Title: Brutal Dance [Slash, NC17, Glorfindel/Erestor]

Author: Andrannath Mirdaneg

Warning: Beta-ed by Elizabeth Larsen. Thank you, babe! This means loads to me! :) This is dark. This is full of violence and very thorough descriptions of intercourse and fight. Mutilation, closeness to rape, roughness, blood, hate, basic instincts and general non-prettiness, PWP! But a happy ending (of course), sort of! Written from Erestor's POV, first person, presence. The best way to describe this is to say it has a Matrix fight, XXX-rated sex and Fight Club M/M relationship.

Summary: Glorfindel challenges Erestor for a fighting session, certain of his own supremacy. Of course, the winner gets a prize.

I wait for him. Again.

I always come first. It is so foolish sometimes. He comes and arranges all, and yet it is him who is late. At least after a few nights, I have learned more about the Gate than any elf. And I love this place. It was my idea, after all. In the darkest time I sensed the need for making high stone walls around the realm. But Sauron fell and my design was never finished.

At least we built the Gate. And they are stunning. Dwarves know how to out master the Noldor when needed.

I smell him. I doubt he knows that. Cinnamon and molten gold. Being raised as a smith, I have learned to appreciate that scent. And it is all over him. He is looking at me; I can feel his eyes undressing me. But not tonight.

He brought his long sword. Good. He feels safe around me. He thinks me weak. What he does not know is that I pretended. But not tonight.

"You are late, Glorfindel." I turn around to meet his smiling face. Always smiling. Always merry. "As usual."

"And you are as grim as always." His smile widens, showing his white teeth. Sharp teeth. He loves to bite. But not tonight.

I draw out my knives and his eyes follow the sparkling blades which cut the air, adjusting to my hands. First time he saw them, he asked if I owned anything in other colour but black. "The metal from the fallen stone," I replied.

He points his shiny sword towards me. A smile refuses to leave his face. A smile appears on my face, too. He is so sure, so certain in his supremacy.

He jumps towards me, turning to meet me with the flat of his blade. He wishes no harm; this is just a game to him.

But I play no more. I use my right hand to block the hit and force it aside, while my other knife flies to meet his face. He backs away and escapes; victorious glee in his eyes.

"You are forceful tonight," he answers to my attack.

I look at him, my face cold. "Six points," I say. "Mortal hit, one point. And then you are mine."

"Do not be so sure, Erestor," he responds while attacking once again. His sword swings through the air, cutting it so sharply that the sound hurts my ears. The blade flies towards my neck, and I lower my body, jumping to his side, joining my knife with his spine. He tries to attack me facing backwards, but I escape the sword, pull his arm and join my knife with his throat.

"Dead," I simply say.

"Your point." He blinks. He is surprised. Very.

We take our positions again, bow and stand in a defence manner. He pushes his shiny blade towards me once more, pointing it to my right side. I block it using both knives, and push him to the floor.

"Get up," I spit through my teeth. "I shall win fairly."

His eyes are dimmed. He senses something wrong. He lacks courage. "There is more in you than we give you, head advisor." He smiles again, taking hold of the ancient weapon.

I decide to attack lightly. I point my knives towards him and move more slowly than he expected. He starts defending, but his sword collides with one knife. The other touches the skin on his stomach.

"You will die in agony," I say, removing the sharp tip. A small amount of blood stains the white silk.

He looks down towards the red spot and touches it. He places the finger to his mouth. "Two points." He spits his own blood after tasting it.

"Forgive me." I close my eyes in a gesture of apology.

"To nil," he simply says, taking his position once more.

I stand still, my hands loose, and my knives by my legs. I see it again. Confusion in his eyes. He cannot understand. I was never that close, and yet tonight he bleeds.

He attacks swiftly. His sword towards me. I block it easily. But his elbow hits strongly to the middle of my back. A sharp pain passes through my body as I fall down to my knees. I can feel him turn around, his sword aiming my neck. He wishes to decapitate me. I swing my knife swiftly; the back of the blade stopping at the back of his knees. He falls down to his back, his sword flies through the air and my other knife lands on his cheek, its tip threatening the eye.

"You die instantly," I say, moving my head over his.

