Title: The best of two worlds 2/3
Rating: NC 17
Warning: Scenes will include explicit sex, a little angst, infidelity, angry elves and eventually a whip. May contain nuts.
Summary: Erestor finally opens his heart and falls in love, but Gildor wants more
Disclaimer: Tolkien sold them to me after one late night of drinking. Yep, they're all mine, and I make a fortune out of this. No? Oh, drat
Authors note: I don't really think Glorfindel is this daft, Erestor this arrogant, nor Gildor so lustful. But it was d*mned fun to write.
Beta: Erfan! Padawa nîn! Couldn't have done this without you.
It was Erestor's job to make sure the return of Glorfindel's war-party was the spectacular return of heroes that it was supposed to be. Ordinarily Erestor would have grumbled over the chore for days, but nowadays not even the return of the block-headed captain could dampen his spirits.
Instead he went to work humming with distracted joy, until Imladris was practically overflowing with banners and flags.
Elrond's people had all gathered to celebrate the returning heroes as Glorfindel led his party inside the gates. It made the golden-haired captain blink and almost grunt with surprise, but he quickly set his features into their customary winning smile, although he couldn't keep his eyes from darting over the crowd as if he was expecting an ambush. He wouldn't put it above that sour little scribe to try something nasty at his triumphant return. He caught sight of Erestor standing in his customary place just one step below Elrond's family on the stairs and almost dropped his jaw. Erestor had discarded his musty old robes for new ones that actually fit his slim frame and that weren't stretched out at the pockets from carrying around books; the advisor had plaited his long hair away from his face, and he wasn't even looking on the celebrations with his usually bored and distracted face. He was, in fact, barely looking at the war-party at all; instead his dark, intent gaze seemed fixed on another elf that stood even further down the stairs.
Glorfindel's smile turned brighter as he let his crystal-blue eyes slide slowly over the elf that had caught Erestor's fawningly unsubtle attention. Well! For once the bone-dry scribe had shown some semblance of taste! This must be the captain that had temporarily replaced him; it was obvious from the elf's relaxed yet poised stance that he was a warrior, and his proudly held head marked his rank as a captain. Tall and strong underneath his white and gold finery, he held himself with the restful readiness of someone ready to explode into action at any second. Glorfindel nodded to himself, pleased with what he saw. Yes, this was a worthy replacement for his own skill. And quite gorgeous at that, with his slim but powerful body and uniquely pale, strong features. *Gildor. Yes, that's his name.*
Glorfindel jumped off his horse and swept into an elaborate bow for his lord, who immediately greeted him with warmth, eager to hear what had transpired in the Misty Mountains. As Elrond led his captain towards the Great Hall for the evening's feasting, Glorfindel stole another glance at the lithe captain. For a second their eyes met, sparkling blue and thunder-cloud grey; the glint of challenge in Gildor's glance broadened Glorfindel's smile to an almost predatory quality.
Glorfindel was naturally placed beside Elrond's high seat in honour of his accomplishments, where he could entertain Elrond and his family with tales of the party's successful raid, of how they scattered the threatening goblin bands and wiped most of them out. The blonde captain was slightly surprised to see Erestor and Gildor placed side by side, but discarded it as just a strange coincidence. The graceful captain turned out to be a closely attentive audience, asking clever questions about strategies and the type of guerrilla warfare that was common when dealing with the elusive goblins. During the course of the dinner and revels, Glorfindel noticed Erestor's scowl deepening, and the glances of pure poison the advisor shot his way, but he shrugged them off. Even somewhat cleaned up and half-decently dressed, that dull scribe couldn't for a second truly believe he had any chance with this exquisite newcomer. Not now that he, Glorfindel, had returned. The more the blonde captain saw of the gorgeous elf, the more he wanted him. And what he wanted, he always got, sooner or later.
Erestor got through the evening by clutching Gildor's hand under the table. It would be truly rude to show any more blatant shows of admiration right there at the high table, in front of all Imladris, but as the torturous night wore on, he started to wish that Gildor would just throw him down over the table and take him right there, just to show that smug bastard balrog-slayer where the other elf's true feelings lay. Glorfindel's self-assured smile grated on his nerves, and he struggled to calm himself. Soon enough, Gildor would notice what kind of uncivilised brute Glorfindel was, and then he would loose interest. Gildor's hand squeezed his under the table, callused fingertips caressing his knuckles, massaging his palm, and Erestor relaxed a bit. He belonged to Gildor. Nothing and no one would ever change that.
