Title: Bayberry Moon

Author: Talullah
Author's email: talullahred@gmail.com
Author's website: www.secretstigma.net

Pairings: Elrond/Imrahil; mentions of Elrond/Celebrían
Summary: Elrond meets Imrahil twice.
Rating: NC-17

Feedback: I would love to learn your opinion on this.
Archive: Library of Moria, AFF, Of Elves and Men, Melethryn. Others are 
welcomed, but please tell me where it is.
Disclaimer: The characters are not mine. They’re JRR Tolkien heirs’ and 
God knows who else’s. No disrespect intended. No profit made. 

“Delayed corpses breeding” is a verse from “Nada Fica” (Nothing 
Remains), a poem by Ricardo Reis (Fernando Pessoa).

“Bayberry Moon” is from REM’s “Find the River”.

Author’s notes: Just for the record and I don’t mind sounding hypocritical 
after you read this one: I strongly disapprove of adultery (ah, Celebrían, 
you’re such a stone in my shoe *winks*). 

Warning: PWP. Rimming (all Nimlothriel’s fault, of course *winks*). My 
love for science challenged me to reject as often as I could the usual 
sexual euphemisms in this fic, so if you are squicked by words as ‘penis’, 
‘testicles’ or ‘glans’, maybe now is a good time to stop reading. 


My deepest gratitude goes to Lady Hawk’s Shadow who poked me to 
finish this fic when it was starting to slip from my mind and betaed it in 
record time with great care and acuity.


~~~~~~
Gondor, 3019 Third Age, Solstice night

“All is sadness.” Elrond’s voice itself dripped sadness, forming a puddle 
in the shadows around him. The murmurs of the party reached the upper 
ring of the city, providing a soft background for his words. 

Imrahil was startled. He had walked as silently as he could, tried to 
breathe softly and had stood absolutely still for the last hour, watching 
Elrond watch the sky. He wondered for how long Elrond had known he 
was there. Probably since he had arrived. 

“Yes,” he agreed, after some moments, thinking on his own experience. 
Everything is transient, he realized long ago, and now wondered how 
could a man undergo constant loss for all the centuries of Arda as Elrond 
had. His own life sometimes seemed too long to bear.

Fresh laughter was heard nearby, bringing a smile to Imrahil’s lips. It 
could be his daughter or some other lovely young maiden, ready for the 
long journey of life, ready to see her petals blossom, not caring to 
remember that Springs are not eternal and one day all flowers wilt.

“All is joy,” Imrahil added, for it was true also. There was joy wherever 
one would look with the same eyes that saw the sadness.

Elrond remained silent, leaving up to Imrahil to decide if his words had 
been seen as foolish by one so old and wise.

Imrahil had seen late in the night the mysterious Lord of Imladris 
discreetly leaving the wedding party of his daughter and foster son as if 
the world weighted on his shoulders. This was a night of triumph for all he 
knew, the celebration of life, more than survival, of restoration of 
everything that was good and fair in the absence of fear. And it was 
Elrond that had given them their victory, who had raised and prepared 
their king and who had devised the ingenious and hopeless plan that had 
defeated their foe. That sadness about him baffled Imrahil and he had 
followed the living legend, out of concern, he said to himself, feeling 
ridiculous for his boyish admiration of the half-elf.

He knew, of course, that Elrond had lost his daughter to mortality. The 
mere thought of losing Lothíriel burned him and yet he knew that the time 
would come soon. He had seen her looking at the new Rohirrim King and 
he had seen, too, Éomer glancing back at her. Perhaps at this very moment 
the young man was jesting, trying to make her laugh, or inviting her for 
another dance. A brief shadow of jealousy and concern rippled through 
him, but he forced himself to let go. His daughter would be free and 
happy; he would ensure it. And hopefully it would be a long time before 
her death; hopefully that would be long after his own.

But not for Elrond. How terrible must it be for one who will not die, who 
is tied to this world to see his child lost forever? Imrahil could understand 
Elrond’s grief, though he knew he was far from grasping his whole story.

The cruelty of human fate hit him in the face. “I imagine that for you 
elves, we are but delayed corpses breeding,” he said, wondering how 
unpleasant his company would be for Elrond.

“No, not at all. Your ephemeral nature is touching, not repulsive.” Elrond 
sat silently on the ledge, looking down on the city and thinking of his 
brother. Had Elros ever regretted his decision? Would Arwen regret hers? 
He had regretted his many times… and yet he felt that the other would 
have been as wrong. 