"Your point," he says closing his eyes. His skin tingles under my hot breath. He tries to control and breathes unequally, shallowly.

"Three," I whisper to his ear, softly blowing more air to it. He shivers. I pull back my blades and stand, offering him my hand. He refuses and takes his old position.

I see it so clearly. The anger and spite. He is so angry with himself that he will make more mistakes. Pity. I wish to show him all I know.

He attacks again, more steadily this time. His sword moves directly to my shoulder, or chest, or thigh, or arm, or neck. I defend, using my knives, nearing him in a slow dance of weapons. He backs away slowly, understanding he could not break my defence. I give him no time to look around and he finds himself touching the stone pillar with his back. He tries to escape my trap, but each knife blocks one side. Finally, he manages to lower enough to roll by the pillar's side, expecting me to follow. But I take the opposite route and cut the stone with my knives, trapping his neck between the crossed blades and the cold pillar.

"You would not even live to know." I move my head so close to his trapped one. His eyes dance around, refusing to meet my gaze.

"Four," he whispers, his eyes closed. His breath is shallow but still. Resignation. He has accepted my superiority.

I pull my blades swiftly and place them to their covers at my back in one go. I lower my arms and turn my back to him, slowly walking away to my position.

But I can hear him. His fists squeezing the long handle, muscles cramping. His body runs. He yells, "All is fair…"

But I turn around, swiftly. My leg is in the air and my foot meets his chest. He flies back to the pillar's bottom. His back produces a thump as it meets the hard stone. The sword flies away. Too far away.

"If this were an inch higher, you would breathe no more." I offer him my hand.

"Undignified," he whispers, chiding himself. "A warrior is willing to face the shame in fear," he says. He takes my hand and stands next to me. I can see the pain in his tense face.

"Are you well?" I ask. "We don't need to continue."

He turns around and walks to his sword. "Five," he yells stubbornly. And yet, his body shows defeat.

"In love and war, Glorfindel." I laugh loudly.

He turns towards me, holding his heavy blade. He is in pain. I pity him. I've hurt him too much. Must be the shoulder.

I unleash the handles and throw my daggers away. "No weapons. Bare hands."

He looks at me in surprise, but agrees. He releases his sword to cut the dry earth. A sharp and deadly weapon. But also heavy.

We take our positions and I assault. My hand runs towards him and he blocks it. The other is meant to knock him down, but his knee meets my elbow in a sharp thud. I raise my leg and his side, and finally have him lying. I thrust my other elbow to his chest, but he rolls aside and escapes, rising again. His fist meets the back of my neck and pushes me face down. But my hand swings towards him and I flee.

We are both on our feet. He jumps towards me, attacking me with all his strength. But I jump away, swinging my body in the air, hitting his stomach with one and his knee with my other foot. He falls to the ground, yelling of pain, before I land back on my feet. I quickly fall on my knees, push his head sideways with my elbow and thrust three fingers of my other hand towards the bone by his eye. My hand stops the moment my fingers feel the sweaty skin and he shivers in deep primal fear.

"You are dead."

He opens his eyes wide, pointing his pupils towards my fingers, focusing on me afterwards. He releases the air from his lungs in relief and starts breathing deeply, cold sweat forming on his forehead.

"You are mine," I simply point as his eyes close in fear once again.

"Six," he whispers in resignation and moves his hands towards his shirt and its buttons.

I release him from my grip to tear the shirt in one movement from his sweaty body. I grab his neck with my hand to violently pull his body nearer. His eyes are closed and he fears enough to shiver.

"Look at me, Glorfindel," I say calmly, deeply. "Look at me as I have you for so many nights." My voice becomes stronger with every word.

His eyes blink few times until he looks at me. Yes, he is afraid. Very afraid. I trace his face with my tongue. The taste of fear. Delightful. He tenses to the soft touch, but relaxes soon, enjoying the warm feeling. I back away; he sighs for more.

"Not that easily," I simply say, mock in my voice.

I place myself between his knees and he tries to escape. I react swiftly and pin his hands to the ground. His look is sad once more, but we both know the truth. I know he wants me. It is why he came after all.

I take my time, slowly taking off my shirt. It has no buttons which would distract me, only laces. On purpose. Every move; every single thing was made with deep and thorough planning. And he does not know.

