Title: Winter's End
Author: Keiliss
Pairing: Glorfindel/Erestor
Rating: NC-17
Timeline: T.A 1100?
Beta: red_lasbelin, the Voice of Calm Sanity
Word count: 1,303
Disclaimer: not mine, I'm just playing with them
Summary: *laughs*
LJ: http://keiliss.livejournal.com/103788.html#cutid1


Winter's End

I feel a stranger to my own body as I sit here in the shadows away
from the fire, sipping my wine. I allow the talk and laughter, the
snatches of song, to pass around me unheeded. I feel naked within my
clothes. My skin is too sensitive, self-aware. I move and cloth
brushes a nipple and the flesh whispers of another, harsher touch. I
adjust my position on the cushioned bench and an unexpected, throbbing
ache takes me back to just a few hours ago, crouching on hands and
knees, filled, stretched, ridden to a rhythm of grunts and gasps and
curses. The high collar of my tunic hides the brand of his mouth upon
my skin, the fabric's touch a reminder of moist heat.

I sip the wine, remembering the taste of his tongue in my mouth;
delving deep, invading and conquering. The back of my scalp tingles
still from the pressure of his hand wound within my hair, holding my
head still, underlining my willing submission.

It was so quick, so unlooked for. A chance meeting in one of the
storerooms, he in search of unscented candles for his room, I seeking
…… it matters not what. Talking, casual flirtation, the way it has been
between us since he came to live here in Imladris a few short years
ago, restored to life after an unimaginable ending. We were both
latecomers to the Valley of Rainbows and, although our paths crossed
less often than might be expected of people living under the same
roof, we always got along well enough -- but no more, never more.

We moved through the storeroom, talking, laughing a little. I found
the candles for him, waited while he made his selection. We shared a
joke and somewhere amongst the words, the humour, something in the air
around us slowly seemed to change. Other Elves were present when I
arrived, but finally they left, their footsteps fading off down the
corridor. We were alone. I stood with my head tilted to look up at
him. Tall, golden Elf…… they seemed to breed them for height in
previous Ages. My king had been tall, too. Something moved in the warm
blue eyes, a spark behind the laughter. His gaze considered me
thoughtfully, taking in my face, fastening on my mouth.

Breathless. He made me breathless and hard without so much as a touch.
Just looked at me, his thoughts slowly writing themselves clear on his
face, the face of a bronze-cast warrior, all planes and shadows,
generous mouth. He put the candles back down on the table, his
movement slow and deliberate, then turned back to me, the motion
sucking air from the room. No sound save for our breathing and the
whisper of cloth. We stood still, staring at one another, searching
for…… laughter? Denial? Then his hand was in my hair, his mouth
bruising my own, forcing my lips apart, his questing tongue wet,
alive, hungry.

A kiss lasting a lifetime, a confusion of tongue, teeth and
low-growling urgency. Hands rubbing, circling, seeking flesh hidden
beneath clothing. He cupped my backside, kneading a cheek, fingers
biting into startled flesh, while I placed open mouthed, sucking
kisses down the side of his face, his neck. He pushed against me,
grinding and thrusting his hardness against my own aching need. A
cloth's distance between us, no more, heat rising to engulf us.
`Large,' I thought incoherently, `oh gods, he's so big, I can't……'

We found a side room - no talking, no questions, only kisses and
stifled moans - and we closed its door upon the world. Rain without,
summer's heat within. Rolls of matting occupied a corner. He kicked
one open with an impatient foot, his hands all over me.

"Need you……" he whispered.

I knelt, drawing aside clothing, offering compliant nakedness to him.
He dropped behind me, his fingers running over my buttocks as though
tasting me with his fingertips. I felt his breath warm and swift upon
my skin, then he spread me, penetrated me slowly, firmly, no lubricant
save his own slick wetness. I heard myself making sounds like an
animal in pain; grunting, husking, half demurrals, almost-fear, but
all the while pushing back against him, taking him in deeper, deeper
still.

"……you…… perfect -- made for me to fuck," he whispered. "Tight, hot…… skin
like cream…… The way you move, the way you sound.... You like to fuck?
You want me to fuck you?"

He thrust hard on the final words, and I yelped, and then there was
movement and heaving as he rode me. One large hand bruised my hip in
an iron grip, the other dipped below to wrap itself around my
straining cock, the place where I now lived, where all my senses were
focused. He clasped me, stroking hard, fast, in time to the rhythm of
the steel ploughing deep inside me -- so deep -- no one had ever…… no
one…… He struck white sparks off the secret place within and my mind
stopped working. All that remained in the world was sobbing breath,
searing lust and my voice hissing, "Yes, do it, yes yes, do it, do it……"

……..

"Good evening, Lord Glorfindel. We missed you at dinner this evening."

The words cut across my memories and I return to a present that holds
far less colour and sound and reality than the recent past. I glance
up, unable to stop myself. As though knowing where to look, my eyes
are drawn unerringly to a place near the fire where a tall, blonde Elf
stands beside Celebrían's chair. He is dressed in shades of green, his
hair fastened back from his face to hang in golden waves down his
back, and he holds a wine goblet in one large hand.

"I had a few matters to attend to that should have been settled this
afternoon," he explains casually, sipping his wine. Smiling as though
to himself, he adds, "I should have been finished in time for dinner,
but I unexpectedly found other things that needed attention first."

Heat rises up around me and I feel colour flush my face. I look down,
praying no one is paying attention to me in my quiet corner. `……things
that needed attention'……. Indeed.

When I finally raise my head, it is to find him standing in front of
me. I meet smiling blue eyes and discern something beyond the amused
warmth -- uncertainty? Could he be as unsure as I? There was no time
earlier to speak of what had passed between us. We had collapsed into
a wet, sticky, gasping heap only to be forced apart, scrabbling for
clothing, pulling hair straight, thrust back into reality by the sound
of voices in the main room. Now he says quietly in that light, faintly
accented voice that has half the maidens of Imladris swooning, "I
hoped to find you here. May I join you? You're not…… you don't regret……?
I have no idea how -- but I know why."

I stare at him through this rush of disconnected phrases and find
myself smiling, my heart warming to him much as my body did before.

"Sit down and join me then," I say, making space for him on the bench
I occupy alone. "No regrets. Things happen as they should when the
moment comes. Winter moves to spring in its own time." This is true. I
have lived through a long winter of mourning and healing. Now spring
beckons, and I am glad to put aside winter's quiet and explore this
new season.

He sits down beside me, touches his cup to mine. "To spring then,
Erestor," he says gently, his smile comfortable and reassuring.
Amazingly, he seems to understand. "An end to the past and a beginning
to the future. For us both."

End