Title: Resurrection, 16/? Author: Larien Elengasse Type: FPS Characters: Erestor/Glorfindel, Lindir/Glorfindel, Elrond, Erestor/Celebrimbor (implied), and Gildor Rating: NC-17 Beta: Kenaz Archive: Rhovanion, OEAM, Melethryn. All others please ask. WARNING: Graphic depictions of sexual acts between two males and just a little bit of drama, because this is me, after all. Disclaimer: I do not own these characters, they are the property of JRR Tolkien and his estate, and I am sure he would be horrified if he read this. Author’s Notes: My Erestor muse insisted that he be given more attention and another shot at Glorfindel. He’s hard to refuse… As usual, I’m not adhering to the rules of Tolkien canon (big surprise, I’m sure), so if that’s your thing, this won’t entertain you. If not, then I hope you enjoy it. Set in the Second Age. Feedback: If you care to share, larienelengasse@yahoo.com Summary: Erestor makes a bold move, Glorfindel has regrets. They stood outside, basking in Ithil’s light and the cool night air. There was not a cloud in the sky, so moonbeams illuminated both the veranda and the gardens beyond. Gildor leaned casually against the stone railing, sipping his wine, and Erestor looked thoughtfully at him. The Noldo had always been a good friend, one who often lightened his too serious nature. However, Gildor was a bit of an enigma, and there were few in the Hidden Valley who knew much about him, save Glorfindel and Elrond. What Erestor did know was Gildor’s family line, and that the warrior was born in Nargothrond, and was a young soldier when his father died. When Elrond came of age and chose to be counted amongst the kindred of the Eldar, the peredhel served Gil-galad, and Gildor became Elrond’s general. When Glorfindel returned, Gildor reluctantly surrendered his mantle as the leader of Elrond’s forces, but quickly understood that it was for the best. Glorfindel and Gildor had long been close friends, and had served together and fought side-by-side since Glorfindel’s return to Middle-earth. Other than this brief history, Erestor knew little about his good friend; these were just facts, they were not an understanding of who Gildor really was. “Did you always want to be a warrior?” Erestor asked quietly. Gildor turned his gaze from the stars to his companion. “I do not really know,” he said matter-of-factly. “I had little choice when I came of age. We lived in violent times, and anyone who was able to wield a sword or bow had to do so, to keep our home safe. I suppose it was expected of me, given that I was son to a lord. I happened to be good at it, so that was the path I took.” “Had things been different, what path do you think you would have chosen?” “Hmm… I do not know. Farmer, perhaps? Woodcarver? Horse trainer?” Erestor grinned. “I cannot imagine you as a farmer, Gildor.” Gildor chuckled. “I suppose that is a bit of a stretch.” He stepped closer to Erestor. “What about you? Are you doing what you have always wanted to do?” “I am now,” Erestor replied, smiling at his friend. Gildor smiled in return. “You are happy here, then?” “Most happy,” Erestor answered. “I am glad to hear it. I have been a little worried about you.” “You have?” Erestor asked, leaning a little closer. “Why?” “You seem lonely.” “I am. And you? Are you lonely?” “Sometimes,” Gildor responded. “But not right now.” Erestor smiled. “Good. I really do enjoy your company, Gildor. You have been a very good friend and a great comfort to me.” “I know that things have changed, Erestor. But that does not mean…” Erestor placed his fingers upon Gildor’s lips to silence him. He was surprised by how soft they were. “Glorfindel and Lindir deserve to be happy, they are both good elves that deserve to be loved.” He slowly let his fingertips slip from Gildor’s lips. “As are you, Erestor. I know of none who deserve to be loved more.” “Perhaps I will be, one day.” “You are now,” Gildor answered softly. “You are very dear to me, Erestor.” Erestor reached up and cupped Gildor’s cheek. “As you are dear to me, Gildor.” He gazed into Gildor’s eyes, imagining he saw a silent invitation. ‘Would it really be so difficult to love this brave elf in a deeper way?’ he questioned himself. He already trusted him and loved him dearly as a friend. He leaned in and slowly pressed his lips to Gildor’s own. Gildor was caught aback by the kiss; it was not what he had expected. He loved Erestor greatly, as if they were of the same blood, but he had not seriously considered his friend to be a romantic prospect. He did find Erestor to be most beautiful, and the usually somber elf made him laugh from time to time. Until recently, he had been quite happy with his unattached state, at least most of the time; but now he yearned for intimate company. It was true that Erestor was alluring in an austere, almost unattainable way; he was the sort of elf that was usually admired from afar. As Gildor’s hands moved to his friend’s shoulders and he slowly parted his lips, he felt Erestor’s hands move into his hair, and his friend’s tongue slip into his mouth. Erestor moaned into the kiss and pressed himself closer to Gildor. Months of loneliness and yearning came to a head in that moment. He needed to be touched, he needed to be held, more than anything. “Please, Gildor,” he whispered. “I need this, I need you.” Gildor could think of no better answer than to kiss his friend again, this time taking control. * * * * Glorfindel watched from just inside the doorway as his two dear friends embraced and kissed. He had wondered how long it would be before it happened. They seemed like a natural pair, so comfortable with one another and so alike in many ways. The only problem was they were too alike; they were both too guarded. He could not deny the feeling of jealousy that pricked his heart upon seeing Erestor yield to Gildor’s amorous advance, the way his raven arched into Gildor’s arms, the soft, moans that floated between them. He knew what lay ahead for Erestor, Gildor was a more than capable lover, and he wondered if Erestor would be more willing to trust Gildor than he had been willing to trust him. Lindir watched Glorfindel as his lover stood near the doorway. It did not take much effort on his part to imagine what Glorfindel was looking at. This was dangerous ground, trying to pretend that nothing was different when in truth everything was. Torn between moving to touch his lover and leaving him to his silent vigil, Lindir stood quietly in the shadows, fear slowly creeping into his heart. He was afraid of losing Glorfindel; the Elda was the only elf he had ever loved. Glorfindel felt Lindir’s gaze upon him and he closed his eyes. Why did he stand here peering through the doorway at Erestor and Gildor when his beautiful, kind, and selfless lover stood behind him, silently calling him back? ‘Do not lose what you have for a pointless wish or for what might have been,’ he inwardly chastised himself. Turning, he gazed lovingly upon his sparrow, so pale and radiant, even when he stood in the shadows. Without a word, he strode forward, swept Lindir into his arms and kissed him soundly, rendering the minstrel breathless. “My sparrow,” he murmured against Lindir’s parted lips. “I love you so…” Lindir wrapped his long arms around