Rating: NC-17
Pairings: Elrohir/Glorfindel. Some mention of Elrond/Gil-galad.
Summary: This story follows the plot-line of Revelations by Anorielle, but takes us further into the resulting conflict and resolution between Elrohir and his father, and to the inevitable pairing with Glorfindel, his friend and mentor.
Beta: Dawn Felagund
Warnings: Slash. Some graphic description of male bonding.
Imladris 2911 Third Age
In the middle of the night, Elrohir's restlessness overtook his ability to sleep, causing him to leap out of bed and head outdoors. He paused to glance at his twin, who was asleep in the adjacent bed, but the restlessness--that feeling of something amiss--had not affected Elladan, who slept peacefully.
Elrohir stopped to seize a long robe from his armoire to cover his nakedness and was glad of the meager warmth that it provided. The chill air outdoors caused his breath to rise in white wisps of steam into the blackness, and he walked the deserted pathway toward the forest, rubbing his arms through the thin satin cover of his robe.
Elrohir's heightened sense of unrest caused him to turn away from the forest, and intuitively, his steps took him to the armory. Puzzled by the feeling of insistence that led him there, he entered the great outbuilding, a part of his mind wondering why he should want to go there, but the other part knowing that for some reason it was necessary.
When Elrohir stepped into the unheated armory, his breath caught in his throat at the sight before him. He stopped suddenly, his gaze fixed upon the solitary figure of his father. Elrond was kneeling before the great spear that had belonged to Gil-galad, the High King of the Noldor who had perished in the Battle of the Last Alliance three thousand years before. His black hair, tousled and unbound, fell forward, obscuring his face. He was fully dressed from his day's work still, not having found the time to go to bed, even though it was a late hour. A shaft of moonlight fell across his side, making him look like a statue that was lit purposely to show it off, like the many pieces of statuary in the garden. They sometimes appeared alight when many candles were placed around them on the ground and in the trees.
"So doomed was your family," Elrond was saying as he wept and stroked the spear that lay upright, fastened between two ornamental brackets on the wall. His usually melodic voice was husky with emotion. "Three generations of High Kings--your grandfather, your father, and then you--all valiant men--you should not have perished--I was young, inexperienced--it should have been me," he wept.
Elrohir stood frozen, listening in horror to his father's anguish. He felt he should leave but he could not, and he stood, riveted, his feet planted to the floor in sudden arrested movement and his gaze fixed upon his father.
Elrond's hand, pale and trembling, was stroking the shiny surface of Aeglos. Elrohir's thoughts turned to what he had learned of the last day his father had spent with the High King. It was on the battle plain of the Dagorlad, and Gil-galad lay in the dust, cut down by Sauron's Orcs, his blood staining the battlefield red. Elrond had told his sons the story of how he held his dear friend's head in his lap, stroking the dark hair, his tears falling upon the High King's unresponsive face, as the Elves and Men fought on.
"You took me under your wing after Maglor left," he sobbed. "You made me your herald--I was not feeling worthy of that honor but you had faith in me. And everything I am today is because of you. The Dark Lord was defeated then, mellon nîn. But now he is returning--his strength is increasing, his Orcs are multiplying--he has others bound to him as well--other fell creatures that still threaten us. My dreams of late have been prophesying our inevitable doom. I need you, melethron--you should not have passed from this world. I need you here with me, now. Please come back to me, my dearest heart." He leaned forward and pressed his lips to the shaft of the spear. Then he sat back and wiped the tears from his eyes. He whispered, almost inaudibly, "Ah, Celebrían, I hope you can forgive me at times like this when my feelings for him still take over my reason."
Elrohir covered his mouth lest his heavy gasp of breath give him away. "No," he whispered. He took a step backward, his mind in turmoil, the urge to flee too powerful to fight. But he bumped into the leg of a brazier, causing it to squeak along the floor, startling Elrond out of his lonely soliloquy.
The Master of Rivendell turned sharply and his gaze fell upon his son, standing still as a statue but clutching his throat. "Elrohir!" he gasped in a shocked whisper.
"No!" Elrohir cried. "N-no--what of Mother? How could you, Ada?" He turned and ran out of the armory, turning back along the path to the forest, his bare feet leaving small dark marks on the damp, packed earth.
