1259: Interrogation – One Shot

Title: Interrogation
Author: Alpanu
Media: Book/Movie
Topic: The Hobbit by J. R. R. Tolkien / The Hobbit film adaptations by Peter Jackson
Genre: Smut
URL: One Shot
Critiqued by KittyNoodles and Amariah

***WARNING: The following fic portrays naughty sex scenes in explicit detail. It also attempts to portray said naughty sex as consensual, but instead blends nymphomania with rape and dubious consent. The riffers are highly likely to use extremely naughty language and lewd humor in response. Additionally, as is typical with smutty badfics, there will be some brief instruction as to how the female reproductive organs actually work. Y’all have been warned.***

Kitty: GUESS WHO’S BACK, EVERYBODY?!

Amariah: Santa Claus.

Kitty: [gritting her teeth through her grin] No, you idiot, it hasn’t been Thanksgiving yet! (at the time it was written, anyway – Lyle) It’s me! I’m back! Hello! I’m KittyNoodles and this is Amariah Earthwhisper, one of my OCs! She’s half-human and half-shapeshifter-thing—

[Amariah snarls menacingly]

Kitty: —and looks kinda like this:

tumblr_nu33szjtnI1redjf7o1_500

Courtesy of apostatecommander

Amariah: Kitty’s found yet another badfic to riff, and wanted me to join in for the hell of it.

[pokes Kitty] Why not ask your Elf character? Isn’t she pretty much ready to go?

Kity: It’s a he. And he threatened to murder me if I made this his introductory riff.

Amariah: I think I like him already.

Kitty: Yeah, well, until I find a badfic that doesn’t make him foam at the mouth with rage – or until he calms the hell down a bit, being new and all – you and your buddies are stuck with me for the Tolkien baddies as well as the rest of them.

Today’s fic is based on The Hobbit, and although it’s listed in both the book and the adaptations tags on the Archive, it’s most likely been based on movie!Thranduil. For those who don’t know, The Hobbit follows the adventure of young Bilbo Baggins, the titular Hobbit who gets dragged into a quest alongside a company of twelve Dwarves to slay a dragon and reclaim a Dwarfish kingdom from said dragon due to the efforts of Gandalf, a Maia (lesser angelic being) disguised as a wizard.

Thranduil is the Elvenking who acts as the company’s roadblock halfway through their journey. In the books, this is mostly because they’re trespassing in his kingdom and gets exacerbated when Thorin responds to questioning by being a douche. In the movies, it’s more because Thranduil is also a douche. But he’s sexy and eventually grows a soul in the movies, so that’s okay.

Amariah: He’s a well-meaning asshole who shows up in a story biased in favor of the Dwarves. Of course he gets the short end of the stick, here.

Kitty: In any event, today we’re riffing a story where we, the reader, get to be boinked by Thranduil. Buckle up, kids.

Amariah: What about your NaNo novel…?

Kitty: In the works. Sort of. Onward!

This fic is a… well, okay, maybe lukewarm one as far as they go. One could argue that this riff is the result of my not being able to find very many decent Thranduil/Reader fics, But even in the ones I went through on A3O – the bad ones, at least; I did find some very good ones – this one stood out to me. I think you’ll see why as we go along.

The fic is titled “Interrogation,” and we are not going to get into why I clicked on this one right away on seeing the title. Neither are we going to question my excitement when I saw the summary, which is as follows:

Based on imagine from imaginexhobbit on tumblr:
Imagine being captured in Mirkwood and brought before Thranduil because you are thought to be a spy. Thranduil has you locked away when you swear you know nothing. Later, he comes on his own to interrogate you, and a heated argument leads to some very naughty interrogation methods.

Amariah: [raising an eyebrow] Ah-huh.

Kitty: We are not exploring Kitty’s motivation, here. We go!

“I am patient. I can wait.” He flicks his wrist and two of his royal guards are immediately upon you, dragging you from the small platform under his throne down the stairs.

Amariah: They weren’t already hanging on to her? She’s a prisoner suspected of being a spy. At the very least, they should have been holding her in place.

Kitty: Okay, appropriating movie dialogue is a little lazy, but if it’s done well, it can blend into the rest of a piece pretty well.

“Wait!” You shout back at him. “I am no spy! Please, believe me, my lord! I am no spy!”

Amariah: That liar lies.

Kitty: My little baby’s all grown up and… and reciting memes! [sniffles]

Your ministrations are to no avail; his pointy ears are not there for you. You are not even rewarded with as much as a last glance of his merciless glacial stare. Why should you be anyway? He is convinced about his truth.

Amariah: Kitty, stop trying to bludgeon yourself with your dictionary.

Kitty: But it burns! The bad writing burns us! How is shouting a ministration? If the reader is in any way used to Elves, why would they comment on his pointy ears in this situation? I get a little scathing sarcasm, but pointy ears is almost a racial slur in the Tolkienverse, and is used as a racial slur in Jackson’s adaptation of Fellowship! During the Council, by a Dwarf, no less! And— And— And “merciless, glacial stare” is redundant! Everyone already expects it to be merciless when they read glacial! Are you comparing his eye color to ice? It’s blue-gray! I mean, it’s a pale blue-gray, but not glaci—

[ponders and checks Google image search]

—Okay, fine, it’s glacial. You’re still being redundant! And “convinced about his truth” is just janky all around.

“Please, I know nothing!” You continue your begging but you already are being dragged further down through enormous open caves and corridors. Your shouting drags too much attention but you do not care. You are not a spy and you wish to prove it. Yet, as you soon realise, you are being dragged to his dungeons.

Kitty: Remember what the author just wrote, everybody. You, the reader, are explicitly not a spy. This becomes crucial later.

Amariah: In what way is the reader’s commotion drawing too much attention? Does the reader’s avatar not want the attention? Do the guards not appreciate the commotion? Are the dungeons filled with Orcs who might know things?

Kitty: The world may never know.

After the door is shut behind you, you run to it, hitting and kicking the heavy bars, shouting curses in both common tongue and elvish. One hour passes and nobody is paying you attention.

Kitty: An hour? Really? You spent an hour raging blindly at those bars? Now they’re going to keep you locked up because they think you’re completely insane on top of being a spy!

Amariah: At least she fits in with all those Orcs, now.

After two hours, the guardians change their duties and new watch is there, scrutinising you thoroughly but not listening to your pleas.

A chimpanzee male, holding the rusted bars of its cage, screams wildly at the Havana Zoo, Havana, Cuba, 12 February 2011. The largest and the oldest zoo in Cuba (founded in 1939) is located in a centric neighborhood of the capital. Since the 1990s Cuba struggles with chronic economic crisis and therefore the strong marks of rundown and lack of sources are evident within the whole zoological garden. A lot of cages are empty and out of use for long time, the remaining animals are captured in poorly maintained pits. Concrete enclosures have no vegetation, all facilities are unkept. The food supply is often inadequate and visitors throw junkfood to the animals because there are no zookeepers around.

Amariah: [guard #1] Do you think it bites?

Kitty: [guard #2] I dare you to stick your hand in and find out.

Another hour later, food is brought to you but you have not power nor will to eat. All you are able to do is watching the bowl with some sort of mush, ignoring the smell of it. Slowly, you fall into peaceful slumber.

Amariah: So… they gave me oatmeal?

Kitty: Maybe I’m just sort of mashing it up with my fork?

Amariah: And am I ignoring the smell because it smells good or awful? In any event, clearly I’m not as bothered as I should be by my presumably wrongful imprisonment if my slumber is peaceful.

~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~

Kitty: NOTHING. IS WRONG. WITH A LINE OF NOTHING. IF TOLKIEN SEPARATED HIS BLOODY LINES WITH AN EMPTY SPACE, IT’S GOOD ENOUGH FOR YOU TO DO, TOO.

Suddenly, a strange noise is entering your dreams and you slowly wake up.

<b>Amariah:</b> Again: If I’m wrongfully imprisoned – or if in fact I am lawfully imprisoned by my intelligence target – I’m not going to take my precious sweet time waking up when strange noises suddenly start entering my space. That’s probably the guards, and they’re probably coming to interrogate me.

Slightly disoriented you blink several times to acknowledge your surroundings and then a realisation hits you. You were caught by a regular patrol in Mirkwood. First they thought you were a trespasser but then they realised you are one of their kin, and therefore no trespasser at all. Your presence was not announced and your captors got suspicious what you were doing in their forest under such circumstances.

Kitty: So the reader is also an Elf. That makes the reader’s earlier “pointy ears” comment even more egregious, because why would an Elf note that another Elf does, in fact, have pointed ears? Even half-Elves have pointy ears.