Glorfindel’s broad shoulders. “And I love you, Glorfindel,” he whispered. “There is nothing I would not do to prove that to you.” Glorfindel smiled, gently nuzzling Lindir’s soft mouth. “You need not prove it, sparrow. I feel it.” He caressed Lindir’s hair as he gazed into his lover’s eyes. “I want to take you upstairs, to our bed,” he whispered. “Mmm…” Lindir purred. “I yet have songs to sing, my love.” “As much as I adore listening to you sing, I think songs best sung in private are my favorites.” Lindir smiled. “You are wicked, Glorfindel.” “I am for you, Lindir.” Lindir laughed softly as he twined a lock of Glorfindel’s golden hair around his finger. The minstrel’s laughter always caused Glorfindel’s heart to skip a beat. “See?” Glorfindel crooned as he pressed Lindir into the wall. “Even your laughter lights a fire deep inside me.” Lindir gasped quietly as the warrior pressed his burgeoning length into his hip. “It will be difficult to focus knowing I am leaving you so wanting.” “Ah, but the anticipation will make the joining so much more rich.” Lindir heard the musicians begin to tune their instruments. “Will you sit where I can see you?” he whispered. “Anything for you, sparrow,” Glorfindel murmured before grasping Lindir’s jaw and pressing a possessive kiss upon his lips. He slowly released Lindir, watching with heavy-lidded eyes as his lover slipped away toward the Hall of Fire. “Yes,” he murmured to himself. “What I have is far more precious than what I do not.” Then he slowly followed his lover back to the celebration. * * * * “Gods, Gildor,” Erestor breathed as the warrior released his mouth. He clutched his friend’s robe tightly in his fist. “You feel so good. It has been so long since anyone has touched me this way…” “Too long,” Gildor murmured. “One as passionate as you should never be left wanting, Erestor.” Erestor took Gildor’s face in his hands. “I want this, more than you can imagine, but I am afraid.” Gildor looked at Erestor thoughtfully. They both had good reason to be afraid; this was no casual encounter – they knew one another far too well for that. “Our friendship is precious to me, Erestor, you know that.” “I do, and I feel the same way, which is why I am so fearful. I could not bear losing it.” Gildor smiled. “I love you, Erestor, I will always love you, no matter what you do, no matter what you say. Where ever this night may lead us, you can always count on me being your friend.” Erestor ran his thumb across Gildor’s lips. Glorfindel had said the same thing and look what had happened. Of course, he knew that was unfair; he had done a masterful job at pushing the Elda away, particularly after Galdor’s arrival. Glorfindel was in Lindir’s arms because he had turned him away from his own. He resolved to not make that mistake again. “And I will always be your friend, Gildor, no matter what.” He smiled and brushed his lips over the curve of the warrior’s ear. “Make love to me,” he whispered. Gildor’s grip tightened on Erestor. He was relieved to hear the request, for now that he held Erestor in this way, he found that he wanted him badly. “Aye, I will,” he murmured, then kissed Erestor again before leading him into the Last Homely House. * * * * Glorfindel sat in tall chair near Elrond, listening to his lover’s lilting voice fill the Hall of Fire; it was something he would never tire of hearing. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Gildor and Erestor skirt the edge of the room and leave through the large double doors, walking toward the staircase. ‘Trust him, Erestor,’ he thought to himself. ‘He will make you happy if you let him.’ Though he turned his head slightly for just a moment, he quickly returned his gaze to his lover, whose bright eyes and gentle smile warmed his heart. To be continued… Title: Resurrection, 17/? Author: Larien Elengasse Type: FPS Characters: Erestor/Glorfindel, Lindir/Glorfindel, Gildor/Erestor, Elrond, Erestor/Celebrimbor (implied). Rating: NC-17 Beta: Kenaz Archive: Rhovanion, OEAM, Melethryn. All others please ask. WARNING: Graphic depictions of sexual acts between two males and just a little bit of drama, because this is me, after all. Disclaimer: I do not own these characters, they are the property of JRR Tolkien and his estate, and I am sure he would be horrified if he read this. Author’s Notes: My Erestor muse insisted that he be given more attention and another shot at Glorfindel. He’s hard to refuse… As usual, I’m not adhering to the rules of Tolkien canon (big surprise, I’m sure), so if that’s your thing, this won’t entertain you. If not, then I hope you enjoy it. Set in the Second Age. Feedback: If you care to share, larienelengasse@yahoo.com Summary: Gildor and Erestor travel a new path. Erestor opened the door to his chambers to find Gwathel standing in the doorway, wagging her tail. As Gildor followed him into the room, Erestor heard Gwathel whine plaintively, then he noticed her empty water bowl near the entrance to his bathing chamber; he looked at Gildor apologetically. “I am afraid I need to take her outside for a moment.” Gildor smiled. “No worries, Erestor. I can be patient, for a short while anyway.” He winked at his friend. Erestor smiled and leaned over, pressing a brief but warm kiss upon the warrior’s lips. “I shall return,” he murmured, and then he departed the bedchamber with his companion. Gildor turned down the bed and cracked open one of the large doors leading to Erestor’s private balcony, just enough to let a fresh breeze into the room. He then entered the bathing chamber and began taking down his simple braids, placing the glass beads on the shelf above the sink. Picking up Erestor’s hairbrush, he drew it through his locks in long strokes until his hair fell around his shoulders and shined, then he removed his clothing and lay upon the bed. After a short while, he heard the sound of Gwathel’s nails clicking on the wooden floor of the hallway, and he rolled to his side and faced the door. As Erestor opened the door and let Gwathel into his chamber, he stopped dead in the doorway. His friend lay naked upon his bed, his head propped up on one hand, his other hand draped over his hip. Just the sight of it caused a stirring in his core; he had imagined Gildor would be beautiful naked, but this was beyond his expectations. The warrior had a fine archer’s body, long and lean, with alabaster skin stretched taut over chiseled muscles. He had long limbs and a long torso, narrow hips, and a rippled abdomen. Gwathel trotted over to the bed, and sensing that she would not be sleeping there that night, she propped her chin on the edge and looked at Gildor as she wagged her tail. Gildor reached out, affectionately stroking her head and murmuring, “good girl,” in his deep, husky voice. “Lay down, Gwathel,” Erestor said distractedly, pointing at the rug as his gaze wandered Gildor’s form. His companion complied, walking over to the rug and groaning quietly as she lay down, propping her head upon her front paws. He began working the clasps on his robe as he approached the bed slowly. He felt as if he should say something, but words failed him. ‘You are beautiful,’ seemed so inadequate. Besides, beautiful was something that most elves were, Gildor was something else in