Songs of the Spirit

Chapter Seven:

The afternoon wore on; the day turning to evening and evening to full night. The conversation which had started so dark had lightened and the sharing of bitter memories turned towards more hopeful reminiscences. The wine had been consumed, as well as a second bottle of equally fine vintage, leaving both elves feeling brighter of countenance than before.

As the night grew late neither elf made motion to initiate a departure. It seemed an unspoken agreement: neither wished to be alone this night, and knew the other felt the same. Old wounds so recently exposed were still raw, although healing would now come swifter with exposure to the light.

At some point as they sat cross-legged upon the soft carpet, Lindir persuaded Erestor to sing a simple tune for him. It took much coaxing, and even then without the wine the bard doubted he would have been able to get the stubborn advisor to perform anything, even with such a solitary audience. Yet he persisted, and finally Erestor agreed, choosing a simple melody often heard sung by elflings about Imladris.

Lindir found himself enrapt as he listened to the advisor’s dark, rich voice, hesitantly lifted in song. His voice brought to mind the deep hushing of the wind flying though the upper reaches of a thick pine forest. The tone was a touch rough from lack of practice, but it held an incredible beauty all the same. Lindir could tell that had he pursued a musical bent, Erestor would have made a bard well sought after by even the greatest of houses. It made what his father had done to him seem all the more tragic.

“Such a shame…” he murmured, too softly for Erestor to hear, and swore he would someday perform a duet with this elf before all of Imladris. Then all would grant him the praise and devotion he deserved.

When his voice finally trailed off, Lindir was amused to see a self-conscious blush form over Erestor’s cheeks. “Are you satisfied?” he asked.

“You have a beautiful voice; well suited for song,” Lindir told him honestly. “You should sing more often, although I know what you would say to that. I would now ask you to play the flute for me, but all the wine we have consumed this night tends to make for unsteady fingers.”

“And I would spare my neighbors such screeching and wailing sounds at this late hour,” Erestor replied. “But in return for my discomfiture I think you should grant me a song as well.”

“I think I might be able to manage something.” Lindir’s face took on a considering look, and after a moment he opened his mouth to sing. It was a piece he had recently composed himself, and since it was the first song that came to mind he chose to sing it. Yet if it hadn’t been for his slightly inebriated state, he would surely have chosen something different to perform.

Erestor laid his head back against the chair behind him, taking in the shadowy spirit of the song and loosing himself in the sensuous lyrics. It spoke of a secret love, and of the worship of some dark beauty from afar. It praised this mysterious elf’s uncommon grace and strength, comparing him to moonlit shadows in countenance, to a lithesome fox in both form and wit…

As he listened, a sudden realization passed over him, and his eyes snapped open. They were met by a pair of silvery-blue orbs staring back, and if he had any doubts they were laid to rest by the emotions he could read in their depths.

“This song…you sing about me,” he whispered, and received a slight nod and gentle smile in response.

“Do you like it?”

“It is beautiful.” He paused, suddenly at a loss for words. He never had any write a poem for him, much less compose a song.

“Is that how you truly feel?” Erestor finally asked, feeling shy and uncertain in a way he hadn’t felt since times long past.

Lindir blushed, the tips of his ears turning a lovely rose in color. “I do,” he murmured in reply.

“Ah. Well then.” Again Erestor knew not what to say, which was something quite unusual for him. Twice in as many minutes was unheard of. So instead he settled for no words at all, leaning forward and lifting his hand to caress Lindir’s cheek. His skin felt as soft as newly blossomed rose petals, and was a nearly similar shade of pale mauve where the self-conscious blush had settled over his face. Lindir continued to stare at him with eyes filled with hope.

He leaned in and brushed his lips across the bard’s in a feather-light kiss while his hand continued to caress the silky soft skin. Lindir closed his eyes, barely moving under the gentle stimulation as the darker elf’s touch sent minute shivers across his flesh.

“Do you trust me then?” Erestor asked, his voice barely louder than a whisper of air. Lindir opened his eyes just enough to see though the slitted lids.

“I think I may, given time.” His own hand lifted to trace along the gentle curve of Erestor’s ear. “And you? Do you trust me?”

