My Heart's Desire - Part 1. To Wait for you.

Chapter 7. Enjoy yourself

Haldir knew his time was running short. The next morning his patrol was to leave for the border. And by the time he returned Gildor was sure to have left for Mirkwood. So, if Haldir was going to take any decisive actions he would better do it now.
But truth be told, he was not sure if houlhould attempt anything. Of course, he could go and try on Gildor his well-hoseduseduction technique. He was even sure he was very likely to succeed, but… Not that he did not *want* the elf. He wanted him so much that it hurt. The problem was he did not want him for *one* night. That was, he wanted him for more than one night. He had to face it. And to be entirely frank, he wanted him not only for nights but for days as well.
He wanted to learn what Gildor liked and what he hated; what made him happy and what made him sad. He desperately wanted to hear him laugh. He wanted to see his face in the throes of passion and in peaceful sleep; to talk to him and to be comfortably silent together; to fight by his side and to join him in singing. Deep in his heart he was afraid he knew the reason, but he would not admit it even to himself.
Haldir felt drawn to the Vanya like a fish on a line. A fish, that could try to escape, could put on a struggle, but eventually it would end up in the fisherman’s basket. It was unsettling andher her frightening. To give in to the feeling meant to give up control, to throw himself at Gildor’s mercy. The idea was even more dreadful. All that was Haldir rebelled against it. Yes, he wanted the elf. But he wanted him on his *own* terms.
Lórien had slowly sunk into her dark blue star-lit night and Haldir was still debating with himself what to do. He stopped abruptly in the middle of his chamber, becoming suddenly aware that he had been unconsciously pacing his room all this time. He scowled at himself. Being confused and uncertain how to proceed were states of mind he was unaccustomed to. Finally, he decided that he would just go and do what he was good at – he would try to bed the Elda. And he would worry later how to keep him in his bed; and in his life. Perhaps, Haldir thought smugly, Gildor himself wouldn’t want to leave afterwards. The Marchwarden’s prowess in bedchamber activities was well known and highly praised. Which Haldir believed only fair.
So he left his talan and set out in search of the Vanya. Somehow, he knew where to go; and the trees confirmed he was right. The ancient one was by the broken oak. But the trees thought the warden should not disturb him now for the Elda was sad and angry.
“Never mind,” Haldir reassured them, “I’m going to offer him comfort.”


Gildor roamed ar the the forest for a long time trying to wear himself down and to work off the mixed feeling of frustration, grief and anger. He ended up in a small clearing with an old oak in the middle of it. The tree had been struck by lightening and its powerful trunk had been split in two. One half was withered and dead, the other was still living and sprouting. For several moments he stared dumbly at the corporeal image of his inner duality, being somewhat darkly amused by the symbolism of it. This never-say-die thing, surviving, clinging onto hope against better judgment – he had become really good at it all.
He sat down, his back against the dead part of the tree, his hands dangling between his updrawn knees. Oh yes, he was good at it; but now and again weariness and despion ion would gain the upper hand over him and he would feel exactly like the trunk behind his back, dry and lifeless. He was fighting the depressing emotion the only way he knew how - by turning it into fury and resentment. He knew where he could place the blame, as well as he knew he was very likely to pay for it in the future. Had he not been paying for his former impudence all these ages?
Drat it all! It was hopeless. It had been hopeless from the very beginning. *They* had never meant to keep their promise. ‘Ah, now, Grandfather would have fainted at this blasphemy,’ he thought with a tinge of amusement. But the flicker of a lighter emotion died out in a heartbeat.
It had been stupid of him to believe they would let him push them around, let him have his way. But he had been so young then, so naïve... He was changed now. He had lost his childish naïveté somewhere along the way, with a number of other things. However, should he confront them now,ld hld he fare better? Hardly. It was hopeless.
He bent his head and twined his hands in his hair. He wanted to scream, to strike, to break something or to draw blood. The cool night breeze was kissing his silky tresses and caressing his tense shoulders, but Gildor was oblivious to the light comforting touches, swallowed up by the dark tidal wave of his jumbled feelings.