addition – it was more a spirit of wildness that the warrior possessed than any sort of refined beauty. The robe slipped from his shoulders and he removed his shoes, then he mounted the bed, clad only in his undergarment. Gildor rolled to his back and reached out, gently clasping Erestor’s arms and pulling him down so that he lay between the warrior’s legs. He closed his eyes as Gildor caressed his face and slowly removed his braids. “I want to put my hands in your hair,” the warrior murmured. “I want to know what it feels like sliding over my skin.” Erestor drew a deep, hitching breath. The warmth of Gildor’s flesh was accentuated by the gentle, cool breeze that filtered in through the window, causing the soft, pale curtains to slowly billow. Outside, he heard owls hooting and crickets softly calling. Inside, he could only hear the sound of their combined breaths and feel the slow, steady thudding of Gildor’s heart against his chest. “Elbereth, look at you,” Gildor murmured as the last of Erestor’s braids came free and he combed his fingers through his friend’s raven locks. “Never in all of my days have I seen one so beautifully vulnerable. I wondered if I would ever see past that mask you so often wear. Only once have I in all the years we have known one another, and that was the night Lindir was wounded. This . . . this occasion is so much more wonderful.” A tear slowly tracked down Erestor’s cheek and Gildor drew his friend’s face to his lips. “Why tears, my treasure?” he murmured. “I . . . I do not know,” Erestor mumbled. “If you change your mind, I will leave, and we will not be the worse for it,” Gildor said softly. “No, no . . . I do not want you to leave. I have not changed my mind.” “Then why do you weep?” Gildor kissed a tear from Erestor’s cheek. “It is all so overwhelming, so unexpected,” Erestor whispered. Gildor smiled. “Aye, unexpected indeed, but do you not think that it is what we do not expect that brings us the most joy?” Erestor opened his eyes and smiled as he took Gildor’s face in his hands. “Yes, and this does bring me joy.” He pressed his lips to Gildor’s and kissed him deeply. Erestor moaned plaintively as Gildor’s strong, battle- toughened hands roamed his back, delving into the curve before sliding over his buttocks. His lover’s fingers deftly worked the laces on his undergarment, and he felt it slip free. With a shift of his hips, Gildor brought their burgeoning lengths into contact with one another, and Erestor groaned, kissing Gildor harder. As they broke their kiss, Erestor breathed, “Gods, I want you; I want you so much.” “As I want you, my jewel,” Gildor murmured huskily into Erestor’s ear. “I want to take you, I want to feel you beneath me, I want to feel you inside.” Erestor moaned as Gildor rolled him to his back. His lover’s smoky voice, his strong, rough hands, the way he spoke to him so possessively – it was all so familiar; it was like home. “Yes,” he whispered. “Take me, ride me, leave me spent.” Gildor pulled Erestor’s wrists over his head and held them tight in one hand; his lover’s free hand slid between his legs, callused fingers stroking his length before delving deeper. As he felt Gildor’s fingertips circle his entrance his body tightened and he whispered, “Wait . . . wait!” Opening his eyes, he looked into Gildor’s own. What he saw there was genuine love and concern, not cool possessiveness. “I . . . I cannot…” Gildor’s soft lips caressed his cheek. “I would not harm you, Erestor. Surely you know this.” “I do.” “Do you want me to leave?” Gildor asked, almost afraid of the answer he would get. “No! No, please…” Erestor pulled his wrists free and wrapped his arms around his lover. “I . . . I need to tell you something.” Gildor raised an eyebrow. “Now?” “Yes, now, before we go any further.” Gildor rolled to the side and propped himself up on one elbow, trying earnestly to ignore the pulsing ache in his loins. “Tell me.” Erestor swallowed the lump in his throat and focused his gaze on the ceiling. “The last time I allowed someone to…” He cleared his throat and began again. “The last time I gave myself in that way, he . . . he hurt me, badly.” He felt Gildor’s hand upon his chest and felt his friend slide closer. “I have not been able to give myself in that way since.” Gildor knew that Erestor had been with both Glorfindel and Galdor since he came to Imladris, and he knew that neither of them would ever do something like that to Erestor. “Tell me all of it, my friend. You need to let it go.” “I . . . I am so ashamed…” Erestor felt Gildor gently grasp his jaw and turn his head so that their gazes met. “Listen to me, the one who hurt you is the one who should be ashamed, not you. You bear no blame.” “How do you know? You do not know what happened.” “Did you ask him to hurt you?” “No.” “Then you do not bear the blame.” “I could have fought back, I could have refused.” “Who was it, Erestor?” “I . . . I cannot tell.” “Why? Is he here?” “No, he is dead.” The truth landed on Gildor like a ton of stone. Erestor had been with the House of the Mírdain; he had extraordinary skill, which meant he had a superior tutor. He grieved Celebrimbor’s death, as all Mírdain did, but he seemed to feel the grief more acutely. How he had not figured this out sooner was beyond him, but now he knew. “Celebrimbor.” Erestor looked at Gildor with wide eyes. “Celebrimbor was your lover.” Erestor nodded as tears began to fall. “Oh, my dear Erestor,” Gildor murmured as he drew Erestor into his arms. “Gods, you have carried this alone all this time.” He remembered the day they rescued Erestor. “Sweet Eru, you saw him. You saw what they did to him.” Erestor began to weep openly and Gildor held him close. “Weep, my friend. There are things in life that deserve many tears. Surely, the horrible experiences you have been through rank high among them.” “I loved him,” Erestor mumbled through his tears. “I loved him even after what he did to me.” “That was not him, Erestor. I have seen the work Morgoth, and believe me, Sauron was an apt pupil. Annatar had Celebrimbor all twisted inside, until he could not remember who he was or what he had loved before. When he did that to you, he was not himself, that I know for certain. The elf you loved was who he had been, who he still was under all that twisted lust for power. You need suffer no shame, my friend. You loved him well, and that is never a thing to be ashamed of.” Erestor’s tears subsided and he drew back and looked into Gildor’s kind eyes. He sniffled. “I suppose this is not what you expected when you came here,” he said quietly. Gildor smiled and chuckled. “No, not exactly. But I am glad I am here nonetheless.” He caressed Erestor’s face. “I still want you, Erestor, that has not changed. But if you do not feel the same, or…” “I cannot believe it,” Erestor murmured. “How can you want me after what I have told you?” Gildor smiled. “Because I know you, Erestor. One event does not make up an elf’s life; even so, it was not your fault. If you are too uncomfortable with this…” Erestor caressed Gildor’s face. ‘Do not make the same mistake, Erestor,’ he chided himself. ‘Do not drive him away too.’ “No, I want you still. I want you to stay.” He moved closer. “I do not want to be afraid anymore. I want you to take me, to possess me, to make me yours.” Gildor ran his hand into Erestor’s hair. “I will not hurt you.” “I know, I trust you.” Gildor smiled sensually and nuzzled Erestor’s mouth. “I will possess you, and in return, you shall have all of me.” He rolled over Erestor, pressing him into the bed once again. To be continued… ~ Title: Resurrection, 18/? Author: Larien Elengasse Type: FPS Characters: Erestor/Glorfindel (implied), Lindir/Glorfindel, Gildor/Erestor, Elrond. Rating: NC-17 Beta: Kenaz Archive: Rhovanion, OEAM, Melethryn. All others please ask. WARNING: Graphic depictions of sexual acts between two males and just a little bit of drama, because this is me, after all. Disclaimer: I do not own these characters, they are the property of JRR Tolkien and his estate, and I am sure he would be horrified if he read this. Author’s Notes: My Erestor muse insisted that he be given more attention and another shot at Glorfindel. He’s hard to refuse… As usual, I’m not adhering to the rules of Tolkien canon (big surprise, I’m sure), so if that’s your thing, this won’t entertain you. If not, then I hope you enjoy it. Set in the Second Age. Feedback: If you care to share, larienelengasse@yahoo.com Summary: Gildor and Erestor travel a new path. Imladris receives an important visitor. Erestor moaned unashamedly as he arched beneath Gildor’s touch. His body was stretched tight like a bowstring, his wrists held fast in one of Gildor’s hands, his legs spread wide as the warrior gently rolled the soft sack of skin between his legs against his palm. It was both familiar and unfamiliar. Gildor’s touch was possessive, yet giving at the same time; he could surrender and let the warrior take him without fear. As slick fingertips circled his entrance, he spread his legs further, fighting back the urge to resist. “Take it,” he murmured. “Take it all; take all of me.” Erestor gasped raggedly as two oil-slick fingers slid inside his body. Immediately, he tightened and arched his back, his fingers curling around the headboard and squeezing the wood tightly. Gildor’s fine, powerful body moved against his own, the warrior’s deep voice murmured sensual words in his ear, strong, rough hands held him, and warm decadent lips suckled a painfully erect nipple. “Gods, oh gods, please,” he whispered hoarsely. Then Gildor struck his mark, causing a ragged cry to escape his lips as he arched off the bed. Panting he settled back into the soft bedding, sweat beading on his skin, his arousal aching and straining against his stomach. A third digit opened him further; his lover worked his body diligently and expertly. Gildor somehow knew what he wanted without him having to say it. As his lover moved between his legs, he opened his eyes and murmured, “Just let me see you, please… I need to look into your eyes.” Gildor gathered Erestor’s long legs in his arms and smiled wolfishly. “Aye, my dark love, you shall look into my eyes, for I want to see your face when you fall.” A heartbreaking cry escaped Erestor’s lips as Gildor entered him, his body initially resisting, and then finally acquiescing. His lover’s tongue teased his parted lips, his own breath coming in harsh waves. So long . . . it had been so long since he had given so much of himself. “Look at me, Erestor,” Gildor murmured. Erestor refocused his gaze upon Gildor’s stormy, deep blue eyes. “This night, you and I are joined,” he murmured huskily, slowly flexing his hips and sliding deeper inside his lover. “This night, you are mine and I am yours.” Another slow flex of his hips caused his lover to whimper and shudder with pleasure. “Yes,” Erestor whispered. “Take me, please, I need you to possess me; not just this night, but all nights. I have been so lost.” “You are lost no more, my dark love. You belong to me now, as I belong to you.” Gildor covered Erestor’s mouth with his own, kissing him deeply. Erestor’s hands left the headboard, and he gripped Gildor’s back as his lover began moving inside him. He had forgotten how good it felt; nay, this was better than anything he ever remembered. The pace was leisurely at first, each slow, deliberate flex of Gildor’s hips sent waves of pleasure coursing through his trembling body. Gods, it felt so good to hold someone inside him, to wrap his arms and legs around his lover’s strong body, to feel his rigid length delve inside him, opening him up so that all he was and all he had to give was taken so completely. The pace quickened, and Gildor struck his mark with increasing vigor. Erestor hovered between struggling against painful ecstasy and surrendering to the fall utterly. “More,” he whispered huskily, and Gildor complied. “Harder,” he murmured, and his lover obeyed. As his own fall roared out of the red-hot fog of his lust, he dug his nails into Gildor’s back and cried out, near tears as his body convulsed and he buried his face in the fall of pale, flaxen hair that hung from his lover’s head. Gildor’s fall came hard upon his own, a deep growl escaping his lover’s throat as the warrior drove deep and spilled inside him. Gildor collapsed upon him, his chest heaving with each breath, his strong body trembling in the aftermath of their joining. Slowly, as Erestor returned from that misty place that lay between ecstasy and reality, he drew lazy circles in the sweat on Gildor’s muscled back. His legs trembled with complaint, tired from riding so high on the warrior’s hips, but he did not want to move, he did not want to do anything that might cause his lover’s subsiding desire to slip from his body. “Sweet Eru,” Gildor murmured tiredly. “Aye, lover,” Erestor murmured into the warrior’s ear. “That was worthy of such high praise.” Gildor chuckled and it caused Erestor to smile, an infrequent occurrence as of late. “Are you well?” Gildor whispered as he slowly rose to look into Erestor’s eyes. What he saw there was something that he had not seen in all the years that he had known Erestor. There was a slight sparkle in those lightening gray orbs, as if a shroud had slipped away and the light within his friend could finally break through. Erestor smiled and pushed the damp hair back from his lover’s face. “Oh, I am more than well,” he replied softly. “You have set me free.” Gildor felt a tear trickle from his eye. “Then I have done the best I could ever do, and I can meet my fate without fear or regret.” Erestor took Gildor’s face in his hands. “You are so dear to me, Gildor Inglorion,” he murmured, and then he pressed a gentle kiss upon his lover’s lips. Gildor melted into Erestor’s kiss and embrace, utterly overwhelmed by what had transpired between them. “Gods, you smell good,” Erestor murmured. “Like the woods and all good wild things.” Gildor chuckled. “My lover is a poet as well as a genius,” he replied as he nuzzled Erestor’s lips. “Aye, your lover,” Erestor whispered huskily. “I am yours.” He smiled as Gildor’s lips teased his own. “Mmm… bathe with me before we catch a chill from the night air.” “I will draw the bath,” Gildor murmured, kissing his lover again before departing the bed. Erestor stretched like a contented cat, a smile curving his lips as he looked through the window at Ithil, who hovered high above. “’Tis a new year and all things are possible,” he murmured. “No more pain, no