#protective behaviour

Thranduil finally accepted that he had a problem a few days after it happened. He woke earlier than necessary, stood motionless in front of the tall windows of his bedroom, hands clasped behind his back, his mind elsewhere. He reread reports without seeing them. He grew irritated over insignificant details. And above all — above all — he thought about Bard. He thought about the way Bard had lowered his eyes right after the kiss, about that brutal silence, that almost panicked flight. It wasn’t the kiss itself that troubled him. Well — perhaps a little. He knew what desire was, attraction, impulse. But he had never believed he would experience it from the mouth of another man. What obsessed him was the aftermath: Bard’s expression, that mix of need, shame, and fear.

Thranduil hated leaving things unresolved. He despised ambiguity. And yet, for several days now, he had been drowning in it. He could have waited, pretended nothing had happened, resumed his distant, polite, perfectly controlled role. But every time he thought about it, a dull irritation tightened in his chest. He had to do something. He didn’t know what — but he had to.

So that evening, Thranduil left his estate. Legolas was home again but barely spoke to him. He drove without really thinking, following a route he now knew all too well. The address of Bard had been an obsession for him, without even knowing why, really. Or more…. He wouldn’t acknowledge it. First time he got there was out of simple curiosity. And then, sometimes, then more and more often, he had driven there while leaving the school, before work, or after it, until he had the feeling the car would drive itself alone there.

When he parked his car in front of Bard’s building, he remained still for a moment, hands resting on the steering wheel. Ridiculous, he thought. He had no obligation to be there. He was not responsible for what a grown man had felt or done. And yet… he had come.

He climbed the stairs, his nose wrinkling at the smells of fish, grime, and filth. Finally, he reached Bard’s door and knocked.

The door opened almost immediately, as if Bard had been standing right behind it, hesitating as well. They looked at each other without speaking. Bard looked tired. More than usual. An oversized sweater, messy hair, eyes slightly averted.

“…Good evening,” he finally said.

“Good evening.”

Silence. Then Bard stepped aside.

“Come in.”

The interior was simple, warm, though very poorly furnished and tiny. Thranduil had, fleetingly, the strange sensation that this place felt more like a home than his immense estate.

“Bain isn’t here,” Bard added, as if already apologizing. “Sleepover at a friend’s.”

Thranduil nodded.

“I didn’t come for him.”

Bard froze for a fraction of a second. They sat down on the couch, at a cautious distance. Too far to be comfortable. Too close to pretend.

“Are you all right?” Thranduil asked.

Bard opened his mouth to answer, then closed it again, shrugging.

“And you?” he asked in return.

Thranduil was less evasive.

“No,” he replied after a brief moment. “And that is precisely why I am here.”

Bard looked at him, surprised, then nodded softly.

“All right.”

Thranduil took a slow breath.

“I haven’t stopped thinking about what happened. About that kiss.” He paused. “Not that I regret it.”

Bard’s eyes snapped up.

“Oh.”

“But to understand it.”

Bard ran a hand over the back of his neck.

“I… I’m sorry if I made you uncomfortable. It wasn’t planned. I didn’t—”

“Bard.” Thranduil turned toward him. “I did not come here to receive apologies. I came because I do not like letting someone believe they crossed a line alone,” he continued more quietly, “when I was perfectly aware of what was happening.”

Bard swallowed.

“I thought you… that you would be angry with me.”

“I mostly wondered why I let you.”

A small, nervous laugh escaped Bard.

“And did you find the answer?”

Thranduil held his gaze for a long moment.

“Yes.”

Bard held his breath.

“Because I wanted it. And I liked your kiss.”

The words hung between them. Bard looked away, shaken.

“I… I… um… I’ll get something to drink…”

Before Thranduil could react, Bard had jumped up from the couch as if burned. He crossed the room in a few hurried steps and ended up in the cramped kitchen, breathless. He leaned against the sink, both hands gripping the edge, head lowered. His heart was pounding far too fast. Stupid reaction. Completely stupid. He inhaled deeply… then again. The air felt too warm, too thick. He ran a hand over his face, as if to ground himself, as if he could erase what he had just heard. He liked it. He liked your kiss.

“Fuck…” he muttered to himself.

He closed his eyes for a second, swallowed hard. It wasn’t panic — not entirely. It was a dangerous mix of pride, desire, and a dull fear of wanting something he had no right to want. He finally straightened up, opened a cupboard almost mechanically. The glasses were simple, mismatched. He took two. Then he opened the small refrigerator and stared for a moment at its meager contents: water, apple juice, a half-finished bottle of red wine he kept for nights when sleep became impossible. He hesitated. Then grabbed the bottle. His hands were still trembling slightly as he poured the wine, knowing he would need it to calm himself. When he returned to the living room, he handed a glass to Thranduil without quite daring to look at him.

