Rating: PG-13
Pairing: Elrond/Gil-galad
Summary: Elrond and Gil-galad take a little respite from duty and fight a private battle.
Notes: This is part of a prequel to On the Shores of Valinor, jointly written with Dusk.
Thank-you, D, for the beta.
"Pathetic, Elrond!" Gil-galad laughed, evading the somewhat haphazard slice of the peredhel's blade and whipping his own up into a bone-jarring parry. Elrond grunted as the shock reverberated up his arm and had to duck quickly as the second cut came faster, skimming over his head. A few sliced hairs drifted past his nose and he glared at Gil-galad, breathing fast.
"Did - no one - ever - teach you - not to - play - with your - victims?" he gasped out, his counterstrokes punctuating his words as Gil-galad pressed his advantage mercilessly.
"Whose making himself a victim?" Gil-galad demanded, his bright cobalt eyes dancing as he leapt easily out of range, allowing a momentary pause.
Elrond glowered at him, sweat dripping into his eyes.
"Contrary to your belief, I would not willingly be on the receiving end of your sword!" Elrond retorted.
Gil-galad eyed him for a moment, raising his sword and sliding his fingers up its length. The corner of his lips quirked up into the suggestion of a grin and he lifted an eyebrow.
"Perhaps not this one."
Elrond chuckled despite himself and, breath regained, squared up to his partner again. Gil-galad's eyes went from amused to serious as he watched in anticipation, bringing his blade before him once more.
"Seriously, herald Elrond, have you not been practicing?" Gil-galad asked, easily evading Elrond's quick swipe.
"Every day," Elrond replied. With a grin he struck again, and his sword spliced open the front of Gil-galad's tunic. Laughing at the startled look on the king's face, he swung his blade in quick succession: two, three, four blows, regaining his lost advantage. Their blades locked for a quivering moment, held.
"And you know what they say," Elrond whispered above the echo of ringing steel. He pivoted away, spinning to face the king as Gil-galad whipped his blade free. "Practice - makes - perfect!"
"Impudent - little - demon!" Gil-galad swore, though the grin never left his face as he raised his voice to be heard over the clash of their blades.
The fight began then in earnest: taunts silenced beneath the cacophonic song of steel. Beneath the oppressive cloud of an incoming storm, king and herald danced with death. The familiar ritual steps were enacted with reverent skill; together they whirled: twisting, slicing, cutting. Eyes locked and held in each single heartbeat's pause. Sweat glistered on rippling muscles; backs arched and bowed as they pivoted and spun. Blades arced in lightning bright streaks through the quivering air. The discordant sound of metal on metal whisperingly accompanied by the hissing scuff of sand beneath booted feet. The metallic song built and swelled as the slashing blades cut time away from reality.
And suddenly stilled it. Cold steeled pressed against his throat; death kissed the path his lover's lips had marked only the night before. The doorway to Mandos a single slice away - but for the intent of the weapon wielder. Gil-galad kept his own blade steady against Elrond's gullet. Locked in stalemate, he met the sparkling, steady grey gaze with his own.
"Yield?"
Elrond's eyebrows arched, every other muscle tensely motionless.
"A life for a life: I will not."
"Do you defy me then?" Gil-galad challenged, biting his tongue to control the twitching of his lips.
"My lord, I do," Elrond answered, the corners of his mouth flickering into a curve.
Gil-galad leaned a little more weight against his blade, instantly feeling the answering pressure. He swallowed carefully; his eyes on the dimpled flesh of Elrond's throat, knowing to a feather's touch how much more he could press.
"As your king, I command you to submit," he said, smirking.
Elrond's eyebrows rose still higher and Gil-galad held his breath as his herald's sword pressed a little closer to his larynx. The peredhel's features were still carefully controlled; only the glimmer in his eyes betrayed his amusement. His sword arm never trembled.