more regrets, only this from now on.” He heard the water splashing and he slowly rose from the bed and joined his lover in the tub. * * * * “Oh! Oh gods,” Lindir moaned, his back coming into contact with a tapestry that hung upon their bedchamber wall. Glorfindel held him in the air, his legs were wrapped over the warrior’s hips and his beloved’s length was buried to the hilt inside him. Locking his ankles together, he pushed against the warrior’s broad shoulders as his lover flexed his hips and delved deeper inside him. Glorfindel’s teeth gently marked his throat. He wadded the Elda’s golden hair in his fists as they moved from the wall to the bed, the abrupt motion causing Lindir to arch his back and cry out again. “You feel so good,” Glorfindel growled. “You always feel so good.” “As if I were made for you?” Lindir purred as his lover thrust inside him. “Aye, just.” “I believe I was, my warrior. I am yours to do with as you please. I am your thrall…” Glorfindel paused and looked into Lindir’s eyes. “Say not that, sparrow,” he said softly. “I would never want you to be that.” Lindir caressed Glorfindel’s face. “I love you, Glorfindel. What I have is yours, all of me; I give it without hesitation.” “Be my beloved, be my friend, be my life, but never my thrall.” Lindir held Glorfindel’s face in his hands. “Never your thrall, my love. Only your heart.” Glorfindel smiled. “Aye, my heart, and my fëa. Always. I love you, Lindir.” Lindir wrapped his arms and legs tighter around his warrior, sighing as Glorfindel slid within him. “This is where we both belong: you inside me, me wrapped around you.” He gasped as the warrior withdrew and then found his mark again, and he arched his back. “Sweet Elbereth, yes, that feels so good…” Glorfindel delved deeper, buried himself to the hilt, and it still did not seem deep enough. He wanted to climb inside Lindir and stay there forever, wrapped in his lover’s warmth and love. “Touch me,” he heard Lindir whisper, and he complied, taking his lover’s arousal in his hand and stroking it in time with his thrusts. His lover’s beautiful voice cried out in passion and Glorfindel’s climax came close behind. He lie wrapped in Lindir’s embrace, feeling his lover’s hands stroke his back, hearing his ethereal voice softly hum to him. Only a small part of him was remote, somewhere else, with someone else, and he resolved to cut that part out of him. * * * * The years drew on without incident in the Hidden Valley, and Imladris’ forces quietly continued their preparation for the inevitable conflict to come. However, outside of their safe haven, war was spreading; Sauron had gained control of Eregion, and bands of orcs and evil men were prowling the region, laying waste to villages and murdering the inhabitants. Each day, more refugees were smuggled westward, aided by elves and those men who resisted Sauron. Missives passed between Lindon, Imladris, and Nûmenor, and soon, communication would begin with the elves in Lórien and Greenwood, and the Dwarves in the mountains and to the east. All free peoples would be called to war. Gildor and Erestor settled into a comfortable, easy life. Within months, Gildor moved into Erestor’s quarters. Elrond was most happy to see his faithful friend and his new protégé together; he believed that each was just what the other needed. Erestor worried terribly about Gildor when he would leave their home to help those in need, but his lover always returned, happy to be home, and glad he had saved those that he could. Glorfindel and Lindir’s relationship continued to grow as well, and many thought it was only a matter of time before they would see rings of promise on their fingers. Glorfindel tried to insulate Lindir from the growing danger outside their borders; he was determined to keep his sparrow safe from harm. For Erestor, having his own lover made watching Glorfindel and Lindir’s bond grow seem easier. Deep in his heart, he still loved and yearned for Glorfindel, but having someone whom he so truly loved in his life made it less of an effort to let go. He had not entirely relinquished hope, but each year that passed made it seem easier to do so. * * * * On a fine Spring day, in the year 1700, Imladris received a most noble visitor… “Careful there,” Gildor murmured as a young elleth nearly collided with him, unable to see where she was going because of the large vase of flowers she carried. “Pardon me, my lord,” she said, blushing. “That Erestor, ever the slave driver,” he murmured. “My lord?” she asked. “Never mind,” Gildor answered with a grin. “Do not let Master Erestor run you into a frazzle,” he said with a wink, then he continued toward the library. He found his lover bent over, tugging on the hem of a very young ellon’s tunic. “Now, Lord Celeborn will be here at any moment. You are not to play outside until he has entered the house, understood?” “Yes, Master Erestor,” the youth replied. “Can I take Gwathel for a walk after?” The youth looked up at Erestor with pleading eyes. Erestor smiled and tucked an errant braid behind the youth’s ear. “Very well, but only in the garden, not in the woods.” The youth beamed at him and he could not help but smile in return. “Now, go take your place with the others.” He turned and watched the ellon walk toward the door and take his sister’s hand. There he found Gildor, leaning against the doorframe with a broad grin on his face. “Sweet Elbereth! Please tell me they are not here already!” Gildor held up his hands. “Calm down, my love. I rode ahead of the escort. You have yet some time.” He strode forward, pausing to rub Gwathel on the head, then grinning as Erestor heaved a sigh of relief. “You complain, but I know you secretly love all this commotion.” Erestor defiantly held his chin in the air. “I do not. This is my least favorite of my duties.” “Liar.” “Rogue.” “Yes, but I am your rogue,” Gildor murmured as he took Erestor in his arms. Erestor caressed Gildor’s face. “Mmm… yes you are. A rogue and a wolf . . . I am not entirely sure this is suitable company for one of my stature.” “Complain, complain,” Gildor murmured as he nuzzled Erestor’s mouth. “Perhaps I should give your mouth something else to do.” Erestor closed his eyes and sighed as his lover’s lips moved against his own, then his eyes widened as he felt Gildor’s hand slide between his legs. “Gildor!” he barked. “Lord Celeborn will be here any moment, as will Lord Elrond…” “Pity that, I find myself somewhat . . . preoccupied with you.” “You are incorrigible!” he mockingly protested, reluctantly pulling away from his lover’s amorous touch. Straightening his robes, he turned to Gwathel. “Go to my office,” he said softly, with a smile. Gwathel snorted and wagged her tail, then turned and jogged into his office, plopping upon a thick pillow he had made for her. “Stay,” he said gently, and then he turned and took his lover’s hand. “Come, walk with me to the courtyard.” Gildor smiled, taking his lover’s hand and placing it in the crook of his elbow. To be continued… Title: Resurrection, 19/? Author: Larien Elengasse Type: FPS Characters: Erestor/Glorfindel (implied), Lindir/Glorfindel, Gildor/Erestor, Elrond Rating: NC-17 Beta: Kenaz Archive: Rhovanion, OEAM, Melethryn. All others please ask. WARNING: