#fairyduck

[ticarmina]

[blaisegellert]

Fairy duck #ducklings #fairyduck #butterflyduck

[shutthegate-blog]

“I promised myself I wouldn’t let you complete me.”

Concentration seemingly unbroken by the avowal, Feren continued to fold the King of the Greenwood’s underclothing. Earlier in the evening, he’d sent away the maids normally assigned the task. Stealing away these tasks made it easy to pretend things were as simple as the tasks themselves.

Well, this task was not so simple. The folds had to be just right or else it would crinkle. No one, least of all a king, wanted crinkled undergarments.

It could be said that the Avari as a whole suffered from a shared allergy to expressing their emotions of any sort.  Moreover, their ways of affection were far more physical and far less gentle than those of the Sindar. To his aggravation, the Avar never quite knew how to respond to Thranduil’s overt declarations of affection.

Feren could speak languages of Men and Elves, both common and dead. He could recite the verses of legendary epics and playful ditties alike with ease. Word play over politics and policies never fazed him, and yet, he could not for the eternal life of him find the proper words to return his King’s affection.

Instead, he folded his king’s clothing with the same care Celebrimbor crafted the Rings of Power. Alas, there would inevitably be nothing left the fold. As was the case now, forcing Feren to look up from his self-assigned chore.

“Promises should not be made lightly, Thranduil,” Feren commented slowly, struggling not to fumble over his tongue that slowly turned to lead as he churned over what to say next that might resemble something tender. “But I can think of more solemn vows to break.” If not romantic, at least it was factual. 

[shutthegate-blog]

"I can't stop thinking about your hands on me." //Currently regretting: Fuck all, and nothing.

Feren froze immediately at his king’s comment, Thranduil’s robe half folded in his arms he had just been about to place it in the wardrobe. Had he heard correctly? Perhaps he was talking about needing more balm for his burns? That had to be it. Thranduil couldn’t possibly mean that in any other way. Regardless, his face heated at the thought of having his hands on Thranduil, letting them trail over the musculature of his lord. After centuries of tending to his wounded lord, Feren knew every inch of that kingly body, and though his hands had touched many and much, it had not touched all of him. Not in the ways Feren wished to do so.

Lips pressed together tightly, uncertain as to how to respond. Feren first put away the robe, sucking in a deep breath before slowing releasing as if to banish his discomfort with the breath.

At last, he turned to face his king, somehow managing to wear an easy smile. There were so many things he wished to say, wished to do, but Feren would not risk losing Thranduil over a misunderstanding. His devotion ran too deeply. Feren wore his heart on his sleeve for all matters except this one.

"Was that an order for more balm or a massage?" He forced a chuckle, even managing an eye roll that so often followed one of Thranduil’s ridiculous demands of his captain.