Elrohir turned from the forest once again and made his way along a flagstone pathway to a private walled garden that his mother had kept, where she often wandered to sit alone or to walk among the many bright and fragrant flowers.
He plunked down upon a stone bench and clasped a fistful of his raven hair in a clenched hand, pulling at it and groaning in agony as he thought about the scene that he had just witnessed. "How could he--how could he--?" he cried, and jumped to his feet, pacing the stone walkway that circled the bench and then led to a gate that opened upon the main section of the garden. He was about to enter the garden when he heard a voice behind him.
"Elrohir!"
Thinking in the first instant of hearing its resonance that it must be Elrond, he cringed and did not turn around, determined that his father was the last person to whom he wished to speak.
But it was a different voice that spoke to him, its timbre a different quality than his father's, its pitch slightly higher, its tone less melodic. It had been a soft voice when speaking to Elrohir in the past, but at this time it conveyed a more severe note of concern.
"Elrohir, has your common sense abandoned you? This foolish behavior is not your usual habit. I would have expected better of you."
Elrohir whirled around to face his tormentor. "Glorfindel, what are you doing here?" he asked. His cheeks were reddened from the hurt that he felt and from crying, and his lips pulled back in a rictus of anxiety.
The golden-haired Elf approached, one arm outstretched toward Elrond's errant son, the other carrying a torch. "Come, Elrohir. You know that times have changed and the woods surrounding our realm are filled with white wolves and other fell creatures. It is not safe to wander alone."
"Wander? I go but to seek solace in my mother's garden and perhaps think upon her. Unfortunately, no one else has done so for too long, it seems. No wolf, white or otherwise, has ever dared to enter Imladris through our leaguer. Our borders are well-protected, or should be by our most senior guards at this hour of night. Why are you not among them--out there doing your job, Glorfindel?" Elrohir drew back, abruptly pulling his arm away from Glorfindel's reach, protectively holding closed his thin robe.
Elrohir sensed that Glorfindel did not allow himself to be baited, although the obvious insult must have stung. He stared at his friend's wise face, wondering if Glorfindel suspected the source of the pain that was causing him to be so defensive and rude.
"You do know that your brother would never be able to go on living if an accident claimed your life, do you not?" asked Glorfindel, trying another tactic and approaching the dark-haired Elf more closely, peering into his face.
This was too much for Elrohir, who sank onto the bench and buried his face in his hands. "You speak of my brother, who would not withstand the pain of my passing, nor I his, if our places were reversed," he wept. After a moment his demeanor changed and he became quieter. "I am so sorry for my harsh words, Glorfindel," he said. "Please forgive my foolishness. But you know not why I am upset so. I am not upset with you."
Glorfindel sighed. "May I sit down?" he asked.
"Of course," said Elrohir, sweeping aside his robe so that Glorfindel could seat himself and wiping his eyes with his other hand.
Glorfindel regarded the dark-haired Elf carefully, holding his torch close to Elrohir, iluminating the heightened color in his face and the bright glitter of unshed tears in his eyes, as well as the streaks of tears that had fallen upon his cheeks. "I know that you are not angry with me," he said in a softer tone. "But I can guess the source of your pain."
Elrohir looked up, startled, and his agonized glance fell upon the fair face of his old mentor. "What can you guess? What do you know of the cause of my pain?" he asked bitterly.
"It is your father, is it not?" asked Glorfindel kindly, pushing back a strand of raven hair from where it fell, veiling Elrohir's troubled countenance.
"I saw you walk out of the armory," the older Elf continued, "before you came this way. When I went to see who was there at this hour with the door swinging wide open, my glance fell upon your father, and I saw what he was doing. I reasoned then that this must have been the cause of your obvious consternation."
"You reasoned correctly, mellon nîn," replied Elrohir, his voice softening to a whisper.
"Can you talk to me about it?" asked Glorfindel.
"Nay," replied Elrohir, looking away from his friend's intense gaze. "I cannot."
"You know, Celebrían knew of your father's relationship with Gil-galad," Glorfindel dared to say.
"Do not speak his name in the same sentence as hers!" Elrohir commanded, aghast at Glorfindel's impertinent words.
