Adult-FanFiction.org : Lord of the Rings

The Lost and the Hidden City	By : pip & BronxWench Category: -Multi-Age > Slash - Male/Male Views: 2742 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: We do not own Middle Earth, any of Tolkien's world or characters. We make no money from this work of fanfiction.

Chapter List
- 11
- 12
- 13
Authors' Note: This is a long chapter. Enjoy!

Chapter Twelve
By afternoon, Gildor had led Glorfindel up a long and winding path to the top of the valley. Up here, one could see for miles. It was a cartographer’s dream, and he felt something in him relax. If he looked one way, he could see the Trollshaws, leading to a vague promise of open land in the distance. Looking the other, the misty mountains provided a spectacular backdrop to the packed lunch they had brought along. Gildor sketched the land thereabout as he had a thousand times before, while Glorfindel rested against him, dozing. There were no bad dreams.
Gildor put away his pens and parchment, wiping his fingers with a cloth. He looked up at the clear sky, letting the gentle breeze tease his hair back from his face, and then looked down at the dozing elf beside him. Here, in the peace of the valley, the events of the morning already felt distant, although he decided he would cherish one thing: Glorfindel had been willing to remain in that ensorcelled sleep, if it meant being with him.
He looked up again, blinking sudden tears from his eyes. It was the last thing he had expected, to discover Glorfindel had loved him when they dwelled in Gondolin. Had he been a bit braver, or more sure of himself, perhaps they would have found each other then. He would not complain, though. Glorfindel had not hesitated to declare his heart to Lord Elrond himself.
In spite of everything, he could not help the joy that filled him. Glorfindel loved him. Really, that was just the most perfect thing. It was all he could do not to shout it aloud, and hear it echo throughout the valley. Glorfindel, Lord of the House of the Golden Flower, loved him, and he loved Glorfindel with all his heart.
“You look beautiful like this, with your hair blown back, and the sun on your face.” Glorfindel’s strong hand stroked his back, and he turned, still smiling. Glorfindel looked relaxed, and happy, and he was gratified to see how well the afternoon outside walls was helping them both.
Gildor found himself staring at Glorfindel’s lips, and he leaned back against the warrior’s shoulder on purpose, tilting his face up for a kiss, lifting his hands to tangle his fingers in his lover’s hair.
The first touch of Glorfindel’s lips on his ignited a fire between them. The events of the day meant they had barely touched each other, let alone shared a moment of physical intimacy. Gildor was so hungry for more he found himself sitting up straight, turning his entire body so that he could push Glorfindel down into the grass.
With a happy sound, he swung a leg over Glorfindel’s prostrate form, straddling him, only to place his hands on the ground at either side of his lover’s head and lean down for more of that kiss.
To know that Glorfindel had desired him so long ago made their coming together such a joyful thing, and Gildor was sure that even with the morning just gone, they would defeat these awful dreams of Glorfindel’s, and time would find them united forever, even into the Undying Lands.
He called himself an exile out of habit, as one of the Noldor who made the great journey back east, but after all of this time, he was sure - deep down - he would not be barred entry there. And especially not with Glorfindel at his side. Besides, he had not taken part in those terrible crimes. As a mapmaker, his fault had been curiosity; born in Valinor, he’d wanted to see and to record the great lands of Middle Earth, perhaps journey to Cuiviénen and map the land around the great lake, if it still existed.
Glorfindel’s hands were squeezing his upper thighs as they kissed, and Gildor moved back a little, so as to look into Glorfindel’s blue eyes.
“Are you all right?” he asked, and Gildor grinned.
“One of us is going to be tumbled in the grass, wicked elf. Which one of us would you like it to be?”
He found himself on his back almost before he could blink, and he laughed in delight. “This really has become a habit with you. I quite like it, I think.” He looked up into Glorfindel’s eyes, and reached up to tug Glorfindel in to continue the kiss.
Glorfindel’s arousal was quite apparent, pressed against the hollow of his hip, and he purred into the kiss as his hands travelled down to rest against his lover’s strong biceps. He loved Glorfindel’s effortless strength, his power and speed. It made him tingle to know how gentle his lover was with him. He found he did not care if Glorfindel preferred to take the dominant part most of the time. He knew they were always equal in their hearts.
He wriggled a bit, grinning when Glorfindel shifted to pin him more firmly. He could feel the heat in the tips of his ears, matching the growing warmth in his belly, and he arched his chest into his lover. He felt no urgency, though. They were alone, and unlikely to be interrupted, and if they were late for the evening meal, well, it would not be the first time.
Glorfindel seemed to read his thoughts, because he took his time kissing him, until Gildor was enjoyably dizzy. One large hand was carefully undoing the fastenings of his tunic, and he sighed in happiness as he felt the breeze against his skin.
