Half the Distance
folder
-Multi-Age › Slash - Male/Male
Rating:
Adult ++
Chapters:
26
Views:
3,165
Reviews:
6
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Category:
-Multi-Age › Slash - Male/Male
Rating:
Adult ++
Chapters:
26
Views:
3,165
Reviews:
6
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Disclaimer:
I do not own the Lord of the Rings (and associated) book series, nor any of the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.
Two : I Did Not Understand
Title: Half the Distance
Series: Innocence Stripped Away
Chapter: Two : I Did Not Understand
Author: Orchyd Constyne
Contact: soultornasunder@gmail.com
Website: http://www.hithanaur.net/
Update List: http://groups.yahoo.com/group/nairn_orchyd/
Beta: Fimbrethiel, Alex
---
Imladris, Spring, Third Age 2086
A month of preparations saw Imladris ready for the Elven delegations that would be arriving over the next week or so. Erestor did not approve of Thranduil's rooms being so near his own, but he resisted the urge to beg Elrond to move the Elvenking to the West Wing. This evening, the night before the Lórien host would arrive, found Erestor and his spouse quietly in their suite, each pursuing their personal interests in the silence of the night. Erestor's eyes flickered toward the bed where Glorfindel lay sprawled across the mattress, his attention intent on the novel he held.
Erestor dipped his brush into the cloudy water, cleaning the paint from his brush before he loaded it with another colour. The heavy parchment in front of him was half-complete, the nude Elf bathing in the moonlight waterfall pale and glorious. He was not as accomplished a painter as the artists Elrond employed, but he did enjoy the process of taking a blank canvas and turning it into something colourful, and usually something erotic. His paintings were hidden in the depths of the playroom, away from the prying eyes of the servants and visiting guests. They were *his*.
Glorfindel sighed and put his book aside, his eyes going to the darkened bank of windows. "It is late, Erestor," he remarked as he stretched. "Come to bed. Celeborn will arrive in the morning, and you should be rested. The painting will still be there later."
Under Glorfindel's watchful gaze, Erestor cleaned all his brushes, put them aside to dry, and slid the parchment into the cubby of his desk. He made certain his watercolours were covered so that the cakes did not dry to dust, and then stood from his workspace and walked to the bed. The sapphire eyes did not blink or waver, just watched as he shed his robes and reached for his sleeping trousers.
"Nay," Glorfindel said huskily. "Will you not be with me this night?"
Erestor tried very hard to hide his irritation at the request as he tossed the trousers back onto the chair. "You just told me I should be rested for the morn. How is bedding you resting?" He knew his attempt at levity was not as well done as it could have been, but he was truly in no mood to be physical with his mate. He crawled into the bed, quickly taken into Glorfindel's ample embrace, any further protests stopped by the Elda's hungry kiss.
He had to admit that he had denied Glorfindel any intimacy beyond a brief kiss or a short embrace, and the urgency he sensed from his spouse was mostly his own fault. He returned the kiss, shifting so that he was atop Glorfindel, his hands buried in the golden locks and his tongue deep in the hot recesses of his mouth. Erestor felt Glorfindel's arousal, thick and slick against his belly, and he concentrated intently on that feeling. He was wanted. He was needed. His touch was desired, demanded, and he recalled the clinging, quivering passage that always welcomed his hard length.
His sex stirred, began to fill, but he could not muster the necessary interest for it to completely stiffen. Erestor left Glorfindel's swollen lips and nipped at the long, pale neck, leaving a blossoming mark above the throbbing pulse he found. Glorfindel sighed and moaned; he squirmed as pleasure bled into pain the longer Erestor sucked at his throat, and such actions would have normally left Erestor in a sexual frenzy.
But he could not find the desire for Glorfindel's body inside himself.
With a frustrated sigh, Erestor pulled back and rested his head on Glorfindel's chest. "Forgive me, melethen," he panted in annoyance. "I would like to give you what you desire, but it does not seem as if my flesh is willing to listen." He sat back on his heels, his lax sex resting pathetically among the sparse nest of dark curls.
The look of hurt and rejection that swept over Glorfindel's face was unmistakable and tore at Erestor's heart. He nodded and drew back the bedsheets on Erestor's side of the bed. "I understand," Glorfindel said in a strained voice. "You are under a lot of pressure, making all the arrangements for the gathering of the realms, and are probably exhausted. We can try again once things have settled and everyone has arrived." They both knew the lines were trite -- something Glorfindel had taken to reciting every time they failed at coupling -- but they were needed.
