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Bard was worried. There. He’d admitted it. He was worried about his children. Fíli had come down to Dale to escort Sigrid, Bain, and Tilda up to Erebor for a weekend. It was the first time any of them had travelled without him, and while he trusted the Dwarf, really, he did, that wasn’t enough to quell his intrusive thoughts.
After all. Anything could happen on the road. The weather could turn, soaking them to the bone and giving them all pneumonia. Their horse could twist an ankle, falling and pinning them underneath it; was the Dwarf strong enough to move a grown horse? Surely not. A band of raiding Orcs could come by and slay them all since they’d carried nothing of value--
“Bard,” Thranduil’s voice cut through the fog of anxiety. “Bard, they will be fine. Prince Fíli is an accomplished warrior, and Sigrid has the most level head of any Man I’ve ever met. It is a short journey. Your children will be safe under the Mountain by dusk.”
“I know,” he sighed, rubbing his hand over his eyes. “I know this, I do, but still…” Thranduil had come up from Mirkwood on “Official Business” but as any actual business had yet to be done, Bard was beginning to think he’d known how much this trip was going to affect him. How could he look so damn unflappable all the time? They were just sitting, in Bard’s house, drinking and not actually discussing anything of note, and Bard had let his mind wander.
“It was not easy for me either, the first time Legolas left Mirkwood,” Thranduil admitted softly, putting down his goblet. He rose to his feet and crossed the sitting room to stand behind Bard. “Despite how capable I knew him to be, and the others who went with him, it was all too easy to let my mind get the better of me.” He started kneading gently at the knots in Bard’s shoulders, pulling out a sigh. “I’ve found it’s best,” Thranduil added with a smirk, “to find oneself a distraction.”
The gentle massage on his shoulders was a welcome relief, and he closed his eyes to focus on that instead of his quiet, empty house. After a moment, silky hair fell over Bard’s shoulder, a split-second warning for Thranduil’s lips on his neck. “Mmm, are you offering? To distract me?”
“I am,” Thranduil answered, lips fluttering against Bard’s skin.
A jolt of heat shot down his spine and pooled in his gut. Bard’s hand drifted up to cup Thranduil’s cheek, and he was rewarded with a nip of teeth. Suddenly the room was far too warm. “Well then,” he coughed, “distract away.” He stood, stepped around the chair, and slid his arms around Thranduil’s waist.
“That’s more like it,” the elf smiled as he pressed his lips to Bard’s. He licked into his mouth, claiming it, taking the lead so Bard had nothing to do but go along for the ride. Except--
Bard pulled away, glancing at the open window. “Bedroom,” he muttered, and led Thranduil up the stairs. He hadn’t done much housekeeping that morning, too worried about making sure his children had everything they could possibly need, and more. The bedclothes were tossed to the side, but the curtains were still pulled closed and that was the important part. He fell onto the bed and pulled Thranduil with him; it gave him no small pleasure whenever Bard could get Thranduil to do something remotely graceless or un-kingly, and he laughed when his ploy worked.
Thranduil allowed himself to fall and rolled to the side, then immediately returned to kissing Bard, pressing his whole body against him, licking and biting at his lips. In no time he was moving, brushing his smooth cheek against Bard’s bristly one, sucking marks into the Man’s neck and collarbone, pushing aside the collar of his shirt to expose more of his chest. He rocked against him, pushing his quickly growing erection into Bard’s hip.
Underneath him, Bard groaned and twisted his hand into Thranduil’s long hair. “These clothes are really quite in the way, don’t you think?” he gasped, tugging at the fabric on Thranduil’s shoulder.
“Hmm,” the Elf agreed, and rose from the bed to remove his robe and trousers.
Bard eagerly followed suit, shucking his shirt and pants in record time, then reaching back for Thranduil. “Don’t make me start thinking again,” he teased.
The only reply he received was a quirked eyebrow. Thranduil’s gaze tracked down Bard’s body slowly, taking him in inch by inch.
Only then did Bard feel as naked as he actually was; a blush rose in his cheeks and chest, and he crooked his fingers. “Please?”
The ghost of a smile flickered across Thranduil’s features and he slinked back to the bed, lowering himself slowly over Bard, kissing gently down his chest and stomach, nipping at his hips and thighs. No matter how Bard twisted and moaned, he would not touch him in the one place he wanted most.
“Thranduil, please,” Bard gasped, pulling at the sheet underneath him desperately. His cock was throbbing now, red and leaking over his stomach. How Thranduil could be so calm and composed was beyond him; he could feel the elf’s cock pressed against his leg, which was nearly as arousing as the teasing he had to endure.
Wordlessly Thranduil raised Bard’s legs, still kissing and licking and biting into his thighs and ass. The first stroke of his tongue against Bard’s hole sent him reeling, gasping for breath even as his cock remained untouched. Over and over Thranduil kissed and licked at his hole, slicking it up for a finger to enter him, agonizingly slow. One crook of that finger and Bard saw stars.
“Oh… fuck,” he groaned, canting his hips in time with Thranduil’s strokes until he became fully used to the feeling. “More, please, more!”
“Patience,” Thranduil warned, though he did as Bard asked and added another finger, slick with spit. A small jar of oil on the table next to the bed provided the extra lubrication he needed, and he pulled out of Bard to drizzle some over his fingers.
