pleasure Gildor. Elrohir was fascinated by the subtlety and assurance of Haldir's technique--he soon had Gildor gasping and visibly shuddering as he touched, fondled, licked, nibbled and petted him in an unending display of passion. Elrohir found it suddenly difficult to breathe and felt his heart racing. When Gildor, who had apparently forgotten about being in a semi-public place, began to moan helplessly under Haldir's attentions, the look on his face caused Elrohir to experience a bolt of pure envy. But, when Haldir suddenly stood and dragged his lover away into the dark of the forest, Elrohir found the circle somehow dimmer without them.


The day that was rapidly spiraling out of control had begun rather promisingly for Elrond. He had woken in bed, exhausted but feeling closer to normal than he had in almost three days. He had not dared to leave his rooms, not that he had been up to it anyway with Galadriel's evil potion still bubbling through his veins, but he also hadn't wanted to meet anyone and have to give any awkward explanations. This was possibly the most humiliating thing that had ever happened to him and he could only hope Erestor had made some kind of believable excuses for his prolonged absence. Since he had been spared visitors, other than servants who daily delivered trays of food that remained untouched, he could only assume that some sort of tale had been put about. He winced, hoping that whatever it was, it came nowhere near the truth.

Elrond was thankful to be finally, gloriously free from physical pain, even if the mental anguish was still present. To be aroused constantly for three days and unable to alleviate the condition, no matter what he tried . . . it had been pure torture, and not of the more pleasant variety. There had been moments in the last 24 hours when he had genuinely thought he was going insane. Galadriel had neglected to mention a little side effect of her potion, he thought in mounting fury--it not only left you filled with desperate yearning, but apparently also focused your desire on one person--in his case, Celeborn. No one else could satisfy him, but, of course, Celeborn was in the same hopeless state as he and unable to oblige. He had also seemed uninterested in even trying to do so, brushing past Elrond as soon as Galadriel's handmaiden released them as if he never wanted to see him again. Elrond had not seen him since.

Now that Elrond was finally able to think clearly again, one thing stood out beyond all others--the very definite need for a little quid pro quo. He did not usually see himself as the vindictive type, but there were limits to his normally even temper, and those had most definitely been exceeded recently. He did not think that there were too many reactions that would be inappropriate considering the indignities to which he'd been subjected. With no provocation on his part at all, he thought in seething fury, his in in-laws had shown up at Imladris and subjected him to more agony and humiliation than he had felt in centuries. He had certainly not ASKED Celeborn to throw himself at him, and he certainly had not planned to have Galadriel exact a particularly vindictive revenge for what had been, after all, her husband's idea. As he saw it, he owed two people a very harsh lesson, and he fully intended to deliver.

By that afternoon, Elrond had improved enough be able to bathe (something that had been impossible with the heightened sensitivity of his recent condition) and to leave his rooms and join the other guests at Imladris for dinner. He had easily laughed, chatted and drunk his way through six courses, to all of which he did ample justice as his appetite had also returned. In more ways than one, he thought, noticing Celeborn's empty chair. He had planned to get started on his revenge after dinner, assuming Celeborn had also recovered, but then the gypsy leader approached him with her request and nothing had ended up as he had planned.

The two male dancers slowly began to circle each other, and Elrond sincerely wished for a way out of what was quickly becoming an intolerable predicament. After three days without relief, arousal was something he frankly could have done without at the moment, especially as Celeborn was evidently not interested. His father-in-law looked his usual unflappable, urbane self, infuriating Elrond who, despite his outward demeanor, felt neither of those things. It made him desperate to see Celeborn lose control again--completely and utterly, as he had only a few days before. He ached to see the proud lord on his knees, abandoning reason and sense in mindless need, shivering and sobbing out desperate pleas for Elrond's touch.

The two dancers had increased the speed of the amazingly intricate steps they wove about each other now, but were still not touching. As the one in red twirled close by Celeborn, Elrond unthinkingly followed his actions, and felt silver eyes stabbing him through the darkness. Celeborn drew him like a magnet and, once his gaze came to rest on the silver figure gleaming so brightly in the firelight, Elrond found it impossible to look away.

