[ he poured the drink from the teapot with grace, his sleeves tucked so that attention would be drawn to the curve of his wrist, to the elegant length of his fingers as they held bone-white porcelain so thin the light shone through. he did not serve tea, but hot cocoa so thick it brought to mind melted chocolate to mind rather than powders mixed with milk.
he offered a cup and saucer to solas. ]
An explanation, from your own lips. One that you have doubtlessly made many times already. They have said you are Tranquil but I do not know the whole scope of what that entails.
[He took the cup and saucer, regarding the hot cocoa. Drinking it now would burn his mouth, and so he set it aside to let it cool where in the past a simple spell would have done the trick for him.
But an explanation? That is easily given.]
Tranquility is used as a punishment for mages in Thedas. It cuts them off from the Fade, from the source of their magic. They can no longer dream, and they can no longer feel emotion. I no longer dream. I no longer have magic. And I no longer feel. [And his voice his monotone, flat. His affect doesn't change as he speaks. Solas is dead in every way except that he draws breath.]
[ he blew the steam off the cup, and sipped it gently before settling it back onto the table, dainty. ]
This is your punishment. [ for his hedonism? idle, he plucked a shortbread cookie from the assortment of treats piled to tempt on the table. he dipped it in the cocoa, took a bite, patted his mouth with a lacy napkin. ]
Why now? What brought you to this choice?
[ ten more minutes. he will allow himself that, and then he will allow his anger out. ]
[ he looked up at that, stared at solas with a mixture of concern and anger. ]
Where are the bodies?
[ thranduil did not want to see them, but he would need to. if solas had— done the things that he had told thranduil the creators did, he would need to bear witness before he passed judgement. ]
[ solas is currently very precise, but thranduil is not above thinking his condition enables him to conceal by omission. so it will be a slow plod through questions. he wants to understand- he has to understand.
and-- he doubts. doubt this is all real, doubts solas would force himself on meallan. ]
[ he stands, and crosses over to where the device for sending and recieving messages rests, and sends out one quickly, no longer holding onto solas could not or solas would not- instead, he will go to the source.
that done, he sits back at the table, and gestures to the other elf's glass of chocolate. it should have cooled by now. ]
Do you retain the desire to stay alive? To keep yourself from harm? For what purpose do you now exist?
[Solas watches Thranduil move without interest, just observing. There is no threat, and so he does not react. When Thranduil returns, gesturing to the chocolate, he picks it up and sips at it because it is expected and he is a bit hungry. The fat will ease the hunger, and the smooth, sweet drink pleases his senses, makes his tongue prickle.]
All Tranquil retain their self-preservation instinct. I am emotionless, but nothing else about me has changed. Understand that while I see you and no longer feel affection, I know that you're my friend, but I also know that you would kill me if you had cause. Serving the Maeve remains necessary. To do anything else would invite their wrath, and I would rather not die.
[The last, he doesn't answer. Can any many truthfully claim to know their purpose? In Eros, he has never had one.]
[ his conversation with meallan concluded to an extent that he can let further replies wait, he settles into his chair. on a lesser man, this emotion could be called sullen-- but he is not that petty or childish. ]
Why? What drives you, now- [ now that the meaning was gone? for what was live without love, without hope or fear or joy?
his hands do not curl into fists. he is not a wild man, a violent man, but he stands, moves to solas, rests on his knees beside solas' chair, back straight, and cups his face in his hands, dragging him forward for a kiss that has more teeth and force than necessary.
he- or solas, for he is not sure- cuts their lip open, and the taste of blood mixes with chocolate. solas had always desired this of him, and he is capible of this now, this fucking without love, this desire without marriage.
if he shocks him, will it bring him back? his greatest ally, his friend- he feels lost to thranduil, now. ]
[He accepts the kiss silently, without protest, even when one of them cuts their lip open.
Lifting his hands to Thranduil's face, he returns the kiss, though he finds the behavior out of character. Thranduil has never been one to initiate intimacy in the past, and has always held himself aloof from it. Something has changed. He wonders if the other elf thinks this will bring him back, if he thinks that an overabundance of emotion will somehow shock his system into feeling again.
It isn't a terrible conclusion to draw, but it won't work.
Still, he returns the kiss, his tongue slipping along Thranduil's lips without passion or heat. But this is the motion such things go through. Solas will follow through.]
