Title: Near Wild Heaven

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

Pairing: Glorfindel/Haldir
Summary: Glorfindel, Haldir, PWP. That sums it. :P
Rating: NC-17

Feedback: would be lovely.
Archive: My website, AFF. Others are welcomed, but please tell me where it is.
Disclaimer: The characters are not mine.  They belong to the estate of J.R.R.
Tolkien and God knows who else.  No disrespect intended.  No profit made. “Near Wild
Heaven” is the title of an R.E.M. song - I'm so sorry I couldn't produce something
better to such a great title.

Author’s Notes: Fanfic100 Prompt 056. Breakfast. Word soup challenge from Quill and
Ink (dancer, dazzling, trepidation, grapefruit). 

Warning: Overused theme. :P

Thank you, Patricia, my darling, for the beta job and for being a friend. :)

~~~~~~
Lórien, 131 Third Age

“Perfection is intangible.” I have said these words myriads of times over my long,
long life, yet there is always new meaning unfolding each time they leave my lips,
even now when they are but a faint protest that my lover chooses to ignore. I love
him. Banal as it might sound, it is the undisguised truth - he has come to be the
centre of my life and though no great promises have been made and the grandiose
words were left for the poets, we are both glad of our little arrangement. 

Who could have guessed it when we met? Who could have convinced me that snotty
Marchwarden, a bit too pale, with podgy cheeks and big nose was the most perfect elf
I would ever lay eyes on? That he would bring joy back into my life? He is sloppy
and conceited; he talks too much when he is happy, and his worst flaw is, by far,
this absurd taste for early mornings. He leaves the bed as soon as the first
sunbeams sneak through those wretched windows and starts walking around, singing,
pulling open every single curtain I had so carefully closed on the previous night.

He is singing again. I keep telling him he cannot sing for the sake of his life, but
I know he does not believe me. He has a lovely voice, amidst his many other lovely
traits and he knows it. He likes to provoke that fake annoyance in me and we both
know where that leads… 

I growl and turn on the bed to lie on my back, pulling the sheet over my head. I
mumble from underneath it, “Stop that racket. Please, have mercy on my poor ears.”

“Ah! He is awake,” I hear.

He probably has that wicked grin of his splattered all over his face but I am not
opening my eyes to see his triumph. At least not yet, but I know a lost battle when
I see one. I hold my forts by reaching for his pillow and covering my head with it.
He starts singing a little louder. 

“I am warning you. Your insolence has to have limits,” I growl from under the
pillow.

He laughs in reply.

“You will regret this,” I threaten, all prospects of sleep fleeing me. We both know
this game very well, and his singing dampens my words.

I hear him coming closer, his feet light as if nothing, not even the floor boards,
can escape his teasing. “Those Imladris elves are too soft," he croons as he tugs
the sheet down. "A little bit of morning light is enough to make them hide under the
covers." He loves to taunt me. I pretend I ignore him but I secure the sheet in my
fists. Break-of-day cruelty is not beneath him. “Take this one, for instance," he
continues as if to an imaginary audience. "Who would say this one is a legendary
warrior? He looks more like – ”

His course is interrupted by the pillow I threw him. He laughs again.

“Shut up, Haldir!” I bellow, then I cover my closed eyes with my arm for all the
poring light is starting to prick.

“Umm, not until you beg me.” He strolls around the room, knowing the idea of him
naked might convince me to open at least one eye. I resist, though, and soon I hear
his feet moving with the rhythm of his song, eroding my resolve. An impish little
dancer, he is, moving swiftly, sometimes playing the ingénue, sometimes showing his
true, lustful colours, but never abandoning that sway of hips that would make a
tavern whore blush. Surely, no one should be allowed to move that way. I open an eye
and he offers me a dazzling smile.

"All right," I concede. "But to stay awake, I will require sustenance," I add
hastily, before he forgets that we skipped dinner the previous night.

"I will consider your request," he tosses, his eyebrow arched to match the quirk in
his lips. Sometimes his good mood can be annoying. I pout - pouting always works. He
steps closer to the bed and I have an excellent incentive to wake up, right within
my grasp. It should be unlawful to be so happy.

"Nah-nah-nah." He escapes my grasp. "You said you wanted food, so food you shall
have." I fall down to the bed as I watch him leaving the room. I can hear him
bustling around in the kitchen as I close my eyes and dream of pancakes and honey,
through a mist of that sweet morning slumber that he seems to be unable to
appreciate. 

"Back to sleep, eh?" I hear him asking right next to me and I start. "This is a
tremendous offence, you know?" he continues "I am working hard to please you and you
