For years I have kept private
journals, expecting them to remain just that – private.
Perhaps this is a mistake, and perhaps I shall regret my decision later.
The rest of my journals are already prepared for our journey.
Tonight I came to the
conclusion, that if we are ever to hope for a future together, in any capacity,
that no longer can I keep anything private.
From others, yes, but not from you.
It is not fair, though I do not except reciprocation of my actions. I
promise you I will not pursue any further intimacies of a sexual nature, unless
you give me leave to do so. I
apologize for my actions earlier this evening.
I really do love you.
Glorfindel
The note was folded around the book that had been propped
against Erestor’s door. Entering
his quarters, he took them to his bed, leaving the door open. Sitting down, he read the note again, then folded it and
placed it on his nightstand. Next,
he changed into a pair of light pants for sleeping and took the book with him to
his couch. When he read for
pleasure, he didn’t sit. He liked
to lounge, and lit the lamp on the nearby table before situating himself
comfortably.
Flipping through the pages, he recognized Glorfindel’s
hand, and the dark ink he had seen on the note.
He wondered for a moment if he should go to the other elf to let him know
nothing had been done that night to truly upset him.
Glorfindel had finally admitted to him that his cooking left much to be
desired, and then spent the rest of the meal silent when Erestor had not
replied, but Erestor had known as much for some years.
There was a very good reason he did not boast culinary skills, for he had
none to speak of, and even his beloved books had done nothing to cure this.
Opening the book randomly, Erestor began to read the words
of the passage. He knew that
Glorfindel made daily notes, but never knew of exactly what he wrote.
Much of it was rather dull, for he had been there for what was being
written about. He started to look
for lines where his name was listed, curious to see how Glorfindel viewed him.
He found a section where the writing changed a bit and sat up. The color was the same, and still it was Glorfindel who
wrote, but the words were smaller, and the text messier.
Glorfindel
pressed Erestor's wrists to the wall beside his raven-locked head. He knew his
long time friend wouldn’t give in to him so easily; no matter how tempting he
was to the older elf. Erestor was
no elf’s plaything to be used, only to be set aside.
But it was not Glorfindel’s intention to set him aside, and he needed
to know how to make him believe this.
Long
had he yearned to introduce Erestor to sexual delights, but always in his mind
that introduction happened within the confines of a serious relationship. Not
the illicit affair Erestor thought he was offering. The Noldo’s jaw was set,
defiantly mocking him.
He was trapped, but then, he allowed himself to be trapped, for he could
leave at his own choosing and Glorfindel would not have given chase.
Snapping
back to his present situation, Glorfindel moaned as Erestor tilted his hips
forward, forcing firmer contact between their arousals.
Caught off guard, Glorfindel whimpered, and Erestor smiled triumphantly;
he was enjoying this...this utter agony he was putting Glorfindel through, and
his own struggle to resist the pleasure he truly wanted.
Erestor gasped, realizing that he had forgotten to breathe.
Unable to believe his eyes, he rubbed them with one hand, and set to
reading the passage again. When it
hit him that he was really reading what he was reading, he threw the book away
from him as if it would burn his hand. It
struck the corner of the bed and opened as it fell to the floor, the cover
facing up as it hit the floor.
Grabbing one of the pillows from the couch, he drew it up
to his chest and hugged it to him, wishing it were Glorfindel instead.
The pillow was tossed aside next as he fully realized his thought, and he
shook his head, getting up to retrieve the book.
This proved harder than he had anticipated, for he concluded, as he
looked down in front of himself, that he indeed was fully erect.
“What is wrong with me?” he wondered out loud, flopping back onto the
couch. Looking to the door, Erestor
hoped that it was not Glorfindel’s intention to enter or walk past the door
anytime soon, for he would have been so completely embarrassed he either would
have had to kill him or himself.
After calming himself enough to be able to comfortably pick
up the book again, he first went to the door to close and lock it, and then to
his couch. The book was left on the
cushion as he brought a small bottle of liqueur from the cabinet next to his
desk with him. Taking a deep breath
as he uncorked the bottle, he drained half the contents of the raspberry-peach
concoction and placed the rest of the miruvor aside. “What other naughty thoughts have you written, dear Fin,
and why do you want me to read them?”
Erestor paused, repeating himself. “Dear Fin. When
did that come about?” Finding he
often reasoned things better aloud, and that he enjoyed the sound of his voice,
he continued his investigation, speaking when he thought it helpful.
He opened the book and read through the passage again.
“What are you trying to tell me? That
you lust for me? Aye, but I know
that, and know that you love me, for I love you.
But lust – that is something I am not sure of.
At least not yet. You do not
wish me to fear you, in that you want me to know your intentions are pure.
I want to believe that.” Erestor
ran a finger along the page, across words so very personal in some ways it
seemed almost sacred that he was reading them now.
“I want very much to believe that.
And I want very much not to fear, but it is not you that I fear.”
He set to find more of the interludes, and though they were
few, Erestor found three others in the journal. The last, he concluded had been written after dinner, but
before the journal had been left for him. “We
were together in the parlor when you wrote this,” Erestor whispered. “Not
more than ten feet from you, and still, I did not know you had such thoughts, so
close…”
Shutting the book, Erestor placed it on the table beside
him, and lifted up the bottle, drinking the rest. The cordial warmed him thoroughly, for he was not used to
taking such amounts of alcohol. Erestor
opened the windows to let in the breeze of late autumn, then crawled into his
bed, planning to think on things in the morning.
Instead he stayed wide-awake, listening to the leaves
rustling across the grass outside. “I
don’t lust for him,” he said suddenly, in defense of his uncontrollable
actions earlier. “It was an
accident. It was only the words, I
was unprepared.” But his hand had
slipped down under the sheets, loosening the cord of his pants to allow him
access. This night, as on so many
other cold nights, he did as he had always done before. He took himself in his hand and thought of the most beautiful
blonde elf he had ever known. “Mmm…
Artanis…” he smiled, shutting his eyes, imagining her as he drew his hand
along his hardening shaft. It took
mere seconds for him to pant and moan softly, hoping that Glorfindel did not
hear the sounds.
Throwing his head back, he cried out suddenly, and his hand
ceased as he felt the warmth spread across it.
Growling as he gasped for air, he wiped his hand across his thigh,
removing it from inside his sleepwear. Sitting
up, he drew up his knees and rested his chin on them, arms curled around his
legs. “Glorfindel,” he said
again, for the name that flowed from his lips as he released was not that of his
golden maiden of old, but of the golden lord that was with him in this very
house, where they were alone and unbothered by others.
“Glorfindel…” Erestor bowed his head and sighed.
Throwing the covers back, he slid out of bed, shut the
window, and lit the fire. Wandering
into the bathroom, he drew cold water into the tub, stripped and washed himself,
and warmed then in front of the fire while rereading the sloppily written
passages. So intent upon the words
was Erestor, he did not notice that he had been lazily running his free hand
along his legs, chest, and stomach until his erection throbbed once again.
“Aiya, Glorfindel,” sighed Erestor, rolling to his back as he tossed
the book next to himself on the fur he was upon.
“What am I to say to you when I do not know what to say to myself?”