Solas kissed him. Solas kissed him, but there was none of the usual teasing, the urging, the wandering hands. Thranduil had not appreciated them in the past, because he had possessed no context with which to enjoy them, and had almost suspected he was frustrated at being unable to share an intimacy that Solas had seen as so simple, and given him so frequently.
But Solas had at least responded. His lips and tongue moved, but there was an automatonic feel to them, a pattern. It was not like kissing a dead thing.
He was angry—desperate. He pushed himself away from Solas, dropped to his knees before him and roughly shoved his apart, grabbing Solas by the lapels to pull him down for another kiss. He wanted a response—he wanted any response. He was angry, but he would not do harm to Solas, so the fingers that moved to stroke along the shell of his ear, resting on the tip before brushing back down were nothing but gentle. Come back, he wanted to say— do not leave me here. The alone would have been implied, for even in this state he would not be that weak.
He would get no response beyond the automatic ones, the ones that Solas knew were part of this dance. He understood Thranduil's frustration, which was the only reason he tolerated the other elf's rough and angry hands, and he understood the need to express that frustration. He would stop it, of course, if it became too much. But he was content to allow Thranduil to vent his upset.
The fingers brushing over his ear earned Thranduil a quiet gasp, Solas' cock hardening in his pants. Pleasure washed through him, the body's physical reaction to external stimuli that Solas could not control. It was an enjoyable sensation, one that made his skin feel tight and prickling, one that made his mouth dry. There was no accompanying lust, no pang of desire.
Instinctively, Solas turned his head into the stroking on his ears, his cheeks flush. "You wish to have sex with me?"
He felt Solas harden against his chest, pressed as they were, and was relieved. His temper fled, still burning bright at the edges but dimmed, enough that he was gentler as he stood again, fingers brushing over Solas’ left ear while he pressed feathery kisses to the right.
“Yes.” And he did. His fëa would stir and seek a bond with Solas’—and perhaps tempt it back into his body, the song of his soul calling his friend back. “Do you?”
He drew his mouth away from Solas’ ear after a final brush of tongue against the tip, and cupped his face instead. “Refuse if you wish, I will let you go without complaint.”
A slight complaint, perhaps, for he was hard himself, and wanted the smell of Solas’ skin on his sheets, in his mouth. He swallowed, and brushed at the dreadlocks nearest his cheek. He would comb them out for Aradhrog, later. Or- some of them. He missed combing with him.
"I would not--" His breath caught when Thranduil's mouth drifted over his ear, his body drawing light with heat. He felt no desire, but his body still reacted. It burned with need and yearned for a physical satisfaction another could give. There was no harm in this. There was no reason to deny it. "--be opposed."
But he made no move, because he also did not understand. Thranduil had never shown an interest in this before.
He suspected that was as much of an enthused yes as he was likely to receive, but he took it, and slowly started to undo the clasps of Solas’ shirt.
“I sought closeness with you, always. Your people do not comb as mine do, they make love.” Slowly, he slid his hand down Solas’ chest, brushing a thumb over his nipple and watching it tighten and harden under stimulation and in the cool air of his room. “I made concessions to allow for differences, but it is true I did not hunger. Lift your arms, Aradhrog.”
He helped him out of his shirt and let it fall to the floor, smoothing his hands over Solas’ shoulders and catching dreads between his fingers to toy with. “During the hunt, I found myself able to want again, mellon-nin, and able to act upon that want. To desire as I had only desired my wife, my Calenmiril. I had a human woman. I do not suspect we are wed, for no bond was made between souls, but that is another story. And then I had Meallan.”
Which had been instructive and a delight, but now was not the time. Brushing Solas’ hair to the right, he pressed closer for a kiss, prick hard and hips grinding against Solas’. He would take instinct if nothing else.
“I can reciprocate what you asked of me, Aradhrog. Joyfully.”
Thranduil spoke much, which Solas knew from memories wasn't something he enjoyed in his partners. But he didn't really enjoy anything anymore. Life was nothing more than a series of strung together moments that he experienced only as a passive observer. It was peaceful in its own way, and he didn't mind such a thing.
Still, a groan stuttered out of him as Thranduil ground their hips together, a body's instinctive reaction to the pleasure that coursed through it. Lust tightened his muscles, made his body arch closer and seek more of Thranduil's touch.