When Glorfindel reached the buttons at the neck of his tunic, he frowned as he uncovered the skin beneath, and Gildor reached up to touch his face. “Don’t,” he said softly. “I want you, not your regret.”
To illustrate his words, he began work on Glorfindel’s clothing, sneaking looks up at him from beneath his lashes until his lover was smiling again. “As if I could resist you,” Glorfindel said at last, as Gildor’s hands roamed over his chest, slowly venturing further down.
“Wicked elf,” Glorfindel said, stealing Gildor’s words and stilling his hands by trapping them between their bodies, pressing close for another lingering kiss.
As always between them, Gildor could barely wait, and especially now after a full day spent together with no lovemaking. As soon as he had room, his hand was moving down to touch, gasping at the perfection of Glorfindel filling his palm, even through his breeches. Gildor removed his hand to tug at the waistband.
“I am hardly wicked, you know. You are the one who has made himself utterly irresistible,” he teased, working the breeches open until he could free his lover. He marveled at the thick cock, a frisson of pride running through him because he could indeed accommodate all of Glorfindel.
“Is that so?” Glorfindel’s chuckle gladdened him, and he palmed his lover again, loving the way the chuckle dissolved into a hiss of pleasure. Glorfindel leaned close, and his breath was hot against Gildor’s ear. “I do hope you remembered to bring oil.”
He grinned and nodded, but he could not quite reach the pocket where he had tucked the small vial. “Of course I remembered. I’m very good with details.” He arched against Glorfindel, sighing happily. “It’s taking a very long time to get undressed, though.” He let out a yelp when he was unceremoniously lifted, and his tunic removed without any further ado. His breeches followed with equal haste, Glorfindel pausing to look him over appreciatively.
“Bain nín,” the warrior said, his voice husky with desire. “Every time I see you like this, I know myself blessed. Now, if you would be so good as to tell me where the oil is, I will not keep you waiting.”
Still astonished by how efficiently Glorfindel had undressed him, Gildor looked around him, tilting his head back to see where the warrior had deposited his clothes. His hand patted his left upper thigh to illustrate. “It was in my pocket,” he said.
It was only now he remembered how sex with Glorfindel made him feel, and having been denied all day, Gildor was certain Glorfindel would make it count. Before he could begin to speak, his lover had found the oil and was already beginning to prepare him. Gildor gasped instead of speaking. Just how had Glorfindel managed to get undressed so quickly too?
“Oh, Glorfindel,” he said, and the blond warrior smirked. “Be gentle,” Gildor pleaded on a breath, longing to moan already, his gaze caught by the darkened blue of his lover’s eyes. “We still have to walk all the way back down into the valley after this.”
Glorfindel laughed, while Gildor closed his eyes to better appreciate the feeling of the warrior’s fingers inside him. “Worry not, dúlinnor nín, if you tire I will carry you home.”
For an instant, he could see himself laid in Glorfindel’s arms as he strode back into Imladris, his fellow warriors greeting him raucously. “You wouldn’t!” Gildor said, then realised he was almost asking for it. “You won’t. I will get back myself if I have to crawl.”
At last, there was nothing to stop them, and Glorfindel arranged Gildor the way he always liked. But then Gildor had grown to like it too, and so he made no protest. He would feel his lover deep this way. But Glorfindel was more serious now as he looked down. “I will be gentle,” he promised, gifting Gildor with a kiss as he eased inside.
Gildor’s breath caught, as it always did, and he wondered how he could hold all of Glorfindel, as he always did. The pleasure that was so close to pain eased into pure ecstasy with the next breath, and he did moan now, a soft sound which conveyed all he felt.
Glorfindel was as good as his words, and each time he moved, it was slow, and deep, and seemed to resonate in Gildor’s very core. He felt open and tender, and he looked up at the warrior with unabashed love. “Always,” he whispered, and he reached up to touch Glorfindel’s chest, so strong and broad. His other hand was fisted in his hair as he lay beneath his lover.
“Always?” Glorfindel was amused, and he smirked down at Gildor. “Should I guess? You want me in you, like this, always?”
“Well, yes,” Gildor replied, not at all reluctant to admit it. “But I also meant I will always love you.” Glorfindel’s heart beat under his hand, and his own matched tempo. “But if you’re asking, then yes. I will never complain about this, either. Even if I have to crawl the length of Imladris.” He grinned, cheeky.
Glorfindel suddenly leaned close with a deep moan of pleasure. “You keep making me imagine you on your knees,” he said. “I can tell you want it. Why don’t you do that for me now. Here.” It wasn’t a question. Glorfindel pulled away and waited. Gildor trembled but hurried to put himself into the new position, on his hands and knees just as his lover seemed to want. As he himself wanted. Glorfindel was right.