How Celeborn's skin glowed in the dim light, as if he was carved of mithril, yet no statue possessed that paradoxical combination of physical vitality and languid sensuality. Overly innocent silver eyes met Elrond's as Celeborn's tongue delicately moistened his perfect lips. Elrond's growing erection prodded his abdomen suddenly, causing him to shift uncomfortably on his chair. He was grateful for his long, loose fitting robes, but ashamed of his inability to control his reaction. Celeborn's mischievous smile radiated knowledge of the effect he was having on his son-in-law, and that he was enjoying every minute of it. And still the dance went on, holding Elrond prisoner in that circle of golden light, throbbing sound and unfulfilled want.


"You want me to do what?," Erestor's voice was pitched high enough to qualify as a squeak. "What have I ever done to you, Elrohir, to make you wish me death--and a horrible one at that? Glorfindel," he told the young elf patiently, "would kill me."

Elrohir blushed crimson. "I don't want . . . that is, I didn't mean that we should . . . ," his voice sounded breathless even to his own ears, so he swallowed and tried again. "I just want to know where I can find the information. There doesn't seem to be anything here . . . " He gestured helplessly around his father's large but, at the moment, useless collection of books and scrolls. He had left the dance a few minutes after Haldir and Gildor, and before he realised it had found himself in the library. It had not taken much time to figure out why his steps had brought him here.

"Well, I should hope not," Erestor huffed in indignation. "What type of household do you think I run? Such items are not just left about, for any casual visitor to pick up!"

"So they do exist then?," Elrohir felt his excitement mounting. He had almost given up hope--why hadn't he thought to ask Erestor before? Of course, his old tutor had probably long passed the days when unbridled passion was a regular part of his life, but he WAS in charge of the library and so must know if the items Elrohir sought were a part of the collection.

Erestor eyed him narrowly. "Before I answer that question, I rather think I have the right to know what, exactly, it is that I am being asked to aid and abet? Glorfindel is not one to be trifled with lightly, young one, not even by you. If you have indeed tired of him and want to go chasing some callow elfling, that is of course your affair, but you would be well advised to formally break off your liaison with him first."

"No! It isn't like that at all!," Elrohir grimaced inwardly but, after a small struggle, decided he would have to tell Erestor the truth. He just hoped he didn't shock the old elf too badly. Trying his best to phrase things delicately, he tried to explain. "Glorfindel is . . . rather experienced . . . in matters of the heart. I just . . . I saw Haldir with Gildor tonight, at the dance, and they seemed . . . ," Elrohir felt himself getting into deep water as he tried to think how to put his desire into words. "I am afraid Glorfindel might grow bored with me, as I know so much less than he does." Elrohir felt his face grow warm under Erestor's steady regard, but he continued on nonetheless. "I just thought, perhaps there was something I could read . . . "

Erestor looked faintly disapproving. "I do not think Glorfindel is bored with you, young one. You've just become involved!"

"Perhaps he is satisfied now, but if I am to keep him . . . ," Elrohir gripped his old tutor's hands tightly and looked pleadingly into his face. "Please help me! There are so many attractive elves, and with his reputation, he is always the object of others' desire. I want to know everything about how to please him, so that he never grows bored, never wants another! Please, Erestor, will you help me?"

A confusion of expressions crossed Erestor's face for a few moments, but the entreaty in Elrohir's eyes won him over in the end. "Very well, young one, I will help you. But I want it CLEARLY understood that you are to tell no one, NO ONE, where you received your information. Do you understand me?"

Elrohir nodded, wondering at Erestor's never ceasing penchant for melodrama. After all, what were they talking about anyway--a few dusty old scrolls, for Elbereth's sake? Hardly something to get into such a tizzy over. But then, he admonished himself as Erestor led him out of the library, such things probably profoundly shocked his old tutor. He and Ada apparently had a long-standing relationship, but without doubt Erestor's part in it was fairly mild. Ada must get elves like that Haldir when he wanted anything too shocking. It was good of Erestor, Elrohir thought, to agree to help him even though the subject obviously upset him.

They reached Erestor's rooms and ducked inside, although Elrohir saw no reason for secrecy; everyone else was, after all, at the dancing exhibition. Erestor nonetheless carefully shut the door behind him and crossed the huge suite of rooms without a backward glance at his pupil. Elrohir followed him through several interconnecting rooms, to finally stop before a heavy wooden door that sported a rather large lock. How odd, Elrohir thought, as Erestor took a key from the bunch at his waist and unlocked it; most of the doors at Imladris had no locks, and it seemed especially strange that one situated within a set of rooms would have been fitted with one.

