Imladris, TA 1004
The door to the barracks office swung open, then shut with a clatter, the force of the wind making the hinges creak. Caegaran, sitting behind the desk in the corner, flinched at the noise and swore under his breath. Then he nodded to his visitor and pushed the ledger he had been examining to the side, clearly not averse to the unexpected interruption.
"Haldir. Welcome."
"Caegaran, my friend. There's a storm coming, and a fierce one; I can feel it. I'm surprised you're not out riding through the woods. You love this kind of weather."
Caegaran swore again, this time quite audibly. "I would if it weren't for these damned accounts, Haldir. I cannot go anywhere until the task is done, and just now it is more likely to finish me than the other way around. Trying to make expenses balance out against inventory is... ah..." Another few curses rolled off Caegaran's tongue.
"Your turn for office duty on the roster, I take it?"
"Yes. Though I'm about as suited to it as you would be to a life of chastity. I should be out on patrol, where I belong, not rotting here in this Valar-forsaken office."
Haldir walked closer. He lifted the cover of the ledger Caegaran had been working on, and thumbed through a few pages. "My sympathies. Although I must admit I am glad to find you here, and find you alone; I've been meaning to ask a favour. You have a good number of dressage whips and riding crops in your weapons inventory, do you not? I'd like to borrow a few. Strictly in confidence, of course."
"Why?" Caegaran, who had been tilting his chair back and balancing it on two legs, now let it swing back to a horizontal position. He narrowed his eyes. "Were you planning on going riding?"
"In a manner of speaking."
Haldir's and Caegaran's eyes met. For a moment both were silent, and the only sound in the barracks office was the tapping of a tree branch against the window. The wind outside had grown strong. At last, Caegaran said: "Well, regardless of your intentions, I'm afraid your timing couldn't have been worse. Some of our riding crops have disappeared lately, and the mystery of where they have gone is still unsolved. When I told Lord Glorfindel about it last week he seemed strangely irritated. Really, I don't see why he should take such trivial trouble so very much to heart. If I didn't know any better, I'd say he was taking it personally."
"Really?" Haldir lifted an eyebrow. "How very interesting. It makes me see the eminent Lord Glorfindel in a whole new light."
"Oh, honestly, Haldir, you have one thing on your mind. Speaking of which, I've been meaning to ask about the seduction of the young advisor. Shouldn't one of your reputation have made significant progress by now?"
Haldir's eyes flashed with a dangerous glint. Then he regained mastery over his emotions, and gave a controlled smile. "You cannot rush an artist like myself, Caegaran. I am taking it slowly for now -- we do not want to frighten him away, after all, but to lure him. You need not worry, however; it will be quite effective in the end. Our young friend will experience an unforgettable night in my company, and as for the morning... well, that is not my concern, is it?"
"No. How will you go about it?"
"I will not throw myself upon him like some callous Easterling, if that is what you're asking. But he is no virgin maid, and I do not intend to treat him as such. Besides, I have a feeling he will not object to being used roughly -- these quiet, repressed librarian types often enjoy that sort of thing -- and I do plan on indulging myself." Haldir's smile grew lewd. "I deserve something for my pains, don't you think? Stretching a courtship over these many weeks does tend to whet the appetite."
The cares seemed to lift from Caegaran's face. "When will you do it?"
"I was thinking about midsummer night's eve. The very air that night is a potent aphrodisiac, so I shall be doubly difficult to resist." Haldir winked. "Besides, did you not say that it was on that night that Elrond and the young one first--"
"Yes."
"Then it will be a fitting betrayal to crown a doomed affair. Elrond will be most displeased to see his young pet sleeping with another on a night that's supposedly sacred to them both."
"How will he know?"
"Oh, I will see to that, as well. I am nothing if not thorough." Haldir straightened his tunic, evidently pleased with himself. "You may leave the matter in my capable hands, Caegaran."
"Be sure to put them to good use, then." Caegaran's face grew serious. "I mean it, Haldir. I have been humiliated and hurt, and I want the young one to pay. I want him to know the meaning of shame and regret."
Haldir's nodded solemnly. "He will."
In the distance, thunder rumbled.
Gildor was accustomed to giving commands, that much was obvious. He was also used to being obeyed and to having his instructions carried out with attention paid to the smallest detail. Elrond could tell all this from his vantage point at the window overlooking the wide courtyard. Below, the stablehands were scrambling to see to Gildor's horse, flinching as the horse's owner berated them for their laggard service. Dark clouds were quickly gathering overhead, and Gildor, just returned from his daily ride, was more eager than usual to be back indoors.
