Saturday, August 1, 2015

A Thranduil Lemon -- 20 Leagues From You

 Character: Thranduil

Fandom: The Hobbit

OC: Iriel, blonde hair, brownish-reddish eyes, personal messenger of the king

Inspiration: So just to update you all, I've been working on some longer fanfics lately but I've got a ton of half finished lemons.  One of these days I'll do some binge writing/posting.  Haven't posted any of my long fics yet but I'm in the middle of writing two Hunger Games fanfictions.  If anyone's interested I can update you guys when I do post them, just leave a comment or something ;3  Anyway enjoy Thranduil's sexiness!


“So Lorien has refused to assist us,” King Thranduil said from atop his throne.  His voice was danger itself, his eyes hard as diamond as he stared down at his recently returned envoy.  The group had only just come back from Lothlorien, and with them they brought word from Galadriel and Celeborn.  As mighty as Thranduil and his kingdom were, the growing shadows in Dol Guldur were great cause for concern.  He had hoped that Lothlorien would send help.  They had not.
“What did the Lady say?” the king inquired, standing.  His robes waterfalled around him, cascading into place as if the fabric had a mind of its own.  Thranduil merely brushed them aside and stepped forward, hands behind his back as he turned his hard dangerous eyes to the leader of the envoy.  “Iriel?”
The Elleth did not so much as shuffle her feet at the sudden attention of the Elvenking.  She had lived in these forests since birth and had dealings with her king for nearly half of her long lifespan.  And those dealings came in many forms, several of which were frankly not appropriate to be thinking of in such company. 
She tilted her chin up and lifted her eyes, taking a very brief moment to enjoy holding his gaze.  Silver threads shot through his blue eyes, creating a familiar image that did little to quench her ache for him.  She desperately hoped it was not obvious, at least to everyone else around them.  She had stopped trying to hide her desire from his eyes long ago, for he could always see it no matter how hard she tried.
“The Lady was not specific,” she admitted, carefully choosing each word.  She knew her king had a tendency toward anger, whether he showed it outright or kept it icily hidden behind his walls.  She did not want him getting angry with her, not after being away from the forest for what felt like ages.  (But was actually a short span of five months: mere moments to an elf.)  Iriel knew that no matter what she told him, he would be angry, and so she set her jaw and finished with a reluctant, “She was unwilling to split her forces.  Darkness has been growing at the edges of Lorien.  Packs of orcs lurk near the trees.  She – “
“She does not see that our problems coincide, that they are one in the same,” Thranduil interrupted, his voice sterner, harder.  He was angry, but he held his anger well and Iriel did not answer. 
Legolas watched the proceedings from several paces away, but his eyes swayed always to one Elleth in particular.  Iriel was beautiful in an almost flinty way.  She was all hard edges and had a petit, slender frame, much like others of their race.  Her eyes were as green as springtime coming up over Mirkwood, and yet dark in a way that reminded Legolas of the depths of the wood.  She had a startling tendency of swallowing a person whole with her eyes, something that he was sure interested his father.  Then again, a great many things about her interested him.
She was older than him, a tall and willowy woman who walked with the grace befitting her station of ranger.  And, most of all, she had courage.  Enough courage to meet the king’s eye regardless of his mood.  That, Legolas knew, was what had endeared her to Thranduil, though he also knew that her wayward callousness sometimes infuriated him.
Tonight, Thranduil seemed less upset at her and more upset at the failed treaty though.  The Elven King walked forward lithely, eyes like hardened ice, and idly poured himself another glass of wine.  Iriel merely stared at the center of his throne, neither looking down and meek nor looking directly at her king.  She perused the familiar lines and dips of the throne’s design, looking almost as if she was preparing herself to say more.  Perhaps more bad news.  She did look a little uncomfortable, though Thranduil himself was the only one who noticed.  He noticed everything she did, every emotion which fluttered over her face.  Nothing was lost in the translation between his eyes and her body language.
“You have more to tell me,” Thranduil said, watching her from the corner of his eye.  He did not look at her but he knew.  Some part of him was aware of her always.  The way she stood very still, like a deer listening for danger, was what gave her away.  Her eyes darted to his robes.  She stared at the embroidered bottom of the silvery fabric but did not meet his eyes.  That was the second sign, for she didn’t often refuse his gaze.
“…My King,” she began slowly.  It was the way she always spoke, with that smooth calculation, testing her words carefully before she voiced them.  Her diplomacy was one of the reasons Thranduil trusted her to speak in his name at council meetings around Middle Earth.  It was the reason he had sent her to Lothlorien instead of tucking her away in the heart of Mirkwood (and his bedchamber) as he was sometimes apt to do, when he was in a selfish mood.
He watched her as he took a sip, this time piercing her with a gaze so direct and so alluring that Iriel felt as if he was consuming her.  She stared at his robes and gripped the hilt of her sword tighter, as she did whenever danger was present.  Thranduil was not a danger to her, but his temper was certainly something to be gentle with, lest it shatter his composure into furious pieces.
“The Lady suggested we ask our new allies in the Lonely Mountain to assist us,” she said after a shallow breath, and waited.  She didn’t have to wait very long.
“Did she indeed,” Thranduil said flatly.  His voice was locked, unreadable, all emotion sunken beneath tides of rising fury.  This was the sort of fury that Iriel tried her best to avoid, for it was all-encompassing and potent.  His expression was as unreadable as his voice and his aura had turned wintry.  Every elf in her company stiffened.  Even Legolas’s body tightened, his sky blue eyes narrowed in concern as he peered at Iriel.  She was, after all, the bearer of this ill message. 
“Leave us now,” Thranduil ordered crisply, fingers white as he gripped his silver wine glass.  The metal was beautiful and intricately designed, but Iriel wondered if it wouldn’t snap or bend beneath his touch.  She had been witness to several other shatterings during his tempers.  It was not a good sign.
The elves around her bowed, glanced at their captain, and all but fled from the throne room.  Legolas paused as they followed, but it was clear that his presence would not be welcomed.  This was a matter for his father and his father’s captain.  And besides, he didn’t want to be around to see his father’s anger, or his father’s apology after it had passed.  Said apologies were frankly not fit for anyone else’s eyes.  Or ears. 
As soon as Thranduil and Iriel were alone, he exploded, “My allies in the Lonely Mountain?!”  Iriel raised her chin but did not move, or flinch, or look at him.  She knew he did not actually blame her.  She knew that, for all his cool composed demeanor, Thranduil needed to let his emotions out sometimes.  She was often there for such things, and was quite knowledgeable about the scope of said emotions and what they did to him, and her.
The delicate silver cup was thrown harshly onto the table.  Wine splashed over the sides of the rim, coating Thranduil’s fingertips and dripping like blood over several fingers.  He gritted his teeth and watched almost mildly as the droplet of liquid shifted over the slender curve of his wrist.  And then in a tight voice he ordered, “Come here, Iriel.”  Obediently she went.
Yet there was something not obedient about her, something rebellious in the tilt of her chin, something defiant in the shade of her eyes.  It had always been this way with her.  She was a prize to be won, but she was hardly a prize to be kept.  And he would win her again and again, only to have her slip through his fingers once more.  Such was the nature of their romance, the way things had to be given their stations.
He swept his wine covered hand into the air as if he was gesturing, and said, “Lick.”  His eyes glittered with angry desire, flashing down at her and consuming her yet again.  He watched surprise flit gently over her face before she composed herself.  Then he watched the flame of passion light up the forest of her eyes and turn her gaze to a burning wildfire.
“As my King wishes,” she whispered, stepping forward lightly.  She reached for his hand, curving her fingers up his forearm and lavishing silently at the feel of his skin, silken beneath her touch.  Her fingertips fit between his knuckles, her thumb brushing gently around his as she leaned in and stepped closer.  Then she was pulling his arm to her and curling her tongue over the tip of one long finger, and Thranduil was exhaling slowly, deeply as he watched her every movement.
“I do wish it,” he said, his voice now a purr of fury and passion.  He tilted his head and watched her drag her tongue down that finger, following the path of wine that ran over his wrist.  His pulse flew beneath her lips.  The musky, foresty scent of his skin rose up to greet her and he appeared to have halted his breathing entirely.  Unsure of how much power he would allow her, Iriel hesitated.  But she could not deny her desire for him, her need to feel him, and so with a light twist of her hand she ran her fingertips over the path of his veins.  She paused at the crook of his elbow and wondered if he would let her press kisses along that skin too.
“I do not recall,” he murmured almost dangerously, “giving you permission to touch me at your own discretion.”  Perhaps he was not yet in the generous mood.  Iriel dropped her hand and pulled away, closing off her emotions with a soldier’s stance.  Her hand returned to the hilt of her sword.  Her brazen demeanor returned.  Calmly, ever so diplomatically, she said, “Forgive me, my King.”  And Thranduil’s eyes flashed.  She infuriated him so.
“Neither did I tell you to pull away,” he almost growled, eyes narrowing with silver.  She tilted her head and looked up at him boldly.  He enjoyed the dance of their wills, the way she would play it so flawlessly.  But sometimes it annoyed her, the way he’d retreat then reappear, as if hunting her.  Tonight it aggravated her though she would not show it.  Five months she was away.  Five months was nothing to an elf; a mere blink.  But to her it had been five months of not seeing him, not hearing his voice, not feeling his hands on her body lighting a fire under her heart.  To her it had felt like eternity in a bottle.
