Title: Checkmate
Author: Orchyd Constyne
Contact: orchydconstyne@hithanaur.net
Website: http://www.hamena.org/naiteiru/
Update List: http://groups.yahoo.com/group/nairn_orchyd/
Fandom: LOTR
Archive: LoM, OEAM, AFF.net, Melethryn
Disclaimer: I do not own LotR or any characters, lands, or 
items from the Tolkien world.  They belong to their 
respective copyright holders.
Rating: NC-17
Warning: BDSM
Beta: Fimbrethiel
Cast: Thranduil/Celeborn
Summary: Thranduil and Celeborn have carried on the same 
long-distance chess game for the past decade, a wager 
hanging over both of their heads that the winner can't wait 
to claim.
A/N: The end of the chess game?  A true game, played by 
Kasparov.  You can find it on his site.  ^^

---

Celeborn:

	Knight to F-8 -- Check

	Things aren't looking too promising for you, mellonen 
vrűn.
	
Thranduil

*****

Thranduil:

	King to H-8

	Don't get cocky, King.  At least, not until you lose.

Celeborn

*****

Celeborn:

	Queen to H-7 -- Check
	
	Cocky, am I?  I do believe that it shall not be long 
until you learn just how much.
	
Thranduil

*****

Thranduil:

	Knight to H-7 takes Queen
	
	You appear to be rapidly running out of troops, 
saelbeth.  I do hope that you add a *competent* tactician 
to your employ before attempting any campaign against Dol 
Guldur. (wise one)

Celeborn

*****

Celeborn:

	Knight to G-6 -- Check
	
	Fine talk from one who managed to lose not one, but 
*two* settlements to hostile forces.  If you led your army 
the way you play chess, it's little wonder that Doriath and 
Eregion fell to the Enemy.
	
Thranduil

*****

Thranduil:

	King to G-8
	
	At least I had sense enough to not let the Enemy take 
up residence in my backyard.
	
Celeborn

*****

Celeborn:

	Rook to F-8 -- Check and Mate
	
	Keep your enemies closest, they say.  Seemed to work 
pretty well luring you in as well.  I'll be expecting you 
in Mirkwood to fulfill your forfeit within a month.

Thranduil

*****

Celeborn swore under his breath.  His talan trembled ever 
so slightly from even the whispered use of the Black 
Speech, but there was nothing for it.  No other language 
contained a word that could adequately express his disgust 
at himself for failing to see the setup until it was too 
late.

The Lórien Lord looked about his study, as if searching for 
an excuse not to make his way to Mirkwood.  That forfeit...  
Celeborn cringed slightly as he though of the rash decision 
he had made when Thranduil and he had begun the chess game 
almost a decade ago.  He looked down at the ornate chess 
set that showed his King in checkmate and sighed.

He had lost.  And he was an Elf of his word.  Celeborn 
called for a page to locate his seneschal and began his 
preparations to leave his Wood for that of Thranduil's.

*****

Thranduil simply smiled at the Elf-lord who sat before him.  
Celeborn had arrived that morning and they were sharing a 
last glass of wine before retiring.  Celeborn seemed 
slightly nervous, and Thranduil took it all in stride.

"You can always take another way out, Celeborn."

Celeborn raised one eyebrow at the Mirkwood King.  "Another 
way?"

"Aye."

"And what is it you would seek instead, Thranduil?"  
Celeborn put his glass aside and watched Thranduil warily.

"Send Haldir to me for a decade to train my warriors."  
Thranduil followed suit and set his glass down, leaning 
forward with a smirk on his face.

"Haldir?  For a decade?"  Celeborn's heart began to pound.

"Haldir.  It would save you the trouble; you could return 
to your Wood tomorrow with your honor intact.  You simply 
lose your great March Warden for a ten-year."

"I cannot do that, Thranduil."  The Lórien Lord stood and 
walked to the study door, resting his hand on the latch.

"Then you will honor our original wager?"

"Aye," Celeborn choked out.

"Then I will expect you in my chambers tomorrow after the 
evening meal."

Celeborn nodded and left the room quickly, his heart 
pounding in his chest.  He had accepted his fate.  
Although, if he admitted it to himself, he was looking 
forward to whatever Thranduil had in store for him.  The 
bet had been quite vague, but Celeborn knew the King had 
been planning this moment for years.

*****

The following evening, Celeborn was brought by a page to an 
anteroom outside Thranduil's bedchambers.  He stood 
anxiously in the center of the room, wondering if the 
Mirkwood King was intentionally keeping him waiting.

A moment later, Thranduil's voice called out from behind 
the door, "There is a shirt draped over the chair.  Undress 
and put that on."

Celeborn's eyebrows raised and he glanced over to the 
chair.  Picking up the cream-colored garment, he noted that 
it was a long nightshirt with billowing sleeves that 
bunched at the wrist.  It wasn't 'feminine' exactly, but 
certainly not something that Celeborn himself would have 
worn of his own volition.

