Archive: Slashy Santa, OEAM, Library of Moria, and Melethryn. All others please ask.

Request: Elves or men (any), NC-17, anything goes except fisting.

Summary: Glorfindel finds both his greatest nemesis and his greatest love in the same person.

Author's Note:Author’s Notes: Written for Slashy Santa, December 2007. Lots of sex, too much bravado, and love, of course. I assume a fist in the face isn’t the same as fisting. I hope you enjoy it and thanks for the challenge!

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Glorfindel leaned back upon his elbows and perused the scene before him. Clearly, the celebration had picked up a notch since Elrond had retired.

Elladan and Elrohir, bawds despite their rank and noble blood, were playfully pursuing an elleth who was no longer a maid, but not what one would call seasoned. His old warrior friend Gildor was in rare form, wooing a slightly drunk Erestor near the mead barrels, and Celeborn was regaling his warriors with tales of the Elder Days, causing the three Lórien brothers - Haldir, Rúmil, and Orophin - to roll their eyes, as it was easily the millionth time they had heard the tales.

“Some things never change,” Glorfindel murmured to himself.

Now that the Dark Lord was vanquished and the Days of the Eldar were ending, the denizens of Imladris, the last elven enclave on the way to the Grey Havens, were celebrating their final days in Middle-earth.

It was no wonder that Elrond retired – while the Lord of Imladris was happy to see Middle-earth safe, he had said a painful final farewell not so long ago to his only daughter, his Evenstar. Glorfindel could not imagine the anguish that must have caused his master – Elrond had always doted so on Arwen. Now he would soon leave her behind to a mortal life, never to be reunited with her. Celebrations must now have a hollow ring for him.

As for his own night’s entertainment, the golden-haired Elda watched the scene unfold before him, wondering whom he might take into his own bed. There were certainly many fine females present, elf-kind and human alike. A particularly buxom human woman was looking at him just that moment – she was one of the cellar maids. “Mmm, she might be good for a turn or two,” Glorfindel mused. “The ladies do like me so.” But also there were more handsome warriors than he could shake a stick at, and Haldir was staring as though he might like to do things better left unsaid in polite company.

Glorfindel made to rise and approach the senior marchwarden when something caught his eye in the courtyard.

A wisp of flaxen hair danced on the breeze, hugging the edge of a fine, dark, hooded cloak. While the cloak made the shape of the wearer impossible to see, the breadth and height of the hooded figure made it clear that the new arrival was clearly male and clearly elf-kind.

Intrigued, Glorfindel diverted his attention from the now disappointed marchwarden, who wouldn’t have any problem finding entertainment for the evening, and turned it toward the cloaked visitor. There was a bustle of activity around the stranger that could indicate only one thing.

Royalty.

The next realization came clearly and quickly, even before the figure turned around.

Thranduil.

A puff of air escaped Glorfindel’s lips as he breathed his clear disappointment. “Of all elves to arrive at this time…” he grumbled, “and I was enjoying myself.”

Taking a deep breath, Glorfindel put his fingers together and brought them to his lips to whistle for Erestor, but one look at his good friend told him that the councilor was in no state to be receiving officials.

Were it not for the stark difference in hair color, one might not have been able to differentiate between Erestor and Gildor, so tightly were their bodies entwined. Erestor’s dark hair fell over Gildor’s broad shoulder and his face was buried in the ranger’s neck; Gildor’s large, strong hands were firmly planted on Erestor’s pert, round backside – the couple would not be long at the party. Even Melpomaen, Erestor’s assistant, had Lindir nearly prone on one of the benches near the wisteria. It seemed everyone was to have a bawdy time but him.

“Enjoy,” he grumbled to his companions, and then turned to do his duty as second in Elrond’s household.

“I see I have arrived at an opportune time,” Thranduil said with a smirk as Glorfindel approached. “Is all this for my arrival?”

“No, my lord,” Glorfindel answered smoothly, choking on the ire that threatened to rise in his throat. “Celebrations are nightly occurrences now that we shall soon be journeying West.”

“Of course – I imagine that raucous celebrations do not often occur in a staid place such as Valinor.” Thranduil cast a glance around Glorfindel’s shoulder. “Pity, that. Best revel while we can.”