Imrahil approached Elrond and sat by his side, raising his eyes to the dark 
sky. A faint indefinable scent hovered around the half-elf and Imrahil 
found himself obsessed with the imperative need of defining it.

“The clouds left for now,” Elrond said despite the masses that hovered 
above them, swiftly advancing to cover the moon.

“I hope so,” Imrahil replied at last. “Do you think that they will ever 
return?”

Elrond’s lip twitched bitterly but the ironic chuckle was trapped in his lips. 
“There will always be… wickedness in this world. But this kind of 
absolute evil… I do not know, but I hope not.”

A sigh, a slight sound of relief, escaped Imrahil’s lips, making him feel 
once more boyish. He reminded himself that he was here for Elrond, not 
for himself. “And happiness? Joy? Can you see them?”

“I suppose so. It is all around us…” Elrond murmured.

“But not inside, is it?”

Elrond did not reply. This prince of men saw more than he should. He rose 
slowly and headed for the young tree.

“You are losing your daughter,” he heard Imrahil say in that laconic way 
these southern men had. He felt a need for sarcasm in face of such an 
obvious statement, but Imrahil proceeded before he had even time to open 
his mouth.

“There is something else, though.”

This had to stop. Imrahil’s questioning was soft toned and he discerned no 
ill intentions in it but he had little will to delve into his problems with a 
stranger, when he avoided it even with his closest friends.

“I do not recall having appointed you my confidant, Price Imrahil.” The 
coldness in his voice was unauthorised by the vehemence in his words. 

He, Elrond Peredhel, son of legendary parents, brother of Tar-Minyatur, 
father of the Evenstar and Lord of Imladris had lost his temper over a 
kind, well meant question. He would not, however, apologise.

Imrahil had not known where that sudden intuition had come from, but it 
seemed that it had it the target. Fearing he had overstepped some line, he 
simply said, “I know loss too, I have known it,” while he rose and stood 
for a moment before turning to walk away.

“So have I.” Elrond’s voice was low. “More times than I care to count,” he 
added in a thread of voice. The man had done that. He did not want to 
break his reserve and let his anguish out, but it was so tempting to let the 
flood run its course and leave nothing but debris behind.

“I know.” Imrahil said kindly, full of understanding. 

‘But how could he understand?’ Elrond wondered. How could he possibly 
comprehend six millennia of pain and loss? Against his will he had to 
admit that there had been some good times. They seemed so short now, 
but at the time he felt that they would last forever. He doubted, however, 
that they could return, that there could at least be an emotional vacuum for 
him to slide into.

Imrahil stepped closer and waited, watching Elrond caress the sapling.

Elrond turned, but did not face Imrahil, choosing instead some distant 
point over his shoulder. “I suppose I am afraid.”

“Of what?”

Elrond shook his head. He was afraid of going to Valinor, of meeting his 
wife. What kind of a man confesses to a stranger that he is reluctant in 
meeting his own wife after 500 years apart?

Slowly he circled the tree. The night was still dark but two clouds had 
parted forming a clearing of light, which shone now on Elrond’s side. This 
light was cold and made his features look hard as if deeply engraved on 
stone. He looked old.

Imrahil stepped into the skirt of white pebbles and walked up at Elrond.

“Healer, warrior, wise one, many tales are told of you.” He paused, trying 
to catch Elrond’s eyes. “None of them speak of fear or cowardice.”

He intended to praise Elrond, to make him see how great he was in the 
eyes of others, but his remark had hit another mark he could not fathom.

“You know not what you speak!” Elrond turned away angered.

“I do! I grew listening to the tales of bravery and wisdom and kindness of 
Elrond Half-elven. So much so that on occasions I wondered if there could 
be such a creature in this world.”

“Well, there is not. There are stories told, yes, but they were glossed then 
and are now forgotten.” Elrond tapped his foot impatiently.

Imrahil smiled at his anger. “O mighty Lord of Imladris, do you ignore 
that all of us have such stories? Do they diminish our accomplishments?”

“Perhaps. Perhaps not. It does not matter now. I simply wish them to be 
forgotten.” Elrond walked out of the circle, looking lost. He looked back 
to Imrahil and then up to the clouded night sky and the yellowish moon. 
“Do you think one could live up there?”

“Why, Lord Elrond? Why would you want that?” Imrahil had reached the 
ledge and turned, sitting on the ground, his back leaning on the wall.