The corners of Erestor’s lips curved upwards. “I think I may.”

He leaned forward to place another gentle kiss in the corner of Lindir’s mouth. Then he pulled back, his eyes momentarily focused on the entirety of the bard’s beautiful face before placing another kiss of equal affection upon the other side of Lindir’s slightly parted lips.

“I do not wish to be alone this night,” Lindir whispered, giving voice to the thought that had been running through both their minds.

“Neither do I,” was the response, and with it came a more passionate meeting of flesh. This time the kiss spoke of hunger and desire, and Lindir responded with his own needy caress. His hands moved down to Erestor’s waist, fingers squeezing lightly as they both drew upwards into a kneeling position. Their bodies met, each pressing against the other as if they could draw comfort and solace from the other’s touch. Also evident was the growing arousal each felt, something becoming more and more obvious the longer they embraced.

This time when their lips parted Erestor rose to his feet, the movement as fluid and graceful as any night shadow. Lindir could only kneel and stare up at this melodic vision given form. A hand reached down to brush tenderly over his milk-white hair, sweeping down past his ear to cradle his cheek. Lindir leaned into the caress, gaze trapped within the deep midnight of Erestor’s eyes and the expression of tenderness he beheld there.

I am on the brink of falling, he thought distantly. Drifting forever within those incredible eyes. All I need do is to jump. But do I have the courage, the strength… can I possibly let go?

Those eyes turned away, followed by the entire body. The smooth fingers trailed across his cheek until they drifted away. He watched dimly as Erestor walked towards the closed door on the other side of the room, opened it, and with a single backwards glance at the kneeling elf behind him, he disappeared inside.

Lindir swallowed. This was what he wanted, wasn’t it? Yet he had an unnerving feeling that unlike past partners, this encounter held a strong possibility of leading to something far more than merely easing the needs of the flesh. He had already bared a piece of his soul. After giving his body, there was only one part left: his heart. Was it worth it?

He took a deep breath, and with a brief prayer sent skywards, he rose to his feet. He would be strong and see this song proceed to its finale whether for good or ill. He would not run, but could not help the hesitancy in his steps as he walked to the open doorway and stepped inside.

While the main room had been austere and practical, this private haven was anything but. If Erestor’s chambers reflected his personality, then the main room was the elf most others saw on a day to day basis, and this was the room which reflected his inner soul. It was at once dark and light, deep ebony and rich cream with touches of maroon to accent. It was comfortable, the atmosphere soothing. It was a quiet retreat away from the outside world; a place of solace for the scholar without and the artist hidden within.

Black bookshelves were set into the walls with curving lines and delicately carved trim. Instead of the rigid order of the tomes in the outer room, these books looked to have endured a lovingly rougher life; a sure sign of favoritism on the reader’s part. Stones containing the fossils of long deceased creatures, bright curling feathers, and small wood carved animals provided a poet’s inspiration. The creamy beige walls held black framed manuscripts on parchment old and ragged, but with a flowing, melodic language that was art in itself. The balcony was framed in black wood which seemed to rise from the dark floor like a natural growth, twining and twisting about itself upwards towards the paler ceiling before branching off into the room. In the flickering candlelight it almost seemed alive, and burnished with a faint reddish hue.

Lindir shifted his gaze towards the bed and the figure beside it. The bed was large, but not overwhelmingly so, and of the same dark wood that graced the rest of the room. It was fitted with a luxurious maroon coverlet which spurred the bard’s imagination towards wicked thoughts of Erestor’s graceful form lying stretched out nude upon those sheets; ebony, cream, and maroon in a temptuous harmony of erotic color.

Erestor himself was standing next to the bed, his dark robes unbuttoned and untied. As Lindir watched the robes fell from his shoulders, revealing the pale flesh hidden beneath. It was immediately obvious that the advisor didn’t spend all his free time with his books, for his lithe musculature spoke of training in some fashion. Perhaps he was not the sort who would ever properly wield a sword, but with knives, staff, or hand-to-hand he might be a quick and deadly opponent.