“Valinor is not so different from Middle-earth, my lord,” Glorfindel answered flatly. “Although I understand your concern, given your . . . reputation for excess.”

Thranduil grinned. “Are you attempting to spar with me, Glorfindel? Funny, I had always thought you despised me.”

“Despise, my lord? Nay, I would not use so strong a word.”

Thranduil laughed and tossed his hood back. “I see you are as honest as ever. Come, have a drink with me – consider it a test of your self-control.”

As Ithil’s light reflected in the Sinda’s eyes, Glorfindel found himself briefly distracted. He had never noticed how beautiful Thranduil’s eyes were before. He had noticed many things about Thranduil in the long years since they first met on the Morannon: his prowess with a sword, his fierceness on the battlefield, and his infuriating arrogance everywhere else – but Glorfindel had never noticed how beautiful the king was. “I must be growing soft in idleness,” he murmured under his breath.

“Come again?” Thranduil asked, paying only limited attention to the ancient warrior.

“I said nothing, my lord,” Glorfindel answered, crossing his arms over his chest and waiting for Thranduil to finish directing his entourage.

Thranduil removed his crown and tossed it to his chief adviser. “Take that, I have no further use of it. There is no need of kings where there are no kingdoms to rule.”

“What would your majesty like me to do with it?” the handsome, silver-haired Silvan advisor asked with a surprisingly impish grin.

“Store it somewhere. It might amuse me later,” Thranduil replied with a wink. Tossing his cloak back over his shoulders, he turned to Glorfindel. “Come, pretend I am no more than a plain warrior, a brother in arms, and pretend not to find my company utterly distasteful.” Raising one hand in the air he snapped his fingers, “You! Lusty wench! I find myself in need of a drink!”

A buxom woman who had been admiring Glorfindel earlier was now utterly entranced by the vision that approached her. “Women,” Glorfindel groused. “Such fickle creatures.”

* * * *

Glorfindel had resumed his place at the drinking tables, leaning back against his elbows and watching young women, young men, ellyth, and ellyn alike flirt shamelessly with the King of Eryn Lasgalen. Thranduil took little notice as he balanced a slender young human, a male in his late adolescence, upon his knee. “He likes them young,” the warrior grumbled under his voice, “easier to master, I imagine.” As he watched Thranduil seduce the helpless youth, Glorfindel overheard a few of his newer warriors talking behind him.

“Who is that?”

“I do not know but sweet Elbereth, what a body he has.”

“Look at the size of his hands, you know what they say about big hands…”

Glorfindel growled under his breath and turned to face his recruits. “That is Thranduil Oropherion, and I think he has spilled enough of his own blood in this life to earn some respect.”

“Forgive us, my lord,” the more outspoken of the recruits said as the small group slowly backed away.

Elladan plopped down beside Glorfindel; the peredhel smelled of soft, floral perfume. “I thought he drove you mad, and here you sit defending him.”

“Regardless of my personal feelings about him, he is of royal blood and has earned respect.”

“And he does have an amazing body. I wonder why Legolas is not so large? Of frame anyway,” Elladan added with a smirk.

Glorfindel cuffed his shoulder. “Have you no shame?”

Elladan grinned and straddled the warrior’s lap. “Of course not, you should know this by now,” he murmured as he tucked Glorfindel’s hair behind his ears.

“What happened to that pretty young elleth you and your brother were romancing?”

“Oh I imagine she is calling Elrohir’s name right about now in breathless fashion,” Elladan murmured, leaning forward and nuzzling the warrior’s ear.

“And is that she whom I smell on you?”

Elladan smiled wickedly. “She has already called my name.”

Glorfindel grasped Elladan’s backside and pulled him closer. “You are incorrigible.”

Elladan purred in satisfaction. “You know me well. Come, my teacher, let me brighten your evening, hmm?”

Glorfindel smiled despite his best efforts to be a sourpuss. “And how do you propose to do this?”

“I plan on drinking you dry, until you are weak in the knees.” The peredhel’s voice was a deep, smooth rumble that caused an ache in Glorfindel’s groin.