“Then perhaps my King would kindly explain where the limitations might be drawn,” she said coolly, knowing full well that her words may anger him.  For a moment she thought they would, watched his eyes turn stormy and dark.  But there was no anger in his voice when he next spoke.  Instead there was only the sharpened edge of desire that ribboned his words to little pieces.  Perhaps, she mused, five months was a long time for him, too.
“I think perhaps we shall finish this discussion in my chambers,” he said slowly, drawing his words out and watching her expression with close, penetrating eyes.  With the slightest twist of his lips Thranduil murmured, “You have not graced my bed in many months, Iriel.  I would change that now.  I would have you.  I might even say that I need you.”
Surprised by the confession she rarely heard, Iriel stared up at him.  His hand twisted around her waist, dipping against the leather of her armor, and he shifted her closer.  With a startled heaving inhalation, Iriel wondered, “Which part of me do you require, my King?”
A growl escaped him.  Her gentle teasing was like salt to him now, flung over an open wound and left to sting.  He would not have it.  Teasing had no place in this throne room, not now, not when he’d been so quietly worried for her these past months.  He’d never admit it aloud but he had.
“That depends on which parts of yourself you intend on giving me,” he murmurs beneath his breath, his melodic voice softly hastening into her ear.  Iriel shivered and wondered at that too.  She had only just returned from Lorien.  It had been a week long journey to get home, and she was sure she wasn’t the most pleasing sight.  She would dirty his sheets if she went with him now.  And her dignity besides, if she let herself be used in such a…human way.  He could use her as much as he wanted, and she him, but she had reservations still.
Thranduil watched her silently, his fingers idly stroking the back of her armor.  She hardly felt his touch, but she could feel the slight movement of her clothes.  The feather light shift had her shivering, gooseflesh tumbling over her skin in delicate waves of gentle desire.
“I think a bath might be the first order of business,” Iriel finally said, looking up into his eyes to see if he was upset at being placed second.  But he hardly seemed to even care, hardly seemed as if such a thing was an inconvenience.  Iriel realized why a moment later when he said, “Yes, you’re in dire need of one, my dear.  Very well, let’s be off to my chambers and a bath we shall have.”
For all her brash recklessness, Iriel’s cheeks burned red at the suggestion.  “My King!” she hissed quietly, peering around to see if anyone overheard.  But the throne room was as empty as it had been minutes before, and Thranduil merely tilted his head and smirked at the way her cheeks colored.  She was no virgin and he was no inexperienced elfling.  Yet whenever she blushed he felt heat rise up within him that seemed almost incontrollable.  It had been many years since he’d felt so comfortable around another person.  Since intimacy felt easy.  So easy that he felt it almost second nature to be playful with her.
“Would you rather bathe in the communal baths around other warriors?” Thranduil asked with a raised brow.  He forced her with him, moving as one a few steps, as if dancing.  Then he smirked and fitted her to his side, fingers around her hip as he led her out of the throne room to where his opulent, luxurious chambers awaited.  “Or are you perhaps concerned that we have never bathed together?  There is always a first of everything, my dear.”
She threw him a look that told him exactly what she thought of his words, and Thranduil chuckled lightly.  It was true that they’d never bathed together before.  It was also true that she was a little concerned over this, but not overly so.  She was mostly surprised at his suggestion, at the ease of it, as if it was a perfectly normal thing to do.  They had been lovers for many years now, but never before has it felt so simple.  And never before did Iriel felt like she had a place at Thranduil’s side, a place that extended beyond his mattress and his bedchamber.
The king’s suite was luxurious.  Iriel’s breath never ceased to stop at the initial sight of it.  It seemed that it always changed, too.  One day it was flattering with gossamer curtains and hanging plants, the next it was a fierce hunter’s den with deer antler decorations and weapons slung easily over the walls.  Today it was red.  Red velvet curtains, ornate red rugs, red sheets and pillows.  It felt almost as if she had walked right into a blazing infernal of heat and flame.
“Come,” Thranduil says with idle steely constraint.  It was his king voice.  Iriel wondered how far his kingship would extent tonight, or if he merely wanted to intimidate her for a while, perhaps to get back at her for the teasing.  She hoped he didn’t plan to be stubborn all night at least.  She’d never been the most patient elf, despite her long years.
Thranduil’s fingers curled around her and he pulled her behind him.  Iriel rarely ventured very far into his personal chambers.  Besides his lavish bedroom and the balconied sitting room in the front of the suite, the other rooms were more or less off limits.  He’d never said so outright, but neither had he given her permission to explore.  Tonight though, it seemed that he was more than willing to show her around the rest of the suite.  Or at least as far as the massive bathing room, anyway.
It was a smaller than the communal baths in the lower reaches of the palace, but infinitely more luxurious.  The moment the stepped inside, Iriel stared in shock, wondering why she was so taken aback by the sheer beauty of the room.  Thranduil liked beautiful things and it made sense that his style would extend this far.  She still thought it was amazing though.
Thranduil saw her expression and gave her an amused smirk that immediately had he blushing.  He must have been planning to bathe tonight regardless of her presence, because the enormous pool of water was steaming with fresh heat and towels were laid out beside the rim of it.  He stepped forward and silently, without any warning whatsoever, began to loosen the luxurious fabric of his robes.  Iriel watched, captivated, as the robes fell and revealed bare, broad shoulders marked over with several white scars.  The robes fell further, showing off the strong lines of his back, the gentle curve of his hip, and more subtle scars running over his spine.  That was when Iriel decided she really wanted to touch him.
Her palm spread over his shoulder blade, looping across the cutting edge of it before gently shifting over to trace his spine.  His hair had been flung over one shoulder and gave her easy access to his skin, which was good because she was an impatient elf.  Thranduil knew this.  That was why he found himself chuckling when he felt those lithe, impatient fingers try to push away the rest of his robe that was still hooked around his arms.
He captured her hands and shifted her around so that they faced each other, then stared down at her with those eyes that were shot through with silver immortality.  She stared defiantly back at him and he raised his eyebrow with a tiny little smirk. 
“Don’t play games, Thranduil, not tonight,” she whispered suddenly, the words lurching from her lips before she could stop them.  But her impatience had won out.  She wanted him fast and relentless.  They could play their silly games afterwards if he really wanted to, but she for now she could not wait.  The anticipation of being with him was, as always, completely consuming.
He hummed, his eyebrow jutting higher, his eyes flashing.  And then in a dangerous voice he gathered her closer and murmured, “Is my captain of the guard attempting to order her king?”  Iriel shivered, splayed her hands over his chest, and fluttered her eyes closed as Thranduil’s lips brushed over her ear.  Sweet Elbereth!
When his tongue lightly traced the tip of her ear, Iriel crumbled against him with a fitful moan, pressing her forehead to his cheek.  He chuckled, leaned forward, and nipped deliciously at the skin.  Elven ears were extremely sensitive after all, and she happened to go rather insane whenever Thranduil touched hers.
“I would punish you for that order, Iriel,” he whispered, his voice resounding against her neck, his eyelashes fluttering over her skin.  She wrapped her arms around him tightly.  Her knees felt shaky and she thought she might fall over at any moment, which would be a very ungraceful action for an immortal elf, and she’d rather avoid making an idiot of herself in front of Thranduil.
He chuckled, swept his arms around her form, and pressed her against him.  Her armor was a hard and unyielding shield that kept them from feeling the other as they wished to.  He would soon fix that wrong, but first…
With a smirk he pulled back, nipping at her ear one last time before completely drawing away.  Then he said in a bland sort of voice, “However I believe a bath would do us both some good.”  He sidestepped her, leaving her standing there in the center of the floor.  When he was beside the edge of the bathing pool, Thranduil loosened the remainder of his robes and they swished to the floor, leaving him completely and utterly bare.  Iriel stared with dark surprise as he walked down the steps and into the water, which barely reached his waist. 
His confidence was admirable, but then again Thranduil was confident in practically everything.  His physical form was certainly not exempt from it, and why should it be?  He was gorgeous and strong.  His body was lean, the curves of it slightly muscled from centuries of fighting and honing his strength.  His movements were graceful and quick, and as for the rest of him…well, the elf was gorgeous.
She watched as he walked to the opposite end of the steaming pool and folded himself down on the bench that lay just beneath the water.  He stretched himself out on it, leaning back and not bothering to hide himself from her eyes.  She had seen him bare countless times, though never in a situation like this.  It made her feel giddy and uncertain, as though it was her first encounter with him.
Thranduil blinked at her, tilted his head, and said in a low voice, “Strip.”  And Iriel, though hardly surprised, found herself blushing at the abruptness of his order.  He smirked at the blush and propped an elbow up onto the floor behind him, resting his head on his hand as he watched her stare at him in surprise.
After a long moment of this, Iriel cleared her throat and nodded, “…Yes, my king.”  The words were oddly coy and Thranduil watched closely for any hint of that defiance he had come to know so well.  But there was none, and Iriel just turned to her gear and began unbuckling it, dropping pieces to the floor and creating a mess of strewn leather.  He might’ve complained, but he found that his usual patience was on low supply.  Each removal revealed more to him and Thranduil couldn’t be bothered to scold her for making a mess of his floor.  That could be addressed later, with the proper punishment to go with it, but for now he was content to wait and watch.
