No such thing as a casual love. Dearest, quiet one

Title: No such thing as a casual love. Dearest, quiet one.
Author: Fishy (fishy9@yahoo.com)
Beta: Kei.
Pairing: Glorfindel/Erestor.
Rating: NC17
Disclaimer: I own nothing.
Summary: Do values and love change with ages?
Note: This fic is actually an alternative of ‘Friends first’. Not a sequel, simply a different

No such thing as a casual love.
Dearest, quiet one.

He barely says a word, save for when he really needs to. The guards have become quite accustomed to their silent captain and I suppose they have learned to read his commands in other ways. He is no less a great warrior or leader for it, but still, it is… odd.

We all know what happened to him, that is no secret. And the people of Imladris have enough tact not to hound him, not to hero worship this silent and perhaps troubled elf. But I, their chief advisor, who should know better, do not posses such graciousness. Now I am not obvious in my admiration, I do not stare at or approach him, but I do harbour….fantasies. Ai, I underplay my obsession, admiration and, who knows, perhaps even love. But I concoct such fantasies, both unbecoming of my formal station and crass enough to make your toes curl. And am I ashamed? No, for my rapid pulse and dry lips feel justified as I look upon him.

He surpasses attractive, and is far too handsome in an almost rugged way to be considered beautiful. Large is his frame, yet he still retains the slim grace born to him. Not a bulky character, but most certainly not lithe in build as one such as myself.

His name suits him well, and I can not help but wonder with a ruthless grin if he were ever teased in his youth. I would have liked to have known him in his youth, in his innocence. To have heard him laugh, to have seen him behave in the carefree and boisterous way of which I am sure he must still be capable. Those days are long gone, but not forgotten, I hope, and perhaps still within reach, who knows.

I inconspicuously look for him now amongst the throng of elves who have gathered to celebrate our lord’s begetting day. Such a humorous thing we know, for we are so very old, but quite obviously still retain our merry sentiment and mirth, thank goodness.

I spot him and, to my shock, it is he who has been observing me! He darts his eyes away from mine quickly, but it is too late. I have seen, and I shall have. I know I am not thinking straight as I leave my spot and head towards him, in fact I dare say I am not thinking at all, but I care not. It was not the fact that I had caught his gaze that caused me to idly thrust the drink I had been carrying to another’s hands as I hastened past, my eyes steadfast on their goal. It was that his gaze, which I had only momentarily caught, had been calculating. It had a considering look, and even admiring? Perhaps that was but my wishful thinking, but, again, I care not.

He shifts nervously when I come to stand at his side, and for once I am glad that he stands alone as usual. He glances to his side, but will not look up. Instead he studies my feet, to identify that it is in fact I, the one he had just been thinking of, that was now standing and waiting for him to meet my gaze. Yet he will not look up, only to my feet and then quickly away again and, quite vainly, I find myself glad that I wear my best footwear that night.

“Glorfindel,” I say, and give him no choice but to meet my gaze.

He looks up, and for the first time addresses me alone.

“I am sorry, I meant not to stare,” is his quiet reply.

Have I ever felt so giddy? I think not.

“It is to my great pleasure that you were,” I whisper.

But he does not reply, and has once again fallen silent, though I smile as I see his surprised flicker of stunning blue eyes and have to clear my throat to keep from sighing as he bites the corner of his mouth nervously.

Perhaps it is these small but so sweet actions that cause my abrupt forwardness next, but I cannot help but take his hand and tilt my head up to whisper in his ear.

“Will you come with me?”

He looks at me then, and I see surprise, trepidation, anxiety. But above all, yes, equal want. If he was going to reply I do not give him a chance as I pull him along the quiet halls now to my rooms. I am overcome with a desperate impatience to get to my sleeping quarters. Finally, when I reach my door I look back at him and feel a pang of guilt as his lips move quite urgently, as if he is trying to speak but cannot find the words.

“Glorfindel,” I simplify for him, knowing that he is debating something in his mind about which I have no inkling. “You know what I want.”

He nods.

“Do you want it too?”

And here he tilts his head to the side, looking at me as if trying to explain his hesitance with a single look. To explain that, yes, it was desire I saw in his eyes, but that he …just was not sure, confident even. I shake my head, and quite demandingly pull him forwards by the front of his tunic.

“Kiss me.” I insist, and, quite adorably, he blinks in a sort of wide-eyed innocence that makes me grin. “Don’t you want to kiss me?” I bait him, and he nods again. “Then do it.”