“You always did have a very talented mouth. Very well, show me what you are made of, young master.”

Elladan rolled his hips and answered with a low growl, “You know it excites me when you call me master.”

Glorfindel marked Elladan’s throat with his teeth. “Yes, I do.”

* * * *

Elrond stood looking out of a window in his bedchamber. The revelers had all found beds to go to, leaving no sound but the wind in the trees. His farewell to Arwen weighed heavy on his heart; his grief was almost dampened by the thought of seeing Celebrían again, but not quite.

“I had thought you would be at the celebration this night.”

Elrond smiled sadly, and without turning he answered, “You have arrived early.” With a quiet sigh he continued, “I find I am not in the mood for revelry.”

Strong hands came to rest upon his shoulders. “You have not been, not for many years.”

“I said farewell to my only daughter but two months ago.”

“And I said goodbye to my only son not long after.”

Elrond turned. “But you will see him again.”

“Aye, as long as he is not murdered by Easterlings, rogue bands of orcs, or Southrons while protecting the King of Gondor and Arnor.” Thranduil cocked his head. “You will see your wife again. That I shall never do.”

Elrond cupped Thranduil’s neck. “I have lost a daughter, and you a wife.”

“Loss is only measurable by the pain it causes those of us who yet survive. Your daughter, my wife – the pain is equal I think. The only difference is that I have had more time to get used to it.”

“Perhaps.”

“I have not yet decided whether or not I should forgive you for nearly getting my only child killed on that insane Ring Quest,” Thranduil said, the corners of his lips curving into a small smile.

“You and I both know he would have gone, whether I asked him to or not.”

“Aye, he would have followed that blasted Ranger anywhere, even unto the death. And now, now he is best friends with a dwarf. A dwarf, if you can believe it!”

Elrond laughed and shook his head. “Friends are valuable, regardless of their shape. That dwarf would follow Legolas, like good friends do, even unto the death.”

Thranduil smiled. “Aye, like I followed you through the Black Gates.”

Elrond nodded and smiled sadly. “Aye, like you followed me.” He embraced Thranduil tightly. “It is good to see you, my old friend.”

“Aye, ‘tis good to see you as well. I have missed our talks. Celeborn is not nearly as entertaining as you are. You know what is said about brevity.”

Elrond laughed aloud and clapped Thranduil on the back. “Come, have wine with me. I no longer sleep these days.” Thranduil followed the peredhel lord to his study. “Who received you upon your arrival?”

“Glorfindel,” Thranduil answered with a smirk.

“You really should reconsider him. He has served me well over these long years, and he is as loyal an elf as you will ever know.”

“And he has always thoroughly despised me, though I suppose I should give him credit for at least attempting to hide it. It is not how I feel about him that is the problem, it is quite the opposite – he wants nothing at all to do with me.” Accepting a goblet from Elrond he continued, “Anyway, last I saw him, he was preparing to fornicate with your eldest son.”

Elrond waved his ringed hand. “Yes, yes, they do that from time to time; they are not serious, they merely enjoy one another.”

“It is the younger of your two who has all of the sense – and the taste. He appeared to fancy my son for awhile.”

Elrond grinned and shook his head. “Elrohir is a most . . . wild and amorous young lord. I fear he fancies more individuals than he should.”

“Yes, well, that is something our sons have in common.”

“Yes, but yours took after you.”

Thranduil raised his goblet and the two lords clinked their glasses together. “You know me well, my friend.”

“And I like you well, Thranduil.”

“Ah, what will an old war horse like me do in the pastures of Aman? No kingdoms to rule, no orcs to hunt...”

“You should try settling down with a lover.”

“I am not the settling down type.”

“You were married once.”

“Aye, I was, but am no more, and that was but an anomaly. I doubt there is another in Eru’s creation who could tame me as she did. One look from her and I was utterly lost.”

“I know that feeling. The first time Celebrían smiled at me, I kid you not, I went weak in the knees.”

“Did you forget how to speak too?”

“Aye, I blathered like the village idiot.”

“Gods, I hate doing that; it is so undignified.”

“Me too.” Elrond chuckled and the two old friends whiled away the early morning hours drinking wine and watching Anor rise.

