The Song of the Dance

THE ART OF MISCOMMUNICATION

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Chapter 8: The Encore

Haldir fled swiftly. He took no heed to his surroundings until he was wn hin his Lord’s chambers, when he lifted his hood and looked about. Low railings twined like ivy vines in white carvings up similarly engraved pillars to the canopied white roof. White wooden planks were cool and smooth beneath bare feet, and the signs of his Lord lay about in sta stacks of tattered books, scattered paperwork, and half-melted candles, which Haldir quickly lit.

He carefully hung up his cloak as he wandered about the huge talan that circled the trunk of a massive mallorn. Coming round the other side, he halted at the sight of the bed. A great white monstrosity was built into the talan, its posters climbing up and into the ceiling where milky transparent silk bed curtains fell around the four sides. Downy white pillows accented the white quilted bedspread.

Reaching within himself, Haldir found again that ancient melody and he sang it aloud in a hypnotic trembling whisper. He let it overwhelm him as he never had before and used this fevered desire to drown out thet oft of unreturned devotion, for this union would be heartfelt, but full of lust rather than love, in a blind encounter on the night of Byeltinyeh.

Letting go the pain, Haldir stalked toward the bed.

***

Celeborn never could recall ho’d m’d managed to make the journey to his rooms. But then, he stood before his door, palms sweating. He was actually shivering with arousal, and attempted to calm himself with a few deep breaths. This only succeeded in making him light-headed. So before he could turn tail in apprehension or faint from the overwhelming tension, he reached out and pushed open the door.

Nervous steps carried him over the threshold and around the splendid talan where his bed lay on the western side.

His breathing ceased.

Through the shimmering ivory curtains wavering in the high breeze, The Dancer lay stretched out with catlike pride on his bed, great violet eyes peering up, the smallest of seductive ks jks just visible beyond the pale violet veil. One hand pillowed the silver-golden head in self-assured comfort, the other casually twisting at that intriguing ring of gold through a coral colored nipple. Long silk-draped legs lay the length of his great bed, the further knee bent into the air in lazy invitation.

When Celeborn did not approach - having temporarily lost his mind in the aching fog of lust - that lithe being flowed forward onto his naked feet, bells tinkling rhythmically in a taunting echo of The Dance as he sashayed across the wooden floor in a slow seduction of wanton limbs and undulating hips, the jewels at his waist sparkling in the night’s faint t.
t.

That Song singing in his veins raced through Celeborn’dy ady and gained power with every sinuous step The Dancer took until the elf stood before him, the barest slip of air between them and that unwavering smirk still in place.

Then, the Lord watched as the smirk transformed into a sultry smile. A many-jeweled hand rose, ghosting along his tall robed body to lay the soft pads of warm fingers on his heated face in a first touch of cautious affection. Painted eyes closed, hiding their dark depths, and the stranger guided himself forward.

Celeborn felt the caress of fine silk against his nose, his cheek, his parted lips, before the press of a heated mouth met his, the thin material of the veil a tantalizing barrier between them.

Celeboreyeseyes flashed shut and he leaned into the kiss, arms still at his sides, fearful that his touch would turn to blind abandoned need and he would effortlessly crush this exotic, fragile-seeming creature beneath him.

At this passionate - if carefully controlled - reaction, The Dancer backed away, staring up at the tall Lord from beneath half-lidded eyes, an achingly familiar smirk on a face Celeborn thought he should somehow know…

Seeing how the kiss had sent the Lord to harsher breathing, The Dancer laughed, a low melodious sound that was neither mocking nor derogatory, but only a satisfied chuckle. He stepped back again, swaying to the tune of the bells as arms were raised above his head and fluttered like wings in a twisting ballet before they flickered downward in some alluring choreography that heightened the yearning between them.

Celeborn’s eyes did not leave the tantalizing play of those golden hands as they slowly lowered, caressing the hairless chest in a show of wanton disregard, across a taut stomach and lower, to the silver ties about his waist.

A quick series of tugs had the garment undone and flung to the floor with a clatter of brass bells, forgotten.

