Isolation

Part 6…

Elrond couldn’t take this anymore. Ever since his experience early in the library he had been in a state of constant arousal, it was worse then an Elfling reaching maturity. At least this explained his recent bouts of irritability; it was common knowledge among his kin that when an elf had an itch that needed to be scratched they could be a little short tempered. This hadn’t happened to him in over five hundred years, which was probably why he was in such a state. Last time he’d had this particular problem Erestor, being his usual discerning self had oh so subtly fixed him up with that nice little Lorien elf, Rumil. Unfortunately, Rumil was currently residing in Lorien, and if rumor was correct, had found an exquisite lover with one of the resident healers, so sending him a missive summoning him for an impromptu session of hanky-panky was not an option.

To make matters worse, Lindir, who Elrond was positive had somehow discovered his plight and, out of some perverse delight, had decided to torment him, suddenly needed Elronds guidance on the scrolls Erestor had asked him to work on. Hence his constant erection, and he stubbornly refused to excuse himself, for the fourth time, to go and rid himself of the problem, there was only so much one elf could do alone. And why did Lindir have to use erotically scented hair soap? The smell was driving him insane and he was seconds away from jumping the damned elf. Moving slightly to adjust his position in hopes of somehow alleviating his discomfort he forced himself to concentrate on the scroll in front of him. Leave it to Erestor to ask Lindir to translate scrolls written in dwarfish, the poor elf was out of his element. Naturally Elrond had agreed to look over the passage that was giving the younger elf trouble and, feeling sorry for him, had offered to assist and if Lindir didn’t stop that accursed shifting around, thus causing that intoxicating scent to waft towards him, he was not going to be held responsible for the consequences.

“Is there something wrong with your chair Lindir?” Attempting to mask his frustration he made his inquiry with as much polite concern inflicted into his tone as was possible, given the circumstances.

Lindir glanced up with wide, startled eyes. “Um… no, it’s fine.” Ducking his head, hiding his suddenly glowing face he went back to reading the scroll in front of him. After about a minute he shifted again. Then again. Elrond couldn’t contain his annoyance; every movement brought that light nutty smell his way.

“Lindir! What is the problem?!”
ndirndir jerked his head up is alarm. “P..problem?”

“Yes problem. You can’t hold still for longer than a minute, and if it’s not the chair than what on middle earth is bothering you?” If Elrond thought that Lindirs face had been red before it was nothing compared to the blushed that suffused know, spreading up his neck until even the tips of his ears tinged pink.

“I…uh… I… that is… I…” Raising an eloquent eyebrow at the stuttering that had replaced the usual articulate abilities of the elf before him Elrond wondered at Lindirs sudden distress. Really, what could be so embarrassing for the young elf... unless… unless he was suffering from the same problem as his Lord. Fixing his silver-gray gaze intently on the elf seated across from him he attempted to capture the elusive gaze as Lindir seemed determined to look everywhere but at his Lord.

“Lindir? Lindir, look at me.” And yes, hidden within those wide, frightened green eyes was, without a doubt, lust. Oh. Oh, oh oh. Now what was he suppose to do? As a general principle Elrond did not dally with his staff, it was both inadvisable for working relations and simply not done. But here he was, with a member of his household and staff that was in the same predicament as he himself was, and not one of the hundred reasons for him not to act on his impulses seemed incentive enough for him to refrain. Hoping he had not misinterpreting the entire situation Elrond stood and slowly moved around the large table towards the young minstrel.

TBC…