Beautiful Dreamer

by erobey un-beta'd italics = thoughts

Part One: An Appointment with the Great Healer

Elrond watched Legolas through the open window, compassionate amusement glimmering in his grey eyes, as the fair woodland prince attempted to work up the nerve to come through the door, pacing up the path with bold resolve which evaporated as soon as he came within two metres of the steps. An abrupt turn to the left put him in the way of one of the ubiquitous and anonymous pages and they nearly collided, then danced side to side as each tried to move out of the other's way. He extricated himself with a frantic 'excuse me!' and stalked away in haste, heading out into the grounds away from the landscaped terraces of the Last Homely House. He'd tried twice yesterday and given up; the day prior he'd strolled through the garden and past the entry no less than four times but never approached the door. Elrond shook his head and resumed his work; it was only a matter of time.

At the evening meal he observed the ellon closely, seeing beyond the courtly grace and elegance to the edgy strain of nervous tension magnified by a lengthy span of days without rest. He wasn't eating much either yet sipped regularly from his goblet. Elrond permitted a faint frown to pucker his brow; he would have to take matters in hand if there was no change soon. He motioned for the server and discreetly ordered Legolas' wine to be diluted. It would not do for the tautly wound archer to succumb to over indulgence and the loss of judgement incumbent to the condition. He decided to join the household for the after dinner entertainment and keep an eye on the troubled Wood Elf.

"What's wrong with Thranduilion?" asked a voice near his ear and Elrond turned to meet Glorfindel's disapproving scowl. The great healer lowered his brows in censure.

"Don't call him that; he hates it," he corrected in stern tones. "Why do you assume there's something wrong? Mayhap I just like looking at him. He's quite attractive." The snort that issued from Glorfindel's nostrils effectively expressed his disbelief and in case it didn't he added an eye roll and a half shake of his head to emphasise the opinion. Elrond glared. "Are you implying I no longer have the capacity to adequately appreciate an alluring face and form?"

"Appreciate? Is that the polite term now? Things have changed so much since last I was in Middle-earth," quipped Glorfindel, hoping to evade any further demands for clarification of his non-verbal commentary on the state of his Lord's love-life. "Put another way, if nothing is the matter then why is he still here?"

"He has not been here long," Elrond replied. In fact he'd been in Imladris a month but only in the last two weeks had Legolas been fit enough to be released from the House of Healing.

His arrival had been unannounced, unexpected, and wholly unorthodox. One evening as Elrond left his office for the day, the last petitioner satisfied, the final meeting concluded, all his reports dictated, orders signed and delivered, he'd startled to discover the Wood Elf propped upright against the wall in the antechamber, literally asleep on his feet. Never having seen Thranduil's son, Elrond had no inkling that his sleeping visitor was more than a messenger from Greenwood, but that in itself was a novelty. The secretary assigned to monitoring who came was called in and had no idea who he was or how he'd come to be there. A page divulged he'd let the messenger in through the side door and directed him to see the secretary though the Wood Elf insisted he had to speak with Lord Elrond and no one else.

During this discussion the elf started to tilt, sliding sideways toward the floor, and came awake with a severe jolt, drawing a long knife and dropping into a defencive crouch as he rasped out 'Die, spawn of Sauron!'. His blue eyes blinked, fixed on Elrond, and grew huge and wide. 'You are not an orc,' he'd stated and then crumpled into a senseless heap. The Lord of Imladris had him taken to the infirmary where he was treated for exhaustion, a broken clavicle, and an ugly stab wound going putrid from lack of treatment. The able healers attending him reported his progress satisfactory but mentioned an unexpected symptom. The elf was beset by dreams that kept him in a tormented state of elevated arousal.

Well, professional curiosity must be satisfied and Elrond hastened to the sickroom to see for himself. The archer was indeed impressively hard and writhed in feverish misery as he moaned and masturbated without effecting release. The remedy was simplicity itself. Elrond calmly took the rigid organ in hand and held it firm, ordering the elf to come. He did, explosively and with a long low wail, slipping into a deeper state of unconsciousness afterwards. The Lord of Imladris did not have to instruct his staff to observe discretion over the event; all of his healers were consummate professionals. Even so, they dressed their unconscious charge with great reluctance.