Graphic depictions of sexual acts between two males and just a little bit of drama, because this is me, after all. Disclaimer: I do not own these characters, they are the property of JRR Tolkien and his estate, and I am sure he would be horrified if he read this. Author’s Notes: My Erestor muse insisted that he be given more attention and another shot at Glorfindel. He’s hard to refuse… As usual, I’m not adhering to the rules of Tolkien canon (big surprise, I’m sure), so if that’s your thing, this won’t entertain you. If not, then I hope you enjoy it. Set in the Second Age. Feedback: If you care to share, larienelengasse@yahoo.com Summary: Imladris receives an important visitor. The welcoming party was in place, Lindir led his musicians in stately music, the courtyard was abloom, and a soft breeze carried the fresh scent of the waterfall across the grounds. It was a perfect spring day and the perfect setting to welcome such a noble visitor. Erestor felt Gildor’s hand rest on his lower back in a gesture of reassurance. No matter how many times he did this, his stomach always seemed to turn upside down. It had been many, many years since he had last seen Lord Celeborn. His last memory of the regal Sinda was seeing the elf lord arrayed in battle armor, made for him by Celebrimbor, striding up the stairs to the ramparts, his gleaming sword in his hand, his fair hair flowing from beneath his helm. Elrond joined Erestor and Gildor, smiling as he also placed a comforting hand upon Erestor’s shoulder. “Everything is perfect, Erestor, fret not,” he said softly. “I only want to do my best, my lord,” Erestor answered softly. “You always do, my friend,” Elrond replied with a smile. Glorfindel rode beside Celeborn as they entered the gates, and Erestor drew himself up, taking a deep breath and smiling at the great elf lord as he dismounted. Celeborn cut a fine form. He had a calm air of assurance about him that seemed to set all who met him at ease. He had long ago established a reputation as a master strategist and superior warrior. Erestor imagined that losing Eregion had been a hard burden to bear for one who hated defeat with such intensity. Only twice, to Erestor’s knowledge, had Celeborn ever been forced to retreat: the first time was when Doriath fell, the last was that fatal day in Eregion. If Celeborn was to help with finding a way to defeat Sauron, then Erestor felt that their chances were ever better. The Sinda Lord stepped forward, shaking Gildor’s hand warmly before moving on to Erestor. He paused, looking into Erestor’s eyes, a hint of recognition crossing his features. “I have seen you before,” he said quietly. “Perhaps, my lord,” Erestor answered deferentially. “I once lived at Ost-in-Edhil, with the Mírdain.” “You were Celebrimbor’s assistant,” Celeborn murmured. “I remember you once delivered something to my wife.” Erestor bowed his head. “Yes, my lord. It was a gift, a small box from Celebrimbor.” “I am glad to see that you escaped that terrible battle.” “This is Erestor, my Head Librarian and member of my council; he also sees that all runs smoothly in my household,” Elrond said. “Well met, Erestor,” Celeborn said softly. “If this reception is an indication of your skill, then you excel at your work.” Erestor smiled and bowed his head. “Thank you, my lord.” “And how is the Lady Galadriel?” Elrond asked, taking Celeborn’s arm and escorting him up the stairs, followed by Glorfindel. “Once again, you have impressed our guest,” Gildor murmured into Erestor’s ear. “Well done, my love.” Erestor smiled as Gildor pressed a kiss to the side of his head. “Thank you,” Erestor murmured, turning his head and capturing Gildor’s lips with his own. A soft moan escaped his lover and Erestor smiled into their kiss before releasing Gildor’s lips. “I am most glad to see that your nerves have subsided,” Gildor murmured, wrapping his arms around Erestor’s waist. “Each time it becomes less terrifying,” Erestor replied, placing soft, lingering kisses upon his lover’s face. Gildor chuckled. “Ai, my dark beauty, will you ever be confident in yourself?” “Valar help you if I do become so,” Erestor whispered huskily. Gildor laughed and hugged his lover tightly. * * * * “What can be done to stop him? He breeds orcs like they were rabbits,” Erestor asked, his brow knit. “Even if we combine our forces, we do not possess the numbers needed to defeat him,” Glorfindel added. Celeborn sighed and sat back in his chair. “If we are to survive, we must seek the aid of Númenor. Gil-galad has been in communication with them through Círdan. They are sympathetic to our plight and amenable to giving aid.” “The last time we faced the Dark Lord on the battlefield, we nearly lost everything,” Elrond said softly. “You need not remind me of the loss of Eregion,” Celeborn answered. “But the alternative is to lose this land to his darkness.” “Perhaps we should sail West, leave this place to him.” Elrond murmured. Erestor noted the pained look in Glorfindel’s eye. He could see that his friend was torn between his wish for vengeance and his duty to protect the Lord of Imladris. Celeborn sat forward, addressing Glorfindel directly. “Come, speak your mind, my friend. Do you not wish vengeance for your people?” Glorfindel glanced at Elrond then looked back at Celeborn. “My duty is to Lord Elrond. I have sworn to protect him.” “That is not an answer to my question,” Celeborn returned. “But it is the truth.” “Leave him be, Celeborn,” Elrond replied. “Would you place him in such a position as to forswear his promise to Mandos?” “No, of course not,” Celeborn murmured. “Forgive me, Glorfindel.” Glorfindel leaned forward, looking Celeborn in the eye. “Vengeance is a thirst that is never quenched my lord. If I have learned naught, I have learned that.” Celeborn flopped back in his chair and sighed. “What of those we leave behind, Elrond? You know they will not all follow. What of Oropher and his people? What of the Second Born that roam these lands? Do we not have a responsibility to them?” “Do the Valar not have a responsibility to them?” Elrond shouted, slamming his palms down upon the table. “Why do they not lend aid? Does the Doom of Mandos rest on all of our heads? What did the Sindar do to offend them?” Erestor flinched. In all his years in Imladris, he had never seen his lord lose his composure. Glorfindel leaned over and placed a hand upon Elrond’s arm. Elrond sighed and rubbed his temples. “Forgive me, Celeborn,” he murmured. “I lost many in Eregion, as did you.” “Aye, we have both seen too much death,” Celeborn answered softly. “Should he not pay for what he has wrought?” “Aye, he should pay, and I would have him pay tenfold,” Elrond answered, his gaze darkening. “But I will not lead my warriors to their deaths. We must know we have a chance before I will commit to this battle.” Celeborn nodded. “’Tis fair enough.” He sighed. “Enough talk of such bitter things, I would have us turn our minds to fairer thoughts.” “Sound advice, my lord,” Erestor answered, folding his hands in his lap. An uncomfortable silence followed, then Elrond rose from the table and excused himself. Glorfindel followed, clearly worried about Elrond’s state of mind, leaving Erestor alone with Celeborn. “My lord, I would show