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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
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Chapter Twenty-one
As usual, by the time the door was shut and they were alone they were laughing, already trying to undress each other as their lips met. Though he managed to convince Glorfindel to raise his arms to take off his tunic, they were much too enthusiastic, and Gildor heard the material rip.
Glorfindel walked him backward to the bed, trying to do it without breaking the kiss, until they fell together into the softness. There was a balmy breeze drifting in through the open window, and the more clothes Gildor was rid of, the better he felt, Glorfindel’s hot skin against his. Valar, it was almost scalding!
This time was different to the others, because they didn’t get straight to it, instead kissing, licking, nibbling, teasing as if they would eat each other alive. There was nothing soft or restrained about their coming together. Beginning to make the list had focused their minds on Gondolin. Both of them remembered that terrible day, and this was its antidote. Against all the odds, even death, they were here - together. They had survived.
There was a deep joy in Gildor before they even got close to the act, a joy that was echoed in Glorfindel, in every touch and taste. He wrapped his hand around Glorfindel’s cock, savouring the feel of that hardness against his palm as Glorfindel’s lips dragged over his cheek; a messy unrehearsed kiss.
“I want it,” Gildor said. “Now.” His own cock was aching for his lover’s hand, and he dragged Glorfindel’s hand down to have him reciprocate the touch, hungry for it.
Glorfindel actually fumbled for the oil, knocking a glass onto the floor that shattered, but even that didn’t penetrate their lust.
Every touch was a celebration, and Gildor yearned into Glorfindel’s hot palm. In the heat of his need, there was no room for inhibition, no place for anything but Glorfindel. He knew he would begrudge even the most cursory of preparation. He wanted to be full again, complete in the only way that mattered.
“Ánin quanta,” he begged, his voice raspy with lust. He felt the first touch of a blunt finger, and he cried out in relief, feeling the oil. “I’m ready, please, just take me.” He knew he was well accustomed to Glorfindel by now, and he did not mind the burn, or at least he would not this night.
“I want you easy,” Glorfindel replied, and he worked his fingers into Gildor, his touch incendiary. “Mîr nin,” he crooned, his breath hot against Gildor’s ear. “Now you are ready for me, and I will have you, my own.”
His legs were over Glorfindel’s strong forearms, and he was laid open to his lover, trembling with joyful anticipation. The warrior did not make him wait, pressing in past token resistance until he was filled as he craved. Glorfindel shifted, and went deeper, coaxing a groan from him.
“Oh, yes, please,” he breathed, and looked up at the golden warrior above him. It was almost enough, just the sight of Glorfindel, and the burning desire in those bright eyes. He shivered with the surge of lust kindled by that fire, and resisted the urge to touch himself, to coax forth the release which threatened.
Instead he pulled Glorfindel down to him, holding the warrior’s face in his hands and laying a trail of tiny biting kisses along his jaw. Glorfindel slowed down slightly, laughing in delight.
“Natyë celva!” he said, and Gildor had to resist the urge to growl at him, hands moving to his shoulders and nails digging in. He felt fiery and unstable, out of control, longing for Glorfindel to give it to him hard and fast.
“Áva pusta!” he cried out, desperate, and when Glorfindel did not immediately oblige him, he bit again, this time it was Glorfindel’s neck. Above him, Glorfindel moaned, and then suddenly he had what he wanted - the ruthless, deep fucking he craved.
Without meaning to, his nails dragged down the length of Glorfindel’s back as he tossed his head, mouth wide open in fierce pleasure. Glorfindel’s cock seemed to be touching him inside everywhere all at once, and it felt amazing.
“Verca yaulë!” Glorfindel whispered harshly, thrilling Gildor all the more. Though he could not move his legs, he stretched out his spine beneath Glorfindel, tightening around the warrior’s cock, and it seemed to drive the warrior to further extremes.
He was no nightingale now. The sounds that came from him were harsh, visceral grunts as Glorfindel pounded into his body, so deep. They were beyond his ability to contain, each one brought him closer, until he was trembling right on the edge of it - and Glorfindel did not stop.
The sounds he made stuttered harshly, and he felt his body seize in climax over and over, tightening and releasing, his cock jerking eagerly between their bodies until he felt Glorfindel orgasm too along with him. Gildor had never felt so satiated, and he flopped bonelessly beneath his lover, their bodies slick with sweat, their hair damp.
It took them some minutes to come around, laid twisted together as the breeze from the window cooled them off. At last Gildor drew his hands back, and was surprised to find blood under his fingernails. Glorfindel blinked and looked at him, still sprawled over Gildor’s body, heavy and warm.
“I hurt you,” Gildor breathed. “I am sorry.” Glorfindel only smirked.
“Don’t be. It felt fabulous, hravan.”