Obviously all elves have dreams, dreams of all kinds and varieties. Waking dreams of reverie filled with memory of former days; dreams of foretelling that can be incoherent, confusing, and depending on the events foretold, frightening; dreams of introspection for reviewing a situation and deriving an important fact or lesson; silly fantasies of daring deeds or lurid sexual pleasures. Given the bizarre nature of his arrival and the evidence Elrond was cleaning from his hand, he felt certain he understood the reason the archer had journeyed to Imladris. He wanted to consult the renowned healer and be cured of the erotic phantasm.

He visited the elf the next day when he was awake and found out who he was. Then Elrond began to worry a bit, especially since Legolas got that same stunned expression on his face, stuttered and stumbled through an impossibly improbable explanation for his poor state of health involving a fight in the dark with either really big orcs or very small trolls, a misstep at the edge of some sort of precipice, and a fall into a ravine at the bottom of which lay the remains of a long-dead dragon. It was a dorsal bone spike that had impaled him when he landed, he'd said, and oh yes, he'd brought the post, the reason for travelling over the mountains, but lost it somewhere in the Troll Shaws. Elrond sent a message off to Thranduil at once to let him know Legolas was safe, not for a second believing he had come all this way just to deliver the monthly dispatch of personal and political correspondence.

Suddenly realising he was staring fixedly at the subject of this recollection and thus heightening the ellon's level of anxiety, Elrond removed his attention to Glorfindel only to find the ancient Elda smirking at him, left brow arched in amusement.

"I guess you might be able to appreciate him at that," he said.

Now it was Elrond's turn to roll his eyes. "All right, that's enough of this appreciation business."

"You started it."

"And I'm finishing it! There is something troubling Legolas that he needs to talk about, but hasn't yet gathered sufficient mettle to face me."

"Any word from Thranduil that might enlighten us?" asked Glorfindel.

"Just a typically terse 'thank you, peredhel'."

Glorfindel's eyes widened drastically. "He said thank you? The haughty King of Wood Elves must have been worried, indeed!"

"Don't be unkind," admonished Elrond. "Not being a father, you can't understand."

"Who says I'm not a father?" demanded Glorfindel with a sly twinkle in his bold, bright eyes and this finally made Elrond laugh.

The meal was over and he rose, at which action a cacophony of chairs scraping the floor filled the room as the many and perpetual guests of the realm left the table and drifted in pairs through the open arcade and into the gardens. There was to be a moonlight serenade and everyone was eager to find a comfortable corner or a suitably shielded romantic spot from which to appreciate the music. Elrond watched Legolas leading away a fair maiden and smiled warmly. Perhaps the archer would be more relaxed in the morning.

"That looks promising," Glorfindel had obviously been watching him, too, but somehow this cheery comment was edged in disapprobation.

"It does." Elrond knew better than to confront his friend. Glorfindel had the notion that his heart was deeply hidden and fully shielded, but the lore-master was wise to the legendary warrior. While he was wont to boast of numerous conquests for the sake of ego and to satisfy the expectations of his adoring public, he was in reality painfully shy and had not had a single affair since arriving in the valley.

"Still, whatever brought him here must be serious to have come all this way alone, an exceedingly reckless thing to do," he added reprovingly yet with an undercurrent of incongruent hope.

"Youth is often reckless," reminded Elrond, "and what one deems dire and extreme in youth often proves no hindrance at all once time hammers the body into submission and the soul into steel."

"So you do think it's about sex?" Glorfindel's tone was again morose.

"He's the right age," Elrond shrugged. "It is a universal experience, mistaking the keen edge of desire for love, toppling into fretting grief when the sensation diminishes and the object of that desire no longer stirs the same passion. He thinks he's fading, as we all have thought." Elrond and Glorfindel shared nostalgic smiles, each recalling former days of youth when the delights of the flesh were new, thrilling, and vaguely frightening.

