"Burning the midnight oil again, mellon?"
Elrond looked up, startled to see Glorfindel peering at him through the doorway. He smiled and beckoned his friend to come closer.
"No rest for the wicked..." He gave Glorfindel a conspiratorial smile. "Just finishing up some reports... Thranduil's recent delegation has brought us news of some pretty serious skirmishes with Orcs in the Greenwood. Nothing they weren't able to handle, of course, at least according to Thranduil – you know he's too proud to ever admit any sort of weakness – but worrisome nonetheless. Why, what was on your mind?" Elrond's voice held the unmistakable tone of fatigue.
"Just seeking out your company after a long day."
"Had a long day too?"
"You could say that. I had a rather interesting conversation with Melpomaen this afternoon."
"Oh?"
"Concerning you, I might add."
"Really?" Elrond's voice suddenly seemed to have lost some of its fatigue. "Do make yourself comfortable and tell me more. I'd like to hear this." The Lord of Imladris stepped aside and gestured for Glorfindel to move to the fireplace. With a mischievous smile, the blond sank down into a cushioned armchair. Elrond sat across from him and motioned with his hand for the Elda to continue his story.
Glorfindel needed little encouragement. He leaned forward and launched into his tale with the relish of someone who loves a good piece of gossip. "Melpomaen came to me today, rather in a panic. Apparently he'd had a disturbing conversation with one of the Elves assigned to the border patrol. This Elf told him..." Glorfindel had a hard time suppressing a snort of laughter.
"What? Don't keep me in suspense, meldir; come now, what?"
"He told Melpomaen that, in his role as one of your advisors, he'd be required to serve you in a rather... personal capacity."
"Huh??" Elrond's fair features held an expression of utter disbelief. "Melpomaen thought I expected him to..."
"To bed you, yes."
"But..."
"Don't worry meldir, I set him straight. The poor Elf. You should have seen him, Elrond, he looked so distraught, eyes all wide and frightened, hands twisting his robes – he nearly cried. It would have been rather a sad sight – if it hadn't been so amusing." Glorfindel chuckled as he regarded his friend.
Elrond still looked rather baffled. "But why would he..."
"Apparently someone told him of the closeness the two of us sometimes share and explained that my reasons for... keeping you happy had to do with my loyalty to you as my liege. And that Melpomaen, as one of your advisors, would be expected to do the same – out of loyalty to Imladris and a concern for your well-being." Glorfindel was nearly doubled over with laughter by this time. He clutched his stomach and gasped for air. "Forgive me, Elrond, maybe you don't find this as humorous as I do... Oh, but it is funny! You should have seen the look on his face!"
"Was the idea that distasteful to him?" Elrond's hesitant question stopped Glorfindel's laughter short.
"What?" Glorfindel looked at Elrond, puzzled.
"You said that he looked distraught and that he nearly cried. All this at the prospect of sharing my bed." Elrond's voice held a note of discouragement and his eyes carefully avoided the curious gaze of his friend.
"Elrond, don't tell me you're actually interested in the Elfling... Are you?" Glorfindel was stunned. "Whoever told him this crazy story also hinted that he'd found favour with you, but... I just assumed it was all part of some joke, some twisted game... No joke, huh?"
Elrond twisted one of his braids in his fingers, looking visibly uncomfortable. "He's... quite fair, Glorfindel." His eyes hesitantly sought out those of his friend, and then focused once again on the fireplace. "Not in a manner that's obvious or flashy, but... Melpomaen is lovely in his way... So tall and slim and dark... He's quiet and timid yet, when he speaks, the advice he gives is sound and the remarks he makes are sharp and witty. I... like him, Glorfindel. I think he reminds me of myself in some ways, back in the early days in Gil-galad's court, when I felt so out of my element and thought all eyes were on me and judging me. He looks uncertain, but there's much beneath that shy exterior." Elrond's grey eyes again met those of his friend, and his eyebrow arched. "What?"
Glorfindel regarded his friend and sometime lover with an amused look. "By the Valar, you are a rare sight. It has been ages since I last saw that kind of fire in your eyes."
"Oh, what's the use, Glorfindel? You said yourself..."
"Elrond, he only reacted that way because he thought he might be forced into something he would have no say in. Now that he knows he has a choice in the matter, he may..."
"He may what?"
"Well, he may come around..."
"Right. And Orcs will learn their manners and quit attacking our borders. Ever the eternal optimist, Glorfindel." Elrond ran his long fingers through his dark hair, sighed, and got up from his chair. "Enough of this talk. Would you join me in the kitchens?"
"If you can't have love, there's always sweets..."
"Oh, shut up Glorfindel."
Melpomaen looked up from the parchment he was copying and carefully dipped his quill in the elaborately inlaid inkwell on the table before him. The inkwell, like most things in the Last Homely House, was an object of great beauty. Much care and craftsmanship had gone into its making, and Melpomaen had to admit that he had never known the joy of working with such pleasing and well made tools before coming to Imladris. The Lord of the valley liked surrounding himself with beautiful things, less so for their material value – although his home certainly did not want for jewels or precious mithril – but rather because he found their elegance and charm delightful to the eye. The home of Elrond Half-elven was filled with masterfully carved wood, exquisite paintings and detailed tapestries, not all of them valuable, but all of them lovely. The very inkwell Melpomaen was using may not have fetched a high price – being inlaid not with jewels or gold but rather bits of glittering seashells – but it was beautiful to behold and made the young scribe's work that much more of a pleasure. On most days, that is. For this day, Melpomaen found it fiendishly difficult to focus.
Sitting on the other side of the library, bent over an ancient scroll in an attitude of perfect concentration, his long dark hair gleaming in the afternoon sunlight, sat the cause of Melpomaen's inner turmoil. Elrond. Blissfully unaware of the effect he was having on the young Elf in his employ, the Lord of the valley ran a manicured hand through his carefully plaited locks and frowned as he scrutinized the text before him. He then soundlessly pushed his chair back from the table, moved to a tall bookshelf in the corner and, picking up a heavy volume, made his way back to his chair and gracefully sat back down.
Melpomaen sighed and willed his thoughts to return to the text he was copying, but with little success. Glorfindel's words suddenly came back to him: "Elrond is very beautiful. Even by Elven standards, he is exceptionally fair." After spending several months toiling in the vast libraries of Imladris, Melpomaen was just now beginning to see the truth in Glorfindel's statement. His employer, his Lord – Elrond Peredhel – was a true beauty. Nay, calling him a beauty did not seem adequate; did not quite do justice to his grace, elegance and inner radiance. Nor did it take into account his kindness and wisdom – qualities that only served to make him more desirable.
Melpomaen could only assume that he had hitherto been blind. How else would he not have noticed the way Elrond's grey eyes could peer intensely, staring right through the person he was talking to, only to twinkle in mirth when someone said something amusing? How could he not have seen the way Elrond's dark hair cascaded down his back, the way his voice was low, yet musical, the way his expressive, full mouth curved into a lovely smile?
The object of Melpomaen's admiration suddenly shifted in his chair, parting his long legs and leaning forward over the volume that lay open on the table. His heavy velvet robe fell open slightly, revealing just a hint of a legging-clad thigh while at the same time hugging the arch of his muscled back.