Beneath the leather armor, Iriel wore standard ranger dress: a long belted tunic and tight leggings.  She shuffled out of her boots and slowly undid the belt around her waist.  With a flick of her wrist it fell to the floor.  Then, catching Thranduil’s bold gaze, she grasped the hem of her tunic and lifted it up and away, arching to get the fabric off.  Another flick of her wrist and it pooled at her feet, her breast binding following quickly in its wake.  There was no change in Thranduil’s eyes save a small flicker of interest, but he did not look down to view her nakedness.  No, instead he merely stared at her eyes, which were still locked with his, and smiled very lightly as he watched her gracefully step out of her leggings.  Now fully bare, she stepped forward into the steaming pool of water to where her king and lover was waiting.
Now his eyes wandered.  Slowly he gazed at her, taking her in and enjoying the sight of her bare skin.  He reached for her, a graceful and chivalrous movement, and she went to him.  And then all that chivalry vanished into the darkening haze of his eyes, and Thranduil pulled her forcefully into his lap.
She laughed in surprise and flew against him, the force of his tug throwing her fitfully against his chest.  “Thranduil!” she cried, but settled down the moment she felt his arms rush around her and begin a rather delicious and extensive exploration of her body.
Her form was so familiar to him that Thranduil could have recognized it was her even with his eyes closed.  His eyes did not close, of course, because he was too busy leaning forward and pressing kisses over her collar and shoulders and he would not miss her reactions to him for the world.  She shivered and arched against him, fingers flying to his hair and smoothing over the silken mass of it.  She turned her face down to watch him, and shivered even more terrifically when his hand eased forward to cup her breast.
“You were gone far too long,” he murmured against it, lips gently suckling at her nipple.  Her eyes fluttered, overcome by both his actions and his words.  He rarely spoke of his affection for her, but when he did it lit up her world.  To say that she was in love with him would be a horrid understatement, but their love was contained within the walls of his suite.  It was fine.  This was fine.  Loving Thranduil in whatever way she was afforded was more than fine.
“I thought you were a patient elf,” she whispered, tracing his cheek with a single finger.  She smiled, her heart thudding at his beauty, and said, “I was gone for only five months.  It was nothing.”  Yet clearly it was something.  To her it had felt like an eternity, and now she knew that he must have missed her.  He must have, otherwise he wouldn’t be so anxious to have her to himself.
He growled against her breast and raised his head, mere inches from hers.  “You are so quick to brush aside my affections.  How infuriating you are.”  And she was.  She was an imp who made him crazy for her with her constant games of give and take, defying him and then acting coy and warm. 
With a smirk, Iriel hummed in agreement and murmured, “Do I vex you, my king?  Did my absence make you celibate and lonely without my body warming your bed?”  Her eyes lingered on his lips and her eyes crinkled with mischief.
His own eyes flashed in irritation and something else, something that had her entire body flaring up with heated, spiky arousal.  He shifted forward, lips brushing lightly over hers, and watched her contain another shiver that rather amused him.  For all her brash words, Iriel was as frustrated as him.  Which meant that he would thoroughly enjoy dragging out her punishment in the most delicious way.
“Perhaps I have gotten too lenient with you,” he mused, smirking against her mouth.  “You have become quite disrespectful toward your king.”  His fingers twisted her nipple gently but forcefully and she gasped, shuddering against him even as she tried to restrain her reactions.  But she was hopeless against him, hopeless and always wanting more.
They stared at each other, war in their eyes.  Challenges broached the air between them like pins plucked out of a garrison of battle hardened hearts.  And then suddenly Thranduil was growling and lurching forward, pressing his mouth fully to hers and locking his hands behind her head to ensure that she would not pull back.  But she would not, could not, and the moment he kissed her Iriel sank against him all too willingly.  She was ready to be swept up in his powerful love, ready to experience it all for herself.
It was a hard kiss that turned inexplicably soft merely moments in, as if a tide had changed within him.  Soon it became a drag of his lips against hers, a pull of desire that sent her spiraling against him.  Not much longer and it was a melted, hot explosion of passion and teeth and nips and slow, biting sucks that left Iriel utterly breathless.
How long had she dreamt of this?  Of his mouth on hers, of his hands dragging over her body and pressing her against him?  How many nights spent lounging beneath the mallorn trees of Lórien, dreaming of his caress and his captivating eyes?  Too long, her thoughts whispered.  Far too long.
She moaned, slipping her fingers around his neck and brushing her thumb over his jaw.  Touching him was in itself a beautiful treat she never thought she’d get the chance to do.  To have the freedom of touching him now made her weak in the knees, as if her bones were mere twigs that fluttered by him and fell into his path.
She turned, sliding a leg around his waist to straddle him, and Thranduil reached up to cup the sides of her face and drag her hard against his mouth.  He would not let her break this kiss, not even for the delicious feeling of her core pressed tight against his –
“Mm!” he sharply gasped, lips tightening in surprise as she moved against his hardened swollen member.  The short exclamation had Iriel smiling, for he rarely said much of anything during intercourse.  He narrowed his eyes at her and leaned in to nip painfully at her lower lip, dragging it into his mouth and sucking.  His revenge came in the form of his hands as they slipped around her rear and pulled her harshly against him, forcing her to grind him faster.  She didn’t have it in her to complain, not when his cock was rigid and ready.
“You make a poor temptress, Iriel,” he muttered, releasing her lip and coming in to kiss her more fully on the mouth.  “Far too impatient,” he breathed against her, and she chuckled because she knew he was right.  She was fire where he was ice, and the combination was startling in its potency.
Their lower bodies moved in tandem, grinding together as their lips moved just as passionately.  Between the dragging gasps of air and the slow build of kisses, Iriel moaned, “I’m sure you will find some way to set that right, my king.”  And he shivered because he certainly had several ideas as to how to go about that business.  More than a few actually.
“Mm…Are you giving me…permission…to order you around, melethril nÎn?” [1] he asked between the seams of their kisses.  His voice was quiet, gentle, but blazing with heat.  She breathed deeply and kissed him harder, shaking her hips in little round circles over the hardness of him. 
She felt herself thrill when she heard him call her that, and drew back to instead kiss over his strong jaw and to duck her lips against the hollow of his throat.  Against his skin she whispered, “I am yours to command, Thranduil.”  It was such an intimate usage of his name that his eyes fluttered closed for half a second before they darted open again, far too restless to succumb to the gentle way she kissed him now.
“Are you really?” she heard him dryly inquire, and she smirked in amusement at the sound of his voice.  She was his to command regardless of the situation, for he was her king.  But though the words were familiar and perhaps even a little predictable, she heard the telltale sound of excitement creasing his voice and knew he liked hearing them.  He liked power and power over her was the one thing that he loved most of all.
“Then perhaps,” he said after another moment, “we should start getting you clean.  A week on the road has certainly done a number on you.”  And she pulled away, not quite knowing whether to be insulted or just simply taken aback by his sudden disinterest in sex.  And he thought she was infuriating?
The look in his eye gave her pause though.  It was fairly clear that he wasn’t completely uninterested in continuing on, just that he perhaps wanted to take his time.  And she was dirty.  And besides, they were in a huge bath and had plenty of time to cultivate the other things they wanted to do later on.  So Iriel merely laughed, surprise still coating her voice, and murmured, “Very well.”  There was nothing to be done when his eyes flashed like that, in that commanding, I-am-your-king-obey-me-or-else sort of way.
He hummed and leaned back, reaching for a dish of colorful, molded soaps that had been left near the edge of the tub.  He blindly took a sage green one that smelled like the forest after a rainstorm and pressed it into Iriel’s hands.  If she was surprised before, she was more than shocked now, because perhaps a little part of her mind had just assumed that he would want to wash her himself.  After all, they were naked and aroused in a steaming hot bath and Thranduil didn’t like keeping his hands to himself. 
But he merely raised an eyebrow at her and leaned back, hooking his arms over the side of the tub and tilting his head curiously at her.  He looked altogether cat-like with his narrowed eyes and his lazy posture.  It was almost as if he wasn’t at all inconvenienced by the fact that he was rock hard and absolutely aroused.
“Go on then,” he waved a hand at her, raising and brow and smirking.  When she paused, his eyes darkened lustfully and he leaned forward to purr, “I want you to touch yourself Iriel.  So touch yourself.”  Oh.  Well.  That made much more sense.  He wasn’t being lazy at all, he was merely ordering her around in that erotic delicious way he was so talented at.
She laughed low and dark, eyes dilating in eager excitement as she pressed the soap to her thigh beneath the water.  His eyes darted to watch her as she slowly lifted it, dragging it up her abdomen and around her breast.  A soapy residue lingered in its trailing wake, and a delightful idea unraveled in her mind.  Two could play at this game, she decided, and she figured she was pretty good at keeping up with him.
She innocently lathered up her the front of her body, placing the soap back in the dish before returning her hands to her skin.  Slowly she touched herself, dragging her fingers over her shoulders and down her arms, ducking them in small circles against her stomach, then twirling the soapy lather around her breasts in careful, meandering strokes that made his eyes flash.  But was really made him crazy was the way she suddenly leaned forward, pushed her arms around his neck, and slowly slid her breasts up his body.  Slickened as they were with soap, they shifted easily over his skin and left Thranduil more breathless than he cared to admit.
