Pleasant Punishment
by Soledad, the Dirty Old Lady
Disclaimer:
Not mine, all Tolkien’s, save the typos and the weird grammar. And
the plot, of course, in case you can find one.
Rating:
Strong R, I think.
Warning:
Not much of a plot, pure sweet smut. Married Elven couple –
both males! But since I don’t intend to post it publicly
(unless my own website), it doesn’t really matter, right?
Author’s
notes:
(really
unnecessary, but since I’m so fond of them…)
This scene is
loosely related to my ongoing serial “Innocence”, which is
basically a same-gender Elven romance. It takes place during
“The Hobbit”, shortly after Thorin Oakenshield & Company
arrive in Rivendell, and is based on the idea that it was Lindir
who teased the Dwarves while they were crossing the very
narrow bridge of Bruinen.
Yes, it’s a PWP
if I've ever seen one". Yes, it’s rather smutty. But I
hope, it’s at least sweet. Sweet, if not totally pointless
smut.
So. You have been
properly warned. If you’re still with me, it’s your own
responsibility (and enjoyment, I hope). Now, let’s get down to
business before the notes become longer than the scene itself!
Oh, and many heartfelt thanks to Jenn for beta-reading. :)any heartfelt thanks to Jenn for beta-reading. :)
* * * * * * * * *
* * * * * * *
[Imladris, in
the year 2941 of the Third Age]
After the Dwarves
and the small creature who called himself a hobbit and
Mithrandir were safely put up in the guest house and properly
cared for, Lindir returned to the chambers he shared with
Erestor, singing and laughing softly to himself as he remembered
the faces of the clumsy guests as they crossed the Loudwater. He
entered the bedchamber through the balcony with feathery steps
that were almost a dance, hoping for a delightful evening of
shared wine and laughter with Erestor.
However, he found
his spouse in a less than amorous mood.
“Shall I never
be able to let you deal with strangers alone?” the seneschal of
Imladris asked, clearly exasperated. “Did you truly have to
make fun of the beards of the Naugrim? Know you not that, after
their craft, this is the thing they are most proud of?”
Lindir winced. It
seemed that he had managed to be ill-mannered again, and though
he never said aught with malicious intent, it mattered little in
the end. And it appeared as if Erestor had grown tired of picking
up the pieces after him.
“I… I do
know that,” the young minstrel stammered, ashamed and a little
frightened, too, for rarely did Erestor get this angry with him; nor
had the older Elf reason for it, for Lindir actually had
minded his manners and done remarkably well in the recent hundred
years or so. How could he have ruined in mere moments all the
progress he had made?
Of course Erestor
knew there always would be lapses. Lindir was a sweet and gentle
soul, but his social skills were those of a child, and
just like a child, he simply forgot at times what kind of
behaviour was expected of him. His child-like innocence was
paired with a complete, rather blunt honesty – he always spoke
his mind, regardless of the circumstances, and this often led to
embarrassing scenes, for himself as well as for Erestor, and at
times even for Elrond himself. The people of Imladris had grown
to accept his antics, but there always were visitors to consider,
not all of them receptive to playful insults.
“I truly know
not anymore what to do with you,” Erestor sighed. “How many
times have we had this conversation already?”
“Hundreds of
times,” whispered Lindir, devastated by the dismay of his
spouse. “Dear heart, I am so very sorry… be not angry with
me, I beg you! I shall mind my manners, I promise…”
“You always
promise!” Erestor threw his arms in the air in frustration.
“And I know that you mean it,” he added a little more softly,
“but how long will it last this time?”
Lindir gave no
answer, for Erestor was right. No matter how hard he tried,
sooner or later he insulted someone without meaning it. He bit
his lips to keep his tears from coming and hung his head so
that the pale golden curtain of his hair hid his face.
Erestor took a
few deep, calming breaths. He regretted his outburst already, for
it came from his fear for Lindir rather than from true anger –
and seeing his beloved so frightened, slender arms wrapped
tightly around narrow, shaking frame, nearly broke his heart.
“There are
times when I am tempted to do to you what mortal Men do to their
insolent children,” he murmured in a soft, resigned voice.
“To bend you over my knee and give you a sound thrashing with
hand across buttocks.”
To his surprise,
Lindir raised his head and looked at him with a tremulous smile
full of willingness and need.