He looks almost worried now and slowly, with my hands still holding his tunic in bunched fists before him, he leans forwards and presses our lips together. But sadly he pulls away almost instantly, before I am even given a chance to enjoy the sensation and completely avoids my gaze, taking once again to observing his feet.

“That was nice,” I reassure, but frown as he exhales in a way that is not quite a snort, but disbelieving and full of self doubt none-the-less.

I pull him forwards then, and when next our lips meet he gasps into my mouth. I kiss him without restraint, I kiss him how he wished to kiss me. He is unsure of what to do with his hands, so I take them in my own and encourage them to hold my waist, just as I like and, evidently, just as he, too, favours.

Eventually he joins the kiss, breathing heavily in a way that thrills me. Still it is I who slips my tongue forwards, and again he draws a sharp breath before slowly opening to me. I moan quietly in appreciation and also encouragement as he dares to experimentally plunder my mouth in return.

Loving the taste of him, I pull him forwards as I lean back against my door in silent permission and request for him to become more dominant. I smile as he gently presses his body against my own, pining me between him and the door. And then, to my pleasure, he presses more firmly with each small sound of pleasure that slips by my lips.

Suddenly, as if a dam had burst, he thrusts his tongue deep into my mouth and pushes me flat against the hard door. I groan, feeling such passion come from him. Though his grip on my waist is still gentle, he kisses me with such heat that my head spins. I ruin it however by gasping when I feel a firm and erect heat against my hip. He immediately pulls away, touching the back of his hand to his mouth as he looks only to the ground.

“Oh no, no, no,” I say in a way I know to be shamelessly seductive.

He looks up at me and quite humorously raises an eyebrow when seeing my wicked grin, wondering what exactly my intentions are. I answer him by once again grabbing the front of his tunic and, opening the door behind me, I pull him into my chambers.

He stands and watches uncertainly as I walk backwards to the bed and sit against the headboard.

“Will you undress for me?”

He lets out a small burst of air then, as he grins nervously and looks about the room, rubbing the side of his neck.

“Please indulge me, I have dreamt of you doing this for so long. Please, strip for me.”

I can tell he doesn’t know how to react to what I have given away, and I wish so very hard that at that moment I knew what it was he was thinking. But, to my utmost joy, he reaches for his collar and, with a nervous slant of his lips, pulls loose the first clasp.

He has only unclasped his collar and already I am hard and panting, I pull myself up further against the headboard and unconsciously lick my lips as I watch his hands. Those hands, though, fall away as he looks down with an embarrassed grin and almost coyly touched his left elbow with his right hand.

“Please?” I chuckle, and again he pulls at the clasps of his tunic. There is no finesse, no outward show of seduction as he stands and looks down at his hands as they unhook his tunic. To anyone else it may seem as if he were simply undressing for bed, as for me however, well, I have never been so aroused.

I swallow when I see his sublime and chiselled sun-kissed chest. He looks for a place to put his shirt but eventually, not wanting to walk away from where he stands, he lets it drop to the floor. He looks back at me with a sweet and hesitant smile then, and I can feel my heart melt within.

I bite back my laughter as he then lifts his foot to pull loose his left boot and then again his right, hoping to keep balance. Standing now only in his leggings, he lets his hands rest upon the waist band and looks at me as if to ask if I were really going to make him do this. I take pity and hold out my hand, curling my fingers in a beckoning way as I chuckle at his relived expression.

I crawl to the end of the bed, and kneel up so as to very nearly meet his eyes. I let a single finger tease the more tender, sensitive flesh I discover as I trail that same waist band. He draws a shuddering breath as I hook a finger around a loop in the laces and slowly pull it loose. Looking up, I see that he has closed his eyes. To both shock him and, in a way, afford him a little privacy as I pull down those snug leggings, I press our lips together so that when next he opens his eyes he is naked. I laugh when I draw away and see his accusing look, as if to ask how this had happened, yet with a hint of mirth of his own.

I pull back along the bed and lean back on my hands.

“Undress me,” I say simply, and bite the insides of my cheeks as I see his already engorged member grow to full length. Ai, is he blessed.

He kneels upon the bed before me, and I lean forwards so that he can begin with my robe. His hands are gentle, careful, as he undresses me. I can neither address or remark on the look in his eyes as he observes my naked chest, so much paler and, well, smaller than his own. It is unidentifiable, but, having never been ashamed of my own form, I choose to think of it as an admiring gaze.