“Hmm…perhaps you are a temptress after all,” he murmured after a moment of enjoying this slick slide of her skin over his.  His arms curled around her waist and he pressed her tighter to his chest, enjoying the way her breasts pillowed out against him and the way he could easily feel her taut nipples rub over his skin.  Iriel hummed and kissed his jaw, and just when he was about to turn his head and catch her mouth with his, she took the soap back and drew away just a little.  Just enough to drag it down his chest instead, generously touching him.
He didn’t complain.  Instead he merely leaned back and allowed her touch, enjoyed it.  He flicked a finger over her hair, brushing a strand of it away from her face idly, and watched her as she worked on him.  And then, before very long, her fingers began to drift down beneath the water’s surface, and Thranduil was struck with just how much he wanted this.  Wanted her touch and more, much more.  But this was fine for now, and he purred indulgently as her fingers wrapped gently around his cock and began to stroke him.
Her other hand joined in, shifting lightly over his tip.  He didn’t react in the trembling, melted way she’d hoped, but then again Thranduil was very good at holding back his emotions.  His reaction was more of a soft breath and a fluttering of his half closed eyes.  He looked even more of a cat now, leaning back with that sleepy-aroused look on his face.  Iriel smiled at him and he smiled back, a small curve of his lips that told her he quite liked her ministrations on him.
Unfortunately being in water limited what she’d like to do.  But Thranduil didn’t seem to mind that she could only use to her hands.  He sunk back with a sigh and mumbled, “Definitely a temptress…”  And she smiled widely in response, feeling a little shiver of pride scurry through her body.  He must be feeling pretty good to compliment her like that.  She chuckled and leaned forward, and Thranduil tilted his head as she neared to allow her kiss.
Their mouths shifted together easily, sliding like a key into a lock.  It was such a simple but deep kiss that Iriel felt herself humming against him, moving her hand faster over his cock as her tongue dashed out against his bottom lip.  Thranduil, not one to be overlooked, quickly overpowered her with his own tongue, and thus began a battle that was not easily won.  Iriel was a determined opponent.
Their lips moved furiously, deeply, and without hesitation.  There was no room for hesitation now, not when their desire had grown so quickly in such a short amount of time.  With a smirk, Thranduil sunk his teeth into her bottom lip and held it captive between his own.  At the same time his hands came down to wrap around her wrists, effectively halting her movements on his member.  She drew back, curious, only to find Thranduil’s dark lustful eyes staring right into hers.
“Do you tire of my touch?” she whispered callously, raising a jaunty eyebrow.  Thranduil smirked and dryly replied, “Hardly.  But I believe it’s high time to repay the favor.”  And the promise in his words made Iriel swallow back a shiver that threatened to overcome her entirely.
“Oh?” she murmured, tilting her head back as his lips pressed swift kisses over her neck.  He drew her hands from his lap and against her neck, softly ordered, “Sit at the edge of the tub.”  She stilled, body freezing, and then she turned very warm and deliciously hot.
When she didn’t immediately move, Thranduil chuckled and leaned back, powerful eyes flashing up at her.  He raised a silver brow and patted the sleek polished wood floor to his right, silently telling her to hurry up.  It was all the encouragement she needed.  A moment later Iriel was scrambling up and folding herself elegantly onto the floor, shins in the water.  He turned and faced her, sitting sideways on the bench and slipping his hands over her thighs.  With an amused glance at her face, Thranduil leaned down to kiss her knee, slowly shifting his lips up and up and up.  And all the while he eased her legs apart as he progressed, until his head was between her legs and his breath was hot on her core.
When his tongue splayed against her folds, Iriel closed her eyes and tilted her head back.  It was all so deliciously indecent, having his head between her legs like that.  And the way he moved his tongue – “Mmm…” she moaned, pushing her hips toward him and spreading her legs wider.  They fell open around his mane of white blonde hair, and Thranduil smirked up at her.
“I remember when this used to make you a shy and blushing mess,” he murmured with no small amount of amusement, and before she could reply with her usual witty response, he licked a straight and firm path up her slit.  The reverberations of his voice and the deftness of his tongue had her shuddering powerfully.
She remembered that, too.  Back then when their relations were minimal and nerve wracking, any and all of his touches would turn her into a virginal maiden too shy to return his affections.  But that was a very long time ago, and long years separated those experiences from this one.  She was bolder now.  Her ascension through the ranks of society, and the skills she honed during the countless battles fought, have turned her into a richer, more sensual elf.  One who was much more ready and eager to please him.
He slipped his arms around her rear, fingers gently pressing into her lower back, and began to suck on her wet flesh.  Iriel reached forward, tangled a hand into his sleek, beautiful hair, and murmured with a smile, “I supposed you’ve taught me several lessons in the arts of seduction over the years…”  That was undoubtedly an understatement and he knew it.
He hummed against her, a chuckling sort of sounds that rushed over her swollen skin and made Iriel shiver.  She was not expecting a response, and yet Thranduil gave her one anyway, effectively catching her off guard as he sunk his teeth gently into her folds and flashed his eyes up to hers, “You’ve taught me several things as well, melethril nÎn.” And her eyes opened wider as she contemplated what she could possibly have taught the great Elven king, what lessons he could ever have learned from his lowly captain of the guard.
Curiosity got the better of her.  With a soft stroke of his hair between her fingers, Iriel wondered, “Oh?  And what would that be?”
His eyes flashed up to hers once more, but this time there was a sheen of darkness to his gaze.  A warning almost, for they screamed with dangerous desire.  It was a stark emotion that lit up the contours his face, sharper and more perilous than usual, and she stared down at him with no small amount of wariness.
He smirked, then growled out a rough sounded, “Self control.”  And that was about the time when he directed his roughness to other, more interesting ventures.  Iriel gasped and threw her head back as he sucked vehemently at the top of her clit, forcing shiver upon shiver to convulse through her and lighting her up like a falling retrograde of stars.
But he was hardly finished.  One arm shifted from its place around her hips, moving instead to her clit.  A knuckle slide down her, unfurling to reveal a long lithe finger that was immediately and without warning thrust into her core. 
“Thranduil!” she gasped, half in surprise but mostly in thick aroused desire.  Her voice was heavy and low, shirking over the usual elegance that compounded through her manner of speech.  Now she just sounded erotic and passionate, a combination that pleased him immensely.
He circled his finger inside her, gently stretching her as he curled against her inner walls.  It was a softly probing sensation that got much better when another finger was added to the ranks.  He moved them together inside her, licking and sucking and nipping at her folds as he did.  And the sensation of those little thrusts and that hot tongue quickly had her shaking her hips and whispering his name, loosely grasping at the ends of a sensual orgasm.  Yet the moment he noticed these signs, Thranduil pulled back abruptly, removing all touch with a vicious, playful smirk that made him look centuries younger.  She was not surprised.  He rarely let her come so easily and usually made her work for it, which made the final result that much more intense but no less infuriating.
She frowned at him and he raised a brow, tilted his head, and tapped her thigh, “Like I said, self control.”  What an enraging creature he was.
Still pounding from her lost orgasm, Iriel watched as Thranduil rose from the bath.  The water surged from him, catapulting down his bare skin with an elegance that suited him.  It was as if nature itself knew who he was, something that made Iriel blink up at him in slivered amusement.  Amusement that was contorted around the edges with puckering, delirious desire.
He stepped onto the sleek wooden floor and reached for a towel, rubbing himself down with powerful, brusque motions.  All the while Iriel watched, body flushed and aching as she finally got a good look at his bare form for the first time in five months.  How glorious he was! 
“Do you plan to sit there until morning light?” Thranduil wondered dryly, faintly smiling.  He glanced down at her and without further ado, held open a new towel in an obvious invitation.  She all but scrambled up, feeling at once like a newborn doe on shaky unused legs.  The floor was slippery beneath her but she managed to reach Thranduil without making a fool of herself, and he sent her a promising smirk as he wrapped the towel around her shoulders and brought her close to his chest.
He rarely coddled her.  That was why this was such a treat.  Having him dry her, running the towel over her wet body and rubbing warmth into it made her feel charged like an inferno of flame.  Yet at the same time she also felt something more, something deeper than all that.  The gentle reverence of his touch had her staring up at him curiously, watching him pull the towel over her form with those surprisingly soft eyes. 
“What is it?” he asked abruptly, no doubt tired of her constant staring.  His eyes flashed up to hers and he raised a silvery brow, pinning her to the spot with a force to be reckoned with.  She tilted her head, reached for his hands.  When the towel dropped to their feet, Iriel smiled and slid her fingers between his, leading him forward toward the bedroom.  He smirked and followed without complaint, flashing amused eyes at her as they went.  She was being impatient again, but this time he would let it pass.  This time he felt impatient too.  Five months could do that, even to a patient Elven king.
“You have grown bold in your absence,” he mused as he allowed her to pull him down the hall to where his bedchambers awaited.  Iriel glanced at him with an amused smile and brought his hand up to her mouth, kissing it softly.  He watched her movements carefully, and when they had crossed over the threshold of the bedroom, Thranduil smirked and jerked her back.  His arm was hooking behind her knees a moment later, and he knocked her right off her feet and into his arms before she could even figure out what was happening.
When she did regain her bearing, she glanced at him dryly and muttered, “So have you.”  It seemed that they both grew bolder.
He smirked and dropped her onto the mattress, crawling quickly after her.  His body caged her in before she could switch positions, and once again she was trapped beneath the penetrating gaze of her king. 