Which was, of course, why Thranduil would have chosen it.  
The two Elf-lords were kindred spirits in this: both had a 
penchant for assuming a very dominant role over their 
bedmates.  While neither would push to the point of 
humiliation or abuse, both sought partners of a more 
submissive nature who would readily accept a bit of 
subjugation and sensual domination.  That shared tendency 
was the topic of quite a bit of their correspondence and 
had contributed directly to their chess wager.  Though both 
had taken numerous lovers to their beds as dominants, 
neither had ever been in the position of the submissive.

Until tonight, that is.

Had Celeborn not fallen for such an obvious ploy in the 
last moves of the match, Thranduil would be standing in a 
room very much like this one in Lórien, contemplating some 
of these same thoughts while Celeborn waited out of sight 
for the opportune moment to make his entrance.  As it 
happened, though, it was the Lórien Lord who was now 
removing his 'official' robes and discarding the rest of 
his clothing in favor of the frilly nightshirt that hung 
loosely about his frame. The soft fabric fell past his 
waist but not quite to his knees so that his modesty was 
preserved -- but only just.

After another suitably long pause, Thranduil entered the 
anteroom from his bedchamber.  The Mirkwood King was 
shirtless, wearing only a pair of loose trousers.  
Thranduil made a striking sight with his smooth, 
unblemished chest bared and an air of superiority coming 
off him in waves.  He crossed the space between him and 
Celeborn without a word. He walked around the Lord of 
Lórien, looking appraisingly at his chess partner.  
Celeborn stood straight, stock-still and didn't flinch when 
Thranduil brought his hand up to caress his mithril hair.

"I think, Celeborn, that these braids are far too elaborate 
here, do you not agree?"  Thranduil smirked and swiftly 
released the intricate knots that denoted Celeborn's 
status.  He remained silent when Thranduil began to replait 
his hair in a single rope down his back, tied with a piece 
of white silk.  "Much better."

That finished, Thranduil walked around to face Celeborn.  
He brushed the back of his hand down Celeborn's cheek.  
"Nervous?"

Celeborn shook his head.  "You have been doing this almost 
as long as I have.  I have no reason not to trust you.  I 
know you would not harm me."

Thranduil smiled when Celeborn used the word 'harm'.  Years 
ago, they had a frank discussion about the difference 
between 'hurt' and 'harm'.  Thranduil had not considered 
the issue until Celeborn brought it up, the silver-haired 
Elf-lord remembered, and he had made a very interesting 
distinction between the two -- 'hurt' was a temporary 
condition that went away, while 'harm' was a permanent 
change in condition that did not go away easily.  Neither 
'hurt' nor 'harm' were limited strictly to the physical, 
either. Celeborn had gone on to point out that -- in their 
sort of play -- hurt was almost inevitable, but as long as 
their partner consented, and their limits were respected, 
the hurts would fade and no lasting harm would be done.

"No," the Mirkwood King answered finally, "I would not harm 
you.  You will be free to leave at any time, though I must 
say that if you leave before one hour's time, it will mean 
that you agree to my other option and will send Haldir to 
me to train my archers."

Celeborn's brow furrowed.  A lot could happen in one hour.  
Still, he had talked with Thranduil about this aspect of 
their lives for a very long time, and he knew that he would 
not be in any danger.  "I understand," he said.

Thranduil pulled out a length of dusty-green leather that 
he had obviously tucked in his leggings.  It had a buckle 
on one end and several notches on the other.  Using a 
collar was something else that the two Elf-Lords had found 
they had in common.  It was an easy way to separate the 
play from the world outside.  As long as that collar was 
on, the dominant and submissive roles would be respected; 
however, the moment the collar was removed, those roles 
were left behind.

"I know you have a similar speech that you give to your 
partners," Thranduil began, "but I want you to listen to 
this one anyway.  I have found that it helps to create the 
mood.  Now, once I fasten this collar around your neck, all 
sense of who you are outside these rooms ceases to exist.  
While you wear my collar, you are my servant and you shall 
address yourself as such.  You have no other identity.

"I am your Lord.  When speaking to me, always use the title 
with respect and obedience.  My needs and wants are 
supreme, and your only concern is to please me.  You agree 
to put my pleasure before your own, and I agree to respect 
your limits and ensure that your comfort and enjoyment are 
never violated.  To that end, if at any point you feel 
uncomfortable, you can say 'caran.'  If you say 'caran,' 
all play will stop at that moment, the collar will be 
removed, and you will be allowed to leave."

Celeborn had spoken truly to Thranduil about not being 
nervous.  Then the Mirkwood King had begun laying out these 
guidelines, and Celeborn was struck by the sudden sensation 
that there would be no turning back after this; his status 
and station would be stripped from him, and he would be at 
Thranduil's whim and mercy.  In that moment, losing Haldir 
for ten years did not seem as insufferable as it had before 
then.  The urge to relent welled up within him, but pride 
lodged the words in his throat.  After all, what would 
Thranduil think of him if he was unable to deal with at 
least a little of what he had given to so many others? And 
what would he think of himself?