A bright flash tore the sky in twain, bringing all the occupants of the courtyard into sharp focus, its ominous silence a prelude to the thunder that was to come. One of the stablehands cringed and covered his ears. Mere seconds later, the air was filled with a loud crash that rolled over Imladris, resounding in its fury. The storm was close, very close, and it was coming quickly.
A cool wind blew in through the open window and ruffled Elrond's hair. The first heavy drops of rain fell on the windowsill, spattering on the long sleeves of Elrond's robes as he reached over to close the panes of glass. By the time the latch on the window was securely fastened the rain outside was coming down in sheets, the trees were bowed under the onslaught of the gusting wind and the sky was dark as night.
The stablehands, drenched to the bone, doubled their efforts to coax the shying horse into the stables, goaded by Gildor's angry cries. His store of patience evidently exhausted, Gildor did little to keep his wrath in check. Elrond was dismayed, though unsurprised, to see him slap a stable boy who had inadvertently let go of the horse's reins. As might have been expected, this only frightened the animal further. It bucked under the hands of its handlers, thrashing its head and neighing wildly, desperate to get away from the storm, yet not certain where to go.
Deciding he had seen enough, Elrond turned away from the window and walked toward the candles on the mantelpiece -- by now the room's only source of light. The fact that Gildor had a hot temper was no shock; Elrond had witnessed it before. The incident in the courtyard below only served to emphasize his impression of Gildor as someone who could be unkind.
"Gil-galad would never have treated a frightened animal so, nor a well-meaning servant," Elrond thought, his mind turning to events in the distant past and conjuring up images of the High King calming a horse in a similar storm.
Gil-galad's gentleness was a sharp contrast to Gildor's abrupt ways, and it had always puzzled Elrond that the two of them had been friends. After unsuccessfully trying to develop some sort of camaraderie with Gildor in the Second Age, more out of a sense of duty to Gil-galad than any particular desire for a close friendship with the unapproachable Elf, Elrond had finally turned to his lover and asked for an explanation of their strange affinity.
Gil-galad had laughed. "Ah, Gildor," he had said. "There is more to Gildor than meets the eye, and more good than he is willing to show most. His great weakness is his arrogance, and the fact that he loves strength and will not easily suffer those who are weak. It can make him cruel, at times." "Unlike you, my Lord," Elrond had replied, heart full of love, and the conversation had concluded in a passionate encounter on Gil-galad's wide bed.
Elrond smiled to recall that afternoon, then sighed. Whether he liked it or not, he would have to speak with Gildor, both about his unnecessarily harsh treatment of Imladris' stablehands and the Wandering Company's travel plans. Erestor's odd behaviour was beginning to worry him, and he strongly suspected that Glorfindel's recent early-morning visit -- prematurely interrupted by an argument -- had a great deal to do with the dark circles under Erestor's eyes.
Though he had not been told anything directly, Elrond had pieced together enough clues to have a fairly good idea of the situation. The looks Gildor cast Erestor's way made it obvious that the two had met before, and Erestor's baffling nervousness seemed to indicate that he had somehow been hurt. Elrond respected his chief advisor's privacy enough not to inquire into the matter, but he had heard enough rumours about Gildor's tastes to imagine precisely what manner of 'hurts' Erestor had suffered.
He shuddered at the thought, convinced more than ever that he would never understand Gildor, would never get past the wall of arrogance and behold the Elf whose company Gil-galad had seemed to hold dear. Still, regardless of how he felt about Gildor, it was his responsibility to ensure the well-being of a loyal advisor and friend. Elrond squared his shoulders and set off down the hall.
"Come in!" Gildor's tone was muffled, almost as if someone were holding a hand over his mouth. The uncomfortable feeling in Elrond's stomach grew, and he braced himself for whatever sight would greet him on the other side of the door. Gildor was adventurous, but surely he would not be inviting passers-by in if he were otherwise engaged? Elrond pressed down the door handle and held his breath, then released it in relief as the reason for the stifled quality of Gildor's voice became clear.
Gildor had his tunic half-off, arms raised above head, face trapped in between folds of wet fabric. His mud spattered clothes clung to him as only utterly sodden garments can, and it was taking him some effort to extricate himself from their grip. He grunted impatiently as he tugged at his sopping wet tunic, biceps straining in his struggle, chest and stomach exposed. Elrond smiled at his good fortune; it seemed that his dreaded interview with Gildor had just begun with himself at an advantage.
