A Slasher's Journal

LotR fic repost: Quivering hips

2009-11-08T20:36:34Z

Title: Quivering Hips
Author: Eremir (eremir82@yahoo.se)
Pairings: Legolas/Aragorn, Legolas/Boromir
Rating: NC17
Wordcount: ~2,500
Summary: One of the winning contributions to the Library Of Moria Badfic-Challenge 2004.
Warnings: Ehm...ick? Very, very bad writing and severe overuse of clichés.
Notes: I tried my best to do my worst. Enjoy (or not).

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Legolas pranced across the meadow, like a jolly schoolgirl eagerly anticipating her first homework, and giggled loudly with severe merriment as he was thinking naughty elf lovemaking thoughts about his furry mortal bushman friend. Aragorn Estel Elessar Strider Longshanks of Arathornson was waiting for him.

In the meantime, Elessar Estel Strider Aragorn Arathornson of Longshanks was hornily awaiting his prissy pointy-eared love bunny under the shade of a thick-membered tree. “Thick and sturdy, like my very own peepee,” the ruddy man said to the tree, posing in front of it and gesturing with his hand at the same time as his hardened stick of joy was pointing friskily at it. Aragorn, son of his father and brother of no one, swayed his hips and let his swollen penis wave back and forth like the pendulum of a Swiss clock (not that they had Swiss clocks in middle earth, but when raised in Imladris there was a similar clock in his stepfather Elrond’s study, but that would be too complicated to put in this sentence), and let a cool breeze play over his cherry-red cockberry.

“You would not let the wind take the place of my hot, wet insides upon your manly rod, would you?” Legolas asked the man giddily as he approached, his own love rod already spewing out slimy precum inside his overly tight leggings.

“Well then, come over here and let me expand your rectum with my veiny handle of flesh,” said Aragorn Arathornson of Dúnedain with his most sexy voice, and obscenely wetted his lips with a wormlike pink tongue as he was masturbating in front of his elven cuddle puff.

Legolas skipped over to his mortal loverboy, dropping his clothes along the way, stripping fast and sensuous, as if his name was Lola Humpalot and not in fact Legolas Greenleaf. Standing butt-naked opposite each other, their dickheads kissing one another while drooling white goo onto the ground, their bodies made the form of an H in ying-yang sort of way, considering their differences in skin colour.

“Now, you man-slut of an elf,” said Aragorn son of the heir of Isildur, or some other important guy, and grinned widely, showing as many as possible of his yellowish brown ranger-nubs (which the elf found a big turn-on). “Turn around so I can gawp at your pouty buns.”

Legolas chuckled happily and twirled around, sticking out his arse for the ranger to grope. “My buns are at your command, my rude rump-rider,” Legolas said to the man with a thousand names. “Paw me.”

Aragorn Elessar Dúnedain of Arathornshanks greedily grabbed hold of twin cups of elf meat and fondled them harshly, as if he was kneading very tough dough into elvish bottom-bread. The elf groaned like a flatulent dog as his butt-cheeks were spread open like cupboard doors, leaving his wrinkled love grotto exposed and vulnerable to intruders.

Aroused, Estel Aragorn of Longstrider (or whatever the hell his name is), stuck two fingers through the brown eye, and groped them around inside Legolas’ hot anus. When the elf moaned his lust, the man’s wing-wang twitched like a mare’s vulva during mating season. He pulled out his digits with a loud plopping sound, like a cork being pulled from a bottle, and turned his boy toy around.

“Fall upon your knees and worship the pink snake. Treat him well, and he might bless you with salty cream.” Elessar Strider Aragornson pushed down the elf, who eagerly began praising his lordship Captain Winkie. Putting the lollipop-like cockhead past his lips, he swallowed the dingeling whole, his teeth getting caught in the rough curls at the man’s root.

“Yes,” hissed Strider Longshanks of Dúnedain. “Sheath my passion sword in your oral places.” As the elf painfully retreated, he ripped out several hairs in a primitive bikini-wax. Black pubes stuck in his perfect teeth, like a fly in a $50 glass of champagne, he continued suckling the pulsating man-teat.

Aragorn Estel Arathornson of Stridershanks came like a fountain, squirting milk-like ooze onto Legolas’ porcelain features, aiming at any and every orifice in his head. Sticky slime covered his face and trickled down a pale chest, much like when a child has had too much ice cream. He smeared the white nut butter over his erect nipples and loudly slurped the last sperm soup out of the now flabby dangler.

“Honey-buns?!” came a silly, British voice from the meadow. “Where is my puss...” Boromir stumbled upon the two sodomists, wet with man juice, and froze in shock. Legolas merely turned his head, looked at the man, and licked a snotty string of cum that was dangling from his curved bottom lip. He slurped it up and swallowed a few times, forcing the sticky substance down his fuckable throat.

“But...but...but...but...” the Gondorian soldier stuttered helplessly, like a total retard, and nearly began blubbering.

“Oh, Boromir, don’t be pathetic,” said Legolas and got to his feet. Meanwhile, Aragorn Estel of Arathorn slumped down on his arse and commenced scratching his crotch vigorously, as if he were an ape, and didn’t seem to bother about bruising Boromir’s brittle pride.

“You said I was your special someone,” the steward whined, as Legolas walked towards him with big puppy-dog eyes.

“Boromir, darling,” he said, as softly as if he was wiping a baby’s bottom with it. “Do you not realize I was practising for you?”

“What?” Boromir sniffled in his palms and blinked the tears out of his eyes.

“You want me to be good at satisfying you, do you not?” he said innocently and started shuffling his feet. “You always tell me ‘practise makes perfect’, so I thought...”

“Oh my shite,” exclaimed the man quietly, and glanced over at where the ape was sitting, now picking his nose and flicking the boogers with his fingers. “This was my fault!”

“I’m sorry, sweetie. You never said I shouldn’t practise sex like I practise swordplay. Safely and regularly.” Legolas waved thick lashes at the man and spoke in a strained childlike voice.

The Gondorian claimed his soiled lover in a possessive embrace, smearing Aragorn’s little soldiers all over his armour. Legolas smiled contented, and suppressed an evil giggle. He could play Boromir like a fiddle. Actually he couldn’t play the fiddle, so a flute then. But ‘he could play him like a flute’ doesn’t have a very nice ring to it, does it?

The apelike Dúnedain merrily lifted his leg and farted loudly, after which he broke into a fit of laughter, spoiling Boromir’s romantic moment. The Gondorian let Legolas go, and realized the other man’s seamen was all over them both. “Eewwwww!” At the same time the smell of Aragorn’s bio-hazardous gases reached his protruding nose hairs, and he was compelled to flee the clearing, dragging the nude pixie with him. Aragorn’s hysterical laughter echoed between the trees as they hurried away.

