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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
- 7
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- 9
Chapter Eight
It became a customary thing for them to spend their nights together, lost in the passion all new lovers enjoyed. Theirs ran deeper, however, and as the days passed, Gildor wondered how he had managed before Glorfindel. His wardrobe held some of the warrior’s things, and he had left items of his clothing in Glorfindel’s room. It was a puzzlement to him why they bothered with the fiction of separate rooms.
His joy translated into a renewed enthusiasm for his duties, and while Glorfindel trained and drilled, he flung himself into his tasks with a bright smile. While no one said it in so many words, he was sure he had seen Lord Elrond’s approval in the face of his diligence.
Nights were spent exploring each other, until he was drunk on the feeling of Glorfindel in him, beside him, touching him. There was always that one moment, each time they came together, when he knew he touched Glorfindel just as deeply, and it never failed to send a shiver through him.
Though to others it might seem like a whirlwind had taken them, and perhaps even to Glorfindel himself, to Gildor it was different. He had wanted Glorfindel for so long, dreamed of him, lost him and now at last, they were truly together. To him, it was not fast. To him, it had the same feeling of a good harvest. This love was like the reward of a long labour. It felt happy, just like that.
Since they spent each night together, over the next few weeks Gildor quickly grew used to sleeping with Glorfindel, became acquainted with his habits and quirks, even while he slept. Then, one night, something changed. Gildor was not awoken fully, but there were moments during the night when he almost surfaced from reverie, aware that Glorfindel was restless beside him.
Glorfindel was not given to tossing and turning. The warrior partook of rest like he did his food. He invariably found some comfortable position, usually sprawled over most of the bed, one arm draped comfortably over Gildor, then slept peacefully until the morning.
It was strange to wake without Glorfindel holding him or touching him in some way, and that morning, Gildor turned over to face his lover, only to find Glorfindel laid on his back staring at the ceiling, wide awake.
“You are certainly the early riser this morning,” he said, moving closer to his lover. He was surprised when Glorfindel flinched. “What is it?”
Glorfindel did not respond, and he saw the warrior’s hands, clenched into tight fists and pressed against strong thighs as though Glorfindel was holding himself in check.
Now he was alarmed, and he raised himself on one elbow to look more closely at Glorfindel. “Aníra nín?” He reached out his hand, and cried out in surprise when his wrist was seized in a painful grip. He yanked his hand back sharply, scrambling to sit up.
It seemed to shake Glorfindel out of whatever held him so in thrall. The blond elf looked at him, wide eyed and as close to afraid as Gildor had ever seen him. He looked at Gildor’s wrist, held fast in his hand, and he released it as though Gildor had become molten. “Goheno nín,” he mumbled, his eyes dark with confusion. “I thought… Never mind. It was only a dream.”
“A dream?” Gildor repeated, deeply shocked. Amongst elves, nightmares were so rare they were largely a myth. Gildor himself had never had that kind of dream, though he knew mortals were plagued by them nightly. For them, to sleep was to succumb to a deeper thought, and what dreams there were on those elven paths of sleep were akin to dawdling in harmless memories. Dreams were had by choice.
With a nervous flutter in his heart, Gildor reached out and brushed gentle fingers against Glorfindel’s face. “Where did you wander?” he asked, without expecting an answer, only concerned with bringing Glorfindel fully back from that place, wherever it was. It did not suit Glorfindel to be ill at ease or afflicted.
“Gondolin,” Glorfindel replied, and Gildor shook his head, remembering the horror of the city falling. Glorfindel had witnessed such terrors there. “I did not choose it,” Glorfindel continued helplessly. “It was as though I were trapped there. I could not return to you.” He shuddered, his large and muscular frame trembling.
“Shhh…” Gildor soothed, pressing close to share his body heat, to share himself, and the comfort of his own fëa, hoping it would alleviate Glorfindel’s distress. He didn’t really expect Glorfindel to respond, but suddenly his lover held him close, clutching at him tightly as if in a passion. Gildor gasped.
“You…” Glorfindel said on another wracking shudder. “You are safe.”
“We are safe,” he said, his voice gentle. “We are both safe.” He held onto Glorfindel as fiercely as he was held, feeling the wild beating of his lover’s heart against his skin. “Do not dwell on those thoughts. It was another time, and a place long lost to us. Let us stay in this place, where we have each other.”
He could feel some of the awful tension easing, but not enough, not yet. Glorfindel buried his face in Gildor’s neck, his breathing still too fast and too shallow for his liking. He could not imagine what would have brought this on, or why Glorfindel had been unable to control the direction of his dreams. Were it not for the protections woven into the very fabric of Imladris, he would have suspected some foul magic. He still remembered the feeling of evil which had pervaded his peace in the days before the fall of Gondolin, and his narrow escape, and he knew Glorfindel had seen far, far worse.
Gildor turned his head to press a tender kiss to Glorfindel’s golden hair, brushing the tresses back so he could kiss his lover’s temple. Glorfindel’s skin was clammy with sweat, and the brush of his lips over slick skin brought out a fresh shudder in the warrior.
