Title: An Affliction of the Heart, 8/?    
Author: Larien Elengasse
Type:	FPS
Characters: Legolas/Elladan/Elrohir, Glorfindel/Thranduil
Rating:	 NC-17 for slashy goodness - eventually
Beta: Minuial Nuwing – you’re the best, darling!
Archive: OEAM, Library of Moria, Melethryn.  All others please ask.

WARNING: Graphic depictions of sexual acts between half-elven twins and 
a prince, and between a warrior and a king.  Allusions to violence. Brotherly 
incest. Rampant angst.
 
Disclaimer: I do not own these characters, they are the property of JRR 
Tolkien and his estate, and I am sure he would be horrified if he read this.

Author’s Notes: The twins come to Greenwood with Glorfindel to expand 
their education and everyone learns more than was intended.  Yet another 
exploration of the dangers and delights of love – I’m nothing if not a hopeless 
romantic.  Canon disclaimer is in place, as always.  The Donne poem quoted 
at the start is one of the Holy Sonnets, however, I think that in lieu of God, 
Love would stand quite well.
 
Feedback: If you care to share, larienelengasse@yahoo.com

Summary: Lessons continue and trouble looms.

The tapestry rocked against the wall as Thranduil’s back impacted it.  
Glorfindel held him by the wrists, his hands over his head, arms spread wide.  
His heart was racing, his skin felt over-sensitive, as if the slightest brush of 
air might cause him to cry out in need.  Dark, midnight blue eyes held him as 
surely as the warrior’s strong hands did.  Even if he wanted to fight him off, 
he could not – Glorfindel was both taller and stronger than him.

His tunic was torn open, his breeches unlaced, his hair pulled loose from his 
braid, and he was barefoot.  What had begun as typical prelude to bed play 
had turned into something unexpected.  He allowed Glorfindel the upper 
hand, and he did not resist him now as he had done in the past.   

“You are mine.”

The words were spoken slowly, deliberately, with just a slight touch of 
menace to them – as if to issue a warning as well as a declaration.  Thranduil 
had to admit that it made gooseflesh rise on his body.  If the truth were to be 
told, as much as he had resisted it, this was exactly what he needed.  He did 
not answer by speaking; instead he reached for his lover with his mouth.

“Mine,” Glorfindel murmured against his lips.

“Yes,” he whispered, and then he kissed the Elda.

As their lips parted, he heard the warrior’s deep, smooth voice say, “And I 
love you.”

Tears stung his eyes and he smiled.  Glorfindel’s lips were still near his own, 
and he answered, “As I love you.”

No sooner had the words left his lips than his lover consumed his mouth, 
releasing his wrists and cradling his head in his hands.  

“Let me in,” Glorfindel whispered.

Thranduil nodded and he was lifted into the warrior’s arms and carried to the 
bed.  Glorfindel pulled the ripped tunic off and tossed it aside, then slid his 
hands inside Thranduil’s breeches, sliding them off his hips before tossing 
them in the same pile as the ruined tunic.  Thranduil watched, his heart 
quickening, his body trembling, and his arousal aching, as Glorfindel slowly 
disrobed.  He had never given himself to another, ever.  He knew well enough 
what to expect, as he had taken more than a few males since his wife died, 
both experienced lovers and novices alike.  But knowing what was to come 
and actually experiencing it were two different things.

He allowed Glorfindel to lower him to the bed, then closed his eyes and drew 
a deep shuddering breath as the Elda worshiped his body with his hands and 
mouth.  

“Sweet Elbereth, no one has ever touched me like this; no one has ever made 
me feel like you do,” Thranduil whispered.

Glorfindel lifted one of his lover’s legs, sliding his lips along the inside of 
Thranduil’s thigh and causing him to arch into the bed.  

Now that the wall was down between them, there was no rebuilding it; there 
was no stopping this headlong rush toward what would either be the end of 
him or the beginning of something inexplicably beautiful.  ‘Let it come,’ 
Thranduil thought.  Either way, there was no going back; there was no living 
without Glorfindel now.

“Ah gods,” the king groaned as the Elda’s warm breath fanned his entrance.  
His legs wrapped over Glorfindel’s shoulders, his buttocks resting in his 
lover’s hands and spread by the warrior’s thumbs, he arched into the grip as 
Glorfindel’s tongue entered his body.  

It was a sensation he could hardly put into words.  Warm, wet muscle slickly 
sliding in and out, circling the puckered skin before delving in again.  He felt 
as though he would come out of his skin, like he wanted to run away and take 
him in further at the same time.  When he thought he could take no more, he 
was empty and aching.  Soon, slick fingers replaced that wet tongue, and the 
Elda’s talented mouth attended his turgid and weeping arousal.

Delving his fingers into the thick mass of wavy, golden hair upon his lover’s 
head, he whispered hoarsely, “I love you…” Then he groaned as he was taken 
deep into Glorfindel’s throat.  The persistent, hot suction on the tip of his 
length partially distracted him from the slow opening of his body by the 
Elda’s fingers.  Now that they were here at this place, where all walls were 
torn down, Thranduil found that surrender was not nearly as frightening as he 
had once imagined.

Slowly, he was rolled to his side, his sated length lying against his hip and his 
body thrumming with spent desire.  Glorfindel lifted one of his legs and he 
was entered.  He gasped, eyes wide, the fog of his release lifting, his body 
beginning to burn with both passion and pain.  

“Breathe, my love.”

The words were spoken softly, meant to encourage, to soothe, and to convey 
love.  He closed his eyes and willed his body to relax, taking the warrior 
further in, allowing Glorfindel mastery over both his body and his heart.  

