Tag: tw; everything

nolikereally:

Howwww are we going to consolidate/link this into one long readable format WHO CARES LET’S TORTURE ELVES

misbehavingmaiar:

“I would have you follow me, elf king.“ The voice purred, trailing a touch like heavy smoke under Thranduil’s raised chin. ”Into the shadows, that you may see me better.“ 

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”Oh, but these chains are a gift!“ The Shadow laughed— and at his bidding they slid down from the ceiling like serpents, looping one loose coil after another around the wrists and ankles of their prey. But they did not clasp, or tighten. Not yet. It was still only an invitation, the acceptance of which would mean true victory. 

"Not only for my pleasure, but as a kindness, fey king. For you. Don’t you wish for me to be kind? How will you look your subjects in the eyes, knowing that you stood willingly for all that I will do to you? Would you not rather surrender? Peaceful in the knowledge that there was nothing you could have done to stop me?”

Ah, what a steady voice… chill and deceptive as thin lake ice. Were there hairline cracks to exploit? Or was it only the slope of a glacier, miles deep? Both could melt, of course, in the heat of a mountain. 

The shade of him slid, rather than paced, behind the elven king, traveling undetectably beneath and around his pale limbs. From shadow to flesh again, he moved, and the scalding heat of his palms came to rest on the elf’s narrow, naked hips. 

“Keep still for me,” he dropped each cold word into leaf tipped ears; “if you will not be bound." 

The first lash fell and snapped warm across the elf’s backside. Then another atop the first— and another, and another; on each side a red welt blossomed, flourishing across the flesh as blood rose and purpled the surface of that bone white body. 

How long had it been, since he’d practiced this art? How long since he’d had the luxury to toy with the alchemy of nerves, turn pain into pleasure, and back again? Any orc could flay the skin. He was a craftsman. A thin switch of darkness whipped and cracked just above tender flesh; blood welled and ran in hot stripes down Thranduil’s shoulders, pooled in the small of his back, dripped curving between his legs. 

”Do not move. Do not so much as sway.“ He commanded, knowing that the quarry must move, must sway; watched as the throat rose and jaw tensed, teeth bared in the unlight. And when, at last, the king did flinch— as bright stings became the heavy thud of leather, then gold-tipped braids, and at last, a cruel, long-handled rod— he stopped. 

He rested knuckles by the elf’s cheek, stroked him, pet his hair. Then the back of his hand whistled in the air, and sent the elf to the floor. But he did not stay there; he was lifted, dragged by unembodied force, and thrown with welted back against the wall, feet kicking to find the ground with stretched toes. 

”Already, disobedience. And it was such a simple order.“ The Shadow sighed, heavy with mock disappointment. ”Obey this, then: Make no sound. Not the slightest breath. Not one cry for mercy.“ 

The sparkling eyes followed him in the darkness, the red mouth agape as the breast heaved. Such keen understanding there— pleading. Irresistible. 

The Shadow allowed himself a moment in which to simply inhale the bouquet of salt and silver and ecstatic dread. He licked the blood that had fallen forward of Thranduil’s shoulders, tongued it from sternum to its source at the nape of his neck— there he bit, setting his teeth in muscle, as his ruined remembrance of a body pressed, unarmored, to the king’s. He squeezed the stretched drum of the elf’s stomach, crushing into it to feel the hard stone he’d placed there, burning beautiful and defiled. 

Between the king’s damp thighs he pried, wrested apart the legs, and set himself between them, he the hammer and the wall his anvil. 

He let the horror of his flesh, the wreckage of a once magnificent vessel, pick up the work of the lash, both gruesome and stirring. Gentleness mixed with ugliness; cadaverous lips pressed to bruises, sinewed hands soothed and stroked what was sore or taut and shaking. White hair he tugged and kissed, into ears he fed whispered reassurances. "All that you desire, I could give you." 

When he deemed the tension of fear to have lessened, he turned the elf by his shoulders, pressing his face to the wall and ducking low past his thighs. Now level with the wine-stained, welted ass, the Shadow unfurled a long coil of tongue between the elf’s cheeks. He lapped the sensitive furrows there, probed the entrance with his tongue to wet it, within and without. When he deemed it ready, dripping with the slime of his mouth, he began to stuff the length of his cock within by unhurried inches, until their bodies were flush together, and the king squirmed beneath him.