The steward had trouble running with the fat hump that grew in his groin. He needed to bugger the elf right away. Dragging him into a clearing, he pulled the blond person into his arms and frenched him wetly, Elessar’s unborn children clinging in his beard.

“Oh, my manly man you,” Legolas breathed hotly. “You kiss almost as good as Éomer!”

“What?!?!?!”

“Oh! Ehmm...I...I snogged him once...no big deal,” Legolas tried to sound innocent while fondling Boromir’s wiggling flesh-rope through his leather undies.

“No big deal!?!?! Oh, that feels good..... How many mortals have you porked exactly?!?!?! Oooooh, lower....yes... You’re a whore!!!! More.... You dirty slut....yes....”

The arrow-shooting type elf worked his bony fingers over Boromir’s delicate urinating-instrument, to fully inflate it with blood. Legolas grinned as the man melted before him, turning into play-dough in his hands. He could turn Boromir on like one switches the light on in a dark room. Well, they didn’t exactly have light switches in middle earth either, but you get the point. Skilfully, Legolas played the meat-flute until it sang with juices.

“Do you want to conquer my secret tunnel?” he asked the Gondorian idiot and rubbed up against him like a cat in heat. “Do you want to knife me with your throbbing sex-blade?” The man groaned like a cow with indigestion, and nodded feverishly.

“Yes, but tell me honey-puff,” he panted. “How many has been there before me?”

“Oh,” the elf stopped his ministrations. “Let me see...” He started counting on his fingers. “Well, I am nearly three thousand years old... If I’m lucky I meet three new men each year... plus the average elves I fuck... So that would be...”

“Oh, forget it!” Boromir yelled and tossed the pointy eared neverdying magical being to the earth. “I will claim your love-seat now!”

“Finally!” Legolas propped himself on his elbows and watched as the man undressed. After endless seconds, the tower of Ecthelion was at last revealed. The blue or brown eyes the elf possessed widened with delight. “It is like a big, floppy donkey dick!”

“Why thank you,” the man proudly strutted to show off his organ. “I grew it myself.”

“But have you the power to wield it, I wonder,” the blond boy teased.

“I will show you my power, slut. I will boldly go where no man... boldly go... Oh, sod it! Just turn over and stick your arse up!”

“Yes, sir!” Leggy exclaimed, and did as he was told, pouting his shiny globes to the sky. He wiggled his quivering hips at the man, urging him to seize his bunghole.

The aroused steward snorted like a wild boar at the sight of the slutty prince, swaying his bum so temptingly, like a carrot in front of a horse. Or an ass in front of a mortal, whatever sounds more tempting. Boromir knelt between hairless, girlish limbs, and poked his fingers in a sweaty cleft. The elf moaned and pushed back, slurping up the man’s fingers in a tight, warm grip.

“Ow...darling...my knuckles..”

“Sorry sweetie,” Legolas said adoringly, and relaxed his throbbing sphincter. The man’s fingers exited with the sound of a balloon letting its air out, and he held his crushed phalanges tenderly.

“Wow, elf. Some grip you got there.” The hot elf giggled in response.

“Can’t wait to force your sausage between my buns, can you? You want to squirt your pale mustard inside me, don’t you?”

“I love it when you talk dirty!” Boromir said, and dove his face into Legolas’ wet crack, tonguing him deeply. The pointy prince squeaked with pleasure as the slimy mollusc wiggled through his rectum, mimicking the movement of a maggot moving through dung. The elf proceeded in moaning and groaning and making all those other sounds that are associated with sexual activity. Much like when you hear what mom and dad are doing through the wall, and you cover your ears going ‘lalalalalalalalalalalalalalala....’

“Have mercy upon my odourless colon!” Legolas cried desperately. “I need your blunt pleasure-staff inside me!”

Boromir was not late to comply. He grabbed one last slurp of Legolas’ tight ass, before positioning himself to impale the white creature on his wood stake. He held his breath when he pushed the head of his cock through the tight ring (that is the tip of his dick, not the head of an actual cock!).

“By the horn of Gondor! You are as tight as a fourteen year old boy!” groaned the steward as he pulled at the elf’s hips to sheathe his passion-poker in warm flesh.

“And have you stuck your horn in many fourteen year old boys, son of Gondor?” asked the Leggy blonde, trying to keep a straight face while the man’s pole was pushing against his ‘hidden spot’.

“Well,” panted the man. “I did my brother Fa... I mean I did my fa... I mean... Oh, stuff it! Be quiet!” Legolas giggled impishly and clamped his inner muscles around the invasive stick of meat, causing the Gondorian to swear some more.

“You are so articulate, my furry knight,” said the elf.

Boromir slapped Legolas on his tempting butt several times, until red hand marks appeared on the impossibly smooth, soft, pale, perfect skin all elves apparently possess. Gripping his greedy hands on sweat covered flanks, he began pumping his mighty organ in and out, in and out, in and out, in and out. The elf ooooh’ed and aaaah’d to this repetitive thrusting in his rear compartment.

“Faster! Harder! Deeper! Longer! Better!” the pointy eared bimbo’s cries seemed to encourage the smelly man behind him to try harder to please the insatiable immortal. Did that sentence make any sense at all? So anyway... where were we? Oh, right. They’re doin’ the nasty. Humpin’, and pumpin’, and doin’ it, and.... sorry.

As Boromir, the man with only one name, was jabbing his third leg into a childlike behind, the beautiful, immortal, annoyingly perfect elf was writhing with delirious ecstasy. Doing the prince doggie-style was a power rush for the otherwise powerless coward of a mortal. He grabbed onto yellowish hair, and began thrusting in a new angle, hitting ‘that secret spot’ inside the tight passage.

“Scream for me, baby!” the man demanded.

“I am an adult!” cried the elf, protesting the term.

“Shut up and scream for me!” Boromir panted between thrusts, rubbing hard on the elf’s ‘hidden gland’.

“How can I shut up and scream at the same time?” the elf groaned as he neared his climax.

“God damn it, just scream will you! Jeeez!”

The elf tried his best to supply a satisfactory scream, and set the man over the edge. Hot cream spurted against ‘his secret spot’, filling his love canal with more doomed genetic material. The sated mortal collapsed, forcing his weight on top of the lean sex-machine below him, causing his elf to fall flat on his belly. That last bit of pressure on his ‘hidden pleasure spot’ made him cry out legitimately, and spill his own little swim-team on the ground.