"May Vairë hear you and make it nothing more," the Balrog-slayer prayed and took his leave, striding away with an ebullient step that was obviously forced to the healer's discerning eye.

He should have stayed, thought Elrond, for then he would have spied Legolas slipping away through the shadows alone, heading again for the deserted isolation of the countryside.

At dawn Legolas was slouched in a chair on one of the east facing terraces, listlessly rolling a mug of tea between his palms, watching the sunrise through harried eyes that utterly failed to appreciate the soul-stirring scene, his entire being radiating distress and frustration. He looked as haggard and fatigued as he had on arrival and was even more withdrawn and disengaged from the world around him, something uncommon indeed for an elf of the woodlands. No wonder he was so distraught, thought Elrond, for such distraction could very well be lethal in the besieged kingdom of Mirkwood. This could not continue. He was about to go and confront him when Glorfindel arrived.

"He spent the night on the archery fields, not bedding a fair lady," he announced, both pleased and concerned. "Best form I've ever seen; makes even my most experienced archers look like novices. He never missed the center, firing in the dark from the farthest position possible. And such speed! His hands were a mere blur of motion. Thranduil must miss him terribly."

"I am sure he does, Glorfindel, but not because of his expertise with the bow," frowned Elrond. "What have you got against the Woodland King?"

"Nothing!" The mighty Elda was all shocked innocence and wounded honour. "Can I not appreciate a fine warrior's skills without being accused of prejudice against his father?" He stalked away with a huff.

Elrond raised his brows over this choice of wording and watched as Glorfindel chose a route that carried him right in front of Legolas, whom he greeted with a gruff 'Maur aur, Thranduilion' which made the ellon jump and spill his tea all over his lap.

The peaceful morning was disrupted by a gracefully incongruous and stunningly tumultuous pas-de-deux. Legolas leaped up with a pained cry, Glorfindel began apologising profusely and vociferously, and every eye was on them. The Balrog-slayer produced a handkerchief and began attempting to sop up the fluid from the prince's pants. This precipitated the most acutely hilarious dance of gyrating anguish Elrond had ever beheld as Legolas sought to get the legendary Elda's hands away from his crotch. Suddenly he gave forth a decidedly urgent yelp and new energy made it possible to extricate himself from the groping fingers. He fled for the house in mortified retreat leaving Glorfindel frozen, damp kerchief in hand. A second later, the Balrog-slayer realised he was the centre of attention, drew himself up, and marched double-time from the terrace.

There were one or two guffaws and a ribald remark here and there but with Elrond on hand most people maintained a seemly and gracious mien. Even so, the Lord of Imladris knew the story would be the chief subject of gossip from one end of the valley to the other long before the noon meal was ready. Yet that was of little concern compared to the other ideas flowering in the lore-master's brain.

He decided a consultation was in order and took himself inside, making his way through narrow, little-used halls and down a dark, twisting stair into the basements of his palatial abode. He crossed a dank and dismal passage smelling strongly of mildew and faintly of rust, reaching a turning where a block and tackle was set in the ceiling, its massive chains and hooks dangling just above a dried puddle of some indeterminate but suspiciously reddish substance splattered over the closed trap doors beneath it. He went on, heels clacking on the stone, and came to a dead end. There he pulled opened a massive oak door bearing a daunting assemblage of chains and locks, none of which were actually in use, and set his foot upon the plushly carpeted and softly lit corridor leading to the private domain of Erestor, his distant kinsman and loyal seneschal.

Loyal henchman, some would say. Erestor was universally feared by almost every elf in every realm remaining on Arda and inspired instinctive horror in men and dwarves, for it was whispered that he was actually the son of Maglor and thus tainted by the curse of Feänor. It was also rumoured that he was a kin-slayer, a cold-blooded assassin who handled the really nasty jobs no one else in Elrond's employ was willing to even admit might arise. Some claimed he had a torture chamber furnished with instruments of pain and torment that would make Melkor envious. Rarely did he emerge from his subterranean den, but when he did the paths cleared and silent dread enveloped all in the vicinity of his passing.

