By Milly of Isengard
Written for the Holiday Wizard Challenge
Slash / S & M / Humour
The Council meeting had finally ended, and there were now only two guests remaining, still indulging in the feast- they finally found themselves dining with no other company but each other.
This was the evening repast of a Feast Day, a Celebration for the Anniversary of the formation of the White Council.
The full moon now rose in solemn glory over the departing companies- some would stay and enjoy the hospitality of Rivendell, tarrying overnight.
All the rest of the guests had now finished, and so, alone with his friend and fellow Istar, the erstwhile Leader of the Council still dallied at the table.
Curunír the White and Mithrandir the Grey sat in the large high backed council chairs, and regarded the sumptuous banquet before them –
Roast venison, exquisite pastries, and every manner of fish and fowl, all combined to send a spicy and pungent aroma into the still early evening air.
Mithrandir found a particularly plump venison sausage, and held it up, appraising it-
“Curunír – look at this- have you ever seen a more inviting treat for the tongue?” He grinned at Curunír, who was not especially amused.
Mithrandir sighed, and slowly took in the end of the large long sausage, with almost comical care, and then gingerly bit it off. Curunír glared at him, puzzled and annoyed.
He was often puzzled and annoyed around the Grey Wanderer.
And now this: what was he implying?
Curunír had no idea, but it was either something asinine or foolish, or both.
At length, after Curunír had finished his third goblet of wine, they sat back from the long table, and Mithrandir lit his long, elegantly carved pipe.
Curunír looked at Mithrandir with a look of mingled scorn and impatience- finally, he spoke, his voice dripping with sarcasm:
“Why must you smoke that foul substance constantly?”
Mithrandir regarded him with an amused glance, and simply replied:
“Ah, it does no harm to you, does it, Curunír?”
“It is a drug, as the Men call it- it muddles your senses and confuses your thoughts! And you, my dear Mithrandir, can scarcely afford that! You know I disapprove, yet you still do this!”
Mithrandir chuckled quietly under his beard, and said:
“Curunír, not wishing to be disrespectful, but might I, in the same vein of concern for your well-being, make the observation that your habit of drinking at least five goblets of wine at every Council meeting, is, perhaps, rather too much? Would such an observation be ill-advised, or disrespectful?”
Mithrandir choked back a laugh, as he watched Curunír’s jaw clench, and delivered through gritted teeth, he received the reply:
“It would, indeed, be ‘ill-advised’, Mithrandir.”
Mithrandir looked dead serious, then, and frowned.
“Ah, then I suppose I had better not make the observation, then!”
Curunír dug his long nails slightly into the arm of his chair, but said nothing.
Why did Mithrandir torment him in this way? Was it pure mockery, or even a gentle cruelty? It did not truly seem to be.
But why, then?
They rose from the table, and began to walk the grounds- Mithrandir observed that the last of the guests were retiring into their quarters, as a chill began to spread over the air.
They were now, truly all alone in the moonlit gardens of the Elven Keep.
Curunír leaned up against an ancient tree, lost in his own thoughts, and was not aware that Mithrandir was watching him very closely.
“Let us retire to our quarters, Aratar.” Mithrandir said softly, “I am overfull, and overweary from our journey.”
Curunír merely muttered an assent, and they walked in silence to their private chambers- Elrond’s special quarters for the visiting Istari, in deference to their high position.
Curunír was very irritated at Mithrandir, but he restrained his anger. How he loathed being mocked, even gently. Mithrandir was, after all, his student, his pupil, in a manner of speaking. He ought to have more genuine respect, than the obligatory bowing and small courtesies.
He changed his heavy, ceremonial robes for a much lighter sleeping robe, and drifted into thought- unaware, once again, that he had an attentive audience. Curunír thought nothing of changing in front of Mithrandir- although he would not have done so in front of anyone else.
He wondered if the others had noticed- or heard- their quiet bickering at the feast table.
Fortunately, most everyone had left by then – perhaps everyone.
But Mithrandir would not have cared- he would have simply chuckled and made some insipid remark.