"Very well, then," he said, his hands curving over Thranduil's hips to drag their bodies flush. Then his hands swept higher, tugging at Thranduil's robes, slipping them from the other elf's shoulders with a brisk efficiency. Flesh on flesh would feel much more pleasant than flesh against fabric.
Solas wanted him nude; he obliged, shedding his robe and the clothes under it quickly. He should have taken more care with the silks, the cloth of silver- but they were not the robes from home, only ones that had been made here, in Eros.
The little noises Solas made seemed better, made all of this seem more real. Solas still smelled like Solas, still felt like Solas. Thranduil hummed unconsciously- he was an elf, he sang- his fea stirring. There was love here. The Maeve had not taken his soul from him, but kept him far enough from Arda that he doubted forming a bond was possible. Still, it would reach, and in searching perhaps it would wake what slumbered in Solas' heart.
"The bed?" he asked. Surely Solas still had preferences, even if it was only measuring benefits and failings of a given situation. "And would you have me on top?"
He leaned against Thranduil's chest, taking a slow, deep breath to feel the warm press of skin against skin. He'd been right: flesh on flesh was much better than flesh against cloth. The sensation was pleasant, stirring his body more, making his cock twitch in a way that was nothing but pleasant.
Because it was expected, he turned his face and touched his lips to Thranduil's throat. There was no passion there, no heated need. Just rote action.
"The bed is fine. I don't have any preference. Whatever would see you most comfortable." He drew back, turning toward the bed and unlacing his pants as he went. He was Tranquil; he saw no need for seduction and would not have understood it if asked.
He watched Solas go and hardened his heart, shielded it. Things would not be as they could have been, and he would never express regret that his body had not been broken to fucking without the condition of marriage sooner. Instead, he appreciated the roll of Solas’ hips, the nimbleness of his fingers.
And then he realized—Solas no longer had shame or pride. Every noise would spill freely from his lips, no reactions muted. His joy would come from that, from Solas as unmasked as he could be.
(No affection, no kisses born of heat and need, no tears, no trust—)
“On the bed, please. All fours. If you would keep your ass in the air, it would … help.” His hand traced one of the four posts on his bed. He had tried something with Meallan; he would use the same trick on Solas.
Solas did as commanded, for he felt no shame or vulnerability.
"This is a dehumanizing position," he said idly, slipping onto the bed. The sheets were cool beneath his hands and knees. Cooler still when he set his forearms against them and bent down. No thrum of anticipation corded through him, no deep pulse of desire made him ache or tremble. He felt no curiosity about what Thranduil might do to him or with him - which was something of a shame, though he didn't think much of it.
He did understand that several weeks ago he would have delighted in this situation. Now, he found it just one more event in a string of many that aligned to make up his life. "Are you sure you would have me this way? So disconnected?" It seemed out of character for Thranduil, who seemed to cherish connection.
“I will not keep you in it for long.” Solas saw only facts, now, and that Thranduil was one who dehumanized him was not something he wanted to have stick in Solas’ brain—or be true. Ever. “It is easier for me to reach when you are like this.”
He moved from the bed to stand at the foot of it. The pole between the posters at that end pressed against his legs as he leaned in, pressing a kiss to Solas’ tailbone.
“Tell me to stop, and I will.” Over and over he would say it. Could Solas refuse? A horror swept into his mind—clients who would like as much—and he resolved to mention that later. He moved it to the side.
He nipped at Solas’ ass, toyed a little, and then spread his cheeks with one hand while the other loosely stroked Solas’ cock. Was anticipation something that could be experienced without emotions? A build to a greater delight? He doubted so, and settled for a lick from the back of his sack to his hole, listening carefully as he mimed what he had done with Meallan.
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
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[ he poured the drink from the teapot with grace, his sleeves tucked so that attention would be drawn to the curve of his wrist, to the elegant length of his fingers as they held bone-white porcelain so thin the light shone through. he did not serve tea, but hot cocoa so thick it brought to mind melted chocolate to mind rather than powders mixed with milk.
he offered a cup and saucer to solas. ]
An explanation, from your own lips. One that you have doubtlessly made many times already. They have said you are Tranquil but I do not know the whole scope of what that entails.
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But an explanation? That is easily given.]