Elrond knew how much of it was truth and how much was fiction and willingly abetted his cousin in maintaining this daunting notoriety. He trod the rich pile of the woollen carpets and admired the masterworks of art on display, envying for the thousandth time his kinsman's taste and wishing he had that knack for creating an ambiance of elegance that was understated in such a way that everyone would be impressed by the sophistication of the person whose abode it was. And this was just the hall. He reached a trio of open arches and was beckoned inside the first on the right; as always, Erestor knew he was on the way even though his feet made no sound whatsoever on the thick rugs.

"Mae aduial, Elrond. Have you broken fast yet?" The silky voice was smooth and reverberated with undertones of perilous warning; a perfect imitation of the aristocratic menace produced by Maedhros when he deigned to speak.

It gave Elrond chills to hear it even after all these Ages gone by, but he gritted his teeth, put on a semblance of a smile, and entered the suite. "Nay, I was about to do so when a most extraordinary event occurred."

"Ah yes, that little drama between our erstwhile master-at-arms and the visiting prince of Mirkwood," snorted Erestor. He stood to greet his cousin, a cool reptilian smile adorning his thin dark lips, tall and austere in snug black clothes fitted to his lanky, lupine form, legs encased in supple boots of matte black leather, inky tresses unfettered and framing his pale, patrician visage. Sparkling dark eyes looked upon Elrond with genuine affection as he offered him a seat at a table already set for two.

The Lord of Imladris didn't even bother to ask how he knew about it and reached eagerly for the delicate china cup of tea. "Yes. Do you know anything?"

"I know a great many things," Erestor chuckled smugly and took a bite of toast. He considered carefully what he should and should not say as he chewed, as though he knew so much he had to be cautious of betraying the great secrets of the Valar. He noticed Elrond's building exasperation and suppressed a grin.

With an aggravated sigh Elrond started firing off questions. "Do they know each other?"

"Possibly, though they've only just met."

"I see. Has Glorfindel been to Mirkwood without my knowledge?"

"Definitely. You're not his Ada, Elrond."

"I didn't say I was," growled the lore-master. "How intimate is their acquaintance?"

"It isn't. Legolas is innocent."

"Really? So that's what he's come here for." Elrond was surprised; he'd thought Legolas was a little older but perhaps it was the harrowing life he led as a woodland warrior that lent him such an air of maturity. "So much for my original theory," he added. "I though he was confused by diminishing interest in his first lover." He was no small amount gladdened that his corollary to this theory also was invalid, to whit: that Glorfindel was the object of Legolas' confusion.

"Nay, not that," said Erestor. He fixed his cousin with a sharp eye. "There's more to this Wood Elf than is readily apparent."

"Tell me what you know," ordered the Lord of the Vale and his seneschal obeyed.

"He goes to the training fields every night, attempting to expend his frustration in exercise. He's superb with the bow but you've not seen grace and beauty until you've seen him working with knives. Valar! It was all I could do not to challenge him myself, for he would make a worthy companion. He surprised me by revealing that he knew I was watching, calling me by name and inviting me to spar. Now, there is a bold and daring heart inside that slight and winsome form. I have no idea how he detected my presence."

"You turned him down?"

"I did. He is at a rather fragile place just now and I wouldn't want to be the one to break him. Thranduil is a friend. Besides, I haven't figured out what it is Legolas really wants."

"Does he even know?"

"Undoubtedly, and thus he is here, but being innocent he doesn't know how to go about getting it."

"He seemed capable enough to make you an offer. Perhaps it is your refusal that has him all bothered."

"You flatter me, but I had the distinct impression he was close to desperation when he issued that challenge. I've too much self-respect to accept being his consolation prize."

"Too much ego, rather!" snorted Elrond and Erestor laughed, nodding agreement. "Did you ask why he was out practising his deadly skills in the empty depths of the night?"