He reaches my waist, and I grow excited as his large hands seem to wrap around each of my hips. I admit that I am demanding in bed. If I am to be taken, I make sure I get what I want and how *I* want it. But this night, this night if I am to be taken, which has yet to be decided, I want him to utterly and completely dominate me. I want him in control, for his large hands to touch me possessively. Though in truth, I know it will not be so, at least not this night. From the way he touches me, I know immediately that he is, or will be, a kind and caring lover and that perhaps tonight may be the first time in quite a while for him. My fantasies will have to wait, but tonight will be amazing none-the-less, this much I know.

I raise my hips for him, and he ever so slowly pulls my leggings down. He is careful to free my arousal first, before he pulls them down my thighs so deliciously slowly, one hand still at my hip, the other tugging on the fabric, as if savouring every new glimpse of flesh afforded to him.

As I let my naked buttocks touch the sheets, his hands are free to explore, rather than support me at the waist. They lift my cheeks briefly from the sheets so as to ghost across my flesh before allowing me to sit once more. He smiles at something private, and with a grin I think it may have been the softness of my behind.

His hands, so strong but gentle, cup the undersides of my thighs and move down to the backs of my knees. My length twitches as I am made to feel the most beautiful creature on earth, and I can take no more.

“On the bed,” I husk, and pull him onto the bed so that he is lying flat upon the sheets.

I move on top of him, and decide that now would be a good time to establish who would be having whom that night. Subtly I let my knee fall between his thighs, and instantly know that this is not what he wants. It is a nervous flicker of his eyes that tells me as much, but I also know that he would not stop me, that he would give himself in that way if I pushed for it. And in that instant, this night has become about him; gone for now my fantasies, tonight I want him to feel in command, a king as he makes me cry aloud.

I do not miss the pleased expression as I remove my knee just as he was about to spread for me, and seductively I straddle his lap instead. I can read the excitement in his face clearly now as his hands reach for my hips once more, and I am so much more than pleased that I am having such an effect on him.

“You really want me, don’t you?”

He nods, Valar he nods. And I laugh as I reach down and kiss him and all his roguish beauty, all his silent charm and quiet sweetness. I kiss him and I hope he feels the mounting, turbulent and almost dangerous feelings I harbour for him. I want him to feel all this, even as, with a pang of guilt, I know at that moment he knows not what to do with it.

There is no room for foreplay; his length is near purple as I feel it pulsate against my cleft, and he pants almost desperately as I reach for the small vial of oil kept by my nightstand. But then, Valar, then he does the sweetest of all things. As I reach for that vial our faces are close and so very softly he kisses my cheek. I turn to him, and already he is looking away to where his hand is stroking the side of my leg. But his cheeks are a darker shade of red, and I know it is not just from passion.

I return the most simple but loveliest gesture I have ever known, kissing his cheek. And although he still does not look at me, he smiles.

I am in charge this night; though it will be his sex pumping into me, I will be in charge, all so that he can simply enjoy me, my body, and anything else he would accept from me. My preparation is quick, I find myself too turned on to draw it out, as I stretch myself before him. And I know from the tight grip on my hips that he is ready for our intercourse, desperate even.

Slowly I lower myself on to his hard thickness, and never have I felt so blissfully filled. His hips have already begun their unconscious rocking, even before I am fully settled on his heat, though I do realise that I am dealing with a gentleman when, with what must have been all his strength, he stills his hips and waits for my comfort and first move.

And I give it to him.

I move slowly at first, raising off of him and then back down, and he gasps at the sensation. A slow and steady rhythm is set to begin with. I rock atop of him, moaning, and moving my entire body in a sort of wave or arc as I squeeze his member inside of my rear. His chest heaves, his hands stroke up and down my thighs as his hips thrust upwards. His eyes close tightly as he holds his breath, swallows, and then gasps for more air.

I have had bed partners, casual lovers, but never had I seen someone take such pleasure from me. I take his large hands and press them against my chest, make them rub against my nipples, and he takes the hint. I whimper, a sound that I know drives all my lovers mad, as he squeezes and pinches my sore, and over sensitised nubs.

He groans and I love the sound, so guttural, so deep. And then suddenly his hips pump, harder, faster, up into my tight and hot entrance. Then to my surprise he stills and cries once more, coming inside of me. He pants and removes his hands from my hips, licking his lips, and there is a blazing flush to his cheeks. I catch his gaze and again his lips move in their hesitant way as he tries to speak his apologies.