Erestor gathered up the robe, placed it over a waiting chair, and then paused, looking at Lindir questioningly. The look said that if he wished to leave, he could still do so without qualms. There would be no recrimination, no pressure to do anything he did not wish to. Nonetheless, before he could change his mind Lindir swiftly moved forward, closing the distance between them with long strides. When he reached the darker elf he immediately grasped Erestor’s upper arms and lowered his head to bestow a fervent kiss upon the tender lips. It was returned with equal passion and hunger, two melodies vying for control and neither one willing to drop to background.

Erestor felt himself pushed back onto the bed, moaning as Lindir’s supple body pressing into his with long held desire. Nimble fingers moved to divest the bard of his restrictive clothing, leaving them both clad in only leggings. Soon even those last bits of garb were removed, tossed aside in a sudden surge of emotion. Legs entwined around the other and arousals rubbed together, eliciting soft sounds of pleasure both. Lindir shifted downwards to bestow a trail of hungry kisses along Erestor’s chest and abdomen, delighting in the dark taste of the flesh beneath his lips and the strength of the body beneath his hands. Fingers kneaded at his shoulders and upper arms, tightening each time the bard encountered a particularly sensitive spot.

When he reached the burgeoning arousal he wasted no time in fondling the velvety shaft, kissing along its growing length and nuzzling the soft, dark hair growing around its base. He loved the musky, carnal scent; the combination of hard and soft textures; the contrast of light and dark colors; the lustful sounds of exaltation and the way the body beneath him writhed in obvious pleasure. Erestor was an exquisite masterpiece of erotic art, and Lindir felt a wave of fierce gratitude towards whomever had granted him such a gift.

Finally Lindir pulled back to rest on his heels, and Erestor stared up at him, eyes hazy with need. The bard looked like the moonlight on an egret’s wing, pale and smooth, with a long snowfall of hair that glinted with the tiniest touches of silver. Where Erestor’s body held just a hint of stockiness in his lean frame, Lindir was purely long and lithe like the bird he so resembled. An egret given the form of an elf; a beam of moonlight brought magically to life, a snowdrift turned into a vision of desire; all these could Erestor describe the beautiful bard, but none could compete with the reality.

“What is it?” Erestor asked in a velvety tone deepened by desire.

“Your hair.” Lindir leaned forward to grasp the end of the braid, which had already started to loosen from their activity. “Let me unbind it.”

Erestor looked at him curiously, but nodded in acquiescence. His gaze was then drawn to the nimble fingers deftly freeing his tresses from its confining braid. There was something inherently sensual in the movement of those pale hands; an uncommon grace that was revealed in every touch, every movement they made. Watching him pull apart the dark strands as though each lock was a gift from the Valar sent Erestor’s arousal burning even higher than before.

“Turn around,” Lindir whispered, his sultry voice an erotic lay. Erestor slowly complied, stretching his lean body languidly as he shifted up onto his knees with hands resting upon his thighs, allowing the bard to finish his work. Once unbound, he felt those wonderful hands run through his long hair, stroking along his scalp and fanning the dark strands about his back like a curtain.

Lindir lifted a thick handful and let it slowly slip from his fingers like the finest silk. The blackness fell like a rippling cascade of ink, dramatic in its contrast with the pale skin beneath. It was so long it pooled amongst the maroon bed linens on which they rested. He bent closer, bringing his face in contact with the resplendent locks. He breathed deeply along the crook of Erestor’s neck, taking pleasure in the fine softness brushing his cheeks and the dark, earthy scent of the elf kneeling before him.

Erestor shivered, eyes closed as he focused on the sensations flowing through his body from Lindir’s attentions. He had few lovers in his past, and could not recall a single one as stimulating this one. There was devotion within the bard’s simple touch; a feeling of adulation in each caress. It wasn’t about sex, but a continuation of discovery that had begun earlier that day.

Lindir ran his sensitive hands down Erestor’s back, feeling the delicate contours of muscle and bone. The black hair he parted to either side of the svelte body before pressing the older elf down so that he knelt on his hands and knees. Erestor complied with the unspoken command, completely at ease with letting the bard assume control. He savored the blissful sensations caused by those talented hands moving along his body, and responded by arching upwards into the touch like a feline with its fur stroked. Lindir could feel the muscles bunch and release beneath his fingers as he caressed the silky skin, and delighted in the obvious pleasure Erestor took from his touch. Despite its lack of physical stimulation Lindir could feel his own flesh throbbing from the gifting of such pleasure.