* * * *

Elladan raised his head and peered out from beneath a wild mane of hair. “Was that the bell for the morning meal?” he mumbled sleepily.

“I believe so,” Glorfindel answered groggily.

“We will be late, and Gildor will eat all of the melon.” Elladan made to rise but was caught fast around the waist.

“There will be no leaving the bed until I say so,” Glorfindel growled seductively, holding tight to the peredhel as he tried in vain to squirm away.

“Really, they will be expecting us and we need to… Oh, sweet Eru,” Elladan moaned.

The Elda’s large hand was firmly between his legs, slowly massaging and gently squeezing his arousal and the soft sac that lay beneath it. “Glor… oh, oh, oh gods… Glorfind…”

“I seem to find myself in need this morning, young master Elladan,” Glorfindel interrupted, covering Elladan’s body with his own. He clasped the peredhel’s hand and placed it between his legs.

“I see that,” Elladan moaned breathlessly. “Oddly enough, I find myself in much the same state.” He drew a hitching breath and moaned, rocking his hips against the warrior’s hand. “What should . . . we do . . . about it?” he breathed.

“I think I would like to ride you good and hard while pumping that smooth, long, thick, hard shaft of yours.”

“Oh, I so like it when you talk like that.”

“You’ll like it better when I’m pounding your backside.”

“So stop talking and get to work,” Elladan purred, then yelped in surprise as he was flipped to his stomach.

* * * *

It was late in the morning and most of Imladris’ denizens had broke their fast and left the table. Only Elrond, Thranduil, and Erestor remained as Glorfindel and Elladan finally arrived. Thranduil smirked as he took note of the gingerly way Elrond’s eldest son sat down; the Lord of Imladris merely shook his head and lowered his eyes, pretending not to notice.

“Good Eru, Glorfindel. You look as though you’ve just rolled out of bed,” Thranduil said with sufficient volume for all in the hall to hear.

Glorfindel glared at the Sinda and answered, “That would be because I just did. Might I say that you look a little worse for wear yourself? Took much advantage of our hospitality did you?”

“Not as much as you, I see. I am paying the price for drinking all night with your lord and master. I cannot drink like I once did in the elder days.” Elrond chuckled then rubbed his temples. Thranduil grinned. “Although I am not hurting nearly so well as our kind host here. There are times when that half-elven blood works against you, eh Elrond?”

Glorfindel sat straight up with an indignant expression. “You will take that back,” he growled.

Elrond put up his hand, “Glorfindel, really…”

Thranduil grinned. “My we are feeling cantankerous this morning aren’t we? I would have thought that young master Elladan would have worked that out of you, given the state he is in this morning.”

Glorfindel growled and his eyes turned nearly black with rage. Elladan placed his hand on the warrior’s arm. “Glorfindel…”

Glorfindel shrugged Elladan’s hand off and stood up, pushing his chair back. “I said, take that back, and take back what you have said about Elladan.”

“Elrond, I think your guard dog is preparing to bite my head off.”

“Dog? Dog, you call me? You impudent…”

“That is a bit excessive, do you not think, Thranduil?”

“Well, he is barking at me like…”

“That is it! For over an age I have borne your arrogance and superior attitude and said nothing out of respect for my Lord Elrond. Now you have not only insulted him, but you have insulted me. I am a noble elf of Gondolin and Imladris, I am commander of an army, and I will not be insulted. Outside. Now.”

Thranduil smirked and stood up. “It appears there will be fisticuffs – shall you bring some ale?” he asked Elrond.

“I had better bring my healing kit, I think,” Elrond answered. “Glorfindel, I must insist…”

“Insist what? That I bear insults from this, this, this arrogant toad?”

“Thranduil, do apologize. I am really in no mood to patch you up.”

“Oh, ye of little faith. How do you know it is not Glorfindel who will need patching up? I may be a little worse for wear, but I still have some fight in me.” Thranduil queried as he pushed his chair back.