“Not quite like that,” Glorfindel said tenderly, his large hands resting on Gildor’s hips, warm compared to the open air. “Sit back upon me.”
In short order, Gildor found himself lowered carefully onto Glorfindel’s thick cock, made breathless by the sensation of being filled all over again. Glorfindel was sitting back on his heels, while Gildor was kneeling, thighs widespread. He whimpered when Glorfindel’s hands splayed over his chest to keep him upright, instead of allowing him to lower his upper body as felt natural. He covered Glorfindel’s hands with his own, as if he would fall if let go.
It was strange. Glorfindel wasn’t pressing against his prostate - the angle was too strange for that - and yet he felt so full, so possessed. He leaned his head back against his lover’s shoulder, looking up into his eyes, and Glorfindel’s face was full of love. A sudden sharp thrust upwards made Gildor cry out.
Glorfindel only chuckled, one hand moving down, and Gildor was so taken up with the sensation of being owned by the warrior he didn’t realise what was afoot until Glorfindel’s palm was closed around him, hot where he was hot, squeezing tenderly. He cried out again.
“Sing for me, dúlinnor,” Glorfindel murmured, nuzzling at Gildor’s hair, alternately thrusting and caressing until Gildor did not know anything except for Glorfindel, and he did sing, crying out his pleasure to the hills he’d always loved.
Glorfindel followed fast enough, and afterward they found themselves on the soft grass, Gildor tucked against Glorfindel, with his head on his lover’s shoulder and a hand on Glorfindel’s muscular chest. He felt gloriously alive, the sun warm on his skin and turning Glorfindel’s curls into a halo of gold. He sighed happily as his lover stroked his arm.
“A very pretty song, dúlinnor nín.” Glorfindel sounded inordinately pleased with himself, and he lifted his head to catch a smirk.
“Wicked elf,” he laughed. “And in a minute, you’ll tell me you want to hear another verse.” A sweet tingle ran up his spine as he thought about another round of lovemaking, under the sun’s gentle eye. “I will be worn out by supper at this rate.”
“I have great faith in your recuperative abilities, since I have not managed to make you limp yet.” Glorfindel laughed as he gave an indignant yelp. “Do not get ruffled, bain nín. I am teasing, even if you look most beautiful like this.”
“Oh, rumpled and with grass in my hair?” He nuzzled his lover’s shoulder, pleased at the tender compliment. “It does feel good to be out of doors, though. I will allow that much.” He sighed again as Glorfindel’s fingers traced his arm where it rested on the warrior’s broad chest.
They dozed in the afternoon sun together, drifting pleasantly. No one ever came up here but him, Gildor knew. And so he relaxed utterly, waking when the golden afternoon had turned to a warm, mellow evening, the sun much lower in the sky.
Beside him, Glorfindel was still sleeping, his golden curls mussed and tumbling around his face and shoulders. He was so beautiful, at peace, his flaxen eyelashes at rest on his cheeks, those shapely lips curved into a slight smile. Gildor raised himself up on one elbow to drink in the sight happily.
In his sleep, he’d managed to drape one leg over Glorfindel, and now his thigh was nestled snugly between the warrior’s legs. Just one small movement, and he was laid atop his lover, biting his lip, concerned only with stealing a solitary kiss. He gasped when Glorfindel’s legs parted to make room for him, though he didn’t open his eyes.
Heart beating fast, Gildor wound a couple of those irresistible curls around his fingers, his other hand sliding up Glorfindel’s opposite arm, the flat of his palm moulding to the shape of the warrior’s bicep. He lowered his head, lips parted… Glorfindel’s eyelashes fluttered, and he moaned. It was a long, drawn out sound. Gildor smiled slowly. Was he dreaming? All of a sudden, that didn’t seem like a good thing.
“Glorfindel!” he said, more sharply than he intended, only for his lover to open his eyes and stretch lazily beneath him. He drew his eyebrows together in a silent question, and Gildor felt himself blush.
“I thought you were dreaming,” he said apologetically, as Glorfindel’s hand cupped his elbow, and the other reached up to rest heavily on the back of his neck, pulling him closer.
“So did I,” Glorfindel said, and then Gildor had the kiss he wanted, while beneath him Glorfindel’s body seemed to want to draw him in, deeper.
He responded, of course. How could he not? The very touch of Glorfindel’s skin against his was arousing, and the scent of sun-warmed elf intoxicating beyond measure. He was not alone in such an opinion, either, for he felt a definite hardness prodding him. He would have worried had it not, to be truthful.
But for the moment, he was busy with the kiss he had sought. Glorfindel might have opined he was made to be kissed, but the warrior was no less delectable, and he made a feast of exploring his lover’s mouth. He was especially proud of the moan he coaxed from Glorfindel when he nibbled a full lower lip.