Those long legs continued The Dance as the elf moved to push aside the bed curtains and seat himself on the mattress. For the moment, he feigned to ignore his audience of one as each foot was lifted and released from its leather and bell ornament. These were carelessly flung into a corner and The Dancer stood again. He ducked his head, scented hair flowing over broad (for an elf) shoulders and he made as if to remove that satin cloth over his loins, but then ceased, looking up with a playful expression. Painted eyes called and a single curving finger beckoned.

Celeborn could not resist the invitation and he moved smoothly forward. The Dancer reached out agile hands, deftly removing the red festival robes and golden tunic. The Lord was quickly freed of every garment and he stood unashamedly nude, his leaking arousal curving upward in ready hardness.

The Dancer’s hands, slightly callused, rested on the elf’s shoulders, caressing an intimate massage down strong arms until the Lord’s hands were guided forward to be set on a slender waist.

Celeborn wrapped his fingers around the satin knots… and pulled. A loud rip broke the silence and the ruined raiment was dropped. The Dancer stood in perfect exposure before the bed, half-hard and grinning with an almost nervous promise as he waited.

Celeborn’s eyes seemed to devour the golden form revealed before him: slender feet, strong legs, long organ hot and heavy, firm muscles up a toned chest and arms, and the beautiful face hiding its identity just out of reach behind a veil and some color.

Hesitantly the Lord’s hands returned to The Dancer’s body in an exploration that grew steadily more demanding. The stunning creature melted into the intimate touch, swaying and panting with his own desire as curious hands wound possessively through long loose hair. Celeborn leaned in, pressing their bodies flush together, burying his face in the magic-scented locks, licking the point of a tempting ear, as his hands came up to the back of a heated neck.

The Dancer jerked out of the embrace that searched for the ties to his veil. He pouted, wagging a disapproving finger at the Lord before pulling him into another silk-barred kiss.

***

Lost in the passion growing between them, Haldir had frozen when he realized the intent of those inquiring hands, and he’d pulled away in fear. The Lord still didn’t know who he was, and if Haldir had his wish, Celeborn never would. This one night would be enough to furnish his fantasies for an age, and Celeborn need never know the Mystery of The Dancer, and after this forgotten encounter, they could remain… friends.

The kiss grew hard and wet, turning the silk rough and scratchy between their tongues, but neither seemed to particularly mind as hard bodies wound together, hands seeking tingling flesh.

When Celeborn reached once more for the veil in slow, obvious gestures, The Dancer again pulled away. “Why do you hide from me?” the Lord asked, his thickened voice low and deep with arousal.

Haldir leaned forward, a gentle leer on his face as he brushed his veiled lips over the Lord’s ear, whispering, “The Art of The Dance demands Mystery.”

Shuddering at the sensation of wispy fabric brushing the delicate skin of his ear, Celeborn wondered at that voice, a purring promise of deep tones and light laughter. It struck a chord within him, this well-known cadence to the speech that he simply could not place.

Before further inquiries could be made, a suggestion of a touch whispered down his back, encouraging a low moan. When Haldir pulled away, Celeborn followed the singing handst let led him to the bed, beyond the shimmering curtains, to lie back on the deep mattress, gazing up at the sensual being hovering above him though barely touching.

Celeborn’s strong hand ventured forth to gently caress a rouged cheek, curl around a perfect elven ear, brush through that exotically scented hair of molten silver-gold. “Such a beautiful creature should not hide,” he murmured with a worshipful sigh. Celeborn could see the blush, even through the gilt skin, he lhe leaned up to kiss the jeweled brow just beneath the diamond hanging from the mithril circlet.

At this reverent treatment, Haldir blushed deeper, but matched the actions with kisses of his own to a cheek, a jaw, a shoulder. The veil was pulled up as it trailed over sensitized skin, revealing naked lips to trace a damp path over the straining body.

Mouth, hands, heated skin teased the Lord unmercifully, and Celeborn could not control the needing sounds that were coaxed forth: whimpers and moans, mewls and cries. Skillful lips closed over a peaking bud of flesh on his chest as fingers danced along his sides, alternately ghost-light and fiercely clutching.