Thranduil asked once more if Celeborn was certain of his 
choice, and Celeborn nodded his assent, not trusting his 
voice not to quaver. Thranduil slipped the collar around 
Celeborn's neck and fastened it about his throat.  He 
checked the buckle and grunted in satisfaction.  Turning 
back toward the bedroom he'd entered from, he said gruffly, 
"Follow me," and strode purposefully through the door.  
Celeborn swallowed, feeling the weight of the cool leather 
around his heated flesh, took a deep breath, and trailed 
behind his 'Lord'. 

Celeborn was led through Thranduil's bedchamber to another 
door beyond it.  This was not that surprising to Celeborn; 
the Lórien Lord kept his bedchamber apart from what he 
called his 'playroom' even to the point of having a 
separate talan constructed high above the Royal Talan for 
that express purpose.  Thranduil did not have the luxury of 
space that Celeborn did, though, so his playroom sat in a 
hollowed cavern just beyond his bedchamber.

The room was not especially large, nor did it need to be, 
designed as it was for only two people.  The far wall had 
been hewn smooth and was used as a display for a host of 
implements.  There were at least six floggers of varying 
thicknesses and designs hanging alongside three different 
riding crops and a selection of paddles.  Beside that hung 
all manner of restraining devices -- everything from a 
simple leather hood to an elaborate set of wrist and ankle 
cuffs forged of mithril that obviously dated back to the 
time of Thranduil's father.

In addition to the extensive display of tools and toys, the 
room housed several interesting furnishings.  Most were 
familiar to the Lórien Lord, especially the two pieces that 
dominated the room.  One appeared, at first glance, to be 
an iron rod suspended from the ceiling of the cave by a 
thick, heavy chain.  However, closer inspection would 
reveal that the chain was not attached to the ceiling, but 
rather fitted through a large ring and then fastened to a 
hand crank secured to the wall.  The crank would allow the 
bar to be raised or lowered as necessary.

The second item, though, was more interesting to Celeborn.  
Thranduil had described it to him in his letters, calling 
it 'the horse', but this was the first chance that Celeborn 
had to see it for himself.  It looked much like a bench 
that had been left unfinished, as if only one leg had been 
attached, leaving the seating area to slant downward and 
rest against the ground.  Of course, no lethargic craftsman 
was responsible for this; the apparatus had been designed 
that way specifically.  Hooks were fastened to the upright 
'leg' perfect for attaching ankle restraints.  The slanted 
'seat' also had a large iron ring embedded at the far end, 
near the floor for attaching wrist cuffs.  Or the other way 
around, Celeborn thought suddenly.  So many possibilities 
sprang into his mind, and he silently resolved to have one 
made for his playroom upon his return.

Thranduil turned around quickly and found Celeborn's eyes 
wandering about the room, taking in the equipment.  He 
recognized that look of fascination and creativity -- 
Celeborn was looking about with a dominant's eye, his mind 
cooking with ideas and fantasies of using the tools on 
others, perhaps even on Thranduil himself.  It was the 
wrong mindset to be in at the moment, and the Mirkwood King 
had to snap him out of it.

"On your knees, servant!" he barked with a venomous voice.  
He smirked when he saw Celeborn jump slightly with 
surprise.  He was right; the Lórien Elf had been in his own 
world, thinking of himself and not his Lord.  Thranduil's 
command brought Celeborn's attention back to him, although 
he made no move to comply.

"I am not accustomed to repeating myself," Thranduil warned 
in a low growl, narrowing his eyes as he stared at 
Celeborn.  "If I must do so again, I will add another half-
hour to your required time.  Now, on your *knees*!"

Celeborn's eyes widened at the threat, and he quickly 
lowered himself to a kneel, stuttering out a mumbled, "Aye, 
Lord" as he did so.  In his mind, Thranduil smiled.  
Celeborn was certainly determined not to allow Haldir to 
pass the borders of Mirkwood.  He must be something very 
special, Thranduil thought, if Celeborn was so possessed of 
keeping him.  He briefly debated being extra firm with 
Celeborn in an attempt to force the Lórien Elf to call off 
the game, just so he could see what made Haldir so 
important.  In the end, though, he decided against it; he 
was not competing with Celeborn, after all, and turning the 
session into a battle of wills would only ensure that 
neither enjoyed the evening.

Thranduil stepped closer to Celeborn's kneeling form.  
"Lower my leggings, servant."  Celeborn raised his hands to 
obey, but Thranduil slapped them away.  "When I give you an 
order, you will answer me before making any motions!"

