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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 Four
The second call to dinner made them break apart, laughing and happy, and they walked into the dining hall with bright smiles and, in Gildor’s case, rosy cheeks. Again, no one remarked on their arriving together, nor did anyone seem surprised when Glorfindel seated himself next to Gildor, pouring wine for his lover with a generous hand.
“Ai, enough,” he laughed, putting a hand up to stop Glorfindel. “I will not make it past the first course if you pour for me like that.”
As before, Glorfindel ate everything that was put before him, even going so far as to order seconds of some things. He’d never noticed it before, but then, he’d never really taken such an interest in what Glorfindel ate before. It was likely the demands of his work, since Gildor noticed many of the other warriors putting much the same quantity away.
He pretended not to notice Glorfindel kept topping up his wine, but tried to pace himself, until at last he sprawled back in his seat a little, and regarded Glorfindel from under his lashes.
“Are you trying to get me drunk?” he asked directly. Glorfindel paused in the middle of reaching for the wine bottle, and pulled it over in his hand. He leaned in close, and Gildor tilted his head so that Glorfindel could whisper to him.
“I’m trying to make you easy,” he whispered, and a sudden thrill of sexual excitement raced through him, making him gulp and sit up in his seat as Glorfindel topped up his glass… again.
“I did not think I had presented much of a challenge thus far,” Gildor murmured, promising himself to ignore this new glass of wine. His head was spinning, and not from the wine alone. Having Glorfindel this close, paying such attention to him in front of Lord Elrond, in front of everyone was enough to make any elf dizzy. For him, it was a dream made real.
To cover his slightly flustered state, he reached for a piece of fruit. The first thing which came to hand was a fig, ripe and sweet. He took a nibble and caught a drop of nectar with the tip of his tongue as it pearled against the thick skin. Glorfindel’s breath teased his ear.
“I would love to see your tongue wrap around my sac, exactly like that.”
Gildor inhaled sharply, and began to cough,taking the glass of wine Glorfindel offered him so helpfully and drinking deeply. “Oh, you wicked elf,” he muttered, when he could breathe again, Glorfindel’s chuckle sending another wave of heat to his groin.
Before long, the meal was over, and Gildor was glad when he began to see elves leaving the table. Truly he did not think he could keep drinking at the pace Glorfindel was urging him to. The heat of Glorfindel’s palm was pressed against his thigh under the table, and he realised he did not know when Glorfindel had put it there.
He refused to even consider the next full glass Glorfindel put before him, turning his face away. Yet he must have misjudged how closely Glorfindel was leaning in, because he found himself brushing his lips over the warrior’s ear. Valar, he smelled gorgeous! Gildor made a soft sound of surprise, and let his head fall back slightly to end the contact.
“Shall I take you to bed?” Glorfindel asked, out loud, and Gildor could swear he saw Lord Elrond’s sudden smirk at the warrior’s antics. Gildor knew he was drunk, much more so than the night before, and he couldn’t remember the last time he had felt this way. His body seemed light, and each movement he made was exaggerated and slow. He heaved a noisy sigh, and poked Glorfindel in the chest with his index finger.
“You are very naughty,” he announced, and as Glorfindel smiled at him, the hand on his leg lightened, the fingers of that hand tickling the inside of his thigh. Gildor drew in a shocked breath as the heat coiled in him, stirring his body. This time he waved his finger in front of Glorfindel’s face. “We will have words, naughty elf,” he teased. Glorfindel laughed merrily.
Gildor stood, and he was terribly proud of not swaying, although he did hold the back of his chair for a moment to make sure. “At least tell me you were matching my imbibing.” He shot Glorfindel a look over his shoulder, and he was startled anew by the warrior’s proximity, close enough for him to feel heat rising from Glorfindel’s body.
“I will tell you nothing of the sort,” Glorfindel replied, smug. He wrapped a strong arm around Gildor’s waist, encouraging him to lean against his lover. “Now, let me take you to bed.”