As his arms are unleashed, he thinks of escaping, but changes his mind instantly. Partly for I have him restrained with my legs, and partly for his hands rush towards my bare chest. He gently touches my skin, but I push him away for it feels too good.

He looks at me, bedazzled, but says nothing. I keep my eyes on his half naked body, so long that he starts to feel ashamed. I have him under me. I have him mine. Finally. And he is too proud to break the arrangement.

"You are mine to rule. Mine alone," I say victoriously and he nods. A sad movement. In that very moment I lower my lips to bite his tanned skin. He wishes to touch me again, but I restrain his hands and dig my teeth to his flesh. He sucks the air through his teeth, hissing in pain. I look up and meet the two begging eyes. But the hardening lump in his leggings speaks a different tale. So I claim his skin once more. It hurts him, but he does not complain. He does not fight; too much.

It feels too good to have him under that I lose control. I mark him deeply many times before he screams in pain.

"Erestor!"

I stop momentarily and sit upright. His eyes are dark. His skin is bruised, swollen and delicately sensitive. But he longs for more. He tries to hide it, but I see it.

I untie his leggings and set his arousal free. He gasps.

I trace his skin with my fingernails, feeling the swollen bites and cuts. His body follows the touch. I stop. I lower my head to whisper as seductively as I can to his ear, "I hope you have prepared," as my hand searches through my shirt to find the small vial brought for one purpose only. And my other hand unlaces my pants.

My fingers feel the cold glass at time as the black cloth falls to the ground.

I meet his eyes. They are in fear once more. He did not prepare, of course. But his hands reach towards the small bottle, wanting to take it from me. I surrender him the thing, so I can take care of the still restraining cloth around my legs.

And as my eyes operate elsewhere, the feel of a gentle touch on my own arousal brings stars to my eyes.

Glorfindel.

I sigh.

As soon as I gather my senses, I look towards the intimate and too satisfying sensation. Strong warrior hands applying the oil gently to my flesh. His eyes show sympathy and surrenderance. He fights no more. In that short moment in which I was preoccupied with my robes, he managed to sit upright and open the bottle.

I cannot keep my eyes off that sight. I cannot force myself to part with what those hands are doing. And he notices my confusion and looks up. Our eyes meet. He smiles. A fake smile. I am touched beyond reckoning. So sad. So… meaningful.

Not my plan. This is not by my plan. This is completely different and wrong.

And yet…

His slippery hands gently trace my skin, up my belly and chest. He cocks his head a bit and looks at me. His eyes can see right through my soul. So different from anything I have encountered from this elf before.

Without thinking, I move my fingers towards his cheek and pull him gently near. Our lips meet. Our first kiss. It brings tears to my eyes.

Few short moments pass and our lips part. I look at him again. All the stubbornness and self-indulgence is gone. Blue pools of eternal depth radiate calmness and affection.

"I am sorry," I whisper quietly, before pecking his cheek.

"I am," he answers simply. His voice is quiet and broken from the yelling. "For everything." He closes his eyes again.

"I cannot go on…"

"No," he interrupts my plea.

"… if you don't want me to continue."

He looks at me again, only to whisper, "I do."

I hesitate for a moment, but his slippery hands pull me near. I position myself in front of his entrance and only then realize I cannot harm him.

I am too weak.

I look at him and he can read the question in my eyes. He simply nods and puts his legs around me. I gently push inside, but his hard grip fastens the entry and he roars. A strange sound made by his hurt throat.

The feeling overwhelms me but I proceed slowly and with caution. Soon, my mind slows down under the waves of pleasure and the warrior in me awakens. The brutal one who is always so near, but appears fully when I am to dominate others.

I thrust harder with every movement. My moves are faster and all I perceive are Glorfindel's screams. Pain mixed with pleasure. The sweetest potion. I continue this game of life and death, where I hang on the tip of the knife, fighting between my normal self and the one who could tear my lover to pieces. I could bite off every inch of his skin. I could rip off every muscle and cut out his eyes. I could make him bleed using friction alone.

But I remain. I am standing at the edge. But I remain. While he is broken.