And then, he felt a presence and heard trees whispering the name affectionately. Slowly, he looked up. ly ely enough, it was the Marchwarden. He moaned inwardly. The accosting Galadhel was the last thing he needed at the moment. But then his eyes narrowed at a sudden tho. Pe. Perhaps, Haldir was a Valar sent distraction, a lightning rod. Gildor scrutinized him through squinted eyes, wondering how far the Marchwarden would dare carry on his advances to him. Gildor could certainly do with some good fighting. Maybe, with some provoking from him…

Haldir found Gildor where he had known he would be. And yes, the Elda *was* sad. Actually, he looked an epitome of despair, as broken as the tree behind his back. But then the Vanya raised his head, and Haldir stumbled at the edge of the clearing. Oh, and he was angry all right. Though “angry” seemed hardly an adequate word to describe the cold and resentful look Gildor gave him. But then, oddly enough, Haldir felt being weighed up and… challenged? The Vanya was looking at him with those unfathomable eyes of his, a little dangerous smile playing on his lips, as if he were daring Haldir come closer and attempt… anything. Well, Haldir had never been one to shy away from a challenge.
“It’s a secluded place you’ve chosen for a night walk,” he remarked nonchalantly. A test lunge.
“I did not come here looking for company.” A parry.
“But found company you have. Or rather, company has found you.” Another lunge.
“Must I spell it for you, Marchwarden? You are not welcome.” A parry. And then a riposte, “Go away and leave me alone.”
Haldir had a disconcerting feeling tGildGildor was deriving some inexplicable satisfaction from their sparring, almost as if Haldir were doing exactly what Gildor expected and wanted him to. But the Galadhel wouldn’t be addled so easily.
“I don’t think so,” he smirked, “not when I’ve for once found you without Glorfindel standing guard by your side.”
The sound of Glorfindel’s name brought Gildor to his senses. ‘What am I doing?’ he asked himself, shocked. ‘Why am I trying to take out my anger on him? It’s not *his* fault!’
Haldir felt the Vanya’s icy demeanour waver. He did not know what had produced the effect, but he was going to use the advantage while he had it. He started walking towards the Elda, graceful and fluent like a large feline on the prowl.
There was no hope now that the Marchwarden would leave, Gildor realized. So it was he who must go, then. He sighed and rose to his feet. “Forgive me, but I’m in no mood for socializing.”
“Forgive *me*, but you did not look particularly happy in your own company, either.”
Gildor would not argue it. His jaw set, he walked past the Galadhel. Or at least, tried to. Because when he neared Haldir the Marchwarden made a quick half step back grasping Gildor’s arm at the same time, and spun him around to catch him in a vise-like grip from behind. The Vanya found himself pressed firmly to the rock hard muscles of the Galadhel’s broad chest; his left arm pinned along his side, the wrist of his other hand held in a tight lock of Haldir’s fingers. Gildor’s spirits flared up again, all his good intentions flying away with the wind. He strained his muscles, testing Haldir’s imprisoning grip. It proved secure; so he abandoned struggle, remaining tense and alert in the Galadhel’s close embrace.
“What do you want?” he asked, his voice cool and betraying none of his tempestuous emotions.
“I do not believe you have no idea,” Haldir smirked as he pressed the hard bulge of his erection against Gildor’s buttocks.
The Vanya clenched his teeth at the feel, but when he spoke again his tone remained indifferent. “And pray, what are you going to do about it?”
Haldir did not want to talk. It was becoming too difficult for him to concentrate enough to form a coherent thought; with Gildor’s scent so fresh and sweet, his hair so cool and silken against Haldir’s cheek.
“Mmm, what do you think I can do?” he purred, nuzzling the Vanya’s neck through his soft golden tresses and brushing his lips against the outside edge of his ear.
Gildor tilted his head down and away. His breath came faster now but his voice sounded as matter-of-factly as before. “I do not think you’ll attempt rape, since you do not strike me as capable of it.”
Haldir gave a half gasp - half laugh, straightening for a moment. “Well, thank you.”
