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I feel a stranger to
my own body as I sit here in the shadows away from the fire, sipping
my wine. I allow the talk and laughter, the snatches of song, to
pass around me unheeded. I feel naked within my clothes. My skin is
too sensitive, self-aware. I move and cloth brushes a nipple and the
flesh whispers of another, harsher touch. I adjust my position on
the cushioned bench and an unexpected, throbbing ache takes me back
to just a few hours ago, crouching on hands and knees, filled,
stretched, ridden to a rhythm of grunts and gasps and curses. The
high collar of my tunic hides the brand of his mouth upon my skin,
the fabric’s touch a reminder of moist heat.
I sip the wine, remembering the taste of his tongue in my mouth;
delving deep, invading and conquering. The back of my scalp tingles
still from the pressure of his hand wound within my hair, holding my
head still, underlining my willing submission.
It was so quick, so unlooked for. A chance meeting in one of the
storerooms, he in search of unscented candles for his room, I
seeking … it matters not what. Talking, casual flirtation, the way
it has been between us since he came to live here in Imladris a few
short years ago, restored to life after an unimaginable ending. We
were both latecomers to the Valley of Rainbows and, although our
paths crossed less often than might be expected of people living
under the same roof, we always got along well enough – but no more,
We moved through the storeroom, talking, laughing a little. I found
the candles for him, waited while he made his selection. We shared a
joke and somewhere amongst the words, the humour, something in the
air around us slowly seemed to change. Other Elves were present when
I arrived, but finally they left, their footsteps fading off down
the corridor. We were alone. I stood with my head tilted to look up
at him. Tall, golden Elf… they seemed to breed them for height in
previous Ages. My king had been tall, too. Something moved in the
warm blue eyes, a spark behind the laughter. His gaze considered me
thoughtfully, taking in my face, fastening on my mouth.
Breathless. He made me breathless and hard without so much as a
touch. Just looked at me, his thoughts slowly writing themselves
clear on his face, the face of a bronze-cast warrior, all planes and
shadows, generous mouth. He put the candles back down on the table,
his movement slow and deliberate, then turned back to me, the motion
sucking air from the room. No sound save for our breathing and the
whisper of cloth. We stood still, staring at one another, searching
for… laughter? Denial? Then his hand was in my hair, his mouth
bruising my own, forcing my lips apart, his questing tongue wet,
A kiss lasting a lifetime, a confusion of tongue, teeth and
low-growling urgency. Hands rubbing, circling, seeking flesh hidden
beneath clothing. He cupped my backside, kneading a cheek, fingers
biting into startled flesh, while I placed open mouthed, sucking
kisses down the side of his face, his neck. He pushed against me,
grinding and thrusting his hardness against my own aching need. A
cloth’s distance between us, no more, heat rising to engulf us.
‘Large,’ I thought incoherently, ‘oh gods, he’s so big, I can’t…’
We found a side room - no talking, no questions, only kisses and
stifled moans - and we closed its door upon the world. Rain without,
summer’s heat within. Rolls of matting occupied a corner. He kicked
one open with an impatient foot, his hands all over me.
“Need you…” he whispered.
I knelt, drawing aside clothing, offering compliant nakedness to
him. He dropped behind me, his fingers running over my buttocks as
though tasting me with his fingertips. I felt his breath warm and
swift upon my skin, then he spread me, penetrated me slowly, firmly,
no lubricant save his own slick wetness. I heard myself making
sounds like an animal in pain; grunting, husking, half demurrals,
almost-fear, but all the while pushing back against him, taking him
in deeper, deeper still.
“…you… perfect – made for me to fuck,” he whispered. “Tight, hot…
skin like cream… The way you move, the way you sound.... You like to
fuck? You want me to fuck you?”
He thrust hard on the final words, and I yelped, and then there was
movement and heaving as he rode me. One large hand bruised my hip in
an iron grip, the other dipped below to wrap itself around my
straining cock, the place where I now lived, where all my senses
were focused. He clasped me, stroking hard, fast, in time to the
rhythm of the steel ploughing deep inside me – so deep – no one had
ever… no one… He struck white sparks off the secret place within and
my mind stopped working. All that remained in the world was sobbing
breath, searing lust and my voice hissing, “Yes, do it, yes yes, do
it, do it…”
“Good evening, Lord
Glorfindel. We missed you at dinner this evening.”
The words cut across my memories and I return to a present that
holds far less colour and sound and reality than the recent past. I
glance up, unable to stop myself. As though knowing where to look,
my eyes are drawn unerringly to a place near the fire where a tall,
blonde Elf stands beside Celebrķan’s chair. He is dressed in shades
of green, his hair fastened back from his face to hang in golden
waves down his back, and he holds a wine goblet in one large hand.
“I had a few matters to attend to that should have been settled this
afternoon,” he explains casually, sipping his wine. Smiling as
though to himself, he adds, “I should have been finished in time for
dinner, but I unexpectedly found other things that needed attention
Heat rises up around me and I feel colour flush my face. I look
down, praying no one is paying attention to me in my quiet corner.
‘…things that needed attention’…. Indeed.
When I finally raise my head, it is to find him standing in front of
me. I meet smiling blue eyes and discern something beyond the amused
warmth – uncertainty? Could he be as unsure as I? There was no time
earlier to speak of what had passed between us. We had collapsed
into a wet, sticky, gasping heap only to be forced apart, scrabbling
for clothing, pulling hair straight, thrust back into reality by the
sound of voices in the main room. Now he says quietly in that light,
faintly accented voice that has half the maidens of Imladris
swooning, “I hoped to find you here. May I join you? You’re not… you
don’t regret…? I have no idea how – but I know why.”
I stare at him through this rush of disconnected phrases and find
myself smiling, my heart warming to him much as my body did before.
“Sit down and join me then,” I say, making space for him on the
bench I occupy alone. “No regrets. Things happen as they should when
the moment comes. Winter moves to spring in its own time.” This is
true. I have lived through a long winter of mourning and healing.
Now spring beckons, and I am glad to put aside winter’s quiet and
explore this new season.
He sits down beside me, touches his cup to mine. “To spring then,
Erestor,” he says gently, his smile comfortable and reassuring.
Amazingly, he seems to understand. “An end to the past and a
beginning to the future. For us both.”
Beta: Red Lasbelin