Elrond sat beside Imrahil, slowly. His clothes would be soiled but he cared 
little. Surprised, he had come to the conclusion that the man’s company 
was more beneficial to him than loneliness. 

“They say that Valinor is a wonderful, blessed place, where the elven folk 
find love and light.” Imrahil tested the waters; he had already heard of 
Elrond’s decision. 

“Yes, that is said. But the elven folk have found other things there.” 
Elrond left the pause prolong remembering the tales of other times.

“Why not stay then if you feel so little enthusiasm with the idea of going?” 
Imrahil proposed.

“I cannot.” Elrond picked a pebble and let it fall into the ground.

“Not all elves are leaving. I hear that the Northern realm prospers…”

“Ah, the northern realm…” Elrond paused, looking for the words and the 
reasons. “No. You see, we are very different. They have been open to the 
world. Strange, it is. We Noldor are more known for our curiosity and 
amity towards other people, yet we have shut ourselves in our little 
protected realms and gave little to those around us.”

The meaning of Elrond’s words did not escape Imrahil. “Lothlórien. I 
have seen the Lady…”

“Yes, them too. You must understand, we did not close our doors entirely 
or intentionally. We never refused hospitality, at least in Imladris. But we 
did not reach out from our little islands. Our reluctance in mingling except 
in extreme cases had its costs.”

“We are not prepared for this new age, for this changing world. We are 
like hothouse flowers with our placid beauty and grace, soon to be frosted 
and wilted by the vigorous age approaching. My people are tired. And so 
am I. Imladris was an oasis, but what held it together is no more,” Elrond 
said, rolling unconsciously Vilya on his finger.

“I heard tales of Imladris’s beauty. I am sure that it would be hard to leave 
behind a life’s dream and your daughter... but this does not explain your 
lack of interest for Valinor. This weight on you… would it not be eased 
there, where you surely have many friends and, I believe, your wife?”

“My wife… Celebrían…” Time passed but Elrond added nothing to these 
three words.

The clouds had closed again on the moon and looked darker than ever. Far 
away thunder rolled. Rain was coming soon. ‘Good,’ Elrond thought. 
‘This land will need much washing for a long time. Yet life is already 
trying to seep its green fingers from under the earth and into the sun.’

“Maybe we should go inside before the rain catches us,” he said with little 
enthusiasm.

Neither of them moved. The warm summer rain started falling in thick 
drops.

“I like the rain.” Imrahil offered at last.

Thunder was rolling closer now.

“So do I.” Elrond reflected on the many childlike innocent pleasures he 
had refused himself since Celebrían had sailed. Was he punishing himself 
for his failure? His failure in healing Celebrían, she who had healed him 
once?

They rested in silence waiting for the warm rain. The first drops were like 
a blessing falling from the sky. They sat still and silent eagerly absorbing 
the night.

The storm was now above them and the rain was no longer pleasant and 
purifying. Now it was violent and fell as hard as swarm of accusations on 
their heads.

Elrond broke the meditative silence that had settled upon them. “Maybe 
we should go inside,” he repeated.

Once more Imrahil was reluctant. “Do you realize that we look more like 
two soaked rags rather than two lords?”

Chuckling, Elrond replied, “Yes, I do. But we can avoid company. Let us 
go around to the east side. My room is on the ground floor and has an 
outer door.”

Still reluctant, Imrahil rose, accepting Elrond’s hand.

They started running and stopped abruptly at Elrond’s doors, laughing like 
boys up to mischief. 

Between laughs Imrahil asked, “Why were we running? It makes no 
sense.”

Elrond laughed, too. It felt marvellous to be nonsensical. He pushed his 
doors but they did not yield. They shook as he pushed them harder but did 
not open.

He looked at Imrahil, slightly contrite. “It looks like we are locked 
outside.”

Imrahil laughed as he looked at himself and Elrond.

The Prince of Dol-Amroth had not stricken Elrond as the type who laughs 
often or too hard, but then again neither was he, at least not after 
Celebrían’s ordeal. The sad thought broke his laughter.

“Shall we go around the back, then,” he asked.

“Maybe,” Imrahil answered cryptically. The rain kept pouring, but it had 
slowed some and as the clouds were drained into the earth, new clearings 
formed in the cloud mantle and the moon shone through.

Imrahil grinned and winked as he fumbled through his soaked robes, 
seeking his pockets.

He extracted from them a small knife and carefully introduced is between 
the two panels of the door. He slid the knife up and pushed the doors open. 