"I am sorry. Please forgive me," replied Glorfindel. "But your naneth knew that they were involved with each other for many hundreds of years before she met your father. She accepted that and to his credit, he did make her happy during their marriage."
When Elrohir did not respond to this, Glorfindel asked him, "Will you not accept his past and be at peace with it, as your naneth did, mellon-nîn?"
More silence ensued as Elrohir could not speak, his thoughts too anguished. Then the tears fell from his eyes in torrents as vehement words gushed from his mouth. "What they did was wrong! Their affair was nothing but self-indulgent lust carried out with mindless disregard for the feelings of others!"
"But at the time, pen-neth-nîn, there was no one else to consider. Your father and mother did not wed until after Gil--the High King's death, and you and your brother were not yet born."
"Yet he thinks on him now, when he should be thinking of my mother," cried Elrohir. "He insults her memory with his careless disregard of her!"
"Mellon-nîn, he was alone tonight when you discovered him," said Glorfindel gently. He started to wrap his arms around the shoulders of his friend, then drew back. Elrohir's pale beauty in the moonlight, made him look fragile and frightened. Glorfindel's voice took on a note of pity. "He did not expect to have an audience while he mourned his lover's death. It may have been a chance thing. Perhaps he walked into the arsenal and he happened to glance upon Aeglos, and it brought back too many memories to withstand. These are dire times. We all must glean our strength from whatever source supplies us with it."
Elrohir's countenance changed again. He gazed upon Glorfindel with a look of both confusion and vulnerability unsuccessfully masking the pain that shone from his eyes.
"I just--" Elrohir began to say. At a look of encouragement from Glorfindel he continued. "I just think that it is wrong because he was Ada's mentor, and at that time my father was young and looked up to the King," he said, his color changing once more as a deeper feeling emerged from within his psyche. "I cannot help but feel that Gil-galad took advantage of him."
"Ah," Glorfindel sighed. "Yes, he was your father's elder and his protector. As I am your mentor, Meleth-nîn. I hope you do not think I will take advantage of you." He blurted out these words, looking with clear blue eyes free of guile at the blank, shocked face of his companion.
Elrohir gave a slight gasp as the realization of Glorfindel's words hit him, a hand flying to his throat, closing the open neck of his robe. "Glorfindel!" he managed to squeak. His legs felt so wobbly that he knew if he tried to stand at that moment, they would not bear his weight.
Then he dared to peek at his friend's face. Glorfindel was looking down at his boots, his facial expression betraying his emotions; a heightened color suffusing his usual golden skin with a rosy hue. "Loving you is a burden that I have carried for a long time, Elrohir," he murmured.
Elrohir, with a great effort, managed to bring his feelings under control. When he spoke again it was in a calm voice that belied his discomfort. "How long have you carried these feelings for me?" he enquired, blinking rapidly.
"For hundreds of years" was the reply, Glorfindel joining Elrohir in the bashful fluttering of his eyelashes. "It has been for many years that I have been able to live without you as my lover, therefore I know I can live this way a while longer. I realize that for you it is a shock--something new--previously unknown and never considered--I shall go now and leave you alone to think." Glorfindel abandoned his staccato speech and stood, intending to flee.
Elrohir put out a hand, clasping Glorfindel's with fingers surprisingly warm and dry. "Nay. Stay," he said, and tugged at his companion's arm, causing the warrior to fall back onto the bench. "I want you too, Glorfindel," he said softly. "I have known this for a long time and have denied it. But for now I need to be alone. Can you forgive me that and wait for me?" His luminous grey eyes stared into Glorfindel's, entreating him to be patient a while longer. For now he needed to be alone by himself to think.
With sympathy emanating from his soft blue gaze, Glorfindel took Elrohir's hands in his and raised them to his lips. "Of course, meleth-nîn," he whispered. "I will go now and leave you to your thoughts. If you need me, I shall be in my chambers." He leaned forward and pressed a soft kiss to Elrohir's forehead and then dropped the dark-haired Elf's hands down onto his lap. Elrohir's satin robe slipped off of one knee, exposing it and the full length of his thigh to Glorfindel's adoring gaze. He looked up at his friend, who had risen to his feet, with a plaintive look in his eyes, and smiled with warm reassurance.
