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In some ways, it’s what he could’ve guessed, but never what he expected. Candles line the room, dancing in the starlight already creeping through the interwoven branches overhead, and the air is warm and thick with incense and the smell of Thranduil. The oil’s cool and a sharp contrast along Bard’s tired back, mostly slicked down along his rear and between his cheeks. Thranduil’s paid him more care than he deserves, first with a lengthy massage to ease his aching muscles and then careful, feather-light intrusions inside him, working him steadily open. It’s a strange sensation, new for Bard, but not as strange as it feels to have Middle Earth’s most beautiful king doting on him. Thranduil’s long, platinum hair sweeps along his thighs, and a chaste kiss is placed on one cheek of his taut ass. Bard has a hitch of breath, and the three fingers inside him slither out, leaving him wide and wanting. He clenches, wishing Thranduil would just start, but of course, Thranduil takes his good time in slinking back up along Bard’s spine like a wild cat over prey.
Nose turning to nuzzle lewdly into Bard’s face, Thranduil purrs, “Are you ready, love?”
A shiver runs down Bard’s body at Thranduil’s deep, sensual voice. He’s been ready from the time they first met, and those piercing blue eyes shook him to his core. He longed to run his fingers through Thranduil’s silken hair far before he ever got the chance. Though he’s appreciated Thranduil’s care in indulging what he’s used to, he’s wanted this too. He held a flicker of fear, at first, because he was sure it would hurt, and he sometimes feels too old to try new things with his battered body. But Thranduil’s been so good to him, and he rasps, “Yes.” He lifts himself up to emphasize it, dragging his oiled rear along the smooth expanse of Thranduil’s stomach.
Thranduil pushes him lightly back down and chuckles at his eagerness. His face is turned in the pillows, his arms down at his sides: completely disarmed. He feels relaxed and sweet but full of craving for more of Thranduil, worse as Thranduil’s hair slithers down his shoulders. One of Thranduil’s elbows props him up, supporting his weight, and the other caresses Bard’s side, running down to tease, again, between his cheeks.
When Bard feels the press of a spongy tip at his entrance, he clenches his teeth—he can’t help it. This will be his first time taking anything inside himself this way. His conscious fears are soothed, but his body still reacts. Thranduil pauses, just barely touching him, and then Thranduil’s lips are ghosting along his jaw, and Thranduil murmurs, husky and erotic, “Relax, my Bard. Relax for me...” Bard sucks in a breath, nodding against the pillow and wanting to listen.
Thranduil’s words are like magic. They coil inside him, untwisting all his tension, and he can feel himself opening as Thranduil pushes gently inside. It’s only a tiny bit at first, but it’s enough to make Bard’s breath hitch. Thranduil still pushes forward, but very, very slowly, and Bard’s already open and wet enough that the way is easy. He takes bit by bit of Thranduil’s thick cock, stretching him wider but with no pain. When Thranduil’s veiled head is swallowed up, he begins to rock softly in and out, deeper on each thrust. Bard knows from sight and the feel of it in his hands and mouth how long it is, but Thranduil whispers something in his ear in Elvish, and Bard doesn’t clench at all. He lies still, already drowsy from the massage and somehow enjoying the gradual slide of his lover’s body. It feels distinctly odd, but strangely tantalizing—not what he thought. Even when Thranduil’s fully seated, stilling deep inside, there is no pain. Just the delicious stretch of Thranduil. Their hips press fully together, Thranduil’s thighs warm and spread around his. He can hear the slight increase in Thranduil’s breath, and he knows his own has become uneven. Thranduil’s free arm wraps beneath Bard, pinned against the bed and holding him tight, and Thranduil rocks them together once to make Bard gasp.
“How do you fare?” Thranduil asks, sounding genuinely curious, though surely no one could resist this. His bare arm teases Bard’s naked chest, fondly stroking his skin and trailing up to trace his nipple. Bard tries to answer, but finds it too difficult to make words.
Finally, he manages to moan, “Thranduil.” He’s rewarded with a low chuckle and a kiss to the nape of his neck. He doesn’t have the wherewithal to beg for more like he wants, but Thranduil, somehow, seems to understand. Thranduil pulls slowly out, only half way, then slides back, changing the angle so that he brushes something inside Bard that makes him cry out in sudden pleasure. It’s a wild flash of heat that leaves him momentarily dizzy, while Thranduil’s already pulling back out to deliver another. He hits the same spot, milks another languid cry from Bard’s body, and rolls in for a third.