Erestor crawled under the quilt, his throat tight with his own sense of shame and inadequacy. "I am sorry, Glorfindel. Would you like release? I may not be able to take you, but I can offer you completion."
Glorfindel shook his head as he rolled over in their bed, extinguishing the bedside lamp. "It is not necessary, Erestor. The need has already abated."
It was a lie. They both knew it was. But they chose to believe it.
"I love you," Erestor whispered into the darkness.
A pause.
Lingering pause.
And then Glorfindel replied. "I love you."
Practised. Hollow. Unbelievable.
*****
The balcony doors swung inward on well-oiled hinges, alerting none to the Elf's intents. The night was dark, the moon obscured by tearful clouds, and the spring breeze was cool and moist. No sound could be heard; even the chirping of the crickets silenced as the powerful being made himself comfortable on the balustrade of the balcony. His hair gave off its own light, a tiny imitation of Anor's rays, and his eyes glimmered in the shadowed nights. His skin was alabaster, a sharp contrast to his murky surroundings, and had anyone seen him, he could have been mistaken for a stunning, nude Maia come to pass judgement upon some unsuspecting Elf.
One leg raised on the railing, the other dangling so that the toes barely touched the floor, the Elf smiled up into the overcast heavens. His hands travelled down well-defined muscles and over smooth, supple skin. His erection was easily seen by the light his very being cast about him, and his fingers encircled the aching flesh almost hesitantly. It has been many years since he had done such a thing in secret, when his desires had not been sated by his mate, but his arousal had become unending, a persistent need that he could no longer ignore.
Glorfindel hissed with that first stroke along his sticky, neglected length. His eyes fell shut and he immersed himself in fantasy. Long ago, his fantasies had been such things as Erestor mastering him before a crowd, or being taken roughly upon the library table while they were secretly watched, but this night, Erestor did not slip into the fantasy Glorfindel wove.
No, darkness was not what took him. Tawny sunlight rode his body, demanded obedience and pain from him. He was chained before the Elvenking, his body aching from punishment and unrelieved arousal, and Thranduil's fingers within his body sought to push him beyond all thought. His hand moved quickly over the pounding, heated shaft, his breath hitching in his throat as Thranduil bent him over, weights attached to the piercings through his nipples tugging and teasing him further.
When Thranduil's cock impaled him, spread him wide and claimed his body as his, Glorfindel gave a silent groan. His body spasmed and hot fluid spattered up his belly and chest as he shuddered in orgasm. His eyes opened slowly, satiated and dull in the aftermath, and he smiled to himself.
The wind softly caressed his cooling body, and Glorfindel shivered, the chill of the late-night air drawing him from his fantasy entirely. He carefully stood from the railing, his knees weak and fatigue pulling him into the liquid warmth of sleep. Quietly, Glorfindel entered their bathing chamber, shutting and bolting the door, then he drew a bath before returning to Erestor's side.
*****
Thranduil.
That damned Elf.
A self-proclaimed king!
Erestor's eyes shimmered with unshed tears of anger. For Glorfindel to be thinking of that pompous windbag was unacceptable, especially while touching himself! The resentment boiled inside him, his heart aflame with hatred for the fair-haired, fair-eyed Sinda.
What had happened? When had things gotten so far beyond his control? At one point, Glorfindel had been his, and his alone. No one dared to flirt with the Seneschal or to even ask him on a social outing. He had been Erestor's, and no one would have risked the quiet Councilor's ire. But then it had all changed. With a swiftness that had left him reeling, Erestor had gone from lover to master, from master to murderer, and from murderer to spouse. Somewhere in that whirlwind, Glorfindel had become more than a warrior, more than just a submissive or a spouse.
Glorfindel had become Erestor's greatest nightmare.
His heart given, his soul taken, Erestor was now weak. He feared the loss of the one thing he had somehow managed to keep a hold of, and now that thing threatened to willingly break the tie that bound him.
Erestor's stomach churned with fear, the unpleasant taste rising in his throat. Elves were gifted with foresight -- some more than others. He had never been one for visions as Elrond was, or full glimpses of the future as the Lady often had, or even bouts of enlightenment as Glorfindel was. But, in the wake of Glorfindel's lustful fantasy, Erestor was struck with a surety of insight.