The mystery was solved a few moments later, as the heavy old door soundlessly swung inward on well-oiled hinges. Elrohir gazed about in openmouthed astonishment at the huge number of shelves, baskets and wall hooks, all of which were fitted with implements, the use of most of which he could not even imagine. "So," Erestor asked, turning to regard him with a wicked glint in his dark eyes, "what exactly do you want to know?"


Elrond saw the dancers out of the corner of his eye as they moved together in sinuous grace, but he was much more interested in the reactions to the performance that flickered across Celeborn's unusually animated face. Wild, impassioned lights flashed in those beautiful eyes, and the slight sheen of sweat on his perfect skin acted as a powerful aphrodisiac for Elrond. He knew, in some way that he did not fully comprehend, that Celeborn was seducing him, but his need had become almost a tangible thing and he did not care.

He tried telling himself that any attempt to renew his affair with Celeborn would almost certainly have disastrous consequences, and it was not primarily Galadriel, now safely back in Lorien, who worried him. Elrond was well aware that he had been manipulated into giving Celeborn what he wanted several days before, and that his father-in-law was a powerful elf who should be handled carefully. Elrond wondered what self-destructive instinct was making him want to do this. But Elbereth, he DID want it, so much that he could almost taste the intoxicating flavour of Celeborn's sweat moistened skin and feel the satiny texture of his flesh. The need to touch him was so overwhelming that it left Elrond briefly lightheaded.

He was so caught up in his fantasy, that he almost didn't notice when the final clash of cymbals announced the end of the performance. The two dancers had ended up entwined around each other like a vine does a trellis, and the sheer decadence of their pose, as well as the thunderous applause that filled the glade, was proof that this particular show had been exceptional. Elrond congratulated the dancers almost in a trance, noticing, however, that while the leader refused to accept the purse he tried to press on her in appreciation for a rare night's entertainment, she accepted one from Celeborn only a few minutes later.

The dance had had quite an effect on the watchers, most of whom paired off, arms about each other's waists as they disappeared into the darkness. The fire had burned down to the point that it was almost out, and Elrond heard Celeborn instruct the few servants who remained behind to leave it. "I will see that it does not spread. Go, enjoy the beauty of the night," he told them, his warm tones echoing in the sudden stillness of the glade. They were glad to comply, leaving he and Celeborn suddenly alone in what had, until a few moments before, been a crowded glade. Elrond felt as much as saw Celeborn's eyes on him, the gaze like a physical touch on his fever hot skin. A feral smile crossed Celeborn's features, and Elrond closed his eyes. He tried to remember why this was a bad idea, but was finding it difficult to think at all. Someone made a soft exclamation of need and it took several seconds for him to realise that it had been himself.

Elrond felt vulnerable--he needed this too much and it worried what little part of his mind was still capable of coherent thought. "All alone again," a deep voice said in his ear, and warm breath tickled the side of his neck. Before he could react, a strong grip closed around his upper arms. Elrond made a slight attempt to move away, but Celeborn's hold was hard and unyielding.

"I think we should go back to the house," Elrond managed to say through clenched teeth. He was not going to give in to this, not going to allow Celeborn to manipulate him again. Then Celeborn's hands slid slowly down his body, stopping to cup his hips briefly before pulling the elf back against him. Elrond felt himself grow even larger, and a hot dampness rubbed erotically against the coarse underside of his robes.

Celeborn chuckled, "Do you really?," he asked, just before a tongue ran hot and rough along Elrond's throat. Elrond found it impossible to immediately reply, and Celeborn took advantage of the fact, sliding his hands under his companion's tunic and caressing his skin through the thin silk of his shirt. Elrond gave a low gasp, shivering as Celeborn found the opening of his shirt and warm, agile fingers brushed the underside of his pectoral muscles, moved up to bring his aching nipples to full tightness, and causing Elrond to almost weep with need.

"Galadriel will kill us both," he managed to gasp out in panic, knowing that his control was almost gone.