Already Bard felt empty, needing, wanting, and though he understood why Thranduil had paused for a moment that didn’t mean he had to like it. When he felt his fingers again start to enter him, he shifted his hips against them, fucking himself down onto Thranduil’s hand. It wasn’t enough; he reached down and pulled on his cock, twisting his palm at the head, sending shivers down his spine.
Thranduil swatted his hand away. “Patience, Bard,” he reminded, and slid a third finger in to join the others, opening him up slowly, deliberately, carefully. He mouthed at Bard’s thighs and balls while he worked, but that was all.
Bard thought he would die from want. He wanted to be good for Thranduil, to do whatever he was supposed to do so that Thranduil would touch him, or would let him touch himself. Every gentle stroke against his prostate caused another blinding wave of pleasure until he could no longer keep quiet. “Please, Thran--Thranduil, by the Valar, this is going to kill me,” he whimpered, breathy sighs turned to keening. He looked to the ceiling, trying to focus on the roughly hewn boards rather than let the sight of Thranduil, so composed as he drove Bard so mad, set him off.
This time, when Thranduil removed his hand, a sob ripped out of Bard’s throat. He couldn’t tell if it was a relief or a torture, to be allowed to calm himself while Thranduil spread the oil around on his cock. He hummed, low in his chest, as he stroked himself to full hardness. “Are you ready, Bard?”
“Yes, gods, please,” he whined, and as Thranduil’s cock pressed inside him he sighed with relief. He felt so full, so close, so much better now.
Slowly, slowly, Thranduil began to move. Each stroke of his cock pulled a sigh out of Bard, and soon they had matched rhythms so they were moving together, Bard bucking up to meet Thranduil’s downward thrusts. He reached back down, taking himself in hand, jerking himself loosely with each push of Thranduil’s hips. It was so good, it was just what he needed, it was… nice?
He was completely aroused, he was enjoying everything that Thranduil was doing, he was just not getting any closer to orgasm than he was five minutes before. Maybe that was what anxiety did to a person; maybe he was ruined now with worry for his children. What time was it? Had they reached the mountain yet? Would it be inappropriate to send a raven as soon as he was done in the bedroom? When would he be done?
“Bard, come back to me,” Thranduil murmured in his ear, kissing just below it.
“I’m sorry,” he groaned in exasperation. “It’s not you, it’s just… I can’t shut my brain off.”
“Let me.” Suddenly two hands gripped Bard’s ass tightly and pulled him up, then dropped him back on a pillow so his hips were above his head. “I will make you forget everything but me,” Thranduil whispered, snapping his hips against Bard’s, fucking into him faster and faster, hitting his prostate every other thrust.
Bard’s heart pounded in his chest, his eyes falling closed as he laid back and let Thranduil work. It was amazing, he was on fire, sweat breaking out on his brow and chest. Slowly a coil of pleasure started twisting tight, low in his belly, and he started to moan again. The sound of his own voice jerked him out of his reverie, killed his rising pleasure, and he cursed. “Fuck, I don’t know what my problem is, I just can’t--”
Thranduil’s hand on his throat cut him off. “Ssh,” he smirked, and pushed down at the same time he rolled his hips against Bard.
He drew a ragged breath, significantly thinner thanks to the pressure on his throat, and his mind instantly cleared. He couldn’t moan, he couldn’t talk, all he could do was feel. The weight of Thranduil’s body over him, the coolness of air hitting his damp skin, the cock in his ass hitting the spot every time now, the sweet tension of pleasure building low in his belly as he jerked himself in time to Thranduil’s movements. His eyes drifted closed; he was lighter than air, his mind blissfully empty, the only thought in his head of how close, oh how close he was. He couldn’t find it in himself to be scared, he trusted Thranduil to know what would be too much.
Bard opened his eyes to find the edges of his vision blurring, his blood pounding in his ears the only thing he could hear. He tightened his grip on himself, quickening his pace along with Thranduil, until suddenly the hand on his throat was gone.
“Come for me,” Thranduil whispered.
With the rush of a full breath, finally, finally the wave of his orgasm crashed down. He spilled all over his stomach with a hoarse shout, his walls clenching down on Thranduil’s cock, his own cock pulsing in his hand for what seemed like an eternity.
When Bard opened his eyes again, Thranduil looked pleased as he continued to pound into him at a dizzying pace. “Feeling better?” he asked through gritted teeth.
Reaching around now to dig his fingers into the meat of Thranduil’s ass, Bard smiled back. “Only once you come for me too.”
With Bard’s grip spurring him on, it wasn’t long before Thranduil’s hips lost their rhythm, stuttering as he climaxed silently. They fell back down to the bed together, Thranduil slipping out and rolling to lay next to Bard with a sigh.
“That’s more like it,” Bard said as he relaxed into the pillow, hands folded under his head.
“Not so worried about your children anymore, hm?” Thranduil smirked.
“What children?” he joked back, and rolled to his side to rest his head on Thranduil’s shoulder. “Thank you, though,” Bard added quietly, seriously. "For the distraction."
Thranduil’s arm wrapped around Bard’s shoulders and he lay a kiss on the mess of dark hair. “Any time, Bard,” he answered. “Any time.”