“Thranduil, please…”

“Oh, all right. Master Elladan, I apologize for taking undue notice of how much enjoyment you have had of Glorfindel’s company.” Elladan smiled and nodded, tugging upon Glorfindel’s arm. “And Glorfindel, I…”

Thranduil was unable to finish his apology, as Glorfindel punched him squarely in the mouth, nearly knocking the Sinda off his feet.

“Glorfindel!” Elladan barked, grabbing the Elda’s arm and pulling him away from Thranduil.

“Sweet Elbereth!” Elrond placed his hand on Thranduil’s shoulder. “Are you all right, my old friend?” Thranduil put his hand up and slowly stood. His lip was bleeding and swollen.

“What? No witty comeback? It is difficult to speak when someone’s fist is in your mouth, is it not?” Glorfindel taunted.

“You will apologize, Glorfindel,” Elrond said sternly.

Thranduil shook his head, wiping the blood from his lip with the back of his hand. “No, he will not,” he answered. “He did what any warrior should do; frankly, I’m surprised he has not done this until now.” He looked at Glorfindel. “That is a powerful swing you have there. No wonder you are nearly undefeated on the battlefield.” The Elda merely growled at him. “I apologize for calling you a dog. Oh, and by the way, my quip about Elrond’s half-elven blood is an inside joke between him and me, so I do not feel compelled to apologize for that. Now, I shall go and change my tunic, it appears I have bled all over it. My chambermaid will be relieved when I stop doing this, I imagine.”

Thranduil left the dining hall, leaving a sheepish Glorfindel in his wake.

“Bollocks!” the Elda cursed. “I thought he insulted you,” he said to Elrond.

“And you would have realized he did not, had you not been spoiling for a fight. Just how long have you wanted to do that?”

“A good long time.”

“You misjudge him, Glorfindel.”

“I did not mistake his insult, even if I was mistaken about his remarks about you.”

“This, this is the result of idle warriors; no more enemies to fight, so you make them up. What are you going to do when you reach Aman and there are no enemies to vent your ire upon?”

“I do not know,” Glorfindel said quietly. “Forgive me, my lord. I shall go apologize for striking him.”

“Yes, you shall, presently.”

Glorfindel heaved a sigh and left the dining hall, looking utterly deflated.

Elrond approached Elladan and placed his hand upon his son’s shoulder. “Was it too much trouble to run a brush through your hair and change clothes, for Eru’s sake?”

Elladan shrugged as his father placed an arm around him, and they watched Glorfindel disappear into the hallway.

* * * *

Glorfindel knocked upon Thranduil’s door, dreading the apology that he was now honor-bound to deliver. He was not sure who he was angrier with, the Sinda for insulting him, or himself for allowing Thranduil to push him to violence. What was it about this elf that so maddened him?

“Come.”

Glorfindel turned the handle and opened the door to find the king coming out of his bathing chamber wearing nothing but a look of mild interest on his face. He could not help the long perusal of Thranduil’s body before he regained his senses and turned his back. “Forgive me, I did not realize…”

“Have you come to finish me off? Should I unsheathe my sword?”

“I . . . I,” Glorfindel stammered.

“Yes, you are you, and I am me. I think this is safely established.”

Glorfindel grunted in frustration. “I came to apologize, but clearly this is a bad time.”

“I told you and Elrond both that no apology is necessary,” Thranduil answered. “But now is as good a time as any, I suppose.”

“I did not realize that you would be…”

“Naked?”

“Well, yes. Do you always invite strangers into your chamber when you are nude?”

“Do I have something to be ashamed of?”

Glorfindel narrowed his eyes. “I do not know, do you?”

Thranduil chuckled. “Oh, I am sure that there are many things I have done that should give me cause to blush like a maid, but I assure you, my body is not something I am ashamed of.” Thranduil pulled a thin robe around him. “You can turn around, I am covered now.”

Glorfindel turned to face the Sinda. “You are fresh from the bath.”

“Aye, I decided I might as well bathe – I was up so late, or should I say early, that I never had the chance to wash the road from me.” A smile began to bloom on Thranduil’s lips. “You like what you see,” he said slowly, and then approached the Elda.