Thranduil’s a master at this, as he is with everything. He plays Bard’s body so well, as though he knows every part of it, inside and out, and he owns it, and Bard’s all too happy to give himself over to Thranduil’s talented hands. Thranduil takes him in smooth, wondrous strokes, making love to him far beyond what he ever dreamed. Coming to Mirkwood is always like a dream. It’s hard to imagine how he ever manages to leave.
When Thranduil’s hand makes its way lower, dusting over Bard’s stomach, Bard squirms and shakes his head, muttering, “No, please...” He can’t articulate why aloud. He wants to last. He wants this to go on for as long as it can, and Thranduil seems to understand; he returns his hand to Bard’s upper chest and presses a kiss to the back of Bard’s ear. His hips never falter. He rocks into Bard in steady circles, grinding Bard hard into the mattress, only to release him again. Every stroke is pleasure. Each time Thranduil pushes down, his chest flattens along Bard’s back, and each time they part, Bard whines, because he doesn’t want to let Thranduil go.
Thranduil occasionally kisses his shoulders, nuzzles into the back of his neck, breath fluttering air across his flushed skin, and Thranduil holds them tight together. Even as slow, as luxurious, as perfect as it is, Bard can’t last as long as he’d like. He wants it to go on forever, but then Thranduil’s lips find his, and he’s twisting to try and share the kiss, and it’s so much more than he can take. He loves Thranduil so much, and he can feel it returned through the kiss. His breath hitches a final time, his body tightens for a fraction of a second, and he spills himself onto the sheets with a ragged cry, his orgasm washing into him like a great ocean. He drowns in it, in how good he feels, all over, his skin on fire and his mind far away from his body, drifting in and out of a hazy bliss. Thranduil rides him right through it. Thranduil whispers to him in Elvish, and somehow, he understands: the same three words that he’s murmuring back, or thinks he is, but is too overwhelmed to really tell.
He hasn’t finished coming back down when Thranduil gently turns him over, still buried to the hilt but managing to roll Bard onto his back. Bard’s knees part around Thranduil’s waist, his arms limp and his hair a mess in the pillows, mouth open to pant. Thranduil’s hips roll forward to grind himself inside, and Bard shakes with the pleasure of it. Thranduil’s hand cups his cheek, fondly thumbs at his scruff and threads back into his hair. Then Thranduil leans down to give him a proper kiss, full on, with an eager tongue slithering into his mouth. He kisses Thranduil back as best he can, but he’s messy and loose and mostly just follows where his lover guides him. When Thranduil’s finished, he pecks the corner of Bard’s mouth, then his jaw.
Thranduil leaves a trail of kisses down Bard’s throat, almost nipping at him, licks across his collarbone and pecks his chest, dipping to place one firm kiss right over his heart. Thranduil murmurs more of those fluid words that make Bard’s heart beat all the faster, and they spread out inside him like some marvelous magic, twisting right along his veins. It captures his pleasure and pulls it back into his body, keeps him warm and in that moment, like being frozen inside his orgasm, never quite coming down. It’s an almost excruciating feeling, too incredible to bear. Thranduil comes back up to recapture his lips and starts to move again. Their hips fall back into their steady rhythm, Thranduil petting Bard’s body and licking and kissing him and making love to him anew, while Bard dizzily exists in a cloud of ecstasy.
Thranduil takes Bard this way until he’s ready to follow, and he finishes inside Bard with a slight gasp and the press of his forehead to Bard’s. Bard moans as he’s filled with Thranduil’s seed, long and large, nearly making his stomach swell from the amount of it, but Thranduil stays sheathed inside. Bard doesn’t want him to leave. Only when Thranduil’s spilled everything does he finally draw himself out, dragging his release with him.
And Bard’s left stretched and leaking, barely able to breathe. He’s almost numb from over stimulation. Thranduil stays hovering over him, hair a curtain along his shoulders, Thranduil’s handsome face the most beautiful thing Bard’s ever seen. Somehow, he manages to move his hand enough to languidly play with the ends of Thranduil’s hair. He sighs, “You’re remarkable.”
Thranduil’s lips twitch in a winning smirk, and he purrs, “I am happy to please.” He gives Bard one final kiss, than shifts to lie at Bard’s side, spread out and bare and utterly gorgeous. If Bard had the energy, he’d lick every bit of Thranduil’s body and beg to be taken again.
But he’s too tired to say another word. He’s heavy and satiated twice over, pulsating with delight but incoherent from it and burnt out to every end. So he only curls into Thranduil to sleep, content at the comforting arm that drapes over him and draws him close.