Chapter 4: Fulfillment
With a jolt, Garand came out of his reverie that night, to find his fists clenched in the coverlet beneath him, and his heart pounding wildly. Disoriented, he stared at the intricate design of the ceiling in Legolas’ room, as he struggled to calm his breathing. Garand looked quickly over at his friend. Had he wakened Legolas with his thrashing? No, the other elf lay peacefully on his back, one arm flung out beside him and the other bent with his hand curled in the crook of his neck. His half-closed eyes and the long, slow rise and fall of his chest indicated that he was deep in reverie. Good. The least he could do was to not interrupt Legolas’ repose after coercing him into several hours of archery practice after the evening meal. Garand had been thrumming with excited energy after leaving the dinner table and the King’s presence, and he’d suggested a few rounds with the bow and arrow. Legolas had gladly complied. But when two hours had passed and his friend showed no signs of calling it a day, the Prince had said wryly, with a raised eyebrow and a lopsided smile, “I thought I was obsessive about the sport.” When Garand pleaded for ‘just a few more’ shots, Legolas had smiled indulgently and agreed. Afterward, the auburn-haired elf felt that he had finally succeeded in working off the edginess he’d been feeling after the encounter with Thranduil at dinner, and he did indeed slip deep into reverie the instant his head sank into the pillow. But it was short-lived, and he drifted in and out of wakefulness. His few resting moments were laced with dreams of Thranduil; Thranduil standing waist-deep in a pool at the bottom of a waterfall, beckoning to him, Thranduil reclining naked on a bench covered in green velvet, with his hands clasped in front of him and one elegant leg drawn up, Thranduil sitting on his throne, dressed only in breeches and leather arm braces as he clasped his hands above his head and pushed his hips forward invitingly, whispering, “Come take me, lover.”
It was this last dream that had wrenched Garand out of his reverie, and now he sat up in bed, knowing there would be no more rest for him this night. Careful not to wake his friend, he eased himself to the floor and padded silently into the hall. He’d planned to walk only until he felt weary again, but the magnificent works of art in the halls captured his attention and he wandered from one piece to another, gazing at each in awe. The young elf had just inspected a stunning sculpture and was moving on to a vase carved from marble, when a soft light at the corner of his eye caught his attention. Turning his head, he looked directly into a large room where several candles burned. As Garand watched, a tall form moved slowly back and forth several times before stopping with his back to the hall. The young elf tried not to gasp as he inhaled sharply. Thranduil. He was outside the King’s bedchamber. But why was he awake at this hour? He had obviously retired for the night, as he, like Garand, wore only loose-fitting leggings. His question was answered almost immediately, as Thranduil began to tilt his head this way and that, kneading the back of his neck with one hand, before turning to look at his shoulder as he rotated it gingerly. Garand understood then. Thranduil was a bundle of tension, and it was preventing him from getting the rest he so needed.
“Allow me to help you with that, your Majesty.”
Thranduil started at the sound of the younger elf’s voice behind him. He began to turn toward that voice, but Garand placed his hands on the king’s shoulders and gently, but firmly, prevented him from doing so as he began to knead the knotted muscles. At first Thranduil began to protest. Garand was, after all, a guest in the palace, but after several seconds of the gentle massage, he couldn’t deny the immense relief he was already feeling. And yes, maybe he was being selfish, but he didn’t really want it to stop. He let his head fall forward, pale wheat hair covering his face, as Garand knowingly applied the precise amount of pressure where it was needed.
“Where did you learn to do this, Garand?” Thranduil murmured languidly.
The younger elf smiled as he continued, “My grandfather is a healer. He taught me many useful techniques, and this one is something most everyone needs from time to time. Especially kings with heavy burdens to bear.” He leaned forward slightly, over Thranduil’s shoulder, to look closely at him. “Is it helping?” he asked hopefully.
“You have no idea,” the king sighed blissfully. “Thank you, Garand.”
Thank you, Sire, the auburn-haired elf thought as he drank in the sight of the lean, muscled back before him. “’Tis my pleasure,” he said aloud. “You have been so kind to me, offering me your hospitality here at the palace, allowing me to spend so much time with Legolas, I …..” he broke off when Thranduil reached up to place one hand over his, stilling it.