But then he bent over Gildor’s shoulder again. “And where does it leave me, then?” he murmured, his warm breath ghosting across the Elda’s cheek.
The Vanya pursed his lips. “You can always have a go at seduction.”
“Mm-hmm.” Haldir was again kissing Gildor’s throat.
“Do you really want it, Marchwarden? Is *this* what you really want?”
There was a dangerous rumble in the Vanya’s voice, but Haldir was too intoxicated by his nearness, too mesmerized by the feel of Gildor’s body against his own, to detect it. He could hardly hear anything at all over the pounding of his pulse in his ears. He felt like he had been thrown into the very fires of Orodruin. His blood seeme tur turn into raging lava, burning his veins from the inside. His heart was hammering against his ribcage with such force, he was sure it would burst. His universe narrowed down to the golden creature in his arms; all his thoughts, needs and wishes molding into one and only desire – to take, to engulf, to possess, to claim him as his own, to make him a part of himself.
“Yes,” Haldir almost moaned, “I want it. Let me. You’ll enjoy your, I , I promise.”
The Vanya chuckled darkly; but apparently having come to some kind of a decision, he relaxed in Haldir’s embrace and let his head fall back against Haldir’s supporting shoulder. The younger elf froze in a daze, his heart missing a beat at this sudden submission. He raised his head to get a proper look at Gildor’s face. But he could read nothing in it; the Elda’s eyes hidden under the shadows of his long lashes, his countenance one of a porcelain mask.
One small and remote part of the Galadhel’s mind that had managed to remain sane was screaming an alarm. It was being too easy. Surely, the Vanya could offer more resistance? Unless, he wanted it as badly as Haldir. That was a very agreeable assumption. And at this point Haldir’s body took over his mind and started acting of its own accord.
The Galadhel’s embrace tightened, pressing the Elda back into him, as Haldir dipped his head to catch Gildor’s mouth in a kiss. But the Vanya turned swiftly away and Haldir’s lips brushed his jaw, instead. Haldir humphed in disappointment and planted small, light kisses on Gildor’s cheek and temple, traced the delicate shell of his ear with his tongue, occasionally slipping further in and teasing him; then nipped gently and sucked the sensitive earpoint. All the while the Vanya remained stoically silent, though under his fingertips on Gildor’s wrist Haldir could feel the Elda’s pulse quicken; and his breath was becoming audible.
Haldir let his lips slide along the slender column of Gildor’s neck, lavishing moist open-mouthed kisses all the way down and marveling at the petal-smooth feel of his skin. Then he reached the junction of the Vanya’s shoulder and neck, conveniently bared by the wide neckline of his tunic. The temptation was too strong to resist. Haldir drew a quick breath and sunk his teeth into the supple flesh, hard enough to bruise it. Gildor hissed at the assault, but remained otherwise still. His silence was a challenge for Haldir; he sucked hungrily at the abused spot, making sure that Gildor would wear his mark for days.
A faint, hardly audible moan escaped Gildor’s lips, his warm breath touching Haldir’s ear like a soft caress. The sound and the sensatient ent a thrill straight to the Galadhel’s groin. He moaned too and started rocking his hips against the Elda’s body, pressing his achingly hard erection against the crevice of Gildor’s rump. The Vanya gasped at the first thrust; the fingers of his right hand clenched into a fist, while the hand of his pinned arm slid back and grasped Haldir’s thigh as if seeking support. He was struggling for air in the Marchwarden’s implacable embrace. With an effort, Haldir made himself loosen his grip, allowing the golden elf to get his breath back, and brought his hand to his lips. He kissed the knuckles and the curled fingers, coaxing the clenched palm to relax and open. When it did, he kissed it too, and drew with the tip of his tongue small circles on it. Then he let go of Gildor’s hand.
“Beautiful, you’re so beautiful,” he breathed against the Vanya’s golden hair, as he let his own hands start their exploration of the lure that was Gildor’s body.
