My Place

Title: My Place
Author: Fishy (fishyz9@yahoo.com)
Notes: Un-beta’d, AU, I own nothing.
Rating & pairing: Glorfindel/Erestor R
Summary: All slots finally into place.


My Place.

To think I once mocked this. Called it cliché. A part of me knew it was denial, that I secretly envied the closeness others shared, as fake as I told myself it all was. Now, I walk into the halls, and he’s holding my hand. Gods, it’s childish, isn’t it? That such a small, simple thing can make me feel so good, like I’ve just slotted into my part of the world, like life just decided how to get good. Because he’s holding my hand.

It had been such a casual thing to begin with, and had taken us both by surprise. I guess the two of us were just lonely. He knew I had so little faith in others, that I looked down on simple pleasures because I’d never been able to achieve them myself. And I knew he yearned for an honest friendship. A companion, a casual acquaintance with whom he would not have to be on show for, with whom he could simply sit, and be quiet with. Well that was me , me all over. I didn’t ask to hear his story, didn’t expect him to smile. I liked to sit with him, appreciated the quiet in another’s company for once. And from this, I took pleasure in, as pathetic as I feel for it, another persons presence. I was grateful, though under pain of death I would not admit it, to have his silent friendship. I had needed it so bad, without even realising.

He must of led a full and boisterous life before, because I would have been content with what we had. And that was a special friendship that no other would understand or could be apart of. But he reached for more -for me. He kissed me, and I was so astonished by it, well not so much by it, but by the fact that he would want to kiss me - was so astonished by this, that he must of found it… amusing? No, no. Not amusing. He found it… endearing, sweet even? I don’t know. But he liked very much how I reacted. Perhaps he was too used to having those he kissed just melting, moulding into his arms. Oh gods how embarrassing, I was anything but! I was awkward, stiff and… argh, I admit it, bad.

All this, I think he may possibly of adored, because he looked at me in a way that I’d never seen before. Does it reflect badly on my character that it was such a foreign thing to have another regard me with a certain kind of affection? I don’t care, because he does look at me like that, and it feels so scary and good.

Anyway, we kept it private, people found it strange enough that he would seek out my company of his own volition, and he knew upon instinct that I could not bare for anyone other then him to see me as I was then. And that was tender and afraid, because it was letting my guard down, admitting that I did want affection, to be touched softly, he knew that that was so hard for me. And I loved him for respecting me as he did, and still does.

Now making love with him. That was the hardest thing to give into, and the best too. Our evenings started the same, and it was silly because, I’d act as if we were still nothing but friends still. Oh each evening I would tell myself to be familiar with him - would so want to act casually, walk up to him and just kiss him, as if I knew it were welcome, and that I could do it just as anyone else could. But I’d be ridiculously shy, or even defensive, or I’d just act like we were companions and nothing more. But then he’d edge closer after a while, would force me to meet his gaze, tilting up my chin and coming close, close to me but not all the way. And when he’d look at me in that way, in that soft way that told me he liked me more than anyone else ever had, and that he wanted my hidden sweetness, I’d bridge the gap then, and kiss him the best as I knew how.

He loved kissing me, we eventually gave up any pretence that we met to do anything else. And one night, more was just suddenly needed.

He had me to come to his rooms that night, and we were in his sitting room when the atmosphere suddenly changed. We ended up laying on his divan, he laying above me, me sprawled beneath him. His kisses became almost urgent, and I gasped when he pressed his groin to mine, letting me feel his desire. As my mind reeled he took advantage and plunged deeper, kissing me hard and running his hands all over me.

Breathing became too hard, so sensually he attacked my neck in a way I didn’t know could feel so nice. I could hear his heavy breath, feel it on my skin, and fear tinged my excitement as his broad, muscular shoulders were all I could see. I began to gasp his name, not out of pleasure but out of uncertainty, and yes, fear. Was I supposed to just go along? This is what people did after all, wasn’t it? It was the natural course of things, and I should have been doing things back, but…. I guess, I had hoped that the soft touches, the kisses, would last a while longer yet.

I didn’t want it to end yet, I didn’t want to give it all away to him just yet, because, what would be left afterwards? He would have nothing new to experience with me. My cheeks flushed with shame and I bit my trembling lip. I ignored the sting in my eyes and swallowed the lump in my throat as I let him touch me. A small sound left my lips as he pulled my shirt from where it had been neatly tucked into my leggings. And I felt his lips smile against my neck, assuming that it was pleasure I was expressing.

I closed my eyes tightly as he settled himself between my thighs more comfortably, and my shirt was hastily unbuttoned. And when the cool air of his chambers touched my bare chest, it caved in, shying away in natural response. I gasped for him to wait, to just wait a moment, so I could open my eyes and catch my breath, and be okay with it. But to my dismay, I sounded nothing but afraid.

He looked stunned, and I felt humiliated and childish. He asked what was wrong, he was not obtuse or demanding, despite his aroused state. In fact he was unbearably kind, his voice so tender and patient. I tried to smile and say I was fine, that it was fine, and that I wanted to. But he could so easily see past my falseness, and I wondered at what point exactly, had he known me to such a degree so as to be able to tell me when I was lying to myself even.

A certain understanding seemed to cloud his vision, and he smiled gently at me, kissed my lips again, softly this time, and closed the front of my shirt, smoothing the fabric over my chest. He said that ‘this was good,’ that it was ‘fine’ and was all he would need. And even without saying so he seemed apologetic, and I was furious at myself. Because I realised then that, he was the kindest, most loving person I had ever known, and that he cared for me, truly cared.