Elbereth! thought Melpomaen with alarm, forcing his gaze down to the parchment beneath his fingers. His face burned with the heat of a strange, suppressed excitement as his thoughts took a disturbing, though not altogether unexpected, turn. He could only imagine how Elrond's back, muscled from ages of fighting and training, would taper to shapely buttocks, how his chest would give way to a flat stomach, which in turn would... My, was it getting hot in here? All of a sudden Melpomaen felt thankful for the long robes customarily worn by the residents of Imladris. He hadn't liked them at first, finding them too formal, but now he had to admit that they had their uses. No other garment, he thought, would have successfully hidden the all-too-obvious and not entirely welcome evidence of his arousal. He shifted uncomfortably in his chair and glanced at Elrond again. The Lord of Imladris, just at that moment charmingly twisting one of his long plaits in his fingers, looked as comely as ever. Maybe even more so. Valar, thought Melpomaen, this was going to be a long afternoon...
Melpomaen was on his hands and knees and Elrond was behind him. Elrond's hands were on the young scribe's shoulders and his dark hair fell in silky strands against his back. The Peredhel's breath felt hot against Melpomaen's pointy ear and his hardness moved deep inside the younger Elf, filling him with such a sweet ache that he thought he would burst with the joy of it. Melpomaen wanted more, wanted it so badly... "Please..." he longed to whisper, but found that he could not coax any sound from his tightened throat. Elrond's hand traced patterns down Melpomaen's chest as the Elven Lord rocked inside him. The older Elf's fingers moved to circle Melpomaen's erection and began stroking it in time with his thrusts. His movements became more feverish as he neared his own completion. His breath in Melpomaen's ear became more laboured, and his hand on the young Elf's shoulder tightened its grip. Melpomaen could only close his eyes and feel the Half-elven fill him so completely that the rest of the world receded in comparison. As Elrond's hand stroked harder and faster, Melpomaen felt himself lose control and spiral into a sweet abyss as a shower of light exploded behind his eyes.
Melpomaen awoke with a start as he spilled himself between his sheets. Pleasant sensations still coursing through his body, he lay back, closed his eyes and groaned in frustration. Great. Now he was going to have to change the linens, and Elbereth only knew what he was going to do with the dirty ones. Why did this have to happen to him now? He thought he'd been done with it; he hadn't had a dream like that since his body had first awakened before his majority. It had been a terrible nuisance and embarrassment to him then, waking up wet and sticky in the middle of the night, but he thought he'd been done with all that business for good. And now his old predicament was back with a vengeance, and over Elrond no less! Elrond, his employer, his Lord, his liege...
Oh, but Elrond's touch had felt so good in his dream... Elrond's hands, his breath, his... especially his... Oh, Valar, thought Melpomaen, would it really feel like that? Would Elrond be gentle and slow or would he take him roughly? The Lord of Imladris seemed so kind, he really was kind, but Melpomaen had heard that those who carried the burden of office and kept up a constant appearance of control sometimes took their frustrations out in the bedchamber... He shivered, from fear or excitement, he did not know. Don't be ridiculous! Melpomaen checked his wild imaginings. As if Elrond would really be interested in him! Elrond had Glorfindel, after all; the Elda himself had admitted as much to Melpomaen. "Our relationship sometimes goes beyond friendship." That's what Glorfindel had said. So what Caegaran had said may also have been true. A sudden image of Glorfindel on his knees in front of Elrond, taking the Peredhel's length into his mouth, flashed into Melpomaen's mind. And he found himself growing erect again. Oh, would that it were he on his knees in front of Elrond, not Glorfindel! He would use his nimble, scribe's fingers to undo Elrond's lacings, he'd free that velvety hardness he remembered from his dream, he'd nuzzle in the soft curls he found there... That thought made his desire twitch against his belly, and Melpomaen slipped his slim fingers under the covers and took himself in hand. The sheets were already a lost cause; he may as well take advantage. He closed his eyes and began the long, measured strokes that always brought him release. And his thoughts continued.
What would Elrond be like as a lover? Would he be silent, betraying his pleasure only with hitched breathing and the occasional quiet whimper? Or would he give voice to his body's enjoyment, moaning his pleasure aloud and calling out at the moment of climax? Would he... would he call Melpomaen's name? Sweet Valar, thought Melpomaen, to hear that low voice call his name aloud in a moment of passion would be pure bliss. His hand stroked faster under the sheets. His back arched up, his thighs flexed, his fingers gripped harder and, closing his eyes tight, Melpomaen came.
He relaxed against his pillow again. Ridiculous Elfling, he thought. What would the Lord of Imladris want with you when he has countless others pining away for him, a beautiful wife – who may be away a great deal and seems rather cold and distant, but is beautiful nonetheless – and a lover like Glorfindel? Why, Glorfindel was practically a legend! Not to mention attractive, charming and... experienced. Wistfully, Melpomaen remembered how the Elda had joked with him, sexual innuendo rolling off his tongue with the practiced ease of many an age. Oh yes, Glorfindel would know how to please Elrond, he'd know exactly what to do. He would be just as commanding or submissive as the situation required, and wouldn't be embarrassed at all. He would look Elrond in the eyes as he displayed that golden, sun-kissed body, he would be as wanton as the Half-elven liked him to be... Melpomaen could never compete with that... Why, he'd never even had a lover before...
Melpomaen couldn't help but cringe as he thought back over the few sexual encounters he'd had over the years. There really hadn't been many, just a hesitant kiss or two, a few hurried touches in darkened rooms, and... well, of course, there had been that one time... The reason he'd ended up in Imladris in the first place... But he could hardly call that an encounter, after all, nothing had happened in the end. The young Elf he'd met at the summer festival in Edhellond had seemed nice, had told Melpomaen he was beautiful, had held his hand... and then suggested they go someplace more private... Melpomaen had agreed, half-drunk on the idea that someone wanted him, drawn to the other's knowing eyes, his lilting voice, the warmth of his skin... The Elf had smelled nice too, Melpomaen remembered, smelled like a summer day, something that made Melpomaen think of sand and wild grass, and it was that scent that Melpomaen recalled most vividly whenever he thought about what had happened next. They had ended up in an empty storeroom, Melpomaen cornered between a shelf and a wall, the other Elf pressed up against him, his lips on Melpomaen's neck, his hands on Melpomaen's body... The Elf's touch had felt so nice, his presence so comforting, his whispered words so soothing... Melpomaen had closed his eyes and imagined he was lying among sand and wild grass, that he finally belonged to someone, and he felt happy... And then, suddenly, the dark room was full of light, the other Elf was scrambling away from Melpomaen, fumbling with his clothes, and someone was screaming... And Melpomaen was left huddling in a corner, embarrassed, his leggings around his ankles...