The next moment the blissful dream-realm Haldir was walking was shattered by a merciless and well-placed elbow, thrust into his abdomen. Haldir gasped in pain. The Elda moved gracefully out of his weakened hold, and another powerful blow caught Haldir on the jaw. The younger elf tottered back, but Gildor grabbed him, jm, jerked him forward with sudden strength and slammed him, head first, against the trunk of the old oak. The impact was hard enough to knock Haldir’s breath from his lungs. Stars burst before his eyes and for a short time he blacked out.
When he came to his senses, his head was reeling and the right side of his face was still numb from the collision with the tree. However, the oak was behind his back now; he could feel its rough bark through the silk of his tunic. He propped his head against the trunk and waited for his blurry sight to focus. Then, he looked up to see what had happened to his arms and why he could not bring them down. With not so much of surprise, he discovered that his wrists were crossed and expertly bound by his own belt. A dagger, which was not his, was wedged through the mithril buckle and was stuck to its hilt into the wood. Haldir tested his bonds and tried to tug at the dagger. Neither would yield. A thorough job.
“It’s secure,” Gildor confirmed Haldir’s conclusion, coming into his frame of vision.
The younger elf regarded him warily as the Vanya stood in front of him with his arms folded. Gildor’s face was serene and composed, but still, there was something really unnerving in his countenance. He was looking at the Galadhel with the lazy, speculative contemplation of a not too hungry predator, gauging its potential prey and considering if it was worth any effort. To make the likeness complete, the Elda’s green eyes glittered in the moonlight in a very feline-like way.
“What are you going to do?” Haldir asked, his voice hoarse.
“I do not believe you have no idea.” Haldir thought he heard a tinge of amusement in Gildor’s tone.
“I have oceans of ideas,” the Galadhel retorted indignantly. “I want to know what you have on *your* mind.”
“Oceans, really? I’m impressed. You have a wickedly creative imaginationrchwrchwarden.” Now there was no mistaking the derision in his voice. “So what do you think I can do?”
Ah, déjà vu. But now the tables were turned. Haldir shut his eyes for a moment. Well, he could play along, he still felt up to it. “I do not think you’ll attempt rape, since you do not strike me as capable of it.”
“Do not delude yourself, pen-neth,” Gildor’s voice fell to a dangerous, low level. “I’m capable of anything when it suits me.”
He glided towards Haldir. The younger elf grew apprehensive at once. The Elda stopped just one step away from him. “You’re right, though, I won’t attempt rape. So, what was the next cue? Ah, yes. Where does it leave me, then?”
Haldir was starting to feel frustrated. The Elda was playing with him like a cat with a cornered mouse. And he had to comply with it as he was in no way in the position to dictate his own rules. Even more distressing was the fact that he still reacted to Gildor’s closeness, to the honeyed tones of his voice. He still wanted him. Haldir sighed. “You can always let me go.” Though he knew that he would not.
“You stray from the text,” the Vanya mockingly chided. “And what fun is there in simply letting you go? Besides, you deserve to be taught a lesson in respect, an insolent whelp that you are.”
A poniard materialized in his hand seemingly out of nowhere.
“Nice tunic,” he remarked nonchalantly, tracing with his finger the pattern of mallorn leaves along the neckline of Haldir’s attire. “Pity I have to ruin it.”
With swift practiced motions he cut the garment off of the Galadhel. He stripped the fabric away; and what once had been Rúmil’s most favourite tunic in his brother’s wardrobe, now was a puddle of silk shreds at Haldir’s feet. In a few moments the silvery blue of his outer tunic was joined by the silvery white of his under shirt. Gildor gave him a lazy predatory smile and let the tip of his dagger slide down from the hollow of Haldir’s throat to the waistband of his leggings. There it paused, as if the Elda were contemplating his next move. The younger elf shivered, and Gildor looked up at him. But Haldir met his eyes defiantly. It was only a reflexive reaction of his heated body to the chill breeze, he told himself. Nothing more.