The sounds he creates are meaningless. Screams, sobs, sighs, vowels, syllables… They have meaning to none but his mind. The sounds of a tortured animal.

His slippery fingers try to find rest on my shoulders. He adjusts them after every thrust, for they slide down. I see the muscles on his face tense more and more. And I close my eyes.

Nothing.

There is nothing but deep waves of pleasure forming in my body. There is nothing except my working muscles and a will of their own. Nothing but those primal moves which, I know, are brutal and painful to him. But nothing matters now.

Nothing.

Somewhere in the back of my mind, my hand is given the order to hold his member and move in the rhythm of the entire body.

His gasps change. Pain prevailed, but pleasure is winning the fight. Pleasure rises in both of us.

My teeth grab the nearest thing, his neck. I dig them deep into the tense muscles and pulsating vein.

My own brutality rises above its limits and only violence remains. I move harder and faster, my only mission is to cause pain.

Glorfindel.

Glorfindel o Gondolin. Glorfindel o Imladris. It is not often that he succumbs to such inferior positions. It is not often that Glorfindel can be punished for his superior behaviour.

And I know I have let his blood run. I know the tension and speed have cut him deep.

And it makes me even more violent.

And I thrust strongly, ignoring his begging and pain, for all the days he knew me and mocked me.

And I thrust deeply, ignoring the ripping of his skin, for his eternal domination.

And I thrust for the third time in such violence that I feel his fear, for all the pain he caused me the first night I let him win.

And I thrust so fast, ignoring the change of pace, for the harsh words of my lack of skill the following day.

And I thrust, digging my fingers deep into his muscles, causing them to bleed inside, for the smile of satisfaction on his face the following evening.

And I thrust for one more time, losing myself completely in explosions in my own blood, not caring a bit for the one under me screaming of delight and fright. My hands stop moving, my knees burn of the sharp rocks under them. My back might break of the tension in them.

The body under me is completely limp.

I open my eyes slowly, lazily, to find my opponent and lover lacking saneness. His eyes are shut and he breathes deeply still, completely lost in his own world.

My eyelids decide to fall by themselves and I care not that I am lying on top of another. My body aches far too much from the brutal and deadly movements exchanged this night.

~*~*~*~

I open my eyes to the feel of cold metal on the back of my neck. It slides slowly, marking but not cutting. It is still dark.

I realize my body is lying on the dry earth, and Ithil is long gone.

I dare not move.

"I know you can hear me, chief advisor Erestor," his voice whispers. He can barely speak from the sounds created earlier. One would expect his voice to be dark, or at least distant. But it is… different.

I turn my head slowly to meet the eyes flashing with emotions.

"Get up," he simply says and I obey.

I am still naked and take a moment to observe my body. My knees burn and will need cleaning from the pebbles and dirt. Blood has dried on them. One palm is sticky while the fingers and nails of the other hand are filled with blood. His blood.

I point my eyes towards him. He wears no shirt. I ripped it apart. But a stripe of it covers his neck, red with blood on one side. He is full of bruises and bite marks. His lower lip is split apart.

His long sword rests upon my neck. I wish to speak, but dare not. I know it is meaningless.

"Your skills surprise me, Erestor." He glances quickly towards the ground near me. I follow his gaze and discover the black leather bond with my knives. "Na-a." He swings his head, noticing me eyeing my weapons.

I look back at him and detect a big black mark over his cheek. It is already swollen and probably very painful. "I would not be who I am now if I bore no secrets." I smile. A wicked smile. Makes the hand with the sword twitch, cutting the skin by the vein of the neck slightly.

His face is grim still. He does not move. I dare not. But something sparkles in his eyes and a grin appears on his face. A grin turns into a sound laughter; as sound as his throat allows it to be.

He swiftly places his sword by his leg and pulls me with his free hand into a rough kiss.

"Tomorrow evening, same time," he says, still smiling and our lips meet again. Long, powerful, passionate and strong kiss, broken by his need to laugh once more.

He turns around and leaves, limping. He places his sword on his shoulder as though it is some tool and not a weapon worthier than all the treasures of Rohan.

"Don't be late," are sole words I manage to mutter between grins, as I start searching for my clothes.

"You will not find them," a still laughing voice yells from the distance.