Melpomaen's foster-mother – for it was she who had inadvertently walked in on the two Elves – had been indignant and, after hurling a number of choice expletives in Melpomaen's direction, wouldn't speak to him for a week. And then she'd made it painfully clear that Melpomaen was no longer welcome in her house. Not that he'd ever really felt welcome there... It was almost a relief to leave, especially after he'd managed to secure a position as scribe-in-training in the famous libraries of Imladris. It hadn't been an easy task, the Last Homely House being a choice destination for all aspiring scholars and archivists, but Melpomaen had finally succeeded with the help of a few enthusiastic recommendations from his teachers and mentors, who believed him to be both bright and talented. When he arrived in Elrond's realm a few months ago he felt like a brand new chapter in his life had begun. Here was his chance at a fresh start, a chance to make something of his life, to finally stop feeling like a burden... He hadn't bargained on the Lord of Imladris being such a distraction...
Melpomaen slipped from his high bed and gathered the soiled sheets in his arms, taking them to the small adjacent bathroom and dumping them in a heap. He retrieved a blanket from the tall chest of drawers in the corner and curled up on the bed again. This madness would have to stop, he told himself. He would not mess up his life again over an idiotic attraction; his life in Imladris was far too precious a prize to risk for the desires of the body. What he felt for Elrond would pass, he was sure of it. It would just take some time, but he was an Elf; he had all the time in the world. He would simply have to wait it out and try to make the best of a bad situation. He smiled to himself as he thought that making the best of a bad situation was something he'd become very good at, something he'd been doing all his life.
Notes: mellon - friend
meldir - friend (male)
Summary: It's midsummer night's eve in Imladris, and love is in the air.
"Could you hand me that volume, Melpomaen, the one I was looking at before?" Glorfindel dipped his quill in the inkwell, determined to finish the task at hand before the afternoon drew to a close. He watched as the young Elf carefully climbed the ladder up to the highest shelf and handed him the book in question. "Thank you, pen-neth." He smiled at Melpomaen. Since their memorable conversation in Elrond's garden, Glorfindel had continued to use that endearment to refer to the young scribe and, surprisingly enough, Melpomaen hadn't seemed to mind.
Glorfindel watched as Melpomaen neatly stacked a pile of parchments on the corner of his desk and, rolling up the sleeves of his robe, prepared to attack another, messier, pile. "Are you planning on staying here all night, pen-neth? Why don't you go on and get ready for the festivities. Leave me here, I won't be long. You must be eager to enjoy all the fun they have planned for this evening, especially after spending the whole day in this dreary place." Glorfindel winked at the younger Elf. Melpomaen smiled, nodded, and quietly slipped from the room.
"Ai," thought Glorfindel, "I hope this one at least has a good time tonight. He works far too hard for one so young. And so serious too." He sighed and turned his attention back to the weapons inventory he'd been working on. But, try as he might, his gaze kept wandering to the window and his thoughts kept lingering on Melpomaen.
Nearly a full cycle of the seasons had passed since Glorfindel had comforted a terrified Melpomaen in Elrond's garden and, in that time, the Elda had had plenty of opportunity to observe both the young scribe and the Lord of Imladris. Really, it was rather painful to watch. Initially, Melpomaen had seemed relieved that no perverse favours would be required of him, as he'd been led to believe. But, as time went by, Glorfindel could see the young Elf's eyes watching Elrond, seeking him out, drawn as if by a magnet. First Melpomaen's gaze had been full of curiosity, then curiosity had turned to admiration, and lately his look had been filled with such longing that, had the ridiculous story concocted by that border guard been indeed true, Glorfindel was sure Melpomaen would not have minded at all.
But if Melpomaen's quiet worship of Elrond had been painful to watch, Elrond's own growing attachment to the dark-haired scribe was no less distressing to witness. Glorfindel had initially been surprised that his old friend would be interested in an Elf as young as Melpomaen. There was no accounting for taste, the Elda told himself, as he patiently waited for his friend's infatuation to pass. But it hadn't. Elrond's heart, so long accustomed to nothing but duty and responsibility, had seemed to blossom in the presence of the young Elf. The Lord of the valley left him alone, of course, convinced as he was that Melpomaen would find his advances distasteful, but his feelings hadn't diminished; had grown, if anything. Elrond, after centuries spent alone, or as good as alone, was in love. He was distracted. He lost sleep. And he spent as much time as he could possibly manage in the presence of his beloved – without making his feelings known. That had proven quite challenging, as Elrond did not like to resort to deceit. Still, he kept coming up with more excuses to visit the libraries, and kept thinking up more reasons why his personal correspondence just had to be copied out in Melpomaen's fine hand. Which only served to make Melpomaen gaze at him with more longing.
What Glorfindel found the most infuriating was that both Elves seemed completely oblivious to each other's feelings, each convinced that the other couldn't possibly be interested. It was enough to drive one mad! Glorfindel didn't know if Melpomaen's sleep was disrupted, as his chambers were located in a completely different wing of the Last Homely House, but he often found Elrond's light on, even quite late at night. Once he had even gone to his old friend, determined to help him relax, and offered what had sometimes given Elrond comfort in the past – himself. But Elrond had only smiled a sad smile and said "thank you, mellon, but you're not the one I want." They had spent the rest of the night curled up in armchairs in front of the fire, drinking copious quantities of miruvor. It had given Glorfindel some measure of comfort to think that Elrond had finally managed to rest that night – curled up on the rug in a drink-induced haze.
Giving up on the weapons inventory at last, Glorfindel straightened up his papers, left the library and headed up the stairs to his rooms. The preparations that had been going on all week were soon to culminate in an all-night celebration, and the Elves running to and fro were almost delirious with excitement. Midsummer night's eve was one of the biggest festivals of the year; certainly the most frolicsome. Even the more staid, serious Elves usually found themselves laughing and joyful as Imladris welcomed the coming of summer. None would sleep this night – the shortest one of the year – for their time would be occupied with feasting, dancing, merrymaking and love. The only Elves doing anything resembling work would be the healers gathering herbs in the woods, for it was said that the healing powers of medicinal plants collected on midsummer night were strengthened by the magic of the evening.
Glorfindel smiled as he thought of the upcoming festivities. There would be food and wine aplenty, of course, for Imladris' cooks would certainly rise to the occasion. There would be music and dancing, with the valley's Elf maidens taking each other's hands and skipping lightly in circles in the forest glade. There would be bonfires blazing, with Elves leaping over the flames to ensure luck in the coming year. Young girls would weave flower garlands and then place them in their hair, and with the coming of the morning those garlands would be tossed into the Bruinen, to float briskly downstream and carry the joy of the celebrations to the rest of the valley. All that made for a truly enjoyable night, but it wasn't what Glorfindel found most fascinating about the festival.
Midsummer night's eve being a celebration of life and love, the pleasures of the flesh reigned supreme on this one night of the year. Couples hoping to conceive a child would leap the flames together to enhance fertility and then lie with each other in a secluded spot beneath the trees. Hopeful lovers would often choose this time to confess the desires of their hearts, and bodies, to the object of their affection. And even those Elves who were unattached, and were content to remain so, rarely found themselves without a pleasure partner on this magical eve. Glorfindel smirked at the thought that the woods of Imladris on midsummer night were fairly filled with soft sighs and cries of delight, and one had to be careful where one stepped lest one trip over a couple locked in a passionate embrace.
