for dagnir_lhug || don't know what's in the stars

[thorencalenaran]

[ thread continuation from here.]

There is something soft in the lines of the smile that is barely hidden by it's press to the once mortal's skin. Thranduil wishes to know what else there is to this, but he will not pursue the idea, not now. "You are foolish and stubborn, melath, but ridiculous is not one of the words I would use for you. Not at this time at least."

Not ever, but that is something he shall leave untouched, for another time when they have managed to make their way through the serpentine paths that both newly blossoming truths and unfortunate events have lead them down. And while the king knows that there should be more focus on the latter, he finds himself more caught on the former. On the way Bard looks reverent and awe-filled as he threads fingers through his hair, as if it were a treasure beyond the worlds.

"Your heart believes a great deal of poetic things then, and it shall, along with your truthfulness, serve you very well. Even if perhaps it blinds you to some of my follies." There is a hum, something soft and low, as Thranduil returns the soft gestures, pale fingers barely touching the sun kissed skin of his cheek, pressing along the curve of Bard's jaw and catching on the coarse hairs in a touch that is pointed and intimate. There is something wild in him, Thranduil things, something bright and burning that the king can only hope this darkness will not dim, because he wishes to be selfish and keep it for himself. A jewel that means so much to him.

His bargeman and the fire and truth that caught the elven king so easily.

"You shall not hurt me, I know this much to be true." The words are softly spoke, a mere whisper of words as Thranduil settles against the other, pale skin bared with trust and, as much as he may not wish to name it so, desire. He wishes to provide this for Bard, does not want to think of the other drinking from any other, no matter how much he should not want this. It is a darkness all his own.

At the first soft touch of fingers against his skin, Thranduil finds himself relaxing ever so slightly, as if the honesty in that touch is allowing him to forgive himself for the selfishness that is pressing against his lungs. And each graze of fingertips and lips against him assuages it even more, ensnares the king in a current of desires that he does not wish to name, even as he lets his eyes close, chin tilting to give Bard more room. His lips part to give Bard words of encouragement, of reassurance, but as he does teeth pierce his flesh and--

"Alae..."

Instead of encouragement, he manages a quiet noise that almost manages to be Bard's name. The sensation is nothing compared to what he thought it would be; white hot and sharp but it stirs up something in him that dulls it from being pain. The rush of blood, the feel of lips and teeth against his skin, is what he can only think of as heady. Leaves him feeling unfettered, curling his hands into the skin he can reach as if to ground himself in the sudden wash of sensation.

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[dagnir_lhug]

The thought pulled a smile to his lips. A lingering warmth hovered at the thought of how Thranduil so easily dismissed his worry of self-worth in such a way that made him feel more valuable. He knew his worth as a man, but next to the Elven King, he often felt less. Especially now, ridden with fever and a body changing slowly in ways he could almost feel now that he knew what was going on. It felt like something crawling under the skin, a subtle background hum to the heat that couldn't be distinguished between fever and the rush that came with touches from cool fingers so silken soft.

Still, Thranduil's words pulled a soft huff of a laugh as he practically referred to Bard's words as flattery that would serve him well. "I was not aware that the King of the Woodland Realm was susceptible to flattery, not that my words are meant to be such." Leaning into those hands against his skin, he felt his lashes lower in a way that let him just soak in that feeling not wishing to forget it or take for granted the gift that he knew them to be. It only made it harder to think through the haze of sensations battling for dominance of his mind. "Is it truly being blind to see one's faults and accept them regardless?"

The words were a low murmur, a thick rumble of words he knew he needed to say even if his mind likely would not stay on that line of thought. Breathing in slowly, he pressed closer, memorizing the scent of the elf so close and how he could even hear the rhythmic beat of Thranduil's heart like music in his ears. It drowned out so much of everything else in the room and beyond the thin doors that separated them from likely not only his children, but also Thranduil's guard and retainers that made the trip here as well.

All he could think about now surrounded that sudden rush of warmth that flooded his mouth. The typical iron taste of blood that would normally cause a look of distaste came as a smooth sweetness like wine on his tongue. A rich and heady taste mixed with the sound from Thranduil's lips caused his fingers to press firmer to the elegant curve of neck drawing the blonde closer against him. The twisting in his stomach that felt more painful than just hunger subsided with the first swallow causing not only it to fade, but also the fever haze to clear slowly as well. Not that it stopped his other hand from pressing against the bared skin of Thranduil's chest only to smooth under the fabric to hold it away from where his lips stayed on the pale silken skin of the shoulder.

