Disclaimer: I own nothing, except the plotline and my precious, evil mind.

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Warnings: BDSM. Be warned--this is a very naughty fic. I am a bad person and I promise I'll be spanked later (and hopefully often).

A/N: This is a continuation of my previous Unspoken story arc (and yes, I know, it is getting entirely out of hand.) Read them in order--Unspoken/Revelations/Changes/One Last Time/Quid Pro Quo--or prepare to be confused and to miss inside jokes.

"Ah. I thought I might find you here, Cam."

Elrohir paused at the entrance of his chambers, surprised to hear his companion addressing an apparently empty room; then he noticed one of the Noldor crouched behind his door. He looked between the two of them, wondering why Camthalion would be seeking Erestor in his rooms, of all places. Elrohir had caught up with his old tutor after dinner, wanting to discuss his plans for Glorfindel, and they had walked back to his suite together. But Camthalion could not have known that would be the case, could he?

Erestor smiled, a little oddly Elrohir thought, as Camthalion stood. "You have five minutes, beginning now," he informed him. Yet, strangely, Camthalion did not wait to speak to Erestor, but exited the room swiftly, after only a minute hesitation. Perhaps, Elrohir thought, he had decided he needed more time than that with him.

"What was that all about?" Elrohir watched, confused, as Erestor casually picked something off the floor and tucked it into a pocket in his robes.

"Oh, nothing, Elrohir. Glorfindel will be back soon. Don't you have preparations to make? By the way, I will be . . . otherwise occupied . . . this evening. So I shall wish you success and good fortune now."

"Thank you." Elrohir hoped, he really did, that this was going to work. He was so caught up in his thoughts that he hardly noticed when Erestor disappeared, merging into the shadows of the corridor without a sound.

       

Camthalion felt his blood throbbing in his ears as he ran, full out and heedless of the danger, pounding through the forest as easily as if it had been day. Despite the fact that Lorien was never completely dark, away from the lanterns of the city it could be quite dim at night, but that little mattered to one who knew these paths as well as he. Normally, Camthalion never ran--it was unnecessary and undignified, and why would he need to do so in the course of his usual duties? But tonight, he pelted through the underbrush until his heart felt as if it would seize up in his chest, until he was certain that he had traveled so far that Lord Erestor could not possibly find him. Then, finally, he stopped, leaning against a tree, breathing hard, and wondering just how far he had come.

He listened, after he quieted his breathing enough to allow him to do so, but heard no sound of following footsteps. He waited, but minutes passed and still there was nothing. Camthalion knew he should feel comforted, but he did not; instead, the bright glow that had suffused him--partly fear, partly excitement--at the thought of what price might be exacted for his actions, faded, leaving him cold and alone.

He wondered what to do. The logical thing, of course, would simply be to go back, as there was nothing that could be proved against him. Nothing had happened to the young Peredhil, after all. Camthalion wondered in grim amusement what exactly he would have done had Erestor not interfered. He was no kin slayer, no matter what others whispered, and would not become one now. It had seemed reasonable that Erestor would take the opportunity to spend the night with his young lover, however, and Cam had waited for him, in the hopes, he now realised, that he would be caught. And not only to keep him from his vague plan of kidnapping the elfling--for what would he have done with him once he had him? Keep him perpetually confined? And if so, where? And how would that have won him what he desired?

No, Camthalion thought, facing the truth with more equanimity than he would have thought possible, he had WANTED to be stopped; more, he had wanted to be punished. Still did want it in fact, he acknowledged ruefully. Erestor brought out something in him that, until they met, he had never recognised in himself. Their times together were exhilarating; the pain, the fear, the subjugation, led to a rush to his head and throughout his body that he could not explain. It was almost like being in battle, only better, more intense somehow. And the feeling after the excitement faded was immensely pleasurable in itself; he had felt happier, more loved, and more secure in Erestor's company than anywhere else he had ever known. True punishment was being denied his drug of choice as he had been this past week. True pain was to think that he would never feel that way again.