Gil-galad's gaze slid southwards to the flickering of shallow breaths in Elrond's throat, following the fluttering line of inhalation to the shining planes of his torso and the taut muscles of his stomach. Very slowly, Gil-galad reached out his free hand and saw the suspicious flinch run through Elrond; though the herald did not move, his eyes warily watched Gil-galad's fingers. Gil-galad glanced up briefly, letting his smile show in his eyes, and slowly slid his fingers up Elrond's sweat-slicked chest, brushing one thumb over the stiff, dark peak of a nipple. Elrond shuddered and gasped at the unexpected caress, his eyes half-closing.
Lightning fast, Gil-galad hooked a foot around Elrond's ankles, knocking their swords clear as they both fell hard into the dirt. Gil-galad took the shock on his knees, landing astride Elrond in the soft, packed sand. A startled grunt escaped the younger elf and grey eyes snapped open to glare at him as Gil-galad pinned Elrond's wrists.
"Not fair!" Elrond objected, somewhat breathlessly. He put up a token struggle, but Gil-galad's larger build held him firmly and he relented, trying to scowl.
"Careless of you," Gil-galad murmured and suddenly he was very conscious of the strong muscles of Elrond's thighs pressed against his. "Fairness in fights is a rarity," he added, pressing his hips down slightly, eliciting a stifled gasp from the trapped elf.
Elrond looked up at him, his eyes half-lidded and his lips breathlessly parted. Deliberately he arched his back and Gil-galad muffled a groan - and then a yelp as Elrond flipped him over into the sand, reversing their positions.
"You were saying?" Elrond's dark hair spilled over his shoulders as he smirked down at his lover.
Gil-galad chuckled sheepishly and freed one hand from Elrond's grasp to run his fingers through the dangling ebony locks. Elrond's grin softened into a half-smile and he glanced cautiously toward their surroundings. Gil-galad slid his other hand up Elrond's thigh and Elrond's eyes half-closed again. Then he tensed, his hand falling to cover Gil-galad's as he looked about uneasily.
"There's no one here, peredhel," Gil-galad murmured reassuringly. He tightened his fingers in the thick curtain of Elrond's hair and tugged insistently.
Ever cautious, Elrond hesitated - and then dipped his head, kissing Gil-galad hard on the mouth. He groaned as the king slid his hands up the slender sweat-slicked back, yielding willingly as Gil-galad rolled them both over in the sand. One exploring knee pushed Elrond's legs apart, pressing gently between them until Elrond gasped again. One hand clutched and then pushed Gil-galad's shoulder and reluctantly he lifted his head.
"Not here." Elrond's breath came raggedly, his eyes smoky dark with desire. "But somewhere... else..."
Gil-galad nodded, his own breathing unsteady and he prised himself off, holding out a hand to help Elrond to his feet. With them both standing once more, Elrond's eyes met Gil-galad's. Lingered. Then he blinked and refocused.
"Swords," he murmured, taking a reluctant step away to collect them.
Gil-galad groped for his blade as Elrond held it out, their eyes still locked. They dared make no other contact, the sensations too seductive, and instead they moved toward the castle as one.
"Armoury?" Elrond asked, as they entered the entrance hall, swords still in hand. He pulled a loose shirt around his shoulders to appear at least partially respectable while they passed through the castle.
Gil-galad shook his head, lightly grasping Elrond's elbow to steer him from such practical courses and forcibly repressing the desire to pull him into another kiss.
"Later."
Elrond nodded, glancing at him sidelong; his grey gaze, usually so calm, was almost aflame.
The path to the king's chambers was negotiated with haste by the back stairs, shying away from the council rooms and potential well-meaning courtiers bent on waylaying the king at any opportunity. They reached the door unaccosted and Gil-galad struggled with the keys that had caught on his sword-belt. Touching his shoulder to warn him, Elrond slid a hand beneath Gil-galad's belt and unsnapped the obstinate clasp. His fingers brushed the skin of Gil-galad's stomach through the rip in his tunic and the elder elf shuddered at the touch. Taking the bunch of keys, Elrond slid the main key into the lock and the door clicked open.
"Ah, Gil-galad, at last. I have been searching the castle for you." Celeborn's voice startled both elves.
Beside him, Elrond exhaled softly and Gil-galad gritted his teeth. Reluctantly he turned to face the silver-haired elf lord and the golden beauty of Galadriel.
