kindly tagged in by the amazing @balrogballs (thank you so ♡), so have a bit more from the elrond/maedhros kidnap fam hellscape, lightly altered for tumblr's delicate sensibilities but retaining all its original elrondgender! it's looking like we'll be clocking in at ~20k now. because i love context and bad decisions 🤡 gently tagging @i-am-a-lonely-visitor, @from-the-coffee-shop-in-edoras, @kookyburrowing, @outofangband, @tobermoriansass, and @starshadeemilyart if you feel so inclined!
"Like a herding hound he chivvied and coaxed Elrond to the pallet, and with his hair tumbling down unbound all around him (his braid had not survived Maedhros’s grippings and strokings) Elrond collapsed onto the coverlet as if on the quavering legs of a fawn, with his knees folded under him. In the light his skin looked burnished and silken, feathered with shadows; as he looked up at Maedhros he thought that he might indeed be beautiful, lovely despite his faithlessness, graceful if inept. In the beam of his eyes he felt like nothing so much as some wonderful and curious animal, alluring to touch and to regard only to see how it will move, to hear whether it will bark, or mew, or growl, or make no sound at all; to see its glinting teeth and if permitted to run one’s fingers through the lustrous pelt and feel the shiver of the sleek muscles and the warmth of its breath. Dumb creatures are incapable of betrayal: what relief, then, to be unburdened of thought, to let Maedhros kneel on the floor beside him and move his arms and legs about like a doll’s! It was delicious to have no hesitations, to sink away into supple, pliant, guiltless complacency. Carefully, Maedhros freed him from his trousers; he kicked them away with hardly more than a sigh. The frieze of the blanket (out of affectation or necessity, Maedhros kept like his soldiers) scratched a little at his bare legs, and at his back as he pulled his nightshirt up to his chin. He was almost tempted to draw the fabric over his face, as if caparisoned like a corpse he too could assume that absolute and serene passivity possessed only by the dead, who do not do but to whom things are done, and thus pass into a peace unalterable by any strife.
“You shiver like a woman,” Maedhros observed, removing his hand. Lightly he touched a spot on Elrond’s belly, below his ribs. “I’m told that they feel it just here.” He laid his cheek against the outside of Elrond’s leg as his fingers crept higher, returning to his breasts and beginning again to pinch and scratch and rub, first one side and then the other, so that he thought he might go mad.
“You’re like a woman here too,” Maedhros said, smiling crookedly, and he rose up on his knees so that he could close his mouth over Elrond’s nipple, caging him in with his other arm. After the chafing of his fingers, it was a relief to be smoothed and worried by his tongue, soft and velvet wet where everywhere else he was a desert, arid, a scoured face of rock pocked with the fissures of years. It did not even seem strange that with Elrond in his mouth he would know his secrets: that the flesh would have its way, would whisper traitorously as traitorously Elrond had come to his bed—of desire, of sex, what he had not told even Elros; snatched moments spent turning before the mirror, envisioning roundnesses instead of spare straight lines, pushing his thighs together to imagine nothing between them, speaking softly, liltingly, in the unchanged voice of childhood. Lady, lady, like Lúthien come again. Were it not for the thrills of sensation that wracked his body, he could have laughed for joy—that the one being in the world who should guess, who should understand, should be Maedhros Fëanorion, the kinslayer, the forever dispossessed, the oathbound kidnapper of babes!
