Culmination | By : nuwing Category: -Multi-Age > Slash - Male/Male Views: 1072 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0 |
Disclaimer: I do not own the Lord of the Rings (and associated) book series, nor any of the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story. |
*Title: Culmination (1/1)
*Author: Minuial Nuwing
*Contact: minuial_nuwing@yahoo.com
*Website: http://geocities.com/minuial_nuwing
*Rating: NC-17, to be safe (Hard R might cover it)
*Type: FPS
*Pairing: Elladan/Gildor
*Warning: Serious fluff
*Archive: First Light, AFF.net, LoM, OEAM; Others: I would be honored-Just let
me know, please!
*Feedback: Makes me smile, and write faster…
*Summary: Gildor returns to Imladris. A sequel to ‘Infatuation’, but it can
be read alone.
*Beta: Nope, not this time.
*Notes: Italics indicate mindspeak or thoughts, when not used for simple
emphasis. In plain-text, stars (**) indicate italics. One star (*blah*) for emphasis, two
stars (**blah**) for mindspeak or thoughts.
*Disclaimer: Only the quirks and perversions are mine. Everything else belongs
to the creator-god of Middle Earth, J.R.R. Tolkien. I am awed by his gifts and humbled by
his vision. I promise to clean them all up and return them with smiles on their faces
when I am done playing!
*A/N: This overgrown ficlet is entirely the fault of Elladan and Gildor.
Obviously, it has no relation to P3, and takes place outside that universe.
Also, this Elladan bears little resemblance to my usual ‘Dan, except that he has a
cheeky twin named Elrohir. Gildor is just Gildor.
******************
Gildor stepped into the Hall of Fire, lingering by the door until the last notes of
Lindir’s newest offering faded away. His golden braids shone in the flickering light,
drawing the eyes of many revelers as he paid his respects to the Lord and Lady. Making
his way through the gathered crowd, the wanderer returned greetings briefly, with a nod
or arm clasp, his thoughts focused on a glass of wine and a place near the hearth.
It had been nearly a half-century since his last stay in the Hidden Valley, and
Imladris had prospered in that time, becoming an even more gracious mistress. Her
population had swelled, her reputation as a center of lore and healing had spread...
Her Lord’s sons had come of age.
The last thought took Gildor by surprise, and he stopped where he stood, his deep blue
gaze instinctively scanning the room for beaded braids and identical faces. A
fortnight. They were near a fortnight past their majority. He had been far from the
valley on their begetting day, but the date had not passed unnoticed.
Though naught had been said of Elladan’s infatuation since their time near the pool
over a century before, on his few visits since the gypsy-elf had marked a certain
reticence in his young friend and the change saddened him. Elrond’s eldest had long been
the first to greet the wandering company, the most eager to hear stories of travels both
old and new, and the saddest to see the travelers depart. That he may have lost such
affection to the physical vagaries of adolescence tore unexpectedly at Gildor’s heart.
A flash of mithril against the strands of a raven-dark braid caught the wanderer’s
eye. Accepting a glass of wine from a serving-maid with a smile of thanks, Gildor moved
toward the group of fawning admirers that surrounded Elrohir, and thus assumedly Elladan.
To his surprise, the elder twin was conspicuously absent. Greeting the younger warmly,
he congratulated the elf-knight on his majority before asking curiously, “Where is your
brother, then? I thought you nigh inseparable.”
Elrohir bit his lip, musing a moment before answering. “He is likely on the balcony.
His patience with idle chatter is perilously short-lived these past days.” Grey eyes
met the wanderer’s gaze, a hint of reproach gleaming in the twilight depths. “We were
disappointed that you could not join our majority celebration.” A pause. “’Dan
was disappointed.”
“As was I, ernilen,” Gildor replied with a sigh, “and I hope you can forgive my
absence. I would not willingly wound either of you...”
“’Tis my brother who most needs the apology,” the elf-knight interrupted brusquely.
His face softening, he added, “I did not take it so to heart, híren.”
With a quick embrace for the younger twin, Gildor moved toward the balcony, pausing
uncertainly as he crossed the threshold. The night was cool and fair, the sky studded
with twinkling stars, and the lone elf who stood at the railing was bathed in the glow of
a newly risen moon.
“I am fine, Ada,” Elladan said without turning. “I only wish to escape the crowd for
a bit.”
“I am glad to hear of your fitness, pen neth, but gladder still that I am not your
adar. ‘Tis a role which requires the patience of the Valar, I wager.”
“Gildor!” The elder twin spun around at the sound of the gypsy-elf’s voice,
his silver-grey eyes widening in surprise, and for a moment the elfling of old twinkled
joyfully at his hero. Then it was as though a shutter fell over Elladan’s face and a
young Lord stood there once more, polite but cold. “Welcome to Imladris, híren. Your
return honors us.”
Choosing to respond to the underlying hurt rather than the crisply formal words,
Gildor stepped closer, setting down his goblet to lay a hand on the dark elf’s shoulder.
“I am sorry that I could not be here, ‘Adan,” he said quietly, ignoring the stiffness
that met his touch. “’Twas a day I had anticipated for near a century, and I rue
bitterly the task which kept me away.”
Elladan raised his head at the unexpected words, meeting his companion’s gaze warily.
“Truly?”
“Truly,” Gildor affirmed, a rakish grin lifting the corners of his mouth. “There was
always the chance, however slight, that Elrond might grant me the pleasure of your
company.”
The young elf’s cheeks colored fiercely, his eyes dropping to focus on the heavy stone
balustrade. “I wanted it to be you,” he replied, the words so faint that Gildor almost
missed them.
