Rating: R/NC-17
Pairing: Gil-galad/Elrond
Summary: He knows it, Gil-galad knows it, but Elrond chooses to ignore something he can't admit.
Notes: For Maybe, since the condition was that I would write an Elrond/Gil-galad if she managed an Elrond/Glorfindel... and a sort of birthday present, too!
Set in Lindon, in year 442 of the Second Age. Yes, that is important!
Gil-galad knocked softly upon the door to Elrond's chambers, and cautiously opened it at the muffled command from within. It was dark inside, but he could still see Elrond standing at the window, knuckles white in their grip on the sill. He was gazing out over the night-clad ocean and moon-hued beach; the window was open, and the air was heavy with salt and Sea-spray. When the door clicked closed, however, he looked round, and there was silence as their gazes locked. The moment was heavy, taut and pensive, until at last Gil-galad glanced away and cleared his throat.
"A letter arrived," he began quietly, holding out the object in his hand. "For you."
Elrond closed his eyes and bit on the inside of his lip. Hesitated. The keening wail of a lone seagull sounded outside. Gil-galad extended his hand further after a moment, which finally prompted the Peredhel to step forwards. His eyes were dull as he accepted the letter, regarded the heavy paper and unfamiliar hand. The words addressing him on the front were in Westron.
But he did not open it. Instead, he reached behind him and set it upon his desk, before he closed the distance between himself and his lover in one brisk step.
Gil-galad caught him in his arms and held him, as Elrond's lips descended onto his own with bruising force. He did not fight back when the half-Elf's tongue forced its way past his teeth and into his mouth; nor did he protest when Elrond laid claim to his lips, nibbling and suckling upon them until they were tellingly swollen, almost crimson. The broken skin mattered not as Elrond pulled away to catch his breath, for their eyes met again and Gil-galad could sense the need within the sad, brown depths. He did not need to nod, but did so anyway, instantly losing his just-regained breath as Elrond now attacked his neck.
Nipping, licking and grazing the skin of Gil-galad's throat, the half-Elf firmly pushed on his King's chest, propelling him backwards in a kiss-blinded dance towards the bed. Elrond's lips did not cease their brutal caresses until he gave Gil-galad's shoulders another push and flexed his hips, this time sending the other Elf sprawling willingly across the mattress. None of the usual care was exhibited as Elrond straddled his lover's hips and attacked the front of his clothes. Buttons popped, and Gil-galad winced at the sound of his formal robes ripping; Elrond, however, did not seem to care, and instead devoured every inch of bared skin with sharp nips and tantalising sweeps of his tongue.
Despite the spice of pain, Gil-galad could feel himself growing hard. He knew that he would have to wear high-necked robes the next day to conceal the forming bruises on his throat. Generally, the King was not normally on the receiving end of Elrond's passions in this way; it was usually the converse, and events were more tender and less frenzied. He did, however, know when to submit, and he knew that Elrond needed this tonight. The half-Elf's outward pretence that nothing was wrong had failed to fool the King; he knew his lover better than that. Elrond had been too cheery, too false; in short, he had tried too hard. And it had shown in their lovemaking, too, though Elrond had made less of an attempt to hide it in private than he did around court. He had been aggressive throughout the past week, over-zealous and passionate in a way that had left Ereinion sore: an insight to the emotional pain of his usually tender and caring lover. Though Elrond had said nothing, Gil-galad knew.
By this point Elrond had managed to unclothe them both - albeit rather unceremoniously. His desperation showed clearly in his hasty, forceful movements, shone from his eyes in his agonising need. Heartbroken by these emotions from his beloved, Gil-galad slid his hands up the slender, sweat-slicked back and stroked gently, encouraged Elrond lifted his head. He did so, to stare down at the King, and in that moment the half-Elf's anguish washed over the Noldorin Elf in great, rolling waves. Gil-galad felt his throat grow thick with it - not trusting his voice, he instead gazed back up at his beloved, cobalt eyes burning. Elrond blinked, opened his mouth as though to speak, but then apparently thought better of it and descended for another vehement kiss.
