Title: To Live and Learn Author: Esteldil Author’s email: esteldil@yahoo.co.uk Pairings: Turin/Thingol. Turin/Beleg Rating: R Summary: Turin lusts after Thingol and Beleg shows him how to lure him to his bed. But what does Beleg feel? Disclaimer: None of the characters are mine. They all belong to Tolkien and the Tolkien Estate. Quote: "You. My Talan. Now" belongs to the amazingly funny people at Elf on a Shelf (well worth a visit!!) Notes: This was a challenge set by a friend with pairing Thingol/Turin. Not really meant to be serious- more of a fun piece. *text* indicates emphasis. Cheers to Tyros Luyur for the beta-ing! Feedback: Yes please! Any criticism/ comments very welcome (never had feedback before...exciting!) To Live and Learn: A candle flickered nervously in the black night. He swallowed dryly as the Man slowly moved towards him, a sly glint in his dark eyes, a seductive smirk lifting the corners of his full lips. The shadowy figure of the Man paused. In the dusky glow of the flame, shadows writhed upon his young features, giving them an unearthly feyness. The lips parting slightly, a pink tongue flicked briefly across the bottom lip, leaving a wet glisten behind. As the young man advanced towards him, he felt his own breathing become ragged in response to the feral heat of this sweetly menacing being before him. How, he thought wildly, how can such a Man, so little some to manhood, hold such temptation over me? He closed his eyes, his Elven senses screaming at the closeness of the Man. He could sense the Man stop a hair’s breadth away from him and, unconsciously, tensed in anticipation. The first touch, a hot hand searing through the thin fabric of his shirt onto his chest, was gentle, teasing and burned his skin like a hot brand. He wondered how he would endure the intensity of this encounter. Like the whisper of a ghost, the man moved slowly closer until his lips were almost brushing one pointed ear. In a throaty voice, full of promise, he whispered into the ear of the trembling Elf, “I live only to serve my King.” ~~~ Thingol could still remember when the son of Morwen first arrived in Doriath, a shy little boy with eyes wide in distress. Although his wife had welcomed him warmly, enfolding him in her protective, motherly presence, Thingol had noticed how the youngster shivered as if cold. He had wondered sadly what the boy feared. And, in the black of the lonely first night, he had heard the small, thin voice of the boy sniffle in muted weeping. But that was the only time he had heard the boy’s grief or seen any sign of weakness displayed. To his long Elven life, the years spun quickly past and the fabric of the boy’s character and figure matured and coloured before him as a beautiful tapestry. And when he had come of age, he had pledged his fealty to Thingol in a grave, deep voice, “I live now only to serve my King.” His courage and skill in arms, the boy had no doubt inherited from his lost father. Sometimes, Thingol fancied that he saw streaks of vulnerability in the boy’s ever hardening face but it would be a fleeting vision, hidden once again by his silent character. It was in those times that Thingol wanted to take the boy in his arms and encourage him with words of long-gathered wisdom. Reassure him that sorrow was an integral part of life; that it was needed to properly savour the joys of life. But, as the boy grew into a young man in his own right, valiant, determined and guided by his own wisdom, Thingol dared not. Not only was the young man maTúring before his very eyes becoming independent and closed; none save Beleg knew what dwelled behind the tight façade of his fair features. Not only did Thingol feel that his comfort would be ill appreciated by his foster son. But also he feared the physicality that the young man had developed. And he did not trust his own self-control to not break the state of quiet trust between them if he were to hold Túrin close. So he remained as an aloof King to Túrin, watching him closely and seeing nothing. ~~~ Lazily, Beleg swam over to where Túrin sat, brooding on the rocks of the lake side. The Man had a form that the Elf-maids desired and the Elfs envied, although, Beleg thought wickedly, some desire him too and he relishes it. The evidently muscled limbs and broad chest of the Man, covered with a fine down of dark hair was considered exotic, and he was pursued by, and indulged in, many. Water drops scintillating, tracing a path down his tanned skin, Beleg was no stranger to adoration himself and he could recognise the lustful look in Túrin’s features. “Is it still he who haunts your