Celeborn seemed to find this amusing. "Let me worry about my dear wife," he said, his velvet tones feeling like a caress against Elrond's ears. "I have something . . . special . . . in mind for her. My object tonight, however, is you." Before Elrond could think of a response, strong fingers closed on his nipples, pinching them ruthlessly. The pain sent sparks running throughout his body, reducing him to a delirious, aching, raw nerve. Then he felt Celeborn's perfect teeth trailing tiny bites down to his shoulders, and all remaining resistance fled.


Elrohir wiped sweating palms on his thin silk robe and checked his inventory again, just to make sure he had everything. His heart was racing and he felt somewhat dizzy at the thought of what he had planned, wondering if he was not about to commit the single most stupid act of his entire life. Still, Erestor had seemed to believe in the usefulness of the amazing amount of esoteric knowledge to which he had introduced Elrohir that evening, all of which, Elrohir was sure, was already known to Glorfindel. His lover had probably been holding back, afraid to tell him what he really wanted, probably worried that it would scare him. Elrohir was certainly nervous, and a little uncertain about why some of Erestor's suggestions were supposed to be erotic. However, if this was what it took to keep Glorfindel, then so be it.

Elrohir paced slightly, unable to keep still as he waited for his lover to return from the interrogation that had called him away just after dinner. Some of the gypsy group had information about orc movements in the area, and Glorfindel had taken them off for a private chat as soon as they finished eating. As Elrohir was beginning to wonder if Glorfindel meant to stay away all night, he heard his lover's light footsteps on the wooden boards of the floor outside their room, and tensed. A second later the door opened, admitting a rather worried looking Glorfindel. Elrohir kept one hand behind his back as he walked casually towards him. "Hard evening?," he asked sympathetically.

"Just tiring," Glorfindel spared him a smile. "The humans were helpful, however. I think, given their information, we should be able to make a fairly accurate estimate of . . . "

Elrohir never heard what Glorfindel planned to estimate, as his lover had moved into a position which he judged optional, and, fearing that his nerve would fail him if he hesitated, Elrohir pounced. A few seconds later saw Glorfindel trussed tightly and laid out across Elrohir's large bed. Panting slightly from exertion, Elrohir stepped back, a little alarmed by the look in Glorfindel's suddenly blazing blue eyes. Still, a little thrill ran down his spine at the sight of his powerful lover lying so helpless before him, and he began to think that, perhaps, Erestor had had a point after all.

"Something is troubling you, Elrohir?," Glorfindel asked sardonically, not bothering to struggle against his bonds.

Elrohir bent and checked his lover's shackles, making sure the pads were protecting his skin from any possible bruising. "I know you've been very patient with me," he informed Glorfindel seriously, "but I wanted you to know that it really isn't necessary. I am an adult and can provide you with whatever experience you want." He had retrieved Erestor's box of implements from under the bed as he spoke and began rooting through it, looking at a few of its contents a bit dubiously. He really couldn't see himself actually whipping Glorfindel--he liked his beautiful creamy skin the way it was--so he tossed aside the two different flails with which Erestor had supplied him. "Although, I would rather not beat you, if that's all right?"

"Oh, perfectly." Glorfindel regarded him calmly as Elrohir pulled a knife from his belt and looked at his mate's beautiful satin robes. He had recently purchased them for Glorfindel, and they were such a beautiful weave--peacock blue with tiny seed pearls made into elaborate designs all over the outer surface--that he really hated to ruin them. Erestor had said that cutting off your mate's clothes was supposed to be very erotic, but those robes had cost a fortune and had been made specially. Elrohir had forgotten that Glorfindel had been wearing them that evening. "Is there a problem, Elrohir?," Glorfindel was regarding him with a carefully neutral expression.

Elrohir sighed. This wasn't going well. Instead of aroused, Glorfindel just looked vaguely annoyed, and Elrohir was beginning to feel very foolish. "I think I'm supposed to cut you out of those," he said, but the reluctance was clear on his face. "But they are so beautiful. Would you mind very much if we skipped that part?"

"I think I can manage without it," Glorfindel replied calmly. "However, you will have to remove these," and he indicated the cuffs with a nod of his head, "if you wish me to disrobe."