It did not take nearly as long as he thought to come to his senses. He could almost feel his own skin cooling, the fever tapering off leaving his mind wracked with emotions only to deal with along with the desire for the Elven King filling all of his senses. Bard could hear him breathe, the steady beat of his heart. Could taste his skin and blood on his lips and tongue and feel the silken skin in it's ever detail along with the strands of liquid silver gold between his fingers. Everything came in with such vivid detail it almost felt over whelming. For him, in that moment, everything was Thranduil.

When he pulled his lips away, his tongue ran over the wound before fingers pressed against them to stop the drops of precious liquid from staining either clothes or Thranduil's skin. A tremor ran from his spine to his fingertips as his head turned, forehead brushing the other's jaw as he tried to come to grips with what he faced right then. Feeling 'better' was as a double edged sword. The agony and pain that remained his constant companion for days settled to a low hum and the fever that wracked him finally released its powerful hold.

And now all he was left with was the reality of all that changed. And knowing the only reason he remained calm was due to how Thranduil filled every part of his conscious mind with such extreme clarity that his heart hurt in his chest. How had he not realized just how deeply he had felt all along for this precious being in his hold now? There truly were no words for how he felt right then. Angling his head, his nose press against the shell of the elf's ear before he smoothed his lips along the pointed lobe almost too daringly, drunk on Thranduil even if he should find his wits and pull away.

[thorencalenaran]

There is little in the eyes of the king that might compare to the being before him; despite being such a frail and fleeting human for so long, there had always been something in Bard that seemed bigger than that. The way he carried himself, the kindness and strength in equal measures that made him an excellent king and a captivating mortal. Even before the fevered truths, Thranduil would be hard pressed to say that he did not find himself drawn to the man. His honesty now simply made it harder to deny such things.

"The King of the Woodland Realm is not easily swayed by flattery I assure you. However," his voice curled around the space between them, rich and low as he dragged his thumb across the edge of Bard's jaw, lips curling softly. "Such words from the mouth of a man known to speak harsh truths might mean much to the elf beneath the crown." It is a a quiet truth, a distinction of sorts, that Thranduil knows they will have to make in the coming time; the difference between their titles and who they were. And a way for him to say that he stands by Bard in both.

"Perhaps that is not blindness then, not entirely." It is still perhaps more than he deserves, a trust in him that he is not sure he has earned just yet, but will treasure nonetheless. Because Bard has given it so easily, and honestly, that he cannot help but wish to keep it. To keep this.

Perhaps that is why he is so easily swept up by the sensations that are drawn forth by teeth on his skin. Even with the press of fingers against the thin skin, the pressure of Bard's lips, Thranduil cannot help the feeling of floating. Of being less corporeal in this sensation, skin alive with starlight and starfire. He barely noticed the time passing, as if somehow time had slowed and sped up all at once, leaving him caught in the feeling of calloused hands on his skin, heat pressing into him. There is too much for him to focus on, and yet there is only Bard.

When Bard pulled back, even so slightly, Thranduil trembled, a faint thing, more of a ripple of movement than anything else, but there is also a noise barely swallowed, of loss. Though Bard does not move far, drops fleeting touches against the sensitive skin of his neck, the king still finds himself feeling as if there was a loss. Hollow, as it were. It is a strange thing, and for a moment he thinks to speak of it to Bard, but then there are lips against his the shell of his ear.

It is a bold move, and it makes Thranduil wonder if he knows just how sensitive that skin is, if he knew that such a touch, no matter how light, might lead to breath catching in his throat and the hand on Bard's hip tightening to the point of near pain for a normal man. Thranduil hopes that it will not phase him, not now, and for that he is glad, because what that touch pulled from him, coupled with the lingering effects of the bite, left him with little of his usual control.

The words that manage to tear free from him sound strange and ragged to his own ears. "Are you... are you well then, anor nin?"

[dagnir_lhug]

Thranduil always had a way with how he spoke. How his words hung in the air like tangible things that seemed to curl around him and hold his attention and his entire being enthralled in whatever it was the elf had to say. Now that power over him was no less. Perhaps he looked unaffected and strong even before the ageless being, but the truth was, Thranduil held him completely whether he showed it or not.