Glorfindel gazed back at Elrohir and smiled. He put two fingers to his lips and then held them to his heart before he turned abruptly and departed, walking quickly but stiffly along the pathway back to the Homely House.
Elrohir did not come to Glorfindel that night, and the golden-haired Elf fell asleep alone in his bed, as he had become accustomed to doing for so many long years.
It took many days for Elrohir to become comfortable with his feelings. He was still bothered by uneasiness whenever he looked upon his father, thought about Elrond's relationship with Gil-galad and subsequently with his mother. When he applied thoughts of his own attraction to Glorfindel and Glorfindel's admission of reciprocal love for him, it became too much of a burden for Elrohir to bear.
Thinking that he must speak to his father in order to come to some sort of understanding about his affair with the High King of old before he could possibly embark upon a relationship with Glorfindel, Elrohir went to Elrond's study to seek out his father for a conversation.
He knocked upon the heavy oak door and a few moments later it was opened by a servant and he entered. Elrond was sitting behind his desk, its vast surface covered with neatly stacked books and papers. The servant who had opened the door and who had deftly organized Elrond's desk, now departed, silently closing the door behind him.
Elrond's eyebrows rose in surprise to see his youngest son standing before him with a worried look pinching his dark eyebrows together over his flashing grey eyes.
"What troubles you, my son?" Elrond asked, leaning back in his chair and regarding Elrohir with a steady gaze, his piercing eyes bright with interest in the reason for his son's unusual visit.
"Do I look troubled, Atar?" asked Elrohir, walking up to the desk and tapping his fingers rapidly and nervously upon the newly-polished surface.
"So formal?" asked Elrond. "You have become so serious of late, my son. What has happened to calling me 'Ada'?" He said this in a soft voice, yet his look was grave but not mocking, his mouth downturned, the lines in his cheeks deepening.
"I need to speak to you concerning a serious matter," said Elrohir, now pacing back and forth in front of the desk. "Several weeks ago, I chanced to come across you unseen in the armory with--with--his--halberd--" Elrohir faltered.
"I remember that night," said Elrond quietly. "Will you not sit down, Elrohir?" He gestured with an elegant hand toward a chair that faced the desk.
"I cannot sit," said Elrohir. "Restlessness came upon me that night and has been upon me since. I cannot settle until I have resolved certain conflicts within myself."
"I do not understand how upset you have become over a private relationship of mine that was finished thousands of years ago," said Elrond, not unkindly, but with a certain resentment creeping into his voice.
"I thought at first it was because of my mother, and I had believed that you insulted her memory by holding onto your thoughts of him, displacing your memories of her," said Elrohir, still pacing and not yet ready to look at his father directly. "But I was wrong to let my own disgust with myself enter inappropriately into my thoughts when I found you in the weapons arsenal that night," said Elrohir, still pacing in front of the desk.
"You should not be disgusted with yourself over having honest, heartfelt feelings, my son," said Elrond. "Of course I will accept your apology, and I forgave you immediately at that time for any ill will you may have borne against me, for I understand--"
"No!" cried Elrohir. He stopped pacing and whirled around to face his father. "You do not understand!" He slammed a balled fist down upon the desk-top, the violence of the movement making a dull thudding noise that disappeared immediately into the stillness. Silence hung in the air for a moment between son and father.
Elrond clasped his hands together, and held them under his chin. His piercing gaze turned upward to stare at Elrohir and he waited.
"Here is my confession," cried Elrohir, slumping finally into the tub-shaped chair that had been neatly pushed toward the front of the desk. He pulled it back so violently that its clawed feet scraped two white lines across the polished hardwood floor.
The agitated young Elf felt he could not look at Elrond directly and chose to drop his forehead into his hands as he spoke, while gazing into his lap. "The thing is," he went on, "I know that I am in love with Glorfindel, and he has confessed the same to me--he said that he has loved me for many years."
"What?" cried Elrond, rising to his feet.
"No, Ada, no! Listen to the rest," Elrohir cried, raising his gaze to Elrond's face and gesturing with an outstretched hand for him to sit down.