Amariah: By “one of their kin,” does Alpanu mean the reader’s just an Elf? Or does she mean the reader is specifically an Elf who lived in Mirkwood for a while? If it’s the former, that’s still an intrusion; if it’s the latter, why isn’t the reader being greeted warmly regardless of whether or not they announced themselves? Maybe they’re coming to visit their parents or something. The Elves of Mirkwood are paranoid, sure, but they aren’t freakishly paranoid.

Interrogating by the king was short. He quickly made up his decision, not allowing you to say any word for your defence. Not that he would believe your story anyway. He locked you in his dungeons to wait there for further interrogation and that time, as it seemed, has already come.

Kitty: Wait, the interrogation already happened?

Amariah: Didn’t she already tell us Thranduil wasn’t likely to believe our story? This is just sloppiness.

You rub your eyes to chase away the last remnants of your pleasant dreams. Clumsily, you stand from the stony bed, straightening your clothes.

Kitty: I feel relatively certain the beds in the Mirkwood dungeons weren’t solid stone. Maybe worn-out bedrolls laid across a stone slab, but I think even Thranduil has more of a soul than that.

Amariah: You like Thranduil.

Kitty: I also recognize he can be a giant bag of dicks.

The king is standing there in your cell that is already locked again and the patrol is marching away, leaving you and the king alone.

Amariah: Where’s the bullshit button when I need it? There are three things in that section that I seriously doubt.

Kitty: It’s been confiscated by P.E.T.C.O.

Amariah: What?

Kitty: People for the Ethical Treatment of Computers. I hear they released it into the wild.

Amariah: …What?

You gulp and bow, not talking before he allows you to do so. You see that he had changed his clothes before he came here but his demeanour is not any less stunning.

Amariah: Again, I sincerely doubt that I would behave so demurely in this situation. I’d be taking full advantage of the fact that the guards were absent and he was locked inside with me. [as the reader] “Guards! Come let me out before I behead your idiot king!”

Kitty: On the other hand, as a lawful, wrongfully-imprisoned prisoner, I would probably try acting more appropriately, since literally kicking and screaming in protest did nothing.

He is tall as an oak tree and his autumn crown made of twigs and adorned with auburn leaves and berries makes him seemingly even taller. His clothes are simple yet the fabric is the one of the highest quality. Simple grey leggings are stuck into black leather boots that reach up to his knees, disappearing under the hem of his dark silver tunic. The tunic itself is adorned with floral motives that disappear and reappear in the dim light of torches.

Kitty: I think she means motifs. It’s a little strange to think he’d wear anything flowery at a time like this, but not entirely impossible to imagine he even dresses like a priss to interrogate prisoners.

Amariah: [gritting her teeth] Only in this fic.

There are no magical lights in the dungeons and the surroundings are rather dark, but the king standing in front of you, scanning you with his cerulean eyes, is much more intimidating than the darkness.

Kitty: How is it this dark in here, but she can tell exactly the color of everything? I’ve not seen a lot of indication that Alpanu’s working from the canon ability of Elves to see in surroundings dark enough to blind humans. And in any event, the lighting didn’t seem quite that dark in the movies.

Amariah: His eyes aren’t quite what I would call cerulean. Gray-blue, maybe. Icy, even. The color isn’t quite dark enough for cerulean.

In his right hand, there is a large white knife and you recognise it as one of the pair of Legolas’ knives. You gulp again and take one step back.

Kitty: Why in the hell does Thranduil need Legolas’ knives to torture somebody? Did fucking Peter Jackson cowrite this fic? Goddammit, people! Quit shoehorning Legolas into everything that has to do with the legendarium!

Amariah: [imitating Thranduil] Son, I need to borrow your knife to torture one of our prisoners.

Kitty: [imitating Legolas] Dad, why do you need mine? You’re the king; can’t you get your own commissioned? Also, I’m not really comfortable with this whole torturing thing.

Amariah: [Thranduil] Silence, child! Times are hard here in Mirkwood. Also I’m wearing your braies.

“So,” the king starts with his expression vast of emotions, “finally we have time to talk privately.”

Kitty: His expression is vast of emotions? So he’s openly displaying everything he feels as he’s feeling it? What the hell did you smoke, author?

Amariah: Shut up, the good part’s getting ready to start.

Your eyes dart to the bars behind him. There are no sounds except the falling water of a near waterfall you crossed during your way down here. There are no shadows of the regular patrols that you were able to see before. You indeed are alone and at his every whim.

Kitty: Hold onto your butts, everybody, it’s about to get all Fifty Shades up in here.

“Tell me, [name], what were you doing in the forest, unannounced, armed and alone?” He is not moving towards you but he does not need to do so, you are scared anyway.

“Have you cut out your tongue?” He asks when there is no answer from you.

Amariah: No, sir, that would be an intelligent thing to do for someone who really was breaking the law. Clearly that means she hasn’t even considered doing it.

“No!” You finally manage to speak, or rather squeak and immediately cover your mouth. Your high voice bounces off the walls and returns to you as an obnoxious echo. “No, my lord, I have not.” You repeat silently.

Kitty: You’re lucky Thranduil isn’t the twitchy type.

“Good.” He says, expressionless. “I demand answers now. Why were you hiding in the forest and fled from my patrol? Why were you armed? Why did you not announce your presence before you entered the forest?”

Amariah: [imitating Thranduil] Why is the sky blue? Why does my son keep stealing my screentime when he wasn’t even in The Hobbit? Why do I have a ridiculous policy requiring all visitors to send me a letter announcing their arrival even though that would probably just result in our arresting whoever brought the letter for you?

Kitty: The hell does he mean “why was the reader armed?” What am I supposed to do, waltz in wearing nothing but my skivvies and hope a spider doesn’t maul me?

You suck in air to answer but he does not allow you to do so. He raises the blade to your throat menacingly. “I must warn you, do not lie to me.”

Kitty: Never mind, apparently he is a bit twitchy today.

Amariah: He must warn us? If he’s trying to be menacing, why not just say, “And do not lie to me, or I will know?”

Kitty: He knows he’s in a badfic and is unable to fight the author’s influence. He probably wouldn’t go to this extreme normally, and is warning us in the only way he can that things are out of his control right now.

Amariah: That’s disturbing.

You take another step back, hissing at him. “I was not lying, my lord. I am no spy. I work for nobody. My company was attacked in the forest and I am the only survivor. I ran because I thought it was more spiders.”

Amariah: I don’t think hissing at Thranduil will really make him more likely to let you go.

Kitty: Thranduil’s warriors are trained to absolute perfection. If you heard them coming at all, how in the hell would you think they were spiders?

He scoffs and presses the blade to your skin. “I said no lies. Who are you working for? What do they want to find here?”

Kitty: Saying he’s scoffing at you just makes the tone of what he’s saying seem less threatening and more… casual. Are we supposed to get the impression that he expected us to lie and already decided to let it slide this time?

“I am not…”

Amariah: A moose!

Kitty: Put the saddle away, Thranduil.

He steps closer, not letting any space remaining between the two of you for you to breathe. “Tell.Me.The.Name.” He hisses, emphasising every single word. His eyes turn to even more glacial, pinning you to your current place.

[Kitty audibly grinds her teeth]

Amariah: Now he just sounds stupid. And how is there not enough space for us to breathe? Are we already liplocked?

“Since when is the mighty Elvenking that paranoid?” You ask more yourself than him but he hears it and it fuels his anger even more.

Kitty: We’re apparently a rampaging idiot.

Amariah: Kick him in the knee, next. I’m sure he won’t notice.

“Do not mock me, little one. You are not in the position to do so.” He warns you again.

[Kitty and Amariah both blush and make badly-muffled squealing noises]

“Are you going to kill me?” You ask, finally finding your bravery. “Me, your own kin? You saw me grow, my lord, and now you are accusing me of turning myself against you?” You push the blade aside carefully. “I would never do that and you know it.”

Kitty: We’re one of his own people?! Jesus, Thranduil, what the shit?!

Amariah: Oh, aye, push the blade away, I’m sure he’ll really appreciate that alongside the verbal dressing-down, there.

“Then why did you left in the first place?” He pushes you to the wall behind you. You curse under your breath when the cold stone hits some of your fresh bruises on your back.

Kitty: Thranduil, you don’t sound like yourself. Have you been taking English classes from your own badfics again?

Amariah: [waving a fist in the air] Hit her again!

Kitty: Amariah, the OC is us.

Amariah: Then clearly I’m being stupid. Hit me again! Knock some sense into me!

“Tell me the name and I will set you free.” He promises, his face barely one inch from yours.

