bakerstreet | The Marriage Consummation Meme

[Down for arranged marriages, marriage as part of a mutual scam they need to keep up, or for the forbidden romance option. Everything should be consensual if sex actually happens, but discussion and/or instruction being needed is very much OK. (Although Zev would be the instructor, most likely.) Awkwardness is entertaining too!

Prose is love.]

Edited 2014-09-23 00:58 (UTC)

((ooc: Up for a union to gain the support of Asguard?))

[ sure! ]

Thor could be seen as a brute and a failure at etiquette, even by Asgardian standards. Even the large man would admit that he's better suited for leading on battle fields by example than leading by decree in a formal hall. So, when he was told he was to claim a wife in some court dealings involving showing that Asgard supports a family he has never heard of, he was not too pleased. Being told he will outlive this marriage and that it is only due to a debt of honor owed this family did not make him any happier. Of course, he never met his future bride.

Asgardians may live for thousands of years, but Thor had rarely seen a beauty such as hers. His lack of etiquette is more than obvious in how his gaze follows her during the formalities. The Asgardian is dressed, minus the comforts of his armor, and as formal and grand as can be expected. The wedding is large and ceremonious, matching the people hosting it. Events might be hosted on Asgard, but the announcements have long been projected across her land and her relm. Certainly, after the marriage is official, Thor's expected to travel her lands at her side to reaffirm her allies and view who dares decide to make her people their enemy.

That comes later, and as the ceremony comes to a close, and the drinks begin, Thor seems less bitter about his current circumstance. He may not play well in courts, but he does enjoy the celebrations that are sometimes held there.

(ooc: Open to cross-canon, cross-medium and assumed cr. I'm open to F/M and F/F when it comes to shippy things and I'm also more than willing to set the scene up myself, just ask!)

[ what is marriage who am i ]

[The important thing is that it was seen.

The ceremony was loud, public, and celebrated as a sign of peace amid the estrangement of the Elven kindreds. What happens now almost doesn't matter. They could move on unconsummated and merely go their separate ways when it stopped being important. But walls have ears, and there are always going to be those who want to wedge this symbolic coupling apart. Celegorm has to be known to be with Thranduil to make him an example of the unification he desires between the kindreds. And Celegorm can be trusted, above all, to do things to their natural end, and often beyond.

Thranduil is perched on a chair, fetchingly arrayed in a lightweight gold silk that makes him glow in the candlelight. Even the color was chosen with care, though the garment itself was hastily swept on before Celegorm's arrival into the room. This, he expects, will be nothing new, at least. This, he can survive as always.]

[ Fetchingly is right; Celegorm enters not long later, and even he's given pause, lips parted as if he'd meant to say something.

The words seemed to dry up; instead he swallowed, thickly, and stepped closer. Slowly, feeling out each foot he gains, pale eyes never twitching away from Thranduil, as if he's half worried the vision might vanish should he blink or look away.

He doesn't reach out, not yet, long legs folding with easy grace, until he's down on a knee before Thranduil. His sharp-pointed ears are reddened. ]

I am yours, now, as much as you have been mine.

Not true. Celegorm remains the captor. But to his credit, he probably believes it to be true. Thranduil does not, and perhaps never will, especially since he is to be bound for ever to the person who killed his people and stole him away.

But Celegorm is such a romantic, in his way. He probably does love Thranduil, as Thranduil loves Celegorm. The trouble is not Celegorm, but the monster that takes him over more and more each year. How long before Thranduil is a widower to Celegorm and wed to the monster?

Sometimes fate is decided in a hasty moment that changes life for ever. This fate between them was decided in a moment long past. There is nothing to be done about it now. He will take this moment of peace and comfort while it lasts.

Thranduil takes both of Celegorm's hands and raises them to his lips, pressing tender kisses to each knuckle. He savors each like sips of fine wine before turning the hands over and beginning again from palms to fingertips.

Goosebumps rise along Celegorm's forearms, and he does not draw his hands away. Watching through lowered lashes as if mesmerized, still as a serpent that is sunning itself on the rocks. Slowly, his fingers uncurled, stroking Thrandul's cheeks, his jaw, turning his face at the same moment Celegorm himself leaned up, kissing his brow. The bridge of his nose. His high cheekbones.

Through parted lips he breathes Thranduil in, employing his every sense to make the other elf more a part of him.

"So long I shied from this binding," he confided in whispers that glided like caresses along Thranduil's skin, "How could I bind myself to two oaths of love, when one would certainly devour the other?"

An oath of love. An oath of politics. It is both, of that Thranduil has no doubt.