Tranquility is used as a punishment for mages in Thedas. It cuts them off from the Fade, from the source of their magic. They can no longer dream, and they can no longer feel emotion. I no longer dream. I no longer have magic. And I no longer feel. [And his voice his monotone, flat. His affect doesn't change as he speaks. Solas is dead in every way except that he draws breath.]
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This is your punishment. [ for his hedonism? idle, he plucked a shortbread cookie from the assortment of treats piled to tempt on the table. he dipped it in the cocoa, took a bite, patted his mouth with a lacy napkin. ]
Why now? What brought you to this choice?
[ ten more minutes. he will allow himself that, and then he will allow his anger out. ]
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Where are the bodies?
[ thranduil did not want to see them, but he would need to. if solas had— done the things that he had told thranduil the creators did, he would need to bear witness before he passed judgement. ]
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How did you hurt him?
[ the other elf was dear to both of them. he would not deny that. ]
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[He meets Thranduil's gaze with dead eyes.]
He did not fight me and so I did not stop, though I should have. After, seeing the mistake, it was too much.
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[ solas is currently very precise, but thranduil is not above thinking his condition enables him to conceal by omission. so it will be a slow plod through questions. he wants to understand- he has to understand.
and-- he doubts. doubt this is all real, doubts solas would force himself on meallan. ]
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that done, he sits back at the table, and gestures to the other elf's glass of chocolate. it should have cooled by now. ]
Do you retain the desire to stay alive? To keep yourself from harm? For what purpose do you now exist?
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All Tranquil retain their self-preservation instinct. I am emotionless, but nothing else about me has changed. Understand that while I see you and no longer feel affection, I know that you're my friend, but I also know that you would kill me if you had cause. Serving the Maeve remains necessary. To do anything else would invite their wrath, and I would rather not die.
[The last, he doesn't answer. Can any many truthfully claim to know their purpose? In Eros, he has never had one.]
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Why? What drives you, now- [ now that the meaning was gone? for what was live without love, without hope or fear or joy?
his hands do not curl into fists. he is not a wild man, a violent man, but he stands, moves to solas, rests on his knees beside solas' chair, back straight, and cups his face in his hands, dragging him forward for a kiss that has more teeth and force than necessary.
he- or solas, for he is not sure- cuts their lip open, and the taste of blood mixes with chocolate. solas had always desired this of him, and he is capible of this now, this fucking without love, this desire without marriage.
if he shocks him, will it bring him back? his greatest ally, his friend- he feels lost to thranduil, now. ]
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Lifting his hands to Thranduil's face, he returns the kiss, though he finds the behavior out of character. Thranduil has never been one to initiate intimacy in the past, and has always held himself aloof from it. Something has changed. He wonders if the other elf thinks this will bring him back, if he thinks that an overabundance of emotion will somehow shock his system into feeling again.
It isn't a terrible conclusion to draw, but it won't work.
Still, he returns the kiss, his tongue slipping along Thranduil's lips without passion or heat. But this is the motion such things go through. Solas will follow through.]
switches to prose like a nerd
But Solas had at least responded. His lips and tongue moved, but there was an automatonic feel to them, a pattern. It was not like kissing a dead thing.
He was angry—desperate. He pushed himself away from Solas, dropped to his knees before him and roughly shoved his apart, grabbing Solas by the lapels to pull him down for another kiss. He wanted a response—he wanted any response. He was angry, but he would not do harm to Solas, so the fingers that moved to stroke along the shell of his ear, resting on the tip before brushing back down were nothing but gentle. Come back, he wanted to say— do not leave me here. The alone would have been implied, for even in this state he would not be that weak.
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The fingers brushing over his ear earned Thranduil a quiet gasp, Solas' cock hardening in his pants. Pleasure washed through him, the body's physical reaction to external stimuli that Solas could not control. It was an enjoyable sensation, one that made his skin feel tight and prickling, one that made his mouth dry. There was no accompanying lust, no pang of desire.
Instinctively, Solas turned his head into the stroking on his ears, his cheeks flush. "You wish to have sex with me?"
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“Yes.” And he did. His fëa would stir and seek a bond with Solas’—and perhaps tempt it back into his body, the song of his soul calling his friend back. “Do you?”
He drew his mouth away from Solas’ ear after a final brush of tongue against the tip, and cupped his face instead. “Refuse if you wish, I will let you go without complaint.”