He sat down on the large bed, and turned briefly to adjust the pillows -when he turned back, he was surprised to find Mithrandir close in front of him, kneeling by the side of the bed, facing him-
“What are you doing, now, pray? More humor, at my unhappy expense?” Curunír asked, with a trace of genuine sorrow in his voice.
Mithrandir looked him steadily in the eyes, and replied:
“Nay, my old comrade, I have never been more serious, than I am at this moment!”
Curunír frowned, furrowing his great dark eyebrows, and regarded Mithrandir suspiciously-
“What, then? Why are you on your knees before me, if not in some false subservience?”
Mithrandir smiled slightly, and answered:
“Do you trust me, my Lord Curumo?”
Curunír flinched slightly, uncomfortable at being addressed this way by Mithrandir- he was more at ease with the borderline disrespect.
But even that never really crossed the line.
No matter how mercilessly he might tease and jest, Mithrandir never failed to observe the basic rules of respect.
So what is he up to now?, Curunír wondered, not in the mood for games- he never was in the mood for games, actually.
“Trust you? I- I suppose I do. Should I not? Is that a mistake on my part?”
Mithrandir smiled in a very cunning way, and Curunír suddenly felt very uneasy.
“Nay- you ought to trust me- for I would never harm you, or betray that trust.”
And as Curunír watched, baffled, Mithrandir slowly, and carefully, trailed one hand up along his leg, finally coming to rest on his thigh.
He could feel the warmth of Mithrandir’s hand through his white robe, and it was a strange feeling – he was not accustomed to being touched at all, and this- well, this was bizarre!
He could not even find words, for once in his existence. He was usually a master of speech, but now he found no way to express his total confusion and unease.
He realized he was breathing harder now, and his heart was pounding faster than he could ever remember.
Mithrandir smiled at him again, his blue eyes alight with a wise understanding.
“I know that which you have failed to taste, Curunír- of all the banquets of this world, that you have desired and devoured, yet one has escaped you! But I know- I indeed know - what you need!”
Mithrandir now raised his other hand, and with the utmost ease and grace, slipped it under Curunír’s robe- and with fingers insistently searching, found what he sought - and grasped hold gently.
“Mithrandir! What can you possibly be doing?” Curunír exclaimed, shocked and startled, and feeling more ill at ease than ever. “Get up, and let go of me- of - that!”
“Nay, Curumo- you said you trusted me- did you not? Then let your heart not be troubled by what I am doing. Trust me, as you said yourself, that you do.”
“Shh- be still, for once, Curunír! You need not analyze all that comes your way! Only- be at ease- lie back- and relax now- trust. I am plotting no evil against you. You need not draw back from me, my hand seeks your pleasure, not your pain.”
Curunír was stunned by Mithrandir’s nearly insubordinate tone- he had gone too far this time, but -
And as the wandering fingers took many liberties under his robe, finally drawing out the object of their attention into the open –he again could not find the words to debate the matter.
He did lean back then, and closed his eyes, in dread and awe all at once.
Mithrandir took the rapidly swelling cock in his mouth, and heard the sharply restrained groan from his old friend as he did so.
His tongue knew its way, and soon Curunír was fairly shivering with pleasure, and finally put his hand on Mithrandir’s head, and thrust his fingers into the long shaggy grey hair.
He muttered softly in Quenyan, endearments and half-curses, so confused, and yet utterly unable to willingly cease such pleasure.
Mithrandir took him almost all the way down, now, his tongue rolling down the entire length, and then pressing his lips tightly around the now fully engorged and quite hard cock-
- and then just as suddenly, he backed off, leaving Curunír to gasp in frustration and anger:
“What is this, another jest of yours? Why do you suddenly halt like this?” he snarled, and Mithrandir could hear from the sound of his voice that he had been very close to climax - no doubt, the very first of his long life.
“Ah, so quickly the trust dies, Curunír! Keep your small faith a little longer- I will not disappoint you!” – and, with a movement that was so swift it was nearly imperceptible, Mithrandir moved atop Curunír, forcing him back on the bed, and embraced him gracefully.