"Yes?" Gildor yanked the tunic over his head and flung it on the ground, where it landed in a dirty puddle, sleeves sticking out at odd angles like the tentacles of some strange water beast. Gildor's golden hair had seen better days, yet its owner did not seem to mind, for he reached for a clean towel and immediately began to rub it dry. Apparently it would take much more than this to unsettle the leader of the Wandering Company.
Elrond sensed that this was no time for diplomatic intimations; he decided to be direct. "I saw the stablehands struggling with your horse just now. I also saw you hit one of them. I wanted to tell you that I thought it unwarranted."
"Well, if you ask me, I think they could all do with a good whipping. I have seen more efficient work done in squalid villages of Men, and by lame and blind servants no less. The ones here are slow and don't take well to instruction."
"They do not need instruction. They are perfectly capable of doing the work in which they have been trained." Elrond suppressed his irritation. It would not do to have this discussion disintegrate into a shouting match.
"Perhaps it is the training that is lacking, then. However do you run this realm, Elrond?" Gildor stopped towelling his hair and tilted his head in a challenging query. "Never mind. You never were one to rule with a strong hand. All conciliation to Gil-galad's resolve, always counsel before action."
Elrond took a deep breath, trying to make his words sound calm. "Gil-galad and I did things somewhat differently."
"Yes." Gildor regarded Elrond speculatively, as if remembering something. He let the towel drop to the floor. "He seemed to value your ways, though."
'Although I certainly do not,' was the implication, left unsaid but coming across quite clear nonetheless. Elrond felt his annoyance turn to anger. It was true that Gil-galad was apt to act before thinking, and Elrond had often felt it necessary to temper his lover's deeds with advice, channelling all his bright intensity and ensuring that Gil-galad's fire warmed instead of burning. But Elrond's counsel had always been gladly received, and the High King had said on more than one occasion that it was a gift he prized above many others. Gildor's words now called into question Gil-galad's very judgment as a ruler, and, as such, insulted not only Elrond, but the memory of his beloved King.
Elrond drew himself up to his full height, righteous anger lending weight to his words. "Let no one question my abilities lest they dishonour the name of the one who held them in high esteem."
The air grew hotter in the room, silence only adding to the tension. Gildor tossed his hair back and maintained the pose, watching Elrond from under slightly hooded eyes, as if from a distance. Slowly, a smile spread over his face. He relaxed his posture.
"I mean dishonour to no one," he said. "Least of all to one I once called friend, and whose strength I admired."
"And who is not here to defend himself."
"Ah, but his Herald comes to his defence quite well, ready as ever to stand by him and serve his interests." Gildor's smile shifted from approval to mockery. "Tell me... rumour has it you served much more than that, and for many years, too. I've never been able to understand it: however did you manage to please an Elf as passionate as Gil-galad? You, with your weighty tomes of lore, your calm and your reason -- I would think you'd be about as exciting to lie with as a slippery fish, and probably just as warm."
Fury blinded Elrond. Before rational thought could hinder his instincts, his palm had connected harshly with Gildor face.
Gildor's head snapped to the side, but he did not hit back. Instead, he caught Elrond's wrist in his hand and squeezed. "Well, well." He lifted his eyebrows appreciatively, the mockery not quite gone from his face. "It seems I have been labouring under a misconception. Behold the fire now!"
"Still your tongue!" Elrond jerked his arm away from Gildor's grip, but made no move to strike him again.
"You are presumptuous, Peredhel, to think you were the only one to love him." Gildor's smile waned, a bitter grimace taking its place. "His star shone brightly, and many would gladly have revelled in its light, but he had eyes only for you."
Though acrimonious, Gildor's words were not hateful. There was a longing in them, a resentment that spoke not of ill will but of hopes denied. Elrond started at the sudden realization that the rivalry he had felt between himself and Gildor in Lindon might not have been entirely a product of his imaginings. How strange that the very thing that had fuelled the rift between them centuries ago should now give rise to an unexpected connection.
"Do not think I don't know that his spirit was as mighty as the winter winds," Gildor continued. "His love must have been a thing to behold."
"It was," Elrond answered honestly.
Gildor's upper lip twitched, as if in acknowledgement of Elrond's fortune and his own loss. He touched his reddened cheek, and rubbed at the mark. "You have a strong hand, Peredhel," he said.
"I have not spent all my time among books. You would do well to remember that."