He resigned himself to returning to the city, something that would, at a normal pace, probably take several hours or more, and then he heard it. It was faint and far off, but Camthalion knew the usual sounds of the forest at night, and could differentiate the songs of the trees and the wind from . . . others. As the slight rustling came closer, he permitted himself a small hope. His brain tried to argue that it was probably only an elf on a late walk, but why would anyone be out this far, and in this direction? There were no homes here, no farms, no attraction to tempt a wanderer away from the city. But, as the sounds grew closer, he knew they were without question the footsteps of an elf, and one not bothering to conceal his approach.

Camthalion could not speak as Erestor, still dressed in his evening robes of glittering black velvet, stepped into view, awful in his beauty. He had something in his hand, and a glance told Camthalion what it was--the rope he had dropped in Elrohir's quarters. He wondered now if that, too, had been on purpose. It was strange, this feeling that his own mind was conspiring against him.

They exchanged no words, but none were needed. He knew what Erestor wanted, it was clear in the dark eyes, in the proud tilt of his chin, and in the slight smile that lifted the corners of his mouth when he saw the elf before him remain standing, eyes and head unbowed. The challenge was issued and accepted, silently. Camthalion didn't know what rash impulse was prompting this, but he found that he really didn't care. The old feeling was coming back, a faint tingle now, but soon, he knew, it would be roaring through his veins. Erestor had taught him that, along with so many other things.

His master wore black gloves, Cam noted, for no reason that he could see, as the night was not that chilly. He suddenly felt his own palms sweat, but almost a paralysis kept him from moving as Erestor walked forward. He was so casual, that Cam never saw it coming. Or maybe he did, but that part of him, that daredevil, adrenaline-loving, risk taking aspect of him that wanted--needed--this, didn't care. It was over before he realised it, and he found his wrists bound with his own rope. He stood quietly as the line was tossed over the tree limb above him, then tied off. Nothing was hurried--indeed, Erestor's movements were almost leisurely--yet he could not resist. Part of him wanted to fight against what he knew would happen, but instead he stood still, watching with almost detached interest as his master pulled a knife out of his belt and caressed the blade.

       

"A bonding? Already?" The king seemed bemused. "Don't you feel that is a trifle . . . precipitate?" Thranduil was a vision that evening, the rich, antique gold of the twisted torque he wore almost exactly matching the velvet of his robes, the fire's light helping to gild him from head to foot. This was never going to work, Elladan thought weakly.

"No," Elladan pulled Orophin closer against him, keeping a firm arm about his waist. "We don't think it is too soon at all." Orophin's arm tightened about his shoulders, and Elladan took comfort from the gesture. "We are both past our majority and free to choose, and we choose each other."

Thranduil regarded them over the edge of his wine glass, his emerald eyes slightly narrowed in what Elladan hoped was not suspicion. "Then I wish you well, although I must wonder why you come to me with this. Is your own sire not here?"

"Y-yes, of course." Elladan took a steadying breath, then continued. "But father is . . . preoccupied . . . as you know, and very weak. Healing injuries of that magnitude takes a great deal of strength, and I do not wish to add this to the other burdens he carries. Who can say how long it may be before he can once more concern himself with such things?"

"Your grandsire then," Thranduil waved a lazy hand, its emerald signet catching the light. "Cannot Celeborn perform this ceremony for you?"

"No, your majesty," Orophin broke in smoothly, for which Elladan could have kissed him. "My own sire passed beyond the sea many cycles ago, along with my mother. Lord Celeborn has been kind enough to say that he will stand by me in father's place at the bonding, and he cannot fulfill two roles."

"So you wish me to do it."

Elladan nodded, hoping that he gave off the proper impression of an eager young lover. "You did foster me for a short time, your majesty, so it does seem appropriate. And your rank being what it is . . . it would be a compliment to our house, to have you perform our bond."

Thranduil smiled, and lifted his glass slightly as if in salute, although Elladan had no idea what he was complimenting. "Very well, my dear Elladan. I will be most honoured to officiate at the bonding. Indeed, I feel quite flattered."

