Title: And Anya Makes Three, part 2
Disclaimer: I own nothing but an ’89 Cadillac Eldorado with a broken tape deck, and you’re welcome to it.
Rating: Hard R, perhaps even NC17 if you’re squeamish.
Pairing: Elladan/Anya/Elrohir. No slash.
Placement: Jossverse: Takes place not long after that episode where Spike and Anya boff each other for comfort from their misery. Ringverse: a few thousand years before the events of the Ring.
Summary: Broken-hearted by Xander’s leaving her at the altar, Anya is summoned to Imladris to wreak vengeance but can’t seem to focus—she’s too distracted by her own troubles to get the job done. Can her friends, the sons of Elrond, help get her back on track?
And Anya Makes Three, part 2
Anya’s consciousness swam upwards from the ocean of sleep at the first touch of hands on her shoulders; strong, warm, they soothed away the knots of tension that had been growing there for months. She stirred; soft Sindarin words were murmured in her ears, soothing away even her token protests, and she melted into the comfortable bed gratefully.
Then the hands drifted down from her shoulders to her breasts, molding and kneading them, and Anya’s brain did the equivalent of lifting an eyebrow. She felt her nipples respond to the stimuli and felt a little bad for about four seconds—this nice person was just giving her a massage, after all—before her pragmatic nature asserted itself. If you were going to rub her breasts, it was perfectly natural for her nipples to stiffen and press into the callused palms that cupped and—oh, wasn’t that wonderful-feeling—pinched them.
But perhaps that was just a part of the massage as well? One of the hands was replaced with a mouth, a warm and wet and very talented mouth that tugged her nipple, rolled it between teeth and tongue, and Anya decided it would be perfect acceptable to let out the moan of pleasure that had been building for the last few minutes.
“She is awake,” the person murmured around her nipple, and Anya allowed herself a moment to goggle in amazement, for the voice belonged to none other than one of the twins (Elrohir, if she were not mistaken). The remainder of the muzziness cleared from her head, and opening her eyes, she tried to sit up.
“Be at ease,” Elladan said, pressing her back against the soft pillows. His lean, strong body was pressed along hers and, to her delight, completely nude. Head turning to the right, she saw Elrohir on her other side, clad only in his snug red trousers. Long muscles rippled down their forms, and Anya thought she might pass out from sheer joy when she reached out to prove they were really there, and found their skin softer and smoother than silk.
“What are you doing?” she asked Elrohir on a moan, as Elladan had returned to his ministrations of her breasts. “Not that I’m complaining.”
“We were troubled to see you in such pain, meldisamin,” the elf replied simply. “You have been our friend for many years, and we seek to alleviate your distress.” He took her hand and pressed a kiss to its palm before placing it against his chest, over his heart. “Will you let us?”
Elladan had moved resolutely south on Anya’s body and now lay between her legs as he pressed kisses to her belly and lower. As his twin asked the question, his tongue traversed the triangle of warm brown curls and slid down into the moistening cleft that eagerly awaited him.
Anya tilted her pelvis up to meet him halfway, and groaned, “Oh, yes, please.” This, she thought, was a super idea, and slid her hand down Elrohir’s chest and abdomen until she could cup his growing erection through his breeches. His hips undulated against her palm, and she sucked in a breath as much at his luscious size as the feel of Elladan’s flickering tongue against her distended, aroused clitoris. “Your penis is very large,” she commented happily, then gazed down her body at Elladan. “Yours is too, I assume?” He glanced up and nodded, amused, before returning to his work.
“Take off your pants,” she told Elrohir, who stood to do her bidding. “I can’t wait to feel you in my mouth.” At her words, he groaned and hastened to tug the garment off his feet.
“It is very stirring to me, hearing you speak thus,” he told Anya as he crawled onto the bed toward her.
“Good,” she replied with a grin. “Because there’s more where that came from.” She motioned him closer, and as he swung a leg over to straddle her chest, she continued. “I can’t wait to taste you, to know if you’re salty or sweet… I want to flick my tongue into that tiny slit, and lick out those little droplets…” Elrohir gasped and shut his eyes, head falling back, because she’d put actions to words and sucked him into her mouth.
Ah, this was heavenly, Anya thought as a wave of sensation crashed over her. Elladan’s talented mouth continued to bring spasms of delight to her, with the inexorable building of pleasure pushing her to arch faster, ever faster, against him. And the texture of Elrohir’s marble-hard column of flesh sliding between her lips, the glide of it over her tongue, the taste—both salty and sweet—of his preliminary gratification filling her mouth was sheer bliss.
She clasped Elrohir’s taut buttocks in her hands, guiding his pace, squeezing until her fingernails bit into his velvety skin as her own pleasure mounted and she found she needed something to hold on to. That little jolt of pain seemed all the elf needed to push him over the edge, and with a hoarse shout he came down her throat, filling her mouth with his essence. Tangling his hands in Anya’s hair, he bucked his hips in an frantic, uneven rhythm as he finished.
His joy was all she needed for that final push, and her pelvis surged up to where Elladan had captured her hard bud between his lips and lashed at it with his tongue. When Elrohir’s softening member slipped from her mouth she was free to cry out, to exclaim her approval to the world, and she found herself chanting, “Yes, yes, oh, yes,” over and over as door after door swung open in her mind, an endless expansion of space that contained nothing but pure sensation.
