mistletoe meme comment with your character bam, now your character is under some mistletoe. no moving until you lock lips with someone. easy as it sounds.
[ Nuada cocks his head to one side, eyes half-lidded, as if standing there and thinking over the proposal very hard is the most important thing he could be doing. Instead of, you know, aiding the monarch in his bid to escape said spell. ]
Since you asked so sweetly, mo chara.
[ He'll just snake his other hand around Thranduil's neck and tug the taller elf down for a proper Gaelic kiss. ]
[ Interested in the new language, his focus shifts abruptly with the thoroughness of the kiss, something of a soft sigh of relief embedded in the languid exchange from which he does not shy in the least. A long gradient-dipped lock is brushed behind a similarly pointed ear, affection brimming in the lingering slip of dancing fingertips that fondly make their way to the front of Nuada's collar.
Thranduil might already be halfway to getting re-wed just from that one kiss, once it parts. ]
Thank you, Calamaethor.
[ With a smile tweaking at the corner of his mouth, he pecks him once more for good measure. ]
[ His mother taught him a very valuable lesson as a child: if you are going to do something, do it well and thoroughly the first time. It prevents a great deal of frustration when you take your time. Of course, Nuada later learned that one could induce a great deal of frustration when doing certain activities well. It is both one of his race's greatest strengths - and greatest weaknesses.
Thranduil gets eighty-some centuries worth of practice in under a minute, and when the Bethmooran puts just enough space between them for breathing purposes, there is the distinct possibility of amused smugness. ]
[ Practically purring, Thranduil noses his way along a cheek and dips a kiss to the corner of those lips despite already having been freed from any and all enchantments. His hold encircles a waist, a large palm sliding up to curve around strong ribs simply for the indulgence of seeking out such strength and having it underneath his fingers. ]
Bright Warrior, for that you are and no mistake. If you were dressed all in golden armour I would go blind.
Interesting. Calamaethor. Bright Warrior. [ He rolls the word around on his tongue, exchanging it after a moment for another kiss with the Elvenking, and decides he likes the taste of both. Content to just stand there, listening to the both of them breathe, solid muscles shifting underneath clothing and palm like a ripple in the water. ]
My armor has always been dark. Perhaps, next time I have the tools to make another set, it will be of gilt design. Dazzle the enemies of Clan Bethmoora into surrender.
[ How To Train Your Elvenking: kiss him, pet him, let him pour himself all over you like a cat. ]
You have need of no such finery, ignore my fanciful words. You were not named for what you might wear, Nuada, but for the flame you strike that draws me near.
[ Like a helpless moth in the night. Thranduil is very content to let their temples rest together, whether the slightest tilt of a chin brings kisses about or not. He winds a caress up through Nuada's lovely hair, methodical in the way he then combs down the same section over a shoulder time and again.
The urge to dress the sidhe up in cosy silks and fall asleep with him by a fireplace is near overwhelming, something to put aside for later. ]
Ah. That is exceedingly generous... [ Well. Now he can't exactly make fun of those elves with lots of names. Without being a hypocrite, anyway. ] It has been a long time since I was given a name. You do me great honor, this shall not be forgotten.
[ He looks genuinely pleased at the compliment, though spending a couple of thousand years cut off from kith and kin will flag even the heartiest of souls. Nuada tilts his head barely an inch, better to reward the other man with a series of lazy, but no less potent kisses.
Frankly, he plans on staying right where he is until Thranduil has had his fill of being rescued. There are certainly worse ways to pass an evening, and the Sindarin elf is charming. ]
It was the first to come to mind, I feel certain a plethora of others will make themselves known if you fail to stop me. [ His grin brushes an ear, voice dropping to a welcoming rumble. ] Put aside your manners with your servant, fair prince.
[ He leans back against a wall, enclosing Nuada in his arms at the waist as the kisses and hair=stroking continues like cats in their own bed. ]
I would not dare to assume that all of them fall on the complimentary side of the line. In any case, a man needs but one. [ Just whom is rescuing - or ensnaring - whom, here. ] That his enemies may know who to curse for their misfortune.
[ Manners? Hah. This is being polite, Nuada likes the Arda elf. He's capable of much worse ... at least when not reclining against a wall, intimately, with a new found comrade. ]
Such a threat, indeed. I'm a-flutter and shaking at the very thought.