“Of course, so you can have your wicked way with me.” Gildor sniffed, but he did not protest as he was led out of the dining hall. He lost track of the turnings, and he looked at Glorfindel sharply. “You are truly a naughty elf, aníra nín. You did not need to try and get me drunk. Not that I am drunk. Far from it.”
“Not at all,” Glorfindel agreed, and Gildor heard the laughter in his voice. A little too gently, Glorfindel drew him to a stop before he could go marching straight past Glorfindel’s door.
“What I want to know,” Gildor said as the door was opened and he was bundled inside it, “is when do I get to have my wicked way with you?” Glorfindel crowded him, so that he seemed to have no option but to step back, and he frowned, only to find himself laid on Glorfindel’s bed. It was soft, and he thought perhaps he fell into it too deeply. Or was that the wine?
Glorfindel’s face was only inches above his own, amused and desirous. Gildor sighed and reached up to pull him down. “Mmm…” Glorfindel said, and brushed lips against his. “When I have had enough, you can take a turn.”
With a happy sigh, he stretched out his neck as Glorfindel peppered his face and neck with tiny kisses. He knew Glorfindel was busy with his hands too, undressing him, and Gildor applied himself to trying to undo Glorfindel’s buttons, biting his lip in concentration. They seemed to be avoiding his fingers. “And when will you have ‘had enough’?” Gildor queried, settling for ignoring the buttons in favour of just pulling Glorfindel’s tunic apart. His lover laughed deeply. Never, that laugh said.
Gildor let his fingers wander across the expanse of chest revealed by the rent tunic. The fine hairs were as silky as the curls which fell over Glorfindel’s shoulder, to tickle him as he was kissed and nibbled into a state of pure sensation. He found one nipple, almost by chance, and he circled it with his thumb.
As they removed the rest of their clothing, he found he did not mind the prospect of spending the foreseeable future beneath Glorfindel, or at least as full of Glorfindel as he could get. There was such pleasure in being wanted so deeply. If he thought about it long enough, he was quite sure he would be moved to tears. To be so well loved was headier than any wine, more potent than miruvor.
“If you keep up this pace, you will have had enough by the next moon,” he teased, looking up into Glorfindel’s eyes. It was like looking into a cloudless summer sky, endless and yet welcoming and cosy. “And I will have bowed legs, and walk with a limp.”
Gildor laughed, feeling Glorfindel’s hard shaft against his leg. He lifted his hips helpfully, bumping into his lover and shivering as his cock touched warm flesh. “I think you would like that. Everyone would know why, and you would wave them off, as pleased with yourself as could be.”
Glorfindel said nothing, and only reached out to his bedside table. His hands were busy above Gildor’s line of sight, but he heard the faint glug of the oil as Glorfindel drizzled it onto his fingers, and his body seemed to leap eagerly, without bothering to check with his brain first.
When Glorfindel put the bottle on the table and moved back down the bed, he stared into Gildor’s eyes again. “I am not concerned with everyone,” he said simply. “I am only concerned with you.”
It touched his heart, it did, or else his emotions were stirred too intensely by the alcohol he had consumed, but Gildor did not think so. Glorfindel’s hand was already there, beneath him, one finger rubbing and pressing against him before sliding inside. “Ohhh,” he moaned, instinctively raising his knees to either side of his lover’s waist, caught by Glorfindel’s sincerity and desire.
He did not quite know what to say. There was something so vast contained in those simple words. I am only concerned with you. No one had ever said such a thing to Gildor, not in this context. Oh, he had been the focus of a healer from time to time, when he was wounded, but their concern was the professional sort, and not this intoxicating thing Glorfindel offered so easily.
“Aníra nín,” he whispered. “Glorfindel…” It earned him a smile of surpassing beauty, Glorfindel holding him captive with a look.
“Mîr nín.” Glorfindel’s finger moved in and out, preparing him, but in truth, he was more than ready. He shivered in need and anticipation, his hips lifting again in a silent plea. He was still tender, and he felt the warrior’s touch keenly, but it only whetted his appetite. He longed to be filled again, so there would be no empty places left for doubt to take hold. He was worthy of Glorfindel, and it was those simple words which convinced him. I am only concerned with you.