After a few seconds of heavy breathing, the man’s flabby meat-dangler blopped out of the stretched anus where it previously had been resting, and the steward that would never be king rolled off his sodomised companion. The forever-young immortal sighed with relief, and rolled over on his back, exposing a sticky blotch of sperm-cocktail on his front.

The man with no more names than his first, pulled the elf close, and they cuddled up to each other, fingering the other’s hair.

“Am I really your special someone?” asked Boromir hopefully.

“Until you die, or I find someone better,” the elf answered calmly. The man’s brow furrowed, and he seemed to be thinking. An action quite unusual for the Gondorian. Finally he shrugged.

“That’s good enough for me. I love you, puppy!”

“I am an Elf!”

“I didn’t mean... you... Oh, shut up!” The elf giggled and spat out a few lingering pubic hairs from his teeth.

“You are so eloquent, my hairy beast,” the elf said, furling his hands in golden brown chest hair.

And so the couple snuggled. The fellowship proceeded with their perilous journey. Boromir died, and Aragorn Elessar Estel Longshanks Arathornson of Dúnedain became king of the apes. Sorry; men. Eventually, Legolas married Gimli and they lived happily ever after. They sailed into the west on a grey ship, and lived happily ever after. I said that already didn’t I? Bugger.

Not to be continued... ever.

LotR fic repost: Revenge is Threefold

2009-11-08T20:11:13Z

Title: Revenge Is Threefold
Author: Eremir (eremir82@yahoo.se)
Pairings: Legolas/Grima/Lurtz
Rating: NC17
Wordcount: ~2,300
Summary: Legolas has been hunting the surviving Urûk-hai to avenge the death of Boromir, with a little help from an unexpected ally.
Warnings: PWP, bondage, severe kink
Disclaimer: Not mine. Never happened.
Feedback: Always appreciated
Notes: Written for the Library of Moria Threesome Challenge, January 2005. Going for weirdest threesome, if you didn’t get that already. ;) Beta’d by the one and only half_elf_lost. Love you!

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“Where is he, you wretched worm?” Legolas spat, pushing the frightened man against the wall.

“My Lord,” Grima stuttered, “I swore to find him for you, and I have. Just as I promised, my Prince.”

“If you’re lying to me...” Legolas threatened, his eyes blazing with fury. Grima cowered against the wall, showing his submission.

“No, I swear!” Legolas eased his grip on the wormtongue, letting him regain his footing, but kept his eyes fixed on him, looking for any trace of treachery. “I swear... I did what you asked. Some of Éomer’s men caught him fleeing towards Fangorn, and they were going to kill him. I told them you wanted him alive. They did not believe me at first, but I persuaded them. He is being held in a tent at the nearest outpost, awaiting your word of doom, my Prince.”

“You will take me there,” Legolas ordered, his blood boiling with anticipation. His time for vengeance had finally come. He had lusted for that Urûk-hai’s blood since the moment Boromir drew his last breath. Now he would pay.

Legolas rode with Grima well into the night, until they reached the outpost on the edge of the forest. The elf hoped that the Rohirrim guards had not taken liberties with his captive. Lurtz was his, and only his. He would make that orc suffer. Looking over at the dark man riding next to him, he wondered what had driven him to swear allegiance to the evil wizard Saruman. It seemed the man was easily persuaded to change sides, but could therefore never be trusted. Legolas would not let him out of his sight again.

When they approached the camp, Legolas could only see four men. As he got off his horse and looked around, he saw no others. This was good. “Where is the prisoner?” he commanded, the four men starting at his voice.

“O...over there...” one of the men said shakily. The young man of Rohan had never even seen an elf before, and feared what might happen if he was to anger one. The man pointed towards a tent at the other side of camp, a bit away from the rest. Muffled growls and snarls could be heard from the direction in which the young man was pointing, and Legolas had an overwhelming urge to grin, but restrained himself. Instead he turned to face the men.

“I do not want anyone coming near that tent, do you understand? No one comes near, no matter what you hear. Is that perfectly clear?” The four Rohirrim nodded nervously. “You!” He grabbed Grima by his cloak. “You’re coming with me.” Dragging the anxious traitor with him, he moved towards the tent with steady steps. The guards watched the two figures disappear behind the heavy drapes of the tent, and then collectively exhaled, relieved.

Legolas was very pleased. His captive, the Urûk-hai Captain, was on his back. Hands and feet tied to the ground. Fierce eyes looked up as they entered, and the orc bared his teeth with a throaty growl. His armour had been removed; all he wore was a soiled loincloth. Remnants of war paint were still visible on certain parts of his dark body, and fresh battle scars marred his skin. Now Legolas allowed himself to grin, gazing down on this helpless creature.

“You are mine now, orc,” Legolas said commandingly, and pressed the heel of his boot against Lurtz’ throat, keeping him pinned to the ground. The elf stood calmly, and waited for the beast to settle down. When the orc no longer struggled, Legolas squatted beside him, letting a feather light touch of fingers ghost over the sweaty skin on the chest. So ugly this creature was. An abomination against nature. But the elf felt the energy surging through the orc. A life force just like any other. Strong and wilful. Legolas wanted to take that away.

Legolas stood and walked over to Grima, who was cowering at the far end of the tent. The dark traitor watched intensely as the elf removed his weapons, his jerkin, and his boots, laying them down on the floor. “What are you doing?” he asked, but the elf only smiled mysteriously and turned his attention back to the ogre on the ground. “Are you not going to kill him?” The elf was acting rather peculiar, Grima thought.

“Not just yet, worm.” Legolas looked back at the traitor. “My ada always told me to play with my food.” Again, that mysterious smile. Grima was not sure what was going to happen, but he had to admit, he was very intrigued. He stepped closer to the bitter enemies that were staring aggressively at each other, not entirely certain he wanted to. He was utterly surprised at what the elf did next.

Legolas sat down to straddle the bound urûk over the stomach, leaning forward over him so the long blond hair nearly tickled the orc’s face. He smiled arrogantly, and the Urûk-hai captain was too confused to protest. He merely stared at the elf with predatory eyes, breathing heavily with anticipation. After a few seconds of intently watching the orc, Legolas straightened up on his comfortable seat of muscle and flesh. Reaching behind him, his soft hand found a smooth thigh. Never taking his eyes off the gleaming orc stare, elven fingers travelled upwards. Dirty cloth was pushed aside, and the elf found what he was looking for.

Grima started back when the first loud roar vibrated through the air, thinking that the elf must have seriously harmed the creature. But when the wormtongue found the courage to open his eyes, he saw the orc tossing his head back and forth, grunting with pleasure from every stroke the elf bestowed upon him. The foul beast bucked underneath his captor, thrusting to get more friction. Legolas just sat there, mesmerized, while the urûk growled and snarled in his heat.