The king turned his head to look at Garand pointedly. “You are not expected to earn your keep, young Garand. Your presence here has been a blessing for both my son and me.”
Garand smiled, genuinely pleased. He glanced at the large bed in the center of the room and said, “You know, my lord, I could do much more good, if you would lie down.”
Thranduil looked at him doubtfully. “Truthfully,” Garand insisted, laughing.
The older elf hesitated before replying, “I must admit, I have not felt such a release of tension in many weeks.”
“Then, I insist you allow me to continue,” he said firmly. Please allow me to continue. There is nothing I would rather do than feel your glorious body under me.
Thranduil finally conceded. “If you are quite certain.”
Garand needed no further comment. He gently ushered Thranduil across the floor to where the bed stood, and indicated that the king should lie face down. The younger elf then knelt over the king and began his ministrations anew. He reveled in the feel of muscle and sinew beneath the surface of velvet skin, as his skillful hands coaxed the tension from Thranduil’s body. Gods, but he wanted him. Garand’s green eyes hungrily feasted on the beautiful form beneath him, and his breathing quickened as he felt himself grow hard. He moved down to kneel astride the backs of the king’s thighs and began gently stroking his thumbs upward along either side of his spine, beginning at the small of his back. The effect this had, took Thranduil by surprise. His eyes flew open, and he barely suppressed a gasp as warmth spread from his backside to his groin. This was a revelation. He wasn’t aware of being sensitive in that area. He prayed silently that his reaction had gone unnoticed by the younger elf, and he was thankful to be lying on his stomach, hiding the evidence of his arousal. But Garand had noticed. Noticed the king’s quick intake of breath, the involuntary downward movement of his hips, pressing his groin into the bed beneath him, and the slight arching of his back.
The beautiful young elf could no longer restrain himself. He bent down to place whisper-soft kisses at the base of Thranduil’s spine. The king shivered at the feel of warm breath on his skin. “Garand, stop, you must not. ‘Tis wrong,” he protested breathlessly.
Garand gently turned him to lie on his back, and moved up on hands and knees until they were face to face, and his eyes searched the king’s beseechingly. “Why, my lord Thranduil? Why is it wrong? I love you,” he leaned his forehead against the King’s, “and I want you.” At the younger elf’s confession, an answering emotion flashed in Thranduil’s eyes, but he only said, “You are young enough to be my son.”
“That is a human argument,” Garand chided, smiling gently. “The years impose no constraints upon us.” He began kissing and nipping the porcelain column of Thranduil’s throat, adding, “As you…kiss…well…nip…know.”
The last stronghold of the king’s resolve crumbled when Garand drew his tongue slowly up the side of his neck, feeling Thranduil’s pulse racing just beneath the skin. The older elf gasped as he convulsively clasped Garand’s shoulders and tossed back his head, offering more of his neck to the laving tongue. “Ah … Garand,” he moaned, “what do you do to me? I … cannot … I … oh, gods … more,” Thranduil groaned deep in his throat when Garand began lapping at his ear lobe, and gently scraping his teeth along the sensitive flesh.
When Thranduil began to arch into Garand’s caresses, the younger elf lowered his upper body, craving more contact. As his chest pressed into the feverishly hot skin of the King’s heaving chest, Garand moaned against the beautiful neck and ear that he was so hungrily feasting on. Such passion. He knew it would be so.
Thranduil slowly and sensuously entwined his legs with those of the auburn-haired elf, and sliding his hands down Garand’s back, grasped his buttocks and pressed his hips downward at the same instant that he opened his thighs to allow the young elf to drop between them, bringing their aching erections into contact through their leggings. Both elves groaned in unison, and Garand broke off his assault on Thranduil’s neck to gaze into the turquoise-blue eyes of the King. Thranduil gazed back in wonder at the golden-green eyes that appeared as old and all-knowing as the forest itself. He knew he should stop this, now, but when Garand began to slowly rotate his hips, lasciviously swiping his cock across the King’s, backing away and then swiping again and again, all reason fled his mind.
