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Title: Feather Boa
Rating: PG13 to be safe
Pairing: OMC/OMC implied
Beta: None. Feel free to flog my typos!
Warnings: Original characters. I guess this is nominally slash but aside from some male-on-male drunken flirting and an implied relationship it's essentially harmless fun. *grin*
Disclaimer: Rávo is mine. Brannon is Uli's. Elves in general are Tolkien's.
Summary: The morning after the night before.
A/N: This fic is entirely the fault of [info]tuxedo_elf. Blame her. Muchly.
Rávo blinked and yawned irritably. What /was/ that chirping? And why was the light so horribly, eye-burningly bright? And why was his backside wet? He looked around reluctantly, eyes slitted against the glare, hoping there was water available close by.
What /had/ he been drinking last night?
He remembered a party; that part had been perfectly vivid. He remembered excellent food and charming company. But it had all grown hazy later in the night…he vaguely recalled having his cup refilled, several times, and lots of good music…
It had been a fantastic party, at least according to those fuzzy memories. In any case, it must have been a good party, as he appeared to have ended up outdoors, tethered to a tree and wearing, apparently, nothing but an odd feather scarf in the most garish shades of orange and purple. His inner fashion sense despaired.
And the damp backside was clearly a result of sitting on the dew-soaked grass. A thistle prickled his thigh and he winced.
He /really/ needed to find out what happened last night, before his grandfather flayed him alive.
Unfortunately, that was not likely to happen as long as this leash was running from his beloved collar to the branch of the tree. He tugged on the leather strap hopefully, but it failed to get any looser.
So he would have to sit here and wait for someone to come and release him. Sit here, stark naked except for this feathery monstrosity, mouth so dry his tongue felt like it was shrivelling up, and probably looking more like a corpse than an Elf.
He leaned back against the rough bark, rinsing his face with the dew, and resigned himself to a miserable morning.
Rávo opened his eyes when he felt an abrupt tug on the leash. "Morning?" he ventured cautiously, voice sounding unpleasantly rough.
"Morning," said the other Elf smugly. Rávo sighed as he recognised the speaker as an Elf whom he would perhaps not regard as his most favourite person.
"What do you want?" he groaned.
"How much do you remember of last night?" the Elf asked.
Rávo swallowed, deciding that today was not destined to be a good day. "You were there," he stated tiredly. He had no recollection of this event, but it seemed a realistic assumption considering just how pleased with himself his 'adversary' looked.
"Of course. And your grandfather will not be at all impressed if he finds out about your rather…vibrant…evening."
"He is not going to find out."
"Is he not?"
Rávo realised he was being blackmailed and wondered what the Elf would demand as payment. Hopefully nothing too distasteful, or expensive… He reluctantly gave the Elf his best meek expression - which was rather good - and said mildly, "Very well. Tell me what I did that would make my grandfather so excruciatingly disapproving, and then we can discuss what that information, or rather, its privacy, is worth to me."
The Elf smirked in delight and began his story.
"A toast!" One Elf proclaimed, raising his cup. "A toast to the King!"
Everyone cheered and drank. It was at least the fourth toast to the King that evening, but the enthusiasm seemed to be increasing rather than decreasing with practice.
"And a toast to the musicians!" Rávo added eagerly. "For providing the most excellent music to dance to!"
The toast was echoed with alcohol-fuelled exuberance and Rávo bounced to his feet, applauding with approval as the musicians bowed and began another tune for the revellers. For one reason or another, the young Elf was wearing his favourite dancing shoes, which made a very satisfying click with each step on the hard floor. There were a lot of steps: if the dance had not been complicated before, it was by the time Rávo had finished embellishing it, so the clatter of fast-moving feet was rather spectacular, especially to the somewhat inebriated audience.
As usual, a number of other Elves, male and female, soon joined him on the floor, giggling loudly and providing refills to the wine glass that he was somehow holding (mostly) steady whilst dancing.
Part way through the song, a particularly flirty girl approached with a purple and orange feather scarf and wound it around his neck. He soon discovered, to his great delight, that this item was an ideal accessory to his show, especially when he posed and twirled with it. The more scandalous his moves, the more applause and praise he seemed to receive, so he sneaked more and more innuendo and suggestiveness into the routine.
They loved him! He loved them! He barely even noticed as the musicians pushed up the tempo, causing his exhausted, out of breath companions to abandon the dance floor, unable to keep up. His feet moved faster and he was somewhat surprised to hear one of the girls demand in exasperation of the lead musician, "How on Arda are we meant to dance to that?"
"Easy!" Rávo replied gleefully without missing a beat. He was not in the least tired; his feet felt like they were not even part of his body, flying over the floor. He took another sip of his drink, spluttering slightly as it was unexpectedly heady, but carried on unperturbed. "Look, I can keep up fine!"
Before he or anyone else fully realised what he was doing, he was up on the mostly-empty buffet table, heels tapping noisily on solid wood top, leaping effortlessly over any of the tall candlesticks careless enough to loiter in his way.
There was more applause, the volume now rather intense. Rávo flashed them a broad and slightly fuzzy smile; half of them were not even in focus any more, but they were still urging him on, so of course he was going to indulge them.
It was getting warm, so he unpicked the lacings on the silky mint-green tunic, letting it slide from his shoulders on to an empty chair. A squeak sounded from one of his spectators as candlelight winked off the emerald sparkling in his navel and he danced rather more showily to emphasise it. He began to writhe in the spirals of soft feathers almost as if it was a snake constricting him.
A flick of his wrist freed it from some unknown Elf who tried to catch hold of him, but the one who tugged on the leg of his pants was a little harder to remove. In fact, the Elf was being quite persistent, and a particularly hard yank left the garment rising dangerously low on his slender hips. He rolled his eyes and blew a kiss to the rather blurry figure. "Behave, darling," he chastised gently.