"Oh, of course." Elrohir found the key in the bottom of the box, and soon set Glorfindel free. "I think . . . " Before he could finish his sentence or even realise what was happening, Glorfindel had caught his right hand in one of the cuffs and fastened it securely to the heavy bedpost. "Glorfindel, what are you doing?"

"Insuring that I don't have to watch your every motion to keep from being tied up again," was the reply. Glorfindel sat back on the bed and pulled Erestor's box towards him. He examined the contents with an expression of incredulity passing over his face. "This time he has really gone too far," he murmured. "I suppose I don't have to ask you where you obtained these?"

"I . . . I bought them from a passing trader a while ago." Elrohir knew it was a very poor lie, but he had expected Glorfindel to be too preoccupied that evening to ask many questions. He was beginning to wish that he had taking Erestor's advice and gagged him.

Glorfindel looked unimpressed, but to Elrohir's surprise, did not press the point. "And you were planning to use these, were you?," Glorfindel was holding up a particularly large set of nipple clamps. Elrohir had actually been a little concerned about those, but Erestor had assured him that they were Glorfindel's favourites.

"Well . . . I wasn't sure what you would like. I mean, I thought you might . . . enjoy them."

Glorfindel arched an eyebrow at him, the same way he once had in the schoolroom when Elrohir missed a particularly easy question. "Would YOU like them?"

Elrohir looked at the cruel looking iron pincers and tried not to shudder. He almost succeeded. "No, I don't think so."

"Then what about this?" Glorfindel held up several long needles. "If you like, I could . . . "

"NO!," Elrohir was appalled. He felt heat rising in his cheeks and tried to force it to go away. He was supposed to be mature and nonchalant about all this, and here he was blushing like an elfling! If Glorfindel really wanted to do these things to him, well, Elrohir was no coward. He could handle it and, he suddenly realised, he rather thought it would be easier to manage the pain himself than to have to hurt his lover. Now that Glorfindel was actually here, sitting warm and beautiful and perfect just a few feet away, Elrohir couldn't imagine ever being able to actually use any of these items on him. "That is," he cleared his throat, "if that's really what you want, I don't mind. I mean, I'm sure I'll learn to, er, enjoy it." He made sure not to look at the huge needles as he spoke. He didn't feel well, all of a sudden.

Glorfindel, he now noticed, was regarding him with compassion and understanding in his blue eyes. "Let me show you what I want," he said softly, and Elrohir nodded.

"Whatever it is, you may have it," Elrohir told him truthfully. The love he felt for Glorfindel was suddenly so strong that it threatened to choke him. Anything was worth it, if it kept this perfect creature always beside him. Anything at all.


Elrond felt like he was drowning in sensation and the heat pooling in his groin was fast becoming almost unbearable. He must have Celeborn now, or go completely mad. His father-in-law was caressing his rigid and trembling sex through his tunic, but the too light touch was more a torment than a pleasure. It only teased, but did not satisfy. Elrond tried to twist in Celeborn's grasp, but was held firm. He then attempted to hook a leg about Celeborn's ankle, wanting him on the ground, submissive beneath him and at his mercy. But Celeborn anticipated the movement, and prevented it.

"Oh no, melethryn," Celeborn murmured against his throat, lips warm on his neck.

"No, first I must hear you beg."

Elrond could barely believe his ears. "You must be mad." Didn't Celeborn understand? He was NEVER the submissive partner, had never been. Even Gil-Galad had submitted. Of course, in his case, he had preferred it, but it would have been so anyway. Elrond Peredhil submitted to no one--never had and never would.

Celeborn's tongue traced the vein throbbing in Elrond's neck, but the elf refused to moan in delight. The skillful hand withdrew from his erection then, and Elrond almost cried out in distress, but the next second his robe was pushed from his shoulders and the tunic ripped over his head. Celeborn ran a hand down the silk of Elrond's thin inner shirt before suddenly dropping to tear away the light loincloth he wore, leaving him exposed from the waist down. The chill night air barely registered on Elrond's consciousness, however, as Celeborn immediately pushed his thighs apart and took him in his large warm hand once again.

Elrond groaned and almost collapsed when those deft fingertips easily found his most sensitive spots, teasing him to even fuller hardness. Elrond uttered a sound he did not recognise, a painful, desperate sob, and arched into Celeborn's palm. "Why are you doing this?" he gasped, trying not to writhe in his need.