dreams?” Beleg whispered, playfully splashing spraying cool water over Túrin. “Ai! It’s cold!” Túrin glared at his best friend in mock angered and sighed dramatically, “I shall have to punish you severely for that, Strongbow!” An eyebrow arched delicately as a mischievous look crossed Beleg’s face, “I can hardly wait.” Túrin erupted in laughter at the innuendo and thus did not see the flash of disappointed yearning in his friend’s eyes. He regained his composure and became serious. “Aye, it is he. He haunts my every lustful thought and I cannot begin to tell you how many I have lain with because I cannot lay with him!” Beleg snorted in a very un-elflike way. “Most are more romantic! But then, what can one expect from a Man, ruled by less than minds!” This jest was rewarded with a light punch on the arm, delivered perhaps with more force than Túrin intended. “Well, I do not seek for his love. But that does not stop me from wanting him.” Túrin heaved a frustrated sigh. “But even if he were not to find my desire crooked, how could he ever look upon me in any other way than a foster son or young child?” Beleg smiled a knowing smile, his heart constricting slightly even as he offered his advice. “My friend, it is simple. You must show him that you are no longer a mere child but a man.” Beleg paused and seductively ran his tongue over his teeth. “You must reveal to him your manhood, as it were.” The setting sun set a fire upon the blond hair of the Elf and Túrin was entranced by his beautiful friend. He could barely whisper, “What must I do?” Beleg did not answer but walked slowly up the bank, revealing his whole, glorious body to Túrin. His words made Túrin, who had seen his friend unclothed on many previous occasions, regard him in a new light. He felt himself stir. Beleg bent to collect his clothes, then straightening, looked backwards over one shoulder at Túrin. If I cannot have his love, he thought wistfully, I can at least have this. In the dim evening light, Túrin saw, rather than heard the words, Beleg mouthed. “You. My talan. *Now.*” Túrin frowned in confusion. Beleg arched on eyebrow, no mischief but complete seriousness in his face. “My friend, I have told you many things in teaching you the world. But one thing only will I cannot tell you. The art of seduction; I do not tell. I will show you.” With those words, he turned and walked away, hearing the soft tread of feet upon moss as Túrin followed. ~~~ “I live only to serve my King.” The words, breathed out hotly, flushed his neck as first one, then another light kiss was pressed against the sensitive base of his neck. A warm tongue swirled briefly, wetly, against his heated skin, leaving spots of cool sensation when the Man’s lips moved away, further up his neck. With the space between them bridged only by the touch of lips to skin, the Elf was aching to respond fully but, with his hands firmly bound behind him, he could only savour the wonder of this beautiful torture. The Man gradually pressed their bodies together, increasing the contact between their skins, yet never quite allowing satisfaction for the Elf’s hungry lips. He could hardly believe that the Man so expertly seducing him was but a mere youth in his ancient eyes. But, oh! Not even the long centuries of years had ever taught him to know such a skill. His body arched of its own accord as the Man finally undid the laces of their tunics, always staring deeply into the Elf’s eyes. The first touch of their bare, feverish skins brought gasps from both their lips. The candle cast flickering shadows which played upon their skins as they lay entwined together. The Man had not yet unbound the older Elf, delighting in his dominance, yet ensuring the Elf’s complete pleasure with skilled ministrations. Straddled, his release completely in the hands of the Man, the Elf could do no more than scream with ecstasy as the pain and pleasure reached their climax. Two sweaty, burning bodies twisted together upon the bed, the Man’s eyes gleaming with lust and triumph as he pleasured himself with his King. And through the candle’s glow, an ageless beauty watched, a single tear dropping from her eyes. ~~~ Túrin stretched luxuriously upon his bed, delighting in the post-coital bliss which his body felt. His King had been every bit as delightful as he had fantasised. He became newly aroused as he thought of all that was left for him to try, that Beleg had taught him. Chuckling, he remembered how the shock upon Thingol’s face had turned quickly to anticipation as he had made his intentions clear. “Do you love him?” A quiet voice stirred him out of his thoughts