That night, when they returned to Erestor's rooms, after a last glass of wine and some idle chatting, Gildor took him to bed and made sweet, long-lasting love to him, until all his fears were assuaged and his body was tingling with joy. He fell asleep, safely cradled in strong arms.
So it was that when Gildor had to take his temporary leave with Glorfindel and a mixed cadre of their warriors to show Imladris captain how he'd held up his responsibilities during his charge of the defence, Erestor was sad to see his beloved captain go, but not worried in the least.
The two captains rode side by side out of Imladris, discussing the well-bred horses Elrond had loaned them, bantering about the differences in weapons quality between the Grey Havens and Lothlórien, laughing at old fighting anecdotes. Glorfindel noted with approval Gildor's straight seat in the saddle, the supple way his body accommodated his mount's movements, the soft way he caressed the grey horse and played with its mane, his hands strong but pliant. Fire rose in Glorfindel's veins, and from the covered glances and soft smiles the pale captain graced him, he didn't doubt that his feelings were returned.
They set up camp when dusk came, small tents for the soldiers and a slightly bigger one for the two captains. Glorfindel quickly sorted out the ordinary commands of a camp, who was to take each watch, who was to collect firewood, and so on, all the time basking under Gildor's quiet approval of the men's efficiency as they settled to their tasks under his guidance.
When all was set for the night, Glorfindel sauntered over to Gildor, who sat playing idly poking the embers. The pale elf looked up when he approached, alert and not at all tired by the day's long ride.
"It's too early to settle in for the night. Perhaps you'd like some exercise? Physical work makes for a good night's sleep." It might not be too subtle, but he'd never seen the need to beat about the bush.
Gildor smiled, a slow smile, and almost coyly turned his eyes down towards the fire again.
"And what kind of physical exercise would that be, my lord?"
Damn, but the sound of that dark, husky voice went straight to Glorfindel's groin. He tossed back his long, golden hair. Ordinarily warriors cropped their hair short: it was a proud sign of his skill that he needed no such sacrifice.
"How about some swordplay? It would entertain the men." He stroked the hilt of his long, heavy sword in another clear invite.
Gildor's pale eyebrows rose, and he got to his feet in one fluid motion, smiling in challenge.
"I'd be honoured."
Both captains shrugged off their jackets and shirts while the men gathered around, always eager to see some fine sparring. In the falling dusk, Gildor's skin was pale and almost luminescent like an earth-bound moon. He was perhaps half a head shorter than Glorfindel, and not as broad-shouldered or strong, but his lithe body was made for quick movement, and there was the calculating glint in his eye that showed this was not the first time he'd met a stronger opponent and got away with it.
In comparison, Glorfindel seemed to shine like the sun; there was nothing subtle about his proud stance, his broad chest and flaring hair. He held himself with the poise of someone who'd never felt the need to hide or trick; he'd meet any force straight on and rely on skill and strength to see him through.
They circled each other, swords held ready, both smiling. Glorfindel attacked first, his sword *swishing* as it sliced through the air, but Gildor rolled aside, bent down and cut at the blonde captain's feet. It was a bold move, a clever move, and it would have worked with a less skilled opponent. Glorfindel's sword came down like the beak of a hunting heron, forcing Gildor to retreat and leaving a long, shallow cut along Gildor's shoulder. Glorfindel noticed with approval that the pale captain didn't cry out, didn't even seem to care about the minor wound. He was fascinated by the supple pale elf, but not to the point where he lost his concentration. Oh, no. He'd bring that proud, wanton-smiling elf to his knees. In more ways than one. It was just a matter of time - after all, he was Glorfindel, renowned balrog-slayer and in no doubts about his good looks. Gildor would be his.
When the sword-play was finally brought to an end, Gildor sported a collection of bruises and shallow cuts on his chest and back, but he laughed as he held up his hands in defeat.
"Enough, enough. Honourable as it might be to be cut to shreds by the famed balrog slayer, I've had enough of the taste of *that* sword tonight." He met Glorfindel's eye and the next words were as laden with innuendo as anything Glorfindel had ever uttered this night. "Do you accept my submission?"
Glorfindel's heart sped up and his smile grew deeper.
"I do." He put away his sword. "Come with me, dear friend. There's a river a bit from here. We need to get you washed off, and tend to your needs." He put his arm around Gildor's slim waist, pulling him close, and led him out of the camp.