When she came back to herself, Anya realized that Elladan was still nursing gently at her, laving the drenched lips and swollen clitoris with a tender tongue-tip. “Ai, but you are wet,” he muttered, and pulled away to kneel between her thighs. “I can wait no longer to feel you around me.”
His words sent a fresh arrow of lust through her even as Elrohir moved to lay, limp and sated, by her side. “Yes,” she answered, her voice raspy from shouting through her last orgasm. “Please, I need you to fill me.”
Elladan sat back on his heels and, grasping her hips, pulled her to him so her buttocks rested on his knees and her pelvis was tilted at the precise angel he wanted. Taking himself in hand, he rubbed the head of his erection between her nether lips, wetting it with the profuse moisture that seeped from her in her desire. Anya whimpered and squirmed against him, and he smiled, a slow feral smile that told her she’d be ridden hard that night. She smiled back to indicate she wouldn’t have it any other way, and he slid the very end of himself into her.
“Tease,” she muttered—the feeling of that blunt tip just resting there at the entrance to her body was torturously wonderful, a promise of what was to come if he’d ever actually get to it. Anya tried to wiggle, to pull more of him inside, but his grip on her hips was like steel.
“A little patience, Anya,” Elladan murmured, and pulled her closer so he thrust himself within her in a single smooth stroke. “Ai, yes,” he said, eyes fluttering closed. “Like both fire and cool water.” He pulled her even more tightly to him. “You burn and quench me at the same time.”
Anya, for her part, was completely incoherent. She’d thought Xander had had a large penis but this, combined with the rest of the elven package (divine good looks and amazing technique) was surely going to kill her. But what a way to go, she thought dazedly, and tightened her legs around his waist as he began to thrust into her.
Short, shallow thrusts at first; Elladan’s hands were large enough to grip her hips and still allow his thumbs to part the wet petals of her vulva and rub against her aroused nubbin. It felt like minute bolts of lightning were jolting through Anya’s body and all she seemed able to do was make rather incoherent mewling noises.
It surprised her greatly, therefore, when she heard herself gasp, “More, more.”
Elladan looked to his brother, who lounged back against the sideboard, watching them intently. “Did you hear, Elrohir?” he asked. “She wants more.”
“I did hear, brother,” Elrohir replied, a smile in his voice. “I suggest you give her what she requests.”
“Yes, please,” Anya agreed, eyes half-closed from the onslaught of desire. “Please.”
With that, Elladan shifted and lowered himself onto her, capturing her lips in a fierce kiss at the same time he sank his full length into her wet heat. Anya’s eyes flew open in surprise, for she was positive she could feel the head of him bumping against her very cervix itself, so deep was he. The sensation threw her into a powerful orgasm that she serenaded her way through with a single long wail of, “Aaaaaaaaaaahhhhhhhh!”
“Elbereth,” Elladan gritted out above her, “how you clench around me, tight as a fist. I shall not last long.” He pumped himself into her in long, deep strokes, angling his pubic bone with each thrust so it ground sinuously against her, and Anya realized dazedly that she was going to come again.
“Anya, I am going to… I cannot wait…” he moaned into her ear, and she clasped arms and legs more tightly around him as she writhed in ecstasy beneath his strong, sweat-dampened body.
“Yes,” she hissed, biting the tender lobe of his ear. “Come in me, give it to me.”
Elladan shuddered powerfully and then froze, his entire form going stiff as pleasure convulsed him. The feel of his essence being released within her shattered what little remained of Anya’s control and she fell to pieces, peaking so powerfully that tiny sparkling blue-and-silver lights danced behind her closed eyelids. As she spiraled away into space, an overwhelming sense of peace and gratitude filled her, and she murmured, “Love, love, love,” over and over until finally the joy receded to the point where she was once more aware of her surroundings.
Elladan pulled his weary head from where he’d dropped it in exhaustion onto her shoulder. “Do you mean it?” he asked. “Do you love us?”
Anya looked into his beautiful face a long moment, then at Elrohir beside them, and thought she just might, at that. When she’d screwed Spike, in spite of the cold feel of the undead flesh against and inside her, it had been Xander she’d been making love to, Xander’s face in her mind’s eye, Xander’s name on her lips when she came.
This time, there had been no extra phantom lover in the bed—just her and the twins. She was over Xander Harris, Anya realized, and missed not him but the feeling of closeness and sharing she had come to enjoy whilst being in a relationship with him. There was no reason, none whatsoever, that she couldn’t have that with someone else. Or two someone elses, as the case may be…
“Yes,” she replied, and knew it was true. “You’ve been good friends to me for a very long time, and even though I’m a little angry at you for holding out on the orgasms until now, yes, I love you. Both of you.”
Elladan rolled to his side, pulling her over with him, and Elrohir pressed up close on her other side. “I am the meat in a sandwich of sexiness,” Anya gloated. “Life is good.” The twins exchanged a look over her shoulder and she knew she’d lost them again, but couldn’t make herself care at the moment. She snuggled deeper between them and let sleep claim her.