A subtle shift of his thumb allowed the calloused pad along the line of the blonde's jaw before trailing over his throat to feel the vibration of his voice there. Green eyes darkened at that thought. The thought that his words meant something more than just an idle compliment. He meant them to be more, but it did not guarantee that they would be taken as more. "The elf beneath the crown is dear to me... just as he who wears it." Each in their own way, a weight to that truth showed the the heaviness of his whisper. A thought breathed to life as he stayed so close whispering truths he thought he'd never utter aloud.

He would accept partial blindness. He knew the stubbornness of Thranduil and the way he could be so hard to sway or move when he should. Each thing he took in stride, found the positives to those found himself preferring those imperfections along side each thing he found perfect about the elf. It made him real. Even more beautiful in some ways. Not that he ever truly planned to say such things.

What else could be said then? Here in this moment when Thranduil had become his world and he could not breathe in his scent enough.

Bard waited, softly slipping his lips over the porcelain like skin of Thranduil's ear, only to let out a shuddering breath against it when that hand on his hip tightened. Eyes closed, he slipped his fingers from the elf's neck up into his hair, loosely tangling in the fall of silk. Every small sound and reaction the elven king made set more nerves alight with want and need that he could not remember tasting before.

It's not till that ragged voice, one usually so smooth and like the songs of birds in the trees most times, broke the silence that he finally considers his own state of being. Without moving away, he took stock of his health. The only fire on his skin was from the rush of closeness to Thranduil just as the pain in his stomach soothed to a low simmer. His skin almost itched with a whisper of change, but one slide of his tongue along his teeth showed the blunted edges to be normal once more. Something that relieved him greatly.

But once he pulled those thoughts together, his lips pulled up into a soft smile that he punctuated with a light nip to tip of the ear to show that his teeth had returned to their normal state. The new name gifted to him made his voice almost too warm for him to even imagine it coming from his own lips. "Better." If only he did not want to slide his hands all along the lines and curves of the elf, he did indeed feel better. "Any fever I have now... it seems would be credited to you."

THROWS THIS AT YOU FROM BED. kicks tenses to hell.

[thorencalenaran]

There were fewer important traits in a sovereign than the ability captivate with words and ideas. It is one that Thranduil had been raised to embody, perfect even over the centuries he had been granted, and he never took the use of words lightly. There was a great power in words, in truths and lies and things in between, and it was a power that Thranduil knew all too well. Which was why he spoke truths whenever he could, which was why he held the truths that Bard gave him so close.

It was not a mere compliment, not a mere observation from the lips of the mortal, but almost something of a spell. A way to weave something binding and powerful around them both and build ties that would not break so easily. There is much in the words that would pull them closer together, if only they let it. It has been a long time since such a thing had pulled upon his heart, and when he looks at Bard, this mortal no more, a king by passage of fire and ash, for once the king that looms in the dark woods finds that he does not wish to fight the pull.

"Both are important to recognize, and know this: both the bargeman and the king are seen as equals in my eyes." They sway slightly, the words and Thranduil himself, against the pull to lean closer. To let this being before him consume more than just the blood in his veins.

He could feel it beneath his skin, a desire that was unlike anything he had felt, fixated from the pulse in his shoulder, the heat of Bard's touch. Thranduil hummed at the hands on his neck, in his hair; barely a noise and yet it felt as if it shook his bones. Felt as if these touches brushed the last of the frost from him, leaving him awakened and new. Despite the knowledge that he should have moved away, he stays. Keeps Bard close, and that touch upon him as if it were all that might bind him to this place. There is a sliver of blue, barely visible about his eye, fixed on him as he stopped to take stock of himself; the relief palpable.

"You are well then, th--" It is the teeth, human and blunt, against his ear that stalled him. Had him making a noise that was low and warm, desire made audible; desire that had not dwelt in him in far too long. Pulled from him so easily by this man. Pale fingers gripped at Bard again, as if to keep himself balanced as he tried to focus on the words, the affection in them. It does not help, something in Bard's voice sweeter now. Deeper.

"That is most unfortunate, would you--"The king regained some of his composure, despite the heat beneath his skin. "Would it be better for your health then, if I were to depart?"

[dagnir_lhug]

Bard let those words roll through him and over him like a balm on a shivering soul stretched too thin from his body changing and having to swallow a harsh reality. So Thranduil's acceptance was two-fold when said now even knowing that Bard would never be the same again. Especially when so close to the elf and his senses were twisted and jumbled in an array of two different types of hunger. Though one type had been quelled for now, the king of men still worried.