Having dressed in dark leggings and an azure embroidered tunic that brought out his sky-blue eyes, Glorfindel paused in front of the mirror to braid his hair. His hand lightly caressed the strands of ribbon on his dresser as he hesitated on which one to choose. There was one midsummer's night eve custom that he found particularly intriguing. It was unique to Imladris, and Glorfindel was not quite sure how and when it had originated, but it had taken deep root and was now as much a part of the festival as the bonfires, music and food. All Elves taking part in the celebrations would braid ribbons into their hair, ribbons of either gold or silver. Silver ribbons meant that the Elf in question was open to a romantic tryst that evening, either actively looking for a partner or simply waiting for an offer or invitation. Gold ribbons signalled the opposite, and were worn by either those in serious relationships, who would naturally spend the night with their chosen committed partner, or those who, for whatever reason, wished to remain alone. Glorfindel's hand hovered over his dresser for a moment, then picked up the silver ribbons. "There are so many beautiful Elves around at the festival," he thought, "it would be a shame to waste the opportunity." Though there was no particular Elf that made his heart beat faster – even Elrond, for all the times they had lain together, was simply a cherished friend and nothing more - maybe tonight he'd find someone to make other parts of his body thrum with excitement. Oh yes, thought Glorfindel, this was definitely one of his favourite holidays.
Elrond smiled magnanimously as he slowly made his way through the crowded forest clearing. The sun had long set and darkness had descended over Imladris, but the clearing was filled with the light of dozens of bonfires blazing in the night. The atmosphere was festive, and the Elves filling the woods this night were clearly enjoying themselves. Long tables had been set up under the trees, and they sagged with the weight of various Imladris delicacies. Huge barrels of mead stood close to the tables and, judging by the unsteady gait of some of the revellers, had proven quite popular. The music of flutes and drums could be heard above the din of exuberant conversation, merry laughter adding to the mix now and again. The joy in the air was almost palpable, and Elrond could not help but feel a twinge of regret.
Alone. Always alone. He would give much to switch places with one of these carefree Elves just for one evening. As it was, he would go through the motions of playing gracious host, smile his wise ruler's smile and retire to his bedchamber when the celebrations began to get more heated. There would be no warm body to hold him, no welcoming arms to sink into, no comfort to be found in a loving embrace. His bed had been cold for longer than he cared to remember, and Glorfindel's sporadic presence in it did little to assuage his loneliness. Glorfindel was a friend; Elrond would not fool himself into thinking that there was love there. And sharing the caresses of one who did not have his heart, who was there simply out of physical need, only served to make him feel empty and rendered his loneliness more acute. He wanted more but was unlikely to get it; that much he knew.
Elrond weaved lightly through the crowd, smiling at his subjects as they greeted him with love and admiration, raising his cup in a toast every now and again. He did enjoy the duties of playing host, and had long gotten used to doing the honours by himself. It had been many years since his wife was at his side during midsummer night's eve, her beauty dazzling all those around her, her golden hair shining in the light of the flames. Celebrían now resided in Lórien and no longer even bothered to come home to Imladris for important occasions. They had kept up the pretence of a happy union for a while, but even that had proved a strain. Elrond still wasn't sure where he'd gone wrong, how it was possible that things had changed so much between them. They had been happy, or so he had thought, but he wasn't even sure of that anymore. *He* had been happy, that was certain. But Celebrían? He had never really known her mind, he realized that now. And she had floated out of his life just as impassively as she had drifted into it, never letting her guard down, never letting him past that wall she'd built around herself.
Elrond's heart beat faster as he glimpsed a slender, dark figure of an Elf standing to the side of the clearing. He watched as Melpomaen hesitantly joined a boisterous conversation and was handed a cup filled with mead. The young Elf drank a mouthful, then coughed and spluttered as the alcohol burned his throat. His companions laughed, amused, and patted him on the back in encouragement. Melpomaen drank another mouthful, this time with more success. He grinned, evidently pleased with himself, and said something that made his companions break out into laughter once again. Elrond could see Melpomaen visibly relax, tension lifting from his face and shoulders. The young scribe looked happy and Elrond was pleased that he had managed to overcome his shyness. The Elf Lord knew how difficult it was for Melpomaen to speak to strangers, especially in a social setting. His heart filled with something akin to pride, and he realized with some surprise that it was a feeling he'd often experienced on witnessing one of his children's accomplishments. So he felt slightly protective and paternal toward the young Elf, he thought to himself, amused. It certainly wasn't the only thing he felt...
Distracted as he was by the sight of the dark-haired, slim beauty raising a cup of amber liquid to his full lips, Elrond nearly collided with Glorfindel. He was caught by a pair of strong, warrior arms, and spun around to face the golden-haired seneschal.
"He'll be your undoing one of these days, you know, the way you act around him. I could've been an Orc waiting to ambush you, and you would not have noticed." Glorfindel tried to sound impatient, but Elrond could tell he was amused.
"You often remind me of an Orc, my friend."
"Touchy tonight, aren't we? It's all that pining and sighing, you know. Why don't you do us both a favour and just take the Elfling, Elrond? You know you want to taste those lips, feel that pliant young flesh beneath your hands..."
"Glorfindel, stop..."
"Or what? You'll get an embarrassing erection right here in the middle of the clearing? I'll wager you already have one... Thank the Valar for your stately robes of office." Glorfindel grinned.
Elrond shot his friend a look that could've annihilated a small village. It was true; beneath his burgundy robes he was uncomfortably hard, his member aching to be touched. But it still didn't give his friend the right to taunt him about this impossible situation.
"Oh, why don't you just go and find yourself a bed-mate or two, Glorfindel? Put those silver ribbons in your hair to good use?"
"I plan on doing just that, and so should you. Silver would have suited you better than gold, Elrond; I don't see why you persist in denying yourself the pleasures that can be had this night."
"It wouldn't do for one who has a spouse. Even a distant one."
"But so many would love to share their bed with you tonight."
"Not the one I want."
"I wouldn't be so sure." Glorfindel's expression suddenly turned serious, then tender. "Why don't you tell him, Elrond? His reaction may surprise you."
"I don't have the right to make one in his position uncomfortable by my advances. He works for me, Glorfindel, and Imladris is the only home he has now. I couldn't bear to disturb his peace, to make him feel like his presence here was conditional upon..."
"Elrond, you are impossible sometimes."
"So I've been told." The Lord of Imladris gave his friend a smug smile. "Now leave me to my musings and go enjoy the night. I wouldn't deprive whichever Elf you choose of the pleasures of the great Glorfindel of Gondolin. Go."
"Think about what I said, Elrond."
"I've been doing entirely too much thinking lately." Elrond smiled as he watched his friend disappear into the crowd, admiring glances following him as he went. Glorfindel certainly was beautiful; he would have no shortage of offers from those who dared approach him, and was unlikely to be turned down by anyone he propositioned. "Ah," thought Elrond, "if only my own life were that simple..."
Notes: pen-neth – young one
mellon – friend
FYI: The midsummer's night eve customs described in this chapter were borrowed from various European cultures, except for the gold/silver ribbons, which are pure fiction.