For the reasons Haldir could not even start to fathom, Gildor left his leggings intact. He just cut their laces and yanked them down Haldir’s legs. Then, putting his poniard back into its sheath in his boot, he stepped back and surveyed his handiwork. To his dismay, Haldir felt himself blush under the scrutiny; he knew he was still aroused. He could feel the Elda’s eyes touch his body almost like cool fingers of the breeze. When Gildor looked in his face again, Haldir saw that his eyes were the shining dark green. But it was not the warm green of a forest. They were like two precious emeralds: flawless, but cold; passionless, lifeless, hopeless. Haldir shivered again. Unable to stand the unnerving silence longer, he asked, “Now what?”
“Actually, I was planning to leave you like this, to be rescued by some of your fellow Geledhil.”
At this, Haldir almost panicked. Such possibility had not crossed his mind. “It’s rather far from the city.” It was the least of the things that daunted him in regard to the prospect, but he surely did not care to voice the rest.
“I can send someone your way,” Gildor suggested obligingly. “How do you like this idea?”
Haldir did not like it at all. If he were found abandoned in the forest, naked and bound, he would never be able to live it down. No, no way! In his agitation Haldir muttered the last words aloud.
“No? Perhaps, you have better ideas, then?”
To his shame, Haldir did. Images, flashing in his mind’s eye, made his blood first rush up to his head, setting his face on fire, and then surge back heading downward.
The Vanya chuckled darkly. “I see. You *have* better ideas.”
Haldir felt another wave of heat wash over his body, this time of shame. He wi the the ground would open under his feet and swallow him up. He squeezed his eyes shut and bent his head, trying to hide his embarrassment. He neither saw nor heard Gildor move and started at the light touch on his face. With a crooked finger under his chin, the Elda titled his head up.
“I wonder what sinful fantasies make you blush so violently, pen-neth. Is it what you really wish of me – to fulfil your very secret fantasies for you?”
Haldir felt pinned to the tree by the Vanya’s intense green gaze. Gildor’s hand left Haldir’s chin and was languidly moving down his body drawing slow, tantalizing circles and making his skin tingle. Haldir had to use all his waning will-power not to arch into the touch. He was fighting a losing battle against his own body. It would be so easy to give in, to submit, to accept what was being offered to him. It was what he wanted, wasn’t it? To feel Gildor’s hands on him, to hear his voice whisper in his ears. It felt so right... and it felt so wrong! It felt very much like what he had been longing for, in in truth, it was entirely and twistedly different. *No, not this. Not like this.*
“No, stop!” he managed to get out. “I do not want it!”
“No?”
The touch was instantly gone, and Haldir nearly cried out at the loss. Then the Elda turned around and started walking away. The younger elf blinked, still in a daze. It took him a couple of moments to realize that Gildor was actually *leaving*. He grew agitated at once.
“No, stop!” he called out.
The Vanya turned to face him. The look he gave Haldir was cold, sharp and dangerous. Langveleg, indeed.
“No, stop what? Could you make up your mind already?”
Haldir hated him at this moment. For being so damn cold and supercilious, for managing him so easily, for making him go through all hum humiliation, for arousing in him feelings Haldir did not want to have. And he hated himself, too. For getting himself into all this in the first place, for not being able to master his own body and most of all, for the deep longing he still felt for the elf. He did not have to make up his mind. He knew he would let the Vanya touch him. No, he would *beg* to be touched. Haldir was certain Gildor would make sure of it. Shame, frustration, yearning and fear brewed into fiery anger.
“Have it your way then, and finish up your dirty little game!” Haldir snarled.
The next moment he forgot all about his resentment as the Elda virtually erupted with white-hot fury.
“*My* dirty game?” he sout.out.
His eyes were blazing fiercely. Haldir could almost see green sparks flying in all directions from him. The Galadhel watched him in awe. So there *was* fire under all those layers of ice, after all.
Gildor closed the distance between them in a few swift steps.
“Let me remind you, Marchwarden,” he hissed bringing his face close to Haldir’s, “that it’s not I who’s been having salacious thoughts since my coming to Lórien. And I haven’t been shadowing you around the Wood, either. Nor have I been mentally undressing you every time we met. *I* did not come here to intrude on your solitude, *I* did not attack you with a base purpose. It wasn’t I who started this game. But I’ll be the one to finish it!”
