Adult-FanFiction.org : Lord of the Rings

Dismissed	By : Liliana Category: -Multi-Age > Slash - Male/Male Views: 2920 -:- 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.

Chapter List
- 1
- 2
- 3
Please note that the disclaimer, pairings and warnings for this story are given at the begining of the first chapter.
Chapter Two:
" Nay, pen-neth!. Tis parry, then thrust."
Melpomaen looked down at the ground, mortified by the irritation he could hear behind his tutor's adonishment. His slender shoulders slumped and his timid heart verily winced from self-recrimination. It seemed that all he could do this day was to incurr the displeasure of his instructors. First, Lord Erestor, who never before had cause to find fault with him and now, Lord Glorfindel.
But then again, Lord Glorfindel always had cause to find fault with him...
For whereas Melpomaen was a brilliant student in all manner of scholarly pursuit, excelling in languages, history, politics and philosophy, the very opposite was true when it came to his required weapons-training. He was smaller than average for his age and being painfully shy, he lacked any of the innate confidence needed for the warrior arts. But worse of all, was that unlike every other elf in Imladris, he was....clumsy.
Aye. Put a blade in his delicate scribe's hand and he became a veritable tangle of utter uncoordination. He fared not much better with the bow. For though his sharp mind could unerringly find the very central point of any intellectual argument, he had yet to find the bullseye in the archery range. Indeed, his arrows went so often astray that on ocassion, other elves had found themselves having to dive for the grass, in order to avoid his poorly-fired missiles. And this was all a constant source of despair for the young elf who wanted, more than anything, to be able to impress the formidable warrior who now stood across from him with ill-concealed exasperation.
He heard Lord Glorfindel sigh and his eyes, still trained upon the ground at his feet, closed in shame. A moment later, Melpomaen squeaked when he felt the Balrog Slayer's arms come around him from behind.
" A sword in hand is but an extension of the arm, Melpomaen. And thus, it must become a fluid part of that arm's movement, not a counterpoint to struggle against."
As he spoke, the legendary elf placed one steadying hand upon his pupil's hip, while the other extended along the slender arm to curve around the pummel of the sword and over the young elf's own shaky grip. A dizzying wave of heat suffused Melpomaen at his tutor's touch and he had to bite his lip to prevent a moan from escaping his throat. The feel of that towering body, pressed so close behind him, sent his senses reeling and he found himself caught between soaring happiness at being within the arms of his heart's desire and utter horror, as his unruly member began to harden in response.
{ Do not let him see... Saes, do not let him see... }
The same pleading thought that had earlier come to his mind in Lord Erestor's study, repeated itself with mounting panic as his body began to, paradoxically, tremble while at the same time going limp under the onslaught of newly-awakened sensations. Yet it was that very limpness that allowed his arm to perfectly execute, for the first time ever, the sword move that Lord Glorfindel had been trying to get him to do.
" Aye, Melpomaen. Like that!. Now, try it again on your own." His tutor said, with what sounded like relief.
Melpomaen also felt relief, mingled with an odd sense of bereftness, as the Balrog Slayer unhanded him and moved away. With a deep breath, he tried to comply with the instruction given, though for the life of him he could not remember what it was that he had just done. His arm rose in a gangly arc that culminated with the sword slipping from his sweaty grasp, to land upon the ground with a dull thud. The young elf wished that ground would open up and swallow him whole, as he heard his tutor sigh again in obvious dissapointment.
" That is enough. Pick up your sword and return it to the armory. You are dismissed for today, Melpomaen."
Without another word, Lord Glorfindel turned and walked away towards the barracks, leaving his student to stare at his retreating back with eyes that were quickly filled by dejected tears...

~~~~~~~~~~
A soft murmur exhaled gently from the lips of the young elf laying upon his bed, lost in reverie. His face turned, pressing into the mass of tawny hair that was strewn widly on the pillow beneath and the murmur became a moan, as a dream began to coalesce in his mind...
/ /
" Aye, melpomaen. Like that!. Wrap your hand around it, feel it's hardness in your palm. Feel it..."
Lord Glorfindel's voice was a heated whisper against his delicately pointed ear, as one strong warrior's hand tightened atop his own, curling both over the sword's pummel. Upon his hip, his tutor's other hand drew him back until his slender body was flush against a towering frame. It was then, that Melpomaen felt a different hardness, pressing into his trembling backside.
" I know you watch me. I have long watched you as well. But I was forced to hide my desire behind a mask of indifference, for I knew I had to wait until the right time, seron vell."
The hand upon his hip began to move slowly towards his fluttering stomach and Melpomaen moaned, as the Balrog Slayer ended those longed-for words by gently suckling on the tip of the very ear he had been whispering into.
Suddently, all of Melpomaen's garments just disappeared and he was left leaning back against his tutor with his now-nude body shaking, while his pale cock arose from it in almost painful arousal. He could feel that Lord Glorfindel was still fully clothed and the rustle of fabric against his bare back sent a thrilling shockwave of vulnerability up his spine.
" My Lord...my Lord..." He groaned.
" Shhh... I know, meleth nin."
The strong hand that had been curled atop his over the pummel, let go of its hold and the sword slipped from Melpomaen's nerveless fingers to land upon the ground with a dull thud. But it did not matter. For the sigh he heard his tutor utter was not one of disappointment, but one of desire. Desire...for him.
And then, the hand across his stomach tightened as that other hand, the sword hand, reached down and wrapped around his slender shaft, holding it in a heated fist. Melpomaen threw his head back against Lord Glorfindel's chest, a raw cry tearing from his throat as that fist began to move up and down, up and down, ever faster.
The incredible sensations wrought by those firm strokes, the feel of the Balrog Slayer's own shaft hard against the cleft of his backside, the passionate words of love and desire being whispered in his ear, all combined into a molten wave of white-hot ecstasy that Melpomaen could do nothing to stem.
He was going to... He was going to...
/ /
" Aaaaaahh..."
His dream world gave way to reality, as the beginings of his powerful release jolted him out of reverie. Beneath the silken sheet, his own fist was pumping furiously and, for an instant, his cock seemed to swell impossibly.
Then, he exploded.
Ribbons of heated cream streamed onto his stomach and over his hand, as Melpomaen arched his head back into the pillow with another ragged cry. Every one of his senses was buffeted by a churning sea of pleasure and it all seemed to go on forever, only to be over far too soon.
For long moments afterwards, Melpomaen just laid limply on his bed. The sheet was tangled uncomfortably around his lower body and it was sticking to the area where his hand still cupped over his now-softening member.
Then, the tears began to fall. From the corners of his eyes, they trailed down over his ears, through his hair and onto the pillow below. And as he cried, in the lonely aftermath of his orgasm, his broken whispers were a small, wounded sound in the stillness of his dark room.
" Glorfindel... Glorfindel..."
But only silence answered.
TBC...
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