"You know why."

"No." Another moan was torn from him as he neared climax, but Celeborn moved his fingers to grip the base of Elrond's shaft, denying him release. He couldn't believe he was standing thus, almost nude in the open air, while Celeborn, still fully clothed, mastered him so easily. "Celeborn, please don't do this."

"You wish me to stop?" Celeborn's other hand moved to cradle his scrotum and squeeze, hard enough to underscore his vulnerability. Elrond fought for breath, for sanity. The pressure applied to his testicles made him gasp with pain and denied release. Celeborn seemed to approve of his helpless struggle. There was a caress in his voice when he asked, "You are very close now, aren't you?"

Elrond was so lost in want that he could not reply. His world had narrowed to this tiny circle of light, in which the embers from the fire still burned. The sensations running along his nerves were not embers, however, but full-blown flames and he burned with the incandescent pain of denied release.

"You must beg me for it." The words were the barest whisper, but Elrond heard them as clearly as a shout. If he could not touch himself or Celeborn did not release him soon he would die, he knew it.

"Please," he pleaded, finding his voice at last. "Please."

"Tell me what you want, lirimaer." The words were a velvet purr, a sensual caress along his raw nerves. Elrond knew in that moment that he was lost, that he would do anything his tormentor wanted.


Elrohir closed his eyes, hoping that whatever Glorfindel had planned it would be bearable. He felt his wrist released from its confines, but assumed that it was merely in preparation for Glorfindel moving him into a better position. He swallowed involuntarily when gentle hands relived him of his robes, but tried to keep his expression still. Realising that he was breathing too hard, he fought to calm down. He could do this. For Glorfindel, he could do anything. It almost hurt how much he loved him.

Then Elrohir felt one of his feet picked up from the floor and positioned against Glorfindel's silky skin. His lover must have removed his clothes at some point, he thought, as tender caresses began to move from the sole of his foot up over his ankle to the muscle of his calf. The pressure was gentle, but insistent, and soon had Elrohir squirming with delight. His other foot was soon given the same treatment, and Elrohir found himself stretching back against the silky sheets of the bed with a languorous feeling suffusing his entire being. Elbereth, that felt wonderful! He playfully let one of his feet, resting on Glorfindel's strong chest, move lower, and carefully nudged the soft curls and warm satin of his partner's most private area. Keeping his eyes closed, Elrohir ran a toe down Glorfindel's length and was rewarded with a gasp of pleasure. He was not allowed to continue his experiments, however, for the next instant Glorfindel was sliding up his body, the feeling of skin on skin contact so perfect that Elrohir almost passed out from the pleasure.

Glorfindel began to move against him then, and pleasure blossomed in nerve endings Elrohir had not even known he had. Kisses were pressed along his entire length, before his lover cupped his erection, sending him plummeting into spasms of delight. He gasped for air and concentrated on maintaining some type of control. Then Glorfindel's tongue circled around his erection slowly, lovingly, and Elrohir forgot about control, forgot everything except the raw ecstasy that consumed him as he came. A few moments later and he felt Glorfindel carefully preparing him. Elrohir sighed in pleasure as his lover's familiar warmth entered him, and relaxed his muscles to allow the deepest possible penetration. His lover drew out the experience longer than he had ever done, keeping Elrohir moaning in steadily mounting pleasure for long, beautiful minutes. When Glorfindel finally collapsed against him in satiation he murmured, "That is what I like," with his breathing still slightly ragged.

"Oh, yes," Elrohir agreed when he could speak. "Oh, yes." He tensed his muscles when Glorfindel tried to withdraw, trapping him inside for just a little longer. Glorfindel chuckled, but allowed him to play his game, spooning up behind him and wrapping strong arms about him until Elrohir at last released him.

After a few minutes of blissful peace, Elrohir's forehead wrinkled with worry, and he sat up, looking down in confusion at his lover's satisfied form sprawled across the bed. "But, I thought you were going to . . . that is, won't you become bored with this, over time? What we do is so . . . so simple." Glorfindel treated him to a long look from eyes that were so full of love that Elrohir almost could not meet them. "I have lived through ages of time, melui hir nin, alone and waiting to find someone with whom a simple physical act could become a transcendent experience. There is nothing simple about what we do." Elrohir merely looked at him, so consumed by relief and love that he almost couldn't move for a moment, then he fell on him and Glorfindel could only reflect thankfully on the fact that no one was currently resident in the chambers next door. Indeed, it would probably be a good idea to insure that no one was placed on this whole corridor . . . he would speak to Erestor about it, among other things, on the morrow.