Gildor nodded, his mouth once again twisting in a half-smile – part conciliation, part menace. "And you would do well to bear in mind that I do not usually let those who strike me go unpunished. My pride does not suffer insults lightly. I may be a guest in your house, Elrond, but I am not yours to command. I am no one's to command."
"Of course." Elrond extended his arm, bowing to his duties as host and peacemaker. "Please, accept my apologies, Gildor. I acted out of turn." He clasped Gildor's shoulder and felt his own being clasped in return, though the tension in Gildor's muscles and his slight hesitation before responding spoke volumes about the true state of affairs between them. This was a truce, not a gesture among friends.
"What did you want to speak to me about?" Gildor asked, decisively pushing the conversation onto other, supposedly less volatile, matters.
Elrond paused. Though concern about Erestor was uppermost in his mind, he could well sense that voicing it would only make matters worse. "Midsummer night's eve is nigh upon us," he said. "I know that you and your Company will grace the festivities with your presence, and we are very glad of it. But this is also the time of year when we begin to make preparations for the upcoming winter. I wanted to ask you--"
"How long we would be staying."
"Yes."
"To tell you the truth, I have not yet decided." Gildor walked over to the large wardrobe, opened it, and pulled out a clean shirt. "I have heard much of the pleasures of midsummer night's eve in Imladris, and I had hoped that I might have some luck in matters of the heart then. Or... matters of the body, at least." He gave Elrond a knowing look. "So it all depends. Should things go well, my Company and I may stay until next spring."
"You have someone particular in mind." Elrond made his words sound neutral, though he was aware he had not phrased them in the form of a question.
"Yes. And the pursuit promises to be a challenging one; it seems I have competition."
"If the rivalry is fair and honourable then I wish you the best of luck." Elrond forced the words through gritted teeth, calling on every last reserve of patience and tact to keep from speaking his mind.
"When have I ever been unfair or dishonourable?"
Gildor was toying with him in earnest now, the provoking stare and flippant tone goading Elrond into reacting, throwing him off balance. "The Valar guide me to end this discussion quickly or, as Elbereth is my witness, I shall strike him again," Elrond thought, clenching his right hand and consciously keeping it close at his side.
As if in answer to his prayer, there was a knock at the door. Gildor smiled, shrugged his shoulders and called: "Come in!" Two servants hurried in with clean clothes and towels, and a tray filled with food.
"I will leave you now." Elrond took the Valar-sent opportunity to make his exit. "You are still soaked from the rain, and that food looks inviting. You must be famished after your ride."
"Pity our conversation should end so soon. We were just getting started." Gildor picked up a cup of wine from the tray and lifted it in a toast.
"Yes, pity. Good day, Gildor."
"Good day."
Walking slowly toward the staircase, Elrond loosened the collar of his robe, utterly drained. When he reached the stone balustrade, he paused and leaned on it, trying to bring the disordered impressions of his conversation with Gildor under some sort of control. He closed his eyes.
"My Lord?"
The voice sounded timid yet urgent, and Elrond opened his eyes. The Elf who stood before him was one of his own border guards, though Elrond could not remember his name. He stood with head bowed, some sort of ledger held under his arm, clothes wet from the rain.
"Yes?" Elrond asked.
"Are you well, my Lord?" The guard bowed lower. "Forgive me for interrupting, but I thought you might need assistance. If there is anything--"
"Nay, I am fine." Elrond straightened up and smiled. After an encounter as trying as the one he had just had with Gildor, such a demonstration of devotion to duty gladdened the heart. "Thank you for your concern."
"It is nothing."
"Imladris is fortunate to have warriors like you looking after its interests." Elrond saw the guard's cheeks redden. Amused, he added, "What is your name?"
The Elf hesitantly met Elrond's gaze, his face earnest. "Caegaran, my Lord."
"Caegaran."
"It is an honour to serve you, my Lord Elrond, now and always. If ever you require anything, anything at all--"
"I will be sure to ask." Elrond gave a kind, dismissive smile and turned toward the stairs. He needed the solitude of his chambers now; his stores of patience had nearly been exhausted. He walked up the winding staircase slowly, lifting his long robes and stepping with care. When he reached the top, he looked back. Caegaran was still standing down below, head bowed and hand over his heart. Elrond shook his head, impressed and a little mystified. Such dedication was rare indeed.
Notes: For some insight into the relationship between Gil-galad and Elrond, and the rivalry between Elrond and Gildor, see my story "In the Bleak Midwinter."
