Title: Aniron Author: Trinity Helix Feedback: Everything to trinity_cross@yahoo.com Archive: Yes, please, as long as the .txt file is intact. Website url, and all. Website: http://trinitycross.net/lotrfan (my Lotr art and fiction site) Warnings: Slash, PWP, Non-Consensual, Fisting (damn that's a lot…) Pairings: Thranduil/Melpomaen (Figwit) Genre: PWP, POV, Non-Con Summary: Thranduil always gets what he wants. Please do NOT read if easily squicked by any of the warnings listed. Comments: Melpomaen (aka Figwit) is another gorgeous Rivendell elf present during the council of Elrond. (The other gorgeous elf being Saelbeth, whom everyone thought was Glorfindel when the movie first came out). As he is not mentioned in the books, his history is fair game. For the purpose of this story, he is an advisor from Rivendell and is now a member of Thranduil's court. Following the "Timeless" timeline, this happens during Legolas' sojourn in Lorthlorien-- his friendship with Melpomaen has yet to happen. Set centuries before Fellowship of the Ring. Glossary: Melethron- male lover Aniron- I desire ----------------------------------------------------------------------- "Do you always get what you want?" Even in the silence of my bedchambers Melpomaen's voice is soft, and when I look into his eyes they are gleaming with unshed tears. He doesn't want this. I stroke his cheek with the back of my hand, taking my time. I have my pick of the elves at the castle, and no one has ever dared to shun my call. "Most of the time," I say conversationally, as I slide my hands under his outer robe and let it fall to the floor. He closes his eyes and trembles slightly, shivering from the loss of warmth. "You are beautiful, little one," I murmur to him, marveling once again at his fragility. Melpomaen is young still-- not as young as my own son, no, but young enough for one of our race. He is neither exceptionally wise nor brave, and he is certainly no brilliant strategist. He has done nothing to earn my favor, and yet I am drawn to him as a moth to a flame. Indeed, lust burns hotly in my veins as I devour him with my eyes, taking in every detail and contour of his form. When I kiss him finally his mouth is soft and pliant, opening for me with little resistance. A single tear rolls down his cheek, and I smile when I see it; desire burning low in my belly. "Tell me you want me," I growl softly. "Tell me you want to be taken." His eyes are still closed, and his full lower lip trembles before he answers. "I… I want you, my lord," he whispers. "I… want…" As he speaks I caress his chest, slipping my hands into his tunic and running my palms across the flat plane of his belly. His breath catches as I quest lower, and I take him into my hand. He has grown half-hard with my ministrations, and when I move my hand up and down his length he whimpers. "And…?" I ask, my voice silky. His eyes open at the sound of my voice; limpid pools of resignation. "I want… to be taken, my lord," he says. I release him and step away, watching him with narrowed eyes. "Undress," I say. "And lay on the bed." For a brief moment he almost looks as if he might object, but then changes his mind and removes his tunic instead. The smooth skin it reveals is pale and unmarred, and he hesitates only slightly before removing his leggings as well. The he turns away from my gaze and lies on the bed, refusing to meet my eyes. The robe I am wearing is tossed easily aside, and as I prepared for this evening well I wear nothing else underneath. I stretch out beside him, the soft mattress sinking beneath my weight. "Look at me," I whisper, running a finger against his jaw. "Melethron…" He complies reluctantly, his beautiful brown eyes half-lidded in the low light. I smile when he meets my gaze, reading misery and submission and little else. "Am I truly that repulsive to your eyes, little one?" I ask in jest, for my fairness has been exemplified in both song and scroll. Melpomaen looks away. "Nay, my Lord," he answers quietly. "You are very fair..." I laugh softly at the poorly given compliment. "You say that with such conviction," I say. "Cease your worries-- I will make certain that you do not forget this night." This time he does not reply, though his disbelief is plain to see. I regard him for a moment or two longer, wondering at his melancholy. Rarely have I met a bedmate so distressed at finding himself in the arms of his Lord, and the thought both insults and pleases me. Melpomaen is a challenge: he is no willing pleasure-slave, but neither is he a firebrand that refuses to be tamed. His physical submission is absolute, and as he honors his lord and master he will refuse me nothing. I narrow my eyes as he closes his, and desire-- hot and pulsing-- surges through me once more. A prize that gives in body and not in soul is indeed a worthy challenge. Before this night is over, I swear silently, both will ache for my touch. My caress is as a butterfly's wing upon his cheek; the mouth that descends on his is gentler still. He moans softly as I touch him, teasing him to hardness as I take his lips with mine. He expects roughness and I give him tender caresses to rival that of even the shyest elf maiden. His lips part slightly as I straddle him, gentle friction along his downy length. "Things are not always what they seem," I whisper tenderly. He gasps into my mouth when I begin to move, rubbing our lengths against each other, my hands in his hair and curled against the nape of his neck. "Touch me," I whisper, and the hands that were tightly fisting the sheets below us relax their grip. I meet his gaze and smile encouragingly, but the vague distrust is ever-present. His touch is hesitant, and when his hands come to rest upon my shoulders they do nothing else. I smile inwardly. His hold-out surprises me, and I am pleased at the challenge he presents. "If you will not touch me, then I shall touch *you*," I say, and reach for him once more. He gasps softly when my fingers ghost against his cock, trailing downwards till I reach the cleft of his ass. He bites his lip as a single finger presses