Kitty: And then they snogged. The end.

Amariah: We aren’t that lucky.

“No, you will not.” You dare to look directly into his eyes and you can see there that you are not wrong in your suspicion. He is not letting you go, no matter what you are going or not going to tell. “I know you far too well. You are not letting me go this time and I am not going to tell you more than I have told you already!” You raise your voice and this time it is purposely.

Amariah: Sweet Creator, we really are dumber than a bag of bricks, aren’t we?

Kitty: I think next we should tell him his mother was an Orc.

“There are many ways to loosen your tongue, [name].” He grins.

Kitty: Do those ways involve riding crops and leather?

Amariah: At this point, going that route might save this fic.

Before you can even start to think what he means by that he sheathes the knife and grabs both of your wrists, turning them painfully behind your back. He refuses to go of them and presses himself to you, hissing silently under his breath.

Kitty: So he’s got my wrists behind my back, but we’re still belly-to-belly?

Amariah: Apparently. They never said anything about us being bodily spun around.

Kitty: That doesn’t seem like an entirely effective way to restrain someone. Sure I can’t really move, now, but what’s he going to do with his hands occupied and his arms wrapped around me?

Amariah: Well, I suppose he could always body slam the pair of you. I imagine that’s a good way to break ribs, although he might hurt himself in the process…

You watch him carefully but from your position you are not able to see his full expression. He is perhaps grinning, perhaps smirking, perhaps his anger had finally found its way up through his guarded emotions, you cannot tell.

Amariah: He’s probably just come to the realization that he isn’t quite strong enough to hug you to death.

Kitty: Or he’s just realized what’s getting ready to happen and knows he’s powerless to stop it.

Amariah: [looking distinctly unsettled] Do you have an off button somewhere?

All you can tell is the warmth emanating from his muscular body. He is the warrior of the sword, the best warrior in the whole Arda and you now have the privilege to feel the marble-hard muscles closing around you. Many ellith would give their everything to be in your current position. Yet you are not enjoying his closeness that much. Your arms are painfully strained behind your back and his closeness does not allow you to take a deep breath.

Kitty: After all the effort I just put into describing my predicament, I’m pretty sure I’m actually incredibly happy with his closeness.

Amariah: The reader apparently gets turned on by being in serious trouble with the king they may or may not have been assigned to spy on.

[Amariah pointedly Looks at Kitty, who ignores her completely]

“Let me go!” You shout at him.

Kitty: Let’s see how well that’ll work.

“Not before you tell me the name.” He snaps back at you. “Who paid you for spying on me? What do they want?”

Kitty: Oh, about that well. Shocking.

Amariah: “Who paid you for spying on me?” That isn’t exactly wrong, but I’m not sure that would have worded it that way. It sounds like she’s already spied on him once before. Wouldn’t Thranduil say something more like, “Who hired you to spy on me?” Or, “Who sent you to spy on my kingdom?” Something along those lines?

“I am not working for anyone!” You try to reason him.

[Kitty and Amariah both snort and giggle at this]

Kitty: The absence of a single word makes that sentence an absolute gem.

Amariah: Many people try to reason Thranduil out. They tend to fail.

Kitty: How would you know? You never met the guy!

Amariah: Instinct.

“The name!” He grunts.

Kitty: She turned him into a gorilla.

Amariah: Good heavens, did the sex start already?

“Please, my lord. You are hurting me.” You whimper when the straining in your arms is too much to bear. Suddenly the pressure is gone and you are falling on the wall, your arms free. The relief makes you sob unwillingly and the Elvenking takes it as the sign he had broken you already.

Amariah: The reader is a sissy.

Kitty: Even given that, Thranduil isn’t that stupid. He’s going to make sure he’s broken me down, if that’s what he’s after.

“The name.” He repeats, pushing the stream of your hair behind your ear. You shudder when he strokes the pointy tip of your ear. “Ah.” He hums knowingly and strokes your ear again. “It seems you have some weak spot after all.”

simon-cowell-reaction-demi-lovato

Kitty: I thought that was just a fanon Warcraft thing.

Amariah: We are seriously obsessed with Elvish anatomy for a supposedly Elven character.

“No, it is just the coldness in the air, my lord.” You reply, controlling your tone as much as possible.

“The coldness, you say?” He asks slyly.

Kitty: And assuming the reader is male, that crotch rocket straining at his trousers is just a knife that the guards missed.

“Yes, the one that keep seeping from your dead heart.” You snap bravely. You are awaiting that he will let go of you or perhaps backhand you but he seems amused instead.

Amariah: It’s not often he encounters someone as blitheringly stupid as we are.

Kitty: [narrating] It is then that you feel the dagger plunge into your kidney…

“Is this everything you have, empty insults and lies?” He presses you to the cold stone again and brushes his lips around your earlobe. “I want to see what truly is inside you.” He whispers into your hair and you sob again. Your defences are growing thin and there is nothing you can do about it. His deep voice is enough to make your underwear wet.

spit

Both: WHAT THE FUCK?!

Amariah: Why am I crying if he’s making me horny?! How is this situation making me horny at all?!

Kitty: [in hysterics] Have I been creaming myself this entire time? What the shit?!

You try to push him back but you would move the Misty Mountains sooner than this mountain of an elf in front of you.

Amariah: Did I just call Thranduil fat?

[Kitty falls off her chair]

He laughs at your useless efforts and kisses your neck instead. The sound you make is far from being a frustrated whimper; it sounds more like a pleasured moan.

Amariah: Thranduil just officially crossed the line from douchebag to rapist.

“There, there…” He whispers into your skin again whilst his hands travel down your sides to your hips. “Everyone has a weak spot. Are you ashamed I have found yours?” He asks in the same whispering tone that makes your skin tickle. Before you have the chance to answer his lips are on yours, capturing you in a lingering kiss. His lips are warm and soft; so different from how you expected them to be. His body is emanating heat that seeps into your veins and rushes to your body, pooling under your stomach. You close your eyes and sigh into his lips.

Amariah: Well, aside from the atrocious situation surrounding it and the embarrassing attempt at mocking pillow talk, that part isn’t half bad. Might as well leave it in for the Library, yes?

Kitty: Oh, by all means.

“Have I left you breathless?” He teases you, stroking your sides with deliberate slow strokes. “Or is it your unwillingness to tell me the truth?” He pushes you further.

Kitty: Wait, where’s he pushing us to?

Amariah: Maybe he’s slowly crushing us against the wall.

Kitty: Excellent. Slow and painful, just like the rest of this fic.

“No, my lord. I have nothing more to tell you because what I have told earlier was the truth. My company…”

Kitty: Never mind, please just stab us to death instead.

He does not let you to finish your sentence again. This time, his kiss is more demanding but gentle somehow. You fight the urge to melt into his embrace; to return his affections. Your brain shouts at you that he is playing with you. His intentions are to pry the confession from your lips and he is willing to use everything he has on you.

Amariah: Nonsense. I’m sure there are some hot coals somewhere he could put to your feet.

Kitty: Failing that, isn’t there a mill wheel somewhere he could re-purpose in a pinch?

When his hand cups your sex

Kitty: Of all the idiot euphemisms I have encountered, ‘sex’ is one of the dumbest. It’s right up there with referring to a vagina as a blossom.

through your thin leggings you cry out, breaking the kiss for good. He can feel your arousal now, there is no denying. A victorious smirk spreads through his face like a tsunami, washing away the indifferent expression he was holding for so long.

Amariah: So… the reader is supposed to be male, then. Since he can feel our arousal?

Kitty: No, remember? We were jizzing our pants earlier because he talked to us.

[Amariah rests her forehead in her hand]

“Ah, I see…” He murmurs, starting to stroke you through the fabric. You whimper again, seeking for support in his muscular frame. “Is this the reason why you left so many years ago? Because you were lusting after your king?” He increases the pressure on your sensitive parts.

Kitty: Fucking hell, that’s the reason we left. We’re wannabe homewreckers.

Amariah: Only if his wife hadn’t died before then. If she was dead before we left, we’re just terrible people.

“No!” You yelp.

“You are terrible liar, [name].” He chuckles into your collarbone that is peeking through your blouse.

Kitty: We wore a blouse on a dangerous spy mission through a freakishly dangerous, giant spider-infested forest? No wonder we looked suspicious; we’re dressed for a picnic in a nice, sunny meadow!

“It was not my lust after you that drove me away.” You manage to say between your pants.

[Kitty snorts]

Amariah: We know what you meant to say, author, but you just had him fondle us through our pants. “Between gasps” might have been less confusing.

“What was?” He kisses the pit under your ear and your skin prickles with Goosebumps.