do not even have the courtesy to stay awake. This, this begs for punishment..." His
grin is dangerous and it is with trepidation that I try to play his new game.

"What sort of punishment?" I ask faking fear. He grins and I know I hit my mark.

"Oooh, let me think." He assumes an expression of deep thought, but I know that as
soon as the words left his lips, his plan, what ever it was, was formed. "What do
you suppose would be most efficient? To deprive you of breakfast is a nice option
but rather plain, do you not think?" I nod vigorously the very moment that my
stomach decides to intervene. 

He smiles. "All right, then, I can think of something else." His hands are not idle
and as I stretch and yawn he runs them up and down my torso. I throw the sheet back.
It was not hiding the conspicuous bulge anyway. My favourite Lórien elf displays the
wickedest smile I have ever seen. “Is all that for me, Lord Glorfindel?”

I grin and with some trepidation, I reply, “Oh yes, most certainly. Will you not
claim it?”

“Umm, I thought you wanted to eat.”

"I most certainly do!"

"Then I shall feed you. That will be your punishment, the mighty warrior reduced to
helplessness at the hands of his ruthless lover." He tries to look smug and
menacing, and with some effort I manage to suppress a self-satisfied grin - it is
unconceivable that such an intelligent elf fails to notice that his 'punishment' is
more of a treat to me. But I underestimated him; I realise that as he steps away
from the bed and rummages through his clothes. After some fumbling I hear a low
“Ha!” and he returns with his formal silk sash and a leather belt in his hand.

I raise a questioning eyebrow and he winks. "What a pity those lovely blue eyes will
be hidden from me as a consequence of their owner's bad behaviour." He moves to
blindfold me with his sash but I withdraw. Our eyes meet for one moment; he is not
grinning anymore, he looks concerned but I do not let my momentary doubt ruin the
morning. I nod in trust and his eyes thank me before they disappear behind blue
silk.

“Worry not, my Golden Lord. It is all for your pleasure,” he whispers in my ear,
reassuringly, as he blindfolds me, but I am not sure I like this dark world. 

I feel him reaching for the tray he had left at the foot of the bed. 

"Now what shall we have first?" he asks rhetorically.

I feel something soft brushing my lips and I open my mouth. It is pancake, my
favourite breakfast food and I moan in appreciation as I chew it.

"See how kind I am to you?" he asks. I grin.

"Ready for another?"

I nod in response and open my mouth expectantly. Immediately the sweet aftertaste is
washed away by intense bitterness. I hesitate for a moment between swallowing it
whole or spitting it out, but in the end I swallow.  I cannot understand for the
life of me why he would like grapefruit or think that I should like it too.

"Good boy," he says and I feel him leaning towards me. His lips brush mine and I
open my mouth to his kiss. Honey and his saliva flow from his mouth to mine making
it sweet again. I am carried away by the moment and wrap my arms around him, pulling
him close. Our kiss is messy and I like it. All of a sudden it ends.

"Ahn, ahn, that will not do," he says, removing my arms. He straddles me and pins my
wrists above my head. Although this new game has not quite taken me yet, I let him
proceed in tying my wrists to the bed post with the leather belt. I trust him, I
remind myself, but I cannot help but asking, “What is on your mind?” 

Again that mischievous smile and he licks the honey from my chin. “Shush, sweet
one.”

I try to follow his lips but he escapes my reach and resumes to feeding me pancake,
grapefruit, honey, and kisses. His hips move subtlety over mine, brushing more than
grinding and I practically gulp down my breakfast to try to put this torture to an
end. He feeds me the last forkful of honey-dowsed pancake and asks with a smile in
his voice, "Are we well fed, my love?" I eagerly nod 'yes'.

I feel him reaching for oil in the bedside table. There is something funny about us:
he, more often than not, is the one in command of our love making but I am always
the one piercing. I suppose there are roles and we should fit them but we seem to be
as unwilling, as unable, to do so properly. Today, I wonder if he is about to change
that as his hands travel in circles over my thighs, hips and lower abdomen, his
thumbs reaching ever more close to my very awakened groin. He stops to pour more oil
into his hands as I wait expectantly.

He resumes his stroking, but then he lifts from my hips and coaxes me to open my
legs. I hesitate for a fraction of a second but it is enough for him to draw from me
and lay by my side. "Do you want me to free you?" he asks, concern lacing his voice.

I take a deep breath. I have heard of such lovers' games but I never felt the desire
to participate in them. One thing is to yield command and initiative in bed to one's
partner, another is to yield all control of self. I trust him, I remind myself once
more, and I say 'No', though the feeling of safety and playfulness of the breakfast