He wondered if he would be allowed to go further, or if Glorfindel would seize control as was his wont. He could not help wanting to try, though. He let his hand drift down from Glorfindel’s bicep, trailing over a nipple and pausing to tease a bit. And still the warrior seemed content to kiss him, and allow him to explore freely.
Gildor felt his own arousal as sharp and bright, and he lifted his head, looking around them on the ground for the oil, barely able to think it - what was about to happen between them. Only as he grasped his prize and lifted it up to the sunshine, Glorfindel passive and waiting beneath him, he saw the quality of the light as it shone through the oil, and he suddenly sighed in frustration.
There was not time, not even stolen time. It had taken a few hours to walk up here, and while it would go faster on the way back down, they could not face it in the dark. Gildor could not be that foolhardy, not even for the promise of knowing Glorfindel’s body.
“We have to go,” he whispered, “and we must not tarry.” As he spoke, he was already moving away, pulling his clothes to him, trying to will his arousal away, though it would go soon enough if it was not attended.
“It is so late?” Glorfindel asked, surprised, but sitting up in turn and beginning to pull on his own clothes. He seemed dispirited at Gildor’s nod, and while there might not be time enough to claim him here, there was time for Gildor to lie a palm on Glorfindel’s cheek in a loving gesture.
“Can you keep that strange submissive mood of yours all the way down into the valley?” Gildor asked. Glorfindel smiled, but in apology.
“Honestly? Probably not…” He gave Gildor a look, up and down, then winked. Gildor rolled his eyes.
Gildor gathered up the remnants of the picnic things, with Glorfindel’s help, and they started back down into the valley. He resolved to bring Glorfindel back, though. It had been the most relaxing afternoon he had enjoyed in quite some time, and he quite relished the idea of making love in the open, as they had done.
Glorfindel reached out to take his hand as they walked, and it was curious how much he enjoyed the feeling. Even as they grew closer to the dwellings of Imladris, the warrior did not relinquish his hold. It made him curious, though, as to Glorfindel’s mood. Was he indeed trying to maintain his earlier compliance? He sincerely hoped so, because he had been toying with the idea of seeing his lover bound, and awaiting his pleasure.
He could feel his ear tips growing warm, and his breeches felt a bit tight. It was probably quite risky to play so with Glorfindel, and he wondered if that was half the attraction behind the notion. Association with Glorfindel was making him quite bold, he decided. He was not sure how wise it was, but he was enjoying it all the same.
“A penny for your thoughts,” Glorfindel said, sounding amused.
He turned to look up at his lover with a quick smile. “I was thinking it has been a marvellous day, and I do think the walk has given me an appetite. I might even want seconds, if they serve any of my favourites tonight.” He laughed when Glorfindel grabbed his chest in a parody of shock. “You are not the only one who can eat heartily, you know.”
Smirking, he shook himself free of Glorfindel’s hands and turned away, striding more quickly towards the lights in the dusk. Now that he had mentioned it, he really was quite ravenous. Glorfindel trotted to catch up with him, and something about that amused him too.
“Yes, but you,” Glorfindel said as he drew up alongside Gildor again, matching his speed. “You have very strange appetites today, meleth nín,” he pointed out. Gildor said nothing, but turned his head to look at his lover, giving him a quick, assessing glance up and down. There was no doubt what that look meant, and he saw Glorfindel’s mouth drop open in shock.
Gildor laughed as he walked, out loud, not bothering to disguise it or temper it in any way. He felt so wonderfully free. Perhaps it had been the pleasure of sharing that place with Glorfindel, with his love. Quite suddenly, despite what had happened between them at the beginning of the day, Gildor knew he wasn’t alone any longer. And it had been so very long. He’d lived for several thousand years. The longer he lived, the more certain he was that his love must be - like him - a survivor of the First Age, probably born in Valinor. Yet as the years passed their number dwindled, until he could count the eligible elves on his hands.
Actually, he’d been convinced by time that there was no one for him, and now here Glorfindel was, re-embodied and placed within his grasp. He remembered his prior fancy that he had been promised to Glorfindel, but was it really the other way around? Had Glorfindel been promised for him? It seemed like provenance. Reborn…
“Wait,” Glorfindel said, interrupting his thoughts and grasping his hands. With a start, Gildor realised they were back. Outside the walls of Imladris, there was no one around. The dinner bell must have been rung already. Glorfindel pulled him back, settling himself on the low wall of the very fountain they had dawdled by when they first showed themselves - together - to the other elves of Imladris.