Or which warrior to praise when all other words fall away.
[ Sort lips brush along a pointed ear, silk-wet with a fleeting lick. Thranduil's hot breath remains there as he pushes a smile against a temple, an arm wound around Nuada's waist and the other trickling long fingers through that enticing hair.
He noses along a cheek, his attention down on the locks. ]
[ Or a gift, if the occasion calls for it. Nuada pushes away those thoughts, preferring to concentrate on more pleasant thoughts, like ... oh, who's a tease now. His teeth bare when Thranduil's tongue finds his ear, and there's a fleeting prayer that Nuala is also enjoying this. ]
Not words I was thinking of speaking publicly, dear one.
[ His laughter is low and huffing, and the six-foot-seven Elvenking somehow manages to hide in the curve of Nuada's neck. Innocent, so very innocent as he presses his cheek to a swathe of sleek locks. ]
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no subject
Since you asked so sweetly, mo chara.
[ He'll just snake his other hand around Thranduil's neck and tug the taller elf down for a proper Gaelic kiss. ]
no subject
Thranduil might already be halfway to getting re-wed just from that one kiss, once it parts. ]
Thank you, Calamaethor.
[ With a smile tweaking at the corner of his mouth, he pecks him once more for good measure. ]
no subject
Thranduil gets eighty-some centuries worth of practice in under a minute, and when the Bethmooran puts just enough space between them for breathing purposes, there is the distinct possibility of amused smugness. ]
You are welcome. What does that mean?
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Bright Warrior, for that you are and no mistake. If you were dressed all in golden armour I would go blind.
no subject
My armor has always been dark. Perhaps, next time I have the tools to make another set, it will be of gilt design. Dazzle the enemies of Clan Bethmoora into surrender.
no subject
You have need of no such finery, ignore my fanciful words. You were not named for what you might wear, Nuada, but for the flame you strike that draws me near.
[ Like a helpless moth in the night. Thranduil is very content to let their temples rest together, whether the slightest tilt of a chin brings kisses about or not. He winds a caress up through Nuada's lovely hair, methodical in the way he then combs down the same section over a shoulder time and again.
The urge to dress the sidhe up in cosy silks and fall asleep with him by a fireplace is near overwhelming, something to put aside for later. ]
no subject
Ah. That is exceedingly generous... [ Well. Now he can't exactly make fun of those elves with lots of names. Without being a hypocrite, anyway. ] It has been a long time since I was given a name. You do me great honor, this shall not be forgotten.
[ He looks genuinely pleased at the compliment, though spending a couple of thousand years cut off from kith and kin will flag even the heartiest of souls. Nuada tilts his head barely an inch, better to reward the other man with a series of lazy, but no less potent kisses.
Frankly, he plans on staying right where he is until Thranduil has had his fill of being rescued. There are certainly worse ways to pass an evening, and the Sindarin elf is charming. ]
You have a poet's gift for words.
no subject
[ He leans back against a wall, enclosing Nuada in his arms at the waist as the kisses and hair=stroking continues like cats in their own bed. ]
Otherwise, I may well wax lyrical.
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[ Manners? Hah. This is being polite, Nuada likes the Arda elf. He's capable of much worse ... at least when not reclining against a wall, intimately, with a new found comrade. ]
Such a threat, indeed. I'm a-flutter and shaking at the very thought.
no subject
[ Sort lips brush along a pointed ear, silk-wet with a fleeting lick. Thranduil's hot breath remains there as he pushes a smile against a temple, an arm wound around Nuada's waist and the other trickling long fingers through that enticing hair.
He noses along a cheek, his attention down on the locks. ]
Your hair was once a darker gold?
no subject
[ Or a gift, if the occasion calls for it. Nuada pushes away those thoughts, preferring to concentrate on more pleasant thoughts, like ... oh, who's a tease now. His teeth bare when Thranduil's tongue finds his ear, and there's a fleeting prayer that Nuala is also enjoying this. ]
Once, when I was younger.
no subject
[ His laughter is low and huffing, and the six-foot-seven Elvenking somehow manages to hide in the curve of Nuada's neck. Innocent, so very innocent as he presses his cheek to a swathe of sleek locks. ]
You seem quite young with me.