“Sorry…” he said a little too quickly. “I don’t have much. It’s wine.”

He kept the other glass for himself and sat back down, this time a little farther away — as if trying to recreate a distance that no longer truly existed. He took a sip. The liquid burned slightly down his throat.

“I…” Bard stopped, shook his head, a nervous smile tugging at the corner of his lips. “I think I just needed… two seconds.”

He finally lifted his eyes toward Thranduil. Thranduil had barely dipped his lips into the red liquid before his expression shifted immediately.

“Thank you for telling me the truth. Even if it… unsettles me a bit.”

He lowered his gaze again to his glass, slowly turning it between his fingers.

“A lot, actually.”

Thranduil stared at his glass with an expression of intense disgust.

“Is something wrong?” Bard asked, already convinced he had ruined everything.

“You refrigerate red wine?”

Sacrilege.

“Uh…” Bard nodded quickly.

Thranduil set his nearly untouched glass aside.

“Well. Clearly, I have things to teach you. Now, come here.”

Bard stared at him, confused, as Thranduil erased the distance between them in a single movement, sliding closer on the couch in an almost surreal way. His knee brushed Bard’s without pulling away.

“You’ve kissed a man before, haven’t you? I could tell. You didn’t seem inexperienced… just… rusty.”

“I… um… yes…” Bard saw no point in lying.

“Then first lesson: one never puts red wine in a refrigerator. It’s heresy. Second lesson — it’s your turn to teach me something.”

Bard stared at him, utterly confused. Thranduil was so close he could smell his fruity breath, see the curve of his lips. Bard didn’t move, so Thranduil decided to set the tone himself. He closed his lips very gently, almost timidly, against Bard’s lower lip, giving him every chance to respond — or push him away. He did neither. Neither of them did.

“I…” Bard lowered his head, ashamed. “Not here. I lived here with my wife. I can’t.”

Thranduil stiffened. He hadn’t expected that.

“I understand,” he said, colder than he meant. He was deeply disappointed. He had been certain Bard was just as attracted to him. He stood, determined not to let the awkwardness linger. Bard caught his hand, stopping him.

“I want to. Just not here. At your place — would that be possible?”

“Legolas is home.”

“Oh…” Bard’s mind raced. “A hotel?” he suggested without really thinking.

Thranduil looked down at him from his full height, took a moment to weigh the pros and cons, then nodded, pulling out his phone. Bard listened as he called a hotel — he was clearly familiar, very familiar, with the staff, calling them by name. Bard heard him book a suite while pulling on his coat. Bard glanced at himself in the mirror, wondering if he shouldn’t cancel everything. There was no spontaneity, no surprise. It was strange, intimidating, and absolutely not romantic. Everything Bard disliked. He sighed, trying to focus on the positive, and straightened his posture as he felt Thranduil’s gaze on him. He had already hung up, and Bard hadn’t even noticed. Thranduil approached him with that unreadable look — a look Bard couldn’t decipher as either heated desire or barely restrained violence. His hand settled at Bard’s throat, squeezed gently, guiding his body to turn toward him.

“Teach me,” he murmured.

Bard felt as though his heart and guts might explode. He kissed him. All hesitation, all uncertainty on Thranduil’s part vanished: he demanded it, with his entire being. Bard plunged in like into an ocean of pleasure and relief. Thranduil’s tongue set the rhythm, his lips guided him, and Thranduil proved to be an excellent student — to Bard’s complete lack of surprise. Hadn’t he once heard, in the school corridors, that whatever other races did, Elves did better?

When their mouths finally parted, and Bard’s knees trembled so badly he felt himself blush up to his ears, all tenderness had vanished from Thranduil’s expression. He placed a hand on Bard’s lower back; his gaze, his body burned. Bard was going to get some.

“Let’s go.”

Bard let himself be led to the car, remaining silent during the drive to the hotel. Thranduil didn’t speak either, but his fingers clenched repeatedly around the steering wheel, his jaw tightening often. He parked the car in front of the hotel, far from Bard’s shabby apartment. Bard didn’t understand at first, then realized a valet would take care of it. It was quite a hotel — he couldn’t deny that.

He followed Thranduil into the lobby, watched him joke with the staff as they handed him the key card, and then followed him to the elevator. When the doors opened, and Thranduil stepped inside as if it were his own home, looking at Bard with an intensity that completely caught him off guard, Bard took a deep breath and followed, closing the door behind him.