Gildor stood before his lover, his lips parted to ask a question, but Glorfindel spoke first, looking up from his seated position. “When we go back inside,” he said softly. “You will no doubt do something silly, like imbibe too much wine, or eat a fig, and I will tease you. There and later, and you will melt for me until all I can think of is being in you.”
Gildor did not argue, for he knew it was true, so why was Glorfindel holding him back? Then he knew, and he bit his lip, his heart felt warm. “We are not back yet, not quite,” he said, and he pulled Gildor closer by their joined hands, parting his legs so that Gildor could stand between them. “Kiss me,” he said, lifting his face up.
He could not refuse such a lovely offer, and he cupped Glorfindel’s face between his hands, looking into his love’s eyes, so dark in the quiet evening. Those lips… would he ever have enough of them? He thought not, as he lowered his head to capture Glorfindel’s mouth in a tender kiss, savouring his beloved. Yes, Glorfindel had been promised for him. He was sure of it.
“I almost do not want to go inside,” he confessed. “I want to stay like this a while longer, with the peace from the afternoon still upon us, meleth nín. I know we cannot, but it is a sweet dream.” He ran his thumbs over Glorfindel’s cheekbones, and pressed another kiss to his lover’s lips. “Even miruvor does not make my blood so heated as your kisses. Just don’t tell Lord Elrond.”
It did feel like a dream, sitting in the twilight with Glorfindel before him. The very best sort of dream, the kind he had encouraged when he first left Aman, the kind that had faded quietly into the comfortable routine of being Elrond’s cartographer. Small excursions broke up the days otherwise spent hunched over his table and parchments, but even those began to blur into the tranquil sameness. Until now. Until Glorfindel brought light, and passion back into his life.
Glorfindel was kissing him back, and yet that subtle hint of submission was still there, at least until Gildor drew back for a breath. The warrior’s hands were resting loosely on his thighs, pulling him closer.
“If we do not go inside soon,” Glorfindel said softly. “You will not have time for seconds.” So saying, he thrust his own body forward from the wall to stand up, deliberately rubbing against Gildor in the process, who gave a startled gasp of pleasure.
“Wicked elf,” he murmured, so took up with the sensation of that he failed to realise Glorfindel’s hands had likewise moved, until he felt his buttocks squeezed. Gildor shook his head but did not say anything, and together they made their way inside, arms around each other. Gildor rested his head on Glorfindel’s shoulder as they walked. Little by little, almost with each step, the bewitching quality of the afternoon faded.
“I thought you said warriors had access to the kitchen at all times?” Gildor asked suddenly, feeling that he had been tricked in some way.
“Yes, that is true,” Glorfindel drawled. “But I don’t intend to let you be beyond the dinner hour.”
Glorfindel let him go to hold the door open for him, eyes twinkling in the lamplight that spilled out. “Back to normal, then,” Gildor muttered to himself as he swept inside, Glorfindel following him closely.
“Besides,” Glorfindel continued. “I think you need a little tonic, and since we cannot kiss at the table, miruvor will have to suffice.” Gildor froze, and then sighed as Glorfindel’s breath tickled the back of his neck. “On previous endurance, I expect to be escorting you to bed before the hour is out.”
Gildor frowned at his lover. “I have been drinking miruvor longer than you, wicked elf. It is the bottles of wine with which you ply me which make me less than steady.” He shivered a little in anticipation, however, giving the lie to his frown. His lover merely chuckled, and the sound of that deep laughter only made him shiver again. “And I intend to have seconds, if only to defend against all the wine.”
“I do like it when you lecture me, bain nín. You're quite fiery.” Glorfindel smirked as he escorted Gildor to a pair of open seats in the dining hall. “We will see how much fire you have later. I do hope quite a bit.”
He knew he was blushing, from the heat in his cheeks and ear tips. He ducked his head as he sat, his long hair swinging forward to hide his face, and strong fingers brushed his ear as his hair was tucked behind it.
“Do not hide, mîr nín. Never hide. You should shine brightly, so all can see how beautiful you are.” Glorfindel’s voice was low, and sent a thrill through him. “As long as they remember you are mine.”
It was as he feared, and though he did manage to get seconds of his favourites, Glorfindel had a way of constantly filling his goblet with wine, and causing him to drink it, so that indeed, before the hour was out Gildor found himself leaning heavily on his lover’s arm as they walked down the corridor.
“What will you do to me tonight?” he asked, curious, and very tipsy indeed.
“Well, I won’t be tying you up,” Glorfindel said mysteriously, and Gildor stopped dead, swaying on his feet as he looked at his lover.
“You won’t?” he said, woebegone, uncaring when Glorfindel laughed at him, tugging gently on his hands to encourage him to move again. Somehow, he managed to trip over his own feet, and ended up held in Glorfindel’s arms as the warrior took most of his weight.