Elladan smiled, a little feebly, as the firelight danced in Thranduil's amused eyes. For some reason, he had the feeling that Elrohir was in for it again, and he along with him.

       

Erestor admired the way his knife caught the moonlight, then allowed himself the luxury of insuring that he cut Camthalion's clothes off slowly, following along the seams so they could be easily repaired. He could afford such generosity, for tonight there was no pressure of duties to perform or problems to solve. He had all the time he wanted, and he intended to fully enjoy it. As the last piece of cloth fell to the grass he kicked it aside, not wanting to see it stained. Blood was so very hard to wash out, especially of fine fabric.

Erestor paused, listening to Camthalion's suddenly laboured breathing. The elf almost vibrated with need. Indulging himself momentarily, for after all, there was time, Erestor slid a hand down the heaving torso before him and fondled Cam's erection roughly, twisting his balls as he did so, smiling when he heard him moan. Oh yes, Camthalion wanted this, had wanted it for days, but not nearly as badly as Erestor wished to give it to him. So responsive, this one, and so unusual; Cam trembled at a glance but withstood beatings that would kill a human without complaint. A rare and precious find.

Erestor tossed aside his cloak and stepped back, unhooking his whip from his belt. A flick of his wrist sent the strap slicing through the air, to land almost gently against the perfect skin of his captive's back. He smiled to see the annoyance in Cam's eyes at its mildness. The next stroke was heavier, the sweet sound of its snap and thud echoing around the glade, and it left a welt behind that looked almost black against the pale, Ithil-kissed flesh. Camthalion leaned into the blows that followed, and they soon criss-crossed his back and sides with a tracery of thick weals. When Erestor moved on to similarly decorate his stomach, Cam trembled slightly, but still did not cry out. That did not surprise--it was too soon, and he had only begun to warm up.

Removing a flask from his cloak pocket, Erestor paused to admire the abused torso in front of him before pouring some of the liquid into his leather-covered palm. He doubted Cam was experienced enough yet to understand just why he was wearing gloves, so this night would serve two purposes--pleasure, and an addition to his education. Erestor briefly pinched the tightly furled nipples before allowing the burning oil to slowly trickle over the raw flesh on Cam's chest, cherishing the bone deep shudders that his subject was powerless to hide. He must be on fire with pain by now, yet still he did not cry out. Oh yes, this one begged to be pushed, to discover his true limits.

Erestor returned to his cloak and removed the thick coils of his cat. He rarely had the opportunity to use it, as there were so few who appreciated its kiss, but he had the feeling that this might be such a one. Camthalion did not disappoint, bracing his legs as well as he could in his stretched position, tensing his buttocks as he waited patiently for this next stage in his training. Erestor had been called an artist with the lash, capable of finding the perfect spot time after time, building a hypnotic cadence until his subjects screamed with the gratification it brought. He was especially careful now, insuring that the stinging bites were perfectly placed to send his subject soaring into sensual, beautiful pain. Camthalion began to hiss, the breath forced through clenched teeth, as repeated blows lacerated his already battered back and left new weals on his buttocks and legs.

Erestor pushed him more than he usually allowed himself, more than he could have done with anyone at Imladris, who played the game but always, always stopped short. They did not understand the release that came only with time, the all-consuming tide of pleasure that was the reward and the aftermath of great pain. He often wondered why his playmates at Imladris bothered--for they never achieved that kind of release, would not go on after they began to gasp and jerk away form the blows, ending the dance just when it was truly about to begin. No, they didn't understand. They were children playing at being "bad," searching for some new thrill to enliven their dull routine, but missing the artistry of the sport, at which they would never have the courage to become anything more than amateurs. But this one, oh, this one. He might be different.

       

"Thranduil agreed, Elrohir, but I really think you should . . . " Elladan paused, halfway through the door of his brother's rooms. "What the . . . ."