Amariah: That Elf has some supremely dexterous lips.

Kitty: I’m trying to figure out how your skin can prickle with an entire book series. Uncle Google?

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Kitty: Apparently Uncle Google has no idea, either.

“Thranduil, stop this madness!” You beg.

Amariah: We awfully wordy, considering how completely overcome we’re supposed to be right now.

“There should have been ´my lord´ somewhere. For your insolence you shall be punished.” He turns you so your back is facing him now. He presses himself to you tightly, his hands closing around your waist. Then your hands are caught and crossed before you so you cannot move. His hand slips underneath your leggings, cupping your soft mound.

Kitty: Oh my god, we really were belly-to-belly that whole time.

“There, there…” He chuckles into your ear and his warm breath makes your skin prickle again. “I know what you are yearning for and I am willing to give it to you. But you have to give something in return. Information.” His fingers ghost over your wet flesh and you whimper. “Do we have the agreement?”

Kitty: I’m beginning to suspect “there, there” is a trigger word for Thranduil’s sex drive.

Amariah: I’m beginning to suspect Alpanu is not a native English speaker.

You need some time to catch your breath and he is giving it to you. When you are calm and you can think almost clearly, your defiance comes back as well.

“You cannot give me what I yearn for, my lord.” You state bravely. “You already had your chances and you wasted them.”

Kitty: We really are this fucking stupid. Incredible.

“Do not forget who you are speaking with.” He whispers before his tongue flicks over your earlobe. Instantly you lose all of your thoughts. “Why have you come back, [name]?”

Amariah: Apparently I came back for the express purpose of insulting you while you attempt to hammer information out of me with your penis, sir.

[Kitty starts cackling again]

You shudder. His arms around you feel so beautiful. His manly musk is engulfing you and you can feel that you are not the only one aroused. It might have been centuries since you departed but your passion is mutual and still present.

Kitty: [still giggling] Wait, was the reader his wife?

Amariah: Either that, or this version of Thranduil is a slut.

“It was not my decision.” You speak unwillingly. Another yelp leaves your lips when you feel him cupping your sex again.

“It was not wise to oblige then.” He strokes your nether lips gently, creating enough friction to frustrate you. “You should have not come back.”

Amariah: But you just made it sound like you didn’t want me to leave!

“I had to.” You breathe out.

“You left without any farewell. Your presence here is not welcomed.”

Kitty: Oh my god, is Thranduil throwing a fit because we broke up with him? Did you seriously just turn him into an angsty teenage girl, Alpanu? Really?

“I do not think so.” You press your lower back to his bulging groin. “The mighty Elvenking is clearly pleased to see me again.”

Amariah: My lower back? How much taller is he than I am?!

He chuckles lowly and you shudder again. “You are reckless. You think that you can tame the dragonfire but eventually you are going to Burn.To.Ashes.”

Kitty: Ah, so Dragonfire is Thranduil’s stripper name.

[Amariah slaps Kitty across the back of the head]

His fingers find your sensitive nub and stroke it deliberately. You moan loudly, closing your eyes shut tightly. It has been centuries since you were touched like this for the last time.

Kitty: CLITORIS. IT’S CALLED A CLITORIS.

Amariah: Wait, so the reader hasn’t hooked up with anybody else or even masturbated for centuries? No wonder we’re so damn horny. Another week or so and we might have started dry-humping a tree.

“Say the name.” He whispers into your skin before closing his demanding mouth around the pulse on your neck. He sucks hard enough to leave his mark on you but you do not mind. It will heal before you leave this kingdom, you are very sure about it. His lips travel up then unless they reach that spot under your ear.

Kitty: Unless? So we’re not even sure what he’s doing to us at this point? Are we sure we didn’t eat the food? Because clearly something was spiked.

“Thranduil!” You moan his name and he chuckles into your skin.

“Not my name, tithen pen.” He reminds you. “Who sent you here?”

“My greed.” You answer, panting.

Kitty: That’s just stupid.

“Nonsense.” He replies calmly and creates more pressure on your sensitive spot between your legs.

Kitty: VA-GI-NA. In a fic like this, there’s really no room for idiot modesty. You could say ‘cooch’ and we’d roll with it.

You writhe in his arms but his touches do not stop. “You were spying in my kingdom.” He accuses you.

“N-no!”

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Suddenly he lets go of you. Without his support you fall on the wall in a quivering aroused mess. Whilst facing the rough stone you cannot see that Thranduil tastes your flavour that lingers on his fingers.

Kitty: OH FOR FUCK’S SAKE!

Amariah: “Quivering aroused mess,” though. Not a bad bit of imagery, there.

“Are you still innocent?” He asks abruptly.

“What?” You turn to him and see the obscene gesture. A shiver runs down your spine. “You have no right to ask that, my lord.”

Amariah: Oh, but by all means, please continue molesting me.

“Even if you were, you will not be after I am done with you.” He promises or threatens in a husky voice.

Kitty: Thank you, sir. We had no idea you actually meant to pound us into the wall until you spelled it out for us just now.

Your pupils dilate. “You cannot mean this.”

“Why not?” He teases you.

Amariah: I’m with Thranduil, here. After everything he just did, why are we surprised he actually wants to screw us?

“Because elven kings do not relish in sexual affairs with their prisoners.” You cover your face with palms in frustration.

Kitty: Uh, well, apparently this one does.

Amariah: Do we know a lot of Elven kings, then?

You hear him chuckle again. Then you feel him getting closer to you but before you open your eyes you feel something cold touching your skin in the pit of your neck, just between your collarbones.

Your blouse unfolds under the sharp blade of the white knife. You shudder at the sensation and Goosebumps appear on your skin again. Your nipples harden under his heavy gaze.

Kitty: I’m not sure what’s stranger: That we keep sprouting books by R. L. Stine, or that apparently Thranduil’s gaze is physical enough that it can actually affect our physical status.

Amariah: That was a perfect opportunity to kill your idiot prisoner, Thranduil, and you just wasted it. I hope you’re happy.

Kitty: Well, his Little King certainly is.

“Beautiful.” He murmurs softly. He lets the blade to slide down your revealed torso and the feeling is incredibly arousing. In that moment you do not mind him to cut your clothing at all. Everything you need is him touching you on your most sensitive places.

Amariah: Uh, my clothes are already cut open. He’s running that knife along my skin now.

Kitty: So we’re also into knife play? I’m learning so much about myself!

<blockquote>The white knife disappears again and your leggings slide down your legs. Moistness sticking to your inner thighs cools and creates slight discomfort. Yet before you can start to feel embarrassed, Thranduil´ s mouth is on yours, kissing you deeply. You melt into his touch instantly, weaving your fingers into his silken silver hair. His fingers travel across your skin and when they touch your breast you moan into his mouth, opening for him to deepen his kisses even more. Your tongues entwine like two snakes, dancing in the first part of a mating ritual. The kiss is leaving you breathless and Thranduil gives you time to recover. He peppers your neck with soft kisses, his hands roaming all over your heated skin.

Kitty: [snickering] That snake metaphor, though…

Amariah: Tongues are not that prehensile. What kind of monster am I?

“Beautiful.” He whispers into your neck. Then he straightens and seeks your mouth again yet you stop him.

Kitty: Just say ‘but,’ you idiot…

“My lord, you cannot finish this.” You pant, your eyes desperate.

Amariah: Thranduil’s got a trouser anaconda that says otherwise.

He returns you his gaze, stern for that matter. “What makes you think so?” He rolls your nipple between his fingers and you squeak.

“Because,…”

His head leans down and he takes the tortured nipple into his mouth.

Kitty: [drily] Oh, no, not the nipple. You brute.

“Oh Thranduil!” You moan, arching your back towards him so he has better access to your flesh. “Avo dharo!” You beg of him, your voice hoarse and soaked with pleasure you feel under his ministrations.

Kitty: Alpanu, you cared enough to look these phrases up but didn’t put that kind of effort into the rest of the writing? What the hell?

He chuckles and stops abruptly. He does not pay any attention to your protests and travels his mouth up to your ear. “The name.” He whispers and nibbles at the pointed tip of your ear.

Amariah: Stop pointing out how pointy my damn ears are! Do you really think anybody’s even going to remember their own names at this level of arousal?!

“King Bard the Dragonslayer.” You moan involuntarily.

Kitty: We now know this is after the events of both the book and the movie adaptations. Looking at the character development he saw over the course of both stories, Thranduil just went from “possibly misinterpreted” to “wildly out of character” with this information.

Thranduil murmurs something in Quenya you cannot understand. You want to ask what he had said but his fingers flick over your throbbing nub between your legs delicately. You throw your head back and cry out in pleasure.