"I did and he replied that he could not bear to be idle lest dreams overtake him. He was trying to work himself to exhaustion so to enter a deeper level of rest where these phantoms could not invade his peace. You must do something, Elrond, for I don't know how much longer he can hold on to his sanity under this strain."

"Surely it is not so serious!" exclaimed Elrond, but he knew it was so. He had noticed the continuing decline himself and for this reason he had come to hear his kinsman's opinion. "I will force the issue today, then, and uncover this secret hunger so dark he can only own it in dreams. If I need you "

"I would be most willing," Erestor smiled and his eyes glinted with predatory relish.

Elrond left him, making his way back to his private study, and was just penning a summons to Legolas when there was a mild ruckus outside his door. It was flung open and the Wood Elf staggered through it, shoving off the grasping hands of Faelon. He took a seat before the desk amid the secretary's apologies for failing to stop him and presented a haunted and stricken countenance, eyes awash in what was nearly terror, trained upon Elrond in mute appeal.

"It is fine, Faelon; I was expecting Legolas. It is my fault for failing to inform you of our appointment," Elrond said smoothly, smiling kindly at Legolas, who visibly relaxed and returned a weak smile of thanks. "Please see that we are not disturbed." With that the disgruntled servant exited and Elrond was alone with the suffering ellon.

Elrond got up and Legolas involuntarily flinched, then rapidly went from scarlet to deathly pallor, the expression in his vibrant eyes flying through every shade of anxious dismay possible before he looked away. "Be at peace," the healer soothed and very, very carefully settled a hand on an unbelievably tense shoulder. He squeezed gently and Legolas exhaled and then swallowed audibly.

"Lord Elrond, I need to talk to you," he said, voice fraught with misery. "I think I am going mad."

"Let me reassure you that is not true," smiled Elrond. He squeezed again, truly glad the ellon had approached him on his own, feeling warmly paternal toward Legolas for gathering his courage. He decided to offer a little praise. "Yet I have noticed your distress and was hoping you would come to see me. I know it was not an easy thing to do." He crossed the room to a small alcove where he kept wine and spirits, pouring a small cup of miruvor which he brought back and held forth. "Here, this will help calm you." To his surprise, Legolas went rigid and recoiled from him with a hoarse gasp.

"What is that?" he demanded, panic plain in his tone, eyes wild with fear. "Is it some kind of drug? I won't drink it!" He shot up, obviously intent on escape, but toppled the chair and then in his haste somehow caught his long legs in it. He fell with a thud and scrambled to get upright. Before he could disentangle himself Elrond was crouched beside him, the stimulant set aside.

"Legolas, compose yourself!" he commanded sternly and frowned when the archer froze, gaping at him as though he thought he was about to be skewered by something other than the lore-master's piercing gaze. "It is only miruvor, pen neth. I would not give you anything that would do you harm. What inspired such an idea?" He ran a swift examining eye over the ellon and was not pleased. Legolas' chest was heaving so fast he was nearly hyperventilating, his pulse pounding so rapidly Elrond could see the carotid artery thumping, and there could be no doubt at all that Legolas was fully aroused to what had to be a painful degree given the tight leather leggings he was wont to wear. "Be at peace," he exhorted softly and with even more care than before settled his palm over the hammering heart.

"I cannot abide this any longer," Legolas murmured, voice choked with despair, and let the great healer help him up. The contact with Elrond's hands imparted a soothing warmth to his soul and he suddenly felt very foolish. Of course the world's most renowned healer was not going to harm him. He hung his head. "It's these dreams!" he seethed. "They give me no peace! I told you I am going mad and perhaps now you will believe it must be so."

"Nay, but I understand your problem more clearly," Elrond righted the chair and put Legolas back in it. "The fantasy involves loss of control via an intoxicating substance of some kind. I should have guessed." He smiled when Legolas goggled at him, patted his shoulder kindly and returned to his place behind the desk. "It is one of the most common secret desires among strong, stalwart warriors who spend many long and lonely days out on patrol. I recall experiencing that, long ago when I was a lowly foot-soldier in Gil-galad's army."