“If that would
lessen your anger towards me, then by Elbereth, do it,” the
young minstrel answered.
Erestor looked
back at him in utter shock, for he was only speaking in helpless
frustration, of course. Never was it the custom of Elves to
punish the flesh of their young for any misdeeds or faults of
character, and he would die ere he would hurt someone as sweet
and innocent as Lindir.
And yet, to his
bewilderment, his spouse added insistently: “I mean it, melme,”
he said. “Punish me as you will, just be not angry with
me anymore. I cannot bear it.”
“Ai, Lindir,”
the older Elf sighed, “I was speaking in anger. I could never
hurt you.”
“A sore bottom
is less hurtful than a broken heart,” said Lindir quietly,
looking him straight in the eye. “I am willing to take my
punishment from your hand, rather than being sent away by Lord
Elrond for my ill-mannered ways.”
Erestor shook his
head in despair. Ever since it had been discovered that Lindir
was related to Gildor Inglorion, the young minstrel had been
living in fear that one day Elrond would lose patience with him
and send him to his uncle in Edhellond. The fact that Gildor had
voiced the very same wish several times only added to Lindir’s
anxiety(1).
Marrying Erestor had eased a little the
feeling of rootlessness, yet the fear never wholly left his
heart. Like a child, he never fully understood the high
expectations others had of him due to his high birth and
his status in Elrond’s house, and the same lack of
understanding caused his social skills to fail at the most
inappropriate times. And like a child, he feared punishment,
always expecting the worse.
In a way, Erestor could understand how his
beloved would have preferred some very basic – if
painful – punishment, one that would set the whole issue to
rest. Unexpectedly, the seneschal was reminded of that odd
Autumn Festival in Edhellond, when Gildor and he “settled their
issues”, as the arrogant Lord of the South Haven put it. How…
liberating it had been to finally be freed from that old debt,
despite the pain inflicted upon him. And though he could never
hurt his beloved Lindir in the same manner, mayhap he could do
something similar, without causing any real pain.
“Do you truly mean it?” he asked
hesitatingly, still not too fond of the idea. Lindir nodded, and
Erestor gave a heavy sigh. “All right then. Come here and bend
over my knee!”
He sat on the edge of their large, low
bed, and Lindir obeyed with an eagerness that almost made him
cry. How could this sweet, exquisite creature still think that he
would be able to stay angry with him for more than a few moments?
How could Lindir doubt that he would forgive him the small faults
that made him even more loveable?
For his part, Lindir approached the bed
feeling small tremors in his stomach. Never had anyone raised a
hand to him, and despite a little fear, he was actually
curious how it might feel. Kneeling down, he bent over
Erestor’s lap, offering his slim, perfectly shaped rear to the
punishing hand, wondering what it would feel like – and if it
would actually hurt.
He was quite started, however, when
Erestor began by hooking his thumbs into the waistband of his
leggings and pushing them down all the way to his knees.
“What… what are you doing?” he asked
in slight panic. Never in his whole life had he felt this exposed
and vulnerable.
“This particular punishment is always
administered to a bare behind,” his spouse explained in a
gently amused voice, his fingers ghosting over the soft skin of
the perfect globes, then down the gentle valley that parted them,
brushing the hidden gate of his most secret gardens for a
fleeting moment.
Lindir shivered with much more than just
fear, and to his embarrassment, he began to harden against
Erestor’s knee, as this particular touch was usually the
introduction to more… delightful activities.
In that very moment, the fingers
left him, and the strong hand of his spouse came crashing down
across his buttocks. Lindir yelped, more in surprise than in
pain, for the strike made more sound than hurt, and rubbed
himself involuntarily against the rough cloth of Erestor”s
leggings. The second slap was a little harder, causing a slight tingling
and burning in his nether cheeks, but it was strangely
pleasant nevertheless.
“More,” he murmured, wriggling a
little to show his eagerness as the burn and the sting
caused a familiar heat to pool in his belly. “Give me more, melme!”
Erestor stared down at the slightly
reddened cheeks that bore the mark of his hand in a way they had
never borne before.
And found the sight disturbingly erotic.
After eleven centuries spent in matrimony(2), much of
the original fire and passion had slowly evaporated, turning the
bond to a more spiritual one. Moments of sudden desire like
this one had become rare – and were cherished, by both
Elves.