"The reason I am telling you this now is that I have come to terms with my own conflicted feelings. I have decided that I will not deny myself any longer my own pleasure being with the one who has captured my heart, however much it frightens me. At the same time, I believe I can understand now how you must have felt about the King--Gil-galad--I find I can now speak his name without loathing--and I offer you my apology for ever thinking ill of you or your relationship with him."
Elrond, who had remained standing, now came around the corner of the desk, pulled Elrohir up by his arms. "My son, there is no need for your apology!" he cried. "Though I am happy to hear it. But now I must deal with my own feelings about my son and my seneschal!" He held Elrohir at arm's length and gazed into his deep grey eyes, an expression of concern replacing his wide grin of joy.
Elrohir blushed. "It is difficult for me to accept that I will never marry and have children as you have done. But I know I love Glorfindel, although we have not yet spent any time together," he said. "In fact, I bade him wait until I was ready to go to him. He does not know of my change of heart, and does not know I have come here. You are the first person I have told, and now I feel I must go and tell Elladan of my choice, before I seek Glorfindel."
Elrond gave his son an affectionate hug and pat on the back. The two Peredhil embraced, and then Elrohir left to go and find his twin.
Several hours later, it was deep into the night, and Elrohir sat on his bed facing Elladan, who sat upon his own bed opposite his twin, staring back at him with rapt attention.
"I never felt the same way as you about Gil-galad and Ada," said the older twin. "I knew that it had been hundreds of years after the king's death that Ada met naneth, and as a result there was no conflict between the two that I could see. Ada has never strayed while he was married to her, of that I am sure."
"I know that now," said Elrohir. "But I wish I had never seen him with Aeglos on that night, for then I would have not felt the overwhelming revulsion toward him that I did at that time."
"But then you would not have run into Glorfindel that night and neither of you may have spoken of your feelings for each other to this day."
"The issue at that time though, was with my revulsion, which I found, ultimately, was for myself and my own feelings of guilt for loving Glorfindel, which I believed at the time were not reciprocated," Elrohir replied. "When I found out that he loved me on the same night that I found out about Ada's true feelings for Gil-galad--it all became too much for me to absorb, and I behaved badly."
"Will you go to Glorfindel now?" asked Elladan.
"Brother, you know my own mind before I do." Elrohir smiled, his eyebrows lifting in an expression of sardonic amusement, and he rose to his feet, throwing his arms about his twin in an affectionate embrace and then he let himself out of their shared room for the last time.
The dawn was beginning to rise in the east, the first diffused rays of orange and gold appearing above the trees outside of Glorfindel's window. He sighed and rolled over. He had been unable to sleep all night for a feeling of prescience that he could not fathom, occupying his thoughts. As he rolled onto his side there was a knock upon his bedroom door. His pounding heart bade him get up and answer it himself, rather than calling out for the visitor to enter.
He picked up a robe from his chair, wrapped it around his body and went to the door. When it swung open, he saw that Elrohir stood upon the threshold. The dark-haired Elf's face was pale, his lips were trembling and his fingers were clasping and unclasping in front of him.
"I could not wait one moment longer to come and tell you this, meleth-nîn," said Elrohir, his voice barely audible. "I know now that I need you."
"Come in," Glorfindel motioned to Elrohir to enter, his voice husky with surprise as well as lack of sleep.
Elrohir hesitated. " I have never done this before, Glorfindel. I am frightened."
Glorfindel closed the door quietly and then turned to Elrohir, who was wearing the same satin robe that he had been wearing on the night in the garden. The older Elf's own robe slipped open, revealing his slender yet muscular physique briefly before he pulled it closed around him again. "Come and sit down," he said softly, indicating the chair at the foot of his bed. "I know it is very early morning, but I do believe some wine, or perhaps brandy, might help us feel more relaxed with each other."
"Ugh," said Elrohir, placing his fingers to his lips. " I do not think I could stomach wine, but brandy would be welcome." His face relaxed into a hesitant smile.
"Very well, then," said Glorfindel, giving his companion a reassuring pat on the arm, and walked over to a long console cabinet where he produced a bottle of brandy and two plain glasses from a pull-open drawer. He poured a half-inch of the amber-colored liquid into two glasses and walked back to Elrohir, his robe swinging open once again, and handed him one of the glasses. Then he sat down on his bed and lifted the glass to his lips.