Garand felt the tightening of Thranduil’s abdominal muscles, and the tremors in his legs, and he knew he must restrain his pace, or it would be over before it even began. He instinctively knew that the King had been celibate since the death of the Queen, and therefore he would be exceptionally sensitive to erotic sensation. So the younger elf shifted his weight until he lay alongside Thranduil, who whimpered with need and reflexively reached for him. “Sssh,” Garand whispered soothingly, as his hand cupped the King’s chin, and dipping his head, he licked softly at Thranduil’s lips several times before fiercely claiming them with his own. He possessively sucked, nibbled and licked the soft mouth of the other elf until he felt him shiver uncontrollably. Stroking long fingers down the King’s neck and chest, he stopped when he encountered one of the metal rings that pierced both nipples of his lover. He broke off the kiss to look thoughtfully at the object for a few seconds. “Why did you mutilate yourself?” he turned back to Thranduil to search his eyes.
The King grimaced slightly, and hesitated a moment before answering, as he tried to calm his breathing. “When my wife passed into the Halls of Mandos,” he replied quietly, “I felt only pain. Nothing else existed outside of that, for a time. Were it not for the love and comfort of my son, I think I might have gone mad. Then the pain passed, and there was ….. nothing. It frightened me. And I did something very stupid. I pierced my flesh because the physical agony it caused was preferable to the numbness. Now I keep the rings in at all times to remind me of my foolishness.” He smiled self-consciously at Garand, who tenderly returned the smile. “’Tis more than understandable, my love,” he said. Then the corners of his beautiful lips turned up in an impish grin. “But now, if you will allow me, I will show you a new purpose for these,” and he lightly traced a finger around one of the rings. Thranduil raised one eyebrow in curiosity. “And what is that?” he asked with a half smile. “Pleasure,” Garand replied enticingly, and bent his auburn head to engulf the King’s nipple, ring and all, in his warm mouth, and began sucking gently, but insistently. Thranduil gasped and bucked beneath him, nearly throwing him off, but the young elf held on to him, clasping him around the waist. He then threaded his tongue through the metal ring, curled the tip and tugged gently as his lips sucked greedily at the flesh beneath the ring.
Thranduil’s breath hitched in his throat for a few seconds, before a long, low moan escaped him. The sound sent a surge of heat rippling through Garand, and he laid a hand possessively on the King’s chest and sucked harder. When Thranduil began writhing powerfully beneath him, the younger elf slid his hand downward, over the heaving chest and abdomen of the King, until he reached the waistband of his leggings. He worked the tips of his fingers under the waistband and lightly stroked the soft skin there, teasing both Thranduil and himself, before inching down further to grasp the granite-hard column of flesh and begin stroking it. “Sweet gods,” the King hissed between clenched teeth, as his hands clawed at the bed, and his hips came up off the bed involuntarily, seeking more of the exquisite friction caused by Garand’s pistoning hand.
After several seconds of this, however, the younger elf became impatient. The King’s leggings were hindering his movements, and he was dying to see his lover in his full glory. He ceased his torture of Thranduil’s nipple and began trailing his tongue downward, stopping every few inches to bestow hot sucking kisses on the soft skin, as he lovingly peeled the King’s leggings back to reveal the prize he so craved. Garand exhaled slowly, a long breath that ended with a sigh, as he removed the leggings and dropped them to the floor, never taking his eyes off Thranduil’s beautiful sex. As the young elf gazed in silent adoration, the King became self-conscious and licked his lips nervously as he stared at the ceiling, waiting. Just as he was about to raise his head to see if Garand was still there, he felt a luscious wet heat enclose him, and his entire body tensed with the unbearable pleasure of it, as he groaned and turned his face into the pillow. Thranduil had never experienced a sensation like this, and the intensity of it took his breath away. Laying with his wife was never anything more than pleasant; the Queen had never been adventurous in their lovemaking, but what she lacked in imagination, she made up for in goodness and compassion. She had been more than wife and lover to Thranduil. She was his trusted friend and his partner in the ruling of his kingdom, and although they always made love with the utmost tenderness and respect, they did so without the slightest hint of passion.