Bodies damp from the bath, Thranduil stretched himself out above her with a flicker of a smile and leaned down.  His lips grazed over hers just barely, just enough to make her arch up into him.  But she would not force his kisses, or demand from him what he would not voluntarily give.  In a way he wished she would boldly command him to do all she wanted, but that was not a part of their games.  She was not his queen.  And while Iriel did infuriate him with her callousness, she still considered herself first and foremost his captain, and that meant she was of a lower rank. 
It hardly mattered.  Thranduil enjoyed enacting his dominion over her and enjoyed also the way she would quietly rebel against him.  Such was the nature of their relationship, and she proved that to him once more when he leaned in to kiss her, only to find his lips upon her cheek instead of her mouth.
She quirked a wicked smirk and muttered, “You missed, my king,” as if it was his own fault and not her last-minute shift of plan.
Thranduil cocked an eyebrow and murmured, “And you are a brazen, thoughtless elleth [2] with no regard for royalty.”  She opened her mouth to retaliate, but this time he would not allow her.  His mouth folded against hers before she could speak, his tongue immediately delving into her parted lips and rubbing against hers.  Iriel moaned, tangled her fingers into his hair, and parted her lips wider.  Her tongue clashed with his and she sunk down like a boneless, weightless hollow bird trapped within a cage of its own making.
Except she wasn’t hollow, not really, for the vibrancy of her ardor for him rose up headily within her and trapped her inside the claustrophobic shades of delight.  The backlash of it would come later when they were forced to part and go about their days.  She would not think on that though.  Instead she would lose herself to the caress of his slender fingers, which knew instinctively just where upon her body to press.  She would sink into that touch and his kisses, his lips that made her cry out in such colorful love she could scarcely remember to breathe. 
He kissed her with such an intensity that it shocked her each and every time.  That a king such as himself would deem it suitable and even enjoyable to kiss her – a lowly civilian ghosting through his halls – was an electrifying thought.  Even more electrifying was the fact that he kept returning to her, as a swan might return to a lake crushed with midnight.  And the knowledge that he had not yet tired of her regardless of their countless unions had Iriel dazed and breathless in another way.  A way that spoke to her heart and not her body, to her love and not her mind.
She gasped and arched into him, kissing him back with equal fervor.  She had half a mind to retaliate to his earlier words, but could not muster up the desire to break such a fervent kiss.  Instead she merely curled her legs around his hips, dragged his hardened flesh against her core, and kissed him ever harder with all the ferocity she could callously conjure.
He surged forward at her move, rubbing himself against her in delicious, tight circles that made her grow wetter.  He could feel that wetness against him and grinded against her harder.  Too long had she been gone, leaving him cold in her absence, that it felt almost as if the entirety of her warmth was pressing into his soul and unfurling it beneath pure starlight.
Her legs slip around his waist, pressing him as close as she dared.  His hardness was iron against her – an iron that she wanted desperately for herself, in the most intimate way possible.  And so in a strained, aroused voice, Iriel whispered against his lips, “My king…”  She slid her fingers down his chest and into the long beautiful strands of his white-blonde hair.  She waited.
Thranduil’s lips slowed.  He looked down at her, musing at the desire that had captured her voice and her eyes and her body.  For him.  All for him.  A familiar possessiveness rose up within him at the thought.  She was his, for the rest of their eternities and perhaps longer.  She would forever be his, and he was the only one she could ever want.  He’d make sure of that.
“Another order?” he dryly wondered, mostly joking.  His voice was a low scrape of syllables that could barely be heard over the rise and fall of their own heartbeats.  Iriel quirked her mouth into a smile and slipped her hands around the back of his neck, pulling his lips against hers once more. 
She brushed words against his mouth, hoping that they might reach deeper parts of his heart than he normally showed her.  “Not so, my love,” she dared whisper, “I only know that if I do not have you now, I’ll die from the despair of being empty of you.” 
His eyes flashed.  She wasn’t sure if it was because of her daring words or of the equally daring way she had addressed him as her love.  Rarely did she use those words.  They overstepped the boundaries between them, even the invisible ones that they themselves have set up.  Thranduil was her king above all else, regardless of what he sometimes became when she was around.  And she was his Captain and nothing more, except of course when she admitted to herself how desperately she was in love with him.  But very rarely did she admit it to him.
Whenever she did, Thranduil was met with such conflicting emotions that he could hardly bare to breathe.  He wanted her; he could not have her.  He loved her; she was his Captain.  How could a king love a lowly captain such as herself?  It went against everything that Thranduil had ever believed in…and yet he did not care in that moment.  Later, he would think on her words.  But distraction came easily when he had a naked, aroused elleth gasping beneath him.
His fingers smoothed over her cheek, cupping it into his hand as he leaned down to kiss her.  His mouth folded over hers.  She responded eagerly, pressing herself against him and curling herself around him.  He was all she wanted, all she needed.  His name was whispered from her lips once more, a soundless plea that made Thranduil’s heart take off.  And then suddenly he was conceding to her desires and slowly filling her up with his love for her.
He entered her slowly, spreading her around his hard flesh as he pushed her into the mattress.  He raised himself up onto his hands and watched her take him, eyes flickering over the expressive way her eyes widened and her eyelids fluttered.  She was an exquisite creature and he loved to watch her, especially when she was in the throes of bliss.
Being hilted within her was like having every wishful fantasy come to life a million times over.  It was simplicity burning together into an inferno of rich complex desire.  It was Iriel lying beneath him, mouth parted and eyes staring into his with such love that Thranduil could only duck his head to kiss her.  And so they stayed, hilted inside her and kissing each other ardently…until Thranduil at last thrust out.
The drag of his cock against her inner walls made Iriel whimper.  She gripped his arms tightly, shifted her legs farther apart, and gasped aloud when he came back into her with his gentle force.
He pinned her there beneath him as he took her, filling her up with his length, slowly dragging pleasure into her and against her.  She trembled at the intensity of it, of his love for her, which she could feel in that moment transcending all the social barriers that lingered between them in every other second.  But here in his private chambers, there was nothing but love, or whatever convoluted desire seemed to shape it.  Iriel knew she loved him and she hoped he loved her back.  She had a feeling that he did, for why else would he treat her with such perfected dignity and genteelness? 
“Thranduil…” she whispered, a blind mantra forming at the tip of her tongue.  A tongue that he was all too happy to rub against his.  He ducked his head again to kiss her, running his lips softly over hers and swallowing his name with a hunger that blindsided her all the more.  How could he love her so much?  But in that moment Iriel didn’t need an answer, because it was unfolding for her with every pass of his body over hers.  The hows and the whys didn’t matter; all that mattered was that this was as real as it would ever get for her.
“Hush now and roll over, Iriel,” he murmured to her, momentarily pausing in his deliciously gentle thrusts to lift her leg to the side.  She faltered in confusion, lost within the haze of her own passion, but when he prompted her she did as he said.  With a push, she rolled onto her side, curling her legs together and immediately reveling in the way Thranduil slid his body behind hers.  The warmth of his skin pressed up against every inch of hers, but it was made even better when he shifted her leg over his and rejoined her again, filling her up from behind.
“Oh…” she moaned, luxuriously spilling mumbled words into the silk pillow at her head.  Thranduil’s arms came around her, bringing her close against him as he moved his hips into hers.  Rarely did he ever change positions halfway through unless he was either extremely stressed or feeling very passionate.  Considering the relaxing bath they’d just taken, she figured it was the latter.
His breathing pooled at the hollow of her neck.  His fingers tangled with hers, and his other hand shifted to stroke over her flesh as she lay there beside him.  He grasped her hip, then gently slid his arm beneath her leg to prop it higher into the air.  His thrusts deepened, accompanied by a not-so-subtle brush of his fingertips over her clit. 
The sudden movement made her gasp aloud, drowning there in that great mattress with that great elf.  She moaned his name again simply because she could, because tonight he did not belong to all of Mirkwood but was hers alone.  She felt his touch everywhere, burning caresses into her skin and making her feel pleasure in places that seemed foreign to her.  He had the distinct ability to do that to her – to make her heart leap within her chest with only a single glance…or in this case, a few well placed touches.
“Come for me,” he whispered into her ear, dragging his tongue up the length of it to the sensitive tip.  She jerked almost violently at that move, overcome by the sheer pleasure that it brought to her.  Clenching her fingers tightly around his arm, Iriel panted and whimpered.  His fingers moved faster over her clit and his teeth gently scraped over the pointed tip of her ear.  He moved his hips faster too, shifting her cock deeper with every thrust, rocking his body against hers with all the passion he could afford.  And just like that, she came for him, not because he demanded it of her but because she couldn’t do anything else with all that blisteringly hot attention bestowed upon her.
“Oh…Thran…Thranduil…Thranduil…” the name was pressed into that pillow and lingered there between them as her body jerked and exploded brightly.  Still he pleasured her, until the last of her trembles dissipated and her chest heaved less violently.  Still he thrust into her, but now Thranduil was more intent on his own pleasure than of hers.
“You are exquisite,” he murmured, dragging his tongue against her neck and over the vein that splintered beneath the skin.  He shifted his body again, redoubling behind her and propping an elbow up near her head.  His hand clutched at her thigh, jerking it higher and sliding his knee between her parted legs.  She lay on her side, watching him as he sought for release, thrumming his hips even faster and with less gentleness and more power.  And Iriel rather thought that he was the beautiful one, not her, and so she told him, “You are exquisite…mmm…I thought of this every night I was away…of you making love to me…oh, Thranduil, mmm…”
He clenched his jaw and breathed out deeply, grasping the flesh of her rear with one hand and her thigh with the other.  It was an odd position, rather mismatched, like two puzzle pieces trying to fit together but somehow failing.  And yet they did not fail, they only strove all the harder until they did not only fit together – they completed the other.