"You have had this dream?" Legolas could not be more astounded had Elrond just told him he kept a dwarven mistress.

"Well, there are always personal variations, but something much like it, yes." Elrond was pleased with this breakthrough. It should not take too much coaxing to get Legolas to reveal the troubling fantasy. Once voiced, the vivid images would lose their power to frighten him and then Legolas would be well on his way to sorting out what he wanted to do about them. He decided the best way to inspire the trust required was by example. "For me, it was always a sweetly scented incense that my lover would light, the faint grey curls of smoke proving to be a powerful aphrodisiac which made me verily rabid to be mastered and thoroughly debauched."

"Ai Valar!" Legolas breathed, irises dilating as he shifted awkwardly, tugging at his shirt to make sure his escalating ardour was not on display. "How did you deal with it?"

"The same as you," Elrond shrugged. "I fretted and drove myself nearly to the brink of madness trying to hide it and subdue it by force of will. The harder I tried not to think about it, the stronger the urge to think about it became. Eventually, I sought out someone I trusted, as you have done, and told him everything. I was instantly relieved to know I was not the first to suffer this kind of frustration."

"Ai Valar!" Legolas softy exclaimed again and sat up straight, running a nervous hand through his hair as he cast a surreptitious and sidelong glance at the mighty Lord. Perhaps there was hope, though the scene Elrond described was rather tame. He inhaled and released a steadying breath. "I think I need that miruvor after all." Elrond's hand indicated the cup and he drained it in one swallow. The cool, sweet taste immediately eased his pounding pulse and gave him courage; he managed a smile. He could do this; they were only words. Elrond already knew something about it anyway. He opened his mouth, met the lore-master's eye, realised what he was about to reveal, flushed crimson, clamped his lips tight, and dropped his gaze to his lap.

"Legolas, I am thousands of years old. There is nothing you can tell me that I have not heard before from someone else. Indeed, your torment is familiar to me personally. Relieve your heart of this burden by sharing it, young one." Elrond employed his most comforting tones and filled the words with both authority and wisdom. When the archer lifted pleading eyes to his he smiled and nodded. "Sexual fantasies are perfectly normal and even healthy for someone with an active libido. I know it is difficult to begin, but the sooner you start the sooner it will be done."

"Aye," Legolas grimaced and squirmed about in his chair a little. This is why he'd come to Imladris, was it not? What good was it to be here in Elrond's office and not heed the advice offered? If he wanted to be free of this grotesque phantasm, then he must speak. "All right, I will tell you everything, but you must swear never to repeat it to my father."

"You have my word, Legolas." Elrond did not add that Thranduil probably had a fair idea of what was troubling his son, instead offering his patient another encouraging nod as he sat back, clasped his hands atop the smooth leather surface of his desk, and assumed his most clinical, professional demeanour. The most important thing to do during a revelation of lewd images was to maintain a bland, almost disinterested expression. Any visible reaction or heightened emotion, especially amusement or overt titillation, was sure to be damaging to his patient's ego. Elrond settled this impassive mask over his face and waited.

"All right," Legolas said again and heaved a great breath. "I don't remember how I'm drugged or what substance is used, the dream begins as I'm regaining consciousness." He paused and again his nerve began to fail him.

"Go on," Elrond quickly interposed, seeing his hesitation. "What happens that wakes you?"

Legolas peered at him in silence several seconds, mouth dry, and then swallowed. "I wake because I'm disturbed by the feeling that " he wallowed in his seat and groaned, covering his eyes. "I just can't."

"Of course you can; it's only words, Legolas. Just say them," the Lord of the Valley ordered.

Legolas lifted harried eyes to him. Really, he'd rather face a whole troop of orcs alone with just ten arrows and a dagger than hear himself speak these particular words.