Gildor giggled, only then realising the punishing nature of their coming together. “Ouch,” he said, feeling sore and well-used. Glorfindel moved carefully, and Gildor hissed, secretly glad he would spend the night alone in his room. There could be no repeat performance this night. He did not think his body could take it!
When Glorfindel had withdrawn, and settled down beside him, he turned and rested his head in his customary place on the warrior’s broad chest. “I should offer to clean those scratches, but I do not think I can move,” he confided. Really, it was extraordinary how Glorfindel could radiate such heat. It felt too good, and they would need to part far too soon.
“I would not worry overmuch.” Glorfindel’s hand was warm as it glided over his back, the caress as relaxing as the feel of silken chest hair under his cheek. “I have had far worse, and I am sure a proper bath tomorrow will see them nearly gone.”
“Stubborn, stoic warriors.” Gildor could not help the joy which infused his words, robbing them of any hint of grumbling. “I still do not want to move yet.”
“Nor do I want you to leave, but I can feel your breathing deepen, and you will be fast asleep before we know it. While I would enjoy it quite a bit, I am sure you do not want me carrying you through the halls to your room for all to see.” Glorfindel’s voice danced with laughter, and he lifted his head to look at the blond elf.
“You would enjoy it,” he agreed. “I can almost see your smirk in the morning, too, when everyone looks across the table at us. Wicked elf.”
“Your wicked elf.” Glorfindel pulled him closer, nuzzling his hair tenderly. “Should we bathe before you go off to your room, or wait until the morning?”
He sighed, knowing full well this delaying tactic. First a bath, and then the inevitable undoing of all the bath had achieved. He was already too sore to manage another go, he decided, and the realisation made him sigh again.
“Oh, no, such sighing bodes ill,” Glorfindel said, one finger delving under his chin to make him look up. “It is only for a few more nights, bain nín. And then my wrists will feel better, and you can go back to trussing me up like a prize to be unwrapped in the morning.”
Gildor smiled and snuggled closer. “Do you promise?” he asked, and unbidden, his gaze flicked to the chest that stood on the far side of the room, remembering the feathered wand. Glorfindel caught his look.
“Oh, no you don’t!” he said, laughing deeply. “I shall move that chest before you tie me up again.”
“Ha!” Gildor said, poking his lover in the chest with a finger. “Spoilsport…”
Glorfindel caught Gildor’s wrist in one large hand. “Of course, if you’re curious,” he said warmly, “you could always come bathe with me, and I will show you some more of the toys in there.”
He bit his lip, because Glorfindel was so very tempting, and he was wavering, he knew it. “It’s still quite early,” Glorfindel pointed out, running his fingers through Gildor’s hair gently. He was on the verge of yes when he shifted slightly and groaned, turning onto his back.
Stretching happily, he expected the burning sensation this time, and even revelled in it. “Oh, Glorfindel. I really think I should go to bed.” He closed his eyes as Glorfindel leaned near to him, kissing his forehead affectionately.
“Then you should go under your own steam, meleth,” he said. “Remember that you need to engage those new locks from the inside.”
That woke him up a bit, and he blinked, sitting up and reaching to gather his clothing. Trying to put it on while Glorfindel continued to tease him, still hoping to convince him to bathe.
But at last it was done, and he gave Glorfindel a sweet kiss or two, perhaps three, before heading off to his own room. He really was tired, but he took the time to engage all of the locks, just as Glorfindel had shown him. Having done so, he felt much safer, and he drifted off, exhausted by the previous night and the following day.
He was roused from reverie by a most unaccustomed sound. Someone was rattling his door, quite vigorously. He found himself tangled in the bedding as he sat up, blinking to help him focus. Much to his surprise, though, it stopped, and he found himself wondering if he’d imagined it all.
“This is what you get for indulging in wine in the library,” he muttered, trying to sort out the bedding. “And then wine with dinner. And oh, that glorious lovemaking. No wonder I’m addled.”
The moonlight was bright through his window, and he smiled to himself as he curled up in his pillows, missing the warmth of Glorfindel beside him. His eyes closed, and reverie began to steal over him again, sweet and welcome. The gentle breeze from the window lulled him even more.
But there should be no breeze, he realised. He had locked his window, very carefully, exactly the way Glorfindel had shown him. His eyes flew open again, and he clutched the bedding around his neck, scarcely daring to breathe.
“Findelya vanima ná.” The throaty whisper was unmistakable. “Áva sorya.”

To be continued...

Authors' Note: Thank you for reading! We hope you are enjoying it! :)

Translations (Quenya unless stated otherwise):
Ánin quanta – Fill me
Mîr nín – my treasure (Sindarin)
Natyë celva – You are (an) animal
Áva pusta – Don’t stop
Verca yaulë – Wild cat
hravan – wild beast
Findelya vanima ná – You have pretty hair
Áva sorya – Don’t be afraid
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The Lost and the Hidden City