"Let this be the one to win," he murmurs against the fair hand. He presses both hands against his heart then, kissing along the ridge of Celegorm's ear to its blushing tip. "Be mine for ever."

Don't leave me with the other Celegorm. His mouth closes around the pointed tip of an ear.

The blush grew, darkened even Celegorm's high cheek bones, and he turned his face to accept this affection, kissing along the line of Thranduil's neck. His hands smoothed slowly up Thranduil's chest, baring more of it from beneath the golden garment... and then pauses, tremulous, a breathlessly delighted puff escaping him as if it could not be kept in.

"Say it again?"

"Be mine," Thranduil says as the flush of heat overtakes him as well and his eyes hood. "Mine," he repeats as the word slowly sinks in and his heart adjusts to it. "Mine."

With no warning, he is suddenly kissing him fierce and long, one hand burying in liquid gold hair while the other draws his own garment higher, till he must break the kiss to have it off. Even light silk is too much and too warm now, for he burns all over.

"You are mine." The silk is flung over the arm of the chair. Thranduil smiles against Celegorm's mouth. All his, his to save. His to protect.

It feels like summer. Like spring. He feels that he's tasting light, sweet, bright flowers...

Eyes closed, he gasped when the kiss parted, wetly sucking in a breath before he tore away at his clothing. "Yes, yes, yes," he said between them, kissing again, sucking the taste from Thranduil's mouth, crushing a small, wanting sound between their lips. Only to exhale a shocked and wondering puff of laughter, grinning as he steals more kisses, hands finding those of his lover, seeking to draw him up and towards the bed.

"Yours,"

Thranduil takes Celegorm's hand to lead him to the bed, still distracted by the feel of skin, the repeated word between them, whispered promise of a long-abandoned dream. And it is lovely, this dream, the cool, silken touch of fine linen sheets, the give of the mattress, the weight of Celegorm in his arms as he lies back and pulls him up beside him, immediately tangling their legs and claiming his mouth again.

"Touch me," he whispers. "Take of me whatever you like." A long kiss. "You are mine now. I do not serve any longer, but partake." He rests their foreheads together. "Love me," he murmurs at last, and it is a plea. It is the only thing he has ever wanted from Celegorm. "Please love me."

"You must know I do," whispered Celegorm in a rush, earnestly baffled, neatly winding his legs around Thranduil, pulling their bodies with easy, languid strength, 'til he is beneath his lover, their faces still tucked close enough that their whispers belong only to each other.

"And if you truly do not, then let me demonstrate it to you. With every act and breath, until the warmth of my affection is as a light upon you, wherever and whenever you are!"

Thranduil trembles above him, questioning if it is a lie, almost certain that it is but desperate to believe nonetheless. Celegorm has given him unspoken instruction, indicating it would please him to be entered. Thranduil has always had a strange hesitance about such a thing, for being in the receiving position has always felt more innocent to him, has absolved him somewhat of the responsibility. To enter Celegorm makes him feel complicit in a crime. But what won't he do for the promise of love?

He buries his face in the fragrant hair below to hide the flush of shame. If he thinks about it for long, he isn't likely to stay hard, and that is its own shame. Taking a deep breath through his nose, he explores the contours of his spouse's body with his hands, meditative and quiet.

Acquaintance breeds familiarity, of course, and there were precious few secrets between them anymore.

Celegorm leaned forward, nuzzling with closed eyes against Thranduil's cheeks, legs unwinding from his lover's waist. Instead, he brought Thranduil to him, embracing him tightly close. Exhaled a quiet, shaken breath near the hollow of Thranduil's throat.

Tears fall before Thranduil knows they are there. He's half-panicked already, wanting to protest that he can do this, he can please his master, he will be good, but instead he weeps quietly. Celegorm has long since been his only comforter in this, being the only one who really understands. So he weeps for a moment, then simply and quietly breathes deep the scent of that hair, floating upon the calm as he would upon misty waters.

Celegorm makes no sound to quiet these tears; his own dot his thick lashes like morning dew on the grass. And turns them a little, so that he can wrap his arms more securely around Thranduil, stroking his hair slowly, the pads of his thumbs gliding along Thranduil's cheeks.

"I am sorry, lirimaer, I am sorry ... You deserve better than all the earth and sea and stars have to give, and I have taken so much of that away. I am sorry..."

And a hundred burdens fall from him at once.

His throat closes, but he cradles Celegorm against his chest, stroking his hair. The still of calm becomes beatific, and before long, he is smiling. He is smiling because in contrition, Celegorm has at last allowed him to be guiltless. He makes no sound, he doesn't shush him or deny him. He lets him purge this blackness from his soul as much as he needs.