“What are you doing!?” Grima shrieked in terror, not understanding what was going on.

“I’m playing with my food, Grima,” Legolas answered, the orc panting heavily below him. “Do you want to help me?” Grima shook his head, horrified. Why would a creature of such pure beauty ever lay hands on the wretched scum of Saruman’s doing? The traitor did not understand this. An elven prince and a filthy orc. Repulsive.

When Grima had to some extent regained his mental presence, he saw that Legolas had bereft himself of the rest of his clothing, and was now removing the urûk’s loincloth. Grima wanted to shout ‘NO’, but he remained frozen at the sight of the perfectly sculpted body of the Sindarin elf. The beautiful white hands that caressed dark skin. It was so wrong, but so beautiful. The elf appeared to be anointing the orc’s erection with something, oil perhaps, and the beast was thoroughly enjoying himself. When Legolas had finished, he slid back up to straddle his prisoner.

Again, Grima wanted to shout in agony to stop the elf from doing what he was about to, but not a sound left his lips. He watched with growing interest as the elf impaled himself on the rigid shaft, groaning in sync with the orc’s pleased roar. Tiny beads of sweat broke out on Legolas’ brow, and Grima feared he was hurt. The urûk was no slender build. Legolas sat still, panting, and adjusting to the volume of flesh that filled him. Lurtz tried to grind his hips, desperately wanting the elf to move.

Slowly, Legolas started to move. Grima saw the orc twisting his hands in their restraints, knowing exactly what the beast felt. He wanted to touch the elf. To lay his hands on that perfect, creamy skin, and feel its warmth radiate through him. Grima knew, because he had wanted the same thing since first he saw the elf. The prince was a sight. Sweating and groaning as he moved so sensuously. Grima wished then that it was he who was meeting this sweet doom.

Legolas leaned heavily on his arms, clamping his internal muscles to prolong the orc’s suffering. The elf could feel the energy building up inside the beast, and he knew that it would soon be over. Looking over at the traitor from Isengard, he could see the want in his cold eyes. The ill advisor had a predilection for things of beauty, and Legolas saw himself reflected in the worm’s face. Perhaps it was time to take another piece of his father’s advice and put it to good use. ‘If you want a dog to be loyal, better to pet it than to beat it.’

“Grima...” Legolas groaned. “Come here...”

Grima somehow moved without knowing how, and a hot, sweaty hand lashed onto his. Legolas pulled him down, and before he realized it, he was sitting behind the elf, straddling massive Urûk-hai legs. Not able to resist any longer, Grima threw caution to the wind and laid his hands on that warm body in front of him.

Legolas shivered. The fell counsellor’s hands were cold and clammy, just as Legolas had expected them to be, but it was all he needed to cool his skin. The hot shaft throbbing inside him burned through every vein. The beast howled in frustration when Legolas paused, but Grima took his time to discover every sensation of the elf’s form. Quivering hands moved over sweaty skin. As the palms brushed sensitive nipples, Legolas could take no more.

“Take me!” he whimpered, and Grima stopped, bewildered. “Take me, Grima! Now!”

“But...he’s still inside you,” the wormtongue whispered against hot skin. A soft chuckle was heard from in front, and blue eyes looked over a glistening shoulder.

“I am an Elf. I can take it.”

Grima was not sure he should, but his member could go unattended no longer. He fumbled to part his robes and was finally able to free the wicked worm. Seeing the vial of oil, he hastily poured some on himself before wrapping an arm around the elf’s waist and starting to push in. Legolas screamed and Lurtz roared, Grima himself blinded with passion and pain from the immense pressure on his arousal. The elf fell forward onto his captive, mistakenly leaving his shoulder within biting range. But the teeth sinking into his flesh were not half as painful as the assault on his swollen inner gland.

Grima could not keep his hands from shaking. The image in front of him was far too arousing. He moved with short jerks, barely having any room inside the elf. Grabbing Legolas’ hips, he tried to sway them back and forth, eventually creating a rhythm that was more pleasurable for all three of them. Legolas’ arms shook fiercely as he braced himself upon them, barely able to stay sane with all the sexual sensations that enveloped him. The two pounding erections inside him, a hot mouth sucking the blood from his shoulder, cold hands on his hips, soft fabric against his back, the predator below him and the serpent behind. Legolas could hold on no longer.

With a painful scream he released his orgasm, clenching his inner muscles around the intruders, forcing them to cry out along with him. As the urûk howled one last time, Grima shot his essence deep inside the dark tunnel of his elven lover, and three bodies collapsed on one another in the tent at the edge of the Rohirrim outpost.

When all was still, the shaken advisor was able to get off the pile of bodies and sat beside them, tucking himself in. He felt so incredibly rejuvenated that he almost wanted to get up and do a little dance. He nearly chuckled at himself for even imagining it. An eerie silence settled, and Grima got worried when Legolas did not move. “My Prince?” he whispered, and laid a hand on the now cool back.

“Look at him, Grima,” Legolas said, and sat up straight on top of his victim. Grima looked over the elf’s shoulder, and saw that the urûk was not breathing. Yellow eyes stared into nothingness.

“Is he....”

“Dead,” Legolas grinned smugly, and slapped the lifeless face as if to prove his point.

Grima moved closer, almost feeling the need to hug the elf for comfort. Why, he did not know. Grima did not mourn the creature, not at all. But neither could he understand what had happened. “How?” he asked, resting his chin on the muscular shoulder, which he noticed was covered in blood.

“Have you ever heard it told that elves who are raped die?” Grima nodded. “Well, I am sure you have not heard that some elves who are raped kill their attacker instead, forcing their agony on another soul.”

“So...what did you do? This was no rape.”

“No. But the methods are similar. I simply stole his life force. His energy. His very being. When he was at his most vulnerable I broke down his defences and took from him what he was never meant to have in the first place.”

“But...what about me?” Legolas petted Grima on the cheek and smiled at him.

“I shared him with you. As a reward. Can you not feel it? Do you not feel young and strong and beautiful?”

“I feel it.” Grima nodded, completely stunned. “Could you not have killed me also?”

“If I had wanted to,” Legolas said, and got up to clean off in the bowl of water that stood in the corner.

“Why this way? Why not just cut his head off? Would that not be simpler? Why couple with an orc?”

“Grima, my friend,” Legolas smiled mysteriously, wiping his shoulder with a towel. “Why do you think elves live so long?”

