Chapter Four

The meal was delightful. There was a starter of sweet melon and ham, followed by a fish platter consisting of a variety of seafood on a bed of wild rice, a small salad, and a delicately flavored pink sauce. This was followed by a crisp and rather filling apple dessert topped with custard, a favorite of the King’s.

To accompany all this there were several bottles of a light though potent sparkling wine brought from the far south at considerable expense.

The conversation was casual and confined to generalities: the King’s meeting with a trade delegation from the southeast, Glorfindel’s opinion concerning Elros’ new puppy, the likelihood of Dalbros’ wife being pregnant – again.

Glorfindel, to his continued amazement, had never experienced any difficulty in talking to Gil-galad. Tonight, however, the King seemed distracted, and after a while Glorfindel turned his attention instead to enjoying the meal.

After they had eaten and carefully stacked the dirty dishes on the small serving table, Gil-galad proceeded to wander around the room, wine cup in hand, snuffing out candles as he went, eventually leaving the room lit by one small lamp and the firelight. Settling himself down on the rug, he said over his shoulder,

"Bring that last bottle over here with you. Now that it's open, we might as well finish it."

Glorfindel picked it up with a smile. "Can't understand how you could open it by accident," he said in amusement. "You leave us no choice now; we’ll just have to drink it. I hadn’t planned on another half bottle tonight."

Gil-galad pulled a slight face and shrugged.

"Can't imagine how I happened to do that, uncorking it when we hadn’t even finished the other one," he said evenly. “Still, it would be a pity to waste it. It’s very good. You get a lovely warm feeling from all those little bubbles, have you noticed?"

Glorfindel, who was usually a two- to three-cup Elf, and was currently at the top of that self-imposed limit, had noticed. Very warm. In fact, his skin seemed to be starting to tingle.

He brought the bottle over, handed it to Gil-galad and settled down opposite him on the rug before the fire, leaning his head back against one of the chairs, and relaxed.

~*~*~*~*~

An hour after dinner found Gil-galad and Glorfindel stretched out on the floor, the chessboard between them, engaging in a not very serious and rather haphazard game of something approaching chess, played to a raucously expanding set of rules.

Gil-galad, lying propped up on an elbow, had just taken another of Glorfindel's pieces by an act of blatant dishonesty. He was busy palming it while attempting to justify his actions, his blue eyes sparkling and alive with mischief.

Glorfindel, laughing, and made more than a little uninhibited by the wine, reached out and grabbed at the King’s wrist in an attempt to wrest the little crystal figurine from his grasp.

"You had no justification for doing that, Sire..." he began, tugging ineffectually at the large, strong hand into which the rook had vanished.

“’Gil’!” insisted his opponent laughingly, keeping a tight hold on the piece. “I have told you more times than I can remember, when we are alone I want you to call me Gil. It’s hardly a difficult name. Come on, let me hear you say it first and then we shall see.”

Glorfindel raised his eyes from the strong wrist he was gripping and gave Gil-galad a mock scowl. “Whatever name I call you makes no difference, GIL, you still had absolutely no right to do that,” he said, before bursting into laughter.

Gil-galad looked up at him. Glorfindel’s golden hair gleamed in the firelight. His beautiful face, alight with laughter, was slightly flushed, both from wine and from the fire's warmth, and his soft lips were moist, irresistible.

Dropping the gaming piece and moving upright with surprising grace, he drew Glorfindel into his arms. All laughter gone, his face utterly serious, Gil-galad kissed him, very softly and very carefully on the lips.

For the space of some seven heartbeats they were both motionless, then they drew back to look at one another. Glorfindel's eyes were wide, wondering. He moved his hand up, touching his fingers almost unconsciously to his lips, never taking his eyes off the King.

Gil-galad took Glorfindel’s face gently between his hands, tilting it up to his while lightly stroking his thumbs back and forth across the high cheekbones and watching him intently.

He leaned in slowly, keeping eye contact until finally their lips met. His tongue snaked out and licked slowly, almost thoughtfully, across Glorfindel's mouth, tracing first his top lip then, lingeringly, the bottom one. Drawing back slightly he murmured,

"Part your lips, let me taste your mouth. Please!"

~*~*~*~*~

Early evening had found Elrond out for a walk in the palace gardens, Elros’ puppy, Laslech, leashed and firmly in tow. The dog had been a gift from a delegation of Men who had come to Lindon in the hope of speaking with the future King of Númenor. Elros had accepted her with thanks. It would have been impolite to say he much preferred cats.