Strong hands wound into the hair that dragged sensuously along the Lord’s sides as Haldir continued his southward journey, worshiping the body beneath him with the devotion of a reverent lover or well-paid harlot. Overwhelmed at his own passion, The Dancer didn’t spare a moment’s hesitation before sliding hot lips and an equally searing mouth over Celeborn’s straining need.

Passionate cries sounded through the late evening as Celeborn arched into the sucking warmth, so hot and wet and – oh, just perfect around him, unthinkingly guiding The Dancer’s head with a tangled grip in that scented hair.

Haldir spared only fleeting thanks for the abilities inherent in his blood as he tended without difficulty to his Lord, the increasing moans of encouragement spurring on his own lust, reveling at the fullness in his mouth, the grip on his hair, and the heaving body beneath him.

These eager ministrations escalated as Haldir drew him deep, and began to hum. The Song itself vibrated along Celeborn’s entire shaft and drew forth an intense, almost pained release with fervent thrusts and desperate cries.

Celeborn lay panting a moment before he drew Haldir up by his hair for another kiss, hot and almost loving, angry at the silk between them and thankful for everything else. Despite his climax, The Dance still surged within him, and he hadn’t softened in the slightest. If anything, the powerful arousal had increased and his need become a dominating force, driving him to take this sylvan creature. He looked up into hungry, violet eyes. “I can, at this moment, imagine no greater pleasure than to take you, force you and fuck you, love you and be one with you,” he growled, fierce and barely cohe.
.

Haldir moaned, a sound of passion, of submission, and of need, as Celeborn rolled them over, parting those strong legs to lie between them and thrust together with the beautiful Dancer.

When Celeborn parted those legs even further and began probing at the virgin entrance, Haldir thrust back on his hand in a fury of want, humming that melody, increasing the friction, the pressure, the lust between them. The Song relaxed him even as it poured through him in rippling waves of desire. “Oh yes, take me!” he moaned; it was almost a scream.

So he did. With intimate abandon and careless want, Celeborn thrust hard into the quivering body, finding the perfect sheath for his lust, and for his love – if only his bodily desire had not blinded his heart.

The pain and the pleasure and the love were one, and Haldir howled them out in a primal wail as he wrapped long legs about his Lord and clung desperately to strong shoulders – wider even than his own – tossing his head and biting red-painted lips and weeping with the overpowering rightness of it all.

Their coupling was an animalistic frenzy of claiming hands and scratching nails, biting nips and scraping teeth, pounding bodies and everything that was primitive and demanding and coarse and fierce.

Lost to the most vicious call of The Dance, they moved madly to its rhythm, marking and tearing and claiming.

The bed shook beneath them, the curtains shivered around them, and their cries mercilessly pierced the air to echo through the city of trees.

***

Perilous, they had been told. Dangerous, she had said. They should have listened.

Now, all was lost to the fury of The Dance, an unspoken truth twisting even tighter as their passions were finally spent in a shared moment of ripping ecstasy, woven through with sweat and shouts and strained obscenities as their bodies quaked and their minds rattled and it seemed the world crashed down around them.

***

Celeborn lay, heavy and spent, crushing his worn lover.

Now, their touches were gentle, a soothing balm to skin bitten and bruised. Beyond words, a lingering kiss was all they exchanged, amid those tender caresses, loving and relentless.

Yet even as they lay quiet and content, satiation gave way to a burgeoning arousal. Unlike the blaze that had burned them in its fury, this subtle fire was slow to heat, slow to stir. The touches were no less gentle in their accelerating firmness and the kisses, too, were sweet beyondsuresure.

Still lost to the magic of The Dance, still connected in body and in spirit, they could not stop the inevitable rhythm that began to grow. Not that they wanted to. Oh no, this act of lovemaking was as sweet and calm as the previous had been hard and rough. And this they certainly wanted, this ache that was unhurried and easy to build. It was desired, as sought after as had been that first furious fucking only moments before, and no less perfect.

Gradual was the continuing elevation, and the world spun away to nothing as their eyes met, violet and silver, never wavering as they moved together, finding peace, finding perfect harmony. Finding love.

