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The Lost and the Hidden City	By : pip & BronxWench Category: -Multi-Age > Slash - Male/Male Views: 2743 -:- 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 Three
Gildor clutched his own clothing tightly as he led the way to the baths, his cheeks feeling warm enough to glow. He chose the baths he knew were always the busiest, but to his chagrin, there was no one within. They were late indeed. He turned to Glorfindel with a bright smile.
“Well, here we are. I will set my things here, and see what soaps are available. There is one I favour, which you might like.” He did his best to make it seem like he was not hurrying to the nearby benches with his clothing, but Glorfindel’s rich chuckle gave the lie to his wishes. He took the opportunity to glance over his shoulder as he examined the flasks and cakes of soap left for general use.
Glorfindel seemed in no hurry as he strolled to a bench to deposit his own clothing, and Gildor cursed his cock as he watched Glorfindel strip off the silver robe. It was impossible for any elf to be so splendid. Glorfindel might have been one of the Valar, so perfectly made was he. The lanterns’ shadows sculpted every muscle, and lit the golden hair on Glorfindel’s broad chest. He swallowed hard and returned to the soaps, grabbing one at random. It had a green and pleasant scent.
“Here, this one is quite refreshing. And this is what I use for my hair.” Gildor waved a flask, his words trailing off as Glorfindel smiled.
“You might want to take off your robe, you know.” Glorfindel took the soap and flask, sauntering to the bath while Gildor watched in rapt admiration.
He turned quickly, and divested himself of his robe. When he was finally ready - and calm enough - to turn around again, there was no sight of Glorfindel. The flask and soap were set out on the side of the bath, and as Gildor walked over to them, he could see the rippling image of Glorfindel under the water.
Gildor sat and dangled his feet over the edge before slipping into the water. It was a wonderful warm temperature, and he sighed in pleasure as he saw Glorfindel rise up from the bottom of the pool.
Glorfindel surfaced before him, head thrown back, the steaming water cascading down his body. Gildor was captivated. Glorfindel’s golden hair had deepened to a dark blond, the curls tighter and more clearly defined. The warrior opened his eyes and straightened his head, his hands coming to rest on the edge of the bath at either side of Gildor.
Gildor swallowed hard. “How is the water?” he asked. He knew it was idiotic the moment the words left his lips, but the sight of Glorfindel robbed him of any sense at all. He could feel his cock stirring, and he could not stop himself from leaning forward and kissing Glorfindel. His hands reached for those strong shoulders, and he felt muscle ripple beneath the silken skin as Glorfindel pressed closer.
“You were made by the Valar to be kissed,” Glorfindel murmured. His mouth moved along Gildor’s jaw, to the tip of his ear, and Gildor arched into Glorfindel’s chest with a moan when he felt teeth nibbling the sensitive flesh. He could not believe Glorfindel was ready again, so soon. Perhaps the Valar had given him such resilience as a reward for agreeing to return.
And now those lips were moving down his throat, to the hollow beneath his adam’s apple, and his cock was hard without any further deliberation. Such was the effect Glorfindel had on him, and Gildor did not want to resist. “You were made to be bewitching,” he told Glorfindel, his voice husky with need. “I cannot pretend I do not want you, even if it means I may never walk again.”
To his surprise, Glorfindel only chuckled in amusement, then backed away slightly, taking up the flask and covering his fingers with its contents. “Turn around,” he suggested, “and I will wash your hair.”
Gildor didn't even think until he had obeyed, facing the edge of the bath with Glorfindel behind him, but then he caught his breath as Glorfindel came closer again, fingertips raking back through his hair making his scalp tingle. He was only half aware of gripping the stone, closing his eyes, arching his body in some subtle way so that Glorfindel could continue handling his hair, while his buttocks bumped into a part of Glorfindel that was hotter than the warm water. Gildor gasped.
“I do not think you realise just how inviting you are,” Glorfindel said, and there was a sensual quality to his voice. “I promised to wash your hair.” Glorfindel paused, then whispered: “you're almost begging for it...”
With a gulp, Gildor just managed to bite back the 'please' that had been on the tip of his tongue. It was as if he could not help himself. “But be warned,” Glorfindel teased, suddenly pressing forward, trapping his body against the side of the bath so that Gildor could feel how hard he was. It made a low moan vibrate in his throat. Invitation, his mind supplied sinfully. “If you remain so...” He could almost feel Glorfindel looking him up and down. “...available, when I have done with your hair, I will happily have you again here, even if we gather an audience.”
