"Just out of curiosity, how much longer is it going to take you, Glorfindel?"

Erestor's voice sounded anything but curious. In fact, it carried just the exact proportion of exasperation and annoyance that he wanted it to bear. The Chief Advisor of Imladris always sounded exactly as he wished.

Glorfindel's response was something between a growl and a grunt as he stepped out of the bathroom into the immaculate sitting room of Erestor's chambers, clad only in his low waisted leggings.

He was a sight to be appreciated, thought the dark haired councillor. Shirtless and wet, drops of water slowly sliding down golden skin to disappear into the leggings. Erestor mentally archived the image of the golden Elf as exquisite material for his night time fantasies, and after sighing affectedly, asked the non-too-happy warrior, "Must you always make a show of your pectorals?"

Proving to the advisor that he and Elrond were not the only ones in Imladris with the ability to raise their eyebrows at will, Glorfindel retorted, "That's how I usually wash my hair, Erestor, you know, shirts tend to get damp when you do it otherwise..."

"How inconsiderate of them..."

"I agree wholeheartedly. Well, what am I to do next?"

Glorfindel was angry, Erestor could tell just by the slightly heavier inflection in his normally cheerful and light-hearted voice. But the dark-haired Elf had won the wager and it was only fair that the golden hero of Gondolin fulfill his promise, so throwing him a towel, Erestor instructed, "Dry off a bit, you're ruining my floor."

Glorfindel grunted again as he caught the towel in the air and began to remove the excess water from his dripping hair and torso. "Well, it was you who told me in the first place that my hair had to be wet for this... why take all the trouble only to make me dry it again?"

"Precisely. I said wet, not soaking. Would you please come here now and sit down?"

Since he was getting nowhere with his stubborn attitude, Glorfindel decided to change strategies. He stopped being grumpy only to make moo-eyes and entreat, "Please...?"

Knowing exactly what the warrior was trying to do, Erestor began to laugh, the vision of Imladris's proud seneschal prettily pouting at him just too much to bear. "Glorfindel," he stated, eyes still bright with mirth, "I'm not Lord Elrond and you definitely are not little Arwen, so I'm afraid this tactic of yours is not going to work."

The Balrog-Slayer shifted his attitude yet again and began to shamelessly beg. "Erestor, please, I'll do whatever you want, but for the love of Valar, not my hair. You know it's my namesake, what will people call me if it's all cut off? Shortfindel?? You can't do that to me, I thought we were friends..."

"But Glorfindel, it's for your own good!" Oh, Erestor was really enjoying himself now "You're a warrior, you need to have short hair in order to have no hindrances in battle... maybe I'm saving your life here!"

"Thank you very much for your honest concern about my future health, Advisor..." Glorfindel expressed his thanks without the slightest hint of sarcasm, which, in Erestor's opinion, said much about his diplomatic value to his Lord, "...but really, I'm not going to war anytime soon, and when I do, I'll call you immediately to help me get rid of this... 'hindrance'... before riding into battle with such a dangerous feature waving down my back. However, as things are right now, the braids are a practical solution while on patrol, or even training." Glorfindel had swung moods again, gaining confidence with his own speech and trying to charm Erestor with a blinding smile.

Nevertheless, the councillor was immune to Glorfindel's attempts to talk him out of his determination - he knew him too well. "But my dear friend... what if the braids get caught in a branch or even worse, an Orc grabs them and gets to you because of my neglect?"

"Erestor," the warrior finally lost patience, "I'M AN ELF. ELVES WEAR THEIR HAIR LONG AND I KNOW NOT A SINGLE CASE WHERE..."

Suddenly he stopped dead in his ranting. Oh, damn... the Balrog had actually grabbed him by his braids when it was falling, dragging him with it before... but Erestor had no way of knowing that, did he?

Taking advantage of the blond's confusion, the strong-willed scholar guided him to a chair and made him sit.

Pulling his mind from his reverie, Glorfindel turned back to face Erestor and pleaded with him, "But Erestor, please, have mercy, what will my fans say? They'll kill you!"

He said it as a joke, but Erestor knew the words to be truer than even Glorfindel could guess... however, he ignored the laments and kept on preparing the tools at a nearby table. "I'll stop their indignant cries for revenge by selling them plaits of your CUT hair..."

Then Glorfindel did something that Erestor had never heard him do in his whole life, and it made him nearly back off his original idea. The blond elf whimpered.

Maybe what he was doing was cruel. Glorfindel had always worn his hair long; perhaps it was important to him, and turning his honour against him just for a stupid wager was rather... mean. Suddenly uncomfortable and insecure, Erestor placed the scissors and comb down on the table again and cleared his throat. "Well," he started, "maybe I could... you know, find another payment if you're so... unwilling and so..."

Glorfindel turned his head and looked up at him with wide eyes. It was very rare to see the self-confident advisor doubting himself thusly, and just that sad gleam in his eyes...

Erestor gulped, for once not able to read the normally transparent eyes. At last, the warrior turned again, sitting straight in the chair, and uttered with a faked nonchalance, "No, it's alright."

That was obviously a lie, but it left them in a precarious situation... if he refused now to continue with this, would Glorfindel not feel as if he hadn't lived up to his wager? What would he think of himself? And of Erestor? How would the advisor feel knowing that he had done this to his dearest friend? What the hell should he do, then?? Oh damn, he had to think of something and quickly.

"Excellent," declared Erestor, confidence and security in his voice again. "You've now agreed twice to this."