"If you keep this inside it will continue to erode your mental health," Elrond counselled seriously. "I know that is why you came here. You are too conscientious a warrior to put others at risk because of your dilemma." It was the perfect thing to say and the lore-master knew it, of course. He could actually see the grim determination settling in Legolas' lanky frame as his jaw clenched and his hands gripped the arms of the chair. He nodded to himself, flicked a gaze at Elrond and then away, whetted his lips and said:

"I wake because there's a huge, hard cock pounding into my rear." He stole another peek at the august healer, but Elrond remained immobile, features smooth, no evidence of shock apparent. Well, he'd said that much, might as well go on. "I'm lying on my belly being fucked by a powerful male. The sensation is incredible but also frightening; I've no idea who it is. I start to struggle, though he's got a firm grip on my hips, intending to kick him off me. That's when I realise I'm chained to some sort of table or platform.

"While trying to get to my knees, there's a sharp yank at the root of my penis and fiery pain streaks through my chest, too. I'm bound with some kind of restraint clamped round my genitals and my nipples. There are chains because I hear them jingle as I shift about. The elf behind me laughs and pats me on the rump, then suddenly my position makes it possible for him to penetrate me deeper. His cock strikes my sweet spot and the next thing I know I'm moaning and howling, rocking back onto every thrust even though this makes the restraints jerk my cock painfully and pulls my nipples so roughly it feel like the skin will tear.

"Ai Valar! The feeling is incredible! I want to know who it is and that's when I realise my eyes aren't just squeezed shut but blinded. There's a tight band around them so that even when I attempt to open them I can't. Now I'm panicking and in desperation I lift one leg and try to kick him. He grabs my thigh with another laugh and then takes the other as well, holding me balanced now on my hands and his cock. He's spearing me with greater force, going deeper with every thrust, only now I can't move anymore. I'm completely at his mercy.

"He just keeps fucking me and fucking me, that long rod of hot, rigid flesh slamming my inner core repeatedly. I'm acutely aware of every centimetre of his living sword as it stabs me over and over. The friction is painful and I wonder if he's really ripping me apart, but I long for it anyway because it precedes such a glorious explosion of starry bliss when fully sheathed. Coupled with that, the way he's holding me up keeps the tension on the nipple chains taut and every advance ignites a bright scarlet flare of the sweetest agony I have ever known. It feels like the tip of my penis and the points of my nipples are connected. I find myself anticipating the sensation and pushing myself up on my arms to enhance it.

"I don't know how he can go on like that without tiring and all the while I'm in a frenzy because I've long passed the point where I should have come but haven't. That's when I figure out the restraint around my organ won't permit release. Now I start begging him to let me come, to finish me, and that finally makes an impression on him. I feel him gathering himself for the culmination of our joining and he erupts, shooting a thick flood of warmth into my bowels while he slams into my ass with unbelievable power, roaring in victorious exultation." There he stopped, breathing hard, white-knuckled hands clutching the chair, eyes wild and bright and locked with the ancient healer's.

Elrond inhaled slowly and sat forward, chair creaking as he shifted, hoping his eyes did not give him away and the ellon did not realise he was now fully aroused by the erotic tale. Any fatherly urges he'd harboured toward the comely prince had vanished long ago, replaced by a hunger far more visceral and licentious. This was not the time to either explore or exhibit it. He opened his mouth to offer some reassuring words but never uttered them.

"I'm not finished," Legolas rasped out and held the sombre grey eyes. He could see a dark gleam deep in their depths and his heart started pounding even harder. He couldn't stop now if his life depended upon it. "I'm in some sort of shock, realising I've just been claimed more thoroughly than I ever imagined possible, filled to the brim with another male's seed. He lets go of one leg and then the other and pulls out, for he's soft now. He gives my rump another little slap and chuckles as I kneel there, trembling all over because of course I'm still perched on the brink of delirious delight and aching to tumble in. I hear him walk away and as he does he speaks. 'Have a go, he's so tight and hot I wish I could stay hard in there forever.'