Imladris, TA 1004
Morning
Erestor had the power to be maddeningly alluring – something Glorfindel certainly did not mind; indeed, it usually brought him much thrill and enjoyment. What Glorfindel did mind was the fact that this gift of Erestor's tended to manifest itself in the most inconvenient of situations. Like now. Seated in Elrond's private council room, engaged in a small, informal meeting, Glorfindel struggled to focus his attention on his lover's words -- but to no avail. For how could he possibly heed the advice that fell from Erestor's lips when the mouth that uttered it was so ripe for the kissing, and the graceful, gesturing hands fairly begged to be gathered up together, bound behind Erestor's back and...
"Glorfindel?" Elrond's matter-of-fact tone snapped the thread of Glorfindel's daydream. "What do you think of Erestor's proposal?"
"Uh..."
"Would it not solve the dilemma we have been grappling with for the past few days?"
"Yes. Yes, naturally." Glorfindel fumbled for half-recalled phrases that might give him a clue as to the nature of the proposal on which he was supposed to pass comment. Unfortunately, his mind seemed entirely preoccupied with images of Erestor in various stages of undress. "Which dilemma would that be, exactly?"
"There are so many of them, after all. However is one to keep track?"
Erestor's sardonic tone sent chills down Glorfindel's spine. Oh, how he adored it when Erestor let his sharp instincts take over! Glorfindel did not mind being thought a fool at these councils if it meant he was the target of such sweet goading.
"As Erestor was saying, if the east wing is opened to guests coming for the midsummer night's eve festivities, then the renovations on the corridor leading from the dining room to the currently unused guest wing may be put off for another year -- until such a time as the Dwarf Lords of Moria can send us their finest stone carvers, who have for the past few seasons been busy crafting the new throne room in the Greenwood." Elrond's face fell, and the proud tone of his speech lost some of its pomp. "Thranduil's request for their services was accepted before ours, as you know."
Glorfindel suppressed a smile and saw Erestor do the same. So this was what the morning's long discussions had been about: finding the ideal way of presenting Imladris in the best possible light while hiding its few imperfections, and avoiding all opportunities for disunity between the Elven realms. It was a difficult task, and one Erestor was performing with his usual grace. Glorfindel glanced at his lover again, and felt his face grow warmer.
"My Lord Elrond?" The door opened slightly, revealing a frazzled servant. "If I could just have a moment of your time... I'm ever so sorry to interrupt, but--"
"That's all right; we were just about to pause in our discussions. Your interruption is most welcome." Elrond rose with relief.
The door closed quietly behind him, and Glorfindel and Erestor were left alone. Almost instantly the tension in the room mounted. Erestor turned to face Glorfindel, a challenge in his eyes.
"Did you not think the suggestion involving the main staircase merited further consideration?" he asked.
"The main staircase?"
"Personally, I would have preferred it if the second-floor balcony idea were discussed in more detail. Didn't you find it was dismissed somewhat prematurely?"
"I..."
"Glorfindel?" A strange light lit up Erestor's face. Slowly, he walked over to where Glorfindel sat wedged in between his hard wooden chair and the oak table. "You haven't heard a word I said, have you?"
"No." Glorfindel looked down.
"Why is that, my love?" Erestor's tone was teasing. "Why can you never keep your mind on the content of the speeches I make or the counsel I dispense? Are my words so foolish that they do not bear hearing?"
"Of course not! You know your counsel is always wise."
"Then why do your eyes not focus on the papers before you? Why are they always trained on my person?" Erestor leaned in closer, his voice low. "You weren't perchance imagining me... unclothed, were you?"
Glorfindel glanced up. The words had shot straight to his groin. "What?"
Erestor had the advantage, and he knew it. He raised a slim hand to the collar of his robe and undid the top two buttons. "You weren't picturing my body bare, here in the council room? Stripped of all garments, save perhaps... this sash." His fingers played with the black strip of silk. He smiled. "This sash, tied about my wrists?"
Glorfindel's mouth dropped open, though no sound came out. His heart beat fast and he could feel his erection press against the underside of the tabletop. How was it that his Erestor -- such a wondrously unpredictable creature -- knew the very content of his fantasies? How much more did he know?
It seemed Erestor knew a great deal. "Did your mind's eye see me spread out on this table, every inch of my flesh revealed? Or was I kneeling on the rug beside the window, pleasuring you with my mouth?" Eyes locked with Glorfindel's, he deliberately traced the curve of his bottom lip with his thumb. His voice dropped to a whisper. "Tell me, Glorfindel, was I willing? Or did you have to grasp my hair and--"
"Erestor!" Glorfindel shot up and out of his chair, nearly overturning it in the process. His voice had come out as more of a croak than a warrior's baritone, but he cared little. Reaching out, he tried to grab his lover by the waist, but the lithe figure deftly stepped out of his reach.