Orophin, from behind him, gave a low whistle. Elrohir scowled at them both, turning from the mirror where he had been finishing his final braid. "Why are you two here? I told you he'd fall for it, didn't I?" Seeing that they were still standing in the middle of his rooms, mouths agape and looking quite foolish, Elrohir gave a sigh. Really, and to think he had to rely on such help! "Don't you have somewhere else you need to be?"

Elladan said nothing, just began to walk around him, eyes wide in amazement. "You look . . . good . . . brother," he finally managed to say.

Elrohir preened slightly under his brother's admiration--a rare enough thing to be sure--but it did not greatly mollify him. "You have to go--now. He'll be here soon and you'll spoil the mood."

Elrohir watched as Elladan's eyes took in the room, and Orophin suddenly laughed. "He doesn't stand a chance! You don't do things by halves, do you?"

"Will you two just leave?" Elrohir finally lost patience and literally shoved them out the door. "Go! Find something else to do!"

"It might be more instructional to stay here," Orophin replied, with a distinct leer.

Elrohir glared at him, then turned his best, pleading gaze on his brother. "Elladan, please?"

The two in the hall exchanged a glance. "If you insist brother," Elladan murmured. "Come, Orophin, let us go . . . find something else to do, as my brother suggests."

Finally, Elrohir thought, closing the door on them gratefully. Now, to business.

       

Camthalion was flying so high on the sensations pulsing through his veins that he almost didn't realise it when the scourging ended. His first indication that something had changed was the water, cool and clear and unlaced with anything, that poured over his heated skin. So hypersensitive had the beating made him that even this was tortuous. It was followed by a gentle touch along his stinging back, as slender, strong hands traced the network of cuts, welts, and bruises marring his flesh. He bit his lip, his teeth tearing deeply into the skin, as he clenched his eyes shut and fought not to scream. Somehow, the gentle caress was almost worse than the whipping, forcing him back into himself, insuring that he felt every line, every mark, before moving downward to briefly tease his sac. Camthalion groaned aloud then, the combination of pain and pleasure so strong as to almost overwhelm, and he craved more, so much more . . .

Erestor's exploration went on and on, his feather light touch its own form of torment, and he missed nothing--delicately exploring Cam's hands, arms, legs, and feet, occasionally pinching without warning, but mostly barely touching him, cataloguing his reactions. Cam wanted to scream then, wanted to beg him to do something, anything, but just stop this gentle torment, but he bit down harder and remained silent. Erestor finally finished his inspection, standing close enough to Cam that he could feel his breath on his torn lips, and the warmth that radiated from his body.

"I love your silence, and I hate it," Erestor murmured, rolling a bruised nipple between his fingers. "Tell me," he said lightly, trailing the coils of the whip along Cam's back, the roughness of it grating his skin, "what would it take for you to lose control? To make you scream?" Cam thought about telling him--he was truly tempted, but some instinct, perhaps the same one that had brought him here, held him back. "Still so silent?" Cam wondered if it was his imagination, or if Erestor really did sound pleased as he stroked a thumb over Cam's swollen lower lip, raw sensuality in his voice. Yes, he had liked it. Suddenly Cam understood--Erestor preferred him defiant, he actually enjoyed the challenge. Slowly, he raised his eyes to his master's face, saw how his breath came quickly through the red, parted lips, and how his eyes were almost glazed behind his long lashes. He swallowed thickly, knowing in that second that he loved his master, loved him more than life itself, more than he had thought he could care about anyone. Then he laughed, more of a croaking sound than the rippling tone he had intended, but the impression was conveyed nonetheless. Erestor's eyes lit with the knowledge that, even now, Camthalion was not bowed. Yes, Cam thought, feeling pride so strong it approached bliss, you will have to do better than that.

With part of his mind appalled at his audacity, Cam moved quickly to twine his legs about Erestor's, trapping his master against him as he leaned forward to suck hard at his lips and tongue, claiming him with a passion that was almost rage. Then he suddenly pushed him away and contorted his body, trying to find enough purchase on the ground to propel him upwards. If he could manage to swing just one leg over the tree branch, he could free himself of his bonds in a few seconds, and then they would see . . .