The Lórien Lord flinched as though it had been his face 
that Thranduil had slapped instead of his hand.  "Aye, 
Lord," he said, louder than he'd intended, and waited for 
Thranduil to nod before reaching again to undo the laces of 
the King's leggings.  As he slid Thranduil's leggings to 
the ground, the King's engorged member sprang forth, smooth 
and white like alabaster.  Celeborn had a fair idea of what 
was coming next, but knew he had to remain in his kneel 
until given orders.

That order did not come, though.  Thranduil stepped forward 
again, wrapping his fingers around the base of his erection 
and holding it close to Celeborn's face.  "Take a good 
look," he said softly, rubbing the dark pink head down 
Celeborn's cheeks, first the left, then the right.  
Celeborn's skin was cool and soft, with the unblemished, 
ageless beauty of the Calaquendi.  Thranduil allowed 
himself a small sigh of pleasure as he brushed the tip of 
his arousal across Celeborn's pursed lips.  "Now open," 
Thranduil commanded.

Celeborn's lips parted and he began to open his mouth to 
accept Thranduil's arousal, but then he remembered his 
Lord's earlier admonishment.  "Aye, Lord," he whispered, 
allowing his tongue to brush against Thranduil's tight 
shaft, before opening his mouth as instructed.

Thranduil felt the hot breath against his skin, followed by 
the tip of Celeborn's tongue.  He closed his eyes and began 
to ease himself forward.  He did not go far, sliding only 
roughly half his length into Celeborn's widening mouth.  "I 
have consistently been impressed," he began casually, "by 
the oral prowess of all those I have brought into this 
room.  I trust that you shall not be the exception."

Celeborn was no stranger to this particular act; like 
Thranduil, he had taken lovers as equals in the past.  
Still, he felt anxious as he closed his lips around 
Thranduil's erection.  He cast his glance upward from his 
position on his knees and took in the sight of Thranduil 
towering over him, larger than life, as though Celeborn was 
pleasuring one of the Valar themselves.  That feeling of 
inferiority and helplessness was, of course, the point, and 
Celeborn was immediately aware of the intoxicating effect 
it had on him.

He then suddenly became very conscious of another 
consequence of his position.  Kneeling as he was, his shirt 
no longer reached below his waist, meaning that his growing 
arousal was very apparent and uncomfortably exposed.  A 
flush of embarrassment began to spread across his face.  He 
was certain that Thranduil noticed because the Mirkwood 
King placed a gentle hand on the top of Celeborn's head.  
The touch was oddly reassuring, and Celeborn was able to 
ignore the urge to tug down at the hem of his shirt.  
Instead, he simply closed his eyes and concentrated on the 
motions of his mouth and tongue, forcing himself to focus 
on Thranduil and not himself.

Celeborn worked his mouth along the Mirkwood King's length, 
beginning to accept his position and even revel in it.  As 
a dominant, the pressure is on to protect one's submissive 
from harm, to drive and control the evening's events, and 
to be constantly aware of the submissive's limits and body 
language.  As a submissive, though, the only duty is to 
please one's Lord.  In an ironic sort of way, Celeborn 
found his new position quite liberating.  He ceased to be 
embarrassed by, or even aware of, his very visible erection 
and cast his attentions instead to Thranduil's.  The skin 
was soft and smooth; Celeborn's lips could glide along the 
shaft with ease.  The darker pink head was swollen and hot 
as it became engorged with blood, and Celeborn spent a 
long, lingering moment suckling the tight flesh.  He swiped 
his tongue across the slit, tasting the clear, salty drops 
that had begun to seep there.

Thranduil groaned in the back of his throat.  He had not 
been wrong about Celeborn -- the Elf-lord was as 
accomplished at oral pleasure as he had hoped.  He looked 
down at Celeborn, now moving easily along his length, and 
smiled.  Each time Celeborn slid back, Thranduil caught a 
glimpse of the not-inconsiderable size of the Lórien Lord's 
firm arousal.  He imagined himself stroking the silken skin 
of that member between stinging slaps of a paddle.  Perhaps 
he would try that later tonight.  For now, though, he put a 
stop to that line of thought, lest he should lose himself 
too soon.

The King placed his hands on Celeborn's shoulders and 
pulled out of the dark red lips.  "Enough of that for the 
time being, I think," he said, catching his breath.  As 
this was not a direct order, Celeborn remained silent, just 
as he should.  Thranduil nodded with satisfaction and then 
pointed toward the back wall.  "Select one of the floggers 
from the wall and bring it back to me, servant," he 
commanded, relacing his leggings.

"Aye, Lord," Celeborn nodded.  This was another of 
Thranduil's preferred games, the Lórien Elf remembered.  
The choice of flogger would determine the length and 
intensity of the flogging.  As Celeborn approached the 
selection, he noticed immediately that the most prominently 
displayed was made with six flails of wide, thick, softened 
leather.  This was by far the tenderest of the floggers, 
which meant -- as Thranduil had explained it -- that any 
who selected it would be in for an extremely long and 
fierce session.