Glorfindel groaned then, thinking that all the doubt and stuttering had been just a farce to make him consent again. So typical of the manipulative bastard...

"Do you want me to write it down and have you sign it?" the dark haired elf continued. "Just in case you forget, to show it to you after future recriminations." He let a little smirk seep into his speech - details were always essential to make an act credible. Meanwhile, he forced himself to take the brush again and begin tidying the impressive mass of golden tresses.

If Glorfindel decided to honour his promise, it was not Erestor's place to doubt or regret that. This was all his own idea, after all... Erestor would rather mask his guilt from his friend. His friend... did he really have the right to state such a claim still? Did one lust after his friends? Did one cut their hair just to satisfy one's own tastes?

To disguise his troubled state of mind, he began to hum while combing the warrior's gorgeous hair. The loose waves would turn to soft curls when the length that weighted it down was shorter. He had dreamed so many times of caressing the liquid gold like this... well, not exactly like this but... 'Stop!' he admonished himself. 'Stupid elf, start behaving yourself and get over with this once and for all!'

Oblivious to the advisor's disquieting thoughts, Glorfindel began to relax against his will. To be honest, he had always loved the feeling of hands and combs in his hair. And Erestor's touch was exquisite. He would have never thought the stern advisor would be so gentle, more like he was caressing than actually brushing. They had known each other for ages, but while the seneschal was an extroverted elf, always eager to touch and be touched, Erestor was very reserved and rarely resorted to physical contact. They both understood and respected the other's way, so it came as a mild surprise that the aloof councillor's touch was somehow so... warm.

The contentment he felt, though, soon came to an end when he heard the ugly sound of the scissors and noticed that a lock of his hair weighed substantially less than before.

"Erestor?"

The dark haired elf had to suppress a chuckle at hearing the fearful tone of the warrior's calling. "Hmm?" He could even hear him gulp when the second cut lock fell to the floor.

"You know what you're doing, right?"

Another snick of the scissors resounded in the room before Erestor replied. "Of course, my friend."

Just two cuts later, Glorfindel began to talk again. Erestor never tired of hearing the changes of mood in the blond's voice, so different from the correct and controlled attitude he adopted when he played his seneschal role. "You know, I wasn't joking back there..."

Annoyance in a bad loser's tone this time.

snick

snick

"My fans will REALLY REALLY kill you!!"

Erestor couldn't help a big smile at that. "It grows back, Fin..."

"Ah, then you won't mind if I shave your head, too, will you?"

"I'm not shaving your head, Glorfindel. Take it as... a nice change of look."

Indeed, he was leaving the hair layered at shoulder's length, a bit longer in the center of the back, reaching to the shoulder blades. The blond grunted and Erestor ignored him. He walked to stand in front of the blond and reached out for the hair hanging from above his brow.

"Ooooooh, no, Erestor.... you're not giving me a fringe!"

"It's not a fringe, I'm just giving shape to the hair here. It's just... stylish."

"Stylish, my ass! It's a fringe and I'm not going to fall THAT low! Didn't you just talk five minutes ago about the perils of hair in battle? What's more annoying than a damn fringe preventing you from seeing or getting in your eyes??"

"A stubborn Balrog-Slayer, that's definitely more annoying... and you can always hold it back with hairclips."

"THAT'S THE POUFIEST THING I'VE EVER HEARD!!!"

Erestor burst out laughing at Glorfindel's choice of words. "I'm most despondent and I deeply lament that it doesn't fit with your refined sense of fashion, Fin."

"Hey! I'm popular here! I've got a duty to my admirers!!"

"Don't worry, my friend, once they see the fancy hairclips holding back your pretty fringe, you won't have admirers to worry about anymore."

"THAT is EXACTLY the prob... Hey!" he stopped in mid-sentence when he realized what Erestor had just said. "I thought you said it wasn't a fringe..."

Erestor sighed. "I lied. Now, will you let me FINALLY finish this?"

Glorfindel grunted again but resignedly put down the hands that he had protectively held up to stop Erestor's advances.

"Good boy." The dark-haired Elf couldn't help but tease him.

A little bit later, Erestor finished his work. He took a critical look at his victim and nodded appreciatively. He was right, soft curls had formed around Glorfindel's face, causing the elf's beauty to increase, if that was possible. Noticing a short lock out of place, he carefully tucked it behind the blond's ear. It must have tickled, though, because Glorfindel's ear suddenly twitched as if by own will, while the blond elf still glared at Erestor seemingly unaware.

Erestor laughed again; he had forgotten that strange trait of his friend; Glorfindel was able to move his ears at will, just like a deer or a cat. He was so freakishly cute when he did that, that not minding his glare at all, Erestor indulged himself and leaning down, kissed the point of Glorfindel's perfect nose.

The mighty warrior pouted again. "I demand a fair return match."

Erestor chuckled at that. "Agreed."

"Okay, are we finished?"

Glorfindel scowled as the Chief Advisor nodded and moved back, giving him room to stand up. As he rose, wagging a finger threateningly, he warned Erestor, "Be afraid, Councillor... my revenge will be terrible!"

And with that, he put on his shirt again and exited the room. As he was walking away, Erestor could hear him wailing, "Oh Valar! My fans! My poor fans...!"

For the hundredth time this eve, the dark haired elf laughed wholeheartedly. Then, with a sigh and a smile, he whispered to the silent room and the golden tresses on the floor:

"...I think I love him."