This feathery affair really was wonderful. It was exquisitely soft against his back, which was an unusually sensitive area of his body at any time and only grew more so under the influence of alcohol. It slid so very easily over his skin as he coiled it around his arms, pouting sensually at his audience.
A flicker of cold metal on his backside caught him utterly by surprise and abruptly e realised that his pants and the minimal clout beneath had been cleanly sliced off. He winced in horror at the harsh sound of tearing fabric which preceded a sudden sense of lightness and chill as it fell off altogether, sliding from the table on to the floor.
And so, now, he was dancing on the buffet table, naked except for the feather scarf and his favourite collar - he guessed all the Elves knew by now that the collar was strictly off-limits and trusted that, at least, to remain on him. He was also feeling somewhat like he was in the middle of a sort of golden fog, his perceptions of his surroundings growing less distinct by the moment.
"I see. But that, though hardly a glorious example of upstanding behaviour, is not so very humiliating. Grandfather would click his tongue and roll his eyes at that, but nothing worse."
"Wait till I tell you what happened next," explained Rávo's captor smugly.
The music had slowed once more to an acceptable pace, Rávo's body now gyrating slowly with wanton sensuality. He had already kicked off his shoes to dance barefoot, enabling his movements to grow all the more fluid and graceful, and he smiled as another Elf hopped up on to the table with him, rubbing his bodies against Rávo's.
Rávo ran his tongue suggestively over his lips; in answer, his dancing partner leaned in to kiss him with an audible purr. Rávo, retaining just barely enough of his senses to recognise that this pushed the limits of what was appropriate, pushed the other Elf away with a mildly scolding look, but not fast enough to get out of receiving a playful slap on the rear.
The Elf was not much perturbed and continued to dance scandalously close to Rávo, their chests and thighs pressing together, hands resting on hips. As the music died, they ended with gazes locked, both of them panting softly over flushed lips…
"Let me guess," Rávo tried reluctantly. "That Elf was you."
His adversary snorted. "As much as you and I both wish it was, I am not that careless. It would be a poor case for blackmail if I was involved in the scandal in the first place. No, that was your dear half-cousin."
"Oh, nothing new there then…"
"You grandfather will still not be massively impressed," the Elf reminded him. "And there was one other event…"
"A generous donation from my eternally magnanimous grandfather!" Rávo proclaimed, lifting the small bottle high for everyone to admire. "To help us celebrate the occasion! This, my friends, is the second best dessert wine in his cellars - and all for us!" Rávo could even hear himself slurring now, but he felt so eloquent that it did not worry him. He did, however, have to let someone else uncork the bottle. "Give it to me! I need a taste!"
A small crystal wine glass was handed to him and he inspected the deep amber-gold colour of the beverage before sipping eagerly. Aah, yes…it was magnificent, rich and honeyed; even in his current condition he could appreciate the quality. Like liquid wedding cake, he decided, and passed the glass to an Elf nearby to sample as well.
The glass was empty by the time it came back, having done the rounds of all those within reach. "More!" Rávo demanded. He picked up one of the huge wine goblets from the table, swaying rather a lot as he straightened. "In here, not one of those absurd glass thimbles!"
"Are you certain, Rávo?" someone interceded, sounding considerably more sober than anyone had a right to be this far into the revelries.
"Of course!" Rávo retorted. The cup was duly filled and, as soon as the empty bottle was set back on the table, Rávo declared yet another toast to the King and downed the whole cupful in a single large gulp.
The richness made him splutter rather a lot, and there were multiple gasps of horror at such sacrilege of one of the absolute finest, most valuable wines in the cellars. How could anyone casually toss back such a treasure?
Fortunately for Rávo, he did not have to answer the question that night, as the alcohol collided with his brain barely a minute later and he passed out, crumpling in an undignified manner to the table.
"Do I even want to know the rest?" Rávo asked wearily.
"No," the Elf assured him.
Rávo cringed. "At least tell me who leashed me to this tree?"
"Who do you think?" Rávo had already been praying his first guess was wrong. "Who else but your dear half-cousin?"
"I am going to kill him…"
"He probably deserves it. He was all in favour of writing lewd messages in body paint all over your unclothed self as well. You should be grateful that your boyfriend happened to be passing by at just the right time to put a stop to that."
"My boyf… Brannon saw me like this?" Rávo turned a shade of pink approaching magenta and mentally implored Ilúvatar to choose this precise moment for Arda to be broken and remade. His significant other may, in his opinion, have been the most desirable Elf in existence, but he was also very proper and principled - and most definitely did not approve of naked, drunken Elves dancing on tables and then passing out. "I take it back. I will not live long enough to kill my cousin. Brannon will surely kill me first."
"I did tell you that you did not want to know," the other Elf commented mildly.
Rávo really could not think of a suitably clever response to that. He was cornered; after hearing what he had done last night, he really could not risk his grandfather getting wind of it. He would be in more trouble than he could even imagine. "Very well," he conceded quietly, "name your price. What do you want from me? A new tunic or robes, perhaps, something so utterly stunning that the next time you wear it to a party the guests will be rendered speechless? Or, perhaps, something more personal - maybe a naughty little silk and lace surprise for your beloved? I can get it to you in days…"
The offers did not seem to impress the other Elf, who shook his head. "No, nothing like that. Really, I only had my eye on one thing."
He was looking directly at Rávo in such a disconcerting manner that Rávo felt himself grow rather pale under the scrutiny. Nonetheless, he summoned up all the bravado he could find and confidently replied, "What, then?"
The Elf pointed to the purple and orange feathery scarf. "That," he said, and tugged it off the tethered Elf, flouncing away with it and leaving Rávo alone, as a miserable drizzle began to fall on him.