Of course, he failed. Erestor had fallen to the ground with the force of Cam's blow, but was on his feet again almost immediately. Instead of approaching his captive, however, he moved to the tree trunk and swiftly untied the rope. Camthalion, not expecting the move, crashed to the ground and, before he could regain his feet, Erestor was on him. The beautiful mouth he so longed for was hard as it crushed his, the teeth sharp as they tortured his lacerated lips, the tongue that forced its way into his mouth possessive and demanding as it matched Camthalion's anguished desire. Those talented hands that could inflict such torment, dragged down his bare back and fondled his buttocks, a single finger probing along the cleft until it found that most intimate of spots.

"Please!" Camthalion finally broke his silence, gasping as his tightly clenched opening was breached. Then came burning pain as a rigid finger went suddenly deeper, his flesh closing hot and soft around it. Erestor's other hand reached around his body to stroke his stiff organ, bringing him to the point of climax with practised ease. Then both hands were gone, and Erestor stood over him, dark and terrible and exquisite in the night.

"Undress me." It was a command, but this one Cam could not resist. He moved quickly to stand, but Erestor's hand on his head kept him from rising further than his knees. His hands still bound, he used his teeth, undoing the silken knot of his master's belt with difficulty, but at last it slipped free. The velvet robes were soft against his skin, although the tiny jet beads that decorated them, which had been faceted to catch the light, scratched his face as he burrowed among the folds, trying to find the hidden catches. The garment was fiendishly complex, and he wondered briefly if Erestor had worn it on purpose.

Had he known he would find him? Cam decided it was likely. The thought that Erestor had watched him carefully enough to be able to surmise his plans sent a warm rush through him, and he redoubled his efforts. At last, the luxurious garments slithered down over the glowing golden skin, leaving his master clad only in a brief loincloth. Cam paused, looking up for permission, but received only a raised eyebrow in return. A brief tug and the final garment fell away, allowing the evidence of Erestor's attraction to him to spring free. Before Cam could give it the attention it deserved, he was pushed to the ground, his bound hands trapped beneath him, Erestor's weight coming to rest between his legs.

"You will scream for me," his master's voice promised, but Cam bit down on his tongue and buried his face in the grass, refusing to comply. What followed immediately was no tender assault, no gentle, slow seduction. Instead, Cam felt himself spread wide, and the next second, his master was imbedded in him balls deep, stroking deeply, demanding with every thrust Cam's complete compliance, his utter surrender. Cam saw lightening burst across his vision, as the tide of his desire and sweep of emotions long repressed were at last allowed voice. It brought him to ecstasy, and finally he submitted, screaming out Erestor's name as the elf's hot seed burned him from within as his own soaked the ground beneath him.

Erestor slowly withdrew, and Cam could hear the sounds of him dressing. Camthalion had never felt so at peace in his life, as he lay on the ground at his master's feet. Then soft hands were rubbing a soothing cream on his back and over his abused thighs, as a sweet voice praised his beauty. There was an edge of ice in the tone, however, when he was ordered to his feet. "Pick up your things," Erestor commanded, and Cam quickly went to gather the heap of cloth that had once been his clothing. As he returned to his master's side, he found Erestor regarding him critically. "We'll discuss your lack of respect later," he promised, a bite in his voice that Cam both dreaded and hungered to hear. After straightening a few minute wrinkles out of his robes, Erestor walked off in the direction of the city. Cam watched him go with a feeling of abject loss stealing over him. He could not follow unless commanded, so he stood there forlornly, holding his ripped clothes in his still bound hands. Had he been found unworthy? Had he not pleased him? Was this his real punishment, to remain here, alone and abandoned, as Erestor returned to his young lover?

"Come along, Camthalion," Erestor's tone was impatient as it drifted back over his shoulder. Cam felt his heart give a leap, and he gratefully obeyed, following the mind numbingly erotic creature through the trees. His master.

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