Upon seeing such embarrassment in those blue depths, I lean down and kiss his lips sweetly.

“It’s alright,” I whisper against his lips, and he seems relieved, as if he had expected my ridicule.

I move off his softening member and lie beside him.

“You look so beautiful in aftermath,” I say without thinking.

He surprises me then by turning on his side and gently moving me so as to be spooning behind me. He reaches around and begins to massage my now heavy sacks.

“Ai, thank you.” I needed release, though felt perhaps a little awkward asking for it in view of his embarrassment.

Though my pleasure is not to end there, no. He lifts my leg, placing his own between my knees to keep them open, and I feel one of his digits probe my entrance.

“Oh yes! Please...”

Two fingers entered me, then three, and then to my astonishment, four. Four fingers thrust within me as he strokes my throbbing shaft from behind, his larger frame now enveloping my smaller, panting and insatiably writhing one.

“Glorfindel! Glorfindel!” I cry, his fingers pushing deeper, pumping into me almost harshly as I thrust into his fist.

“Ai, yes! YES!”

He holds me as I come, and while I tremble afterwards. We fall asleep that way, sticky, but blissfully sated.

The morning was not awkward as one might have expected, but full of lingering looks and small, knowing smiles as we dress. He grins as I continuously pull him back for another cheeky, quick kiss before he leaves my rooms, and indulges me each time.

I run my hands up his chest and the now-fastened shirt one last time, kissing his smiling lips with my own, and then watch him walk down the hall, away from my chambers. His steps are slow, easy and drag as one of his hands reaches out and trails along the wall as he walks. He seems almost elated, and I have to admit I share the sentiment.

I spend the day in my office with a smirk upon my lips, getting absolutely nothing done and not caring a jot about it. It was when a pare of firm hands settled upon my shoulders that I came back to the present and realised that I was no longer alone.

“Ranien, I did not hear you approach.”

“I knocked, but apparently you were preoccupied.” he says, as his hands begin to knead my shoulders. He leans down, and husks into my ear, “Thinking of anyone in particular?”

I smile accommodatingly and move to stand, but his hands manoeuvre me back into my seat.

“Have you plans this eve, councilor? It has been some time since last we whiled away a night together.”

I laugh awkwardly, and he senses this. I tap the hand on my left shoulder as I try to think of the right words to turn down my occasional bed partner.

“Indeed it has, but I’m afraid to say that I do have plans, and may very well for many eves to come.”

I hear a sigh of annoyance from above me, and still his hands are upon me. He leans down, ignoring my words and their meaning as he kisses my neck, and breathes his irritated words.

“Do not tell me you have been claimed by love, Erestor. Aren’t we a little old for that? Come, meet me in my rooms tonight.”

“Ranien, I have had many a pleasurable night with you, and I count you as a friend. But I have now known the touch of one I could very well love for all my days. Please, let us end our past dalliance on good terms.”

“You do not know what you are saying, Erestor. And who is this other you claim to suddenly be so taken with?”

I close my eyes and steady my rising ire as this persistent one dips his hand inappropriately beneath the neckline of my robe and nuzzles into my neck. I open my mouth to speak with a sterner edge, but the door creaks open.

“Erestor?” says the incredibly gentle voice, “I hope you don’t mind, I….oh.”

“Glorfindel! Uh…this, this is Ranien and he was….he was just, ahm…” I babble as I shoo his hands from my shoulders.

“Glorfindel?” is the snort from above my shoulder, and I know that Ranien is not addressing the warrior in my doorway, but is addressing myself in disbelief and even small amusement at having unearthed the identity of my, admittedly unlikely, chosen one.

He looks both crushed and humiliated. He stands in my doorway, holding an amateur bouquet of daisies and wild flowers before him, the roots hanging messily from the bottom and with both his hands gripping the stems. The smile that had been upon his lips as he entered my office, is now gone, and a mildly shocked and intensely disappointed expression is in its place.

“Flowers? Is that not a little…..dated?” asks Ranien with a bitter tone.

I scowl at him and stand from my desk, but the damage has been done. Glorfindel’s cheeks are flushed with shame and embarrassment, and he glances down at the blooms he carries before stepping backwards, edging towards the door.

“I am sorry,” he says so very quietly, lowering the bouquet in his hands. “I should have knocked.” With that he turns and leaves.

“It would appear you are free tonight after all.”