LotR fic repost - A Waterproof Arrangement

2009-11-02T21:45:34Z

Title: A Waterproof Arrangement
Author: Eremir
Pairings: Thranduil/Glorfindel
Rating: NC17
Wordcount: ~7,900
Summary: Glorfindel is left to baby-sit a very grumpy king. What happens when his patience runs out?
Warnings: Smut, PWP
Disclaimer: All characters, names and places belong to Tolkien; I’m merely having my way with them and will bring them back alive and unspoiled.
Notes: Written for the Library of Moria Water Challenge, April 2005.
Beta’d by the insatiable half_elf_lost.

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Glorfindel was tired. So very tired. It had been a long week of meetings and councils, and as Elrond’s seneschal he had been forced to attend every single one. The Mirkwood party had been the most difficult. King Thranduil had only contempt for the Noldor in Imladris, and he was trying to broker unfair compromises in the trade negotiations. The Sindarin ruler had exhausted everyone. Glorfindel had not even tried to hide his relief when he heard that the king was leaving. But that changed.

Thranduil wanted to go home, but insisted his advisors stay and finish the negotiations. The advisors and Elrond however did not want the Sinda to travel through perilous woods alone, and was adamant that he take a warrior with him. And who was the most able warrior in Imladris? Glorfindel. Of course.

So here he was somewhere in the wild, riding side by side with the elf he despised more than anyone on Arda. With every turn Thranduil complained, questioned the Elda’s intelligence, insulted Elrond’s wisdom, nagged about travel time, asked about routes... This would not end well. Glorfindel’s patience was running out, and it was running out fast. Just when he thought he would snap and throw himself on his own sword to escape the constant malcontent, it started to rain. It was as if the sky itself cracked open from Glorfindel’s frustration, and released a downpour unlike anything the world had ever seen.

“Well, this is wonderful,” the king said sarcastically. “If we had stopped back at the glade when I said, we would have shelter now.”

“You were the one who was in such a terrible hurry to get home!” Glorfindel snapped. “Let’s just keep riding, shall we?”

“Don’t talk back to me, blondie,” Thranduil said calmly and rode past the seneschal. “This is your mess. Not mine.”

Glorfindel boiled with fury, but restrained himself. Killing the King of Mirkwood would not please Lord Elrond. So they rode on through the cold pouring rain, their hair and clothes soaking all the way to their skin. The cold water seeped through cloaks and tunics, leather and boots, until the elves were almost hanging over their horses, shivering. Glorfindel could not remember feeling this miserable since his rebirth, but at least Thranduil was quiet.

They rode through an area where the trees were scarce and the soil was lush and porous. Under the heavy rainfall, grass turned to mud and the horses sank deeper with every step until the brown slush reached halfway up their shins. Glorfindel could see that the poor beasts were exhausted. It was impossible for them to walk carrying riders as well as weapons and fully packed bags.

“We have to stop,” Glorfindel yelled over the deafening noise of the rain. “The horses cannot take any more of this.”

“You should have thought about that before you pressed them to continue,” Thranduil yelled back and dismounted.

Glorfindel did the same. Instantly his feet sank in the mud, and as he tried to walk he nearly lost his boots in the suction. Never had he experienced such vicious mud. There was a tree with wide branches a few yards to the left, so he tried to steer his horse towards it. It would provide for some shelter against the rain. He stumbled and fell to his knees several times, and cursed internally at the Valar for bringing this weather upon them, but it eased his suffering to see that Thranduil was having the same hardships.

When he finally reached the tree he found his footing and stood up straight to wipe the rain and spattered mud from his face. Thranduil was already leaning against the trunk, giving him a venomous stare. Glorfindel focused on his horse. The two beasts quickly settled and rested below the tree, hanging their heads toward the ground in exhaustion. Glorfindel then had no choice. He was stuck with the king as his only companion.

“Are you all right, my lord?” he asked politely, trying to keep his tone friendly.

“I am wet, I am cold, I have mud up to my chin and I am stuck in the middle of nowhere with you. How do you think I am?”

“Suit yourself then!” Glorfindel snarled and tore his soaked cloak off, throwing it on the ground. The king raised an eyebrow and made a haughty face.

“Well, I’m certainly delighted I let you tag along,” he sneered.

“Let’s get one thing straight,” Glorfindel said and raised his finger at Thranduil. “I would never have come by my own free will. The only reason I am here is because Lord Elrond begged me to. To protect you! Why? I have no idea.”

“Don’t point your finger at me, blondie,” Thranduil said calmly. “I think it’s quite obvious by now how well Elrond is able to judge such a matter. I would have gotten along much better without you.”

'That’s it,' Glorfindel thought. Before Thranduil had a chance to react, the Elda grabbed him by his jerkin and threw him on his back in the mud. Glorfindel triumphantly straddled the king, whose vision was now impaired due to the rain that fell on his face. The seneschal held his wrists firmly down and leaned over him to shelter his head from the rainfall. He wanted to look the king in the eye.

“And what will this accomplish?” Thranduil said in the same annoyingly calm tone. Glorfindel glared at him.

“I loathe you,” he said passionately. “I think you’re the most abhorrent elf ever to be born into this world. If it wasn’t for the sheer respect I have for my lord, I would spit in your face.” His grip tightened around the Sinda’s wrists, and he never let go the gaze of those insolent green eyes.

“Do that,” Thranduil threatened, “and I’ll have your head.”

“You are not in any position to make threats, my lord,” Glorfindel hissed. “I could piss all over you and there is not a thing you could do about it.”

The king’s eyes widened just a fraction, and to Glorfindel that was victory. Thranduil actually believed he was capable of something like that? The seneschal slowly straightened up and let go of the king’s wrists, leaving him once again fully exposed to the rain. He figured he had taught him a lesson. He got up and walked back towards the tree, trying to brush his dripping wet hair from his face with muddy hands. That’s when the attack came.

Thranduil had gotten up quicker and more silently than Glorfindel had anticipated, and he was surprised from behind. The king locked an arm around the seneschal’s throat, holding on in an attempt to cut off his air supply. Glorfindel tried to throw the Sinda off balance, but it backfired, and he ended up face down in the mud. Finding a firm place to plant his knee, he was able to flip them over on their backs, and with a sharp elbow to the ribs the Elda made Thranduil drop his hold.

Scrambling to their hands and knees in the deep mud, the two elves launched at each other. Thranduil got hold of a handful of dirty hair, and tried to push Glorfindel’s head to the ground. The seneschal grunted with pain, and his increasing fury gave him the strength to push Thranduil over on his back again. Just when the Elda thought he had the upper hand he received a gritty swat of mud straight in the eyes. Before he could recover, he was overpowered.

Glorfindel couldn’t move. The king appeared to be sitting on his chest. Rain fell on his face, clearing his sight, and he blinked the mud away from sore eyes.