Curunír groaned unhappily, and wore a look of great distaste at being touched in this way. He turned away from Mithrandir’s approach, frowning.
“So cold, yes, my dearest Curumo. Always so cold to me, hmm? And I, ever the humble and respectful disciple! But tonight, I think, you shall see another side of me!”
He bent forward and kissed Curunír’s hot skin, then gently biting his throat-
“It will be good, yes, very good, I think, for both of us. But it will not quite be as you might expect. I see more than you realize, Curunír, I know you very well, perhaps better than you know yourself!”
He pressed himself against Curunír, so he could feel the hard manifestation of his arousal- and then pulled the covers around the two of them, saying:
“There, is that a little more comfortable for you? Not so- in the open, eh? And warmer, no doubt! Soon, we shall warm each other, my old friend.”
Curunír regarded him with a look of confused alarm, and murmured softly: “ I think you had better get off of me, Mithrandir! This game of yours grows tiresome, and since you had found it amusing to – arouse me- and then cease- I have no patience with you!”
Mithrandir snorted lightly at him, laughing now:
“Ah, Curunír, is that what you think? That I am done with you, and I merely crawling on you for some sport?”
“Do you deny it?”
“Not only do I deny it, but I shall now show you the error of such an idea.”
He pressed against Curunír again, and now, under the relative security of the shielding covers, Curunír found he could relax, somewhat - if only somewhat.
Now in near-darkness, he touched Curunír’s face and then leaned down, placing his mouth on his- Curunír made a muffled sound of protest, reaching up and grasping Mithrandir by the shoulders, but instead of pushing him away, he encircled him in a hesitant embrace.
Mithrandir gently pushed his tongue into Curunír’s mouth, and their tongues entwined for what seemed like an eternity. Nearly gasping now, Curunír arched himself up against Mithrandir’s body, and with one long hand, pulled away the robes between them.
Mithrandir was more than pleased to comply, and he slipped his hands under Curunír, and lifted him up even higher, feeling the sudden shocking sensation of their cocks touching at last –in the throes of instinctive movements, they moved against each other , with slowly increasing urgency.
Silent no longer, Curunír moaned in restrained passion against Mithrandir’s neck, and Mithrandir was feeling the excitement between them begin to reach its inevitable conclusion. He reached down and grasped hold of both their straining and hard cocks, squeezing them together, and thrust vigorously against his unlikely lover –
Curunír was clutching him in a death grip, now, the sweat of their bodies slick between them - and then, without warning, Mithrandir let go, and moved away.
“Gandalf!” Curunír’s voice was livid with fury, this time, and he grabbed a handful of the long grey hair- “What are you doing?”
Mithrandir suppressed a grunt of pain at Curunír’s hand in his hair, and Curunír let go, but he was very unhappy – his breathing was loud and angry, lurid with the undertone of frustrated arousal.
Without speaking, he took hold of Curunír by the side, tossing off the covers, and rolled him on his belly swiftly. Curunír was too surprised to even react, or resist, and before he knew what had happened, Mithrandir had hold of his arm, and it was pulled back – a little too hard- behind his back. There was a deep, dull pain in his shoulder.
Groaning, he was appalled to find that, instead of diminishing his excitement, it had- perversely – actually increased it. His cock was on fire, and it dug into the soft silk of the bed, achingly engorged, needing release, the first ever.
Mithrandir retained his very firm grip on Curunír’s arm, and whispered:
“As I told you, Curumo, I know you very well - better than you know yourself, perhaps.”
Curunír suddenly felt a sharp pain – why, Gandalf had struck him with his Staff! And in a very awkward area, as well.
“Olórin! Have you lost your mind! What do you think-”
Again the Staff came down, not brutally, but painfully.
I shall not be able to sit for a fortnight!, Curunír thought, dazed.
Again. The pain seethed into him- it was not terrible, only a sharp stinging- but it was intense.