“Why do you look away?” the wanderer asked gently, lifting Elladan’s chin with a firm
hand. “I am still flattered. And there is still no shame in desire, pen neth. I would
have been honored to share that night. I would be honored to share this one, if it
pleases you.”
The elder twin’s eyes widened, his heart leaping in his chest. “Aye,” he managed, his
voice strained and breathless, even to his own ears.
An unexpected warmth washed over Gildor at the nervous reply, and he pushed back an
ebony strand that had escaped Elladan’s single braid. “Unless you have other plans, of
course,” he teased, trying to put the young elf at ease. “I would not have you break
another’s heart on my account.”
A hint of the usual spirit danced in Elladan’s eyes. “I believe tonight may be free,
híren,” he said with a grin, “though the wargs have been circling in the Hall, as
always.”
“I will keep them at bay,” Gildor promised, one golden eyebrow rising in amusement.
“I have much experience dissuading unwanted pursuers.” Caught in the pull of his
companion’s shining eyes, the gypsy-elf leaned closer, covering Elladan’s mouth with his
own in a soft kiss that slowly became deeper, more demanding, until the young elf was
trembling in his arms.
Pulling away reluctantly, Gildor drew an unsteady breath and reached for his forgotten
wine before urging Elladan toward the door, one hand laid possessively on the dark elf’s
back. “Come, ernilen,” he murmured. “There are better places for such play than this
windswept balcony.”
Elrohir glanced up as they entered the fire-lit Hall, taking in his brother’s flushed
cheeks and swollen lips. He met Elladan’s darkened gaze, and a broad grin spread across
the elf-knight’s face as his thoughts brushed his twin’s mind teasingly.
Thank the Valar for strong laces and long tunics, hmm, tôren?
It was not Elrohir, but the elder Peredhel lord who claimed Gildor’s attention.
Feeling the weight of Elrond’s stare, the wanderer turned to find himself pinned by a
stormy grey gaze that moved purposefully from the elder twin’s glowing face to Gildor’s
hand, which had slid from Elladan’s back to curl possessively around one hip.
The eyes of the two ancient elves met, the air between them crackling with tension.
Gildor paused but a heartbeat, then lifted his wineglass slightly in salute before he
turned, his arm tightening around his companion’s waist as he led Elladan through the
wide doors and out of the Hall of Fire.
**********************
Gildor shifted slightly, settling the dark head more comfortably on his chest, his
fingers idly combing the tousled fall of ebony that spilled across the rumpled sheets.
The brisk scent of evergreens and rushing water rose from the tangled mane, mixing with
the musky smell of spent passion. The combination caused Gildor’s stomach to tighten
appreciatively.
Elladan stirred restlessly, though he did not wake from his sated reverie, sliding one
leg across his lover’s thighs, perhaps seeking to still the disturbing movements.
Pressing closer he lifted his face as though begging a kiss, and Gildor could not help
but oblige, brushing the lightest of caresses across the swollen lips.
Their lovemaking had been by turns tender and voracious, born of both Elladan’s
inexperience and Gildor’s raging need. The gypsy-elf eyed the bruises that dotted his
lover’s luminous skin regretfully, the memory of Elrond’s disapproving glare rising
unbidden. Brought from his musings by a sharp nip to his jaw, Gildor found himself lost
in twilight eyes that were not stormy with anger, but darkened with affection and desire.
“What are you pondering?” Elladan asked drowsily, one hand absently drawing circles on
Gildor’s chest. “You roused me with your fretting.”
“I am surprised anything could rouse you, pen neth,” the ancient elf retorted
teasingly, “after such a ravenous bout as the last.” He paused briefly, then added, “I
was pondering your adar’s reaction, truth be told.”
“A waste of precious darkness, that,” Elladan declared, rolling to his back
invitingly, urging Gildor atop again. “Love me, instead.”
“You will likely be unable to walk, as it is, ‘Adan,” the wanderer chided gently,
struggling to ignore the hardening shaft that nudged his belly, the silken skin flushing
again with arousal...the rapidly spreading ache in his own groin.
“’Tis a small enough price to pay,” the dark elf purred, arching up temptingly. “Love
me.”
Surrendering to the pleading in the midnight dark eyes, as well as his own rising
desire, Gildor lowered his head, nipping and nuzzling gently at the already battered skin
of the young elf’s throat.
Elladan closed his eyes, losing himself once more in the myriad of sensations, his
hands stroking skin, tangling in the heavy curtain of golden hair that trailed over his
chest and stomach, then moving to twist helplessly in the bedsheets as a warm mouth
engulfed him without warning. He was vaguely aware of his own whimpers and moans echoing
in the chamber, twining with the answering groans of his lover.
Gildor moved back up the writhing body, biting his own lip painfully when arms and
legs wrapped him eagerly, drawing him close as he slid carefully home. Seated deeply, he
answered the fleeting frown that crossed Elladan’s face with a spate of tender kisses
before falling into the now familiar rhythm of their loving.
**********************
The bright sunlight streaming through the arches woke Gildor just as the last echoes
of the breakfast chimes died away. Sitting up with a muttered oath, he gently shook his
companion awake. “’Adan? ‘Adan? Wake up, pen neth. ‘Tis well after dawn, and
the chimes have stilled. Elrond will not look kindly on your absence from the breakfast
hall, I wager.”
Elladan stretched unthinkingly, then groaned and curled up once more. “I cannot
walk,” he announced sleepily. “I daresay I cannot even sit. I am staying here.”
Gildor met the statement with a wry grin, leaning over to press a kiss to one reddened
ear. “I tried to tell you, ernilen. And what will Elrond assume when you do not
appear?”
“The obvious, most likely,” Elladan drawled lazily, sliding his arms around Gildor.
“He knows where I am.”
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