Grinning smugly, he stepped aside and bowed courteously, extracting 
another laugh from Elrond. They entered the room quickly and shut the 
doors behind them.

“Your skills, though admirable are more easily found in a road thief than 
in a prince.” Elrond raised an eyebrow inquisitively.

“Well, I was a boy once,” Imrahil said with an impish grin.

Elrond smiled sadly. He had been a boy once too, so long ago. He had 
been a terrified boy, an orphaned boy and a very lonely boy, excepting for 
his brother’s company, of course. His boyhood had dawned so quickly. He 
was not sure that had been a blessing or a curse.

Imrahil saw the sadness returning to his eyes and tried to shoo it before it 
settled in. His comment had been spontaneous, but then he remembered 
the tales. It was very hard not to judge Elrond’s parents in an ill light, 
despite their deeds. He would never had left his children.

Trying to jest and clear the air he said, “I know that elves do not catch 
colds, but I am no elf. Do you have something to drink around here?”

“Yes, I have something you might like.” The smile returned briefly to 
Elrond’s eyes as he poured some miruvor for Imrahil and himself.

Imrahil was still standing, dripping near the fireplace. Elrond gestured for 
him to sit but he nodded. “No thank you. I would ruin our new king’s 
furniture and besides I should be on my way as it is quite late.”

“Are you tired of this monotonous company?” Elrond asked tentatively, 
though he tried to sound detached. For some strange reason the thought of 
being alone again pained him.

“Not at all, but I do not wish to impose and I am wet,” Imrahil replied.

“I will light the fire. If you are not sleepy you are welcome to stay for a bit 
longer. I can lend you something drier,” Elrond offered.

“Thank you.”

Elrond opened his bathroom and came back with towels in his hand. He 
extended them to Imrahil who started drying his face, hair and hands, 
while Elrond dug through his clothes, trying to find something that would 
suit Imrahil. They had similar physiques, but he felt his elaborate clothes 
would not suit the man well.

When he found a comfortable raw silk robe, not overly embroidered, he 
handed it to Imrahil, who stood there looking at him. Mistaking his 
hesitation with embarrassment Elrond said, “You can use the bathroom to 
change.”

“Thank you.” Imrahil sounded almost neutral, but Elrond wondered if 
there was a note of some feeling in his voice. He thought he had heard the 
faintest disappointment but the thought was ridiculous.

When Imrahil returned a few minutes later, Elrond was still drying himself 
and had just taken his leggings off. Naked as in the day he was born, he 
reached hastily for his dry clothes. The man made him feel naked. He was 
naked, of course, but there was something about that insistent look upon 
him…

Imrahil let out a hearty laugh. “Who would have thought that the mighty 
Lord of Imladris behaved like a shy maiden.”

Elrond frowned but forced himself to relax. He dropped the wet clothes 
still in his hands and placed his dry robe on the bedpost. He took the towel 
and tried to take some of the water off his hair. His movements were slow 
and deliberate. He was no maiden and Imrahil’s comparison had irritated 
him. The prince of men did not avert his eyes from his body, holding his 
silent challenge.

Elrond finally covered himself with his robe. The soothing silence they 
had shared had been replaced with a heavy mist of ambiguity. He gestured 
for the comfortable chairs for his guest to sit and asked, “How did you like 
the miruvor?”

“So that is what it was… It is very good, unlike any drink I have tasted 
before. Smoother than our wines… and much warmer,” Imrahil said, still 
feeling the strange yet wonderful taste in his mouth.

Sinking in the chair without a word Elrond stared absently at the fire, 
forgetting to thank Imrahil’s compliment.

Imrahil followed his example. The night would reach its end soon and 
sleep started to claim him, though he had no intention of being an easy 
prey. He watched Elrond for some time. The wine had made his eyelids 
heavier and his knees would probably play with him if he had to use them 
now. He hoped his voice was more loyal. “The world seems to rest on 
your shoulders.”

Elrond frowned. “Why did you follow me?” he asked at length.

“I am not sure. I wanted to meet the legendary Elrond Peredhel, of course. 
You have been in my boyhood dreams. But you looked so sad, so 
lonely…”

“So you pity me?” Elrond sounded more curious than irked.

“No, not pity. Why would I? But I felt more than boyish admiration and 
curiosity, yes.” Imrahil’s was slow and Elrond wondered if the man would 
fall asleep in his room. He was curious about this man. It had been a long 
time since he had last been curious.