you to your quarters so that you might rest and refresh yourself before the evening meal.” “Thank you, Erestor,” Celeborn answered, slowly rising and following the Noldo out of the council chambers. As they walked down the long corridor, Celeborn reached out and clasped Erestor’s shoulder. “Do not worry, Erestor. Talk of war is never pleasant.” “Aye, my lord. Lord Elrond only wants to protect his people. The loss of Eregion was a bitter one for him, as it was for you.” “And you, I imagine,” Celeborn replied. “You lost many friends that day, yes?” Erestor nodded as they arrived at Celeborn’s chamber door. “One very special one in particular.” “Celebrimbor was a genius, Erestor. ‘Tis a pity that he was so much like his grandfather.” He patted Erestor on the shoulder then entered his chamber, closing the door behind him. “Aye, a pity indeed,” Erestor murmured, then he headed for his lord’s chambers. When he arrived, he found Glorfindel leaving, a worried expression upon his friend’s face. “How fares our lord?” he asked softly. “Fear does strange things to one’s mind, Erestor. Sometimes it brings out the best in us, sometimes the worst. I worry that in his efforts to save lives, the lives he loses will weigh upon his spirit for all time. If he sails West and leaves all of this behind, he will be leaving half of himself – that half that is Second Born. His brother died because he chose that half, now Elrond is faced with leaving what is left of his bond with Elros behind.” “And what of you?” Erestor asked quietly. “Was Celeborn correct? Do you wish revenge on the Dark Lord?” “Of course I do,” Glorfindel replied. “I lost family and friends in Gondolin, I have since watched more die in battle. How could I not wish vengeance for their deaths?” He cocked his head and looked thoughtfully at Erestor. “What of you? What do you wish?” Erestor drew a deep breath and looked into Glorfindel’s eyes. “I wish that you, and Gildor, and Lindir, and everyone that I love could live in peace, without the threat of war always hanging over our heads. The thought of you and Gildor riding off to war strikes fear in my core.” Glorfindel gathered Erestor into his arms and held him close. “Ai, my raven,” he murmured. “I would see you have peace ‘ere I die.” “Do not speak of death, my lion,” Erestor murmured into Glorfindel’s shoulder. “I could not bear a life without you in it.” Glorfindel drew back and caressed Erestor’s face, gazing deep into his stormy grey eyes. “I am sorry, Erestor, for the void that has grown between us.” “So am I, Glorfindel,” Erestor whispered. “Can we not close it?” “We can try,” Glorfindel answered softly. Erestor felt the nearly irresistible pull toward Glorfindel, the temptation to press his lips against the warrior’s, the need to feel their bodies pressed together once again. For what seemed like eternity but was only a moment, they held one another in silence, each staring into the other’s eyes, then Gildor’s face appeared in Erestor’s mind, as Lindir’s did in Glorfindel’s, and they separated, each stepping backward. “I had better see how Lindir is feeling,” Glorfindel murmured. “Is he doing better?” Erestor asked, feigning politeness while his heart ached. “Aye, but some days I believe he overtaxes himself.” “Well, see to him then. I would not have my friend fall ill.” “Will we see you at the feast this eve?” “Aye, of course.” Glorfindel nodded then walked away, leaving Erestor behind and steeling himself against the pain in his heart. To be continued… Title: Resurrection, 20/? Author: Larien Elengasse Type: FPS Characters: Erestor/Glorfindel (implied), Lindir/Glorfindel, Gildor/Erestor, Elrond Rating: NC-17 Beta: Kenaz Archive: Rhovanion, OEAM, Melethryn. All others please ask. WARNING: Graphic depictions of sexual acts between two males and just a little bit of drama, because this is me, after all. Disclaimer: I do not own these characters, they are the property of JRR Tolkien and his estate, and I am sure he would be horrified if he read this. Author’s Notes: My Erestor muse insisted that he be given more attention and another shot at Glorfindel. He’s hard to refuse… As usual, I’m not adhering to the rules of Tolkien canon (big surprise, I’m sure), so if that’s your thing, this won’t entertain you. If not, then I hope you enjoy it. Set in the Second Age. Feedback: If you care to share, larienelengasse@yahoo.com Summary: Erestor and Glorfindel run away from their feelings and hide in their lovers. Erestor entered the chambers he shared with Gildor to find his lover lying on his back across the foot of the bed, and Gwathel asleep on the rug in the sun. The wolf lifted her head, her tail thumping as Erestor entered and approached her. He bent over and rubbed his companion’s head, then turned to look at Gildor. The warrior’s bare feet dangled just above the floor and his hands were stretched over his head. His breeches rode low on his hips and were unlaced so that Erestor could see a pale, almost imperceptible dusting of fair hair just above the opening. Gildor was shirtless and his pale skin was stretched taut over his lean muscles. Erestor’s gaze focused on the way the warrior’s stomach sunk in beneath his ribs. He gazed at Gildor’s flaxen hair, which was the color of the pale winter sun and hung unbound from his head, falling straight as an arrow toward the floor. Erestor often admired Gildor’s physical presence. His lover was a handsome specimen; built lean and strong, with long limbs and a narrow waist. His pale blue eyes sparkled when his soft lips curved into a smile. Gildor had the most charming smile; it was the kind of smile that could coax a leg of lamb from a starving man, the kind that could woo the guarded heart of one who had been lonely for far too long. At first glance, Erestor thought his lover was asleep, but then he caught the gentle curving of the warrior’s lips. “Negotiations over?” Gildor murmured, his eyes still closed. “For now,” Erestor answered, removing his robe and shoes, and then mounting the bed, straddling his lover’s hips. Gildor opened his eyes, his wolfish grin fading when he saw the look in Erestor’s eyes. Reaching up, he softly touched his lover’s cheek. “What is the matter, my love? I see such sorrow in your eyes.” Erestor tried to smile despite the pain he felt. This was the last thing he wanted, to feel so torn. Gildor deserved all of his heart, not just a portion set aside while the larger part pined after another. “I am worried about what may come,” he said softly, opting to discuss his fears rather than the source of his sorrow. “If war comes, you will be in danger. I could not bear it if anything happened to you.” Gildor smiled warmly, caressing his lover’s face. “I have lived through one great war and many battles. You need not worry about me, my love, I know how to stay alive.” “But I do worry about you! Every time you leave Imladris, I wonder if I will see you again.” Erestor drew a deep breath. “I cannot lose you, Gildor.” Gildor drew Erestor down into his arms. “You will not, Erestor. I swear it.” “Can you not leave the army? Can you not do something else?” “Such as? I have never done anything but this. I know nothing else; it is who I am.” “You are more than a soldier,” Erestor whispered. “You are