Glorfindel weaved through the crowd of laughing Elves, catching eager glances cast in his direction. He was an object of desire, he knew; an object of desire and fascination. Admired from afar for his noble and heroic deeds, and lusted after for his perfect, golden beauty, Glorfindel usually didn't come into direct contact with those who wanted him. Midsummer night's eve, however, was an exception. Here, anything could happen, and often did. Elves of less noble birth and lower station, younger in years and experience, felt comfortable with openly showing their interest on this one night of the year. And so, as Glorfindel walked through the throng, he was met with many eyes issuing fairly obvious invitations.
Whom should he have tonight? he wondered. He had so many options, all of them tempting... Did he want a male or a female? Hmm... It had been a while since he had lain with a she-Elf, a long while since his strong hands had wandered over soft, female flesh... It might be nice... But the magic of midsummer had to be reckoned with, and the fact that the night was believed to enhance fertility could not be ignored. "No," thought Glorfindel, "best leave that one alone." A male then. But which one? Did he want a strong warrior's body, with powerful shoulders used to wielding a bow? One of his own border guards perhaps? "No," thought Glorfindel with a frown, "that would lead to too many complications on the morrow." A scholar maybe? Slim and straight, with delicate hands and pale skin? Hmm... Oh dear, Glorfindel smiled as a delicious shiver ran up his spine, midsummer night's eve was such fun.
His eyes wandered over the crowd of Elves willingly parting to let him pass and assessed their eager expressions. Too eager, perhaps... He really did enjoy a bit of a challenge, he realized, and these Elves presented none. All he would have to do was walk up to one of them, look him in the eyes, touch his chest lightly with his index finger and the seduction would be as good as over. "What seduction," he thought with annoyance, "these Elves were seduced long ago!" What he needed was someone on whom he could work his charms tonight, someone who would put up some measure of reticence... The culmination, when it came, would be that much sweeter for it.
Glorfindel continued moving forward slowly, his eyes scanning the clearing. Suddenly, he stopped dead in his tracks. There. On the other side of the crowd, under a large oak, calmly sipping his mead and his face as stern as ever, sat one of Elrond's most trusted advisors. Erestor. Oh, Erestor was challenge personified! The dark, serious advisor was a skilled diplomat and seasoned warrior, and could handle himself in any situation. Glorfindel had never seen him lose his temper, even when deliberately provoked. Unlike Elrond, who sometimes flew into impetuous, if short-lived, rages, Erestor was always perfectly in control of his emotions. Some even speculated that he had none, but Glorfindel knew better, having seen him in a rare moment of vulnerability after the twins were born.
When Elrond had placed first Elladan and then Elrohir in Erestor's clumsy arms, the advisor's dark eyes had suddenly grown misty, his brow knitted with the effort of holding back unexpected tears. And then, just as abruptly as it had come, the moment was gone. Erestor handed the twins back to Elrond calmly, congratulating him graciously, his face as composed as ever. But Glorfindel had seen, and would not forget.
Glorfindel's connection to Erestor had always been distant, if respectful. They were different, though each admired the other's strengths and abilities. Glorfindel had even tried to bring their relationship onto a more friendly footing, but to no avail. Erestor apparently preferred to maintain his distance, meeting Glorfindel's affable overtures with his trademark sarcasm. Glorfindel had never managed to crack that façade or get beyond that mask of indifference. Well, now was his chance and, by the Valar, he would take it.
Elrond cast one last look over the clearing and turned to head back to the Last Homely House. The festivities were now in full swing; Elves breaking away from the crowd in pairs and heading toward the privacy of the woods. That was Elrond's cue to leave the revellers and make his way to his room. Without the inhibiting presence of the Lord of Imladris, the celebrations were sure to get even more rowdy. "Just as well," thought Elrond, "let them have their night of wild fun without their stodgy old Lord getting in the way." If anything particularly memorable happened, Glorfindel would make sure that he heard about it in the morning. Somehow, Glorfindel always seemed to have access to the juiciest Imladris gossip.
Elrond was moving through the trees quietly, carefully stepping over jutting roots in the darkness, when the sound of suppressed sobs reached his ears. He stopped to listen, then moved towards it, his healer's instincts taking over. If anyone was hurt or in pain, the least he could do was find them and attempt to help. No one should be crying on a night like this. Slowly, he walked towards the sound, carefully pushing stray branches out of his way. The sight that met his eyes stole the breath from his body as his heart contracted painfully in his chest.
"Melpomaen!"
Elrond stared at the frail figure of the young Elf huddled under a large beech, his arms wrapped around his knees and tears streaming down his face, and wanted desperately to wrap his arms around him, comfort him, hold him... Instead, he settled himself down softly in front of him and peered intently into his big, dark eyes.
"Are you all right?"
"I'll... be fine."
"What's wrong?" This was all the Half-elven Lord was able to say, in spite of the hundreds of questions swirling around madly in his brain.
"N..nothing." Melpomaen's answer did not sound convincing.
"Come now, you wouldn't be crying over nothing. Please... tell me what's wrong..." The emotion in Elrond's voice was unmistakable.
The young Elf looked up, clearly surprised by Elrond's tone, then looked down at his hands again. "It's just that...I'm so... alone."
Elrond smiled sadly to himself, struck by the irony of the fact that he had just been dwelling on his own loneliness not two hours earlier. But his situation could not be helped; Melpomaen, on the other hand, was a young and attractive Elf. Surely he would have no trouble finding a companion...
Elrond swallowed determinedly, pained by the advice he was about to dispense. "Then why braid gold ribbons into your hair, meldir? Silver would suit you better, with your dark hair and pale complexion..."
"You mean I should..."
"Why not be open to the possibilities of this night? You are very fair; many would welcome the chance to get to know you better."
"You think me fair?"
The amazement in Melpomaen's voice brought a lump to Elrond's throat. "Yes, my love," he thought, "I think you fair. I think you the fairest Elf in all of Arda..."
"Aye." Elrond said. He watched joy flash across Melpomaen's tear-streaked face, then fade as the young Elf again gazed down at his hands.
"But I couldn't..." Melpomaen's voice was, once again, hesitant.
"Couldn't what?"
"Braid silver ribbons... into my hair."
"Why not? You are young and unattached. If no one has captured your heart, then I don't see why you shouldn't..."
"But someone has!" The insistence, almost violence, in that statement made Elrond sit up, surprised.
"Has what?"
"Captured my heart..." The young Elf's voice had dropped to a whisper, but his dark eyes burned in his pale face.
"Oh." Elrond wished the earth would open up and swallow him, sparing him the pain of seeing this sweet young Elf confess his love for another. Still, his concern for the young one's well-being won out over his own jealousy, and he continued. "Then why not tell her of your love?"
"Him."
"Oh." Elbereth, but this was difficult. "Why not tell him then?"
"Because he doesn't love me. Could never love me." Melpomaen's voice trembled.
"You don't know that, Melpomaen."
"Yes, I do." It was the resignation in Melpomaen's voice that made Elrond's decision for him. He couldn't let the young Elf's misery continue. If it was at all in his power, he would help ensure Melpomaen's happiness, even if it broke his own heart.