“Concern, if it makes any sense to feel such a thing for a stranger,” Imrahil 
added. His eyes were closed and his features relaxed. He was handsome, 
Elrond thought. Handsome and frail. No, he was all but frail. He was 
ephemeral as all humans, ephemeral and naïve, despite his knowledge of 
the ways of the world.

What else beyond naïveté would have given him the perspicacity to read 
so deep inside him and to have the nerve to approach him in such a way? 
Elrond wondered when in that night he had started desiring the man. Long 
before letting him see his naked body, that he knew. Perhaps this desire 
came from even before that night. 

He had challenged him to look and Imrahil had faced the challenge 
admirably, but what his beneath his impassable face? He felt disloyal to 
his wife for wanting someone again. Celebrían. Who was she now? Were 
all the powers of Valinor enough to heal her?

He feared he would find upon his arrival the same terrified, hateful woman 
who had taken over his dear wife. He could understand that Celebrían 
would feel like that, but he so wished that she could be restored to her 
former self. And he felt selfish as this desire was as much to his benefit as 
for hers.

Staring absently into the fire he barely noticed when Imrahil’s head fell 
forward suddenly and he woke looking slightly confused. Imrahil 
apologised, taking Elrond from his reverie. “Please forgive my human 
weakness.”

Smiling indulgently Elrond replied “Sleep is not a weakness; and it would 
be a minor flaw if it was.”

“I should go now. I apologise for having been such dull company.” 
Imrahil could not contain a discreet yawn.

Smiling Elrond replied, “Not at all. Your company was quite refreshing 
and I thank you for it.”

“I shall change into my clothes,” Imrahil said, lethargic.

“At this hour you will find none in the halls and corridors of this house 
and your clothes are still wet. If you insist on leaving there is no need to 
put on cold, wet clothes. Please take the robe,” Elrond insisted, regretting 
to see the man go.

“Thank you.” Imrahil started rising from his chair slowly as an old man, 
not the proud warrior and prince that he was.

Rising promptly to help the man, Elrond found himself face to face with 
him and much closer than he intended. Imrahil was staring directly into his 
eyes. After a moment he averted his own and made way for the man to 
pass. He had no desire to create an awkward situation that could even 
become a diplomatic incident. Imrahil however, did not move for the door, 
but stepped forward, resuming to their positions.

As he glanced at his feet, trying to make the right decision quickly, Elrond 
detected a most conspicuous protuberance in the front of Imrahil’s robes.

His heart raced in his chest and his mouth dried with desire. The man 
wobbled and moved a hand, purposelessly, chuckling as he saw that 
Elrond’s robe was as inflated as his own. Maybe in another day when he 
felt less sleepy he would have not done any of this, but the moment 
possessed an oneiric quality. His movements took mere seconds but he felt 
them as if they were dragged in the sandy shores of time. He felt his lips 
parting, falling upon Elrond’s, still closed. His hands with will of their 
own closed on Elrond’s buttocks and would have dragged him forward 
had not Elrond anticipated and rubbed his hardened penis against his so 
firmly it hurt, while plunging his tongue into Imrahil’s mouth. 

Elrond grabbed a handful of his hair and pulled it back so as to force him 
to open his mouth wider. Imrahil had not suspected that the sad, lonely 
Lord of Imladris could still have this fire in him.

Elrond parted and they gasped staring at each other. Imrahil advanced a 
leg between Elrond’s and pushed him to the sofa, lying with all his weight 
on top of him, making a zealous point of retribution for Elrond’s ferocious 
kiss. Imrahil’s robe had opened slightly as they moved and so had 
Elrond’s, allowing him to feel warm skin crushed against his. He rose 
slightly and before he could take any action, Elrond pulled the sash that 
still held his robe and grasped firmly his turgid penis, massaging it 
vigorously as Imrahil stared in awe down the gap between their bodies.

Elrond loosened his grip and flattened his hand. At each move he let his 
fingers down further, caressing Imrahil’s testicles until he begged in an 
uncertain voice, “Please,” against Elrond’s cheek.

Elrond turned his head in a flash and bit the corner of Imrahil’s lips. 
“Please what, o Prince of men?”

Imrahil let out a shuddering sigh as Elrond’s thumb trailed circles firmly 
but carefully on his swollen glans. Elrond insisted on his question, 
whispering on Imrahil’s ear “Have you lost your words?”

He let his tongue dive inside Imrahil’s ear who bucked into his hand, 
collapsing on top of him, crushing his hand as he moved frantically a few 
more times, before ejaculating on his abdomen.

