Title: Bated Breath Author: Sardistri Pairing: Erestor/Elrohir Rating: NC17 Summary: Elrohir has always loved and craved Erestor. Website: http://sardistri.livejournal.com/profile Feedback: sardistri@yahoo.com or LJ Disclaimer: All Characters belong to Tolkien. I make no money from writing. Bated Breath “Please.” “No.” “Don’t turn me away. Not again.” “I must.” “I won’t leave.” “Then I shall.” Acting far more boldly then I feel I take hold of his arm as he moves to pass me. My hand trembles upon his robed arm and he feels it, I can tell by the softening of his eyes. I gently tug on it and his eyes make contact with my own. I can see the self-control swirling in those pools of inky blackness, as clear as the stars scattered across the night sky. But somewhere at the back, behind a haze of cloud is the lust, fighting to be seen, to be shown, just as the moon battles the stars for equal attention each night. He wants me, too; I am not imagining it. I know that. I know. He attacks my every sense, bombarding all of them with his very being…and -he knows that too-. We have been talking here in the deepest part of the gardens, just bordering on the woodlands for some time. The moon shines brightly now. Both the moon and lust, as I run my hand further up his arm until it rests at his elbow, thumb rubbing over his upper arm. His voice has slowly been driving me crazy. First his gentle tone, that gives his voice a slight lilt, which was meant to soothe me. Then it morphed into his stern tone, clearly expressing just how much his frustration was mounting as I refused to back down. At one point he was close to shouting at me as that cool, calm control nearly slipped from his grasp. It did nothing but excite me. There is a part of me that wants him to command me. I know not where this desire comes from but it is insatiable. I love his voice, no matter the tone. His scent has been slowly undoing me throughout this -discussion- as he called it. Whenever he shook his head, a light waft of apples would float over to me from those dark locks of liquid soot. As he emphatically gestured with his hands, the light scent of his chamomile body oil would become more pronounced. He only wears light scents, but they are distinctive - ones that I can never seem to ignore for they are far too distracting. I wish to hold him so close until every breath of air I take in is tinged with the scent of chamomile. I love his scent, no matter what he chooses to wear. His hands have slowly made my desire increase, watching those long pale hands move about in conjunction with his words, emphasising every little detail, making me think about what else they could be doing. Earlier he even grasped my shoulders whilst telling me to take a moment to think, just think about what this could mean. Consider what it could change in our lives. I told him that I have, that I do. Then I leant into his hands and shifted my shoulders just enough to make it as though he had given me a caress. The long, slender hands recoiled as if burned, just after I managed to get close enough to brush our bodies together. I was saddened, but the warmth of his hands remained on my shoulders, forcing me to smile. I love that body, whether it is touching me or I am simply watching it. His eyes have slowly been seducing me all night. I am not sure he knows it, but whenever they darken, I feel an overwhelming urge to throw off my robes and beg him to take me. His eyes are so very expressive; even when he stays silent within a meeting, you can tell whether or not he agrees with something. He has the ability to shut all emotion out until you are unable to tell if he is even awake or not. I love his eyes, whether they are burning with intensity in a heated debate or they are cool as ice sending chills down my spine. His taste has been making my heartbeat slowly increase all night. That’s how it all started. I had followed him here to the glade and then cornered him. He could have out maneuvered me easily, run away from me even. But, just as he did previous times, he stayed still as I approached and took the honour of kissing him leisurely, sweetly. And again he kissed me back, an arm encircling my waist as the other hand reached into my hair. And again, like the other times, he suddenly remembered himself and pulled back. The taste of him lingers in my mouth, a faint trace of his nightly herbal tea mixed in with his own sweet taste. “Why do you deny me? Deny us? We could be something so wonderful…” “We could not be anything. It is wrong. You are far too young-” “I have passed my majority!” “You should be with elves your own age, pen-neth.” “I have not claimed another, nor will be claimed by another. I will wait for you until the end of time itself.” A frustrated sigh, then a shake of the head. -Apples again-. The boldness within me is awakening again, probably a part of my human heritage. All that truly matters now is the overwhelming urge to be with him. “One night, give me one night. If after that you choose to deny me, I shall never again seek you out…no matter how much I may ache for your touch.” And before he can give protest, I am kissing him again, this time more urgently. The thudding of my heart increases tenfold as he kisses me back, laying claim to my all but innocent mouth. I vow to myself that I shall lay myself open for him, give him all that I am on this night – in the hope that he shall not turn from me when dawn breaks. But no more time for thought, not when one hand is cupping the back of my neck, gently rubbing the nape whilst tilting