"Melpomaen, listen to me. Go to him and tell him. Tonight. At worst... he'll reject you. At least then you'll know for sure. Otherwise you'll never know. And you may regret not knowing." Elrond sighed wistfully, thinking back to his own youth. He had loved Gil-galad for more centuries than he cared to count before he finally broke down and approached him, only to find out that his feelings had been returned all along. He did not regret the time they had together, bittersweet though it was. What he did regret, time and time again, was that they might have had many more centuries before his High King's bright flame was cruelly snuffed out. Centuries that could never be reclaimed.
"You think I should..." Melpomaen's voice was a blend of incredulity, terror and excitement.
"Yes, pen-neth."
Elrond was too stunned to react to what happened next. He saw Melpomaen hesitate for a second, his big dark eyes widening, and, before he could say anything else to reassure him, the young Elf had pounced, black hair flying, and pressed a heated, desperate kiss to Elrond's mouth. Then, aghast at his own boldness, Melpomaen staggered back and fled into the night, leaving Elrond with a surprising sweetness on his lips.
Emboldened by his newly found purpose, Glorfindel swiftly crossed the clearing, stopping only to fill a silver cup with mead and bring it to Erestor. The dark-haired advisor had finished his own drink and was calmly reclining under a large oak, far from the excited crowd surrounding the bonfires. He looked up and watched Glorfindel approach, his inscrutable expression betraying nothing of his reaction to the Elda's apparent intention to join him. Erestor's eyes regarded the tall, blond Elf with the sphinx-like serenity so typical of the dark advisor, and Glorfindel knew that, had he arrived in full battle dress and with a host of Elven warriors behind him or, better yet, wearing nothing but a smile, he would have been met with the same impenetrable look.
"Good eve to you, Erestor." Glorfindel smiled seductively.
"Glorfindel." Erestor's voice was composed, guarded even.
"I brought you some mead, as your own cup seems empty."
"How kind of you." Erestor took the proffered cup warily, gratitude conspicuously absent from his voice.
"May I join you?" Glorfindel gestured to the patch of grass next to the seated Elf, his eyes half-lidded in a fashion he knew from experience others had found utterly beguiling.
"Suit yourself."
Glorfindel sighed inwardly, realizing that seducing the serious advisor would take all the skill he possessed and then some. But then, he was never one to shrink from a challenge. If he could face a balrog – albeit with rather unfortunate consequences – he could certainly succeed in making this solemn, reluctant Elf yearn for his touch.
Seating himself down as gracefully as possible, Glorfindel leaned close to Erestor, letting his golden hair brush against the other's cheek. "Enjoying the evening, meldir?"
"I was until a minute ago."
"Does my presence pain you so?" Glorfindel's full, luscious lips curved into an enticing smile, revealing a perfect row of pearly-white teeth. "I rather hoped you'd be as glad to see me as I am to see you."
Erestor leaned back and regarded Glorfindel with amusement, his eyebrow arched in a manner evocative of the Lord of Imladris. "Have you had too much to drink, my dear Glorfindel? Mayhap you've confused me with someone else. There is a clearing full of Elves whose eyes light up at the mere sight of those ribbons in your hair; surely you do not wish to waste your evening sitting next to dull old me."
"Dull? You? Never. You're the best company in this entire valley." Glorfindel parried, running a fine-boned hand through his golden tresses and letting his tunic stretch temptingly across a well-developed bicep. He had to admit to himself that there was a grain of truth to these sugar-coated words; Erestor certainly was one Elf in whose company he never grew bored. The sardonic advisor's jabs, insults and dry wit were a refreshing change from the near-worshipful way many of the other inhabitants of Imladris treated Elrond's seneschal.
Deciding to pull out all the stops, Glorfindel leaned in closer and ran a slim finger down Erestor's arm. "I like that black tunic on you; it's very becoming."
"I always wear black." The dark-haired Elf's voice was a mixture of incredulity and derision.
"You always look appealing."
"Glorfindel, are you trying to seduce me?" The look of amazement on Erestor's face was quite apparent now.
"Am I succeeding?" Glorfindel moved closer still, and let his honey-scented breath tease the tip of Erestor's ear.
The object of his attention shifted away from the intimate contact, fixing the blond Elf with a disparaging stare. "What do you think?"
Glorfindel had to concede that his would-be bed partner did not look in the least bit seduced. Nor did he look aroused, excited or even, well, interested. He, on the other hand, had managed to work himself up into quite a state, and now found that he craved the taste of those very lips that were, at that moment, curled into a sneer.
Glorfindel swallowed hard, unable to avert his eyes from the sight of the beautiful aloof Elf before him. Eyes black as night stared back at him defiantly, fanning the flames of his rapidly rising desire. Not used to being denied his most fervent wishes, the Elda found himself at a loss at what to do next. Surely he couldn't just give up; going back to his rooms only to have his dreams haunted by visions of cool, dark perfection would be nothing short of torture. Something needed to be done. But what?
"Erestor I only wish..." Glorfindel's hitherto suave tone had lost some of its certainty.
"You wish what?"
"I only wish to kiss you."
Some of his obvious need must have crept into his words, for the look the dark advisor gave him was not mocking. Indeed, Glorfindel could have sworn he saw a glint of something unprecedented in those black eyes, something primal and untamed. But that look lasted but a moment, and the riposte thrown back in the balrog slayer's face was nothing short of malicious.
"You will never get your hands on me."
Glorfindel recoiled as if slapped, anger swiftly rising in his belly to match his desire. So the dark-eyed Elf thought himself too good for him, did he? No one had ever talked to Glorfindel of Gondolin that way and he wasn't about to allow it now. Stifling his outrage as best he could and determined not to let the cunning advisor get the better of him by goading him into losing his composure, the magnificent blond warrior met the other's contemptuous look with his own determined expression. His full lips curved into a slow smile as he threw back his challenge: "Care to make a wager?"
Astonishment briefly registered on Erestor's scornful features as heat coloured his pale cheeks. Glorfindel could see both ire and curiosity battling for domination on that usually so impenetrable face. Curiosity won. "Just what did you have in mind?" Erestor's voice was uncharacteristically tainted with all the emotion he usually so masterfully restrained.
Sensing himself halfway to victory and revelling in the excitement of the hunt, Glorfindel replied: "I would fight you."
"Fight me?"
"The exercise yard is deserted at this hour; we could cross swords and thus resolve this matter honourably. I know you are an accomplished swordsman, Erestor, and you know that my skill is not inconsiderable. I think it a fair proposition."
"And the winner..." Erestor seemed to be considering the matter seriously.
"To the victor go the spoils."
"Meaning..."
"I would have what I have already asked for. A kiss. Nothing more. As for you... you may ask of me whatever you desire. Or you may send me away in disgrace; whatever is your wish."
Glorfindel watched as Erestor's lips tightened into a thin line, his dark eyes blazing with the intensity of all the stars in the night sky. The dark-haired advisor's determined mouth curled up into a sneer and from his lips fell only one word: "Agreed."