“Oops,” he said, and found his lips close to Glorfindel’s ear, so kissed him there. “I want you so much,” he said drunkenly, pursuing the thought of having Glorfindel even though the promise of it in his lover was gone. “My way. You would enjoy it,” he said, trying hard to sound persuasive. Glorfindel laughed.
“How will you do that, when you can’t even stay on your feet?” he asked, and Gildor shrugged, puffing out his breath. Details! With some concentration, he took his own weight again, and before long they were in Glorfindel’s room.
He was no help at all in undressing, but he quite enjoyed Glorfindel’s attention as he was stripped of his tunic and breeches. The candlelight was very distracting, and he found himself admiring the play of light and shadow across Glorfindel’s face. He was quite proud of remaining upright, mostly, even if he needed to lean against Glorfindel’s sturdy wardrobe to do so.
Glorfindel untangled his fingers from the warrior’s lush curls, pressing a kiss to the busy digits. “Do you think you can stay there while I get undressed?” he asked, sounding amused.
He blew out another breath. “Of course I can.” He pushed himself fully upright. “But I think I would rather be there.” He waved vaguely in the direction of the bed. “You can join me when you are ready, of course.” He pretended not to hear his lover’s delighted laughter as he made his way to the bed.
Of course, Glorfindel was right behind him, warm and solid as his arms encircled Gildor. “I am not sure I should let you climb into bed all on your own. You might get lost among the pillows.”
He huffed as Glorfindel’s strong hands cupped his buttocks, lifting him onto the bed. “I would never get lost, because I would be able to find you.” He scrambled further up the bed, and turned to give Glorfindel a cheeky grin. “Now come here, and stop making me wait.”
“You will wait as long as I say,” Glorfindel announced loftily, teasing, and Gildor flopped onto his back with a sigh. The alcohol made him impatient, he knew, and Glorfindel’s antics were not amusing to him at all. “You will wait until I am undressed.”
Yet the warrior made such a tease of removing his clothing, Gildor could not look away, and he thought that if he had to endure much more of this, he would drool. Little by little, Glorfindel revealed himself, and Gildor lay on the bed as if enchanted by the sight, his hand automatically reaching for his erection to ease the lust in him that burned so brightly in his blood.
At last, Glorfindel noticed him touching himself, and his eyes widened in fun. “I see,” he said, walked slowly to the bed, completely naked now. “Are you looking to be restrained?”
“You said you wouldn’t tie me up,” Gildor responded, breathless when Glorfindel flexed his muscles, his skin a beautiful bronze in the lamplight.
“I don’t need to tie you up to restrain you,” Glorfindel said, crawling onto the bed above him, looking down at the movement of Gildor’s hand. Sensing he would soon be prevented from it, Gildor sped up, biting his lip, wondering if he would manage to give himself pleasure before Glorfindel took control.
“You have no idea how beautiful you are like this. You are flushed, your hair is mussed, and you look wanton as you touch yourself so urgently. Would you stop if I told you to?” Glorfindel’s voice was a marvel, a dark and wicked purr which made him move faster. “Or would you hurry to finish, and decorate yourself with your essence? Perhaps I will have you clean your own fingers. I think I might like to see that, bain nín.”
He gasped, Glorfindel’s words only spurring him onward. He could feel the first tugs which heralded release, the way his body tightened in anticipation. It was so hot, as though Glorfindel radiated heat, and he could only absorb it and reflect it back. His head fell back, and his hips lifted as he groaned.
“Yes, you’re nearly there, my fierce beauty. Spill for me, and then I will take you, until you forget your own name.” Glorfindel watched, eyes dark in the lamplight, and he cried out as he felt himself let go, his seed hot on his fingers. The warrior made a noise, lustful and needy, one strong hand resting on his thigh. “And only then will you spill again, mîr nín. This I promise you.”
He shivered, both from the strength of his orgasm and from the anticipation of what awaited him. Oh, he had teased Glorfindel a bit too much, and he would pay, but what a glorious price it would be. Perhaps it was the wine giving him such confidence, although he did not care. It was well worth it, even when Glorfindel captured his hand, freed his fingers from their grip on his cock, and raised them to his lips.
“Clean them,” Glorfindel commanded, and he shivered again as his tongue darted out to lap at his fingers. He watched the warrior’s eye dilate with desire, and he felt suddenly powerful.
The taste and the scent of his release did not shock him. He’d tasted himself before, but never with a witness, as Glorfindel was witnessing him now. The warrior looked so aroused, watching him, and Gildor withdrew his tongue, meaning perhaps to suck on his own fingers but ended up moaning at the expression on Glorfindel’s face, smearing his own release on his lips.