Glorfindel tried to gather his wits, but seeing Thranduil this way, with his hair unbound, barefoot, with no rings or trappings of state, made him look almost . . . vulnerable. “I . . . I…”

Thranduil circled Glorfindel, taking a good, long look at the warrior. “By Eru, you are a magnificent creature. I have long thought that you were beautiful, but I have never been allowed so close a look until now. I had never considered taking a beating for the opportunity.”

Glorfindel could smell lavender and rosemary in the Sinda’s flaxen hair, he could see the play of Thranduil’s muscles beneath the thin robe he wore, and when the king came to a stop in front of him, he was nearly riveted to the spot by the look in his eyes. He swallowed hard and said, “Apparently I am not the only one who likes what I see.”

Thranduil’s lips slowly curved into a feral smile. “Not by a long shot, my warrior.” Thranduil reached up and ran the backs of his fingers along Glorfindel’s jaw. “What has kept us apart so long?”

Glorfindel also reached out and he gently caressed Thranduil’s still swollen lip with his thumb. “Your mouth.”

“Ah yes, my razor sharp, acerbic wit.” He smiled again. “Then both the hit and this kiss are fitting to close the gap between us.” Slipping his hand behind Glorfindel’s neck, he drew the warrior’s lips to his own.

A deep moan passed between them as Glorfindel carefully moved his mouth over Thranduil’s, tasting just a little acrid blood where the king’s flesh had not yet healed. His hands were on Thranduil’s back, feeling the movement of his muscles beneath the slippery silk, fingers gripping the rippling muscles as the Sinda arched his back. Thranduil’s hands were in his hair, fisting it tightly as the king’s tongue slid inside his mouth.

It was a deep, lingering kiss, and as they parted, Thranduil whispered, “Love and hate, it is desire that fuels both.”

Before Glorfindel could think, he whispered in response, “I do not hate you.”

“I did not say you did,” Thranduil murmured, rising to the balls of his feet so that he and the Elda were eye to eye. “Nor do you love me – how could you? You do not know me.”

“I am not sure I want to know you,” Glorfindel answered in a low whisper.

“Afraid, are you?”

“I fear nothing.”

“So you say, but I wager that I can give you something to fear.”

Glorfindel reached for the king with his mouth, but Thranduil stayed just out of reach. “Like what?” the warrior asked.

“Loss of control. Have you ever not had control, Glorfindel?”

“Of course. No one can control everything.”

Turning his head and nuzzling the warrior’s ear, Thranduil murmured, “But have you ever lost control of your desire?”

Glorfindel swallowed. “No.”

A deep, soft, sensual laugh escaped Thranduil’s lips. “Well, you are about to, my golden beauty.”

Grasping Glorfindel by the tunic, Thranduil pulled him to the bed and pushed him down, before the warrior had time to react. By the look on Glorfindel’s face, Thranduil surmised that he was most definitely up for an early afternoon romp – surprising given how the warrior had clearly spent his morning.

Straddling the Elda’s hips, Thranduil began unbuttoning his tunic. “Well, I will give you this, stamina is something you do not lack.”

Glorfindel smiled wolfishly. “I find myself having an excess of energy, now that I am no longer spending it on the battlefield.”

“That makes two of us, my fine beast.”

“Why do you insist on belittling me like that?” Glorfindel asked with a frown.

“Belittling? Is that what you think I am doing?”

“First you call me a dog, now a beast…”

“Oh no, my magnificent warrior. What I am most attracted to about you is your feral nature, that you seek to rein in at every opportunity.”

“To act on carnal instincts is to lower ourselves,” Glorfindel answered, covering Thranduil’s hands with his own and ceasing their activity.

Thranduil leaned down so that his hair hung around their faces like a veil. His expression changed from one of smug seduction to gentle openness. “No, my beauty,” he said softly. “Those carnal instincts are part of who we are, without them, we would be no better than austere marble statues or stoic tapestries of history. The carnal inside us is what makes us warm, what makes us alive, what gives us courage and passion for life, and it is what makes us imperfect.” With a gentle caress to the warrior’s cheek, he continued, “and what is more beautiful than imperfection?”

