Title: In the Darkness We Loved Author: Eremir (eremir82[at]yahoo.se) Pairings: Thranduil/Legolas Rating: R Summary: Bound by blood, bound by flesh, some secrets are better left to the dark. Warnings: incest, angst, darkfic Feedback: Is my precious drug Disclaimer: The characters belong to Tolkien, and I’m sure he would be horrified, but I do what I do with love. A/N: Written for the livejournal community "Monday Smut", October 2006 ~~~~~ Even if I now saw you Only once, I would long for you Through worlds, Worlds. Izumi Shikibu (c.974) The room is dark, but he can still see the captive on the bed. The pale figure, writhing against his restraints, his skin almost luminous in the fading candlelight. Thranduil can hear the ragged breathing from six feet away, and it sends blood rushing to his groin. He knows his property. He knows his flesh. The life he created belongs to him, to do with as he will, even to end should he choose to. But he would never harm the flesh that he so desires. The king approaches the bed, his eyes connecting with his beloved’s. He sees fear there, desperation, but longing also. He sees love and trust. But most of all he sees everlasting beauty. The eyes pierce his very core with their openness and he wants to yield, but this is not the time. After, perhaps. For now, his greatest wish is to run his tongue over the arch of a smooth foot, to let it wander up the shin and over the knee - licking at the little scar that’s been there for 1400 years - up the svelte thigh, and beyond... His hand starts where his mouth wants to travel, ancient fingertips exploring the skin he knows so well. Every microscopic hair, every muscle, sinew and bone, they are as his own. The flat of his palm strokes up the leg, grasping the flesh more forcefully the further up he gets. As he brushes the soft sac with the back of a finger he feels his subject stiffen, and stops. The chest heaves, and the lips are closed tight. Thranduil aches for his beloved. Carefully climbing into the bed, he lowers himself onto his prince. The skin touching his skin is like fire on dry plains. It burns and destroys, yet makes room for things to grow anew. His rigid shaft leaks with want, and he has to struggle to refrain from rubbing against his son. His beautiful son. The king’s fingers fondle the bound hands, making sure the rope is not too tight. The smooth arms, relaxed under his touch. The little armpits. A sensitive spot. Legolas lets a whimper past his throat, and Thranduil croons, hushing him gently while petting his hair. There is a slight moisture in the silvery strands, and the king feels a strange warmth emanate from the body below. He kisses the lips slightly parted before him, lips so supple and soft against his own. Lips he would kill for a taste of. Embracing the slender prince, his mouth savours every texture, every flavour and subtle movement. He runs his tongue over the full lips, slowly, before kissing them again. Legolas’ breath quivers. “Ada...” Thranduil sighs and closes his eyes. “I know.” He rests his forehead atop his son’s. “Ada, this has to stop.” “I know.” “Then you also know I have to leave. I cannot stay here.” “I know.” He bites back the tears. He does not want to cry. Not now. “We cannot do this anymore, ada.” Legolas weeps, and Thranduil dares not look at him. “I love you...” “I love you, my prince,” he kisses the tears away, “but I know I was not meant to keep you. Come sunrise I will set you free. You will take my place in Elrond’s council, and I shall never see you again.” The young elf’s face contorts with grief. “Ada...” “Shhh....” the king croons. “It’s all right. You will have a wonderful life, my little prince.” “But if I leave you...” “I will not survive.” The king feels an eerie calm settle in his heart. He has made peace with his decision long ago. “Do not grieve for me. I was born for the purpose of bringing you into this world, and I will never regret it.” In a few deep breaths the young one has calmed, and his eyes look up with new clarity. “Then tonight is our last, my love.” He smiles, but it’s a sad smile. “Give me something to remember. Have me sore in the morning. Make me feel you in me for days...” His voice grows deep and simmers with need. “Leave your mark in me.” The king’s passion is woken anew, and all thoughts of tears and sorrow are forgotten. All that matters is the sensation of skin on skin - the raw, brutal act of carnal love. The flesh that yearns to be touched. His flesh. His own flesh and blood. “Know that I will think of you always. My beautiful son.”