"Lord Celeborn; lady Galadriel," he managed to say. Elrond's elbow nudged his arm and he forced a smile, conscious of how abrupt he had sounded.
"My lord, I had wished to speak with you." Galadriel began and paused, her bright gaze passing over his countenance and then Elrond's. She met Gil-galad's eyes again and her own twinkled with amusement, but she kept her features serene as she answered. "However, if you are otherwise engaged.?"
"Was the matter urgent, cousin?" Gil-galad forced himself to ask. "If not, I do have a pressing matter to attend."
"Then I shall prevail upon you to seek me later this night," Galadriel solemnly said. "My business can be delayed a little longer."
She courteously inclined her head, hiding her smile from her husband if not her kinsman. Gil-galad kept his own features as clear as he could manage, feeling his face heat slightly beneath the lady's lingering, knowing gaze.
"Is there a problem?" Celeborn asked, concerned.
Gil-galad shook his head and, seeing Celeborn's eyes make the same sweep as his wife's, released Elrond's arm - abruptly realising he was still gripping the peredhel close. The slightest flicker of a frown touched Celeborn's brow, but when he looked back to the king his continued expression of concern alleviated Gil-galad's momentary alarm.
"No, no," Gil-galad said quickly. "There is nothing amiss, Celeborn, merely something that it is needful I attend to."
"Ah," Celeborn relaxed and nodded formally to the king. "Then we shall bid you anon, my lord."
Gil-galad nodded briefly.
"Good day to you, lord Celeborn, cousin."
When finally the lord and lady stepped away, Gil-galad opened his door and steered Elrond through, closing it quickly behind them. Elrond turned to face him, his eyes filled with laughter. Before he could speak, Gil-galad pushed him against the closed doors, ensnaring the peredhel's lips in a rough, impatient kiss.
"Thought they would never go," he murmured against the arch of Elrond's neck, his lips marking a heated trail down the long column. He kissed the faint red line left by his own blade and Elrond's fingers knotted into his hair.
"She knew," Elrond said huskily. "She...."
"Has known for a very long time," Gil-galad answered, his fingers already working loose the fastenings of Elrond's breeches and dropping to his knees to continue his kisses southward. "Celeborn doesn't, that's the important thing."
"Think the swords surprised him a bit," Elrond murmured, his breath hitching sharply as Gil-galad yanked blade and belt free in a single motion.
"Kept him distracted," Gil-galad said between kisses to Elrond's stomach, and lower. "Should wear them more often, and in public - give ourselves a bit more freedom."
Elrond chuckled breathlessly, his fingers tightening in Gil-galad's hair. "Wouldn't work," he managed to answer. "But.might stop anyone.saying anything."
Gil-galad rose to his feet once more, pushing Elrond's unbuttoned shirt from his shoulders once more and drawing his lover into a hard, desperate embrace.
"Don't," he whispered heatedly against Elrond's lips. "Speak not of hopeless dreams."
The peredhel's grey eyes reflected a thousand helpless apologies for all that neither could change and Elrond captured his in a rough, urgent kiss. A new battle they enacted upon the bed, silently fighting the constraints of station, claiming from concealment their precious love: every caress a blow against the duress born to achieve it. The energy first channelled into their mock swordfight became now the fuel of their private war: where they fought together against the world. And, when finally it seemed they had won, Elrond slid his arms around Gil-galad, his fingers smoothing patterns onto the sweat-slicked back. He brushed his lips gently against his lover's.
"Show me your dreams," he murmured, drawing Gil-galad atop him once more.
Gil-galad nodded, painting his fantasy world onto the canvas of his lover's body until reality fell away from them again and Elrond's cries were the music of their dream-world.
"Touch the stars for me," Gil-galad whispered, his lips tracing the curve of Elrond's ear as his lover shuddered against him. Elrond's lips claimed his and together they soared.
Sinking into the soft oblivion of the sheets, Elrond's lips brushed his and the peredhel's answer filled the contented quiet.
"Whenever I touch you, the starlight is mine."
The End
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