Title: Everything
Author: Orchyd Constyne
Contact: orchydconstyne@gmail.com
Website: http://www.hithanaur.net/
Update List: http://groups.yahoo.com/group/nairn_orchyd/
Fandom: LOTR
Genre: Slash
Archive: LoM, OEAM, AFF.net, Melethryn
Disclaimer: I do not own LotR or any characters, lands, or 
items from the Tolkien world. They belong to their 
respective copyright holders.
Rating: NC-17
Beta: None
Author Notes: For rennwench, who requested a drabble with 
either Fëanor or Erestor paired with an Elf of my choice.  
*smirks*  I decided to pair them together.  I hope you like 
it, meldis!

---

Hands roamed his body, mapping the angles and curves, 
setting them to memory for cold and lonely nights.  Erestor 
moaned softly, his eyes dark in the inky blackness of the 
makeshift tent.  They had braved the Valar, slaughtered 
their kin, performed betrayals unthought of, crossed icy 
waters to enter cold, foreign lands.  And why?  For the 
love of one Elf.  For the love and honour and pride of one, 
of their king.

For the Elf whose hands thrust almost brutally into 
Erestor's tired body.

Fëanor loved as he fought, with vengeance and distanced 
calculation.  But Erestor had fallen in love with the Elf 
many, many years before the death of their beloved Trees, 
and now, far isolated from home and hearth, he bent to the 
King's will.

A muffled cry, stifled by Fëanor's hot mouth, escaped 
Erestor as his body was breached without the comfort of 
lubrication.  Such things were luxuries to them, and this 
was no time for luxury.  No, now was a time of war and of 
rutting on the packed dirt of a campsite.

As their coupling gained in speed and fervour, Erestor 
realized he would give all he possessed for this Elf.

The memory was vivid in his mind.  Yes, those hands had 
mapped his body, saved every nuance for later reverie, but 
it was not Fëanor who had to endure cold, endless nights 
alone.  Erestor's body arched, seed spilling over his hand 
and onto the crisp bedsheets in his chambers, warm and far 
from the dead winters of Beleriand.  His dark eyes opened 
to the shadows of his life in Imladris, blurred by tears of 
shame and desperate longing.  Fëanor, the banished King he 
had followed, was not with him.  Yes, in the heat of their 
love he had known he would give everything he had for 
Fëanor.

He just had not realized what "everything" entailed, and 
tears slid silently shown his pale cheeks as he reflected 
on the memory.

The End