He stood, and went to go do something. And I sat up, me feet touching the floor. He looked beautiful I remember, because I compared myself to him at that moment. He looked barely ruffled, perhaps he walked a little stiffly, his groin being the reason, and having had it pressed against my own moments ago I could understand why, but other then that, he seemed unfazed.

I on the other hand, had swollen lips, my eyes were still wet, my hair was terribly mused, a big loop of it hanging from one of my braids, and the front of my shirt was creased and open. I sat on the edge of the divan looking this absolute mess, and quickly wiped away the tear that fell unbidden as I slowly buttoned the front of my shirt. I dared not look up, because I felt so utterly stupid.

‘should I go?’ I asked, my voice pathetically unsteady.

I looked up when sensing him close, he stood holding two small glasses of wine, and with a saddened look upon his face.

‘Well… I-I’d like for you to stay a little while longer maybe but.. but I understand if you don’t want to be here.’ He replied, and I rushed to my feet.

‘I want to be here, I do’ I tried to explain, almost desperately. ‘I don’t want to stop this, I don’t ever want to stop this,’ if I had had the time to reflect I would of wondered at where my usual eloquence had disappeared to.

My last plea was of such a frantic quality that he placed down the glasses immediately and rushed to hold me close. I cowardly curled myself up into his arms, forcing myself not to cry as he rubbed my back, making crooning ‘shh’ noises in my ear.

‘Then stay,’ he whispered, ‘nothing has to happen, just don’t go’ and right there, I loved him.

We went to bed, and he laid there unashamedly naked, waiting for me, and with a kind smile he pretended to not notice how I left my leggings on, when climbing into bed with him.

It was so nice, being held, and holding onto him as we slipped into reverie. He laid peacefully, stirring only to pull me closer. I however, was not consistent in my rest and woke regularly. I couldn’t help it, I had to look at him, touch him, make sure it was real.

He grew aroused again, and I grinned, because it was natural and unoffending, pressed against me as it was. I was uncomfortable in my leggings, and the thought of laying naked with him no longer made my heart race with trepidation. Because like this, he was sweet. He was all mussed and sleepy. Peaceful and mine.

Carefully, so as not to wake the one spooned behind me, I slinked the leggings off, rather awkwardly, and shimmied them to the end of the bed with my feet. Settling back into bed, I glanced behind me, and was surprised to see Glorfindel awake. He was watching me, not saying a word, and not moving, as if afraid to. He knew I was naked beside him. He definitely knew when I turned in his arms, nervously pressing myself to his side.

He watched carefully as I eased him onto his back, and hesitantly laid myself against him. And it was endearing, how he didn’t want to break the moment. He was clearly encouraged and excited by my apparent change of heart, but would not risk scaring me off just yet by participating. I brushed my lips against his, and when I pulled back, his neck stretched in lingering contact. I smiled as his hands hovered over my shoulders, my back, but hesitated to touch.

And I whispered, as if only just realising.

‘You are so lovely,’

He smiled, and his hands gently touched my back. I didn’t really need to say more, but I did.

‘Touch me, like before,’ and I shuddered as I uttered my bold words, because I was nervous, and surprised that I suddenly really, really needed and wanted what he had sought earlier.

Slowly, he rolled onto his side, and I laid upon my back, welcoming him to me.

‘Are you sure?’ He whispered, ‘I don’t want you to be afraid,’

‘I’m afraid anyway.’ I attempted to joke, and then became serious and demur at the same time, ‘I don’t .. exactly know what I’m doing.’

A hunger flared in his eyes, I could see it, as dark as the chambers were, and his voice was heavy and a little thicker when he spoke next.

‘You don’t have to be, I’m going to look after you now.’

And he made love to me, as simple as that and… not so. I sigh when thinking of how gentle and loving he was. How me moved so slowly within me, seeing to my every pleasure, and being careful to keep his own in check.

That night, it felt alright to be who and how I was. I felt good. Right. In my place.

So we’re walking to the halls now, and like I said, he’s holding my hand. Usually, though, when we reach the doors we go our separate ways with a last, affectionate squeeze of our hands. He knows that he’s mine, and that I didn’t want to share - didn’t want others to see me as anything then what they’re used to. Which is defiantly not in love. And usually, I would make my way over to the minstrels perhaps, or Elrond and Melpomean. And he to his men or many, many merry companions. But this time, as I move to enter the hall, his hand slipping from mine, his hold tightens. I look back at him, questioning, and smiling at the oddly coy look in his eyes.

“Sit with me a while?”

I eventually nod, and smile, and am moved at how little from me makes him happy.

Tonight we entered the halls together, our hands not joined together but with my index finger loosely hooked around his as he guides me to sit beside him and his companions. There was a moment of awkwardness, where my presence had been clearly wondered at and where I had suddenly felt unsure.

But then something unexpected had happened. These social beings, the ones I had claimed to dislike but had secretly envied, eyed me for a moment, and then Glorfindel. The small and intimate connection between our hands was noted with twinkling eyes of all, and then, of all things, I was smiled at by those few, before a casual and calming sort of conversation commenced, setting me at once at ease. I even engaged them in conversation of my own, and Glorfindel had stayed quiet, giving me space to try this out a little, and it went alright, it really did.

Late in the evening now, the random groups of elves had moved and dispersed. We sat alone on the cushions, and when the odd glance was cast our way, Glorfindel would just sink down against the cushions, taking me with him, an almost childish grin upon his lips. Even Elrond walked past, paused a moment, surprised, smiled, and continued across the hall where his wife sat waiting.

I feel so comfortable when I thought I would feel so terribly uncomfortable, that throwing caution to the wind, I lift my feet up beneath me, and snuggle against Glorfindel’s warmth. I Earn myself a kiss to my brow and a possessive embrace.

I am who I am, and that’s fine. Because I’m here, in my place, and my place is him.

The End.