Glorfindel was stunned. He had often wondered how so smug and arrogant an elf could have raised so wise and giving a son as Legolas – this was a side to Thranduil that he did not know existed until that very moment. “I had never thought…”

“That I could have a single profound thought in my head?” Thranduil finished. Glorfindel felt his cheeks grow hot. “Aye, I know well your opinion of me, though you have tried to hide it,” Thranduil continued. “Perhaps I would have shared the same of you, had your lord not given me insight to who you really are. Why do you think that after all these years, I still seek conversation, contact, with you?”

“I thought you took pleasure in annoying me.”

Thranduil stretched out and draped his leg across Glorfindel. “I have been trying, all these years, to summon the courage to say what I just said. Yet, I lacked that courage, and so I resorted to jibes. Better verbal sparring than silence from you.”

Glorfindel swallowed and closed his eyes, then tentatively wrapped an arm around Thranduil. “For many years now, Lord Elrond has tried to get me to see that there was good in you, but I was too blind. I knew he loved you like a brother, and I never understood why, save you risked your life to protect his in battle.” He reached out and cupped Thranduil’s cheek, drawing the Sinda’s face closer to his own. “You have truly wanted me, all this time?”

Thranduil smiled. “Aye, I have. How could I not? Just look at you. You are beautiful, noble, brave, honest to a fault, fiercely protective of those you love…”

“I want you,” Glorfindel said in a low murmur, “but there is something inside you that frightens me.”

“What do you think it is?” Thranduil asked, drawing closer to the warrior’s lips.

“Fire. Heat. Passion that will consume me.”

Thranduil teased Glorfindel’s lips with his tongue. “Then burn, my beauty. You will not burn alone.”

The ache in Glorfindel’s loins was overwhelming, his heart pounded against the walls of his chest, and succumbing to the Sinda’s charms, he leapt into the flames.

He sat up, allowing Thranduil to pull his tunic from his body, then lifted his hips and kicked off his boots. The king deftly slipped his tight breeches past his hips and off his legs, revealing his turgid arousal. Thranduil’s robe was easily discarded, and then nothing else came between them – they were skin against skin, hands and mouths eagerly discovering one another.

Glorfindel pressed his fingertips into Thranduil’s skin, watching the Sinda arch into his hands as he raked Thranduil’s muscular chest. A mane of flaxen hair, the color of the autumn grasslands of Rohan, was spread around Thranduil’s beautiful face like a halo of pale gold; eyes that had deepened to a rich shade of midnight blue, peered from beneath heavy lids, luscious, soft lips that were parted in mounting passion – drowning, Glorfindel was drowning and he did not even try to fight it. He kissed and held, caressed and tasted, pressed their bodies together as the world fell away and all that was left was this fire, this heat, this passion that both drove him on and utterly undid him.

Thranduil allowed the warrior whatever he wanted, he breathed deeply, recognizing what was happening between them – it had happened to him once before, long ago. “All of me,” he breathed, “take it all, you can have it all.” He groaned as his body was breached and he plunged his hands into Glorfindel’s golden mane, holding on as if he were falling, but then he was falling, and there was no stopping it, no end, just one long, beautiful, eternal fall. His fingers dug into the warrior’s powerful back, feeling muscles ripple beneath his hands, hearing deep groans that verged on sorrow and agony.

Falling in love was always hard, but it was hardest the first time.

Glorfindel came with an anguished cry, and Thranduil’s rapture followed hard upon it. In silence they lay together, arms and legs entwined. Thranduil drew slow circles in the sweat of Glorfindel’s back, closing his eyes as the warrior’s lips softly caressed the juncture of his neck and shoulder.

“What becomes of us now?” Thranduil asked softly.

“We go home,” Glorfindel murmured.

“I had never thought of Aman as home before.”

Glorfindel lifted his head and smiled gently. “We shall make such a home there. Green meadows and dense forests will be our lands. We will build a home with our hands, you and I, and when Legolas comes, we will help him build one too. He will need us – he will have lost his dearest friends.”

Thranduil smiled and felt tears sting his eyes. “I love you, Glorfindel. I suppose I have for a long time, in one way or another.”

Glorfindel smiled in return and kissed his lover. “I love you as well, Thranduil. I have never been in love before.”

Thranduil kissed him sweetly. “Then I shall teach you.”

~Finis