His eyes narrowed to dangerous slits. “And let me warn you beforehand, Galadhel, I’m a rough lover.”
The Vanya caught Haldir’s chin in his hand and squeezed his jaw brutally hard, forcing his head back against the tree. Haldir gasped at the sharpness of the move.
“You’ll be very much sore when I’m done with you,” Gildor assured him ominously.
For a moment Haldir felt a taste of fear on his tongue. The prospect of being taken for the first time and roughly, at that, was unnerving at the least. But then he braced himself for the inevitable and jerked his chin defiantly against the bruising grasp. Gildor relaxed his fingers letting him break the hold, only to grab a handful of his silvery hair. He yanked Haldir’s head to the side and brought his lips to his ear.
“Though, I promise you’ll enjoy yourself in the end.” He sealed his words with a sharp nip on the delicately pointed tip of Haldir’s ear.
Haldir bit back a cry of startled surprise at thngenngent sensation of pleasure pain that shot through his body. And it was how it went further on: pleasure, and pain as part and parcel of it. There was no gentleness in Gildor’s touch, nor any consideration for Haldir. He attacked him like a beast of prey – merciless, yet unnervingly attractive in his ferocity. Haldir felt like being eaten alive. Still holding Haldir’s hin ain a firm grip, Gildor raised his free hand and raked his nails down the younger elf’s arm, all the while trailing a fiery line of biting kisses along his throat. When Gildor found the pulse point on Haldir’s neck he clenched his teeth on it slightly, like a predator holding its prey by its throat. Haldir sucked in a short breath and felt the Vanya smile against his skin. Then he let go, only to sink his teeth into the juncture of Haldir’s shoulder and neck hard enough tow blw blood. Haldir could not suppress a cry of pain.
“Little requital,” Gildor murmured surveying the angry mark with a brief smile of satisfaction.
Then he dipped his head again, to lap and suck at the bruised spot. Haldir felt the cool stone of Gildor’s earring graze against his sensitized skin. Haldir’s breath came fast and hard, whistling between his clenched teeth. Gildor was so close that the heat of his body seeped through Haldir’s skin straight to his veins, turning his blood into liquid fire that headed downward and pooled in his loins. His sex, lying against Gildor’s thigh, started to leak, smearing the silk of Gildor’s tunic with pearly essence. The Elda was close, but still not close enough for Haldir. Unconsciously, he arched into the touch burning for more contact. Gildor reacted at once, pushing him hard against the tree with the weight of his body. Haldir hissed as his erection was almost crushed between them.
“This is *my* game now,” Gildor warned him threateningly. “You have no say in it. We play by my rules or we do not play at all.”
With that, he stepped back depriving Haldir of any contact at all. The Galadhel whimpered at the loss.
“I take it, we understand each other?”
Haldir closed his eyes and pressed his head back against the tree, with the last remnants of self-control keeping himself from shaking.
“Do we understand each other?” Gildor demanded.
“Yes,” Haldir whispered, craving for his lips and hands back on his body.
“Good.”
It *was* back then – the tantalizing, merciless, excruciating pleasure of Gildor’s touch. First, his hands: roving, stroking, squeezing, clawing; never, never going lower than his hips, never where Haldir so desperately wanted them. Then his mouth: kissing, biting, sucking, nipping and pulling at his nipples, driving him insane. And over and over again – stroking, kissing, squeezing, pulling, sucking, clawing… Haldir did not try to hold back on his cries and moans any longer, utterly beyond caring for his pride or dignity. His upper body was burning, covered with love-bites and scratches, but the only touch he got below the waist was the agonizingly light brushing of the Vanya’s long hair against his straining erection. The ache between his legs reached unknown levels. It was torture, pure torture.
“Damn you,” he croaked, “haven’t you played enough?”
Gildor straightened and looked at the Galadhel, his lips barely an inch away from Haldir’s.
“Ah,” he sighed in mock disapproval, “you, young ones, are so impatient, always straining on the leash.”