“Only of making love?” he smoothly wondered, a low burning sound that hinted at the closeness of his finish.  “You did not think of me in any other way?”  How he could test her even in the throes of such ardent passion, Iriel did not know.  But here he was, tempting her in the most delicious way as he pulled her lower body closer to his and heighted his pace.
She laughed breathlessly and blinked up at him, then suddenly curled her leg up and out of his grasp to roll onto her back.  He didn’t berate her but merely came closer, allowing her to twist her legs around his waist and bring him against her more intimately.  She lifted her hands up to his cheeks and brought him down to kiss her, moaning when he hit a spot inside of her that made her body explode into tiny little shivers of renewed lust. 
Her fingertips caressed his strong cheekbones and her mouth caressed his lips, and against him she whispered, “I thought of you in every spare second, but…only at night did I – ahhh – did I allow myself to indulge in such…carnal memories.”  Her fingers drifted up to his ears to trace the outline of them, and Thranduil closed his eyes at the shaking fervency of his own bliss.
“Carnal memories,” he chucked, amused at her words.  “By the end of this night, I will remind you of how carnal I can become.”  He looked like he meant to say more, but something in his throat caught and he remained silent, exhaling his words and replacing them with a choked sort of passion that was the only hint Iriel needed.
He trembled into her and she wrapped him close, accepting both his body and his love as he came.  His end shuddered through him.  A low scrape of sound grunted like smooth liquor over his throat, and with several powerful thrusts Thranduil exploded within her and came.
They lay there together for a very long time, silently folded around the other without moving.  He breathed her in and out, face pressed against her neck.  Her legs remained tightly latched around his hips for several minutes before Iriel finally unlocked them and let them fall to the sides.  Thranduil sighed and kissed her jaw, the underside of it, before he gently rolled onto his back and tugged her against him.
She was all too willing to lay there for the remainder of the night and perhaps even longer, but then again she also remembered his previous words about his more carnal side.  She was curious to see just how far she could go with him before he snapped and lost all his gentle lovemaking.  And so with a sly smile, Iriel began to kiss over his chest, hands drifting over every inch of his skin that she could reach.
“Mmm…is my captain not satisfied with my efforts thus far?” Thranduil wondered with an amused smile, enjoying the way she smoothed touches over his skin.
Iriel paused, looked up at him, and told him seriously, “Tonight I am not your captain and you are not my king.  Tonight let us simply be lovers, Thranduil.” 
He raised a jaunty brow and said, “You just renounced me as your king right to my face.  What punishment shall I give you for that?”  The question was full of all sorts of dark promises, and Iriel chuckled.
“Please Thranduil,” she whispered, leaning down to brush her mouth over his.  He kissed her back, allowing her to call the shots for now.  After all, he had all night to get back at her, and so many ways in which to do it.  The possibilities were as endless as his affections.
“Well then,” he murmured, a low rumbling acceptance that made her shiver, “I believe that lovers usually spend hours upon hours making love and do not stop until morning light.  What say you to that?”  He slowly propped himself up onto his elbows until they were both sitting in the center of the mattress facing one another.
She reached forward to spin her fingers over his soft blonde hair, tracing the long length of it over his chest.  Then she smile and shrugged, darting her gaze up to his endlessly blue eyes, and told him, “I say this: I hope that morning never arrives.”  His eyes flashed.
“So do I,” he murmured, and suddenly Iriel was on her back again and he was moving above her, mouth dragging over her flesh and fingers caressing promises into her skin.
Morning came ever so slowly.

~~~

 Translations
[1] melethril nÎn… my (female) lover
[2] elleth … female elf


Sunday, May 24, 2015

A Kiba Inuzuka Lemon -- Love Like Liturgies

Character: Kiba Inuzuka

Fandom: Naruto Shippuden

OC: [Name]

Inspiration:  Just something random I came up with for Kiba  :)  I've been in a Naruto mood lately


It is a very unassuming sort of day, or so you think as you walk down the streets of Konoha.  Of course you should have known better.  Unassuming and Kiba in the same sentence is fairly laughable – and that’s where you’re headed, to find Kiba.  But he ends up finding you instead.
You’re passing a row of vendors when suddenly a hand jerks out of the alley and snatches you.  Before you know what’s going on, you’re being pulled forcefully into the shadows and a hand’s clamping down on your mouth, muffling the scream that shrilly blossoms in your throat.  But there’s no need to scream: it isn’t a rapist or some creepy stalker.  It’s just Kiba.  A very…well, strange looking Kiba. 
Something’s off about him.  You can see it and feel it immediately.  It’s like something has messed up with his chakra, pulling it in several direction at once.  His eyes gleam with the reddish tinge of that chakra, and when he opens his mouth to speak, you see that his teeth are sharper, sort of like fangs.
“Shh,” he hisses, shoving you against the wall and following you back.  His body presses against yours, his leg naturally pushing between your knees.  Had it not taken you so off guard, you might have thought the position was intimate – but you’re way too confused to bother thinking about anything like that.
“Mphmm!” you try to say, grappling with his wrist.  When you’re able to tear it away from your mouth, you snarl, “What the hell, Kiba?!  I thought we agreed to meet at Ichiraku’s, not in some creepy alleyway!” 
“I know,” he snaps right back, easily matching your anger.  His eyes can’t seem to stay still and he hasn’t let go of you yet.  He’s still pressing you hard into the wall, his face inches from yours.  You glower and try to push him back, but he won’t budge.
“Well are you gonna tell me why you’re hiding in this shadowy corner, or are you just going to stare at me all day?  What’s wrong with you anyway?  Your chakra is – “
“I know!” he says in annoyance, cutting you off before you can start nagging him like you’re wont to do.  He glares out into the street but no one is paying either of you any attention.  “Look – “ he pauses, then suddenly lurches away and drags you deeper into the alley, till you’re basically lurking against the far wall near the dumpsters and graffiti.  You’re about to complain when he pushes you against another wall (what the hell is wrong with him?) and bites out, “I can’t go out there.”
The words are reminiscent of a criminal on the run from the law.  Your eye twitches.  Kiba is neither a criminal nor is he ‘on the run’, though he certainly can be dense sometimes.  Weird, too.  So after a moment of staring at him, you drawl, “And why is that?”  All you want is some freaking ramen for God’s sake, not to have your friend suddenly go mentally insane on you.
He frowns and pauses again, opens his mouth, closes it, opens it again.  This goes on for almost a full minute before you’re shoving at him angrily and exclaiming, “For God’s sake Kiba!  Would you please tell me what – “
Kiba tells you alright, but not in words.  Instead he presses you into the wall again and presses himself into you, groaning very slightly and jerking his forehead against the hard concrete near your head.  You stare wide-eyed past his shoulder, suddenly stiff and hard.  And you aren’t the only one stiff and hard.  Because Kiba’s problem apparently involves an erection.  A really hard erection that’s currently being rubbed against your thigh.
Before you can stop yourself, arousal bursts through you like a tsunami.  You bite your lip hard and turn glowering eyes to his.  Kiba has the decency to at least look a little bit bashful about it all, though only a little.  When you speak, it’s in a gritted, sandpapery way that gratefully hides whatever pleasure you’re getting from his lower body.  “Kiba.  What are you doing?”
He blushes a little and frowns, staring you down with hard, impassioned crimson eyes.  “I told you, [Name] – I can’t go out here.  I’m stuck.”  You wouldn’t exactly call having a boner ‘stuck’, but whatever.  You’re too annoyed (and aroused) to tell him that he makes no sense.
“What the fuck Kiba, why the fuck did you go out in public with…with that?!”  You’re so confused.
He growls and shifts himself against you.  It’s almost like he’s dry humping you – no, that’s exactly what he’s doing – and it’s ridiculously…ridiculously hot.  Seriously hot.  Crazy hot –
“I wasn’t like this when I went out,” he insists, and for the first time he sounds a little desperate, like he’s completely unsure what to do.  “I think I’m…I mean, I never heard of this happening before to an Inuzuka but I think I’m in heat.”
You raise an eyebrow, “Like a dog?  And would you stop doing that!”
He doesn’t stop.  “I can’t,” he hisses, fisting his hand tightly and beating it into the wall near your shoulder.  His red eyes flash darkly down at you and you suppress a shiver that he can see, rolling over and over your skin.  That’s not all he sees, either.  It’s like suddenly he’s aware of every part of you, and he can smell your arousal wafting up at him.  It hits him like a ton of bricks and makes his head spin.  No, he can’t stop himself.  The mere thought of stopping makes him want to die.
“It just…it just happened, when I was walking toward Ichiraku’s…” he swallows and you frown, because you’d never known erections to just spring up like that out of nowhere.
“Kiba how could you just – “
“I don’t know [Name]!” he growls angrily, shoving his hips against your thigh again, this time in little circular motions.  He groans and lets out a heavy breath before saying slowly, “Look, couldn’t you just…just help me?  You’re my best friend, that’s what best friends do, right?  …help each other?”  He tries to smile but it comes off as more of a twisted desperate lopsided smirk that falls pitifully short.
