Infatuation (A ficlet)

*Title: Infatuation

*Author: Minuial Nuwing

*Contact: minuial_nuwing@yahoo.com

*Website: http://geocities.com/minuial_nuwing

*Rating: R

*Type:FPS

*Pairing: Elladan/Gildor

*Warning: Serious fluff

*Archive: First Light, AFF.net, LoM, OEAM; Others: I would be honored-Just let me know, please!

*Feedback: Makes me smile, and write faster…

*Summary: Elladan, Gildor and raging hormones.

*Beta: Nope, not this time.

*Notes: Italics indicate mindspeak or thoughts, when not used for simple
emphasis. In plain-text, stars (**) indicate italics. One star (*blah*) for emphasis,
two stars (**blah**) for mindspeak or thoughts.

*Disclaimer: Only the quirks and perversions are mine. Everything else belongs to the creator-god of Middle Earth, J.R.R. Tolkien. I am awed by his gifts and humbled by his vision. I promise to clean them all up and return them with smiles on their faces when I am done playing!

*A/N: Written for Ryo, who requested a young Elladan infatuated with Gildor. Glad you liked it, sweetie!

************************************

Infatuation

Such clumsiness was unlike the eldest son of Elrond. Though he was still a century

from majority, Elladan had trained for decades with Glorfindel and the guard, and was

fast becoming a formidable opponent, as was his twin. Yet today he had thrice been

bested by Gildor Inglorion, though the gypsy-elf was known more for his prowess with the

bow than the blade.

“Keep your shoulder up, ‘Adan!” Glorfindel called, exasperation creeping into his

tone. “What in Elbereth’s name is wrong with you, pen neth?”

Elladan flushed deeper still, his ears burning. He knew all too well what vexed him.

How was he to focus on his form, on the bout, when Gildor’s very presence in Imladris

tied his tongue and wetted his palms? To stand so close to the ancient elf’s lithe form,

watch his muscles flex with each swing of the sword, smell the exotic scent that clung

to skin and hair...

The sharp clang of steel on steel brought him back to the present, though not in time

to thwart Gildor’s attack. Elladan managed to hang onto his sword, but the force of the

repeated blows left him off balance, an easy target for the elder elf’s shifting weight.

He found himself on the ground, his opponent’s blade at his throat.

“I believe I have you,” Gildor said with a smile, his deep blue eyes kind as he rose

gracefully and extended a hand to the dark elf. “You show great promise, ernil neth,” he

added, brushing a strand of ebony hair back before pressing an affectionate kiss to the

flushed brow.

Elladan’ eyes widened, a tremor rippling over his body as he struggled not to

whimper. Without a word he pulled away, thrusting his sword hilt at Elrohir as he all

but ran toward the falls.

The younger twin took the weapon, casting a pleading look at Glorfindel, who stood

staring disbelievingly at Elladan’s retreating back. “Let him go, híren. Please,”

Elrohir implored quietly.

“Aye, let him go, cousin,” Gildor agreed, moving to stand beside the seneschal as the

gathered warriors began to disperse. “I was too hard on the youngling.”

Glorfindel shook his head with a sigh, nodding at the younger twin to help him gather

up the practice blades. “I will see you in the baths, mellonen?”

“Mayhap,” the gypsy-elf replied.

“I believe I know what ails Elladan,” Tarlangien said with a smirk, as the others

walked away.

“And what would that be?” Gildor asked, meeting his Second’s gaze squarely. “Other

than inexperience?”

“’Tis inexperience, indeed,” the warrior chuckled, “though not of the combat kind.

The princeling fancies you, I wager.”

Gildor made a dismissive gesture, but Tarlangien would not be silenced. “He fancies

you, híren. ‘Twould be a shame to leave him wanting.”

The gypsy-elf’s eyes flashed warningly, though his voice was soft. “Mind your tongue,

soldier. ‘Tis no scullery-maid’s get you speak of, but Elrond’s eldest. He is not of

age.”

“But he is quite fair, should your taste run to darklings,” the warrior continued,

heedless of his Lord’s growing ire. “And he is but a century away from majority. Surely

old enough to use his tongue...”

“Enough!” Gildor hissed, his hand clamping down on Tarlangien’s shoulder. “Take

yourself to the baths, ere I lose my patience. I will hear no more of it.”

Watching his Second’s hasty retreat, Gildor heaved a huge sigh and turned toward the

falls.

*****************************

Elladan sat at the edge of a pool, disconsolately picking at the soft grass. His ears

filled by the roar of the falls, he was unaware of the ancient elf’s approach until

Gildor dropped fluidly to the ground beside him.

“’Tis a tranquil spot,” the wanderer offered, his eyes fixed on the foaming water. “I

have pondered many a painful moment here myself, over the years.” Turning to face the

eldest twin, he took in the bowed head and slumped shoulders sympathetically. “There is

no shame in losing to a worthy opponent, Elladan.”

“I know.”

“Am I not a worthy opponent?”

“Aye,” the dark elf whispered, his head still down.

“Look at me, pen neth,” Gildor insisted gently, catching the young elf’s chin,

forcing the clouded grey eyes to meet his own. “’Tis difficult to be almost grown, hmm?”

Color flared again in Elladan’s cheeks at the implication. “I...I...do not...” he

began, his pitiful protest ending in a surprised gasp as his companion pulled him into a

loose embrace, pillowing his head on one hard shoulder.

“When you were but a wee thing, you would sit with me for hours and listen to my

tales,” the gypsy-elf said, one hand worrying a beaded braid. “Do you remember, pen

neth?”

Elladan nodded wordlessly, his senses reeling at Gildor’s nearness. Horrified, he

felt his traitorous body begin to react and tensed, struggling against the encircling

arms.

“’Tis alright,” the ancient elf murmured soothingly, tightening his hold on the

trembling body. “There is no shame in desire, either.”

Tears of embarrassment and need welled in Elladan’s eyes, and he turned his flushed

face into Gildor’s neck. The wanderer’s next words left him gaping.

“Have you shared a lover’s kiss, ernil neth?”

Humiliated beyond bearing, the dark elf croaked ‘Nay’, a single tear finally escaping

as a gentle hand forced his head up to meet his companion’s understanding gaze. “Then I

would be honored to be the first.”

Elladan’s eyes widened in amazement, then closed in ecstasy as Gildor’s mouth covered

his own. His lips were suckled tenderly for a long moment ere the gypsy-elf’s practiced

tongue parted them to explore with firmly restrained ardor.

The young elf gasped, shivering and moaning under the waves of unfamiliar sensation.

A bow-callused thumb swept his ear, once, twice...and his world exploded in a rush of

liquid heat and brilliant color.

His next conscious moment found Elladan cradled against Gildor’s chest, a strong hand

drawing soothing circles on his back. His ears burning, the dark elf pulled away to meet

the wanderer’s warm gaze. “I...am sorry...” he began, but his apology was halted firmly.

“You have nothing to be sorry for, pen neth,” Gildor said with a slight smile,

“though it might be best if this remained our secret.”

Pressing a chaste kiss to Elladan’s forehead, he met the darkened grey gaze

seriously. “I am flattered by your interest, ernilen. And if it lingers...” Gildor

paused, a rakish grin lighting his face, "I shall no doubt be in Imladris from time to

time after you reach majority.”

Elladan smiled tentatively. “Do you promise?”

“I swear it, pen neth.”

*~*~*~*~*

Elvish Translations

pen neth - young one

ernil neth - young prince

híren - my lord

mellonen - my friend