Elrond had taken it upon himself to make sure the animal was properly fed and exercised, making it clear that he did so in the interests of a clean and controlled living environment. He missed no opportunity to remind Elros, and anyone else who would listen, of the sacrifice he was making, both in time and patience.

In fact, Elrond adored the puppy, but he kept up the façade as he could hardly admit to this. His entire image revolved around his complete lack of sentiment or softness, and the term ‘dog lover’ hardly sat well with that. She was, however, his confidante, someone he could hold onto in his many moments of insecurity.

They were passing the fountain with the ugly dolphin motif when he spotted a vaguely familiar figure. He paused to look, attracted by the Elf’s appearance, and then after a moment’s thought recalled a name for the face – and an interesting snippet of information.

Laslech had found an intriguing place to sniff around and nose at and seemed oblivious to the fact that her companion wanted to move on.

“Come along, Laslech,” he said, giving the leash a quick tug. “Let’s go and have some fun.”

His target was standing looking down into the fish pond, and he glanced round, the gleaming fall of black hair swinging smoothly with the movement, to see who approached. He offered Elrond an enquiring smile.

The Elf was a little under medium height and had the grace and balance of a dancer. His hair fell straight and gleaming like black satin to mid buttock, his exotically slanted eyes were deep amber, and he had skin the colour and texture of thick cream.

“Erestor, isn’t it?” Elrond inquired on reaching him. “I thought I recognized you. I remember you as an occasional visitor to our camp back when my brother and I were with Maedhros.”

Any reminder of a connection to the Sons of Fëanor was usually regarded as hugely embarrassing. Elrond both enjoyed and despised the sidestepping or even outright denials this sort of statement would normally induce, so he was quite impressed when the black-haired Elf nodded at once without so much as blinking.

“Yes,” Erestor answered. “We met on a few occasions when you and your brother were much younger.” He had a low, even voice, cool as water, mellow as honey.

Laslech spotted the fish and began barking frantically, straining at the leash in her efforts to get to the water. Elrond picked her up, shushed her firmly, and tucked her under an arm, refusing to be made uncomfortable by her behavior.

“My cousin has appointed you assistant military advisor, I believe,” he said, displaying the sort of poise that denied the existence of an over-excited young dog under his arm.

Erestor nodded. “Yes, I was very fortunate. I was hoping for some kind of a clerical opening, and this was far more than I had expected.”

“Clerical?” Elrond asked. “I thought I recalled intelligence as your specialty?”

Erestor quirked a brow at the less than complimentary tone. “Well, that perhaps overstates it, but I do have some experience in gathering information,” he conceded, “However, His Majesty felt my talents could be used in a more conventional manner. We shall see if it works out or not.”

Elrond frowned to himself, estimating the time. “Being exceptionally late for dinner won’t endear you to him,” he suggested. Erestor looked at him enquiringly, and then his face cleared.

“Oh, the dinner invitation for this evening. No, it was cancelled, otherwise you’re quite right, I would be rather late. “

“Cancelled?” Elrond asked, glancing back over his shoulder to see what had attracted Laslech’s attention this time, and spotting the unmistakable figure of Lord Círdan.

“His Majesty had to attend an urgent meeting. He had no idea when it would finish, so he thought it better to reschedule.”

Elrond found he rather liked the black-haired Elf, enjoying the fact that he had not attempted to hide the more inconvenient details of his past. An incorrigible gossip, he opened his mouth to share the assumed focus of the ‘meeting’, and then a picture flashed into his mind.

He saw Glorfindel and a bed full of clothing, saw the blonde trying to decide what to wear out of this limited selection, blushing painfully as he admitted to being penniless and dependant.

Elrond’s definition of ‘family’ tended to be vague, but he was prepared to protect anyone who fell under that heading with his life. Currently this select group consisted of Elros and to a lesser extent, Laslech and Gil-galad. Somehow, in the space of an afternoon, it now also encompassed the shy, quietly-spoken blonde, whom he owed for the Balrog. He did what up until then he had only ever done for Elros. He lied.

“Yes,” he said easily. “I suppose he would have had to reschedule. He was complaining to me earlier about his life not being his own.”

He put Laslech down again. “You’ll have to excuse me,” he added with one of his more charming smiles. “I need to leave before Lord Círdan spots me. Long story.”

Erestor inclined his head slightly, then bent down and patted the pup. “Of course,” he said, shooting Elrond a considering look from amber eyes. “I hope we meet again soon.”

Elrond’s brows shot up and he laughed. “This place is like a small village. You’ll be lucky to have a day go by without running into me once you’re settled.”