He lay heavy, panting on top of Elrond, who carefully extracted his hand 
from between them. He found it hard to avoid rubbing his erection onto 
Imrahil’s flaccid now penis, but need overwhelmed his care for the man’s 
sensibility.

In any case he was buried by the other’s weight and could not make any 
movements rough enough to hurt Imrahil or to bring himself to orgasm.

After a few moments and some breath catching, Imrahil lifted his head 
from Elrond’s shoulder and started kissing him, at first easily and tenderly, 
but becoming more and more eager as his lips travelled onto Elrond’s and 
he felt his penis swell once more.

Elrond put his hands in Imrahil’s shoulders and pushed him back, to the 
man’s surprise and concern. His confusion quickly dissipated as Elrond 
pushed him further and squirmed from under him, his face flushed and his 
breath ragged. He dropped his robe on the floor as he stood and took 
himself in hand and stroked it widely, slowly. As Imrahil sat, Elrond 
straddled him and started rubbing his glans against Imrahil’s sending 
sparks through their bodies. Elrond bit Imrahil’s lower lip and pulled it up, 
until he moaned in protest or delight, Elrond was not sure which.

Disentangling himself from Imrahil’s arm, Elrond stood in front of him. 
His erection had become almost painful and his glans was purple instead 
of the usual dark rosy shade while pre-ejaculate dripped generously. White 
pearls still shone on his flat abdomen and he saw Imrahil licking his upper 
lip as he focused them.

Slowly Imrahil’s eyes glided over Elrond’s body once more, taking each 
detail visible in the dim light and meeting with Elrond’s gaze at his 
engorged throbbing genitals.

He let his palms run up Elrond’s thighs until they were closed upon his 
buttocks and drew him toward himself. Letting Elrond’s glans brush his 
semi-parted lips, he moved his head slowly, eyes closed, inhaling all of 
Elrond’s musky scent. Bayberry. That was the elusive scent he had 
smelled, he thought as he opened his lips wider and reached out his 
tongue, tracing a tortuous path on the soft wet skin. Elrond held his breath 
moving imperceptibly forward as Imrahil let him into his mouth, tasting 
the rich flavours offered.

As he drew back, he heard a sound of disappointment escaping Elrond’s 
lips. Smiling, he proceeded to his explorations, first by burying his nose in 
the fragrant patch of dark curly hair, feeling the hot penis brushing his face 
and ear, but ignoring it. Then he lowered his head and once more let his 
tongue free to explore, to taste Elrond’s scrotum. A small gasp encouraged 
him to continue. Grasping harder at Elrond’s buttocks he fully opened his 
mouth and covered Elrond’s left testicle with his tongue, extracting a 
guttural sound from Elrond when he delicately sucked it whole into his 
mouth. Feeling wicked, Imrahil drew back and blew softly over the 
warmed skin. In consequence Elrond grasped his shoulders hard, sinking 
his fingers deep into the flesh. Imrahil was pleased. He decided to have 
mercy and let the tip of his tongue roam up and down Elrond’s erect penis, 
followed by hungry lips and finally taking him in his mouth as far as he 
could, almost choking. Remembering Elrond’s actions, he sucked as hard 
as he could, with increasing speed, only to be rewarded with more moans. 
His left hand had left Elrond’s buttocks and now caressed the contracted 
testicles, while his right hand dived repeatedly onto Elrond’s cleft, 
drawing nearer and nearer to his anus.

All of a sudden Elrond pushed him back. “Enough!” he said, panting. In 
the dim light Imrahil could see the sheen of sweat on his forehead and his 
upper lip. He had a chance to taste it as Elrond kissed him violently, 
placing his hands on Imrahil’s head firmly. Elrond stood straight still with 
his hands on Imrahil’s face and ordered in a hushed voice, “On the floor.” 
As Imrahil hesitated he insisted, “Now!”

Imrahil obeyed, his stomach clenching at the thought that he had 
awakened something dark inside Elrond. That spark in his eyes... He 
slipped from the sofa to his knee, then sat, and finally lay on his side under 
Elrond’s commanding hands. Elrond settled behind him, his hair partially 
covering Imrahil’s shoulder, his throbbing, slick erection nested between 
his buttocks. Involuntarily Imrahil tensed. He had never been taken this 
way and though he desired Elrond intensely some apprehension was 
unavoidable.

Elrond rubbed softly against Imrahil and let his arm envelop the man. 