Worried that one day, the darkness of that craving would drive the Elven King away. Even if Thranduil did not push him away for now. No, for now, the beautiful being stayed close and shared his warmth in a way that the dragon slayer never dreamed he would. It made him entertain those words declaring love harder to keep to himself.

Breathing in sharply at the sound that came from the elf with that attention to his ear, Bard let it out with a tremor. A heat coiled within him, a desire he knew had nothing at all to do with that change in his body. Drawing back just enough to look at Thranduil's visage, he couldn't help but move in order to kiss at his jaw with feather lightness trying not to interrupt him when he spoke.

A line furrowed his brow as he leaned back with that question. Both hands moved, fingertips just barely touching the line of Thranduil's jaw before they slipped over his cheeks to finally cup his face and draw him closer. The pads of his thumbs slowly and tenderly swept the high cheek bones before Bard tipped his head to kiss at his lower lip airily. "I would rather burn up in this moment with you than be spared it by your absence. Please stay... I promise your presence is more a blessing than a detriment."

The corners of his lips tipped up softly in a small smile as his eyes drifted over the elven king's face. "Though I know I have no right to ask so much of you..."

[thorencalenaran]

There is nothing in the darkness that ran just below Bard's skin that would ever chase him from the other man. Thranduil had seen darkness, had fought against it many a time in the past and would probably do so again in the future, and no matter the path that this might push them towards, he was sure of the light in the bowman. That he would not allow this to taint his light. So he did not pull back from the touch, from the warmth of Bard.

Despite the knowledge that there was nothing that could be done for Bard, that there was a darkness in him that should be feared by him and his kind, Thranduil was still... grateful if only because it gifted them both with time that would not have been theirs before. It also, Thranduil is sure, gifted him with more truth than he would have ever received from the former mortal if such a thing had not befallen him. Both the fever and the bloodlust had broken down the idea of what should be said and what was said.

And brought truths to light that Thranduil could not help but treasure.

The king leaned in at the soft touch, even as he tried to keep himself composed; there was an edge to the touches, the way Bard reached towards him with a softness in his eyes that made it difficult to keep such control. And yet there is nothing to give away just how affected he is by all of this beyond the tremor in his voice, his breathing, which rested entirely on the man's attention to his appendages.

Until more truths were spoken, more touches against his skin feather light and yet they burned like fire. The faint touch of Bards hands had left sparks in their wake, leaving Thranduil caught in sensation that he had not felt in centuries. Elves were not known for being tactile, did not desire the touch of others in quite the same manner as many of those on Arda, and yet he felt himself thaw at that touch, that kiss. Felt a spring awakening in his bones that had not been known to him before this man and his faint touch.

"You should not say such things, Bard of Dale." The kind turned his head, pressed his cheek into the touch a little more as if he could not help himself. "They inspire in me a kind of fire the likes of which I have not known for some time."

[dagnir_lhug]

Sometimes, there was no reading the elven king. Bard would often take a moment to just search his visage for some hint of what he might think or feel, but so often only got a curious look for his efforts and he figured nothing out. Even now, if sounds weren't so much louder to his ears, he might not have even noticed the subtle changes in the other's breathing or even that slight off quality to his silvery voice.

He heard them now and more importantly, Thranduil did not pull away.

The once human held no claim to understanding the ways and habits of elves, though it should have been obvious that they were not prone to such acts of touching or... anything. He rarely saw one elf touch another and it should have made him pull back and be more respectful. But after all this time of watching Thranduil from a distance, wondering if his hair was as soft as it looked or if his skin really was smooth like silk or more like alabaster. Little things he noticed and always wondered and now that the chance presented itself, he found he couldn't refrain from touching the elf.

And truly, Thranduil was more than any of his suppositions or idle thoughts that he always chastised himself for entertaining. It felt a little like getting drunk off of touches and kisses and just the feeling of Thranduil warm and near.

"Should I not? But I would not lie to you, my king." He said the words softly, one hand slipping down to let his thumb just barely touch Thranduil's lips as his own lips once had just moments before. His brow furrowed though, for those words, their connotation could mean so many things... Dark eyes rose, catching those of blue as his words softened further, edged in concern. "Does that fire hurt you? If it does, Thranduil, I will speak no more of such things."