Title: Of Kings & Cakes
King Thranduil. Last night had been Rúmil's second night with the Elvenking and it had been even more exciting and gratifying than the previous, when he had stumbled drunkenly into the king's chambers and begged to be punished. He was lucky he was not in the dungeons at this very moment, or cast out and on his way home in shame. Well. It was all the prince's fault. Legolas had plied him with wine, knowing it was far stronger fare than what he was used to, and in truth Rúmil did not remember at all how he had gotten into Thranduil's rooms. He regretted that he had passed out while the king had him tied to the bedpost, however. Last eve had found him ill and hung-over, worried that he had shamed his family (though he had not seen Haldir or Orophin since they had arrived in Mirkwood) and just waiting for Thranduil to impose sentence on him. And yet, Rúmil had misjudged the king. Thranduil had taken the young elf into his chambers, painstaking brushed the tangles out of his snarled, pale hair and offered him a fine repast. He was very kind… kinder, even than Rúmil desired, or felt that he deserved. After all, he had been a very naughty elf. While they waited for the food to arrive, Rúmil had toyed with his brush, then finally blurted out what he truly wished Thranduil to do with it. Dinner came in the midst of the most perfectly executed spanking that Rú had ever been privileged to endure, and Thranduil stopped, forcing him to wait until the meal was through for their sport to continue. Rúmil thought he would die from the torturous mix of his aching behind, the tumultuous tightness of his leggings, and the calm reserve of the king. His only ease came when dessert was served. Chocolate cake! He never had such indulgent luxuries in Lothlórien. Never. Gluttony very nearly replaced his lust at the sight of it. And the taste. Beyond exotic, it was, and when Thranduil promised he would serve cake with every meal, Rúmil silently swore he would never leave Mirkwood again. The rest of the night passed in a haze of pleasure and rough games that Rúmil had never before dared to ask of any of his lovers. Thranduil knew the lines of pain and pleasure, where they met and intersected, and how to pluck each of those lines and make them sing. Never, ever had Rúmil been mastered this way before. It was no wonder that Haldir always attempted to weasel his way into Thranduil's bed when they were in Mirkwood! Last time, Rúmil's brother had overstepped his boundaries. Haldir had had words with Elrohir of Imladris, who was currently occupying the king's bed. He had taunted the son of Elrond, and he had been soundly dressed down by Thranduil for it, as well as booted out of Mirkwood. Rúmil had expected it would be long before he and his brothers returned to the dark forest, but an unexpected note from Legolas, delivered by a surly dwarf, had come, begging Haldir to come to him. What that was about, Rúmil could guess. Legolas and Haldir had been playing cat and mouse games for centuries. Why Legolas kept this up was difficult to understand, because Haldir generally bested him. While drinking with the prince the night before last, Rúmil had attempted to inquire, but Legolas seemed loathe to admit his affections for the stubborn and wicked marchwarden. There was no need to think on it this morning, Rúmil assured himself as he stretched in the luxury of the king's oversized bed. Thranduil was not present, but Rúmil did not mind. It gave him a moment to reflect on last night's pleasures. Rúmil sat up and patted his hair. He got out of the bed and patted naked over to the mirror, admiring the braids that the king had put in it the night before. It still looked elegant, despite the evening's exertions. Rúmil noticed a small bruise on his shoulder – a bite mark. He flipped his hair back and pressed on the bruise with his finger. It was slightly sore, but that made him smile. He twisted so that he could see his backside in the glass. His rounded arse was a brighter pink than the rest of his pale skin, attesting to the incidents with the brush. There were several more bruises as well, but the marks and redness were already fading. Rúmil healed quickly, and he knew that by dinnertime his body would be a clean slate, unmarred and pale. Why did he enjoy such rough punishments? It was difficult to know, he admitted to himself. He was also well aware that in the wrong hands, he could find himself seriously hurt, and that scared him immensely. Had Thranduil been as heartless and cruel as his detractors made him out to be, Rúmil could have been in grave danger and deep trouble. He was lucky, blessed, even, that instead he had found a generous and talented lover. Still looking in the mirror, Rúmil could see the table where he and Thranduil had dined last night. It had been cleaned, but a covered silver tray and pitcher rested on the polished wooden surface. Had Thranduil left him breakfast? Rúmil's stomach growled hopefully, and he left off admiring his bruises to investigate. Lifting the lid from the tray, a grin spread over the Galadhrim's angular features when he saw a slice of chocolate cake, with thick gooey frosting. The pitcher contained miruvor, and Rú poured some into a goblet to enjoy with the cake. Between the sugar and the reviving drink, he was going to have more energy than he knew what to do with today. Then again, perhaps that was just what Thranduil wanted. He closed his eyes as he stuffed a large bite of the confection into his mouth. Frosting smeared over Rúmil's lips and he sighed with delight, washing the cake down with a draught of miruvor. He found himself so relaxed, and happy, and focused on the simple pleasure that he did not hear the door to the suite open. In fact, Rúmil had no idea that he was no longer alone until the newcomer spoke. "What exactly are you doing here?" Rúmil's blue eyes popped open and he stared at one of the twin sons of Elrond who stood before him, dressed exquisitely in red silk, glaring at him ferociously. "Umm… Elrohir?" "Yes, yes, of course." "I was just eating breakfast." "Completely naked." "Well, yes." Rúmil looked around to see where his clothing was, but it was nowhere in sight. "In King Thranduil's bed chamber." "Yes, this is King Thranduil's bed chamber. I thought you were well aware of that, Elrohir." Elrohir's long fingers clutched into a fist. "I most certainly am. What I want to know is what you are doing here." "I should think that would be obvious," Rúmil said, smirking a bit. Elrohir's eyes fell on the mark on Rúmil's shoulder. "So Thranduil saw fit to use you as a plaything." Rúmil tilted his head. "It is not like you to be jealous, Elrohir. At least this has never been your reputation." "Perhaps I have never been in love before," Elrohir said bitterly. Rúmil's eyes opened wide. Elrohir, in love with Thranduil? Well, that was foolish, and preposterous, but something told the young Galadhrim that it was a poor idea to inform the son of Elrond of this. "I am no threat to you," Rúmil said in a low voice. He thought perhaps he should leave the king's chambers, despite how grudgingly he might do so. After all, he had known even when he had drunkenly thrown himself at Thranduil that he would be given no more than a momentary pleasure. "No," Elrohir chuckled. "You are not." Before Rúmil knew what was happening, Elrohir lunged at him. He twisted his fist into the long, luxurious hair of the young Galadhrim and dragged him away from the table. Rúmil knocked over the pitcher of miruvor with a flailing arm as he cried out in surprise. Elrohir propelled him across the room, flinging him face down into the pillows. "Have you gone mad?" Rúmil cried out as Elrohir knelt on his back and began roping his wrists to the headboard. The son of Elrond said nothing, but continued in his task of securing Rúmil in place. When he finished, he gave Rúmil's behind a sharp slap and stood up to admire his handiwork. "Elrohir!" "You wished to be Thranduil's plaything, and so you shall be." Rú twisted his head, his face still frosting-smeared, when he heard the familiar chuckle. Thranduil had joined then in the chamber and stood next to Elrohir, one had on the younger elf's shoulder. "You are indeed as skilled with knots as you claimed to be, Elrohir," Thranduil said, his eyes traveling over Rúmil's prone form. The Galadhrim realized, then, that they had been playing a trick on him as a fond light found its way into Elrohir's eyes and he winked at Rúmil. "If you wanted to bind me, you only needed to ask," Rúmil said in a sugared tone. "And what fun would that be?" Elrohir replied. King Thranduil simply smiled. |