Naturally, then, one would assume that if the tenderest 
flail brought on the fiercest flogging, then the angriest-
looking implement would be the shortest.  That was the 
second trap.  The servant who selected the flogger on the 
far right (with nine very thin, whip-like tendrils made of 
tightly wound strips of the rubbery skin of a Mirkwood 
spider) would likely be unable to sit for three days 
afterwards due to the severity of Thranduil's exertions.

Of the four remaining choices, there was no 'right' answer 
that would ensure a swift and relatively painless session.  
Avoiding the two obvious selections was the real test, but 
Celeborn took his time choosing anyway.  He immediately 
eliminated the flogger to the far left.  While it, like the 
center one, was made of softened leather, the flails were 
much thinner and knotted several times along their length.  
In the hands of a powerful warrior such as Thranduil, such 
a tool could be most... uncomfortable.

From the final three, Celeborn finally settled -- 
arbitrarily -- on a black flogger with fairly narrow strips 
of tanned and dyed leather, longer than the others, and 
with a small notch cut into the tip of each strip, making 
the entire implement look like a collection of forked snake 
tongues.  As Celeborn turned around with the flogger in his 
hands, he noticed that Thranduil was waiting for him beside 
the 'horse'.  He held the flogger across his upturned palms 
and offered it to Thranduil, averting eye contact by 
keeping his gaze fixed on a point just above the King's 
right shoulder.

Thranduil nodded his approval of the choice and brought his 
hands up to accept the tool.  As he did so, he clapped the 
pair of iron manacles he'd been holding around Celeborn's 
wrists.  Thranduil wished he could have captured the look 
of surprise that crossed the Lórien Elf's face in that 
moment.  Celeborn flinched back, spilling the flogger from 
his palms into Thranduil's waiting hands.  The King deftly 
caught the handle of the toy, pivoting around Celeborn and 
flicking his wrist in one smooth motion, snapping the 
forked strips against the back of Celeborn's thighs.  
Thranduil's control and aim were excellent, ensuring that 
this first strike barely connected, would sting only 
slightly, and would fade almost instantly.

Celeborn jumped when the blow from the flogger crossed his 
thighs, but the pain was gone before he could cry out.  The 
pop of the leather echoed in the small cavern and set his 
ears to ringing.  He could barely hear Thranduil's order 
for him to bend over the horse, and his answering "Aye, 
Lord" was virtually drowned out as well.  Celeborn stood 
before the upright portion, noting that what he had thought 
was a solid piece of wood had, in fact, a large section cut 
out.  He realized the purpose of the cutout as he bent over 
-- it was ideally positioned so that his stiff member would 
not be pressed against the wood, but would be pushed 
forward to hang free through the opening.

His frilly shirt rode high on his back, and Celeborn felt 
more exposed than if he had been nude before Thranduil's 
eyes.

Thranduil strolled around the apparatus, admiring the 
pretty picture that Celeborn made sprawled along its 
length.  He kneeled down by Celeborn's head and clipped the 
manacles to the large hook, causing the Lórien Elf to 
whimper as his body was stretched to comply.  He left 
Celeborn's feet free for the moment, deciding not to make 
his erstwhile servant feel overly confined.  Once he was 
satisfied that Celeborn's body had become accustomed to its 
new position, Thranduil gave an experimental swipe with the 
flogger across Celeborn's bared backside.

The Lord of Lórien had sustained many injuries in his life, 
from the innocuous to the near fatal -- some even delivered 
while his back was turned.  The snap of the flogger against 
his pale cheeks rated somewhere between the thud of a 
practice blade and falling out of a flet.  That is, it was 
painful enough to be noticed, but otherwise unremarkable.  
The second blow, though, caused Celeborn to bite back a 
yelp, and the third had him digging his nails into the wood 
on the sides of the horse.  By the sixth, Celeborn was 
unable to restrain his voice, and he found that the release 
of crying out was so cathartic that he dropped all pretense 
of restraint after that.

Thranduil's blows fell randomly across his buttocks, with 
ever-changing frequency and intensity.  Celeborn was 
completely unable to predict where or when the next strike 
would be delivered, and the anticipation was sometimes more 
erotic than the strike itself.  Celeborn tended to engage 
in this sort of guessing game when in Thranduil's position, 
but he had reasoned that it was in order to keep a playmate 
from tensing or bracing against a blow.  It had never 
occurred to him that there was an art to timing those 
pauses as well, or that the tingling feeling in the pit of 
the stomach was just as important as the sharp sting of 
impact across the backside.

Celeborn gave himself up to the rise and fall of the 
flogger, his body moving with Thranduil's strikes, and his 
arousal throbbing needfully, reminding him how much he was 
enjoying submitting to the Mirkwood King.