Notes: meldir – friend (male)
pen-neth – young one
Melpomaen raced through the woods, his swift feet barely touching the ground. His mind was a muddle of confused thoughts and his heart thundered in his chest, less from the fast pace of his run than from the awareness that he had actually kissed Elrond. His lips still burned from the heat of that kiss and his entire body felt as if it were on fire, but Melpomaen raced on, determined to get as far away from those grey eyes and that tempting mouth. Valar, whatever had possessed him? Had he lost his mind? He had taken advantage of Elrond's kindness and given into his basest urges, no doubt shocking the Half-elven Lord beyond imagining. He hoped a sudden bolt of lightning would strike and put him out of his misery, for surely the consequences of his impetuousness would be harsh.
A stray branch whipped across Melpomaen's face, momentarily blinding him, and he stumbled as he ran, losing his balance and tripping over a tree root. His hands flew to his face and he braced himself for a painful fall when suddenly he felt strong arms grab him from behind, preventing him from tumbling forward. The momentum of Melpomaen's stumble was too much to counter, however, and both Elves landed on the forest floor, their fall broken somewhat by the soft moss growing there. To his terror, Melpomaen found himself trapped under Elrond's well-formed body.
Terror soon turned to amazement, however, as Melpomaen felt Elrond's hands tenderly exploring his face. The Lord of Imladris did not seem angry at all. Quite the contrary - the expression on his face could almost be taken for...
"Melpomaen..." The young Elf had never heard his name said with quite so much reverence. He stared, hypnotized, as Elrond's thumb gently traced the curve of his cheek. "Melpomaen, why did you do that... what you just did back there?"
Melpomaen could not lie, not here, not now. Certainly not with Elrond's body so close, his grey eyes peering into his own with such intensity. "You said I should tell him," he said simply. "I could not find the words."
He closed his eyes, bracing himself for Elrond's reaction, but nothing could have prepared him for the older Elf's response.
"Melpomaen... melamin..." Elrond's voice was thick with emotion. Melpomaen felt a tear land hotly on his face and then Elrond's mouth was upon his, the older Elf kissing him with the fervour of one starved.
Melpomaen's shock was such that he merely lay there, forgetting to breathe, his arms at his sides and his eyes wide open, feeling the heat of Elrond's mouth, the passion of the kiss. Suddenly the kiss stopped. Elrond looked up with alarm, uncertainty in his eyes.
"Melpomaen, I'm sorry! I thought you wanted..." The older Elf looked crestfallen.
"Nay! I mean... aye! That is... I do! I do want you! I've wanted you for so long..." Melpomaen stuttered, struggling to explain, to make Elrond understand that his advances were anything but unwelcome. It seemed he had found the right words after all, for the Half-elven fell upon his mouth again with a gasp, kissing him with a passion apparently long suppressed.
Melpomaen had enough presence of mind to marvel at his great fortune; that the one thing he had so long desired - and thought he could never have – should all of a sudden be granted to him like an amazing gift. He soon forgot to think, however, for Elrond's mouth and hands were doing incredible things.
Melpomaen's experience being limited, he would no doubt have melted under Elrond's touch even if he did not love him. That he had long ago given his heart to the Half-elven Lord made the experience all the more intense.
The touch of Elrond's mouth to his own made Melpomaen's skin tingle, and made the hair on the back of his neck stand up in the most delicious shiver. Elrond was kissing him deeply, pouring all of his emotion into the kiss, and it made Melpomaen dizzy with desire. Elrond's hands caressed his face, brushed his hair away from his brow. Then Elrond's gentle fingers moved to Melpomaen's ear, as they lightly traced its outline, lingering on the sensitive tip.
"Ah..." A soft gasp left Melpomaen's lips and he felt Elrond smile into the kiss. Insistent fingers continued their exploration of his ear, and Melpomaen feared he would spend right then, but then Elrond's hands moved lower, his palms flat on the younger Elf's chest, his mouth nuzzling at his neck.
"I want to feel you..." Elrond breathed, and Melpomaen felt the clasps of his tunic coming undone. He spread his legs and brought his knees up on either side of Elrond's hips, feeling his hardness grind against Elrond's arousal.
The Half-elven now had Melpomaen's tunic halfway off and was stroking his skin lightly with his warm hands. His thumbs lingered on the younger one's nipples and Melpomaen arched up in sudden want.
"You like that?" Elrond's voice, though tinged with laughter, was husky.
"Yes..."
"How about this?" Elrond's mouth followed in the wake of his hands, closing around one of Melpomaen's nipples. The older Elf's tongue flicked lightly against the small hardening nub.
"Ooh..." Melpomaen's entire world had narrowed to that one sweet spot, his awareness limited only to Elrond's insistent mouth. He shivered. He felt one of Elrond's hands stroke his flank, the other questing lower to the ties of his leggings.
Suddenly, all he wanted was to open himself up to Elrond entirely, giving him all that was in his power to give. The love in his heart welled up so strong as to eclipse even the lust in his loins. All at once, he felt himself to be some sort of offering, and longed only to place that gift in Elrond's gentle hands and see him be glad. What he wanted more than anything at that moment was to make Elrond happy.
"My Lord..." Melpomaen whispered as Elrond's hands began impatiently to grapple with the ties just below his navel. The Lord of Imladris looked up suddenly, his dark hair falling softly around Melpomaen's shoulders. "Elrond," he said gently. "Please, call me Elrond."
"Elrond..." Melpomaen continued, his heart brimming with tenderness. "Anything you want... it is yours... I'll do anything..." He closed his eyes and felt Elrond shift higher and place soft kisses on his eyelids.
"Shh, little one." Elrond's voice had lost some of its huskiness and now sounded almost soothing. "What I want most of all this night is to please you."
Melpomaen's heart nearly burst at these words, and he reached up and kissed Elrond insistently, his long fingers tangling in the Lord's dark hair. Elrond's hands continued their work, and soon Melpomaen's hardness was released from the confines of the constricting cloth and rested securely in the older Elf's palm.
Melpomaen was quite familiar with the feel of his own hand, but this sensation was different. Elrond's hands, gentle and strong, began to stroke him lightly. He gasped and bucked up into the Half-elven's grip. Elrond gripped tighter, stroked harder. Melpomaen could hear the sound of his own uneven, raspy breathing above the soft silence of the forest night.
Then Elrond shifted, moved lower, the soft strands of his hair trailing over Melpomaen's chest and stomach. The younger Elf had no time to wonder at this sudden change for, all at once, he sensed Elrond's warm breath on his most private of parts and felt wet heat enclose him. He heard himself scream and dug his nails into the soft moss beneath him, thrusting his hips up into Elrond's willing mouth, the source of his pleasure.
Melpomaen had often fantasized about doing this to Elrond, conjuring up images of the Elven Lord spread out beneath him, wondering at his scent and taste. His fantasies had never, for some reason, involved the beautiful Lord of Imladris doing this to him. Now that it was happening, Melpomaen realized with awe that no fantasy, no matter how intense, could ever have come even close to what Elrond was doing to him now. Every fibre of his being felt as if it were on fire as Elrond's mouth sucked insistently and his tongue circled lightly. The heat in his belly grew and he was no longer sure whether it was soft moss his hands were clutching or Elrond's dark silky mane. All rational thought fled, leaving him only with desperate need.