And then, quite suddenly, he sank gracefully down to his knees. Stunned, Haldir followed his move with wide, dilated eyes. Gildor looked up and gave him a lazy smile.
“So,” he drawled, running his fingers up Haldir’s leg, “you do not feel up to another round of our game?”
His words hardly registered with the younger elf. He had been balancing on the brink of peaking and the sight of Gildor on his knees in front of him was too much for Haldir. His body tensed preparing itself for a blissful climax and at this moment he – at last! – felt Gildor’s hand on his shaft. But it came there not to *give* the longed-for release, but to *deprive* of it! The guardian gasped in frustration and anger as the Vanya squeezed the base of his erection mercilessly.
“Bastard!”
Gildor chuckled. “Now, this is an unfair accusation. My pedigree is immaculate.”
Haldir’s teeth were clamped tight on his lower lip, and he breathed in shallow, urgent pants. His body was flushed and covered with a light sheen of sweat that made the skin of his back sting where he had scratched it against the rough bark of the tree. Gildor waited for Haldir’s pulse to slow down a little, then he let go of his flesh and started his titillating manipulations anew, gliding his hands up and down Haldir’s legs, tracing his muscles, stroking his thighs with long powerful sweeps that made Haldir gasp anuddeudder. In no time at all Gildor had him hard and straining again.
“Look at me, Marchwarden,” he commanded.
Haldir opened his eyes and looked down. It took several moments for his blurry vision to focus. Their eyes locked, as Gildor touched the crown of his weeping erection, scooping some pearly liquid on the tip of his middle finger. Then he rose to his feet and still holding Haldir’s gaze brought his finge his his own lips. His face became thoughtful as if he were savouring and appraising some old wine. After a moment he gave a little nod of approval and sucked his finger into his mouth to the knuckle.
Seeing Gildor’s cheeks hollow at the motion was the last straw for Haldir. He lost it completely then. He cursed, he begged, he jerked at his bonds bruising his wrists and not even realizing it, feeling dizzy with the burning need of his body. His vision went red and blurry again and he missed Gildor’s movement. When he was suddenly bereft of the support of his restrains he slumped gracelessly to his knees; his hands numb, his arms aching from the long strain. Dazed, he looked up. The Vanya was gazing at him with an odd expression on his face. After a moment, though, Gildor’s features relaxed and he slipped on his usual mask that betrayed nothing.
“Well, what are you waiting for?” he snapped. “I promised you would enjoy *yourself*, didn’t I?”
Haldir blinked at him, baffled. Then the implication sank in and a wave of embarrassment and humiliation washed over him. The sensation was so painfully strong that it threatened to choke him. Her, er, the throbbing ache between his thighs was no less excruciating. The realist in him knew he would not be able to drive it away by sheer will power. His tormented body demanded fulfilment and relief. Haldir drew in a shuddering breath and closed his eyes. He was so strained that several awkward strokes of his still numb hand were enough to push him over the edge. Choking on his cry, he spilled his seed over his fingers, taken by surprise by the violence of his climax. He braced himself on one hand, sucking in short, almost sobbing breaths. He felt drained. He felt like dying. He felt like killing Gildors eys eyes were hot and itchy, threatening to spill angry tears; and he squeezed them even tighter and tilted his head so, that his hair fell to shield his face.
But the Vanya would have none of it. “Look at me, Galadhel,” he demanded.
Haldir was loath to do it, but to refuse would be a cowardly act. So he raised his head reluctantly.
“What do you see *now*, when you look at me?” Gildor inquired tauntingly. “Do you still find me beautiful? Do you still want me?”
Haldir studied his face with somber darkened eyes.
“Yes,” he said slowly, his voice hoarse even to his own ears, “I still see someone beautiful; beautiful and…hurting from the inside… And yes, I still *need* you.”
Gildor’s eyes widened briefly in shock before he managed to don his regular protective mask of ice. He turned abruptly on his heel and left the glade without saying a word. Even to himself, he wouldn’t admit that, in truth, he was *fleeing*.