The Elf-king watched with mounting pleasure as Celeborn's 
backside and thighs slowly became a soft pink, and then 
reddened.  Thranduil could imagine the sting each blow 
brought, and he wanted to see Celeborn's face as the Lórien 
Elf was shown a new aspect of himself he didn't know 
existed.  But Thranduil had.  Yes, Thranduil had seen the 
interest veiled in the words of Celeborn's letters.  From 
the moment it had dawned on Thranduil that the silver-
haired Elf might want to be bound and beaten, Thranduil had 
looked for an excuse to maneuver him into this position, as 
if he were a piece on a chessboard.

Thranduil decided that Celeborn's buttocks had endured 
enough abuse, though he was certain Celeborn would welcome 
a longer session.  But he did not think Celeborn was yet 
ready to submit for such a long duration.  He returned the 
flogger to the wall, and as he walked back to the horse, he 
rubbed at his cock through his leggings.  Thranduil wanted 
to simply part those red, stinging cheeks and thrust 
himself into that silver body, but that was not the aim of 
this game.  He would not take the silver Lord, no matter 
how much he desired to.  Instead, he unlatched the shackles 
from the horse, pulling back on Celeborn's arms.  "Stand," 
he ordered.

"Aye, my Lord," Celeborn said breathlessly, his head 
spinning slightly as he stood upright once more.  As they 
crossed the room, Thranduil had Celeborn remove the white 
shirt, finally giving Thranduil the ability to see all of 
the Lórien Lord's body.  Thranduil led him to the bar 
suspended from ceiling and commanded him to raise his arms.  
As Thranduil shackled him to the device, the King's body 
brushed against Celeborn's aching arousal and the Lórien 
Elf moaned, his hips thrusting forward in hopes of relief.  
Thranduil, though, offered no relief, he simply swatted his 
stinging backside, and Celeborn hung his head between his 
up stretched arms.  Thranduil raised the bar, pulling 
Celeborn onto his toes, his body pulled tight, straight, 
and Celeborn felt his cheeks flush under Thranduil's 
scrutinizing gaze.

The Mirkwood King then drew two identical floggers from 
within a wardrobe against one wall.  These were specialized 
instruments, not included in the 'selection game'.  Each 
flogger consisted of a firm handle attached to a mass of 
finely braided horsehair tendrils, half a meter long.  They 
were all but useless for the task Celeborn had just 
endured; the flesh of the buttocks could withstand the 
blows from these for hours on end without so much as 
coloring.  There was, however, another task for which they 
were uniquely suited.

Thranduil approached Celeborn, not from the back, but from 
the front.  He casually flipped the horsehair braids onto 
Celeborn's shoulders and then slid the fine tendrils down 
the Lórien Lord's chest, stomach, and crotch.  Celeborn 
shivered under the gentle sensation.  His skin had become 
so sensitive under the flogging that his body responded to 
the slightest contact.  Thranduil drew the braids upward 
along his partner's body, and Celeborn shuddered again.  He 
spent several minutes simply brushing the soft threads 
across the front of Celeborn's body until the silver-haired 
Elf was whimpering with each touch.

Celeborn gasped when the first real strike crossed his 
chest.  Thranduil had swung the flogger in his right hand 
along a path from Celeborn's left shoulder to his right 
hip.  While the blow had not been anywhere as forceful as 
those across his backside, his skin was so flushed and warm 
that the effect was of a thousand tiny icicles being 
tracked across his body.  Thranduil lashed out with his 
other hand, drawing a second line of ice from Celeborn's 
right shoulder to left hip.  Then, before Celeborn could 
even fully react, Thranduil flipped both wrists, and the 
floggers licked twin paths straight down his chest from 
shoulder to thigh.

Once Celeborn's body was sufficiently warmed up -- a state 
Thranduil could discern by the way the Lórien Lord's head 
was thrown back, his eyes were clenched, and his breathing 
was quick and shallow -- Thranduil moved easily into a 
faster rhythm.  His hands and arms twisted around each 
other in an intricate dance, whipping the floggers against 
Celeborn's chest and stomach with dizzying speed.  The thin 
braids were not strong enough to darken the flushed skin, 
but the sustained assault left Celeborn's body covered in a 
fine sheen of sweat within minutes.  Even more arousing to 
the King was the way that Celeborn's erection twitched with 
every blow.  The swollen head was red and glistened with 
the thick, clear fluid that seeped almost steadily from the 
dark slit.

Though Thranduil rarely did so, he felt the tugging within 
himself to leave Celeborn bound and kneel before him, 
taking that dark organ into his mouth and tasting those 
tempting drops of Celeborn's essence.  To avoid further 
temptation, Thranduil stopped his assault on Celeborn's 
body.  The time-candle showed that over an hour had sped by 
in the room, and Thranduil needed to find release soon, 
before he did something he and Celeborn would later regret.

He put the floggers away, noticing that Celeborn was still 
tense, hard, and panting -- he was waiting for the next 
sweet torture.  Thranduil smirked, approaching the sexually 
pent-up Elf.  He was sorry to disappoint the silver Elf.  
If only Celeborn knew how much he wanted him...