"A second voice answers: 'Thank you, I believe I will, though after that show I doubt I can last as long as you.' My mind is in a whirl as I understand we have not been alone but had an audience for the whole act. Now I sense the second male approach and I'm desperate to get free. I'm thrashing in my bonds; I can't allow myself to be fucked again by another ellon I don't know and can't even see, sore and wet with the vital juices of the first. He doesn't even pause for my terror excites him; he runs hands over my back, his breathing hoarse and audible. His hands slip underneath and fondle my nipples; it hurts and I scream. Suddenly I realise my hands are not restrained and my fingers fly to the band around my eyes.

"A hand grabs my wrist yanks it back down, snaps a cold, metal cuff around it, does the same to the other. A third voice chastises me: 'None of that, we can't have you telling of our secret rendezvous. Besides, we have to eat dinner together later and we don't want you to be uncomfortable about it.' He's close enough for me to feel his words across my ear and he leans closer, kissing me, pushing his thick wet tongue into my gaping mouth. I draw back, jerking the chains at my chest just as the second male mounts me.

"Ai, it is so good I can hardly stand it! He hits my prostate on the initial penetration and thereafter rides me with long, leisurely pulses, pulling almost all the way out each time, groaning quietly as I struggle to increase the pressure. By the third retreat and re-entry, I'm pleading and begging again, telling him to fuck me harder and faster. The third male laughs. 'I think he wants you to fuck him senseless.' Again he claims my mouth, dipping his tongue into my frantic cries and supplications. This time I let him and suck at the mobile organ. It makes him moan and he breaks free with a soft cry of profane excitement.

'Let's see what else you might like to taste,' he murmurs, breathy and eager. I smell it before it comes close and then his erection brushes my cheek leaving a slick, sticky trail. He's already dripping and I know what's going to happen. His hands cup my face and the warm, wet tip just darts inside my mouth and out. Behind me the second male shouts out a mighty oath and his lunges increase in force and speed. I'm so grateful I almost cry and I'm willing the cock to come back to my lips so he'll go even faster. 'Oh yes, do it. Make him suck you off.' The first male is right beside me and suddenly his hands stroke my sides and then go low to caress my belly. Fingers pinch the glans of my cock and every muscle in my body writhes in a spasm of wanton need, but I can't come.

"The third male offers me his penis again and I take it in. The flavour is strange and the scent tart, sweaty and salty. He goes in carefully and slowly, cautious not to make me gag or panic. I toy with the idea of biting him and then I do, but oh so softly. He gasps and pulls out and then re-enters, starting to establish a rhythm I can accommodate, and I suck on his thick cock, running my tongue over the vein, feeling it thump. As hoped, the male fucking my ass becomes more excited and I sense he is driving toward his peak, tearing me up in the process and I'm moaning my pleasure, doubly pinned by the cock between my lips and the shaft up my anus.

"Suddenly, something wet and warm envelopes my aching penis. The first male is sucking it! I feel like I really will pass out and I'm trying hard to make my hips pivot in such a way as to get more of my cock in his mouth while making it possible for the male fucking me to drill deeper, all the while lavishing the organ I'm feasting on with wailing adoration. Someone takes my hand and guides it to a hot column of flesh and blood; I clasp it tight. Bound as I am, I have little free motion stroke it but there is no need. The first male is lying beside me and easily rocks in and out of my tight hold. We're all linked up, myself the locus of our desires. I've got penises in me everywhere. I'm being fucked by three males of incredible potency and abruptly all their motions synchronise.

"Just as I feel the male behind me start to come, fingers release my root from its chains. The cock in my mouth starts to spurt bitter cream and I swallow frantically as my bowels are bathed anew in slippery semen. The sensation is like nothing I've ever known and at last I explode, coming down the first male's throat even as I feel his seed splatter across my chest.

"At this point I wake up in a truly horrific mess of torn sheets reeking with my own essence." Legolas stopped talking and struggled to calm himself, aware that he was perilously close to coming in his pants right in front of Lord Elrond. Alarmingly, the idea made it even more likely and he squirmed, crossing his legs tight over his confined erection as he bit his lip hard. He managed to stave off ejaculation, heaved a long sigh, and looked deep into Elrond's eyes. "So, is that normal?" he asked.