and he peered into the light to see Melian sitting beside his bed. “Of whom to you speak?” he asked. But he frowned, knowing perfectly well the answer. “Of Thingol,” came the simple reply. “Your King. My husband.” A bitter, mournful twist in her voice accompanied her words. Túrin felt his heart shatter as he glimpsed the hurt and sorrow in Melian’s eyes. He was devastated to realise that in his selfish quest for physical pleasure, his lust had blinded him. He hung his head in shame. “Not as you do.” He whispered, unable to meet the eyes of the beautiful Maia, whom he loved as a mother and confidante. “I am sorry.” The hurt he has caused Melian seemed to sting him too. His eyes welled and he seemed once more a young boy. “Nor does he love me and I knew it.” In the light of day, he found it hard to admit, “And I only desired him; a basic lust. Nothing more.” The wistfulness creeping into his voice as he said these last words were not lost upon the far-seeing Maia. She had already forgiven him for she knew, in her heart the truth of his words. Concern filled her eyes as she looked down upon her beloved foster-son. Gently she cupped his face, so young and naïve, and turned it towards her. “And you wish it were more?” She asked softly. She could see that Túrin was troubled and, perhaps, it was the root of his increasing restlessness. Túrin turned to bury his face in her lap, as he had done as a small child. The instinctive, vulnerable gesture surprised them both since it had been long since Túrin had last openly sought comfort from any. But it was a comforting embrace and the safety Túrin had always felt had not diminished over the years. In a low, almost childish voice, he murmured into the crook of Melian’s arm. “Nay, I desire no more. Not from Thingol anyway.” And he took a deep breath, preparing to tell Melian the unrest which had blighted his young adult life. He had never told anyone else there thoughts but Melian had always listened and advised him well and he trusted her now. Melian cooed soothingly and stroked Túrin’s hair as if her were a young babe as she listened to him describe the hollowness that always was in him even as he sought to fill that void in the arms of numerous willing partners. She did not finch as Túrin hesitantly described Thingol merely as another conquest, for her wisdom allowed her to perceive what was troubling the young Man. She gently smoothed away a tangled lock when he had finished speaking. “You speak of my, my little one, and use it in words to bed others.” She noticed Túrin’s grimace at this accurate description. “But you little understand it nor recognise it.” Túrin’s brow creased in puzzlement at her words. “But I loved all my partners,” he protested. Melian merely smiled. “Did you? You told me yourself that you did not love Thingol.” Túrin bowed his head. Melian lifted his chin, looking straight in to his eyes. So young, she thought, with so much yet to learn of the ways of the heart. Even if, she added wryly, if be well-versed in the ways of the flesh! “What drove you to indiscriminate promiscuity was not merely an over-developed carnal appetite!” She became serious again. “But nor was it love. Rather it was the want of love. You were searching to satisfy your heart. But that cannot be done in the joining of flesh alone. To lay with on who has been with you through danger and toil, who knows you and your needs better than you do yourself, and for you both to be willing to die for each other- that is the love which you must seek. Only in the arms of that one will love come to you and satisfy your ache.” ~~~ Túrin left the chamber, an hour older and centuries wiser. The realisation had some so quickly that he had surprised Melian with his urgent farewell and thanks, before leaping out of the door. He did not see, thus, her knowing smile. Her heart was fully glad to see her foster-son finally acquire the full grace and wisdom of true manhood. Purposefully, Túrin strode towards the lake. A true companion, with you in danger and toil, knowing you better than you knew yourself, she had said. He stopped by the lake side, heart almost bursting with joy as he watched the glistening figure of the Elf cutting through the water towards him. He smiled wickedly, relishing the stunned, lustful shine in the face of his friend and lover. Slowly, exposing his skin gradually in a sizzling strip, he removed his tunic. He tossed it to the ground in front of Beleg, who was having difficulty controlling both his breathing and body. Túrin turned, looking over one shoulder, arched one eyebrow and whispered softly, “You. My talan. *Now.*”