"Perhaps I have underestimated you, my love," Erestor continued, clearly very amused. "For surely one of your legendary prowess would not be satisfied until he had pinned me under his bulk and pierced me with his--"
"Erestor! Don't tease me like this..."
"Is it not true? Did you not picture me leaning over this table, open to your hands' advances, welcoming you into my body's heat? Did you not want it?"
By this time Glorfindel was nearly out of his mind with need, his desire burning so brightly that he feared touching the parchments on the table lest he spark a real flame. He wanted Erestor as much as it was possible to want another in such a fierce, carnal way; he longed more than anything to have him, here and now. And knew he could not.
At least not here. Wasting no more time, he grabbed Erestor by the sash of his robe and pulled him nearer. Their mouths were so close that their breath mingled.
"Come upstairs with me, love, just for a little while. Don't deny me this now."
"Glorfindel, this is hardly the time."
"Please, Erestor." Glorfindel was not above begging. "It need not take long..."
"Is that supposed to convince me?" Erestor raised an amused eyebrow, ever in control, though a measure of lust shone from his eyes. "I'm afraid your invitation leaves something to be desired."
"Oh, you cruel Elf!" Glorfindel shook with frustration. His hands grasped Erestor about the waist, the tempting flesh beneath that dark robe driving him to distraction even through the silk fabric. "You would goad me with your words and then leave me wanting you? Have you no heart? Can you not see how I burn?"
Erestor brought his mouth even closer to Glorfindel's, hovering on the edge of a kiss. "I do have a heart, and it belongs to you," he said. "And though I enjoy making you burn, I would much rather that we glory in the flames together." He brushed Glorfindel's hair away from his face, and caressed his cheek. "Come to my chambers this evening, after the day's work is done. I will not taunt or tease then; I will be yours, in any way you want me."
"Tonight?"
Erestor nodded, but did not elaborate, for the cadence of Elrond's voice outside the door signaled that the impromptu conversation in the hallway was about to end. Quickly, Erestor disentangled himself from Glorfindel's embrace and moved to the front of the room once more. The door swung open, and Elrond walked in.
Erestor's hands smoothed his robes and rose to his throat, instinctively wanting to fasten the two buttons they had earlier undone. They hovered for a moment, then undid a third. He met Glorfindel's eyes and smiled.
"Hot?" asked Elrond, unaware of the erotic tension in the room.
"A bit. Summer is nigh upon us." Erestor's controlled tone revealed nothing. His lean figure was once again still and graceful.
Glorfindel settled deeper in his uncomfortable chair, hoping its sharp angles would cool his ardour, unlikely as that was. He reached for a cup of water and raised his eyes to look at Erestor, resigned to let the sweet torture begin anew.
Evening
The day, though filled with countless tasks and hardly idle, passed much less quickly than Glorfindel would have liked. The summer sun inched across the sky with excruciating slowness, its light and warmth seemingly eternal, the promise of night's dark cover far out of reach.
When evening finally fell Glorfindel did not bother with the communal meal but headed straight for Erestor's rooms. He passed no one in the empty hallways; all were gathered in the dining hall. By the time his hand reached for the door latch his body was humming with anticipation.
Erestor was already there, tidying up various papers on the side table, a few candles casting a warm glow across his face. He looked peaceful.
Glorfindel let the door click shut behind him, waiting for Erestor to turn about and meet his eyes. Then he walked closer, took Erestor's face between his hands and kissed him deeply. Honey on the tongue, silky hair beneath his fingers, hot breath on his face: how little it took to trigger that imperceptible shift from emptiness to belonging. One touch of Erestor's willing mouth -- and he felt peace pervade him, as if by magic or divine design.
"Have you eaten?" Erestor's tone was as warm as his words were practical.
"Not yet."
"I could have some food brought up."
"Maybe later, love. Right now all I want is you." Glorfindel hesitated. "Unless you're hungry?"
Erestor shook his head. "No, not hungry." He kissed Glorfindel's neck, smoothing back his hair. Then he asked outright: "How do you want me?"
There it was again: that directness, the boldness that had the power to turn Glorfindel from seducer to seduced. Glorfindel pulled away to look at his lover's face. Erestor's eyes still had a mischievous glint in them, though the day's long labours had muted it somewhat. He seemed eager to relieve tension with physical intimacy; the long weeks of preparations for the festival must have taken their toll.