Slowly, the forest all about him seemed to open up, dark night descending on his senses. Melpomaen tensed, thrust up one last time and came hard with Elrond's name on his lips. As he lay there trembling, he felt Elrond shift up and enclose him in a protective embrace, gently kissing his hair. "All right?" the older Elf asked tenderly. Melpomaen could only nod. His wildest fantasies had just come true. He didn't think "all right" did justice to the storm of emotions flooding through him.
He closed his eyes and relaxed in Elrond's arms. The Elven Lord rose up on his elbow and leaned in close to Melpomaen's face. He brushed his sweat-slicked cheek lightly with his lips.
"Melpomaen?" He asked softly. "Would you..."
"Yes!"
"But I haven't even asked you yet..." Elrond laughed softly.
Melpomaen flushed slightly and gazed up into Elrond's grey eyes.
"You know I won't say no to you," he said, his voice suddenly serious. "You may ask me anything."
Elrond kissed him gently. "Would you share my bed tonight?" he whispered. "I wish to hold you and feel you beside me when I wake. My bed has been cold for far too long."
The clang of metal on metal resounded through the empty exercise yard as two tall Elves faced each other, bodies poised in combat. Bare torsos glistened with exertion, Ithil's pale light accentuating the sinuous play of taut muscles under silken skin. Two bodies, one pale as moonlight, the other golden, wove around each other in a centuries-old dance of sweat and steel, nimble feet finding the ancient pattern of give and take, advance and retreat.
Sword securely wielded in his experienced hand, Glorfindel parried his opponent's aggressive thrust and countered with his own attack, forcing the other Elf to leap to the side in an effort to evade the sharp steel blade. Dark eyes were locked with his sky-blue ones, conveying the determination and resolve so apparent in his sparring partner's bold, wrath-fuelled technique. Erestor was no unskilled Elfling but rather a seasoned, battle-hardened warrior, and Glorfindel found that his own oft-praised fighting abilities met a more than worthy adversary in the dark-haired advisor.
They had been engaged in this tenacious struggle for close to a half-hour, Elbereth's shimmering handiwork in the night sky the only witness to their exertions. Twice had Glorfindel nearly knocked the sharp weapon out of Erestor's grip, and both times his dark-eyed rival had managed to deflect the threat. The golden-haired Elda was beginning to rue his own ardent wishes of less than an hour ago, for it was becoming painfully clear to him that whatever sweet carnal delights he was to sample under cover of this enchanted night would come at the price of much toil and sore limbs. Erestor was indeed proving to be a challenge.
The seneschal's heart beat rapidly in his chest as he once again advanced on his ever-elusive love interest. He fought to maintain his concentration, well aware that the pounding beneath his ribs had its cause not in the arduous nature of their swordplay but rather in the black-haired, grim-faced vision of beauty before him.
For Erestor was magnificent. Glorfindel was quickly coming to the conclusion that he had never fully appreciated just how exquisite Elrond's chief advisor really was. He wasn't pretty, not in the way some Elves were, with delicate features and a graceful, almost feminine charm; no, Erestor's beauty lay in his carefully maintained distance, his barbed scorn and ever-present reticence. He didn't try to please, on the contrary, he was most happy when he offended, for it allowed him to remain apart and maintain his precious autonomy. His sharp, exotic countenance, with its high cheekbones and unforgiving eyes, only added to that impression of aloofness. And his body... well, Glorfindel had to admit that the physique usually concealed beneath Erestor's severe black tunics and robes was not that of an Elf who had spent the better part of this age behind a desk. Strong and sinewy, it was just as well toned and battle-ready as the sharp advisor's mind.
Erestor countered Glorfindel's next attack with ease, and then swiftly mounted his own. His strong, agile legs carried him forward with so much force and momentum that, when his boot caught on an inopportunely placed flat stone, causing him to lose his balance, it was too awkward for him to jump back and regain his footing. Elrond's chief advisor swayed slightly, flung out his other arm to regain his equilibrium and ceased advancing on his golden-haired rival. It was at this precise moment that Glorfindel's sword caught his opponent's weapon off guard, sending it flying to the other end of the exercise yard. By the time Erestor had recovered from his unfortunate stumble, the tip of Glorfindel's sharp blade was pressed against his neck.
"Looks like I won our bet." The blue-eyed seneschal smiled maliciously, his breath still ragged from the long and exhausting duel.
Erestor only stared at him with fire in his eyes – whether of hatred or passion, Glorfindel wasn't sure. It was hatred probably, as the prickly advisor had only ever tolerated his presence at best, but it was nice to pretend that the flames in that intense gaze had been kindled by the heat of desire... "No matter," thought Glorfindel, "a kiss is what I have won and so a kiss is what I shall have."
"I suppose you're going to collect on our wager." Erestor's voice was strained, not only from fatigue but also from an apparent effort to keep his volatile emotions under control. The look he sent in Glorfindel's direction would have caused a lesser Elf to cower in fear. It only made the golden-haired Elda want his dark-eyed prize even more.
"Without delay." Glorfindel smiled, let his weapon drop to the ground, and methodically advanced on his captive.
His strong hands met the sweat-slicked planes of Erestor's stomach, one sliding up to explore the tense muscles of his chest, the other venturing around and down, to cup the tempting round globes of his backside. He pulled the reluctant chief advisor toward him, grinding his needy hips against the other's groin. Then he slowly brought his face close to the other's and captured those elusive lips with his own eager mouth.
The kiss was deep, slow and thorough. Well aware that this might be the only opportunity he would ever have to take these kinds of liberties with the raven-haired Elf he desired so much, Glorfindel made the most of it. He kissed Erestor with all the skill he had acquired over both his lifetimes, his overpowering need making the contact between them almost electric. He plundered the other Elf's mouth like a thirsty man finally given water, his hands memorizing every curve of the proud advisor's well-formed body.
He was just about to pull away, his conscience reminding him that all he could rightfully claim was one kiss – though his body longed for more contact – when, to his surprise and everlasting joy, he felt Erestor shiver in his arms and groan with pleasure. Strong arms encircled Glorfindel's tall frame with ardour, pulling him closer, as his kiss was returned with the heat of a passion the golden-haired seneschal could only have dreamed of. Stunned, Glorfindel could only enjoy the feel of his own skin against that of his suddenly eager partner who, it seemed, had chosen this moment to make up for centuries of suppressed lust and desire. Erestor's unexpected zeal took the blond warrior's breath away, as he was thoroughly kissed and felt greedy hands explore his shoulders and flank. Glorfindel closed his eyes and gave himself up entirely to this fierce, if startling, onslaught on his senses, when, quite abruptly, Erestor tensed in his arms and then pulled away, his face filled with shame.
"Damn you!" the flushed advisor swore, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand as he backed away in haste. "I can't believe you made me... I never lose control!"
His mind still clouded with passion, Glorfindel watched, helpless and confused, as Erestor turned and ran out of the exercise yard as fast as his swift feet could carry him.
Notes: melamin – my love
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