Elrohir sipped as well, in silence, regarding Glorfindel carefully. He had glimpsed a strip of the warrior's golden-hued flesh when the robe fell open, and the sight of the luminous skin had caused his eyes to widen with interest and his breath to catch in his throat. He felt a stirring within him and took another sip of brandy. "I don't know what to do, Glorfindel. This situation still feels awkward to me though I crave to be with you more than anything else," he blurted out.
"Hush, pen-neth-nîn--your feeling of awkwardness is normal, but it is not wrong if the desire is there between two parties, and then it is there for a reason. I believe in this case it is love that we both feel for each other. Many Ellyn have taken both male and female lovers--your father, for one--for some it may be that they wished to father heirs--but your father loved your mother no less than if he had never loved Gil-galad. You must believe that, Elrohir. I believe that that is the cause of all your worry and your inhibition."
Elrohir drank more of the brandy. "I know that now. However, I have something new to worry me. It seems I am not myself if I do not have something to worry about. Have you taken lovers before, Glorfindel?"
Glorfindel leaned back and sighed. "Many, many years ago, yes. But when I realized my feelings for you, I forsook the lifestyle I previously lived, and I have been chaste for several hundred years."
Elrohir's eyes widened. "You have been chaste that long because of me, Glorfindel?" he asked, incredulous.
Glorfindel chuckled and rested on one elbow, turning to face his loved one. The robe slipped again to reveal a shapely thigh and part of a sculpted chest gleaming in the rays of the sun that were beginning to shine through the open window.
Elrohir sighed. He gazed longingly at Glorfindel's form, from his unbound golden hair and twinkling blue eyes, to the perfectly sculpted planes of the slender body displayed before him. Glorfindel shrugged and the robe slipped off of one shoulder. Another shrug and his arm was free.
"You should just try to forget your worries and relax, my love, and let this happen naturally, and we will see how well we come together. I have no qualms. Come over to the bed," he whispered.
Elrohir downed the remainder of the brandy and got to his feet. He walked slowly to the end of the bed and stood before the splendid beauty of the Elf half-displayed upon the coverlet. His breathing quickened as his gaze roamed over the sight before him of Glorfindel, half-naked and aroused.
"Please remove your robe and let me look at you," whispered Glorfindel.
Elrohir undid his sash and let the satin garment drop to the floor.
"Ah, yes," crooned Glorfindel, gazing at Elrohir's magnificent, muscled form, every inch of it perfection honed by hard exercise and fighting practice. "Please sit down beside me, Melethron."
Elrohir complied, feeling both excitement and embarrassment, and Glorfindel sat up, shaking his robe all the way off, until he was as naked as his lover. They sat and looked at each other. Glorfindel placed a hand tenderly against Elrohir's cheek. "We are both very beautiful, are we not, pen-neth?" he asked, his voice a mere whisper, as his lips brushed Elrohir's ear.
"Yes," Elrohir whispered in return.
"We are both aroused, are we not?" asked Glorfindel, his tongue daintily tracing the edge of Elrohir's sensitive ear while a finger gently stroked the hard shaft of the appendage that lay between the dark Elf's ivory thighs.
"Ai--yes--we are," hissed Elrohir, tentatively looking down at his companion's arousal, raised in desire for him.
"And we love each other, do we not? What do you think we should do about it?" asked Glorfindel, encircling Elrohir's waist with one arm and nuzzling with soft lips the crook between his neck and shoulder.
"I don't know," sighed Elrohir, shuddering with delight at Glorfindel's touches.
"Do you not? Then I shall guide you. First, I think we should kiss," said Glorfindel.
"Yes, very well," murmured Elrohir, his breath quickening, his lips parting.
"Give me your lips then," murmured Glorfindel, and with fingers gently holding his lover's chin, he turned Elrohir's face to his. His eyes misted as he gazed into the grey eyes of the dark-haired Elf before claiming his lips in a tender kiss, pulling Elrohir's shoulders closer to his own eager body.
Elrohir melted into the kiss, letting Glorfindel pull him forward until he fell on top of the ravishing Elf, his long black braids falling onto Glorfindel's chest, and his muscled thigh brushing against his lover's slender one, causing him to feel the electrifying pulsing of desire in his veins.