When Thranduil left the lush valley of Imladris, Glorfindel would leave with him.
And Erestor would be left alone.
TBC...
Series: Innocence Stripped Away
Chapter: Two : I Did Not Understand
Author: Orchyd Constyne
Contact: soultornasunder@gmail.com
Website: http://www.hithanaur.net/
Update List: http://groups.yahoo.com/group/nairn_orchyd/
Beta: Fimbrethiel, Alex
---
Imladris, Spring, Third Age 2086
A month of preparations saw Imladris ready for the Elven delegations that would be arriving over the next week or so. Erestor did not approve of Thranduil's rooms being so near his own, but he resisted the urge to beg Elrond to move the Elvenking to the West Wing. This evening, the night before the Lórien host would arrive, found Erestor and his spouse quietly in their suite, each pursuing their personal interests in the silence of the night. Erestor's eyes flickered toward the bed where Glorfindel lay sprawled across the mattress, his attention intent on the novel he held.
Erestor dipped his brush into the cloudy water, cleaning the paint from his brush before he loaded it with another colour. The heavy parchment in front of him was half-complete, the nude Elf bathing in the moonlight waterfall pale and glorious. He was not as accomplished a painter as the artists Elrond employed, but he did enjoy the process of taking a blank canvas and turning it into something colourful, and usually something erotic. His paintings were hidden in the depths of the playroom, away from the prying eyes of the servants and visiting guests. They were *his*.
Glorfindel sighed and put his book aside, his eyes going to the darkened bank of windows. "It is late, Erestor," he remarked as he stretched. "Come to bed. Celeborn will arrive in the morning, and you should be rested. The painting will still be there later."
Under Glorfindel's watchful gaze, Erestor cleaned all his brushes, put them aside to dry, and slid the parchment into the cubby of his desk. He made certain his watercolours were covered so that the cakes did not dry to dust, and then stood from his workspace and walked to the bed. The sapphire eyes did not blink or waver, just watched as he shed his robes and reached for his sleeping trousers.
"Nay," Glorfindel said huskily. "Will you not be with me this night?"
Erestor tried very hard to hide his irritation at the request as he tossed the trousers back onto the chair. "You just told me I should be rested for the morn. How is bedding you resting?" He knew his attempt at levity was not as well done as it could have been, but he was truly in no mood to be physical with his mate. He crawled into the bed, quickly taken into Glorfindel's ample embrace, any further protests stopped by the Elda's hungry kiss.
He had to admit that he had denied Glorfindel any intimacy beyond a brief kiss or a short embrace, and the urgency he sensed from his spouse was mostly his own fault. He returned the kiss, shifting so that he was atop Glorfindel, his hands buried in the golden locks and his tongue deep in the hot recesses of his mouth. Erestor felt Glorfindel's arousal, thick and slick against his belly, and he concentrated intently on that feeling. He was wanted. He was needed. His touch was desired, demanded, and he recalled the clinging, quivering passage that always welcomed his hard length.
His sex stirred, began to fill, but he could not muster the necessary interest for it to completely stiffen. Erestor left Glorfindel's swollen lips and nipped at the long, pale neck, leaving a blossoming mark above the throbbing pulse he found. Glorfindel sighed and moaned; he squirmed as pleasure bled into pain the longer Erestor sucked at his throat, and such actions would have normally left Erestor in a sexual frenzy.
But he could not find the desire for Glorfindel's body inside himself.
With a frustrated sigh, Erestor pulled back and rested his head on Glorfindel's chest. "Forgive me, melethen," he panted in annoyance. "I would like to give you what you desire, but it does not seem as if my flesh is willing to listen." He sat back on his heels, his lax sex resting pathetically among the sparse nest of dark curls.
The look of hurt and rejection that swept over Glorfindel's face was unmistakable and tore at Erestor's heart. He nodded and drew back the bedsheets on Erestor's side of the bed. "I understand," Glorfindel said in a strained voice. "You are under a lot of pressure, making all the arrangements for the gathering of the realms, and are probably exhausted. We can try again once things have settled and everyone has arrived." They both knew the lines were trite -- something Glorfindel had taken to reciting every time they failed at coupling -- but they were needed.
