"Drink," Elrond instructed, pouring a foul-tasting liquid down Thranduil's protesting throat before partaking
himself, struggling not to gag on his own medicine. As usual, Thranduil had succeeded in drinking himself sick, and
Elrond wasn't far behind.
He started, feeling a hand stroke his back, and looked into the wine-flushed face of the Elvenking.
He was smiling.
"No," Elrond said firmly.
Thranduil smiled. "Likes you."
Elrond swallowed. "We're drunk."
Thranduil snuggled close. "Loves you."
Elrond wavered. "Really?"
Thranduil kissed his nose. "Whole bunches," he assured.
It was going to be a long night, indeed.