Amariah: So the reader is an Elf born in Middle-Earth after or near the end of the Second Age? Roughly?

Kitty: I’d think so. By the time of the Third Age, Quenya was reserved mostly for formal speech and scholarly pursuits. If she was a little one while it was still dying out as an everyday language and left to live among Men who don’t even really understand much Sindarin, it makes sense that she wouldn’t speak the language very well.

Amariah: You mean we.

Kitty: Yes.

“You are so amazingly vocal.” Thranduil whispers approvingly. “Let me hear you again.” He dips one of his fingers into your moist heat carefully. He does not intend to cause you any pain as it seems. You cry out again and dig your nails to his shoulders for some support. “Why are you here?”

Kitty: Every source I’ve ever run across—

Amariah: And personal experience.

Kitty: [pointedly talking over her] —has made it pretty apparent that drawing out stuff like this can in fact get pretty damn uncomfortable. I’m not sure if that counts as intentionally causing someone pain, mind, but still.

Writhing in passion that builds up within you, you are not able to answer. The sounds you are making are not words but random noises. Thranduil stops his ministrations and let you to catch your breath.

“Please!” You pant heavily. “Do not stop. Avo dharo, hir nîn. I need to feel you.”

Kitty: The reader is one thirsty-ass Elf.

He kisses you again with equal passion you are feeling. His hands take yours and lead them to the brooch under his neck. You struggle with it for a while but eventually you manage to unclasp it. You ignore the clattering sound it makes when falling on the ground. Thranduil kicks it away. He grunts when your mouth finds his neck this time. You kiss his throat with such intense passion and need for him you feel his hardened member to twitch in his leggings. Slowly you open his tunic, trailing soft kisses down his pale skin. You kneel in front of him peppering his taut stomach with your kisses and nips. You dive your tongue into his navel and he laughs. He is apparently ticklish there.

Kitty: Are we still being interrogated as a prisoner here? Because I’m pretty sure he can nail us without doing much more than undoing his trousers.

Amariah: That bit with the navel was too much information for a sex scene this poorly written. It really shouldn’t go in any sex scene that isn’t completely gentle, romantic, and unquestionably consensual.

Kitty: Uh… Thranduil kicked the knife away, right? Or at least doesn’t have it on his person right now? Because otherwise he is freakishly stupid for letting us get this handsy with him.

Thranduil shreds his dark silver tunic to the ground, revealing his muscular torso for you. You are more than willing to search every inch of him with your mouth but his straining erection is luring you even more. It must be uncomfortable for him to be stuck in his tight leggings for so long. You slowly unlace his pants, freeing his large throbbing member.

Kitty: Just once, can we have porn where the dick is just kinda average? “It wasn’t huge, but that was okay, because that meant it wouldn’t break me in half when we finally got around to banging seventeen pages later.”

You cannot help but gasp when you see how big and hard he is, his head already leaking with pre-cum. Your eager mouth opens for him but he stops you and lifts your chin to look up at him.

Amariah: [narrating] He then shoves the knife into your eye at you fall dead to the floor. The end.

There is storm of emotions in his eyes and you shudder unconsciously. He needs you just as much as you need him but he tries to restrain his need. It is how you have stated several minutes ago, kings do not relish in sexual affairs with their prisoners. He struggles to gain his self-control back but he fails when you kiss his delicate flesh. You lick his sweet pre-cum slowly, thoroughly watching his expression through half-closed eyelids. Then you grab his base and suck the whole head into your mouth.

Kitty: Not a whole lot of lead-in, dude. What did foreplay ever do to these people to deserve to be classified as nothing more than angsty fumbling and impatient undressing?

Thranduil cries out and reaches for the wall to stabilise himself. His free hand entwines with your hair, encouraging you to move. You oblige and suck on him, each time deeper unless his head strokes the back of your throat. He is not pushing you even further but it is your wish to take him fully and you fight your gag reflex as much as you can. He knows what you are doing and tries to stop you but you are stubborn. How long have you waited to do this to him? How thoroughly have you practiced to give him pleasure he had not ever dreamt of? Yes, you left because you were lusting after your king so much it was unbearable. You had no idea he was lusting after you too.

Amariah: I’ve practiced so much that I no longer feel the need to do anything more than pump my head back and forth, apparently. No tongue play at all? Really?

He moans your name when your throat relaxes and you are finally able to take him further. You carefully take his heavy sack into your free hand and massage it softly and then your fingers travel even further to stroke the place right behind. Thranduil cries out your name and with twitching he fills your mouth. His taste is sweet and bitter just as the forest that is surrounding his underground palace. His wooden musk fills the air and tickles your senses. You slowly let go of him, releasing his member with an obscene loud pop. You lick your lips lasciviously, enjoying the taste that lingers on your tongue.

Kitty: Alpanu knows a word like lasciviously, but can’t seem to figure out that there’s a few mechanical and technical things wrong with the above paragraph.

Amariah: I don’t know, she remembered about the place right behind his heavy sack.

Kitty: So do a lot of smut badficcers. Why didn’t it occur to her to have us mouth at his sack? Some guys like to have that sucked on, you know. And she isn’t really describing anything; does Thranduil manscape? Is his penis veiny or thin? We don’t know, because she isn’t telling us despite the thing swinging about right in front of us!

Amariah: You disturb me.

Thranduil grabs you to your legs and leads you to bed. He throws you on it, dragging your backside to the very edge and then he kneels in front of you.

Kitty: Hey, hey! That’s a solid stone bed, sir! Easy does it!

Slowly he pries your legs open and traces his finger along your slit. He smiles at you and kisses your inner thigh. He travels his mouth down to your knee and then he turns his head to continue his teasing on your other leg, this time from your knee up to your throbbing centre. He does not pay any attention to the place where you need him the most and instead he kisses the soft mound and travels up to your navel. He dips his tongue into it just as you did to him but you do not squirm nor laugh. You are not ticklish there the sensation is arousing. More wetness pools between your legs. At that time you must be already leaking.

Kitty: Will you please just say the word vagina, you raging douchenugget?!

[Amariah makes a choking noise]

“Why have you come?” Thranduil asks, still softly caressing your skin. “Tell me and you will be rewarded.” He licks your core to show you that he means it and you cry out.

Kitty:  Hot damn, what a reward.

Amariah: [as the reader] “So if I tell you I came specifically hoping this was how the interrogation would go, would you believe me? Honestly I don’t even remember exactly what sort of information I was meant to be gathering for you. From you. Valar help me, just tell me what you want me to say and I’ll repeat it verbatim at this point.”

You lower yourself on the bed and suck in air almost violently. “We were on the quest.” You lick your lips and shut your eyes tight. His fingers travel along your slit again, stopping at your sensitive nub. He strokes it gently and sucks the inside of your left thigh.

[both riffers shift uncomfortably]

“What quest?”

“Some of his subjects had gone missing. He thought you imprisoned them as trespassers.” You answer with ragged breath.

Kitty: Fair enough, considering he did it to one of his own former subjects.

He licks your core and you arch your back. “Continue.” He demands, slowly pushing one finger into you. He can feel that you are already so wet that you can take in more so he pushes one more finger into you, stroking you slowly. Your hips buck up to meet his fingers but he places his other hand on your lower abdomen to hold you firmly in place.

Amariah: How in the hell do I know what he’s feeling?

“I was in charge because I know this realm well. Oh Thranduil!” You moan loudly when you feel how he curls his fingers inside you slightly up in ´come hither´ motion. He hits your inner sweet spot delicately and again; then he straightens his fingers and continues in his torturing pace.

“Were you supposed to sneak into my Halls?” He asks, his voice rasp and needy.

Kitty: Rasp and needy? Really, author? Yeesh…

“Yes!” You pant as his humming hits your core. “Oh Thranduil!” You arch your back and throw your head back. His lips close around your clit and suck lavishly. You feel the pressure built up rapidly. You are so close to your completion.

Amariah: Okay, at this point he can’t possibly expect to get anything useful out of me. I’m a mess in more ways than one and I’ve been reduced to saying the same two phrases over and over again.

He ends his assault on your core with a soft kiss just before you can come and draws out his fingers as well.

Kitty: [genuinely offended] You son of a bitch!

Amariah: Maintain professional detachment, Kitty.

You whine in frustration, your fingers immediately travelling down to replace his. He chuckles and catches them, drawing your hands up above your head. He adjusts them so he is able to hold them with only one hand and with his free one he lifts you and nudges you so you are lying on your bed fully. Then he nests between your thighs. You feel his member to press at your entrance but he does not come home, not yet.