Elrond knelt at Celeborn's feet as he had been commanded, shaking with need but not daring to allow himself release without permission. Celeborn had used Elrond's own belt to bind his arms securely behind him, and when he struggled briefly against the bond, he had been sharply told to be still. He had subsided, but honestly did not know how much longer he could hold out. Scarlet agony burned in every fiber of his being and little flashes of lightening had begun to go off behind his eyes. "Celeborn, please, I beg you . . . "

"Again." The tone made it undoubtedly an order, from one who expected to be obeyed.

"Please! Celeborn . . . ", Elrond hated to hear the whimper in his tone, the weakness his need had drawn from him, but there it was. At this point he didn't care all that much. Let Celeborn have his fun, and enjoy whatever revenge he had decided to exact for Elrond's prior mastery. There would be time to even the score later. For now, he just needed release!

Moving with excruciating slowness, Celeborn crossed Elrond's ankles over each other and bound them with a strip he tore from the half elf's shirt, which he had just cut from his body. Naked and quivering, Elrond bore it all, knowing that the end result would be worth it. Celeborn then stepped back to survey his handiwork, his eyes glittering as if with fever. Elrond whimpered in protest as his tormentor continued to just gaze at him, when what he desperately needed was to feel those powerful hands on his body. He bit his lip to remain silent, but the pleading in his eyes was eloquent. Celeborn's expression was pensive, but soon changed to one of satisfaction. He stepped further back and smiled, a strange, lopsided expression that sent a shiver of real fear coursing through Elrond.

Elrond suddenly realised with a sick sensation in his stomach that this had been the plan all along--that Celeborn had done it deliberately. Celeborn's eyes were opaque silver spheres, showing absolutely nothing as he suddenly stepped forward and ran one finger along Elrond's flushed jaw line. "Quid pro quo," he murmured softly into one elegant ear, before moving off into the darkness. Elrond was left alone behind him, spilling himself onto the cold ground.


"Can anyone hear me?"

The elf in the corridor outside Erestor's rooms paused. He was just a kitchen aid and did not usually venture upstairs, but Lord Glorfindel had asked him to take a tray to Lord Erestor's room, so of course he had obeyed. Everyone had wondered what had happened to Erestor, who had not been seen since the dancers performed two days ago. At first, everyone had speculated that perhaps he had been delegated by Lord Elrond to accompany Lord Celeborn back to Imladris, for the Lord of the Golden Wood had left in a great hurry in the middle of the night. However, a few guards who had been on duty had told one of the kitchen maids that Lord Celeborn took no outriders with him. So it had been rather a mystery. Everyone would he glad to know that Lord Erestor had just been too busy to check on the housekeeping staff lately.

"Please, someone . . . ," the pitiful cry came again, and Fóril hesitantly began to push open the chamber door. A second later and a strong hand appeared from over his shoulder and pulled it closed again, while another pair of hands liberated the tray from Fóril's grasp. He looked up to see the golden haired Noldor that had accompanied Lady Galadriel to Imladris standing there, looking down long noses at him. "You are dismissed," one of them informed him haughtily, before they both slipped past him into the room. Fóril thought he heard a squeak that sounded something like Erestor before the heavy door slammed shut in his face, but he couldn't be sure. He stood for a moment in indecision, before turning and going off in search of Lord Glorfindel.

"I just thought, sir, that someone should know that there might be a problem with Lord Erestor," he said in a hushed voice. Fóril had always been somewhat in awe of Lord Glorfindel.

"Oh, I don't think you should worry, Fóril," Glorfindel told him kindly, looking up from his desk in Lord Elrond's study with a brief smile. "Elros, Camthalion and Erestor have become very . . . close . . . recently. But, if it will make you feel better, I will go and check on him . . . eventually." Fóril bowed very low and backed from the room, Glorfindel's silvery laugh echoing behind him.

The End

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