"Any way I can have you."
"No, I meant... do you want me on the bed or on the floor, on my back or on my knees, and with my hands bound, or--"
"You certainly waste no time," Glorfindel said, leaning in for another kiss. Then, just because he wanted to and because he loved the feel of it on his tongue, he repeated his lover's name: "Erestor."
Erestor smiled. "I think I have kept you waiting long enough. At this morning's council I thought you would storm out and seek release in private; you looked ready to burst into flames. I... might have been a little cruel to you then."
"A little. You are shameless sometimes."
"Only around you."
"Yes." Glorfindel's breathing had grown quicker.
"Let me show you how shameless I can be," Erestor said, and took a few steps back. His hands untied his sash and then unfastened the buttons he had tormented Glorfindel with earlier that morning. Inch by inch, his pale body was revealed, aglow in the warm light of the candles like deep drifts of snow under the fiery caress of the sun. Only, Glorfindel knew that the delicate skin wasn't cold to the touch, but burned with the strength and passion of the heart that beat beneath it.
The dark silk robe dropped to the ground. Erestor ran his hands over his chest and down to his navel, closing his eyes and leaning his head back. His fingers untied the lacings of his leggings and pulled at the soft fabric, tugging it down, over his thighs and lower. Soon he stood naked in the candlelight: tall and proud, and even more beautiful than he had been in Glorfindel's imaginings that morning.
Glorfindel, who all day had had longed to possess Erestor's body, suddenly found his desires changing course. "Let me touch you," he said.
"I am yours." Erestor held out his arms in invitation. With his hair falling sleekly down his back and his feet placed carefully side by side, he looked like a diver about to leap off a cliff and trace an elegant arc into the water below.
"Mine." Glorfindel's arms pressed Erestor close, mouth tasting a pale shoulder, hands cupping a taut behind. "Mine. Come this way."
Taking Erestor's hand, he led him to the side of the bed. He sat down, and pulled a standing Erestor toward him, in between his thighs, like a harbour welcoming a ship. Then he ran his hands up along that milky skin, over the hipbones, and brought his face closer.
"Glorfindel, what are you doing?" Erestor took a half-step back. "I thought you wanted--"
"I want to honour your body. You don't often give me the chance, Erestor. Tonight you will."
"But--"
"Shh... don't talk." Glorfindel closed his eyes and let his other senses guide him. He pressed his cheek to Erestor's erection, delighting in how it felt next to his skin: silk-covered steel, a fragrant manifestation of Erestor's masculinity. He buried his nose in the curls beneath it, then sought out its length with his mouth. Erestor's hips bucked forward, and Glorfindel steadied them with a firm grip of his hands.
Since Erestor usually preferred the submissive role in their encounters, Glorfindel rarely got the chance to enjoy this particular pleasure. Not surprisingly, the delights his tongue now explored tasted almost like forbidden fruit -- all the sweeter for their rarity. He gave himself up to the sensation, his mouth full of his lover's prowess, the muscles in Erestor's belly tensing with unconscious effort. The act was lovely in its intimacy, and Glorfindel would not have objected to spending the entire evening in such a way. But tonight he had other plans.
When Erestor's sighs grew louder and his hips more difficult to still, Glorfindel pulled his mouth away and glanced up. Erestor looked half-drunk, his face flushed and expectant. Glorfindel undid his robe, then untied his leggings. When he was nude he lay back, pushing the discarded clothes out of the way.
"Lie with me, Erestor," he whispered. "Have me."
"What?"
"You never do, and sometimes I crave it so."
Erestor hesitated for an instant, then rested a knee on the edge of the bed. He looked at Glorfindel, uncertain, the seductive swagger of some moments ago forgotten. He seemed to be thinking.
"The oil is in the drawer," Glorfindel supplied, and Erestor's face coloured.
"I know," he said. "You used it on me many times."
"Your turn, then."
"I don't see why you insist that I--"
Instead of answering, Glorfindel grasped Erestor by the waist and pulled him down on the bed. "Because you are beautiful and strong, and I want to feel that strength within me." He reached over to the drawer and pressed a bottle of oil into Erestor's hand. "Come, don't deny me."
Erestor's eyes flicked up briefly, and, for a moment, Glorfindel saw the depth of insecurity hidden there. Then Erestor uncorked the small bottle and slipped a hand between Glorfindel's legs. Smooth oil on cool fingers -- Glorfindel closed his eyes and let sensation overwhelm him.