Their coupling was brief but intense, as much physically as emotionally.  
When it was done, Thranduil lay in Glorfindel’s protective embrace, wrapped 
in his arms, soothed by his deep voice and gentle kisses.  Slowly his eyes slid 
closed and he found reverie in his lover’s arms.

*    *    *   *

Legolas lay on the bed between Elrohir’s legs, his head resting on the 
younger twin’s shoulder as Elladan’s head bobbed slowly up and down 
between his legs.  Elrohir stroked his chest with his hands, fingers gently 
brushing his pebbled nipples and toying with the ring that pierced the left.  
The elf-knight’s full lips caressed the curve of his ear, and his smooth 
honeyed voice told him how beautiful he was.

He could feel the climax building, rising from deep inside him, burning his 
blood.  He reached for Elladan’s head, his thumb rubbing the point of the 
elder twin’s ear as he murmured urgently and huskily, “It will not be much 
longer now, my wolf.”

He arched his back and spilled with an aching cry, feeling Elrohir gently 
suckling the point of his ear.  

“Sweet Elbereth,” he panted.  “That was very well done.”

He watched as Elladan licked his lips and smiled.  “I am glad you approve,” 
the elder twin answered.

He slowly turned his head and looked into Elrohir’s stormy, dark eyes.  He 
could feel the peredhel’s swollen length pressing against his lower back and 
he shifted carefully so that he could look the younger twin more fully in the 
eye.

“Would you like to take me?” he asked softly, reaching up and caressing 
Elrohir’s cheek.

“You would allow such?” Elrohir asked, his heart quickening in its rhythm.

Legolas smiled.  “Aye, I would.”

“How?  How do I do it?”

Legolas rose and moved to his hands and knees.  “Carefully, my elf-knight.”  
He motioned to the bedside table.  “Use the oil there, and remember your 
lessons.  Watch and listen; you will know when I am ready.”

Elrohir nodded and grasped the phial before looking at his twin.  Elladan lay 
on his side, staring at him with a look he had never seen before, the corners of 
his brother’s mouth curved upward slightly in a smile.  “It seems I will learn 
from you in this, Elrohir,” he said quietly.

Elrohir swallowed and answered, “I will try to provide you with a good 
example.”

“Of that I have no doubt, little brother.”

Elrohir did remember his lessons, watching and listening intently as he 
explored Legolas with his hands and mouth.  As he slid two fingers inside the 
prince’s body, he caught a glimpse of what was to come.  He was warm and 
tight, soft inside, and he imagined being wrapped in that tight heat.  He felt 
his arousal twitch and he took a deep breath, trying to slow his heart’s 
rhythm.  “Gods, he feels good, Elladan,” he murmured.

All Elladan could see was Elrohir’s face, his closed eyes, his parted lips, his 
taught body, his flushed skin.  He kept his thoughts tightly locked down and 
away in a place that not even Elrohir could reach.

As Legolas softly began to encourage Elrohir to delve further, his gaze was 
fixed on the elder twin.  From beneath the fall of Legolas’ hair, Elladan could 
not see the prince’s eyes perusing his face, nor could he see the look of 
recognition in Legolas’ eyes.

It all made such sense now.  Why they came to him together, why Elladan 
seemed so removed and reserved when they came to his bed.  He was hiding 
something, that Legolas had known, but now, Legolas could see what it was 
the elder peredhel was hiding.

Elladan was in love with Elrohir.

Reaching out, Legolas clasped Elladan’s arm.  “Come here, my wolf,” he 
murmured, his breath catching slightly as Elrohir nearly found his mark.  “Let 
me return to you what you gave to me.”

Elladan flashed a feral smile then moved to where he could lean against the 
head of the prince’s bed.  His head fell back and he groaned softly as he 
prince devoured him, and he held Legolas’ head in his hands, his fingers 
gently massaging the Sinda’s scalp as Legolas worked his turgid arousal with 
his mouth.  The moan that reverberated down his length when Elrohir entered 
the prince nearly caused him to spend himself.  Elladan gripped Legolas’ hair 
tighter and squeezed his eyes shut, his ears filled with the sounds of sensual 
lovemaking.  Legolas was moaning deeply, each utterance sending a 
cascading vibration along the length of his arousal.  Elrohir was also 
moaning, the deep sound occasionally punctuated with brief exclamations of 
how good Legolas felt.  He sincerely wished that his twin would stop talking 
to him, because all he could think about, his most closely guarded fantasy, 
was that this was Elrohir’s head in his lap, Elrohir’s hands gripping his hips.

It was over much sooner than he would have liked.  The prince’s talented 
mouth milked his essence from him as Elrohir emitted an aching cry, 
signaling his own climax.  Only Legolas was left unsatisfied, as their 
lovemaking had aroused him once again.  Without thinking, Elladan grasped 
the prince’s arms and pulled Legolas up to his lips, kissing him hungrily as he 
reached between the prince’s legs and stroked him to completion.

Legolas cried out into Elladan’s mouth, then moaned softly as the elder 
peredhel suckled the lobe of his ear.  Elladan was holding on to him 
possessively, though still allowing Elrohir to curl up beside them.  All three 
of them were spent, their skin flushed and slick with sweat, their lips swollen, 
their hair tossed wildly about their heads.

“The two of you will be the death of me,” Legolas whispered, the tone tinged 
with sleepy mirth.

“Would that be so bad?” Elladan murmured into the prince’s hair as Elrohir 
chuckled and curled up against Legolas’ side.

“Not at all,” Legolas answered, as he began to slip into reverie.


To be continued…