Now, as Garand took him deep in his throat and introduced him to the delights he’d never known, the King moaned deliriously as his restless hands sought anchor everywhere; in Garand’s luxurious hair, in the coverlet beneath him, and on the bedpost behind him. He clutched frantically in a vain effort to brace himself against the almost painful pleasure that coursed through his body. A stream of incoherent words escaped him as he panted and gasped, “I … ah, that’s … good … oh, please … gods, Garand … stop …”. The younger elf drew back slightly and swirled his tongue maddeningly around the crown of Thranduil’s cock briefly before resuming the strong sucking motions. He closely noted every reaction of the King’s body, and when he saw the tensed, corded muscles in his thighs, the rigidly arched back, and the rippling of his abdomen as he drew one convulsive breath after another, Garand knew Thranduil would come hard, and he moaned in anticipation. Intensifying every action of his eager mouth, the younger elf set out to bring the King swiftly to the pinnacle of pleasure. He sealed his soft lips more tightly around the shaft of Thranduil’s throbbing member and sucked harder, moving his head with amazing speed.
Thrust into a frenzy of combined pleasure and pain, the King hovered between ecstasy and agony. Unconsciously, he dug his heels into the bed and pushed himself back, trying to escape the hot mouth that drew on him so ravenously, even as he wound his hands in Garand’s hair and pulled the young elf closer. Garand expertly moved in accordance with Thranduil. He firmly clasped the King’s slim hips and held to him, refusing for one second to release the treasure locked within his avidly sucking mouth until finally, finally, Thranduil bolted up almost into a sitting position, his mouth open in a silent scream, before the power of his climax flung him backward as he shot rapidly into the waiting lips of his younger lover. He found his voice again as his knees drew up and his back arched so sharply that only the top of his blonde head still touched the bed beneath him.
“Uhhhhhnnnn,” a primitive groan tore from his throat as Garand swallowed repeatedly, a sweet, contented smile on his lips as he lovingly drew from the King every last drop of his release. Gradually, the clenched muscles of Thranduil’s body began to relax as small tremors still shook him. Garand gently released his painfully sensitive cock and laid full length upon Thranduil, listening to his frantic heartbeat and feeling himself rise and fall with the strength of the King’s labored breathing. The auburn-haired elf gently stroked the muscled shoulder and chest of his lover, as Thranduil held him with weary arms.
“You have waited a long time for that”, Garand whispered, smiling.
“I have waited all my life for that”, Thranduil corrected him gently.
Garand raised his head to stare at him in disbelief. “No one’s ever …?” The King shook his head. “I am sorry, my love, I never dreamed. I would have been less impatient, had I but known. Are you all right?” he asked, concerned.
“The tension is gone”, Thranduil said innocently, before the corners of his mouth quirked up in a barely repressed smile. Garand pressed his forehead to his as they laughed together softly.
Thranduil ceased laughing as he suddenly remembered, “But you have not spent …” and he reached his hand toward Garand’s still hard sex. The younger elf clasped his hand before it could attain its goal.
“’Tis not necessary,” he shook his head, smiling gently. “What I said earlier … I meant every word. I want you. But I also love you. Therefore, if or when you give yourself to me, it will be because you love and want me. Not because you feel indebted. I insist upon it ... and I will accept nothing less.” Garand sat up then and gracefully eased himself off the reclining King before bending to place a tender kiss on his lips. “Sleep well, my King”, he whispered as he turned to leave the bedchamber.
“Sleep well, Garand,” Thranduil bade him before adding, “Garand?”
The beautiful young elf turned as he reached the entryway, his eyebrows raised questioningly. The soft light of the candles danced over every inch of him, lovingly highlighting his beauty and striking gold through his loose thick hair. Thranduil’s breath caught in his throat for a moment before he was able to ask, “You have … loved … other males?”
Garand nodded. “Yes, my Lord, males and females.”
The King bit his bottom lip hesitantly, unsure whether he should even ask, but his curiosity won out in the end. “Do you have a preference?”
Garand smiled. “You, dearest. I prefer you.”
And he left the room as silently as he had come in.
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