is gone now. 

He kisses me tenderly. "I would not take anything not given freely, you know that."

"I know that," I reply.

His hand slides between my legs and starts massaging up. He cups my testes in his
palm, squeezes lightly and rolls them with just the perfect amount of pressure. I
feel them contracting slightly into my body and a sigh grows into a moan when he
continues moving his hand. His fingers dive lower to the tender skin beneath. He
rarely touches me there. I try not to think on what will inevitably come of this
course and relax into his touch. His fingers grow bolder, circling my opening as he
whispers endearments in my ear. He slides one in, just the tip of the finger. It is
not uncomfortable, quite the contrary, it is pleasant, slightly ticklish. He plays
and plays and, before I know it, his finger is all the way in. He moves it around
but then pulls out. I whimper – I was enjoying that although it still escapes me why
he would let me do it so often to him. He returns with two fingers. He is gentle, as
I have always been to him, and now the feeling is more intense and pleasant is a too
little word for it.

"Haldir..." I say pointlessly, but he stops his movements abruptly.

"Did I hurt you?" he asks.

I shake my head and wriggle my body to make his fingers dive deeper. He obediently
complies. I love his honey-sweet kisses and I pray that the hand moving inside me
finds in my body something like that mound inside him that makes him writhe when I
touch it. He does find it and he probes it gently as I moan into his mouth. The
feeling is different from what I had expected but so good it makes me gasp. He
chuckles in my ear and moves to settle between my legs.

"What have we here?" he asks, as I feel a fingertip dragging along the length of my
cock, the two fingers from the other hand still inside me, playing softly.

I do not dare answering. My voice, by now, must sound like that of an elfling on the
verge of adulthood.

"It is pink and shiny and wet,” he continues, the Lórien drawl making the words drip
like honey over me. “Should I taste it?" he asks.

"Yes, please!" I practically scream.

He snorts and after a few teasing kisses in my lower belly he finally takes me into
his mouth. His tongue swirls and tastes and drives me to madness but then he stops
again. This is bordering cruelty. I try to peek from under the blindfold but it was
very well placed. But he does not neglect me for long. I feel well oiled hands again
on me, this time on my cock. I realise he is preparing me.

"But, I thought," I start, but he leans forward and kisses me.

"Do not think," he says.

He straddles me and then I am inside him, where it is tight and warm and perfect.
His hands are on my torso and they grasp and pull as he moves and I wish I could
touch him and see him but I love this darkness too, where I can only resort to my
imagination and educated guesses. I am glad he is moving slowly. I tend to reach my
pleasure before him and after such a treatment I doubt I can hold for long enough to
satisfy him. He rides me at a leisurely pace, different from our usual rougher
mating and I start to acknowledge other sensations besides the heat and tightness in
my groin. The sun is warming my left side and there is a fragrance of orange jasmine
in the air beneath the scent of sex. My wrists are becoming somewhat numb, but it
feels right in this moment. I can hear the birds chipping, our breathing and his
hand moving on his own flesh which I try to ignore. I will last for long enough, I
promise myself.

He starts moving faster, the faint rustle of skin on skin becoming a low slapping
sound. I try to move my hips but he presses his weight on me. I understand what he
wants from this moment and I give it to him by remaining as still as I can even as I
feel it coiling again inside me, the pleasure sharp as pain gathering in my groin
and I want to pump into him but I cannot and will not and he finally decides that we
can explode and we do. I see the proverbial stars as he collapses on top of me,
heaving as hard as I am. 

After a moment he unties my wrists, takes the blindfold away and I see his sated,
happy smile hovering above me. I return the smile and reach out to hold him and pull
him down to me. 

"You could have..." I whisper at length into his hair.

"I know. But I like it like this."

I like the feel of his head, heavy upon my chest. I want to doze off, but I insist,
"But you never... Will we do this again?"

"Maybe. But I like it better with your hands on me." He squeezes my hand as he
speaks, then rubs my tender wrist.

"I thought you were going to be... more evil, you know."

"That was the plan." He is barely awake now, but still a note of amusement is
discernable in his voice.

I am almost slumbering too, but am driven forward by a lazy curiosity. "Why, then?"

He sighs. "I do not know. It felt just right this way. Now, shush." He rubs his face
in my skin and curls further around me.

I sigh contented, well-fed, well-rested, and well-loved and snuggle up to him.
Sometimes an early morning is not such a bad thing.

Finis
November 2005