Erestor let his hand glide over Lindir’s
quivering flesh, soothing the sting of his previous strike, and
smiled, knowing that this session that had started out as
a punishment to put Lindir’s mind at ease would end in the
throes of a passion they had not enjoyed for a long time. He
smiled and slapped the soft and yet so pleasantly firm cheeks
again… and again… and again, still holding back his much
greater strength, for fear that he might hurt his spouse.
Yet Lindir seemed to enjoy his
“punishment” enormously, if his lustful moans and constant begging
for more and harder slaps were any indication. He writhed under
Erestor’s hand shamelessly, working up himself to crystal
hardness, rubbing his needful flesh against Erestor’s knee in
a manner that was beyond wanton and aroused the older Elf
greatly.
“Oh, love,” he panted breathlessly,
“I have never thought punishment could be this pleasurable. Any
more of this, and I shall spend myself in no time. And I would
rather have you inside me when I do so…”
Erestor laughed softly. The wonderful
bluntness of his spouse was itself just as arousing as the sight
of the now bright red cheeks beneath his hand. He had no
objections whatsoever to digging up the secret garden hiding
between those perfect moulds once again.
“Well then, my golden colt, prepare
yourself to be mounted,” he said chuckling. This would be the
gentlest way to handle Lindir’s abused flesh. He gave the
glowing cheeks a final, rather hard slap and nudged Lindir to
stand up.
The young minstrel was never slow to take
a hint when it could lead to a delightful tumble on their soft
bed. In mere moments, he had kicked off his boots and
stepped fully out of his leggings. Sending his discarded tunic
flying across the bedchamber, he crawled onto the bed,
his hips in the air, golden head pillowed submissively on his
arms.
“Tarry not, melme,” he said
breathlessly, “for I truly cannot hold on much longer.”
Erestor only took enough time to throw his
robe aside and free his own aching hardness. A few strokes with
the ever-present, honey-scented oil that waited always on
the nightstand was enough to ease the passage for him, for
Lindir was more than willing and ready, and he slid home
in one long, fluid stroke, admiring the gentle, upswept
line of his beloved’s narrow back, now flushed with passion.
Lindir arched under his touch like a cat, trying to take him in
deeper than physically possible.
That wanton response was Erestor’s
undoing. The slow-burning flame of passion was rekindled in his
heart once again, and he gave himself over to the fire in
abandon.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Half a night later – and after the
longest, most passionate love-making in which they had indulged
for at least a century – Erestor sat among the crumpled sheets,
leaning against the piled-up pillows, worn out but content…
even though a little ashamed. It was… unbecoming of an Elf who
had seen nearly two Ages already to submit to his passions like a
mere mortal(3).
Lindir, on the other hand, seemed
completely unfazed by the events. If anything, he clearly
enjoyed the return of spice and fire to their married
life. Sitting between Erestor’s legs, he leaned against his
spouse’s chest, nibbling on his earlobe, entwining the fingers
of his left hand with Erestor’s in a possessive gesture.
“Lindir,” groaned Erestor, “stop
doing that! Have I not hurt you enough tonight?”
For a mere moment, Lindir ceased
tormenting his spouse's extremely sensitive ear – only
to give him a smile that was positively sultry upon those
kiss-swollen lips.
“Only in a good way,” he replied,
gingerly shifting his weight to get even closer to Erestor without
putting more pressure on his sore backside. “Can we do it
again?”
Erestor threw a long, graceful leg over
that of his spouse and gently rubbed his elegantly arched foot
against Lindir’s groin.
“You want to make me believe that you
are up to it again?”
Lindir laughed.
“Nay, not right away. But I am sure that
I soon shall do something that will earn me some more
punishment.”
End – for now.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
End notes:
(1) The matter of Lindir fearing
banishment came up for the first time in “Book Three: Of
Riddles of Doom and Paths of Love” of my Boromir series, where
Erestor and Lindir had their first appearance as a married
couple.
(2) Erestor and Lindir married in the year
1960, Third Age, after Erestor recovered from his grave injuries,
received in the Battle of Fornost (1957).
(3) Well, at
least if you believe “Laws & Customs”. I don’t really,
but Erestor always finds something to worry about. <g>