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“You see so clearly through the hearts of dwarves?” Bard sets aside the goblet. He can’t remember when he last ate and he can feel the wine singing through his veins, warm and seductive.
“And the hearts of men.” Thranduil’s voice is soft as silk, low and lilting.
A compilation of the Barduil drabbles I'm writing daily for January. Warnings are included in the headnotes for individual chapters where they're required. :) Some canon-compliant, some AU, a variety of genres and ratings.
The elven king always appeared so cold, was seemingly made of marble and silver, and yet he radiated warmth in a way that made Bard’s chest ache, making him feel the need to press closer. Their faces were mere inches apart; it would be so easy to lean forward and seal those lips with a kiss...