Soon it was the head of Glorfindel’s erection pressing for entry, and Gildor relaxed on purpose, the alcohol he had consumed aiding him. Moaning, his hands gripped Glorfindel’s forearms, and they were immovable at either side of him, like the bars of a prison he did not wish to escape. Glorfindel’s weight was held there as his body moved forward; steady, unerring and precise.
This time, Gildor kept his eyes open as long as he could, and he saw Glorfindel staring down at him for a moment before he was breached by the warrior’s solid, thick cock. The focus in his lover’s eyes changed subtly and his eyelashes fluttered closed in pleasure. Like his hair when it was wet, Glorfindel’s eyelashes were a dark flaxen gold. His hands were dislodged as Glorfindel adjusted his weight, his warm palms tenderly easing Gildor’s knees apart from where he had pulled them up and into his body. Glorfindel gained an extra inch or so with that, making Gildor grunt deeply at the sensation and his hands held Glorfindel’s biceps now, fingertips pressing as if for mercy.
Even deeper, and Gildor felt so full, his body still yielding, his internal muscles clutching at Glorfindel as he continued to push past them. He could not speak; instead his body was doing it for him, twitching playfully until Glorfindel was all the way. Gildor could only take tiny breaths, understanding he held all of his lover inside him. “All of me,” Glorfindel whispered, as if he had read Gildor’s thought. “Easy like this… you need no rough handling, mîr nín.”
Gildor’s eyes shone with unshed tears. “Glorfindel,” he managed, his voice husky with emotion. How had he come to be so loved, by this elf he had long desired? Truly, the Valar had blessed him. “You are perfect, aníra nín.” His fingers dug into strong biceps, and he could not look away from that beloved face. To see such pleasure there, and to know he was the cause of it was almost too much.
The wine made it harder for him to focus on anything beyond this moment, this complete surrender to Glorfindel and the joy it brought. He could not even find it in himself to move, and again, Glorfindel seemed to know his very thoughts.
“I have you,” Glorfindel assured him. “You are in my hands, my beauty.” He accepted this in perfect trust, and when Glorfindel began to move, and he could breathe, he ghosted a wanton moan and let his head fall back to expose the pale column of his throat.
At some point he’d raised one of his legs and wrapped it around Glorfindel, his heel on the warrior’s back as Glorfindel’s weight came to rest upon him, pressing him deep into the mattress. His own neglected cock was trapped between their bodies, Glorfindel’s movements providing a fantastic friction that made Gildor whimper in pleasure.
“Mmm…” Glorfindel made a low, almost dangerous sound of pleased satisfaction, then took what he offered, nipping at Gildor’s neck with his teeth before fastening there and sucking hard, yet before he could do more than react with a loud moan, a warm thumb was on his jaw, making him raise his head for a kiss.
Perhaps it was just Glorfindel’s nature, but he dominated in this too for now, the warmth of his tongue pushing in, silencing Gildor completely. When his fingers slid into Glorfindel’s hair, the warrior merely held his wrists down to the bed. It all contributed to a feeling of being utterly overwhelmed and consumed. Gildor found his mind leaping to each time Glorfindel had known his body this way, connecting them as if they were all that existed, as if he were only meant for Glorfindel’s pleasure. For his release.
A moment of instinctive panic swiftly passed, leaving a deeper trust and surrender in its wake as Glorfindel continued to inundate each of his senses. Glorfindel would not let him become lost. With that knowledge came the freedom to let himself truly feel every sensation being visited upon him.
Just the very act of kissing Gildor made Glorfindel shift within him, and even so small a movement sent shivers of delighted pleasure through him. He knew he would not last, could not last, and this felt right. He felt himself building to an inevitable release, and he offered a small whimper as a token warning to his lover. His leg, still wrapped around Glorfindel, tightened, and his hips tried to lift, but the weight of the warrior held him in place.