Celeborn's awareness, which had been drifting under the 
steady onslaught from the floggers, snapped back to 
attention when the sound of his wrist manacles unlatching 
echoed in the small chamber.  Thranduil had removed the 
shackles and was also removing the leather collar from 
Celeborn's neck.  Confusion knitted his brow, and he 
chanced a look at the time-candle, confirming what he did 
not believe.  Indeed, his time was more than over, although 
it had seemed to him that barely half that had passed.

He rubbed his wrists lightly, his head still spinning and 
his skin tingling intensely.  Celeborn looked up at 
Thranduil, seeing the King in a new light.  Thranduil could 
have continued and Celeborn would never have noticed, but 
all the Mirkwood Elf had asked for was an hour of his time 
-- and that was all he had taken.

"I am sorry," Thranduil began, his green eyes flashing.  "I 
did not mean to allow time to pass so unnoticed."

Celeborn watched Thranduil put the shackles away.  "I do 
not mind; I lost track of the passage of time as well, it 
seems."  He offered a watery smile, his mind heavily fogged 
with need.

Thranduil slowly circled Celeborn, looking his nude body up 
and down.  "Are you well?  No lasting injury I should be 
aware of?" he asked, concern in his tone.

"No, Thranduil," he said honestly.  "I am well."

The King nodded, stepping back from Celeborn.  "The session 
is over; you have fulfilled your obligation, Celeborn.  It 
was a great pleasure."

Celeborn's eyes fell to Thranduil's still prominent 
arousal.  "It 'was'?" he asked, smiling to himself as he 
gazed at the King's leggings.  Though he had not said the 
words aloud, he was certain Thranduil knew what he was 
hinting at.
 
"I do not do that in here, Celeborn," Thranduil warned, 
walking toward the door.  "I thought you also did not 
engage in such activities while in the playroom."

"No, I do not.  But your bedchamber lies just beyond that 
door."  Celeborn felt his own member throbbing with his 
heartbeat, and he ached to feel Thranduil's touch on his 
body.  "My body burns, Thranduil, for a lover's touch, yet 
I have no companion besides my sword hand.  Do you have a 
bed partner waiting to alleviate your desires tonight?" he 
asked softly, closing the distance between them.  "Would 
you like to?"

"Celeborn," Thranduil said, his voice tight and his eyes 
focused on Celeborn's full lips.  "Our bet did not extend 
to sharing our bodies," he tried.

"I am not thinking of our bet," the silver-haired Elf 
replied.  "I am thinking only of your desire and mine.  You 
know that I have long held you in high esteem, and I sense 
that you feel the same.  We are both capable of making sane 
decisions in this matter, and this is my choice.  Tell me 
you choose otherwise, and I shall bid you good evening and 
think no less of you, mellonen." (my friend)

Thranduil considered for a moment, then turned on his heel 
and started toward his bedchamber.  He paused at the door 
and looked over his shoulder at Celeborn.  "Will you join 
me this night, my Lord?"

Time seemed to Celeborn again to jump, just as it had 
during his submission.  The next thing he knew, Thranduil's 
robes lay in a crumpled heap beside his own, and the two 
powerful Elf-lords were clasped in a passionate embrace on 
the King's bed.

Thranduil moaned as he thrust against Celeborn's willing 
body, plundering the Lórien Elf's mouth.  Their tongues 
danced against each other, teeth raked across sore lips, 
and their breath mingled in heavy pants.  Thranduil could 
already feel his release building.  This would not be a 
soft, slow encounter, but Thranduil had not expected such a 
thing from Celeborn.

No, the silver-haired Elf was fire and ice, and Thranduil 
longed to sink himself deep into those heated depths.

Celeborn felt Thranduil lace their fingers together, and he 
squeezed them tight, his body tense as their erections 
rubbed together between their slick bodies.  "Thranduil," 
he panted, his voice ragged as he teetered on the edge of 
release.  The Elf-king's smile was dangerous and hungry as 
he slithered down Celeborn's body, removing all friction 
from the Lórien Elf's needy flesh.  Thranduil did not 
release his hold on Celeborn's fingers as he exhaled moist 
breath over Celeborn's weeping member.

The silver Elf arched into Thranduil's mouth as the King 
engulfed his sex, crying out sharply and gripping 
Thranduil's hands tighter in his own.  Thranduil bore down, 
using Celeborn's raised hands as leverage, making it easier 
for him to smoothly take all of Celeborn's length into his 
throat.

With Celeborn supporting his weight, Thranduil was able to 
move freely over the tight flesh between his lips.  
Celeborn writhed and clenched his hands, but Thranduil 
focused on lowering himself down that dark pillar and 
raising himself back up, only to repeat the movement.  
Thranduil ignored the bitter stickiness of Celeborn's 
essence, determined to end his lover's needful torment.  It 
did not take long before Thranduil simply hovered above 
Celeborn's body, allowing the silver-haired Elf to thrust 
up.  He continued to suck and lick at the shaft, but 
permitted Celeborn to dictate the pace.