Celegorm clings back, embracing, more than tucking himself to hide against his lover's shoulder. His own quake with tears that fall at last, but they are mostly quiet, accompanied by a shaky gasp for breath as he rubs, once, at his face.

After the silence is allowed to linger between them for a time, Thranduil folds him in his arms and kisses him on the corners of his mouth.

"I forgive you," he murmurs against those lips, wiping tears away with his fingertips. "I forgive you."

Celegorm flinches, as sensitive as an exposed nerve, his pupils so wide that the darkness has largely eaten away at his pale irises. He finds the place against Thranduil where he fits neatly, hugging his lover tight around the waist. The tears continue still, little more than a trickle, utterly helplessly.

"I... I feel thin as winter ice in spring." Breaking slowly, losing all his disparate pieces. Even the dim light seems suddenly far too bright. "I no more warrant forgiveness than any other gift you've given me."

"It will take longer to forgive yourself," Thranduil admits softly. "I still haven't forgiven myself. But until I have, I will be sustained by your forgiveness, if you will find sustenance in mine."

He touches Celegorm's chin to draw his eyes up to his face.

"Will you?"

He exhales a hard breath, easy to move to Thranduil's whim, and does not shy to meet his lover's eyes, though his own are red-rimmed. "What shall I forgive you, Thranduil?"

His arms tightened a little around the Sinda. "Shall I forgive... your patience?"

He used their twined legs to roll them again, saying as he did so, smiling a little. "Your gentleness? Your reliable calm?" He paused there, Thranduil beneath him then, admiring the fine golden spray of his hair, his bright eyes.

He pressed his cheek into the hand that had touched his chin, exhaling slowly, seeking some way to ground himself. "No, Thranduil, try as I might, I cannot recall any transgression you might have made against me. What, then, to forgive?"

"My complicity." Thranduil gently strokes where Celegorm has rested his face against his palm. "My selfishness and lack of loyalty. To you, to my people, either. For had I at least chosen one instead of playing both sides, there might have been some virtue in me."

"You judge yourself by a harsh standard," breathed Celegorm, eyes cracking open. "Which I find I am afraid to know."

His brow furrowed a little. "I cannot forgive you for disloyalty to me. You never were: for I had done nothing to earn your loyalty, for it to be broken. Instead I broke or burned whatever bridge there might have been between us, and still you sought some means to reach across the gulf. To your people you have afforded what measure of loyalty would also allow your... safety, in the hope I think of doing better good. Would not any reasonable elf do just so much?"

"I propose a different trade between us."

"What trade would you have of me?" He presses a kiss to Celegorm's forehead, and another to his temple.

"Forgiveness for penitence," he answered, eyes closing again, easing into the affection.

Thranduil hesitates, lips stilled against Celegorm's smooth skin. After a moment, he sighs softly.

"But I will choose your penance," he murmurs. "For I understand this bargain you make. You wish to make matters right between us, but trying to do so will inevitably result in despair."

He tucks a strand of hair away from his lover's face. "We are now as we are, my dear. And here we are together because we find no other person will offer us solace. You will feel guilt, I will feel shame--for now. And I will help you forgive yourself, if you will help me..."

He blinks.

"...Heal."

He kissed Thranduil's palm while the fingers of the same hand shifted his hair. "... I shall. In love, in hope, I swear it to you. If you but guide me over the fault-lines, the fissures and the cracks. I'm no crafter, and I... cannot say I will not stumble or fumble on this unfamiliar path."

"Love me." Thranduil draws his face toward him, and kisses him tenderly. "Only love me, and stumbling will not matter. Love me, and I will be yours for ever, unto the sundering of the world, of my own free will, as free as my will comes to me."

"I love you," murmured Celegorm, returning the kiss. And another, on the corner of his mouth. "I love you. I am yours, and I will be worthy of your love in turn."

Thranduil kisses along his jaw, fingernails gently scritching between shoulder blades along a broad back.

"Then we shall be wed in all truth," he says, resting their foreheads together again. "Only be patient with me. Old fears will overtake passion, at times. But I would give you what you desire, indeed were it all the stars in the sky I would give it to you. Guide my hand, that it will be steady."

Slowly, he rolls them over, till he is atop his lover and between his legs.

Celegorm flushed darkly, and smoothed both hands up Thranduil's chest, pliant to him, relinquishing control. "You are the stars," he murmured, kisses wet and hot and pressed each slow and warmly to Thranduil's shoulders. "The moon, the dawn..."

He moved slow. Certain, hands stroking down Thranduil's sides. Encouraging.