In one instant, he was looking up into Glorfindel’s eyes, and in the next his eyes were closed as his lover kissed him fiercely. Their lips were slippery with his seed, making the kiss a messy thing with tongues and saliva and his own essence. Gildor’s hand was on the side of Glorfindel’s face, what remained on his fingers smudged over his cheekbone and jaw.
A moment after that, Glorfindel was pressing him down into the bed, and he felt how hard and hot Glorfindel was for him, automatically raising his knees. But then that didn’t seem to be enough, and Glorfindel pulled away, ending the kiss long enough to slip his muscled biceps under Gildor’s legs, holding him in such a way he could hardly move.
The kiss resumed, only this time Gildor could feel Glorfindel seeking entry inside him, and he thought to raise a voice of protest, unprepared as he was, but it was only a muffled sound while the warrior’s tongue was so deep in him.
There was a hard, almost brutal movement, and Gildor might have screamed if Glorfindel had accomplished his goal, but the resistance of Gildor’s body didn’t seem pleasing to him either, and he broke the kiss again, this time with a growl of impatience, one hand searching the bedside table for oil, knocking away various other items that had accumulated there.
Gildor grunted as a thick finger breached him, slick with oil. It thrust once, twice, and withdrew, to be followed by Glorfindel pressing hard again. He was barely ready, but he was accustomed enough to his lover’s girth to confine himself to a hiss, and then he was full. He could not move, could barely wriggle, and somewhere in the depths of his thoughts, he reminded himself he had certainly invoked this response. He was not entirely displeased with how strong a reaction he had gotten.
It was still too soon for him to rouse again, but he could still feel those bursts of pleasure as Glorfindel fucked him, fast and hard. His hands were wrapped around his lover’s powerful biceps, above his pinioned legs, and his fingers dug into muscle which felt like dwarven steel. “Ai, Valar,” he managed to gasp. “My head spins!”
He could not tell if it was the wine, coupled with the miruvor, or if it was simply the sweet intoxication of being had by Glorfindel, without regard to anything but sensation. He did love the gentle lovemaking, but this, this furious pace was the stuff of dreams come to life.
Glorfindel’s growl sent new shivers through him. He knew he could not fall, but the room was slipping away from him, and he was lost to pleasure, mindless under the warrior’s thrusts. “Please…” He was not even sure what he pleaded for. “Glorfindel, meleth nín.”
He could not seem to focus, nor keep his eyes open, the intensity of being claimed like this took all of his attention. His body had surrendered long before Glorfindel found release, and when he did there was hardly any relief for Gildor. His nerves continued to fire, as if the warrior was still taking him, and he was let go, but could not move.
Gildor wasn’t truly aware anymore, but he felt so sensitive when a strong hand wrapped around his newly aroused cock, and he hissed but did not try to move away. The surrender remained and kept him in his place, even when the hand changed to the soft velvet of generous lips and the perfect wet sucking heat of a mouth on him. Then it was not a mouth, it was a hand again, softened and slippery with the oil used to fuck him. Bites to his ribs, a tongue on his nipple, making him gasp and beg.
“I would have known you up there on the hill,” his lover said, and Gildor’s eyes focused enough to see the beauty of his lover, but he could not comprehend the words. “Now you are beyond such thoughts, bain nín.” He chuckled, squeezing his hand, and Gildor moaned, reaching out to touch that perfect hair.
“Gloredhel,” he whispered. “You remind me of Laurelin.” The blue eyes of his lover softened with pleasure at his words, and yet he laughed again.
“So you have even forgotten my name?” he pondered, then his hand became quick and demanding, making Gildor arch up from the bed, his breath stalling. “Very well. You will come for me now.”
As if it were a command, he obeyed, driven on by the touch of his lover’s hand on him, drawing his climax from him mercilessly, making certain to get every drop from him until he was shaking and moaning in protest. Only then did the hand on him still. He was so tired. Gildor turned toward his blond companion and snuggled close, feeling gentle kisses placed upon his hair.
He felt the pull of reverie, but his lover’s voice in his ear roused him somewhat. “Not quite yet, mîr nín. I know you are tired, but we have one last thing to do.” He felt the gentlest of kisses pressed to his wrist, and he frowned a little. Why was Glorfindel so worried about his wrist?
“Let us put some more of that ointment on you, and perhaps...well, I am getting ahead of myself.” Glorfindel coaxed him to sit up, piling pillows behind him. “You are just so beautiful, do you know that? My Noldo beauty. Open your eyes for me.”
Glorfindel’s hands were so gentle as he applied the ointment, massaging it in as though he were the most delicate crystal. He watched those thick fingers, washed clean--when had that happened? He frowned at the shadows under his skin, and it took a moment for him to remember how he had gotten the bruises.