His words make you stare.  He wants you to help him get off?  In this dark semi-public alleyway?  He must see that you’re shocked and unsettled by the suggestion, because he hurries to add, “Please [Name].  You can’t possibly admit that you don’t feel something right now.  That you aren’t turned on by this.”
This time you’re shock transforms itself into cynical derision.  “Um, yes I can,” you say, even as the rush of arousal wets your panties and makes your adrenaline skyrocket.
Kiba closes his eyes and inhales deeply, unsettling you even more.  He’s got this animalistic aura to him right now that’s similar to how he is in battle, but different somehow.  It’s sexy as hell too.  You’ve been friends with him since you were both toddlers and have crushed on him for almost just as long, but you never thought he felt the same about you.  He still might not.  Regardless of his affections though, you can’t deny that this situation is extremely hard to ignore, especially considering the amount of times you’d imagined him like this. 
“I can smell it on you,” he admits after a moment of silence.  You stiffen in mortification.  He slowly opens his eyes and presses his forehead against yours, “Your arousal.  I can smell it.  I know you want me.  Please [Name].”  Every word is like a bullet that pierces your armor and makes you weak.
You go limp in his arms and he pulls you against him, shuddering when he feels the length of your body pressed to his.  It feels like he’s getting harder every second.  You clutch at him and close your eyes tightly, swallowing back the waves of temptation and whispering, “I can’t Kiba.”
His eyebrows shoot up in surprise.  “Why not?”
The question is understandable but no less easy to answer.  You pause, tremble.  He holds you tighter and you mumble, “Because…because I’m your best friend, and I’m been in love with you for years.”
He stiffens too, staring down at you with wide, shocked eyes that are quickly turning warm, warm like you’ve never seen them.  To your surprise he chuckles.  For a moment you think he isn’t taking your confession seriously and you frown, but then Kiba says, “I know that.”
You gape.  “You know?!  What do you mean you know?”
He raises an eyebrow and for a moment, looks a lot less strange and lot more like the normal Kiba.  The one who teases you daily, makes fun of the way you’re always hungry, who used to sleep in your bed when your parents weren’t around and sneak off in the morning.  And he’s saying that he knows you’re in love with him.
He chuckles and pushes you back into the wall, but gentler this time like he thinks you’re somehow delicate all of the sudden.  Maybe you are, or at least your emotions are.  You’ve never felt so shaken in all your life.  Shaken and aroused.  What a combination.
“I’ve known for years,” he admits, his breath swaying over your face.  Your knee somehow gets lodged between his legs and you can feel his hardness pressing against you again.  It easily makes you breathless.  But what makes you even more so is the way Kiba looks at you, all sweet and endearing even while his eyes shine with fire and erotic need.
“I just assumed…that you knew too.  Knew that I…ya know, also loved you.”  He grins crookedly and you immediately start to glower at him.  Yes, you’re a little bit overcome by his sudden confession.  But you’re more annoyed that he assumed something like that.  He’s basically telling you that you could’ve spent the last few years doing much more interesting things with each other.  All you can see is a lot of wasted time.  And a lot of that sweet endearing passion that makes his eyes light up.
“So now that we’ve spilled our hearts out to each other, would you please…?” he asks, suddenly snapping you out of the blank reverie you’d been in.  You roll your eyes and are about to respond when he suddenly jerks closer.  His erection rubs against your inner thigh this time, closer to your core.  His hands grasp your waist and his breathing gets deeper, like he’s having a very hard time controlling himself.
“Kiba…” you begin, but he cuts you off immediately.
“Just…just your hand.  C’mon [Name].  If you don’t help me I’ll be stuck here all day!”
“Aren’t you being a little dramatic?”
“No fucking way, don’t you see how horny I am right now?” he growls, eyes blazing.  “Don’t you know what happens to a dog that goes in heat?  I can’t end it myself.  It doesn’t work that way – “
“Fine Kiba!” you exclaim, not wanting to admit that you’d really like nothing more than to touch him, especially after all those endearing words of his.  He looks mollified and even a little smug, something that makes you narrow your eyes.  With a shaky hand you touch the top of his jeans, slink your fingers down the front of his pants, and rub the bulge in them slightly.  It’s a very soft movement, but it still makes Kiba shudder violently and groan.
“Harder,” he insists, growling in your ear and pressing against your more adamantly.  You sigh and, heart thundering, splay out your hand against him to rub him harder, squeezing him lightly.  He groans again and it makes you hot as hell, like your veins are combusting all at once.
“God…I can’t…[Name] you smell amazing – “ he stops and you blush, because you know what he’s referring to.  Then suddenly Kiba is pulling away from you and fumbling with his jeans, and you’re staring at him wide-eyed as he pushes them off his hips and pulls out his hard erection.  You’ve never seen him like this before.  You’ve seen others but not his, and somehow you think it’s bigger than the others.  Maybe it’s just the situation, but still.
“Touch me,” he practically pleads.  You can’t deny him anything at this point.  You look up at him and reach for his waist, pulling him back into you.  His weight crushes you gently and, when you curl your fingers around his cock, Kiba groans out in relief.  “Ahhh…faster [Name], just like…yeah, like that…fuck…” 
You swallow.  Your breathing spins out faster, pooling against his neck.  He’s hot and hard in your palm, more so than you’d expected.  He’s wet too, with precum.  His tip is all but coated with the stuff and it makes you sort of want to suck him, but you aren’t sure if you’re brave enough to initiate that sort of thing.  You sort of want to do other things too, go farther, but said bravery certainly doesn’t extend that far.  Or so you think.
“Kiba…” you say lowly, and his eyes snap open to stare at you.  His hips are thrusting gently into your hand as you stroke it over his member, but he pauses for a moment when you say his name because you sound so…coy.  And it makes him a little crazy.
“Am I the only one who going to do the pleasuring?” you somehow manage to say through the thick haze of your arousal.  He stares in shock, eyes wide, than grins wolfishly and chuckles.  “Thank God,” he mumbles, running his hands over your body generously.  “I thought you didn’t want me to.”
Into his ear you whisper, “I want you to Kiba.  Now touch me, I can’t stand it anymore.”  You really can’t.  You’re so wet and aching that you can barely stand up.
His eyes flutter, clearly turned on by your words and your invitation.  He doesn’t waste even a second when he grabs the front of your pants and tugs at them, undoing them swiftly.  Then you’re suddenly kicking them off and Kiba’s fingers are spreading your folds apart and sinking into the wetness of them, and you’re both sighing out in relief. 
“I’ve wanted to do this for years…” he admits rather callously, and you chuckle.  “Me too,” you say.  You both look at each other, smile, and press your foreheads close.  It occurs to your that you haven’t even kissed him yet and you raise your eyebrows.  Figures Kiba would entirely skip first base in favor of getting the second and third.  That’s just like him.
“What is it?” he asks throatily, brushing his thumb over the top of your clit and making you very breathless.  Instead of answering (you doubt you’d be coherent anyway), you merely tunnel your fingers into his hair and drag his head forward, pressing your mouth to his in a sudden kiss.  He groans and sinks quickly against you, clearly enjoying your boldness.  He kisses you back feverishly, moving his lips against yours in a slow drag.  Like cigarette smoke being dragged through the air and away.
You’re head is spinning by the time the kiss dissolves, and it’s about to spin even more.  Because then Kiba is suddenly twisting his fingers inside you and thrusting slowly, deeply, and you’re gasping and trembling against him and concrete. 
“Oh God…” you whimper.  Kiba kisses your jaw, scrapes his teeth against your chin, licks your earlobe.  He drags it into his mouth and between his teeth and sucks.  That hand that’s still enclosed over his cock slows but his own hand doesn’t.  He thrusts faster into you until suddenly everything stops – he does, you do, everything.
You stare in confusion, not sure why he’s abruptly pulling back from you.  You don’t understand it at all – until of course he starts kneeling down between your legs, and then you’re staring with wide, hesitant eyes.
“Kiba,” you start to say, but he swiftly cuts you off.
“I want to taste you,” he growls, eyes flashing dangerously.  His chakra signature has gotten even crazier, even more out of control.  So has yours.  You sink into the wall and close your eyes, throat contracting and chest heaving.
“What if someone walks over here?” you ask.  He only snorts, breath pattering over your thigh and hands running up and down your legs.
“Why would they?” he asks reasonably, but it doesn’t make you feel better.  You’d like to complain a little more, but you don’t really have time to.  A moment later, Kiba’s suddenly lurching your weight from beneath you and slipping both your legs around his shoulders, so that you’re being lifted by him.  The position puts his face directly in front of your core, and the sight of him nestled between your legs makes you shiver deliriously.
His tongue licks on straight line over your slit, then he pauses and moans.  The vibrations pucker over your folds and you gasp, hands braced against the wall as you stare down at him.  “You taste amazing…even better than I’ve imagined…” he mutters, licking you again like an animal, a dog.  You shiver at the thought of him imagining what you taste like, and whimper, “K-Kiba…”  He grips you tighter and rubs his tongue in circular movements around your clit, making sure to feel every inch of you.
It’s so amazing you think you might come right then and there.  His ministrations make you ache that much more.  Your body is pounding, thudding with a desire that presses needles against your heart.  You can’t breathe and certainly can’t think.  All you can do is gasp against the wall and drown in the amazing way Kiba laps at you. 