“Yes, my beauty. Let it go, and come for me,” Glorfindel urged. His voice was a bit ragged as well.
Gildor heard himself cry out, and then he was swept away in a rush of heat and release. He could feel nothing except pleasure, Glorfindel continuing to move in a leisurely fashion, tender, steady forays which kept him on the edge until pleasure danced closer to pain. He felt the sticky wetness between them, and he tried to wriggle away to no avail. Just when he thought he could take no more, when he was sure his cries would turn to sobs, Glorfindel groaned and pushed in, as deep as before, and he could do nothing beyond accepting the heat of Glorfindel’s release.
For a few moments, neither of them moved. Glorfindel had somehow tucked his face in toward the side of Gildor’s neck, and he was hot and heavy. Now that the warrior had found release, he seemed less hard and muscled; instead Gildor had the impression that Glorfindel was draped over him, pliant and floppy. The idea amused him, and he drew in a deeper breath to laugh, only to find it forced out of him by Glorfindel’s weight on his chest.
Gildor coughed, and lowered his leg, his ankle brushing down over the back of Glorfindel’s thigh until it rested in the crook at the back of his knee. His movement dislodged something, and Glorfindel slipped a little from inside him, resulting in a deep grumble of wordless dismay near his ear.
“Glorfindel,” Gildor said, longing to laugh again. Who knew the blond warrior could be so cuddly as this? He managed to wriggle his arms free and let his fingertips glide down over Glorfindel’s back. Gildor jerked his shoulder. “I need to breathe,” he said softly.
Glorfindel lifted his head, his eyes still somewhat dazed. “Then breathe,” he said, leaning in again to nuzzle his ear.
“You are too heavy, aníra nín.” He tried to shift Glorfindel to no avail. “Please?”
He was rewarded with widened eyes, and Glorfindel rolled to one side. It was his turn to sound dismayed, as Glorfindel slipped free, and he felt unspeakably empty. He turned to his side and reached for his lover.
“Are you alright? Is this better?” Glorfindel lifted his face to look into his eyes, and whatever he saw made him smile in relief.
He basked in the glow of his lover’s smile, feeling content as he placed one hand on Glorfindel’s muscular chest, feeling the strong heartbeat, and the warmth that radiated from him. “Thank you,” he murmured.
“For what?”
“For having me.” He did laugh this time, when Glorfindel snorted and tugged him close to kiss him.
Gildor rested his head on Glorfindel’s chest after the kiss, and they lie quietly together for a few minutes, Glorfindel’s hand stroking down his back. He felt warm and treasured, and loved.
“Are you tired?” Glorfindel asked suddenly, sounding bright and wide awake. With some reluctance, Gildor sat up in the bed and looked down at Glorfindel.
“Wicked elf! Will it do me any good if I am?” Gildor queried, watching how Glorfindel used a finger to stroke up and down his shin. It made a tickling sensation run through him. The warrior grinned.
“It is early yet,” he said with a gentle smile. “I thought we could visit the baths again, then come back here and get to know each other properly.” He paused. “The way I suggested at dinner.”
Gildor had a sudden enthusiasm for that suggestion. They would not be alone in the baths - not in the evening - but that hardly mattered. The idea of it made him almost breathless, and yet… he cast his glance dubiously towards Glorfindel’s wardrobe. “Do you have a robe that won’t drown me?” he asked, giving his answer at the same time.
Glorfindel’s laugh rang out. “Oh, my little peacock, I am sure we can find something which will suit you.” He sat up as well, and slid long legs over the side of the bed. “Do you have a colour preference? What suits you better, silk or satin? Or is velvet more to your taste?”
He could not help but join in the laughter. “Something I will not trip over is fine, wicked elf. I am not that much of a peacock.”

To be continued...

Translations:
aníra nín – my desire
mîr nín – my treasure
bain nín – my beauty

Authors' Note: Thank you for reading, we hope you're enjoying it. Please leave a comment! :)
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The Lost and the Hidden City