my head up. The other slender hand is reaching for my right hand, bringing it up to his chest and pressing it down, and I gladly take the hint. The warmth of him through the velvet robes is intoxicating, the chamomile so very heady to me right now. I feel a smile through the kiss as I attempt to undo the buttons down the front of his robe. Success is given to me at a price, it means using the other hand as well, which I now realise I have had tangled in his hair. As soon as I have slipped the heavy top robe off his shoulder, he lifts my arms and pulls the tunic off, revealing my bare chest. I am anxious to do the same to him, but find myself being pushed down onto the soft, slightly damp grass. Its coolness upon my back giving a slight shiver across my muscles, a shiver that intensifies as those clever fingers start to dance across my chest, teasing nipples, smoothing across the abdomen then lightly stroking the underside of my arms – a place I had never thought to be so sensual. Nonetheless, I give a happy sigh. I reach for him only to have my arms put down on the ground. I do not fight; I merely rest them there and close my eyes. The need to give him everything I have, everything I am, is uncontrollable. And as I feel his tongue lapping at my throat before moving down to my left nipple, I just know that should he leave me in the light of day and see this night as naught but a mistake, I shall be damned to hell. An old human from a neighboring village once said that it was better to have loved and lost than to never have loved at all. I disagree. I am already utterly undone and positively consumed, and yet he has barely begun to show me the delights he has to offer. How could I feel these heated touches now and then bear to have him avoid me in the corridors? The thoughts start to blur as that all too marvelous tongue sweeps across my thigh as he tugs down my leggings inch by inch. I should wonder at what point he managed to take my boots off, but as the humid air of the night hits my hard arousal, my clouded thoughts shuffle about, the blurring sensation taking over again. Then there is a pause in the ministrations, and through the mad beating of my heart I manage to pick up the sound of clothes rustling. The thought of his naked body is enough to make my eyes open, heavy as the lids feel right now. I gaze with hooded eyes as he lifts his arms and takes his under tunic off, a ripple through the sinewy muscles as he does so. Sublime. Then the leggings, and I don’t have to look to his face to know he is undoubtedly smiling at my unabashed curiosity. I have seen few naked – having a bathroom attached to my living quarters means there is little need to use the public baths. I have little to compare him to, but to me he is magnificent. The thought of such girth filling me when no other has taken me is frightening at first, but he is so gentle. So very gentle and loving as a hand repeatedly runs up and down my side in a soothing gesture. Chamomile hits my sensitive nose in a forceful wave, and I look up to see him holding a small vial of his favoured body oil. Apparently it does more then provide treatment to dry skin. I’m nothing less than mesmerized as the vial is tipped and a heavy stream of oil rolls over the lip of its edge and onto his hands. Now, sitting between my legs, he encourages me to spread wider with a gentle nudge of his knee, and I do so. Oh, how I do so. The sensation is wonderful; warm slippery fingers gently running over me before slowly slipping inside and encouraging me to relax for him, to give way to him. Ever probing and ever wanted. I could stay like this for eternity and a day. The wait was worth it, I think, until the blurring sensation hits full force, and suddenly I am able to do nothing but jerk my hips up as two fingers crook to the side within me and a searing euphoria runs through me. I can’t think, I can only feel at this point, it wracks my body and all I can do is look up at him in helpless need, my mouth desperately trying to plea for more, much more, but I can make little, if any, sound right now. I must make an enchanting sight for he does it again; though I register through the haze of my mind there is now a third finger. A mewled moan escapes me as the fingers retreat. I wonder if I am as beautiful as he right now, with his gloriously dark hair against that pale skin, black eyes smoldering as he inches into me, one hand gripping my hip while the other lays claim to my chest. And now that hand glides down lower to take my arousal in hand as he thrusts in and out, still covered with chamomile the hand strokes me, and I realise just how much more wonderful it is with another’s hand there. My arousal is building to the point where it is near painful, I know I shan’t last much longer, not while he is moving at such a pace, still stroking that delicious point within me. And that hand is still causing the most beautiful friction on my cock. He leans down, the hand from my hip placed beside my head for balance with those eyes boring into me. “I won’t be able to let you go now” That’s all he says. It could have been a whisper, or it could have been a shout. I am not sure, but I heard it and try to form the words that will tell him that I don’t want him to, not now, not ever. But a scream issues forth instead, so I can only hope my eyes tell him what my mouth did not. And as he collapses atop me, breathing hard whilst whispering my name against my ear, I know all will be well. I want to be with him forever and now I know that feeling is returned.