into him, the unlubricated slide rougher than he is obviously accustomed to. I pause for a moment to capture his lips, reassurance radiating through every pore. "Trust me," I whisper. Wordlessly he shakes his head, but when I ease a second finger into him the movement halts abruptly. I smile inwardly, reach for his cock with my other hand and crook both fingers deep inside. I take him into my mouth as my ministrations continue beneath him, and when he moans it is soft and helpless. "My lord," he gasps, trying to close his parted legs. "No…" In response I take him in deeper, swirl my tongue against the underside of his cock and he *bucks* into my mouth, desperately trying not to scream. When I sense that he is close to spending, I stop; releasing his length and kissing him hard. "Do you want me?" I demand, as the fingers inside him increase their pace, pressure unrelenting. He moans wildly, pupils dilated with lust. "My lord," he whimpers again, opening his legs wider, offering himself to me freely. "Aniron… aniron…" A smile spreads across my lips as he reaches for me, fingers twined against my wrists. He has given himself to me completely, and the thought of his total submission excites me-- fills me with power. Abruptly I pull my hands away from his entrance, his confused gaze turning to dismay as he catches my knowing smirk. "On your knees," I say tersely, and when he is slow to respond I grasp his hips and force him on his stomach. He chokes back a cry as my finger returns to his opening and thrusts inside, all my earlier tenderness gone. "Spread your knees," I command, and another finger joins the first as he complies. The scented oil remains ignored on the nightstand, and in my lust I realize I no longer care if he is hurt. I remove my fingers from him and replace them with my cock, pressing against his tight opening. He has not been prepared nearly enough, and as he remains dry he resists me with muffled sobs. I run my hands down his back and spread his cheeks wide apart, turning my thumbs into him and holding him open. He convulses as I force myself into his warmth, unheeding of his tears against the pillow. I *own* him, now. He is a thing, a commodity-- mine to do with as I please. The cadence I follow is jarring; brutal and deep. I am rougher with him than I have been with anybody, and the blood that wells as I tear into him makes me rougher still. A sob escapes from his lips; he is weeping openly now, gasping in time with my thrusts. "Please…" he whispers brokenly, clutching at the mattress underneath him as he is propelled forward. "Please…" I grab a fistful of the chestnut hair before me and yank back, exposing the white column of his throat. "Quiet," I hiss, and he struggles to obey, choking back his sobs. When I find myself nearing completion I pull out of him swiftly and turn him around, forcing him to take my bloodied cock into his mouth. He gags as I begin to thrust, and I fist my hands into his hair to stop him from pulling away. "Open to me," I breathe, watching spellbound as he complies. His tears are flowing freely, and as he opens his mouth wider I begin to thrust into him once more. The exquisite heat proves all the stimulus I need to push me over the edge, and I pour my seed deep into his throat. His eyes grow wild as his breath is stolen from him for several moments, but I do not release him until I am fully spent. He falls back to the bed, retching and gasping for air, fingers straining against the sheets. My eyes narrow at the huddled figure, and a rage that I cannot understand fills me. The need to own him-- to *hurt* him-- courses through me, and I pull him towards me roughly, limbs sprawled against my lap. He is bleeding still, and throughout his taking he has remained unspent. A feral smile adorns my lips. "No…" he sobs; and the word is no more than a whisper against the sheets. The oil I kept unused before still rests upon the nightstand, and I take it and empty the contents unto my hand. It drips down and pools into the cleft of his buttocks, and I can only imagine the exquisite torture it brings to his raw flesh. He gasps as I knead the oil on him and *into* him, crooking a finger as I push it deep inside. Against my thigh I feel his sex stir and harden fully within a matter of seconds. I chuckle. "So anxious for your own release," I chide, and swiftly push two fingers to join the first, corkscrewing them slowly. He cries out then, and if it be in pain or pleasure I cannot tell. The fourth and fifth fingers meet more resistance than the previous ones, and he goes limp as I push deeper still. He is rock hard against my thigh but I do not touch him, determined to penetrate him as far as his body can let me. "You are mine, Melpomaen," I whisper, and as the rest of my hand slides into him he shudders violently. The tight ring that grips my wrist enflames me more than I ever thought possible, and when I clench my fingers into a fist the cry that is rung from his lips is music to my ears. "Beautiful…" I marvel, watching the sweat bead on the graceful curve of his back. Even impaled upon my fist he has lost none of his magnificence, and he is shaking when I kiss his brow. "Come for me," I whisper, and begin to push in further, twisting my hand before pulling out to my wrist. The pace of the fuck is slow at first, and his eyes are wide and glassy as he stares ahead. His cock has gone impossibly hard, and it twitches as I increase the pace, driving him forward and pulling him back, my fist moving against his smooth, slippery flesh. I go a little deeper and twist a little more with each thrust, and when he comes into my lap he screams. The sound is hoarse and filled with pain, and were he not already lying prone he would've collapsed. My fingers are caked with blood when I pull out of him, and he whimpers as the last of my fingers leave him. He is shaking now, and lies curled up as far away from me as the bed will allow. I smile and run the bloodied hand across his thigh. "One day, you will learn to love this, Melpomaen," I whisper, and as I leave the chambers I hear him sob. *fin*