Little by little, Glorfindel calmed, until he got up and sat on the side of the bed, his body hunched over, his head in his hands. Gildor continued to soothe him, one hand stroking gently over his lover’s back until the trembling stopped. Glorfindel breathed deeper, steadying, then he straightened. Glorfindel looked at him, and this time Gildor knew that he was seen properly at last.
Glorfindel’s hand touched his face, fingers under his chin, raising his head. He did not smile. The warrior kissed him on the lips, quickly. It was not a lover’s kiss, not this time, but something entirely affectionate. “I do not know what that was,” Glorfindel said at last, “but you are here with me, and you can’t know how much that means.”
They did not profess their love openly to each other, and this had the same feeling to it, behind the words. Gildor swallowed, staring into Glorfindel’s eyes, then ducked his head and snuggled close, his cheek against his lover’s chest. He felt those arms close around him, and it seemed as if they had regained some kind of solid ground.
“Now I feel better,” said Glorfindel, with a trace of his usual humour, and Gildor knew he felt that same return of certainty too.
They bathed, and broke their fast, the mood tender and full of easy intimacy which Gildor found quite appealing. His desire for Glorfindel had not abated, but this was a deepening of their relationship which he welcomed.
After they had eaten, Glorfindel proposed a walk in the gardens, and he agreed with alacrity. He steered Glorfindel to a fountain he quite liked, with marble benches placed in the most appealing spots, and they sat with their fingers tangled to enjoy the morning’s warmth. Glorfindel seemed content to sit without conversation, his eyes half closed as he basked like a great, golden cat in the sun, to Gildor’s amusement.
It could not last all morning, however, and Gildor sighed as he tightened his fingers around his lover’s hand. “I really do need to do some work this morning. Lord Elrond asked for the maps of the lands around Elostirion to be updated. I should attend to that.”
“So, you would rather spend the morning with ink on your fingers, and gilt on the tip of your nose again?” Glorfindel’s tone was light, and laughter his behind his words, lifting Gildor’s heart. “Will you get so lost in your maps, I will need to come and drag you away for supper?”
For all that Glorfindel was teasing, he did tend to get quite carried away with his work. It was a passion that he could not help. Gildor grinned and leaned on Glorfindel, nuzzling at him. “Don’t leave me until supper,” he said. “Drag me away before then.” He felt Glorfindel’s laugh as well as heard it.
“If you carry on like that, I’ll drag you away right now!”
Gildor immediately sat up straight, looked at his lover, then went right back to pressing himself against Glorfindel’s side. The warrior gave a low little growl that made Gildor’s blood quicken. Now that everything had calmed, he had missed the way their mornings always began.
“I will be late,” Gildor said, but it wasn’t really a protest. He nosed at Glorfindel’s earlobe, his lips skimming the velvet skin just there. All of a sudden, Glorfindel stood up and grasped his hand.
“Then you will be late,” Glorfindel announced, and began to stride back to the house, forcing Gildor to hurry to keep up. It was very much like being dragged away, and with every step, he felt brighter, more purposeful, until he knew they were racing each other back to the house, and to their rooms; the closest of them would do.
They were laughing as they burst through the door, out of breath from the run. Gildor didn’t even give his lover time to glance around before he had Glorfindel in his arms, lips on his, determined to steal this time before work for them both.
Glorfindel’s fingers skimmed over the fastenings of his clothing, stripping him with familiar ease. He contemplated, for a fleeting moment, returning the favour, but holding Glorfindel was far too nice, and Glorfindel was already working on his own garments anyway.
Clothing littering the floor around them, Glorfindel backed Gildor to the bed. Gildor let himself fall back, his legs parting as he sank into the bedding. His body was already relaxing, although he reached for the oil. His hand met Glorfindel’s hand, closed around the small vial.
“So very eager, are we?” Glorfindel teased. “Is it me you want, or to hurry through this so you can play with your maps?”
Gildor laughed. “Wicked elf. You know I’d rather play with you.” His hand found Glorfindel’s hard cock, and he pressed his palm against the magnificent girth of it. “Make me ready for you, and I will show you exactly how much I’d rather play with you.”
By necessity, they slowed down for this part, with Glorfindel taking all the care and attention Gildor needed so that his body would accept Glorfindel’s cock. Even after the time they had spent together, it was still as encompassing and intense. It still made Gildor falter somehow when he finally felt Glorfindel inside him.
“Ai!” he gasped, feeling his eyes prickle with reflexive tears. Glorfindel stilled above him, looking down in sudden sharp concern.
“Too much?” he asked, and Gildor shook his head.
“I cannot spare thought to answer,” he replied, breathless. “Don’t make me,” he pleaded, and his lover smiled because he knew it was all right.