Burying his face in the other’s hair, he caressed his face with this 
fingertips, feeling once more that harshness of shaved skin that had almost 
undone him before when it had scratched against his genitals. Nuzzling the 
man’s hair, he let his hand trail from the jaw to the neck, and then to a 
nipple, making Imrahil buck against Elrond’s scorching erection. Elrond’s 
hand continued its sweet torment, wandering over tense muscles, his 
finger leisurely drawing spirals around and into Imrahil’s navel, letting his 
knuckles brush the swollen penis.

Imrahil’s breathing was heavy and his hand ran to his groin. Elrond 
stopped him, however. Gently but firmly he removed the offensive hand 
and kept it trapped in his as he rose on an elbow and drove a searching 
gaze through the room. On Imrahil’s chair was one of the items he needed.

He sat up and reached for the pillow and then stuffed it under Imrahil’s 
hips. As for something lubricating, he did not see a thing in reach that he 
could use. Letting a soft curse slip he rose swiftly and headed into the 
bathroom searching for some oil, feeling Imrahil’s gaze burning his back.

In the bathroom he found himself staring at the dark mirror, at his flushed 
skin and shinny eyes. His hand slipped down to his groin for a brief 
moment as he whispered to his image, “You must be out of your mind.” In 
that moment his eyes caught sight of what he wanted: a phial of oil. Not 
waiting for a second thought, he grabbed it, and returned to the room 
where Imrahil lay staring expectantly over his shoulder to the bathroom 
door. Elrond drew nearer and stood at Imrahil’s feet. Not saying a word, 
he gently tapped wit his foot the man’s leg signalling for him to spread his 
legs.

In a gracious swift movement he knelt between the man’s legs and lay on 
top of him as he carefully deposited the oil by their side. Imrahil had 
buried his face in his arms and kept agitating beneath him. Elrond pulled 
his hair to the side and carefully licked the rim of the man’s ear, not 
venturing further after that initial display of sensibility. Removing more 
hair, he continued his caresses in the back of Imrahil’s neck, nibbling 
where marks would not be seen in the next day. Imrahil was more restless 
and tried to create friction against the pillow, which consequently excited 
him even more. He let his whole weight on top of Imrahil, settling him as 
he whispered, “Shh, stop moving.”

Imrahil mumbled in protest, but had no choice as Elrond kept still and 
heavy on top of him.

Elrond then proceeded nibbling down his back, biting harder at the 
smallest sign of movement, heading slowly towards Imrahil’s buttocks. 
The sight of the taut round muscles was irresistible: Elrond placed his 
hands on each one and massaged them, feeling, teasing. He slid his hands 
to the front of Imrahil’s hips and pulled them up, leaning then to 
passionately bite the delightfully firm muscle. Imrahil moaned and pushed 
back. Elrond was pleased. With his hands, he kept Imrahil in place and 
returned to his pleasurable task, lapping at he place where the mark of the 
teeth still showed and trailing lower and lower, down the side of Imrahil’s 
hip, kissing and nibbling until he reached the line where the buttock met 
the thigh. He traced it with his tongue a couple of times and when Imrahil 
least expected it, he let his tongue dive into the man’s anus. Imrahil 
gasped and bucked forward trying to escape the unusual feeling. 
Chuckling, Elrond pulled him back up. “Stay still,” he ordered returning to 
his task. He tasted the man’s cleft and let it wander free enjoying the 
subtle changes of taste from nearly uncharacteristic to a more and more 
intense flavour of rain, sweat and lust.

Imrahil tensed as the tongue wetted more and more of him approaching his 
anus, but Elrond skipped it, against his expectations, and continued his 
playful tasting further down to his perineum. Imrahil did not clench when 
he returned to his anus, carefully parting the dark hair surrounding it with 
is tongue. Encouraged by the increase in Imrahil’s breathing, he ventured 
his tongue into the centre of the puckered flesh and pushed it in. He could 
have smiled at Imrahil’s enthusiastic response, but he was too occupied 
extracting more moans from the man. Suddenly he stopped and moved 
forward, reaching his hand for the oil. In a fragment of a second, he 
lubricated his penis and positioned it closer to Imrahil, guiding it with his 
hand, teasing, delaying penetration while Imrahil glanced back, a mist of 
worry crossing his face. Elrond softly patted his buttock and smiled while 
applying some pressure. Imrahil smiled back and returned the nudge. 
Elrond caressed the man’s anus this way with his glans going further at 
each time, watching in awe as Imrahil gave himself in trust, not clenching 
anymore.