Thranduil cups the back of Celegorm's neck with one hand and finds it somehow reassuring and stabilizing, feeling the tilt of the head, the slackness of muscle. Celegorm is relaxed and trusting, and his body shows it. Kisses are planted in a line down the column of his throat while his free hand explores the curve of one shoulder, tests the firmness of bicep and glides down to smooth over hip.

He slides down Celegorm's body then, shifting his hand to support his lower back instead, and finds the same stabilizing force there. He presses soft kisses to the creamy inner thighs, muscled and hard but sweet as can be, opened for him so. And from there he simply chooses to do what he feels like doing to him. It feels less and less like a prelude to a worrisome act and more a moment out of time to worship a body he finds beautiful. He strokes Celegorm's firm length in his hand while his kisses venture nearer and nearer till his tongue paints a hot, wet stripe over his entrance.

Celegorm's slim fingers grip at Thranduil, rather than seeking purchase on the bed, just curling over an arm, a hip, his waist, letting even the smallest movements communicate his wants for him, wit parted lips and breaths that became just faintly uneven. His ardor ruined only minutes ago by the overwhelming tide of what had felt like so much loss and defeat...

It rose again now, he warmed and hardened in Thranduil's hand, bit back moans of want, and begins saying please in a heady murmur before he realizes the words are escaping him, hands sifting through Thranduil's golden hair.

Thranduil's tongue presses inside again and again, testing himself more than his lover, preparing himself as if by touching water before a cold swim. But Celegorm is warm, hot and clasping, and the flush rises again across Thranduil's shoulders, a burning want with a touch of shame. He cannot allow the shame to grow, as it will if he lingers overlong. He climbs back up Celegorm's body and touches their foreheads again, anchoring them to the same level.

He makes sure he can look directly into Celegorm's eyes when he enters him. That is the source of all his desires, those bright and beautiful eyes, hooded and glazed with their passion. And oh this body burns from the inside, and it burns all around him where Celegorm embraces him and touches him with his breath. He draws in that breath and begins to rock gently in and out, focused so he doesn't have to think, avoiding thought so he can instead feel. And oh, it is good, it is hot and tight and right to be joined so, blending their fates together till the ending of the world.

Celegorm's fingers slid through Thranduil's hair as easily as if it were water. He looped his arms around Thranduil's neck, looking up to Thranduil with desperation: visibly torn in that moment between fleshly desires and this... ultimate vulnerability of body and spirit. Putting himself utterly into someone else's hands.

He clung to Thranduil as if he were the last solid thing in a world gone liquid with uncertainty, and he pressed his heels against the small of Thranduil's back to guide him, deeper. "Fill me, fill me, make... ah, make me yours too..!"

"You are mine," Thranduil murmurs, hips rolling a bit harder. His, all his at last, none other to compete with. He follows Celegorm's instruction and snaps his hips hard, making himself gasp and cry out. All the while his eyes never leave Celegorm's. His arms tremble and elbows threaten to collapse as he props himself up. No, that will not do. Without warning, he hooks his lover's knees over his elbows, lifting his hips so he can plunge down into him, deep as he can. This always felt particularly good to him when he was on the receiving end, and he wants to blow his lover's mind. He wants to pay back all those years of pain with such pleasure as to purge the black stains from his heart. Harder and harder and deeper and harder still until he shakes to his core, hands stroking along thighs.

"Mine, forever mine, mine..."

The first thrust after Thranduil moves him rattles his teeth; the second makes his vision flash white, the breath sobbing out of him, trying first to grip Thranduil's arms and then around his waist to draw himself to meet every motion. He doesn't stop even when he spills cum down his own abdomen in a few white rivulets, chasing the white-out of pleasure so intense it leaves nothing else for his body to feel, nothing else for his mind to think.

When Celegorm begins spasming around him, oh, and Thranduil thrusts into the clenching passage, it takes little time for him to come deep inside, teeth biting down on the flesh of Celegorm's shoulder, drawing blood, marking and holding him.

He pulls out and collapses at Celegorm's side, arms winding around him, tucking his face between neck and shoulder as though hiding from the shame he knows will come, that always comes after this moment no matter what position he's in or how much of the work he does.

The Marriage Consummation Meme

Zevran Arainai | Dragon Age | OTA

Claire Beauchamp | Outlander | ota

margaery tyrell || asoiaf

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Margaret, a Princess | OC | OTA

Amelia Atwater | OC | OTA

Matthew, a Prince | OC | OTA

Alex Lannon • Dominion • m/m

Kate Austen | Lost | OTA

Lioriley | original | ota

Closed to avisionofwar

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