Gildor felt pinned like a butterfly, caught in a timeless moment - Glorfindel’s possession. Though he had loved them, none of his previous partners had made him feel like this, yet Glorfindel did it to him every single time. There wasn’t room for anything within him except for what Glorfindel was doing, how he sounded when he groaned in appreciation, how he felt when he surged so powerfully forward. It made Gildor want to beg for mercy, but he did not.
“Before we are done here,” Glorfindel confided as he moved slowly in and out, drawing thrilled whimpers of pleasure from Gildor’s throat. “I should like to have you on your hands and knees again.” Gildor moaned, shuddering slightly. They had tried it a few times, and when they did Gildor felt so deeply owned that it would affect him for the rest of the day. It made him physically and emotionally sensitive, as if he were just waiting for Glorfindel’s touch to begin anew.
Glorfindel’s chuckle confirmed he had gotten exactly the reaction he wanted from Gildor. He knew he was hopelessly transparent, but really, did it matter? For the first time in his life, he felt completely fulfilled, and that was all he cared about. This elf, his lover, his magnificent Glorfindel.
And even now, he found himself spiralling toward release, unable to think of anything beyond the way every breath showed him new depths of pleasure. Glorfindel was not even holding him, but he could not have moved, would not have moved. He hung on the precipice, his eyes closed tight.
“Glorfindel…” It was a whispered prayer more fervent than any he had offered to the Valar. And then he was soaring and falling, all at once, lost to the bliss of his release.
As he came back to himself he could feel Glorfindel pulling out of him, still hard, which meant he was serious, and Gildor covered his face with his hands. Glorfindel laughed softly at him. Then he felt one large hand, the back of Glorfindel’s fingers sweeping up over his sensitive cock, already softening, and he shivered as those fingers smeared his release on his belly.
When the touch left him, Gildor peeked through the gap between his hands, only to catch sight of Glorfindel sucking on his own fingers, tasting him, and it made Gildor shiver again. “Wicked elf,” he said, his hands falling away so he could watch his lover clean those fingers, clearly making a show of it. When he was done, Glorfindel tapped Gildor’s left hip.
“Turn over,” he suggested, and Gildor could barely move, but he managed it, raising himself up on his hands and knees as his lover wanted. His body was still open, but he relaxed as Glorfindel entered him this way, only to immediately brace himself so that he kept his position.
Glorfindel’s warm palms were on his hips, fingers just curling around his pelvis, holding him steady for it, pulling him back slightly. His lover felt tender and ruthless all at once as he manipulated Gildor’s body, and his thrusts were fast and deep.
He felt unbearably open like this, unable to see Glorfindel’s face. He could only judge by the thrusts, and the nearly bestial sound of flesh meeting flesh. It seemed as though Glorfindel was deep enough to touch his innermost self. He could not help the shivers which rocked him, any more than he could muffle the small grunts as he was taken for his lover’s pleasure.
He realised how intimate it could be when you could not see your lover. It reduced the world to touch, and scent, and the taste of surrender. What shocked him more was how much he wanted to do just that. He wanted to surrender control, to submit himself fully to Glorfindel’s desire, and to know how deeply he claimed his lover each time he did relinquish control like this. He shivered harder with the realisation, one single sob escaping him as reluctance became joy, and joy led to pleasure so profound he almost forgot to breathe.
Above him, behind him, Glorfindel stuttered, his rhythm faltering. He braced himself for the final thrust, when his lover would cry out and bury himself as deeply as possible. He felt the heat of Glorfindel’s skin against his own sweaty flesh, and he thrust back as hard as he could, to take every glorious inch. Glorfindel’s release was even hotter as it filled him. His knees trembled, and nearly gave way, but he held on, to let Glorfindel milk himself dry within him.
Those last movements were so minute, just a tiny tightening of Glorfindel’s fingers, almost a trembling of sensation, and Gildor could almost feel the little jolts that his lover was experiencing. Then, at last, Glorfindel groaned and pulled away. Their bodies made a slick sound as they separated, and Gildor let himself collapse onto the bed just as Glorfindel settled beside him.
He was pulled into his lover’s strong, warm embrace, lips pressing fervently against his hair. Gildor felt so loved, and he smiled against Glorfindel’s shoulder, snuggling close in these stolen moments.
“Settle, bain nín,” Glorfindel said quietly. “Just for a minute with me.”
To Gildor it was as though they shared the same thought, and he was happy, if left feeling slightly oversensitive and trembling. One large hand stroked down the side of his body, possessive, and he pressed closer, hearing Glorfindel chuckle. He already knew what effect this had on Gildor, that he didn’t want to let Glorfindel go; but they both had to work and it couldn’t be avoided.
When they separated in truth, to go their own ways in Imladris, Gildor watched after Glorfindel with a little sigh before trailing his footsteps to the library. He lost himself in his work, but his body waited for Glorfindel, almost tremulous until they were together again that night, Gildor having indeed worked the day though.

To be continued...

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Translations:
Anira nín – my desire
Goheno nín – forgive me
fëa – soul
bain nín – my beauty
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The Lost and the Hidden City