“Perhaps I should piss on you now,” Thranduil said, still panting from the intense fight.

“Do what you want,” said Glorfindel, nearly sobbing with defeat.

Thranduil held his position for long moments, letting the rain rinse some of the dirt from his clothes. With the seneschal’s arms pinned under his legs, the king had his hands free to stroke his hair out of the way. Tilting his head towards the sky he washed his hands and face in the heavy downpour. When he looked back down, the Elda was still there. Defeated.

Glorfindel had trouble breathing, but tried his hardest not to let the king see. At last, Thranduil took pity on him and stood. Before the seneschal could even sit up straight, the king had put a boot to his chest and pushed him back to the ground. Glorfindel didn’t even try to put up a fight. Thranduil looked like he had something he wanted to say. His lips moved in hesitation. In the end he said nothing, but removed his foot from Glorfindel’s chest and stomped back to the tree.

Glorfindel shakily got to his hands and knees and gazed after the Sinda. For the next few minutes he sat in the mud, watching the king remove some of his clothes and get comfortable under the tree. It was really uncomfortable being wet and cold, but there was no way he would crawl back to Thranduil and have his nightmare start all over again. He would rather admit himself defeated and sit right where he was the entire night.

An hour passed, and Glorfindel had been so focused on staring at the same spot on the ground that he barely noticed that the rain was letting up. The puddle he sat in reached nearly to his waist, and his legs had gone completely numb. The rain had almost stopped when he finally looked up. Scarce droplets still fell, but a ray of sunshine breached the clouds and made them all shimmer of gold.

“Enough of this,” said a warm and friendly voice behind him, and he started, surprised that he hadn’t heard the king approach.

A warm, dry blanket was laid over his shoulders, and he was briskly pulled to his feet. Thranduil held a strong arm around his shoulders and helped him get back to the shelter of the tree. Glorfindel felt utterly pathetic. The king had made quite a cosy retreat under the branches of the wide tree, and as he sat back against the trunk he pulled the Elda with him. Glorfindel did not object, but sat down quietly between Thranduil’s long legs. The tall Sinda made sure the blanket was wrapped tightly around the cold body, and then pulled him into a warm embrace.

Glorfindel tensed, the side of his face resting against the king’s chest. But in his ear the drumming of a strong heart slowly calmed him, and he relaxed in Thranduil’s arms. The warmth and the soft comfort was astonishing, and to his own surprise he snuggled closer to the infuriating king.

The next time Glorfindel opened his eyes the skies were once again grey, and rain spattered against the forest floor. It was not a heavy rain like before, but enough to deter him from any thoughts of getting back in the saddle. He realized shortly that he was still lying in Thranduil’s arms. How long had it been? How long had he slept?

“It will be dark soon,” the king’s voice came out of nowhere, as if he could read minds.

Glorfindel decided to sit up and risk a glance at the elf that he so despised. Thranduil looked very much at peace. Calm and relaxed he looked back at the seneschal. Glorfindel should have been happy that the king was no longer harassing him, but the humiliation was still fresh in his memory. He felt wet, even though his clothes had dried considerably. He felt even more uncomfortable and annoyed than he had before. And now Thranduil was being nice? Glorfindel did not buy it.

“Is something wrong?” the king asked.

“You are what’s wrong!” Glorfindel snapped. “Everything about you is wrong!”

Thranduil sighed deeply. “Do not start this again, Glorfindel.”

The seneschal was surprised to hear his name from the king’s lips. It was definitely the first time in many days.

“Oh. I started this, did I?” Glorfindel felt even more furious when the king rolled his eyes at him. “Do you think a few moments of being nice will make up for centuries of cruelty?”

Now, this if anything got Thranduil’s attention. “Cruel? You think I am cruel?!”

“You,” Glorfindel glared at him, “are a haughty, mean despot who cares for nothing and no one other than yourself. And you have the stomach to call yourself a king...”

Thranduil lost his temper, and made quick use of his earlier moves, throwing Glorfindel to the ground and straddling his chest. But he did it more forcefully this time, clenching his hands around the Elda’s throat.

“I AM a king!” he roared. “I am responsible for an entire realm, an entire people, and I have sacrificed everything to serve them! My wife, time with my children, privacy...I gave it up for them, and you call me selfish? What do you do all day, I wonder? Play swordfight with your friends? Perhaps strolling through the gardens or socializing with the young maidens between patrols is on your agenda? Unfortunately, I have no such luxuries, so excuse me if I’m not always in such a cheery mood!”

With this the king briskly stood, leaving Glorfindel on the ground, coughing and clasping his sore neck. The seneschal sat up to catch his breath, while Thranduil, irritated, seated himself on the blankets by the trunk of the tree. Glorfindel felt more miserable than ever. He stayed still for a while, thinking of what to say and waiting for his throat to stop wheezing. Perhaps the king was not as mean as Glorfindel had always perceived him. Maybe he was just unhappy.

Glorfindel thought back to all those times he had been furious with the king, telling Elrond exactly what he thought of the Sinda. But Elrond had always defended Thranduil and gone out of his way to please him, which was something Glorfindel had never understood. Nothing made sense anymore. After he was reborn nothing had seemed simple, but he thought he had figured everything out. He thought he knew where he stood.

At last he crawled back to Thranduil’s side and sat down next to him, looking at him. Wondering what was really going on inside his regal head. Of course, he had wondered that before, but not in a very respecting sense. He had always thought the king’s eyes to be cold and emotionless, but now that he really looked, he saw that they were sad.

“Forgive me,” the king said and looked regretfully at Glorfindel. “It was not my intent to hurt you.”

“It’s all right,” Glorfindel answered hoarsely. “I have lived through worse.”

The king chuckled reluctantly. “Yes, I suppose you have.”

“May I ask you a question, sire?” he said and looked sincerely at the Sinda. “Why were you in such a hurry to leave the councils? Why go home in the middle of the trade negotiations?”

Thranduil sighed and looked at his hands, which were folded in his lap. “I was hoping to spend some time with my son,” the king said sadly. “I feel as though I missed his entire childhood, and now it’s too late. He is a grown elf already. Tall and beautiful. He’s quite skilled with the bow, you know.” A proud expression graced Thranduil’s green eyes, and Glorfindel smiled.

“So I’ve heard,” he said.

The two elves sat quietly below the branches of the great tree. All that was heard was the gentle murmur of the rain with the occasional snort from one of the horses. Glorfindel did not know what else to say. The king probably had his reasons for being irritable and spiteful, but he had this way about him that pushed Glorfindel’s temper to its limits. The seneschal thought it best to be quiet, and so the elves did not say another word to each other for the entire night. Glorfindel stood guard over the king’s sleeping form for long hours, but when dawn was imminent he granted himself an hour of restless sleep.