A cup of cool water was pressed into his hands. “Drink. It will help, I promise.” He drank obediently, and savoured the sweet water as it soothed his throat. He stopped when he was half done, and looked over the rim at his lover.
“Thank you, meleth nín.” He lowered the cup, pushed it back into Glorfindel’s hands. “I want to sleep,” he added, feeling a bit peevish. “I do not think I could manage any more tonight, really.”
Gildor sank down into the pillows as Glorfindel turned away to put the cup down, and his eyes drifted closed. “You must make time for one more thing,” Glorfindel said, and the gravity in his tone made Gildor blink himself awake. He’d never heard his lover sound so serious.
“What is it?” he asked, trying to find enough energy for alarm.
“I can’t be allowed to hurt you,” Glorfindel muttered quietly, looking down at his own hands. “I can’t face another morning like the one just gone.” He spoke earnestly now, pleading gaze directed right at Gildor. His heart melted, but he understood what Glorfindel meant. They were in his room. In his bed. Though he understood, a part of him hurt terribly.
“Would you like me to leave?” he asked quietly, and then was relieved beyond measure when Glorfindel shook his head, resolute.
“No…” he said. “Not that.” He paused, and then flashed Gildor a quick, tight, humourless smile. “I want you to tie me up to sleep.”
Despite the turn of the conversation, Gildor’s happy, drowsy, relaxed mood returned in a fraction of a second, and he laughed, rolling around on the bed while Glorfindel stared at him. “You might not find this funny,” he managed at last. “But I do!” He laughed again, somehow managing to lean over the width of the bed to where those bindings were that Glorfindel had used on him. To his surprise, the warrior’s strong hands covered his own.
“Not those,” he said, ignoring Gildor’s amusement, still serious. “Not for me.” So saying he rose and made his way to a large trunk in the corner of the room, only to return with very serious looking ropes.
He swallowed, looking at the ropes. They were silk, woven so tightly even Glorfindel’s impressive strength would not part them. He held them for a moment, and looked up at Glorfindel. “You’re serious, aren’t you? You really want me to tie you up.” He looked at the carved wooden headboard, contemplating how well it might hold his lover. “You are quite aware I am a cartographer, and not someone who runs about tying elves up?”
Glorfindel climbed back into the bed, and settled himself next to Gildor with a deep sigh. “I do not dare take the chance of dreaming, and hurting you. It is the only way.” He held out his wrists. “I will tell you if the knots are sufficient.”
He raised an eyebrow at the blond warrior. “You do realise I will most likely take full advantage of this in the morning?”
He got what he wanted, as Glorfindel’s mouth quirked into a smile. “Á nute ar lá lertan nore, hérince.”
“Wicked elf,” he retorted, and he leaned over to kiss Glorfindel. “I will remind you of those words in the morning, you know.” He began to truss Glorfindel’s wrists, careful not to bind them tightly enough to hamper circulation.
When he had finished, he sat back on his knees as Glorfindel tested the ropes, his biceps straining a little. Then to his dismay, he saw the ineffective knots he had made begin to unravel. He sighed when Glorfindel was free, and almost expected some kind of teasing, but Glorfindel merely put the lengths of rope back into his hands.
“Do better,” he said. Gildor rolled his eyes but went to work again, this time with Glorfindel instructing him how to make the best knots, until at last they were finished. This time the warrior could not escape them, try as he might, and Gildor felt a stirring of interest despite his tiredness when he saw Glorfindel’s muscles bulge like that. He was so strong. The veins in his biceps stood out against his skin, and Gildor longed to trace them with his fingers, perhaps his lips.
Something in his eyes must have given him away, because Glorfindel relaxed back and laughed. “Ankles too,” he instructed. “If you don’t mind.”
Taking the rest of the ropes, Gildor made the same knots there, which resulted in Glorfindel tied spreadeagled to the bed. It was an extremely good look on him, and Gildor bit his lip, but he really was tired, and he only took a few minutes to cuddle up close to his lover’s restrained form. Really, it was good Glorfindel had such a large bed! By necessity he had to drape his legs over Glorfindel, and then was comfortable.
He had planned to stay awake until he was sure Glorfindel was able to sleep like this, but then, after pressing a few loving kisses to his lover’s waist, he used Glorfindel’s shoulder as a pillow and drifted off quickly. In the morning, Glorfindel appeared to have slept without dreaming. Gildor, however, had dreamed of nothing but the intoxicating promise of a helpless Glorfindel.

To be continued...

Authors' Note: Thank you for reading – we hope you had fun! Why not leave a comment?

Translations:
Bain nín – my beauty
dúlinnor nín – my nightingale
meleth nín – my love
mîr nín – my treasure
Á nute ar lá lertan nore, hérince – Tie me up so that I cannot escape, my little master
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The Lost and the Hidden City