Amariah: He’s nesting between my thighs. You turned him into a bird, Alpanu.

Kitty: Coming home is not how I would describe a penis entering a woman’s vagina. It’s how I’d describe a plane coming in for a landing.

“For what purpose?” He asks and slides his member along your slit, still not entering. He coats himself in your juices doing so.

Kitty: Oh, holy hell.

Amariah: Vagina juices aren’t proper lubrication, you lunatic!

Kitty: More proof that the author has never actually had sex before.

Amariah: Neither have either of us, and we still know better than that! I hope you brought some proper lubricant, Thranduil!

“To free them, were they here.” You close your eyes and takes in some air. “Thranduil, please…” You beg. “I need you!”

Kitty: I close my eyes and takes in some air. I forgets the taste of bread. I hates the Bagginses.

He traces his teeth along your neck. “Do you deserve it, my little prisoner?” He teases you.

Kitty: I needs to go takes a cold showerses.

Amariah: You’re embarrassing yourself, Kitty.

You raise your head to look at him. “Do it for yourself. You need the completion, my lord.”

Kitty: Who’s running the interrogation, here?

He chuckles and kisses your chin. “So demanding little thing you have become.” He hums, pressing into your core.

Kitty: Izzat like a reverse hummer, then? He hums so he can vibrate inside of me?

[Amariah snorts]

You cry out in intense pleasure that engulfs you instantly. His head is big and he stretches you almost painfully. Tears pool in your eyes, the ones of pure bliss and joy. Your hands still held by his struggle against his force and he lets go of you, placing his elbows on either side of your head. He strokes your cheek with his fingertips.

Kitty: He’s only got his head in and I’m already losing it. I am a schnitzel.

Amariah: If his elbows are on either side of my head, how can he stroke my cheek with his finger? Did he break his arm at some point?

“So beautiful…” He murmurs and kisses you passionately, slowly pushing deeper inside you. You whimper at the friction and raise your hips up to meet his. “So wet for me…”

You raise your legs to his waist to adjust his angle slightly, taking him further in. You can feel him to touch the barrier inside you and you bite at your bottom lip. He has not buried half of his large member inside you yet he is filling you already. You feel him to withdraw slowly and push against you again. Slowly he increases his pace as he feels you are getting used to his girth.

Kitty: What the hell barrier are we referring to, here? Is he already hitting our uterus or something?

Amariah: He’s only halfway in and he’s already filling me? He really is hung like a horse; the average woman can take up to six inches or so.

He kisses the side of your neck and your hands travel down his muscular back. You can feel stone-hard muscles under the velvet of his skin, how they flex and relax with his every movement. He is grunting into your ear, his warm breath caressing your skin. More kisses are changed between the two of you before his lips close around your forgotten nipple to pay it some attention too. You scratch his back as first wave of heat hits you. You are close again and you pray to Valar with each of your moans and cries for completion.

Kitty: Dude, I don’t even know if sex is Vána’s jurisdiction, but we really shouldn’t involve her or any of the other Valar in this. I’m pretty sure they really don’t want to know.

Thranduil stops abruptly and smirks down at you. “Close, are you?”

Kitty: [imitating Thranduil] Yoda, I am.

You pant again and close your eyes tightly. “Please!” You beg at him. “Let me finish.”

“No.” He replies calmly. You squeeze your inner muscles and try to move under him but he stops you. “You still owe me some answers, tithen pen.” His voice is strained. He was close too. You cannot but admire his self-control. You would not be able to stop just before your completion.

Amariah: But we just did. Or did we mean we couldn’t have stopped under our own power?

Kitty: Did the reader, er, actually lie with somebody else after all? Because I think my author-provided self-insert here might be displaying some muscle dexterity that I know I sure as hell don’t possess.

You relax under him yet it is the hardest task you ever faced. Your skin is too small for you. There is too hot in your small cell and he is still within you, painfully hard. Tears flow down your cheeks.

“Oh, my darling.” He kisses those wet trails and strokes your hair lovingly.

Amariah: He is showing some incredible self-control for as hard as he apparently still is.

“Please.” You whisper, stroking his cheek. “I will tell you everything. Just continue.”

Kitty: That entire line makes me extremely uncomfortable, considering this started out as Thranduil molesting me.

“Do you promise?” He scrutinizes you. A silent nod is your only answer. He kisses your wet eyelids and starts to move again. This time his strokes are long and deliberate. Soon you are moaning again, squirming under his hard body. He carefully pushes against the barrier unless it relaxes and you cry out.

Kitty: Oh, for pity’s sake, there is no barrier. What you’re probably thinking of is the hymen, which is what most people think of when they talk about popping somebody’s cherry. In reality, the hymen is a thin membrane surrounding the opening of the vulva (the part everybody including myself confuses with the vagina,) and is very rarely ever intact. If it is, a girl actually needs a hymenectomy – a small incision in that tissue – in order for things like her menstrual fluids to properly flow out of her. See this diagram to see four different examples of hymens.

Since Thranduil is already inside our vagina at this point (actual vagina) the only barrier he could possibly be hitting is the cervix, which is the long tube that ends the uterus. If he’s going into that, he’s accomplishing something generally only seen in guilty pleasure anime where the idea is to indulge in fantasies one knows are physically impossible.

He pushes further and you wonder how in the name of Valar is your body able to take him further in. Eventually he buries himself inside you up to his hilt. Your voice is rasp from all of your cries, your thoughts vanished. Pressure builds up once again and your muscles tighten around him.

Amariah: He got me this close to climaxing without even completely sheathing himself in me first?!

Kitty: We are one thirsty-ass Elf.

Then he reaches between your bodies to stroke your nub again. Your body tenses and finally you fall down from the cliff. You see stars as your orgasm hits you, taking Thranduil down as well. His hot seed fills you as he draws out your peak. You both pant heavily. Thranduil collapses on top of you in exhausted heap. He nests your chest and you entwine your fingers with his hair.

Amariah: So he fucked me off the edge of a cliff that wasn’t there two seconds ago…

Kitty: And then flopped down on top of me and is – I can only assume – using my boobs as a pillow.

Amariah: Do either of us remember that he’s supposed to be interrogating a now admitted spy at this point?

Even after your lovemaking his hair is not dishevelled, at least not as much as yours is and that thought makes you grin. You still struggle to catch your breath. Then the reality hits you – you have spoken. You admitted that you are a spy and he will punish you for that. This heated episode was just that, fucking to get your admission. Your heart sinks into your stomach and you gulp, fighting back bitter tears.

Kitty: Bullshit, his hair isn’t messed up. The rate we were going, he probably looks like he just got tossed about by a dust devil.

Amariah: We were so thirsty for that fine Elvenking dick that we totally forgot we were here and being fucked against our will.

“What is wrong?” Thranduil raises his head to watch you. He sees how you are fighting tears and he strokes your cheek. “[Name], why are you crying?”

Both: BECAUSE YOU JUST RAPED ME!

Kitty: Which, canonically speaking, should mean that we’re going to start fading pretty soon, here.

Amariah: That has the unfortunate implication that it wasn’t rape due to us enjoying or wanting it.

Kitty: Gross. Also probably what Alpanu was going for.

“I am not.” You manage to say. Then you laugh bitterly. “So you loosened my tongue eventually.”

He is still watching you thoroughly. “Yes.” He replies without any emotion present in his voice. His expression is under his indifferent mask again.

Kitty: You could have just added, “or expression” to the end of that second-to-last sentence and avoided the idiot last sentence all together.

“At least you have let me come.” You comment bitterly and push the Elvenking from you. You slide from the bed, seeking for your clothes. Then you recall how he had cut them with Legolas´ knife and your heart sinks again. When he does not provide you any new clothes – and he has no reason to do so – you will have to wear your old clothes for everyone to know how he used you for his personal gain/pleasure.

Kitty: Someone read C*l*br**n, I see.

[Amariah looks decidedly ill]

The bed squeaks when he stands up as well. Soon he is upon you, embracing you from behind. “You have promised me more answers.” He reminds you.

Kitty: Wow, Thranduil’s people skills are really shitty. Like, even more so than they are in the movies.

“You used me!” You turn to him and hit his muscular chest.

Amariah: I’m angry about it, but not so angry that I can’t still appreciate his pecs.

“You liked it.” He snickers.

Kitty: He just snickered. Thranduil doesn’t snicker anywhere ever in either the book or the movies. Clearly we’re dealing with a “My Immortal” character in a wig and costume ears.