“Do you think to dissuade me?” Gildor found his voice, pinned between Glorfindel and the warm stone. He breathed in, the scent of the salve being applied to his hair both familiar and subtly thrilling, mingled as it was with the scent which was so uniquely Glorfindel--the clean pine of a mountain forest mingled with hot, coppery blood.
Glorfindel’s fingers did not pause in their ministrations. “I remember you as one who did not seek the spotlight.” He did not move away, letting Gildor feel the hard length of his desire.
“Much has changed.” Gildor did not know if he wanted to press back against Glorfindel, or seek the embrace of the stones to ease his own need for touch. It almost did not matter; a deep enough breath and he would have both. “Is it so hard to think I might have learned not to hide my interest? I am not ashamed of wanting you--” He gasped as Glorfindel pressed even closer, “and I do not care who knows it.”
As Glorfindel pressed against him, the warrior groaned quietly into his ear. “I will have you first,” he vowed, and it seemed to Gildor as if Glorfindel couldn’t help himself either. It gave him a heady feeling, a joyful feeling, and he moved his body suggestively against the warrior.
“Yes,” he whispered back, turning his head to press his lips against the corner of Glorfindel’s mouth. “You should have me first, just as you say.”
He leaned forward further forward, just how Glorfindel wanted, and his hair was full of the conditioner Glorfindel had been using. It fell in dark ribbons around him on the side of the bath as Glorfindel made his body ready with the same salve. Nothing felt real until Glorfindel breached him - again - and his body adjusted more quickly this time. Yet still, he could think of nothing else, even as Glorfindel placed hands over his on the side of the bath.
Gildor moved with Glorfindel inside him, feeling himself full as he had never been before. His other lovers did not come close to this, and never would. “Will you tease me longer?” he asked, and he could hear the joy in his voice. “At this rate, vexatious elf, we will miss our supper.”
“Is that what you want? To spend all day in this bath, letting me render you voiceless with pleasure?” Glorfindel withdrew with deliberate languor, and held with only the head of his cock still inside Gildor. “Shall I make you cry out my name, over and over, until there is nothing left but sighs and whispers?” His breath was hot against Gildor’s ear, and he shivered with anticipation.
“If you must hear it, then yes,” Gildor replied, and cried out as Glorfindel pressed in, deep and possessive.
Gildor panted, feeling Glorfindel filling him completely. “My name,” Glorfindel demanded playfully.
“Oh, Glorfindel!” Gildor cried out loudly, overacting again so that Glorfindel laughed. He did too, and it made his body tighten. Glorfindel was hard and unyielding inside him, and it felt amazing.
Suddenly Glorfindel’s arms were wrapped around him, pulling him close. “You have to stop doing that,” the warrior almost growled the words into his ear. There was no laughter in him now. Instead, it seemed like he was just barely in control of himself.
Gildor attempted to calm himself, but he couldn’t, and as if it had drawn a response, Glorfindel pulled back and then drove into him hard. That cured him of his giggling, and he felt his knees go weak. If Glorfindel hadn’t been holding him up, he might have stumbled and fallen.
“Glorfindel…” he moaned, without any encouragement or affectation now.
He could not move, could not think past the way Glorfindel had spoken. The game was well and truly over, he realised. It was not his nature to be passive, but he felt so in the face of Glorfindel’s need, for that was what it was, even if he knew not what the warrior needed. In all his years, Gildor did not recall ever being taken quite so fiercely. The strong arms encircling him tightened, and he gasped.
“Glorfindel…” He felt hot tears prickling behind his eyelids, and he let himself go limp in Glorfindel’s arms. He gripped the edge of the bath as Glorfindel plundered him, hard and demanding, and each gasp teetered on the edge of a sob. He was not sure if it was still pleasure he felt, but his body responded anyway.
Perhaps he thought he had opened himself to Glorfindel before, but it hadn’t been like this. For these few moments, Gildor felt true submission, each one of Glorfindel’s movements touching him more deeply than the mere physical nature of their coupling.
He uttered Glorfindel’s name without even hearing it, like a prayer, until he really was reduced to sighs and whispers. Then, it occurred to him that he didn’t know when Glorfindel had gentled his movements, but he had, and the sudden perception of pleasure overwhelmed his senses until it felt as if his body was singing with it.