Saying this, he turned and headed off quickly in the direction from which he had come, Laslech trotting to keep up. Because he really did prefer not to run into Círdan if he could help it – the ancient Elf always had some question about his behavior, some comment about his appearance - he went in through the nearest door and took a roundabout route back to the private wing. On the way to his own chambers, he passed the hallway that led to Gil-galad’s rooms and flashed it a curious though amused look.

“Wonder how that’s working, girl?” he asked the dog. “We’ll have to see if we can get Glorfindel to kiss and tell, won’t we?” 

~*~*~*~*~

Glorfindel could hear the blood humming in his ears. There was a heightened tension spreading throughout his body, mostly concentrated in his groin. There the sensation of throbbing heat was slowly making itself the focal point of his world.

And Gil - no longer Gil-galad the King, just Gil - was kissing him as he had never even dreamed of being kissed, slowly exploring his mouth, tasting, savoring. The strong arms that held him had drawn him back down onto the rug, the chess set having been firmly pushed to one side.

Gil was leaning over him, stroking his hair and face as he kissed him, while trailing light, caressing fingers down his neck, moving them in tiny circles. The gentle touch moved steadily lower, finally coming to rest on the top clasp of his tunic. Panting slightly, Gil eventually released Glorfindel’s mouth and drew back so that they could make eye contact.

"I need to undress you,” he said simply. “I need to touch you. Please..." His gaze was intense, the blue eyes dark and cloudy.

Glorfindel lay staring up at him, remembering all those times with Ecthelion, when this same request had been made. Somehow that all seemed very far away, while Gil was close and warm. This time he really didn’t want to stop.

In a shaky voice, searching Gil’s eyes, he asked,

"Why me? You could have almost anyone you wanted, someone beautiful, special...why would you want me?"

Gil quirked an eyebrow while running a less than steady finger along the line of Glorfindel’s jaw. Smiling, he shook his head and said in amusement,

"You simply have no idea, do you? I have no interest in anyone else. Come, just your tunic, sweetheart. I won’t ask you to do anything that makes you uncomfortable, I promise, just please, please let me touch you..."

As he spoke, he was stroking Glorfindel’s chest and shoulders, enforcing gentleness on hands that wanted to squeeze and grasp. Glorfindel swallowed hard and closed his eyes, nodding.

Gil decided not to give him too much time to think about it. The tunic was removed swiftly and efficiently, followed by the undershirt, Gil’s fingers proving to be remarkably agile despite their size. Before he knew it, Glorfindel lay on the rug with air and firelight tracing patterns on his naked skin and sun-bright hair. Gil removed his own tunic, balling it up and tossing it across the room before taking a moment to loosen his hair. He placed the mithril hair clasps beside the chessboard and shook out his long black hair.

Glorfindel noticed the unexpected red lights in the thigh-length mane and focused on this, trying to shut out the suddenly silent room. Predictably, all the usual feelings of uncertainty and inadequacy were rushing in to claim him, to take this night away from him as they had all the others.

Gil, however, proved himself to be even quicker than fear and self-doubt. Kneeling, he proceeded to run firm but gentle hands over Glorfindel, his face serious, concentrated. Gil’s fingers explored the curves and hollows of the body lying still but uncertain under his touch, tracing ribs, circling down lightly over the firm stomach, following the line of the waist using a soft feathery touch that raised gooseflesh.

Leaning closer, he ran his hands smoothly back up, and began to circle Glorfindel’s highly sensitive nipples with his fingertips before rubbing his thumbs over them, gently but firmly, grazing very lightly with his short nails. Almost as a reflex Glorfindel gasped, his eyes closing abruptly, and Gil bent his head to take one hardening temptation between his lips. He felt the moment of tension in the body beneath his and then he drew the nub and surrounding flesh into his mouth, caressing it with his tongue.

Glorfindel cried out sharply and reached for Gil, his arms going round him. One hand found the back of his head, fingers sinking into the thick, dark hair, pressing him closer as the blonde Elf writhed and moaned softly. Gil licked and suckled each nipple in turn, whispering broken words of praise and desire, then moved slowly down Glorfindel’s body, the sure touch of his hands and mouth making the blonde Elf murmur incoherently and wrap his hands tighter in Gil’s hair.

He pushed the band of Glorfindel’s leggings down carefully, exploring his navel thoroughly with his tongue, causing his inexperienced partner to shiver and whimper softly. A series of lingering kisses, with a pause to lavish more attention on the intensely responsive nipples, was followed by Gil nipping a trail of fire up Glorfindel’s neck and reclaiming his mouth.