You are not going to accept this statement but then his lips are on yours, claiming you again. Then a realisation hits you. Perhaps he has not used you after all. He has let you come first, drawing your peak even higher than possible. Could it be that he has some feelings for you? Perhaps he just cannot say it aloud as the elven law strictly forbids re-marrying. You sob into his mouth and circle your hands around his neck, returning his affections.

Amariah: Oh, so in reality it’s not rape if he gets you to climax first. Good to know.

Kitty: There’s no law against remarrying in any Elvish culture of the Tolkienverse. It’s certainly a taboo among the Noldor and Teleri and Vanyar, but nobody has made it an actual law. And it’s only a taboo because everybody’s content to blame Fëanor’s horrendous behavior and personality on the fact that his father remarried, despite both Finwë and his second wife, Indis, doing everything they could to make Fëanor feel loved.

Amariah: So the taboo basically resulted from everyone letting a brat win his little war against his own step-mother?

Kitty: Pretty much. In any event, it’s not a law keeping Thranduil from admitting he “loves” us. If anything, it’s his love for his canonical wife, who he will one day meet again in the Undying Lands. Then again, the act of lovemaking in itself is considered marriage among the Elves, and while I’m normally happy to pretend most Elves technically have multiple (and sometimes shared) spouses that way, in this case I’m going to ding you for not knowing that despite trying to turn the idea that remarriage is frowned upon into a plot point to justify him raping us.

“More than that actually.” He adds teasingly after your lips part.

Amariah: More than what?

Kitty: I have no clue anymore.

You look up at him, seeing your situation in different colours now. You smile and stroke his cheek. “What will happen next, my handsome captor?”

Kitty: Yep, we have been brainwashed by the amazing sex and now no longer register that scenario as rape. Fantastic.

He grins wickedly. “I still do not have all of the answers. I think further interrogation will be needed.” He presses his already semi-hard member against your stomach.

Kitty: He recovered damn fast. Men (and some women) have a refractory period that lasts on average around thirty minutes. Thranduil’s mini moose there just sprang right back up without really even being stimulated.

Amariah: It’s against my stomach, now. He’s got to be at least a foot or so taller than I am.

“I have some… tools to help me achieve my goals.” He whispers hoarsely.

You moan at the thought. “What tools?” A shiver runs down your spine.

“That is for you to find out.” He kisses you again, squeezing your backside whilst doing so. You bit at his lower lip approvingly. “Shall we continue?”

“I am at your mercy, mighty Elvenking.” You reply seductively.

He grins again. “Let us go then.”

<b>Kitty:</b> This part of the story is brought to you by E. L. James.

~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~

Thranduil leads you through secret corridors of his underground palace. Both of you are still naked and it takes you some time to eventually arrive at his chambers. By that time you have blessed numerous places of the Halls and even more are to come. You are his prisoner after all and he has no intentions to set you free any time soon.

Amariah: Oh, those poor guards.

Kitty: I’m pretty sure whatever we’re doing to the halls is very far from blessing them. Unless we’re christening them in rape juices in the name of Morgoth.

Well, that was painful, but at least it ends there. I’m back, everybody!

Amariah: And I’m going to go scrub until my skin comes off. And still never feel clean again.

Kitty: Save some hot water for me…

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107 Comments on “1259: Interrogation – One Shot”

  1. Herr Wozzeck says:

    we, the reader,

    Oh dear…

  2. Herr Wozzeck says:

    And— And— And “merciless, glacial stare” is redundant!

    Wait, where’s the–

    *ALARM BLARES*

    Oh fuck, it’s the DRD! No! No! Don’t you–

    *is thrown in the shark jump tank*

  3. Herr Wozzeck says:

    After two hours, the guardians change their duties and new watch is there, scrutinising you thoroughly but not listening to your pleas.

    Dear Heaven, that’s a lot of pleading.

  4. Herr Wozzeck says:

    Didn’t she already tell us Thranduil wasn’t likely to believe our story? This is just sloppiness.

    I get the feeling our author wrote this in multiple sessions and didn’t bother to check what she wrote earlier. Because that shit is for pussies, yo!

  5. Herr Wozzeck says:

    Why in the hell does Thranduil need Legolas’ knives to torture somebody?

    So that she can turn the knives against him during the post-coital cuddling session?

  6. Herr Wozzeck says:

    the king starts with his expression vast of emotions

    *frown*

    The fuck is that supposed to mean?

  7. AdmiralSakai says:

    *boots up computer*

    *looks at title of ‘fic*

    *looks at content advisory*

    *looks at title again*

    *looks at ‘fic category*

    Hoo boy.

  8. Herr Wozzeck says:

    Thranduil’s warriors are trained to absolute perfection. If you heard them coming at all, how in the hell would you think they were spiders?

    Because stupid.

  9. AdmiralSakai says:

    Imagine being captured in Mirkwood and brought before Thranduil because you are thought to be a spy. Thranduil has you locked away when you swear you know nothing. Later, he comes on his own to interrogate you, and a heated argument leads to some very naughty interrogation methods.

    So, do I get spy gadgets or no?

  10. AdmiralSakai says:

    One hour passes and nobody is paying you attention.

    Oh, THE HORROR!

  11. Interrogating by the king was short. He quickly made up his decision, not allowing you to say any word for your defence

    It kind of defeats the purpose of an interrogation if you don’t allow the captive to speak.

    “TALK, damn you!”

    “Ok, ok, fine, just don’t hurt me! The Collectors hired me to-“

    “SHUT UP!!!! GUARDS, GET ME OUT OF HERE BEFORE SHE SAYS ANYTHING ELSE!!!

  12. Herr Wozzeck says:

    You try to reason him.

    *snort*

  13. Goddess: Hi there! I’ve never seen you so I should probably brand you to be safe. *Holds up Branding Iron*

    Cain: *Retcons the Branding Irons to not exist* I apologize for her.

    Goddess: Fine. Well, Kitty, would you like to tour Ganymede and its tunnels?

  14. AdmiralSakai says:

    “There are many ways to loosen your tongue, [name].” He grins.

    Wait, wasn’t the whole point of this so that he could learn your name? Why is he using it here in the exact same paragraph??

  15. Herr Wozzeck says:

    Thranduil just officially crossed the line from douchebag to rapist.

    And the victim is the reader. Because all readers are turned on by rape.

  16. AdmiralSakai says:

    “Is this everything you have, empty insults and lies?”

    Pretty much.

    • fledglinghuman says:

      I mean, if he really WANTS us to kick him in the nads, he could always assume the position. No need to make things difficult…

  17. AdmiralSakai says:

    His body is emanating heat that seeps into your veins and rushes to your body, pooling under your stomach.

    Apparently Thranduil is made of radioisotopes.

  18. Herr Wozzeck says:

    His manly musk is engulfing you and you can feel that you are not the only one aroused.

    *frown*

    When did this turn into gay furry fetish porn?

  19. AdmiralSakai says:

    through your thin leggings you cry out, breaking the kiss for good. He can feel your arousal now, there is no denying. A victorious smirk spreads through his face like a tsunami, washing away the indifferent expression he was holding for so long.

    Amariah: So… the reader is supposed to be male, then. Since he can feel our arousal?

    It might just be General Sigfreid’s flying penis making a stopover.

  20. AdmiralSakai says:

    He presses himself to you tightly, his hands closing around your waist. Then your hands are caught and crossed before you so you cannot move. His hand slips underneath your leggings, cupping your soft mound.

    Meaning that Thranduil has at least four hands.

  21. AdmiralSakai says:

    Instantly you lose all of your thoughts

    Not that you had any to begin with.

    • fledglinghuman says:

      We had plenty of thoughts! They just all boiled down to “someone hook me up to an IV because I’m so thirsty I’m dehydrated.”

  22. AdmiralSakai says:

    You cover your face with palms in frustration.

  23. Herr Wozzeck says:

    Hey, hey! That’s a solid stone bed, sir! Easy does it!

    At least he’s not using a solid stone dildo.

  24. AdmiralSakai says:

    His taste is sweet and bitter just as the forest that is surrounding his underground palace.

    He tastes like dirt and spiders?

  25. AdmiralSakai says:

    “Why have you come?” Thranduil asks, still softly caressing your skin.

    That should be obvious.

    • fledglinghuman says:

      But most likely it’s because he said something while we were around to hear it.

      Somebody should really tell him it’s impolite to forget he has a magical baby-making voice.

  26. AdmiralSakai says:

    Thranduil stops abruptly and smirks down at you. “Close, are you?”

    Kitty: [imitating Thranduil] Yoda, I am.

    WELL THANK YOU FOR THAT MENTAL IMAGE.

  27. agig: Fuck. EP. A new fic. Fucking perfect.