This time, the release was celebrated in drawn-out whimpers that could never have been mistaken for anything but pleasure as their tear-filled eyes held the connection, heightening the passion, showing to each other the pure joy that was there.

***

After a time, they slipped from their connection, sore and aching and still desperate with need.

The Dance was alive within the lovers, revitalizing them, commanding and teaching; it worked its magic far too well.

Pressed tight together, they spoke in kisses, they sang with hands, they loved without words.

And finding yet another fire kindle between them, another melody swallow their souls, Haldir turned his Lord to his stomach, easing his passage with their spent emissions and taking what they both wanted.

Celeborn surrendered with unmitigated grace and passion as Haldir moved within him, a steadily growing tempo guided by lust and love and all those otherteriteries that remain a part of every heart, mortal and immortal alike.

Again, Haldir’s veil fell before him, allowing those soft lips to caress the deep red lines he’d inflicted across his lover’s muscled back. One hand steadying a hip, the other circled round to tend to Celeborn’s need.

The lovers found their passions again with more sweet cries and clinging embraces.

***

And it was not the last.

For all the hours left to the midsummer night, they followed the Song of The Dance where it led them, to passion and pleasure and something so much deeper, something so much stronger, something…

Laying entwined together, Celeborn reached round again, silently asking the removal of the veil; however, The Dancer was adamant. But then, Celeborn closed his eyes, and he leaned in, lifting the silk as he did so, finally meeting those lips with his own.

Exquisite. Passionate. Delicate. It was all of these and more. The Dancer met him move for move as the exploration continued, the Lord’s eyes dutifully closed throughout this final connection.

Eventually, Celeborn withdrew, replacing the veil as he did so, and opening his eyes once more to see well-known violet brilliance staring back at him with hope and love and happiness.

So, allowing the Mystery to continue, Celeborn lay on his back, finally giving heed to the exhaustion that lay on the other side of any potent magic. It seemed the powerful Song of The Dance finally slipped away, chased into nothingness with the coming of the sun.

The silver morning greeted the sylvan elves, but they did not see it, as they slumbered peacefully and contentedly in a cherishing embrace.

***

It was still morning when Haldir awoke, nearly shocked at the vibrant ache throughout his entire body. His muscles rebelled as he attempted to command them, but he forced himself to move.

Thoughts whirled in his mind: fears, questions, confusion. He fought them all, choosing action above thought. With great effort, he extricated himself from the knot of limbs, marveling at all that glorious skin flush with his own. He mourned the loss as he withdrew from the bed, searching out the remains of his costume and wrapping it into a tight bundle beneath his arm.

He should have left, then and there. He should have disappeared through the door, the grey cloak swirling at his ankles.

But the bed called to him; at least, the elf within it did. Haldir padded over the smooth floor to stand beside this one-time lover, this one love. Not knowing what mad impulse drove him, he reached beneath his own flaxen tangles to remove the cursed veil, stained faintly with their passions and the red from his lips. He reached past the curtains to let the scrap of fabric fall to the empty pillow, where the impression of his head still lay.

And then, he bowed over the sleeping figure, grazing a ghost of a kiss across his Lord’s smooth brow. Words soft with devotion and solemn sadness were whispered to the slumbering Lord. “I love you, Celeborn.”

With that, he fled from the room, drawing the cloak tight and the hood low, racing along the forest floor, undisturbed at the seemingly misplaced silence inherent in a city on the morning after a feast day.

***

Within the safety of his solitary flet, his clothes were tossed to an unused corner. He stripped himself of the armbands, jewels, wrist cuffs, and earrings, stowing them away in a box beneath his simple bed. Into this he also placed the mithril circlet and the rings. He rubbed absently at the piercing of his ears, which would close within a day thanks to elven healing.

A supply of fresh water and soap stood in one corner where he had readied them the day before. These he used to meticulously cleanse himself of inks and powders and perfumes, scrubbing with ruthless and increasing anger until his hair was a tangled mass and his skin was rubbed red.

At last, when he felt almost fresh and clean, he fell into bed, exhausted, uncaring of the few tears that escaped haunted eyes.


TBC