A slight complaint, perhaps, for he was hard himself, and wanted the smell of Solas’ skin on his sheets, in his mouth. He swallowed, and brushed at the dreadlocks nearest his cheek. He would comb them out for Aradhrog, later. Or- some of them. He missed combing with him.
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But he made no move, because he also did not understand. Thranduil had never shown an interest in this before.
"You have never wanted sex with me before now."
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“I sought closeness with you, always. Your people do not comb as mine do, they make love.” Slowly, he slid his hand down Solas’ chest, brushing a thumb over his nipple and watching it tighten and harden under stimulation and in the cool air of his room. “I made concessions to allow for differences, but it is true I did not hunger. Lift your arms, Aradhrog.”
He helped him out of his shirt and let it fall to the floor, smoothing his hands over Solas’ shoulders and catching dreads between his fingers to toy with. “During the hunt, I found myself able to want again, mellon-nin, and able to act upon that want. To desire as I had only desired my wife, my Calenmiril. I had a human woman. I do not suspect we are wed, for no bond was made between souls, but that is another story. And then I had Meallan.”
Which had been instructive and a delight, but now was not the time. Brushing Solas’ hair to the right, he pressed closer for a kiss, prick hard and hips grinding against Solas’. He would take instinct if nothing else.
“I can reciprocate what you asked of me, Aradhrog. Joyfully.”
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Still, a groan stuttered out of him as Thranduil ground their hips together, a body's instinctive reaction to the pleasure that coursed through it. Lust tightened his muscles, made his body arch closer and seek more of Thranduil's touch.
"Very well, then," he said, his hands curving over Thranduil's hips to drag their bodies flush. Then his hands swept higher, tugging at Thranduil's robes, slipping them from the other elf's shoulders with a brisk efficiency. Flesh on flesh would feel much more pleasant than flesh against fabric.
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The little noises Solas made seemed better, made all of this seem more real. Solas still smelled like Solas, still felt like Solas. Thranduil hummed unconsciously- he was an elf, he sang- his fea stirring. There was love here. The Maeve had not taken his soul from him, but kept him far enough from Arda that he doubted forming a bond was possible. Still, it would reach, and in searching perhaps it would wake what slumbered in Solas' heart.
"The bed?" he asked. Surely Solas still had preferences, even if it was only measuring benefits and failings of a given situation. "And would you have me on top?"
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Because it was expected, he turned his face and touched his lips to Thranduil's throat. There was no passion there, no heated need. Just rote action.
"The bed is fine. I don't have any preference. Whatever would see you most comfortable." He drew back, turning toward the bed and unlacing his pants as he went. He was Tranquil; he saw no need for seduction and would not have understood it if asked.
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And then he realized—Solas no longer had shame or pride. Every noise would spill freely from his lips, no reactions muted. His joy would come from that, from Solas as unmasked as he could be.
(No affection, no kisses born of heat and need, no tears, no trust—)
“On the bed, please. All fours. If you would keep your ass in the air, it would … help.” His hand traced one of the four posts on his bed. He had tried something with Meallan; he would use the same trick on Solas.
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"This is a dehumanizing position," he said idly, slipping onto the bed. The sheets were cool beneath his hands and knees. Cooler still when he set his forearms against them and bent down. No thrum of anticipation corded through him, no deep pulse of desire made him ache or tremble. He felt no curiosity about what Thranduil might do to him or with him - which was something of a shame, though he didn't think much of it.
He did understand that several weeks ago he would have delighted in this situation. Now, he found it just one more event in a string of many that aligned to make up his life. "Are you sure you would have me this way? So disconnected?" It seemed out of character for Thranduil, who seemed to cherish connection.
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He moved from the bed to stand at the foot of it. The pole between the posters at that end pressed against his legs as he leaned in, pressing a kiss to Solas’ tailbone.
“Tell me to stop, and I will.” Over and over he would say it. Could Solas refuse? A horror swept into his mind—clients who would like as much—and he resolved to mention that later. He moved it to the side.
He nipped at Solas’ ass, toyed a little, and then spread his cheeks with one hand while the other loosely stroked Solas’ cock. Was anticipation something that could be experienced without emotions? A build to a greater delight? He doubted so, and settled for a lick from the back of his sack to his hole, listening carefully as he mimed what he had done with Meallan.
(no subject)