My glare must truly be frightening, as even Ranien, a seasoned warrior, backs away unsurely.

“Our little fling, dalliances, tumble between the sheets, is over.”

“Erestor...” he begins with a slanted grin, apparently thinking I can be mulled over by a few sweet words.

“Unavailable, Ranien, I am unavailable. Not just to you, but to all, apart from him. If he will have me now, of course.”

He sighs, and looks at me with great disapproval.

“It’s a damn shame, you’re a mighty fine bed partner.”

“Good bye, Ranien, may love find you one day,” I say in a clipped tone, belittling the kind words I speak.

“Valar, I hope not,” he mutters, as he stubbornly squares his shoulders and leaves my office, trying to carry the pretence of not caring, that his pride has not been dented.

I know he does not truly care; in few days I will be but a memory to him, perhaps not even that. But my main concern is not him, it is Glorfindel. Ai, sweet Glorfindel.

I curse beneath my breath and leave my office, too, needing to find Glorfindel and explain to him what he had just seen.

Having searched for the best part of an hour and finding no sign of Glorfindel. I was about to give up my search when I spotted him, sitting upon a log beside one of the trickling streams.

As I sit beside him, he again, in his own careful way glances at my feet. Knowing it is I that now sits beside him, he quickly and quite uncomfortably clears his throat and looks across the small stream, feigning passiveness, though I see his jaw clench, and I can see the telling glisten at the corner of his eye.

“Do people not do this anymore?” he asks as he limply waves the bouquet he still holds, though most of the flowers have fallen from his grip.

“Only the unromantic,” I say softly and with a careful smile as I gently touch his arm.

“I am sorry to have just let myself in like that….”

“Glorfindel,” I start urgently, “he is a past lover, just causal at its best, that is all. I do not wish to end what could have been between the two of us just because…”

“No, Erestor.” He shakes his head sadly and faces me. “I am sorry, but I am not like that. Not even for you am I like that. I am… ‘dated’ as you would say. I can not share someone, I….I do not love ‘casually’, for me there is nothing ‘casual’ about love….or what may have been love,” he finishes quietly as he turns his gaze back down to the stream.

“I was turning him away, honestly I was. Surely you know him from patrol, he is a persistent one!”

“Erestor. “ He faces me suddenly, looking both pained and full of regret. “…last night should not have happened,” he whispers.

“No! No, you are wrong!” I say as I move to kneel before him.

“I expect too much, I am set in old ways and….I should never have let my gaze linger on you, should never have let you see my want….Now all I can taste and smell is you, all I can think of is how good you were to me last night and how…” His voice is strained and he seems to swallow around a developing lump in his throat. “….and how understanding you were. You were patient, you did not scorn me, you were not disappointed. And…. and it made me feel so good,” he finishes with a small but sad laugh, “…and now I have ridiculous words such as ‘love’ fluttering through my mind…”

“I was sending him away!” I cry again. “I would love you, I would have your love in return. I want your charm and ways of an age past. I want you.”

He searches my eyes, he searches for truth.

“Are you sure? Do not give me false hope, I grieve just as well as I can love...do not say it unless you mean it, Erestor, I could not bear it if…”

I cut off his desperate ramblings in the strangest of all ways. I thrust a daisy beneath his nose.

“Tear away the petals, I shall show you romance of dire consequence, my quiet one.”

He gives me a queer look, as if to ask how I can jest at such a time as this. But I am deadly serious as I hold the flower to him. He raises one of those powerful hands, and pulls away a single dainty petal.

“He loves me,” he whispers, an unsure look upon his face as he reaches for a second petal.

“He loves me not…”

He peels those petals away, down to the last two.

“He loves me, he loves me…..not.”

The last petal falls to the ground, and he faces me once more, unsure and wary.

I take a fallen daisy that rested upon his boot, and tuck it affectionately behind his ear. I lean up on my knees and whisper into his ear.

“He loves you.”

And then I give him that sweet gesture, I kiss his cheek. Though that alone is not enough for me or my raging need to reassure and demonstrate.

“He loves you,” I say again, and kiss him.

I kiss him deeply and urgently, and sigh into the kiss as I feel his unbidden tears smear against my cheeks. I hold his head gently in my hands, and I smile gently into the kiss as he, with trembling hands, pulls me into his lap.

We kiss, and we kiss some more. And I know that my quiet one has taught me something, something that I suppose many may be ignorant of who are less touched by love. I realise for the first time, there is no such thing as a casual love.

The End.