“Gildor…” Glorfindel moaned, and he supplied the warrior with a heartfelt and passionate assent, feeling his lover reach completion inside him. Had he come himself? Gildor was shocked to discover he didn’t know, and further, that he didn’t care. His nerves thrummed with profound satisfaction and warmth towards Glorfindel.
When his lover pulled away, Gildor allowed Glorfindel to tilt him back into the water, trusting, leaving him completely off balance while the warrior rinsed his hair, one large hand cradled behind his head to hold his weight. He stared up into Glorfindel’s eyes, overcome by something that he could only realise was love. Glorfindel was smiling, beautiful, tender and considerate. When he had finished with Gildor’s hair, his hand travelled down Gildor’s body slowly, and then wrapped around his erection. Gildor shuddered in awareness at the realisation he hadn’t found that end, that he was still hard, and the assurance that Glorfindel was going to make certain of his pleasure too.
Such awareness banished any last doubts or fears Gildor might have harboured deep within. His fëa felt as light as a feather, suffused as he was with love, and joy. While he could not be sure, not so soon, he did think he saw, at the very least, the beginnings of love in Glorfindel’s eyes, and it was enough. It was more than enough.
Glorfindel’s hand was hotter than the water, hotter than Gildor’s own flesh, and he yearned into the touch. Even in this, Glorfindel was magnificently confident, fingers tightening just so, and every movement bringing him closer to completion. He was indeed wordless now, shaping Glorfindel’s name with each sigh, his trust absolute as his head came to rest on Glorfindel’s strong shoulder. He turned his face to press it to the damp curls of his lover, burnished gold and silken against his skin.
When it came, his release shook him to his core. The love he felt for Glorfindel, the trust he felt, these were more of himself than he had ever given before, and his surrender was as complete as he felt in Glorfindel’s embrace. He tightened, his back arching as he spilled, and his tears were lost in the soft curls of his lover as he shuddered through the final throes of his pleasure.
Soon he found himself stood in the water again, on his feet, held in Glorfindel’s arms. The warrior’s hands stroked down over his back, soothing. It was quiet and undemanding, and exactly what he needed.
“Are you alright?” Glorfindel asked eventually, his voice deep and soft. Gildor nodded, then stepped away, feeling a little more like himself again. That Glorfindel had seemed to understand he needed those quiet moments made him feel cherished, but a little too vulnerable. He crossed the bath to the soap and then turned around.
“I suppose I’ll have to let you wash your own hair now,” he teased, deliberately, and Glorfindel smirked.
“I suppose so,” the warrior said, and came near to empty the flask of hair conditioner into his palm, rubbing it through the length of his hair as he stared at Gildor, his eyes twinkling. “You’d have to get up a lot earlier in the morning,” he commented, and Gildor threw the soap at him.
The rest of the bath proceeded without further lovemaking, although Gildor found himself curiously tender towards Glorfindel. Despite his avowed refusal to do so, he could not resist helping to rinse the conditioner from Glorfindel’s curls. They dried themselves and dressed, and went to the dining hall, where they were able to beg a belated breakfast of fruits, wheatcakes, and honey, washed down with cups of tea.
There were a few glances directed their way when Gildor led Glorfindel out into the gardens, wanting to show him some of the rare trees which had found a home among Lord Elrond’s groves. In particular, there was one grove which reminded him of Gondolin, and it was his thought Glorfindel might find it as pleasant a refuge as he had done.
The day was clear, and bright, and a gentle breeze kept it from being too warm for a walk. Gildor glanced at Glorfindel as they strolled along at their leisure. “I have to admit, walking is quite pleasant. I had thought I might be a bit fatigued.” His lips twitched in an effort to hide a grin.
Glorfindel suddenly stopped and gave him a stunned look of assessment. “If that is so, I am sure I can be a little more demanding tonight.”
With a little laugh, Gildor took Glorfindel’s hand and pulled him onward. Tonight… secretly, in his mind, Gildor calculated the hours left in the day as they continued walking. They went quite far, and Glorfindel commented upon the grove, making Gildor happy he had chosen it. Then, at last, he began to flag a little, and sat down on the sun-warmed glass with a little sigh. Glorfindel dropped down beside him.
“I think I might need a little rest,” Gildor said, startling himself with a yawn. But the sun was warm and the grass was cool. The blue sky looked like freedom as he lie down and looked up at it through the shade of the trees. Glorfindel didn’t seem tired at all, but considering what he had got through at breakfast… Gildor wondered how all that food fit in him!