Glorfindel had never been an inhibited lover, his self-confidence serving him well in the bedchamber. None of his previous partners had ever had cause for grievance; he was always ready to give as well as receive, unconcerned about seeming foolish and secure enough in his virility to give up control. The same was true now: as Erestor's body slowly covered his, Glorfindel gave voice to his enjoyment and lifted his knees to allow for deeper access.
Erestor moved slowly, flexing his hips and keeping his eyes closed. His hand gripped the bed sheets, the white linen bunched up into a ball beneath his fingers.
"Erestor." Glorfindel lifted a hand to his lover's face. "Look at me."
The eyes that met Glorfindel's seemed strangely young in their apprehension. How was it that Erestor -- so competent in all other spheres of his life -- could be so filled with doubt when taking pleasure from another: one who loved him, no less?
Glorfindel's legs tightened around Erestor's waist, pulling him closer. "Can you not see how much you please me? How your spirit burns brightly, holding me in its grip? How I love being in your power... ah!" He threw his head back and clenched his teeth as his lover's hips moved more urgently. "Valar... yes. Oh, yes."
Erestor pressed forward with more assurance. His eyes were open now, his hands touching Glorfindel's hair and face. His body was slowly acquiring the ease it displayed in the exercise yard: sleek and sure, filled with purpose.
Glorfindel's hands travelled down over the shifting muscles of Erestor's back and firmly cupped his behind, encouraging him to thrust. "When you're inside me like this, I can scarce remember..." His hands squeezed, inviting Erestor deeper. "Oh, like that... Elbereth!" He arched his back. "Oh, Erestor, I am yours..."
Something changed in Erestor's eyes then: a glint appeared that had not been there before. His mouth, too, twisted into a more aggressive shape, and his hands tightened in Glorfindel's hair, possessively holding the head immobile. His hips moved faster.
"Yes," Glorfindel breathed, closing his eyes again. "Yes, more." He felt Erestor's fingers release their hold on his hair and move lower down his body, caressing his buttocks and squeezing, lifting his hips. The hands that usually dealt with quill and parchment, and held a sword but rarely, were surprisingly strong.
Slowly, Glorfindel sensed the delicate balance of power between him and his lover shift. Though Erestor's lovemaking had not suddenly grown more forceful, something in their bodies' striving had changed, the way tension mounts in the summer air just before a storm, not exploding outright but crackling in its potential.
Aware of the sudden difference, Glorfindel looked up at his lover's face, and -- for the first time in all the times they had made love -- saw Erestor's eyes shine with awareness of his own power.
The transformation was awe-inspiring. Eyes alight, Erestor seemed to have grown, both in stature and in mastery. Incredulous, Glorfindel felt the hands on his body grow more sure, the hardness within him, more rigid. Assailed from all sides by a might too great to withstand, he hovered on the edge of a precipice, then went over, his pleasure reaching its peak. Erestor followed moments later.
They drew apart, Glorfindel barely conscious of what he was doing. When the breeze from the window began to cool his bare skin, he looked over at his lover. Erestor was glowing, the novelty of what he had just experienced colouring his face.
"Did that just happen?" His eyes shone with wonder.
"Yes."
"You didn't mind?"
"Mind?" Glorfindel turned on his side. "You were glorious. You should do that more often."
"Maybe." Erestor's smile was both timid and coy.
Glorfindel shifted closer. "Why would you hesitate to take me, love? Did you not take pleasure from it, too?"
Erestor tensed. "You know I did," he said. "It's just that Gildor..."
The words would not come, but Glorfindel had long ago divined the reasons for Erestor's reluctance. Gildor's presence was still there -- always there -- hovering like a poisonous cloud, hurtful even from a distance.
This night, however, Glorfindel was determined to make Erestor forget, to make his eyes shine once more. "Gildor would be shocked beyond measure to see you act the way you did tonight." He smiled broadly. "Shocked and regretful, to see what he had missed."
For a moment, Erestor looked startled. Then he laughed, and relaxed into Glorfindel's arms once more.
The candles on the mantelpiece were slowly burning out, their tiny flames flickering and dimming. Outside, the light of day had long gone, and the first stars were appearing in the black expanse of sky. The room was darker now, but it felt neither menacing nor dreary.
Glorfindel brought his mouth close to Erestor's ear. "You said something about having food brought up..."
"Glutton."
Erestor's tone was amused and carefree. Glorfindel let his arm tighten its hold on Erestor's waist, hoping the shadows that had been chased out of his lover's heart that evening would not return.
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