This kiss, unlike the others, was almost rough, his need and insistence showing. It left Glorfindel almost inarticulate with desire as he attempted to deal with the rush of new sensations that were overwhelming his body. When the kiss ended, Gil drew back from him and moved to sit up. Glorfindel groaned aloud and tried to hold on to him, but Gil disengaged himself easily. He took Glorfindel’s hands in his own and said softly,

“I need you to look at me, sweetheart. Are you sure you want this to go further? You need to be certain.”

The world started crowding back in on Glorfindel, and in a dazed sort of fashion he began to remember why he should be saying no. Struggling to give some order to his thoughts, he tried to explain – no easy task while lying half-naked on the rug next to the fire with Gil’s hands holding his, stroking his fingers firmly.

"I know I’m going to sound stupid, but I have never - well - never done this before. I know I don’t have the experience to satisfy you. I have no idea what you need from me - I am just afraid I will disappoint you,” he said, finishing in a rush of words and turning his head away, his face burning.

"Never before, sweetheart? Truly?" Gil asked in a quiet, serious voice. At Glorfindel’s uncertain nod, he smiled and raised one of the hands he was caressing to his lips.

"None of us are born experienced," he said gently. “I can think of nothing more wonderful than to be your first lover. Will you have me?”

Glorfindel lay looking up at him searchingly, and Gil waited quietly, perfectly still save for the movement of his fingers. Finally, slowly, the blonde Elf nodded. Gil leaned down, smiling, to take him into his arms, and for long minutes simply held him close, rubbing his cheek against the fair hair.

After a while he began to stroke a hand slowly up and down Glorfindel’s back, eventually reaching lower, to unfasten the blonde’s leggings. He removed them and the loincloth, carefully. Only then did he take off the last of his own clothes.

Turning back from throwing his garments off into the dimness, he heard Glorfindel, a trace of color even now staining his cheeks, whisper softly, “You’re - beautiful!” He was looking up, eyes wide, at the strong, well-proportioned body kneeling above him.

“Do you think I am?” Gil asked him, smiling. At Glorfindel’s nod he leaned over and, lips close to his ear, said, “Would you like to explore what you see? It would give me so much pleasure if you wanted to touch me.”

He lay down, rolled onto his back, and folded his arms behind his head. Giving Glorfindel an encouraging grin, he assumed an air of waiting.

Glorfindel started slowly, uncertainly, caressing the firmly muscled stomach and chest, finally daring to lick the small, dark nipples, causing Gil to groan with need. He progressed to sucking the hardened points and stroking them with his tongue, shy uncertainty melting away in the face of Gil’s obvious pleasure.

Presently he kissed his way lingeringly down to Gil’s waist, from where he was encouraged to venture lower. He found himself tentatively touching Gil’s erect penis, an action full of new uncertainties but, remembering every conversation on the subject that he had ever overheard, he applied his lips and the tip of his tongue to the swollen head and experimentally sucked.

Gil allowed himself a few selfish, mind-numbing minutes of pure pleasure, and then tugged at Glorfindel’s hair - hard - to make him stop.

“You have no idea what you are doing to me, do you?” Gil managed to get out on a half laugh. “You are driving me insane... come here and find out what it feels like!”

Gil pulled him up into a quick, close embrace, kissing him hard. Glorfindel barely had a chance to return the kiss before he found himself lying flat on his back again.

Gil ran hands and tongue down his body in a straight, unerring line and then, for Glorfindel, time all but stood still. The room retreated, leaving him aware of nothing but the rug under his naked back, the dark hair falling across his stomach and hips, and Gil’s mouth doing impossible things. For a few minutes there was nothing but the mouth, his cock, darkness, and sparks behind his closed eyelids. He almost forgot to breathe.

Gil released him despite his almost frantic protests and propped himself up on his elbows, shaking his hair out of his face. He looked at Glorfindel, lying on his back, his arms flung out, fingers gripping the rug, his hair a pool of gold. The fire lit his body, showing the taut, ruby nipples and the darkening kiss marks.

”Do we finish this?” Gil asked him softly. Glorfindel was gasping for breath, beyond words. All he could manage was a nod and an incoherent murmur.

"I'm going to assume that meant 'yes' then," Gil said with a breathless laugh
and sat up.

Glorfindel had a brief impression of movement, of Gil stretching out and scratching about amongst the wood beside the fire, then he was once more being held and kissed and then nothing mattered except the strong body moving urgently against his, and need that was slowly becoming his whole existence.

~*~*~*~*~