“Wake up,” said a harsh voice, and a foot nudged him in the ribs. “Or would you rather sleep all day as well?” Thranduil sounded very displeased. Glorfindel blinked the sleep from his eyes, and the once again grumpy Sinda glared down at him. “I thought you were going to stand watch.”

“I did. All night,” Glorfindel defended himself, and stood up.

“Obviously,” the king said sarcastically.

Glorfindel clenched his teeth and bit down the insult. He did not want to fight with Thranduil another day. The beginnings of a headache pounded in his brain, and the still-wet clothing clutched irritatingly to his skin. As he tended to his horse, Thranduil packed up camp. The sky was a dark grey, but no rain yet fell. The elves were both in a rotten mood and as they began walking, their horses treaded the ground nervously, worried they might further displease their masters. Glorfindel noticed how every time he exhaled Asfaloth would twitch, and this irritated him even more.

The elven boots quickly soaked, and walking with wet feet did nothing to lighten the mood. The ground got slightly firmer as they passed through darker woods, and they silently mounted their horses and rode quietly for a couple of miles. Trees once again grew scarce as they reached lower ground, and finally they approached what were to be hard soiled fields. Glorfindel knew this place. There is no way the ground could have turned to mud here.

Turning to ride around the last hill, Glorfindel looked forward to see open land. Instead he was met by a lake. A mirror of water covered the entire field, and stretched as far as the eye could see both right and left. Dejectedly, Glorfindel dismounted and went to stand by the water’s edge. He knew what was coming, and mentally braced himself.

“Well, this was a good idea,” the king’s voice sounded behind him. “What brilliance do you have in store next?”

Glorfindel turned his head and glared at Thranduil. “Why don’t you just shut that hole in your face before I do it for you,” he snarled and looked back at the water.

“You have an expertise in shutting holes, do you?” Thranduil asked smugly, and Glorfindel felt the hairs stand up at the back of his neck.

The seneschal tightened his grip on the reins, and the white horse twitched nervously, trying to back away from the water. The Elda closed his eyes, slowly counting to ten in his mind. When he opened them again he turned to the king.

“We can probably wade across. I don’t think it’s very deep.”

“And I suppose I am to take your word for that?” Thranduil asked. He came to stand by the seneschal, and made an inviting gesture towards the dark lake. “After you, my lady.”

Glorfindel clenched his teeth so hard that his jaw ached. He had to use all his willpower not to swat Thranduil in the face. Dragging along a frightened Asfaloth, he waded into the water. After a few yards the surface was level with his bootleg, and seemed to stay that way. He looked back to see a reluctant king following. They walked slowly, feeling their way forward on the slippery bottom. The muddy brown water did not let them see where they were treading.

They were nearing the halfway point when suddenly the king’s horse was spooked by something in the water. It whinnied and moved frantically from side to side. Thranduil tried to calm the frightened beast, but it tore free and galloped back for the shore. The Sinda glared at Glorfindel, as if it was somehow his fault. The seneschal kept walking, not caring either way how Thranduil got his horse back. The king saw this, and hurried to stop him. He reached out to grab the Elda’s shoulder, but before he could say anything they both plummeted under the water as if the bottom had suddenly ceased to exist.

A startled Asfaloth ran to follow his friend ashore, while two very wet elves struggled to stay afloat in the muddy water. The surprise had caused them both to swallow the vile liquid, and they coughed in unison as they paddled back to shallow ground. On their stomachs in the murky water, they panted for breath.

“Any more bright ideas?” Thranduil growled.

“Yes!” Glorfindel said defiantly, pushing the Sinda over in the water. “I’m going home. You can stay here and drown for all I care.”

With this he tried to get up, but the king would not let him. Thranduil had an iron grip on his arm. Glorfindel struggled to free himself, and inadvertently helped the king to his feet. The elves glared at each other with lethal eyes. Finally the seneschal was able to push the Sinda away and stomp back towards the shore, utterly soaked. He knew that the king was right behind him, and kept a watchful ear pointed in his direction. Elven feet slashed through the brown slush as they approached land.

Glorfindel was so focused on not being attacked from behind again, that he forgot to pay attention to where he was stepping. His foot got caught on a root, and he tripped, falling on his hands and knees in the water. At once the angered Sinda was on him, and for the third time Glorfindel found himself on his back and straddled by a furious king. He snarled in frustration. The water was only finger deep, but it was no more comfortable.

“You mean to say that not only are you useless and clumsy, but you are a coward, a traitor, and a liar as well?” Thranduil said, gripping the other elf’s wrists tightly.

“I am none of those things!” Glorfindel shouted. “I am loyal and trustworthy, but you will not see that! You treat me as though I were the scum of the earth. What did I ever do to deserve your hatred?”

“What did I do to deserve yours?”

Glorfindel had no answer to that, but instead launched a new effort to free himself. He bucked under the king, and for a split moment Thranduil lost his poise, leaving the seneschal enough room to manoeuvre. Glorfindel flipped them over, and found himself flat on top of the wet Sinda in the shallow water. Not knowing why, he grabbed a fistful of blond hair and established a painful hold on Thranduil’s head, leaving him utterly immobile. The poisonous stares exchanged between them would have deterred anyone who tried to intervene.

The moment appeared frozen in time. Glorfindel felt their chests heave together. Their breaths on each other’s faces. Thranduil’s legs clamped around his hips. His warrior heart pounding a dreadful rhythm in his eardrums. Glorfindel looked at Thranduil. Thranduil looked at Glorfindel. And then their mouths clashed together, lips and tongues engaged in vicious combat, battling for dominance. Sindarin fingers clawed at the fabric that covered the Elda’s back. The seneschal pressed their hips together, drawing from the king a pleased whimper, which he swallowed greedily.

Glorfindel felt a rush of blood to his groin and grew rock hard in his leggings. His mouth against Thranduil’s was probably the last thing he had ever expected to happen, but there it was, kissing the king with great urgency. He surrendered his tongue to the Sinda, allowing him to draw it in and suckle it. The seneschal groaned appreciatively, and thrust his hips against Thranduil, feeling the bulge in his leggings meet the king’s.

As if synchronised, the two began tearing at each other’s clothes. Glorfindel was the quickest, easily ripping open the king’s tunic and exposing the white torso. He dove in instantly, biting and sucking the pale flesh. The Sinda struggled to push wet cloth over wide shoulders, but was distracted by an assault to his right nipple. He groaned, arching his back to push up against that warm, hardworking mouth. But Glorfindel’s hands were not idle. They easily undid royal leggings while the mouth was otherwise engaged.