Erestor crawled under the quilt, his throat tight with his own sense of shame and inadequacy. "I am sorry, Glorfindel. Would you like release? I may not be able to take you, but I can offer you completion."
Glorfindel shook his head as he rolled over in their bed, extinguishing the bedside lamp. "It is not necessary, Erestor. The need has already abated."
It was a lie. They both knew it was. But they chose to believe it.
"I love you," Erestor whispered into the darkness.
A pause.
Lingering pause.
And then Glorfindel replied. "I love you."
Practised. Hollow. Unbelievable.
*****
The balcony doors swung inward on well-oiled hinges, alerting none to the Elf's intents. The night was dark, the moon obscured by tearful clouds, and the spring breeze was cool and moist. No sound could be heard; even the chirping of the crickets silenced as the powerful being made himself comfortable on the balustrade of the balcony. His hair gave off its own light, a tiny imitation of Anor's rays, and his eyes glimmered in the shadowed nights. His skin was alabaster, a sharp contrast to his murky surroundings, and had anyone seen him, he could have been mistaken for a stunning, nude Maia come to pass judgement upon some unsuspecting Elf.
One leg raised on the railing, the other dangling so that the toes barely touched the floor, the Elf smiled up into the overcast heavens. His hands travelled down well-defined muscles and over smooth, supple skin. His erection was easily seen by the light his very being cast about him, and his fingers encircled the aching flesh almost hesitantly. It has been many years since he had done such a thing in secret, when his desires had not been sated by his mate, but his arousal had become unending, a persistent need that he could no longer ignore.
Glorfindel hissed with that first stroke along his sticky, neglected length. His eyes fell shut and he immersed himself in fantasy. Long ago, his fantasies had been such things as Erestor mastering him before a crowd, or being taken roughly upon the library table while they were secretly watched, but this night, Erestor did not slip into the fantasy Glorfindel wove.
No, darkness was not what took him. Tawny sunlight rode his body, demanded obedience and pain from him. He was chained before the Elvenking, his body aching from punishment and unrelieved arousal, and Thranduil's fingers within his body sought to push him beyond all thought. His hand moved quickly over the pounding, heated shaft, his breath hitching in his throat as Thranduil bent him over, weights attached to the piercings through his nipples tugging and teasing him further.
When Thranduil's cock impaled him, spread him wide and claimed his body as his, Glorfindel gave a silent groan. His body spasmed and hot fluid spattered up his belly and chest as he shuddered in orgasm. His eyes opened slowly, satiated and dull in the aftermath, and he smiled to himself.
The wind softly caressed his cooling body, and Glorfindel shivered, the chill of the late-night air drawing him from his fantasy entirely. He carefully stood from the railing, his knees weak and fatigue pulling him into the liquid warmth of sleep. Quietly, Glorfindel entered their bathing chamber, shutting and bolting the door, then he drew a bath before returning to Erestor's side.
*****
Thranduil.
That damned Elf.
A self-proclaimed king!
Erestor's eyes shimmered with unshed tears of anger. For Glorfindel to be thinking of that pompous windbag was unacceptable, especially while touching himself! The resentment boiled inside him, his heart aflame with hatred for the fair-haired, fair-eyed Sinda.
What had happened? When had things gotten so far beyond his control? At one point, Glorfindel had been his, and his alone. No one dared to flirt with the Seneschal or to even ask him on a social outing. He had been Erestor's, and no one would have risked the quiet Councilor's ire. But then it had all changed. With a swiftness that had left him reeling, Erestor had gone from lover to master, from master to murderer, and from murderer to spouse. Somewhere in that whirlwind, Glorfindel had become more than a warrior, more than just a submissive or a spouse.
Glorfindel had become Erestor's greatest nightmare.
His heart given, his soul taken, Erestor was now weak. He feared the loss of the one thing he had somehow managed to keep a hold of, and now that thing threatened to willingly break the tie that bound him.
Erestor's stomach churned with fear, the unpleasant taste rising in his throat. Elves were gifted with foresight -- some more than others. He had never been one for visions as Elrond was, or full glimpses of the future as the Lady often had, or even bouts of enlightenment as Glorfindel was. But, in the wake of Glorfindel's lustful fantasy, Erestor was struck with a surety of insight.
When Thranduil left the lush valley of Imladris, Glorfindel would leave with him.
And Erestor would be left alone.
TBC...