Mithrandir smiled slightly- this was not something he would do under any other circumstances, or with anyone else.
Under ordinary conditions, inflicting pain was the last thing he would do- even in battle, he killed as cleanly and quickly as possible.
But this was no ordinary condition. And Curumo was- well- very extraordinary.
When pain became pleasure- then- and only then – was he willing to apply it so liberally.
He let loose of Curunír’s arm, and allowed him to roll over on his back.
Mithrandir met his Mentor’s black, furious glare. He grinned, and said softly:
“Curumo- my lord- do you still trust me? Do you trust me to never truly do you ill?”
Curunír scowled, but hissed back : “Gandalf, you have lost your wits, obviously, and your penalty for this shall be-”
Mithrandir cut his words off sharply, with amused observation:
“Penalty? For stoking your fires to a fever pitch? For see, I think your body knows better than your mind!”
And Gandalf reached down and took hold of him, as he was swollen hugely, and wrapped his lips around the large firm organ once more. Curunír forgot his anger, and outrage, and thrust up into Mithrandir’s hot mouth, moaning, praying he would not cease abruptly again.
As he saw Curumo close his eyes, Mithrandir reached over to the small table by the bed and picked up the candle- briefly taking his lips off – and when Curumo raised his head to protest, he saw to his horror that Mithrandir was about to drip hot wax from the candle on him- and it was too late to even react.
“No! Don’t do that! No..”
But the wax had already fallen, and when it hit, dripping down the length of the shaft, Curunír stifled a loud cry of pain.
His cock seemed to increase even more in size, and Mithrandir bent his head down on it again.
And yet again, the wax dripped down, and Curunír felt as if he might pass out- but instead, the sensations roared to a thunderous intensity, and he found himself at the very brink of pleasure, though he really did not comphrehend it what was coming.
The candle had gone out, and Mithrandir dropped it to the floor.
Unknown to Curunír, Mithrandir had planned this well in advance. When they had left the banquet table, he had secreted away a small bit of butter.
And this, he now rubbed onto his own considerable erection- and moving with stealth, he lay down atop Curumo, pressing him down on the bed, lifting his hips up high, feeling for the way inside.
Curunír gasped, confused, angry, and aroused, all at once.
“Gandalf – what are you doing – this must stop-”
Mithrandir chuckled softly, and pushed gently into him, slowly and carefully, slippery with the butter.
“My dear Curumo- first, you do not wish me to stop- and then you ask me to. I think, perhaps, you are not sure what you want!”
Curunír panted with the incredible feeling of Mithrandir entering him, it felt as if it ought to be painful, but it was not. This time, there was no pain, and the pleasure was pure and untainted.
Mithrandir continued moving slowly for a time, and then harder, and Curumo groaned loudly, finally moving up to meet the deep thrusts, his nails digging into the bed.
The bed slammed hard against the wall, and Curunír felt something coming- something happening- it was as if every fibre in him was taut, tensed, and powerful thrills of sensation flowed though him.
And then it all unleashed, and pleasure of a degree he had never imagined shook him from head to toe, and he clung to Mithrandir, making a deep throaty cry.
The feeling of Curunír coming and tightening around his cock was too much of a stimulation for Mithrandir, and he drove into him hard, as the sweetest climax rumbled through him, making his heart thunder.
They lay in silence for some time, Mithrandir collapsed on top of Curunír, weary and blissful.
He finally stirred, and gently kissed his lover's throat, and said:
"I forgot to mention, Curumo- happy Council Anniversary!"
This is a work of fan fiction, written because the author has an abiding love for the works of J R R Tolkien. The characters, settings, places, and languages used in this work are the property of the Tolkien Estate, Tolkien Enterprises, and possibly New Line Cinema, except for certain original characters who belong to the author of the said work. The author will not receive any money or other remuneration for presenting the work on this archive site. The work is the intellectual property of the author, is available solely for the enjoyment of Henneth Annûn Story Archive readers, and may not be copied or redistributed by any means without the explicit written consent of the author.