kind and gentle, creative and skilled in woodcraft…” “Can a warrior not be those things as well?” Erestor’s hands began slowly stroking his lover’s skin, his long fingers gently tracing the curves of muscle in Gildor’s chest. “Yes,” he answered with a whisper. “I fight to protect what I love,” Gildor murmured into Erestor’s hair. “I take no joy in killing things.” “I know.” Erestor lifted his head and gazed into Gildor’s eyes. “I love you,” he murmured. Gildor smiled. “And I love you, Erestor.” He slipped one hand behind Erestor’s neck and drew his lover into a kiss. It was long and deep, filled with a desperate, aching want. Something still haunted his lover; he could feel it. In the back of his mind, he knew what that something was; but this felt so good, Erestor felt so good, that he pushed that nagging truth away and lost himself in the passion that was between them. He rolled over, pressing Erestor into the bed and pulling his lover’s hands over his head. “My Erestor,” he murmured huskily, nipping at the soft flesh that lay beneath the collar of Erestor’s soft, white shirt. “You are wearing too many garments.” Erestor moaned at the sensation of soft lips and a warm tongue suckling his flesh and drawing the blood just beneath the surface. “’Tis lucky for you I have a preference for high collared shirts, seeing as how you like to leave my neck and my chest covered in love bites,” he whispered. “Indeed. It would be a scandal that would keep tongues wagging in Imladris for weeks.” Gildor chuckled as he moved his mouth from his lover’s neck to his ear. “You adore scandal, Gildor,” Erestor sighed as he turned his head, a soft gasp escaping him as Gildor’s lips found the point of his ear. “What I adore is you,” Gildor answered, then sucked the point of Erestor’s ear into his mouth. “Sweet Elbereth,” Erestor moaned, arching his back and bending his knees, raising them high on his lover’s hips. Gildor’s touch never failed to leave him aching for more. “And you adore this, don’t you my love? You adore the way I touch you, as if you are mine and mine alone.” “I do,” Erestor whispered. “You are mine, Erestor. Do try not to forget that,” Gildor murmured. Before Erestor could respond, he grasped his lover’s jaw and turned his head, covering Erestor’s mouth with his own in a deep kiss. * * * * Lindir was folding the cloth he used to clean his lyre when Glorfindel entered. One look at his lover told him something was wrong. “Did something happen?” he asked softly, his face formed by a look of genuine concern. “Talk of unpleasant, yet inevitable things,” Glorfindel answered, slipping off his boots and leaving them by the door. He held out his hand and his lover crossed the room, taking it and following him to a chair that sat near the doors that led out to the veranda. Lindir had the curtains pulled apart and the doors open, letting in the cool, crisp air. Glorfindel sat in the chair and pulled his lover into his lap. He looked up into Lindir’s sweet face, gazing into his wide, blue eyes. He closed his eyes as Lindir’s long fingers caressed his cheek, then his lover bent down and placed soft kisses upon his face. “I hate to see you so worried, my love,” Lindir whispered. “Yet, I know you must have cause.” He paused, his thumbs smoothing Glorfindel’s brow, gently working the furrow until it relaxed. “We could leave Middle-earth,” he murmured. “I have never seen Aman, but I have heard tales of its beauty from my lord and lady when I lived with them.” “I cannot leave, not without having fulfilled my duty,” Glorfindel whispered. “What if Lord Elrond wishes to leave? Will you have fulfilled your duty then?” “Aye.” Glorfindel opened his eyes. “But that decision must be up to him, Lindir. No one must lead him to it. He has many important things yet to do.” Lindir nodded and lowered his eyes. “Forgive me, it is just that I worry about you so.” Glorfindel caressed his lover’s face. “There are no Balrogs left in Middle-earth, and I have faced and defeated everything else,” he said with a gentle smile. Lindir smiled despite his concern and laughed softly. “Aye, that you have, my love.” He began slowly unbuttoning Glorfindel’s tunic. Peeling it apart, his fingers traced nearly imperceptible scars; they formed a map of all the battles in which the warrior had ever taken part. One was darker, more visible than the rest; it was the scar left by the whip of the Balrog. “So much pain,” he said softly, watching his lover’s face as Glorfindel closed his eyes and leaned his head back. He rubbed the long, jagged scar with his palm, listening to the soft moan that escaped his lover’s lips, watching as his flesh slowly flushed and his body awoke. He leaned down and canted his head to whisper in Glorfindel’s ear. “You love this don’t you?” “Yes,” Glorfindel murmured huskily as his lover awakened his desire. “I have never quite understood why, but then I do not have to understand to give you what you want.” “You know what it is that I want?” Glorfindel replied huskily. Lindir smiled. “Aye, my warrior. I do know what you want.” He shifted upon Glorfindel’s lap so that his back was turned to his lover. Continuing to rub the scar upon the warrior’s side, he leaned back against his lover’s chest and arched his back. “This is what you want,” he answered. “And it belongs to you.” Glorfindel wrapped his arms around Lindir’s waist and buried his face in the minstrel’s hair. “You are wicked, sparrow,” he murmured, sliding one hand between Lindir’s legs. His lover responded with a plaintive moan and began to undulate against him. “You have made me so,” Lindir responded in a breathless whisper. “We haven’t much time before we are expected downstairs.” Lindir smiled and moaned as Glorfindel massaged his rapidly swelling length. “Then you shall have to take me quickly.” “Your wish is my command, my songbird,” Glorfindel growled, rising from the chair and taking Lindir with him. * * * * Erestor cried out, gripping Gildor’s hips in his hands as his lover drove deep inside him. He panted, arching his back and letting his head fall back upon Gildor’s shoulder. His lover’s strong arms held him surely, and he melted into their protective embrace, his legs trembling from having borne his weight in such an awkward position. Gildor buried his face in Erestor’s raven hair, his own body beginning to tremble from the strain of their now combined weight. His hand slowly slid along his dark lover’s slick length, spreading his spent seed along the silky column of flesh. His own desire abated, he reveled in the warmth of ecstasy, of the feeling of his lover’s body, and the sound of Erestor’s slow, deep breathing. His free hand continued to slowly caress pebbled nipples, sliding through the sweat that beaded on Erestor’s chest. “Mine,” he murmured, and Erestor answered, “Yes.” Slowly, Gildor lowered their bodies to the bed and held his lover close, trying to stay inside him. Erestor purred like a cat – gods how he loved that sound, it caused gooseflesh to rise all over his body. “Satisfied?” he whispered, nuzzling Erestor’s ear. “Most satisfied,” Erestor replied, a sleepy smile curving his lips. “I love you, Gildor.” Gildor took a deep breath and pulled his lover closer. “And I love you, Erestor.” To be continued….