Finally he reached up to trace his hand down Erestor’s spine, drawing his fingers down the uneven path between his shoulder blades, down the slight dip at the small of his back, and up once again as they traveled between the taunt buttocks. Yet the fingers didn’t stop there; instead continuing on until the small opening was reached.

Erestor’s breath caught in his throat. The sensation of the bard’s hand moving down his spine had been luxurious, as if he were tracing a line of erotic power down his body straight to its source. They played along his flesh as though he were a finely wrought musical instrument, pulling forth sounds of passion and desire as stirring as any well-crafted aria. Now those fingers sought to breech him, and he couldn’t help but imagine those hands tracing the same path inside his body as they had without. He shivered slightly, and adjusted his knees slightly wider in a gesture of opening, of acceptance.

“In the side table,” He whispered, knowing exactly what Lindir needed next.

There was a pause, followed by the sound of a drawer opening and soon after the feeling of something silky and smooth trickling along his backside. Warm oil coated Lindir’s long fingers, as careful in preparation as though he were about to wield an instrument of uncommon rarity.

A single finger probed his body, testing the widths of which it could play. A second was soon added when Erestor moaned for more, slowly spreading the tight passage that it may accept flesh of larger girth. The tiny bundle of nerves was found deep within, eliciting a solmization of beautiful sound. Hips shifted, unable to remain still beneath the building pressure; needing release but unwilling as of yet to take himself in hand to achieve it.

When the fingers finally departed his body, a needy growl erupted from Erestor’s throat. He suddenly felt adrift without the bard’s attentive touch upon him. He knew that this must be how one of Lindir’s beloved instruments must feel when set aside before completion of its purpose; lost, aimless, and foundering in its duty and desire.

Then the hands returned, stroking his taunt buttocks, guiding his hips back to meet an oiled shaft of considerable size and length. It slowly pressed into Erestor’s body, filling him with its delicious heat and a combination of pleasure/pain that was stimulating in its own right. He could feel the long hands pass along his sides, guiding his body upwards until his back met the bard’s lithe chest. His breath as released in a silent moan of pleasure as he was impaled, as he was molded against the body behind him, so perfectly fitted that they indeed seemed as one.

The dexterous hands moved down to his front, stroking and caressing the pale skin, drawing Erestor’s arms up and back to clasp around his neck. The dark head rested against Lindir’s shoulder, and the bard moved to press his lips against the delicate curve of Erestor’s ear.

“Sing for me, my moonlit shadow,” he whispered, and then proceeded to slowly and deeply thrust into his lover’s body. Erestor had no choice but to comply, his voice crying out ragged with passion as each stroke rubbed against the hidden place with him. Dark and light, black and white; their affection transformed two completely different melodies into a stunning homophonic rhythm. Each became both instrument and player in a symphony of desire.

Lindir treasured each lustful note he pulled from his dark elf’s lips, while adding his own voice to the lay. He had wished for a duet, and this song born of incredible passion was everything he had longed for. Not only did his body respond to the tight friction within Erestor’s body, but his heart and mind responded to the music they created together. He might have ceased then and there upon such a realization, but the urge for crescendo was too great. The song must be completed.

One hand moved around to firmly grasp Erestor’s leaking erection, stroking in time to the rhythm of their bodies as he held tight to the advisor’s quivering form. Such was what finally brought release. The darker elf cried out as his body exploded in passion, subsequently pulling an echoing cry from Lindir’s lips as he came buried deeply within Erestor’s body.

Erestor sagged back against him, blissfully spent. Their bodies almost unwillingly separated, and both dropped to the sheets, automatically pulling close to curl up within each other’s arms.

“I think I may know why Galadriel sent me here,” Lindir sleepily whispered into his lover’s ear. “I must thank her when next we meet.”

Erestor smiled. “And I as well.”