He finally penetrated Imrahil completely, falling on his back. Imrahil let 
out a guttural moan that made Elrond think he was in pain for a few 
seconds, but Imrahil started moving beneath in, pushing back. Elrond 
inhaled deeply the warm scent of man and rain that exuded from Imrahil’s 
hair, and started to move rather quickly. He had drawn this for too long 
and was now truly aching for release, for a brutal orgasm inside Imrahil.

Imrahil too had been drawn near his limit. With Elrond now moving 
frantically inside his rectum, and hitting mercilessly his prostate, he soon 
found release, but all too different from anything he had experienced 
before. The familiar spasms that shook him to his soul were not 
accompanied by the burning feeling of the passage of semen in his urethra. 
He tried to reach his hand below, as he felt himself still erect, but he could 
not with Elrond moving with his full weight on top of him. He completely 
forgot about that as the second orgasm hit him, this time accompanied by 
ejaculation but not as intense as the first. Elrond too went over the brim. 
They lay on the floor, panting, not moving an inch and finally fell asleep, 
as the first rays of dawn ventured through the curtains.

Some hours later, Imrahil woke up to the noises of the house. He could 
feel a wet sticky mess beneath him but it was largely offset by the pleasure 
of feeling Elrond’s soft breathing on his face. Even not being able to take 
a deep breath, it felt good.

Elrond’s hair partially covered his face and the now dry strands tickled his 
nose. Carefully he tried to remove his hand from under Elrond’s to draw 
some hair back but Elrond started waking.

Imrahil could feel the rhythm of his breathing changing, but he would not 
move and acknowledge that a new day had already caught up with them. 
Finally when steps began being heard nearer to his rooms he let out a long 
low sigh and rolled off Imrahil. 

“I suppose no night lasts forever, does it?” he said, not expecting an 
answer.

Imrahil slowly moved, sitting up and looking around for his clothes. They 
looked drier but crumpled. He would be a fine sight if he did not move 
before the rest of the house was up.

Elrond lay on his back on the rug, staring at him, enjoying for the first 
time a clear view of the man’s body. A familiar tingling agitated his groin 
he willed it to fade. 

Imrahil, now almost dressed, looked at him. “I must leave now.”

Elrond nodded, but Imrahil did not move, so he rose and stood face to face 
to him. “Will I see you later?” he asked. This was the most inadequate 
thing a married man could do with his three children in the house, but he 
needed Imrahil. This morning he had felt more alive than on any other day 
on the last 500 years. There was a chance that Imrahil felt too this was 
folly and wanted it to stop, but Imrahil nodded with that impish grin of his 
and left without further word.

That night they met again, and in the next one too, and in all the others 
before he left. Imrahil’s presence had the power to lift the veil. He had 
been right, the young, naïve man: all was full of joy. How that simple act 
of offering him his body had changed the colours of his world. Few other 
gifts in his life had been so great.

He left soon to say goodbye to his home. It had already started to look 
empty, but it was still beautiful. For the next three years he did all he 
could but he knew that his time, their time in Middle-earth had come to an 
end. Valinor was calling and it was with joy that he answered the call. He 
no longer feared meeting his wife, on the contrary, he longed to see her, to 
be with her and give her the same gift that man had given him. There was 
so much unsolved. His sons, would they ever follow him? His heart ached 
for he had been right too, all is sadness, but he chose to believe that they 
would make their best to be happy, which ever path they took in life. 

The last time he saw Imrahil was one month before leaving Middle-earth. 
He was standing on the upper level of Gondor, staring amazed at 
Nimloth’s sapling which was now a radiant full grown tree. This was truly 
the age of Man and he felt proud for his part in it, for his other son, the 
king. Imrahil approached him slowly, smiling sadly. “So you leave within 
a month.”

“Yes, I only came by to see my daughter one last time. And some friends 
too.” Elrond turned smiling.

“Before you leave I wanted to thank you.”

Elrond was surprised by Imrahil’s words. He had been in debt, not the 
other way around. Imrahil proceeded, “It took me some time to realize it, 
but after my wife had died I had been all too happy to stay away from… 
others, until we met.”

“I had devoted myself to the boys and my girl, and I knew it was time to 
let them go and live my own life, but it was so hard. You reminded me of 
who I am.” Imrahil’s words made Elrond smile and pat his arm. The man 
was almost a mirror of himself. Who would have thought? Once more the 
man had taught him a lesson, Elrond thought while he embraced Imrahil 
for the last time.

Finis, October 2004