By the river, Glorfindel commanded him to remove the last of his clothing, and approved the quick way Gildor obeyed. Long legged and finely muscled, his pale skin moved like silk over steel as Gildor let himself be led into the water. Glorfindel poured cold water over his head and he bent his head back to enjoy the captain's demanding administrations. Glorfindel's rough hands were everywhere, unheeding of bruises and cuts. Gildor equally reckless of his scrapes, felt his back and buttocks rubbing against Glorfindel's strong chest and thighs as the golden captain pulled him close in a harsh motion. Gildor's breath caught as he leaned back into the strong embrace, luxuriating in the total surrender that was to come. A faint chuckle came from Glorfindel as he kept up his administrations, and Gildor's movements got more and more wanton.
"Come. I would have you serve me," he whispered hoarsely into the pointed ear amongst short, silky pale hair.
"I live to serve," Gildor's eyes were burning with desire as he squirmed lusciously impatient against Glorfindel's hard body, but he added cheekily "At least, to serve a worthy lord."
"Behave, my pet!" Glorfindel laughed and ushered him up in to the soft grass of the forest again with a sharp, short slap on his hard buttock. "Haven't I already defeated you once?"
"Ah!" Gildor didn't lean away from the slap, but took it with relish, something that further fanned Glorfindel's desire. "Yes, you have, my lord," he purred with false humility, glancing sideways up at Glorfindel.
"Then serve." Glorfindel sat down with his back against a tree, confident, aroused, golden as some stray maia of fire, and slid his hand though silvery hair, strengthening his grip, slowly coaxing Gildor's mouth down where he wanted it.
He groaned in pleasure as he guided Gildor's pace, firmly but not cruelly, the hot mouth enclosing his river-chilled flesh like fire.
"Valar, you are good!" He panted. "I want you," he added, growling with urgency; suddenly this was not enough.
"Then make me yours," Gildor pulled away and Glorfindel turned him round on his hands and knees, desire making the balrog-slayer rough, but Gildor was too battle-hardened and far too aroused to even notice.
Glorfindel drove into him, slowing down just a bit as Gildor gasped, but then the other elf pushed back, the slim back curving and sloping down to allow better access, as Gildor impatiently trying to get more of Glorfindel inside him. Glorfindel could barely believe it as he sped up his pace; this was a lover who matched his own burning arousal, could actually challenge it and push him to his limits to keep his lover satisfied. He'd never had such a partner before; usually they were sated merely by being had by him.
Not so Gildor. Gildor wanted more, needed more, and Glorfindel was driven to fulfil his insistent need.
"More. Harder. Faster! Aaah!" Gildor panted as Glorfindel stroke his back, pinched his nipples.
More aroused than ever by such a voracious lover, Glorfindel sped up, riding hard and fast, grabbing Gildor's arousal in his hand and kept the pace of his own heaving.
"Nnnngh! Yes! My lord! More!"
Never before had he felt such responsibility for a lover's satisfaction; usually he didn't have to think about that at all. Grunting and panting, and gritting his teeth, neither of them wanting to be the first to give in, they rode on until Gildor gasped, his back buckling and his hips shooting forward as he came hard into Glorfindel's waiting hand.
Triumphantly, Glorfindel could push heavily forward and let go of his self-control, finally coming. Panting they fell down amongst the rough grass and pebbles, unheeding of such details. They were warriors, sated and sweaty in each other's arms; who could think about pebbles and uncomfortable twigs at such time?
"Oh, I am sorry," He mumbled into Gildor's hair, "I've already bruised you enough for one night. Come here."
He rolled of Gildor and on to his back, and then pulled the pale elf down over his own body, so that Gildor didn't have to deal with either chill ground or cutting stones poking into flesh, but was snug and warm and comfortable sprawled across Glorfindel's warm, broad body.
While Gildor slowly drifted off into sleep, Glorfindel stroke his hair and sweaty back. A new emotion was arising in the balrog slayer's chest.
"You are mine," he mumbled into Gildor's sleeping ear. "Just you. No other, I swear it.
You will be quite enough for me, my dear captain." He frowned at the small scars and bruises he'd put on Gildor's body. He'd tend to them as soon as Gildor had had some rest. And then, he'd put some new ones on him to match them. The thought made him smile, deep and relaxed. Gildor would not turn him down, would not be too tired or bruised or exhausted for another love session, not even one as strenuous as the ones Glorfindel would demand of him. The pale elf was a lover to match himself, and he wanted him with the same single-minded desire that made him the best warrior of all times.
And Glorfindel would never suffer anyone to get in his way now that he had claimed the one he wanted.