He groaned softly as Glorfindel's hands slid down his back to his buttocks, and adjusted his hips so that his arousal slipped between the golden Elf's thighs. Elrohir was acutely aware of Glorfindel's own erection pressed between their two bodies and he moaned while his lover deepened the kiss and began to grind his hips in a slow circle.
Glorfindel! Ai!" cried Elrohir, thinking that he would explode too soon from the state of arousal in which he exulted. A tumult of emotion threatened to sweep him away in a wave of pleasure that he could not control, and he clutched Glorfindel's arm, digging his fingernails into the hard flesh.
Sensing Elrohir's anxiety, Glorfindel, the more experienced of the two, pulled suddenly away from his companion, stroking his dark, glossy hair and pressing kisses to his forehead, trying to slow down the driving force of their passion.
"What is it, melethron?" Glorfindel crooned into his beloved's ear, sensing his anxiety. His hand traced a pattern over Elrohir's muscular chest, and when his fingers touched a nipple, he tweaked the hard nub between mischievous fingers.
Elrohir squirmed and his hand released the thick strands of Glorfindel's mane of hair in an attempt to reach down and staunch the flow of milky fluid that leaked from the tip of his arching member. He held his rock-hard shaft in his trembling hand and moaned. "Glorfindel--I need--", he cried, stopping because he did not quite know how to say what he needed.
"What is it you desire, my love?" whispered Glorfindel, pulling himself up onto his knees beside his lover and bending over him. "Do you need more of my kisses?" He bent and placed his lips upon Elrohir's, gently sucking them and using his tongue to press wet kisses upon their soft surface.
Elrohir moaned again. "Yes," he sighed, when Glorfindel released his lips from his tender caresses.
Glorfindel cast his appreciative glance along the length of Elrohir's trembling body, noticing the dark nipples standing erect and the fluttering muscles in the Elf's taut abdomen betraying his acute sensitivity.
"Ahh..." groaned the older Elf, "but you are so beautiful in your need, melethron." He sank his head to Elrohir's chest so that he could suck upon one of the dusky nubs and at the same time he rubbed his own throbbing need against his lover's thigh, seeking a merciful and quick release.
When Glorfindel surfaced again, it was to still the movements of the writhing Elf beneath him, who groaned as if he was in agony. "Let me bring you relief," said Glorfindel, panting, not able to wait any longer, a rush of desire claiming his reason. He dropped his golden head down to rest between Elrohir's thighs. Placing a hand upon each alabaster limb, he first placed his tongue to the tip of his lover's arousal that was slick with wetness, and smiled when Elrohir bucked his hips at least a foot up from the bed. He plunged his lips over top of the glistening head and sucked the juices that sluiced out of Elrohir's turgid member. Within seconds Elrohir came, exploding his essence down Glorfindel's throat. After swallowing the salty drops and licking the sides of the delicious shaft, Glorfindel laughed. Elrohir suddenly sat up, grasped his lover by the shoulders, and pushed him back down on the bed and straddled him between two strong thighs.
"Elrohir!" Glorfindel cried. "You are being rough with me!" He threw back his head and laughed again, displaying a set of brilliant white teeth.
"I cannot wait any longer to taste you!" cried the younger Elf, spreading his lover's legs apart with eager hands and grasping Glorfindel's long shaft in his hand.
"Be gentle with me, my love!" cried Glorfindel. "It has been too many years since I felt aught but my own hand, and I do not wish to come quicker than you have just done!"
Elrohir grinned at him, taking up the challenge, and bent down to place his lips around the head of Glorfindel's smooth shaft. Though he was inexperienced, he savored every caress that he made to the beautiful appendage that lay between his lips, and with an unpracticed but eager tongue, he brought the golden Elf to a screaming crescendo of a climax. Glorfindel spilled his seed within seconds into his lover's waiting mouth. Elrohir was already hard again as he swallowed the last drop of Glorfindel's fluids.
He knelt above his beautiful lover, cupping the fine-boned face in his large, warm hands. "I win," he said. "And I want to do it again right away."
The sound of Glorfindel's laughter echoed musically throughout the room. "Oh, do let us enjoy each other many more times," he enthused. "Clear all but the most urgent business from your calendar. For the next five hundred years are mine!"
The End
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