Head swimming, Gil-galad expected to be turned onto his front, and so was somewhat surprised when he felt a sharp nip at his collarbone and insistent hands pressing his shoulders into place. Allowing his head to loll to one side, he just saw Elrond replacing the oil bottle on the nightstand and coating his hands with the liquid. Then those slippery hands found their way to the King's previously neglected erection; his back bowed up off the mattress as firm-but-fickle fingers slid up and down his length, and he gasped audibly at both the unexpectedness and the pleasure of the sensation.
With a twisted half-smile, Elrond now raised himself upon his knees and positioned himself over Gil-galad's oiled erection. The King stretched out hands to the Peredhel's hips to still him, whispering that Elrond was not prepared. But Elrond batted the hands away whilst gazing earnestly at his lover, before sinking down and sheathing himself in one swift motion.
Two cries filled the room, one of unpredicted ecstasy and the other of pain, the latter of which escaped despite the owner's attempts to stifle it. Gasping, Gil-galad forced his head up to check that Elrond was not hurting himself too much, but despite the pained grimace on his face the half-Elf had already started to move. The King was left no choice in the matter as his beloved raised himself upon his knees, only to sink back down again; Elrond had his head thrown back and was biting on his lower lip, face contorted in something that could have been pleasure, could have been pain. His raven hair streamed down his back and around his shoulders, ragged as his breathing, and the dark eyes seemed wild, abandoned. Gil-galad groaned again, for the sensation was overbearing. There was nothing he could do but to accept the rapture of their coupling, paired in the same moment with the emotional upset he could sense from his lover. His submission was everything to Elrond.
Eventually the King could feel Elrond's motions growing more and more irregular, and at some point the Peredhel extended both hands out blindly to grasp at something - anything. Gil-galad willingly offered him his own hands, lacing their fingers together when, at last, orgasm overtook them. With a soft cry, Gil-galad spent himself inside his lover and melted bonelessly into the sheets. Elrond followed just a second later, giving a muffled gasp as he spilled his seed between their bodies. He then slipped forwards onto the King's chest, where he was gladly caught and held on to as though he would never again be released. There they lay until the shivering of bodies had abated, warded off slightly by the sheet used to shield sweat-drenched skin from the damp Sea air. Elrond's breath was hot against the side of Gil-galad's face, against his ear, but still the King held on; then at last the half-Elf sighed, shifted slightly, and slid off his body, to lie curled into his side instead. Gil-galad kissed his hair.
"Are you all right?" he questioned softly. Elrond nodded into his neck.
"Mmm... Love you," he declared, equally as quietly. The King gave a faint smile, unseen.
"Love you too," he whispered back, and for a moment there was silence. After a pause, however, Gil-galad spoke again. "Your letter..."
Elrond lifted his head, hooded eyes dark and wary. "What about it?" he answered; though his voice was just as quiet as before, it was this time laced with undertones of menace...undertones of dread. Gil-galad raised an eyebrow.
"Aren't you going to open it?"
Elrond stared at him for a moment longer, hints of unintended resentment crossing his features. At length, though, he heaved a weary sigh and passed a hand over his face. The King opened his arms, allowing him to rise - rather unwillingly - from the bed. He threw on a discarded dressing robe on his way to the desk, belting it as he sat down and lit a candle so that he could finally read the letter.
Elros is dead.
Elros is dead. The rest of the letter may as well not have existed, for all the sorrowful comments and regrets and reminiscences were annulled by those three words. Elros is dead.
The seagull cried again, and hot, stinging tears scalded his eyes, burned his cheeks, plopped fatly onto the paper in his hands. The ink began to run down the incline of the page, black, greying, to black. They joined the tearstains of Elros' wife, blurring into a grey smudge that was as meaningless to Elrond as the words themselves. Loath as he was to admit it, he had known the very instant that it had happened. He and his twin might have parted by different fates, but there was still their twinship, the bond that joined the identical offspring of Elwing and Ëarendil. It was as though something had suddenly snapped inside Elrond, almost a week ago now. Something had broken, and he knew instantly what it was. Suddenly, he was alone. And he did not want to be.
This letter, though, those three words, forced him to admit it. There was no way of escaping it now, no way of avoiding it. He was alone, and something had broken inside him. He was alone, even as he felt Gil-galad's strong arms encircle him from behind, sensed his beloved kneeling by the side of his chair. Soft, sweet lips were pressed to his temple and, finally, Elrond cried.
The End
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