  28. "Lyle" says:

    Amariah: Vagina juices aren’t proper lubrication, you lunatic!

    *coughs lightly into her hand* Taco, now would be the time to look away. Your sister is about to discuss her sex life and you might not want to read about it.

    Vagina juices are actually the proper lubrication for sex. While there are many women out there that suffer from dry-gina, from a biological stand point, sex should be accomplished without the use of exterior lubrication. There are many reasons why we have things like KY, though, and let’s talk about that. Be warned: I’m using my own personal experience as evidence here. And when I start talking about sex, I’m very open with it.

    One reason for creating commercial lube is for having normal sex because your vagina is dryer than my mother-in-law’s pot roast. These dry-ginas happen for many reasons. *pulls out the chalkboard*

    Case 1: The No-Desire Dry-Gina (There’s more than one reason for this issue in women. First, let’s talk about the non-clinical reason.)

    I suffered from this when I was married. I owned the largest possible bottle of [Really fucking slippery] lube you could find. Without it, nothing was happening in the ol’ nether regions. It was a desert with no oasis in sight. And why was this? Because the sex sucked. It was horrible. My now-ex-husband was abysmal in bed. After the first couple years, there was very little desire to have sex with him. I put up with it because I figured I was supposed to. Little advice for anyone not yet involved in a sexually active relationship: Don’t put up with bad sex. Just… don’t. It’s not worth it, seriously. When you have to get yourself off because he can’t even work his tongue… yeah, not good. Run.

    After my divorce, I met Mr. Lyle. I have since thrown away all my lube (with the exception of the happy-fun-time-back-door-stuff, but that’s a completely different type of lube we’re not talking about today because this is about vaginal sex and not butt-sex. Unless you have questions… in which case there will be a follow-up lecture, I suppose.) Anywho, Mr. Lyle is much more accomplished in bed. I actually want to jump his bones. (How novel!) Since being with Mr. Lyle I have not needed to use commercial lubrication even once.

    The desire to copulate releases the proper hormones that trigger the production and release of the vagina juices necessary to facilitate sex. Without these juices, copulation would be painful. The friction caused by rubbing two bits of dryness together would cause irritation, which would invite infections. The ‘gina lubes it up because it wants that penis but it doesn’t want yeast.

    Given how the reader is yowling like a cat in heat, she’ll have excreted enough vagina juice to accomplish sex without needing any other type of lubricant. Plus, Thranduil just finished eating her out. Saliva is another natural lubricant that can be used during sex. He probably slobbered on her labia enough that part of what he’s rubbing all over his dick is his own mouth-juices.

    Moving on to Case 2: The Natural Dry-Gina

    Since the dawn of mankind, we’ve been looking for ways to successfully bone each other. Before the creation of alternative lubrication, this pretty much meant that if you couldn’t get off, you wouldn’t get off. Your inability to produce enough lube was lost and only those who could successfully sex reproduced. The survival of the slickest.

    With the introduction of alternative lubrication (oils, initially, and then eventually commercially produced lubes based in either water or oil) those who couldn’t now could. The gene that creates an inability to self-lubricate was propagated due to human ingenuity. For the longest time, I assumed this was me until I found out differently with Mr. Lyle. I didn’t lack the gene. I lacked the desire.

    Case 3: The Commercial Dry-Gina

    This is a phenomenon that parallels the chap-stick cycle. The more chap-stick you use on your lips, the more your body becomes completely dependent on that chap-stick, the easier your lips chap, so the more chap-stick you need to keep your lips from chapping. It’s a horrible cycle and people actually get addicted to chap-stick because of it.

    The same thing can happen with your vagina and commercial lubrication. The more you use commercial lubrication, the less natural juice you’ll produce, meaning you’ll need more lube to keep things going. If you don’t need the lube, don’t use the lube. Otherwise, you may very well find yourself always needing the lube.

    Case 4: The Old Dry-Gina

    Let’s face it, ladies. We’re all going to get old. And when a woman gets old, her reproductive system shuts down, wrecking havoc on our bodies and making us flop between wanting to destroy the world and wanting to raid an entire ice cream factory. Menopause sucks, from what I’ve witnessed with Lyle Sr. As we get older, and this horror looms, the hormones that control reproduction decrease. This can lead to a lack of lubrication being produced. Even though humans remain sexually active as long as they’re physically able (sorry for the mental image but old people have just as much sex as young people. In fact, STIs and STDs have a higher occurrence in the elderly because they don’t feel they need protection since the women is unable to get pregnant), women are often not able to self-lubricate because their hormones hate them. The perfect solution for 80-year-olds wanting to smack uglies is commercial lubrication.

    Now, let’s move on from Dry-Gina and talk about another reason for commercial lubrication: Novelty! I’m talking your flavored lubes, your warming lubes, your “so slick you can slip-and-slide across your lover’s ass” lubes. These are pretty much produced to enhance your bedroom experience. They’re fun to use. You can make your lover’s tallywacker or pleasure-switch taste like cherry pie if you wanted. Or root beer, chocolate, grapes, cinnamon… I’m pretty sure flavored lube qualifies as a cousin of Bertie Bott’s Every Flavor Beans. They usually come in tiny plastic sachets; they make great party favors at Bridal Showers. The only downside is that flavored lube, because of the sugar content, is stick as fuck after a bit. I would not suggest ever using it for true vaginal intercourse. The flavored stuff should be used for oral only. Plus you shove sugar up your coochie and you’re inviting the yeastie-beasties with open legs.

    Welp, I think that’s about all for today’s lesson in female reproductive functionality. Join me next time when I find something else entirely uncomfortable to teach you all.

  29. WHAT THE FUCK!!!!


    Where do we keep the brain bleach? I need to unsee whatever the fuck that was.

  30. AdmiralSakai says:

    You know, a lot of the writers here can’t write good drama and so end up unintentionally writing excuse porn.

    It takes a very special writer indeed to try to write excuse porn and fail.

  31. Swenia says:

    Kitty: In any event, today we’re riffing a story where we, the reader, get to be boinked by Thranduil.

    I’m learning not to hope that this will be erotic enough to actually get off to.

    Imagine being captured in Mirkwood and brought before Thranduil because you are thought to be a spy. Thranduil has you locked away when you swear you know nothing. Later, he comes on his own to interrogate you, and a heated argument leads to some very naughty interrogation methods.

    Welp, glad I didn’t waste my time hoping.

  32. TacoMagic says:

    He is perhaps grinning, perhaps smirking, perhaps his anger had finally found its way up through his guarded emotions, you cannot tell.

    BAAAAAA!?

    You got me man. We don’t have anything in the guidebook about vague smirkish expressions. Here, I’ll just write “gong” on a piece of paper and we’ll mail it to him.

    BAAAAAA!

    Yes, you can lick the stamp, weirdo.

    • TacoMagic says:

      A victorious smirk spreads through his face like a tsunami, washing away the indifferent expression he was holding for so long.

      “Mail, my liege.”

      *Thranduil opens the envelope and removes a letter*

      I do not understand. It is just a piece of paper with the word “Baaaaaa” scrawled on it in crayon. Hold on, I think there may yet be another item in the envelope.

      *Thranduil spreads the envelope open a little further*

      Hmm, it appears to be wedged inside. Perhaps if I shake it…

      *He upends the envelope shakes it gently

      No, it appears to be rather stuck.

      *He holds the envelope up above his head and peers inside to see if the contents jar loose while he shakes it a little harder*

      *GONG*

  33. TacoMagic says:

    He strokes your nether lips

    That’s one hot euphemism. Might as well go with “naughty bits” next time.

  34. TacoMagic says:

    Kitty: Ah, so Dragonfire is Thranduil’s stripper name.

    *Dumps coffee out of his keyboard.*

    Well played, madam.

  35. TacoMagic says:

    “Let me hear you again.” He dips one of his fingers into your moist heat carefully.

    For some reason, I suddenly want a dipped cone from Dairy Queen.

  36. Swenia says:

    You are more than willing to search every inch of him with your mouth but his straining erection is luring you even more.

    Idiot. Everyone knows that you use a green tandem spinnerbait to catch an elf, not an erection. This is basic elfing knowledge here, author!

  37. TacoMagic says:

    . His taste is sweet and bitter just as the forest that is surrounding his underground palace.

    So apparently not only were we hiding in the forest, but also eating it. Or at least licking it.

  38. TacoMagic says:

    There is too hot in your small cell

    Dude, knock it off, Thranduil. You’re going to make my battery explode.

  39. TacoMagic says:

    Thranduil leads you through secret corridors of his underground palace.

    That has got to be the weirdest euphemism for fisting that I’ve ever seen.


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