Celeborn felt his muscles tighten and he cried out, 
thrusting up once more as his seed spilled from his body.  
He remained buried deep in Thranduil's throat, his hands 
gripping Thranduil's painfully, as his body reached 
completion after so much teasing and denial.  After several 
long moments, Celeborn's body collapsed on itself and he 
fell back against the mattress.  He continued to twitch as 
Thranduil lapped at his softening sex, pulling more 
whimpers and mewling sounds from him.  The Elf-king's 
emerald eyes lifted from his member, piercing him with his 
own lustful gaze.  Celeborn felt his face flush under those 
eyes, and his heart raced in his chest with anticipation of 
what Thranduil wanted from him.

"I want to be inside you, Celeborn.  I have from the moment 
you presented your backside to me to be flogged."  The 
request was quietly issued, and Thranduil's breath actually 
caught in his throat as he waited for Celeborn's answer.  
He did not expect the Lórien Elf to accept, but when that 
silver head bobbed, and those swollen lips formed the word 
'Aye', Thranduil thought he would spend himself before he 
could ever fall into the velvet heat of Celeborn's body.

As Thranduil reached for the oil waiting on the bedside 
table, Celeborn gathered his strength and rolled onto his 
hands and knees.  This was not his first time in such a 
position, but it had been some time since he had permitted 
his lover in Lórien to take him.  He let out a long breath 
as warm, slippery fingers slid into him.  They briefly 
delved deep into his passage and spread the oil thickly, 
and then they were gone.

Thranduil groaned loudly as he added oil to his length, his 
eyes following the line of Celeborn's back and buttocks.  
The glistening opening to Celeborn's body teased him by 
appearing and disappearing between Celeborn's cheeks 
depending on how the Elf-lord moved.  He couldn't wait any 
longer, and he shifted on the bed, pressing the fat head of 
his cock to the tight passage.  Thranduil thrust forward, 
slipping easily into Celeborn's tight channel.  When his 
thighs touched Celeborn's, he stilled, panting heavily as 
the muscles clenched and unclenched around him.

Celeborn sat up, resting his hands on the headboard of 
Thranduil's bed.  He wanted to feel Thranduil moving inside 
him, but the Elf-king did not seem eager to move.  So 
Celeborn took matters into his own hands.  He pushed back, 
impaling himself further, moaning and breathing hard as he 
moved away from Thranduil's body, and then he slammed back 
against the blond, his own cry mingling with Thranduil's.

The Mirkwood King sat back on his heels, holding tightly to 
Celeborn's hips while the Lórien Elf slid back and forth 
along his shaft.  Thranduil closed his eyes, focusing on 
that slick, tight heat that drew him closer and closer to 
orgasm, his fingers rhythmically kneading the flesh of 
Celeborn's hips.  His release came up quickly, and he 
pushed Celeborn forward onto the bed, slamming into 
Celeborn's backside once more, spilling his seed deep 
inside Celeborn's body.  He shouted as he trembled with the 
intensity of his climax, still buried as far as he could be 
inside his lover.

He bowed over Celeborn's body, resting his brow on the 
smooth, pale back, silver hair sticking to sweaty muscles.  
He finally exhaled a long breath and pulled away from 
Celeborn's body, slowly extricating himself from Celeborn.  
Still lightheaded from the intensity of his release, 
Thranduil reached for the scrap of cloth he had placed 
beside the oil.  He cleaned his semi-erect shaft of his 
seed and the oil, watching as Celeborn rolled onto his 
back.  He handed the Lórien Lord the cloth while picking up 
the small glass of water beside the oil.  He sipped the 
water, quenching his thirst, his attention focused on 
Celeborn's movements as the Elf-lord wiped Thranduil's 
milky fluid from his tender flesh.

Thranduil offered the glass to Celeborn, and Celeborn 
eagerly took it.  His throat was parched.  He tossed the 
rag to the floor and let his back rest against the 
headboard as he drank the water.  It was awkward, sitting 
there in the aftermath of such an evening, not knowing if 
he should retrieve his clothing and tactfully slip from the 
room or if he should draw the bedsheets up and drift into 
reverie.

Thranduil made the decision for him.

"Would you like to remain here tonight?" he asked quietly.

Celeborn nodded, handing the glass back to Thranduil.  The 
Elf-king extinguished the lamp on the table and pulled the 
covers up over their cooling bodies.  Once again Celeborn 
was hesitant as they settled into the thick mattress.  Was 
he to press close to the King, or should he remain stiffly 
on his side of the large bed?  Thranduil lay on his back 
and held out his arm, looking expectantly at Celeborn.

Obviously, they were to press close, Celeborn thought as he 
laid down next the Thranduil, his head comfortably nestling 
against Thranduil's shoulder.

Thranduil was just drifting off when Celeborn's musical 
voice called him back.

"So, tauren, when is the rematch?" (my king)

The End