“Ohhhh,” you moan, grappling on hand into his hair and bucking your hips just a little.  The movement proves fatal: your precarious position shifts you partly off the wall and gravity thrusts you into Kiba.  Well into his face, that is.  It’s a little mortifying to be honest.
Kiba smirks, a grin that seems to capture the entirety of his face.  His eyes slice up and lock with yours.  When he sees the blush on your face, he snickers and shoves your hips hard against the wall, forcing you back into your previous position.
“You like it that much?” he muses darkly, and you shiver.  The low octaves of his voice seem to concave into desire, which thuds so brilliantly through them that it’s honestly hard to pay attention to anything else.  Especially modesty.
“Yes!” you tell him, admitting it through your teeth.  Your eyes are narrowed slits that scream silently at him.  Beneath his fingers, Kiba can feel the pounding beat of your heart.  He can smell the wafting musk of your arousal.  He can sense the waves of heat and need that pour from your skin like a second ring of chakra.  With a snarl he pushes his face back into your folds and proceeds to utterly catch you off guard with sloppy, quick licks.  It’s like he suddenly can’t get enough of you, like he’s afraid he might combust from all the desire before he can get you to orgasm.
Well he doesn’t have to worry about that, because said orgasm breaches you so quickly and so suddenly that you can’t stop it and don’t want to.  It lifts you like a torrent of senseless passion that you can’t understand.  The incoherency of it drops like stones in a lake, plucking at the edges of your mind in much the same way until thought is overrated.  You can’t think anymore, all you can do is grasp his hair and the concrete wall and slam your head against it and come.  And that end is so stifling in its completion that you think you might be crying.  Crying Kiba’s name at least.  You just hope you’re not being too loud.
To Kiba, nothing’s too loud.  The exclamation of your finish and the way you twist his name erotically over your lips has him growling obscenely against you.  If anyone’s good at growling like that it’s Kiba and you shiver like you’re entire body has imploded from the inside out.  With a moan you pant against the wall and Kiba presses feather light kisses over your thighs and abdomen.  And then he gently extricates himself from the tangle of your legs, hands sliding to your rear as he shifts you down to solid ground.
But solid is the last thing you are.  You feel like all your bones have turned to ash.  When you stumble, Kiba lets out a soft exclamation of surprise and hurries to wrap his arms around you.  He tucks you pleasantly against his chest and chuckles.  The sound is sort of wicked, sort of amused, sort of aroused at the same time, and you know he’s about to tease you because he always laughs like that when he does.
“Never knew you liked that sort of stuff so much,” he mutters into your hair, and your eyes flutter shut.  He’s so full of it.  Then again you’d never felt that good when someone went down on you like that.  It had never been such a strong whirlwind of pleasure, so stifling that it could make you that crazy.  You’re sure it has something to do with the way Kiba sucked at you, as if you tasted so delicious that he couldn’t stop himself.  No one else had ever been so passionate about it before.
But instead of telling him this, you just clutched at the shirt he’s still wearing and tug at it.  He’d been right about this alleyway.  No one seems to come down it.  And so you feel a little more comfortable with the thought of nudity here in this sequestered world.  Apparently Kiba does too.
At your silent bidding, he reaches for his shirt and drags it off, his body flexing upwards.  His muscles are impressive, but then again you’d already known that.  You know Kiba like the back of your hand.  That doesn’t stop you from rushing forward to touch him though.  He watches you palm your hands against his chest, watching you trace around his nipples, watches you delve down to the hem of his jeans…and that’s where he stops you with a fierce longing look in his eye.  Clearly it takes a lot of self control to halt your progress.
“We shouldn’t…erm, go that far,” he says with a pause, aware that his words are rather hypocritical.  Because if he has his way, they are going that far.  But removing all their clothes in this semi-public space somehow seems a little more intimate than the situation calls for.
You frown and tell him, “I want to see all of you.”  The words are callous, bold, and much more like you.  He gives you a crooked grin and corners you against the wall, rubbing his achingly hard member against your thigh and watching the way you swallow in arousal at the move.
“I do too,” he admits, then clenches his jaw.  He’s holding himself back somehow.  It must be hard to do; Kiba has never had a lot of self control.  He clears his throat and mutters, “…But right now…[Name]…”  His words are a scintillating plea wrapped up in banked, smoking arousal.
You exhale and nod, and Kiba leans forward to kiss you.  The kiss is playful but solemn in a way you can’t explain.  It just is.  Everything with Kiba just is.  It’s teeth and tongue, slow and fast, passionate and dry.  With a grumble he pulls back and whispers, “Later on we can take our time, yeah?”  He looks a little bit sorry that he can’t do it now.
Instead of answering, you pull him closer.  Your arms tilt around his neck and you slip one leg around his waist, pushing your core against his with unabashed passion.  He immediately growls and tears forward, kissing you with a heady, syrupy intent that makes your thoughts all combust and your actions turn sluggish.  That’s okay, his actions aren’t and when he slides you back into the air, he proves it.
He drags his cock over your core like he’s possessed, crushing your sexes together as he kisses you.  It’s like he’s trying to push every part of himself against every part of you.  It doesn’t work, of course, until you murmur against his lips, “Kiba…” and the words make him stare, and make him jerk forward to take you.
The moment he slips inside you, your back arches and his name is gasped from your lips.  You’re already so wet from his ministrations before that Kiba growls deliriously, shifting his hips hard into yours and hilting himself into you on the second thrust.  It doesn’t hurt as much because you’re walls are slick and ready for him, but there’s still a drag of pain that accompanies his rough movements.  You curl into him, twisting both legs around his waist and clutching at his bare, broad shoulders.  He doesn’t seem aware of your pain and normally it would annoy you.  But there’s something sort of insane about him all of the sudden, like he’s turned into a beast who couldn’t stop even if you forced him to.  It’s extremely erotic even in the midst of the discomfort.
That discomfort doesn’t last very long though.  It’s not that he’s rough anyway, just a little out of control.  After a few minutes the pain evens out and is joined with pleasure, and the two twist together like to parts of a whole.  You grip him harder when you feel that shift, thinking suddenly that this is better than you could have hoped for.  Better because it’s Kiba, the man you’ve been in love with for years.
“Oh Kiba,” you moan, feeling your body suddenly ignite like it’s been torched with blazing fire.  He grunts and shoves himself into you hard, bruising you with the force.  But at the same time it astounds you, makes stars gather at the edges of your vision, and you cry out softly as your nails dig into his skin.  You drag them up his back like you’re trying to claw him and somehow it seems to make him that much crazier.  He growls in your ear and the sound of it has you melting against him, on the verge of explosion, your orgasm tearing a hole through your abdomen before you even realize what’s happening.
“Kiba!” you cry with a helpless sort of moan.  He jerks, hips surging and connecting with yours so fast that you can’t stop your orgasm from taking over you.  “Kiba,” you say again, and again.  His name is the outline of your mouth, the air that you breathe, the edge of your soul.  Your inner walls contract and clench, and Kiba murmurs your name too, dragging his cock out of you only to ram it back into the tight wetness of your arousal.  Oh it’s beautiful.  And it makes him insane.
“Oh fuck,” he cries, groaning deliciously in your ear.  His lips move over your lobe like he’s silently speaking.  You clench your fingers into his hair and press your cheek against his.  You can feel the stubble of his unshaved jaw rubbing against your smooth skin.  And that isn’t all you feel. 
He fills you up, hot and scorching as his seed explodes inside you.  His thrusts turn erratic.  His fingers clench around your rear and he trembles into you.  And suddenly his crazy chakra lessens.  It doesn’t disappear entirely but it does mostly go away, and when he turns to you his eyes aren’t red anymore, but their usual dark brown.
He presses his forehead against yours.  You smile at him, feeling tired.  You’d like nothing more than to lay down with him curled around you.  Maybe he sees this desire in your eyes or maybe he just wants the same thing, because Kiba pulls away and murmurs, “Come on, let’s go to my place.”
You mumble out a tired but very satisfied agreement and Kiba grins.  He reaches for his shirt and pulls it over his head quickly, fixing up his appearance.  You pull on your jeans and run your fingers through your hair.  When you slowly walk-stumble out of the alley, it feels like everyone’s watching you even though nobody is.  You fit yourself to Kiba’s side, his arm looped around your shoulders, and he presses a kiss to your temple.  By the time you reach Kiba’s apartment and make it inside, you remember how hungry you are.  He does too, but not quite in the same way.
“Kiba, I want some ramen!” you complain as you search through his kitchen cabinets.  They’re deplorably empty.  He doesn’t seem to care as he presses himself against you, kissing the length of your neck and tilting your head to the side.  His hands and everywhere and you have to admit that it feels sort of amazing. 
“And I want you,” he says in your ear, grinning when you shiver against him.  He’d never realized how easy it is to turn you on.  But he’s got a feeling that he’s going to enjoy doing it as much as he can in the future.
You turn around to tell him off but go silent when you do.  Something in his eye stops you; an emotion you can see clearly and even put a name to, because you feel it too.  He slowly pulls you into his arms, circles them around your hips, and leans into kiss you very softly.
Maybe you’d always known you were in love with Kiba.  Maybe he’d always known too, and that he loved you back.  But here in the center stage of passion and realization it doesn’t matter.  Nothing matters, but for the way he kisses you.  Softly, slowly, like he’s in love with you and can’t possibly stop himself.

~~~