Another World

Chapter 18

A huge and heartfelt thank you to everyone your lovely reviews. Your words of encouragement always make my day.

A special thanks needs to go out to Raider-K for all her support, and for cheering this story on. If you haven't already read her stories, please go and check them out. Her Thranduil fic 'Kingsfoil' is just such a fantastic read.

When I penned out the rough draft for this chapter, I had originally planned on a few other scenes to be added in, but this particular scene just evolved until it eventually became a full blown chapter. And it got a bit...fluffy. Sorry.

Here is the next chapter – I hope you enjoy it

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The following days progressed without further incident. Charlotte would arrive home from work to be greeted with a delicious home cooked meal (though she no longer enquired as to what meat was in said meals since the bunny episode). This was then followed by a gruelling training session, which Thranduil stubbornly insisted upon and would not relent.

These sessions involved lingering and tantalising caresses as he adjusted her grip on his sword, his warm breath fluttering against the back of her neck as he instructed her, and his hands were getting bolder as he gripped her hips and maneuvered her stance to the correct position. Each and every time, Charlotte would be left feeling weak-kneed and utterly breathless, wondering if his moves would ever progress to...more. It certainly didn't help that Thranduil always appeared unaffected, and for once Charlotte yearned for that indomitable composure to slip. What she wouldn't give to witness him acting on some of those urges he was igniting within her like a raging inferno.

This added tension, fuelled along by her frustrations that she still had not succeeded to block one of his attacks, was proving too much. To say that she was feeling cranky was an understatement.

Thursday after work, Charlotte stopped at the liquor store and picked up a case of wine, making sure to select the ones that Thranduil had deemed satisfactory. Charlotte huffed, remembering how vocal he had been about the ones that were poor substitutes and she had endured a good thirty minute detailed lecture on the best quality of wine.

As she drove back home, Charlotte thought about their progressing relationship. Their kisses were slowly becoming more bold and fervent, but Thranduil was always careful to keep things respectable (much to her vexation). She wanted to see him shatter beneath her touch, just as much as she longed to experience coming apart beneath his. But it seemed the Elvenking was unmovable in his stance about not taking things further with her beyond mere kissing and illicit caresses.

It had been snowing steadily since Sunday night and currently thick fluffy flakes were descending once more, fully blanketing the countryside in a frosty white blanket. The temperature was also dropping quite dramatically, and Charlotte sensed they were going to be in for a harsh winter.

Charlotte parked in the garage and retrieved the crate of wine from the trunk, her arms straining under the weight. The door leading to the kitchen opened and Thranduil stood on the threshold, dressed in black jeans and a crisp white button down shirt, the collar upturned and mimicking his beloved tunics. His silken hair fell over his shoulders, each strand perfectly in order as though none dared disobey and move out of place.

Thranduil took the heavy crate from her, the weight seemingly nothing to him. His eyes sparkled in unrestrained delight as he examined the contents within, and he gave a nod of approval. Charlotte wondered with amusement if she should check him into a couple of AA meetings. That elf sure loved his wine.