Glorfindel settled onto the grass beside Gildor, and lifted his head onto his lap. One large hand stroked his hair almost absently, and he had the somewhat ridiculous urge to purr. It was wonderfully soothing, though, and he was loath to discourage the attention.
“Are you feeling better?” Glorfindel asked, giving Gildor another of his assessing looks. “Perhaps you have overestimated your own capacity for… exertion.” He laughed when Gildor prodded his ribs.
“You are wicked, and a tease.” He smiled up at his lover. “I am just a little out of practice. I promise you, I will not always need to rest halfway through a stroll.” He reached up to tug one golden curl. “Shall we stay here for a little while, before we return?”
“I would not mind staying here for a bit.” Glorfindel leaned over to capture a kiss from Gildor, who wriggled away and sat up.
“Oh, no. I am not going to be tumbled in the grass like…like…well, I do not know quite what I would be like, but never mind that.” Gildor laughed at Glorfindel’s surprised expression. “We will walk back, and have a proper dinner, and then maybe we will go to your room tonight, instead of mine.” He felt a tiny shiver of anticipation at the thought of being in Glorfindel’s bed. What sort of things would await him there?
“But I thought you had a big day planned!” Glorfindel said in mock disappointment. “You mentioned sights,” he said, nodding. “In the plural.”
Gildor shrugged and stood up, stretching. “Well, what about a little day, and a big night?” he queried, and had his answer when Glorfindel scrambled to his feet enthusiastically.
They walked back slowly, hand in hand, remembering little things to each other about their lives before, though Gildor thought Glorfindel filled in a few gaps via their conversation. He was happy to ease his lover’s mind this way.
They still had several hours before the evening meal, so they spent those in the library, and Gildor led Glorfindel through the new shape of Middle Earth. They drank small amounts of miruvor and told each other more and more ridiculous stories until they were shooed out by the librarians for their noisy laughter.
Gildor insisted they finish their conversation by the fountain, and there, in the company of some of the other elves of Imladris, Glorfindel entertained his lover with even more fanciful stories. No one noticed Lord Elrond watching and listening, but if they had, they would have seen his lips twitching in a smile he was hard pressed to conceal, before he returned to his workroom.
“And that,” Glorfindel said with an air of satisfaction, “is the proper way to deal with goblins.” Gildor laughed into the sleeve of his robe, and Glorfindel arched an imperious brow. “We could demonstrate, you know. Would you care to play my part, and I will be the goblin?”
Gildor waved a hand, still laughing. “No one would ever believe you as a goblin. And I am hardly a swordmaster. I can hold my own, of course, but I know my limits.”
“Do you?” There was the slightest drawl to Glorfindel’s words, and Gildor found himself warm-cheeked and nearly flustered, although no one else would have remarked the question had he not given himself away with his blushes.
“You cannot evade the challenge,” one onlooker cried out. “Come, Gildor, and show us.”
Gildor glanced around, suddenly aware of their audience, and then laughed. “But I am not armed,” he argued, yet that didn’t seem to stop Glorfindel stalking him around the fountain as he backed away.
There was a certain amount of laughter around him, but it was friendly and good natured. He sensed that others had now seen Glorfindel and himself together, and were accepting of it. It felt good, and it only added to his giddy excitement as Glorfindel attempted to grab him.
“Improvise!” Glorfindel said, and Gildor looked around him for a weapon, or some form of rescue. He saw his escape by way of an elf who came out to announce the evening meal, and he did not need to do anything for it to work in his favour. Not if what he had seen at breakfast was any indication of Glorfindel’s appetite.
“You are mine now!” Glorfindel said as he grasped the front of Gildor’s tunic. Just then the gong sounded for dinner, and the other elves began to drift away. Glorfindel waited until they were quite alone. His hands loosened, slipping around Gildor’s waist, and he tilted his head in an adorable fashion. “Saved by the bell,” Glorfindel said. “I should like a little taste first. Consider it an appetiser.”
Gildor laughed, feeling quite at home in his lover’s arms. He reached up to drape his arms over Glorfindel’s muscular shoulders. “Then have your taste,” he murmured, and his lips parted slightly in invitation. The most delectable heat started deep in his belly, while he looked into Glorfindel’s eyes. He had no desire to offer any resistance, which was not like him. But Glorfindel was kissing him, and that was enough.

To be continued...

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The Lost and the Hidden City