Snaking out of his tunic in record time, the Elda threw himself back down on top of Thranduil, kissing his way up the slender neck and the flushed cheek. He moved to lash his tongue in a pointed ear. The king gave an aroused yelp, and clutched the seneschal’s face in his hands, turning his attention back to the king’s mouth. Glorfindel moaned, and yielded his tongue to the delicate ministrations of the Sindarin ruler. Arms wrapped tight around each other, they kissed with ferocious need.

Somewhere in the distance, rumbling thunder tore at the sky, and broke the suspense of the rain clouds. Droplets fell on Glorfindel’s bare back, at first scarce, but growing more numerous in time with the elves’ heavy panting. Royal hands travelled the plains of the warrior’s back, as if to discover every muscle and bone before they were washed away by the rain. Soon the downpour began, massacring the still surface of the lake and splashing brown water onto the white bodies in its embrace.

Glorfindel was aroused out of his mind. One of his hands fisted in delicate fabric, ripping the cloth from Thranduil’s hips. The king did not seem to mind. In fact, he kissed the seneschal with greater rapture than before. Glorfindel broke the kiss and violently shredded the last of the Sinda’s clothing, leaving him completely naked. Had there been time, Glorfindel would have stopped to appreciate the beautiful pale body in the dirty water. He would have cast his gaze on every visible inch, and felt his way over the rest. But there was no time. If he stopped now, the moment would be over.

He fell back onto the king, making sure to grind him as far down into the muddy bottom as he could. Two fists firmly snagged in the royal braiding, Glorfindel roughly pressed their mouths together for a deep, enduring kiss, almost teeth on teeth in its ferociousness. The Sinda grunted something, but with the roaring rain and the drumming pulse in his ears, it was something Glorfindel could shamelessly ignore.

The seneschal suddenly had an urge to see if the king’s sceptre was any match for his own sword, and reached down into the darkness between their bodies. The king gave a flustered yelp and nearly thrust out of the water. Glorfindel quickly smothered him with lips and tongue, catching every whimper as he teased the sensitive flesh between Thranduil’s legs.

“How is that for a ‘brilliant idea’?” Glorfindel growled, and squeezed the base of the king’s erection until he screamed with need.

The Sinda’s head thrown back gave the seneschal a new opportunity to kiss and suck the pale neck. He worked his way over the jaw and cheek, stopping to stick his tongue in a perfect ear shell.

“You’ve been there already,” Thranduil growled back, causing the Elda to pause. “Can’t you think of somewhere new to stick your tongue?”

A fresh rush of anger surged through the seneschal, and he bit down hard on the king’s neck, bruising the flawless skin and drawing chains of curses from its owner. In combination with a squeeze to the soft sac, Glorfindel thought he had taught the pretty Sinda to keep his pretty mouth shut. As soon as he found his prisoner complying, his fingers travelled lower, creeping into the wet cleft. The king suddenly held his breath in anticipation, and Glorfindel could not resist an ear-to-ear grin. Thranduil had his eyes shut tight and his face turned away, but Glorfindel refused to do the same. He wanted to see every subtle shift in the elf’s features as the seneschal took control of his desire.

Glorfindel lay still, his chest pressed tightly against Thranduil’s, his fingertips hovering at the entrance to the king’s body, and his eyes watching closely the Sindarin face. The seneschal waited under the slowing rainfall, waited for the moment when Thranduil could no longer hold his breath. When that moment came, and air fled from the king’s lungs, Glorfindel pushed inside.

Green eyes flashed open, the entire body stiff in response. Two questing digits pushed and pulled at the tender opening, drawing gasp after gasp from the flushed king. Still, Thranduil would not look at his conqueror. Glorfindel tried to find the deeply hidden nerves that would make the king yield and surrender without question, but in the position they were in there was not much room to move.

Glorfindel’s own leggings were getting unbearably tight, and with the king’s ragged breathing in his ear, chance was that his erection would simply force a hole in the strong fabric. The Elda was going to have his way with Thranduil, and it would not be through a barrier of cloth. It was time to change positions.

Fingers left the warm body below, causing whimpers to fall from royal lips. If by relief or disappointment, Glorfindel did not know, and neither did he care. Distracting the Sinda with another bite to the neck, the seneschal repositioned their legs so that he could straddle the arrogant king. When he was sitting comfortably on his prey his fist returned to the dirty wet hair, giving it a hard pull so that he could stare into those infuriated green eyes.

“Turn over,” he ordered hoarsely. “Now!”

Thranduil eyed him suspiciously, but did as he was told, the fisted hand never leaving his blond locks. The king slowly shifted, turning on his stomach while grunting from the discomfort at the back of his head. The seneschal put his weight back down on the Sinda and leaned over to whisper hot breath into his ear.

“Good boy. Now, spread those legs.”

If by any chance the king thought of objecting, Glorfindel gave a hard tug at his hair to deter him. Thranduil yelped, complying instantly, and allowed the Elda room between his long limbs. The seneschal could not help himself but thank the king sarcastically, and then push his flawless face into the wet ground. The right side of the Sinda’s face became submerged in the brown liquid, but he could still breathe through the side of his mouth, so Glorfindel saw no reason to let him up yet.

Thranduil’s hands fisted in mud, sand, and stone, but he made no attempt to struggle. A strong hand kept the king’s head down while the other removed leggings and boots, leaving naked legs to settle between those of the king. A rush of power filled the veins of the seneschal. The intoxicating feeling of complete control over another. Lying down over his subject, he ran the length of his erection in the wet cleft, watching goose bumps spread over the skin on Thranduil’s back. The body below him shivered as he touched it, the final admittance that he had ultimate power over it. He could bring it to ecstasy if he wanted. He could break it if he wished. Which desire was greater, Glorfindel was in no state to decide, so the decision was left to his straining arousal.

Slowly, Glorfindel let go of the tousled hair, allowing the king to raise his head and spit out the dirty water that inexorably had found its way into his mouth. A sparkling green eye glared over one shoulder, but not a word was uttered, so the seneschal wondered what the glare was about. Thranduil turned away, seemingly bracing himself, but remaining silent. Glorfindel took the opportunity to gloat, planting a playful kiss on a pointed ear. That got the king’s attention, but just as he turned to snarl at the seneschal Glorfindel rammed his erection into the awaiting body.

All prospect of snarling forgotten, Thranduil cried out from the sudden intrusion, driving his nails into the skin of his palms. The Elda chuckled smugly to himself, but quickly ceased when a powerful muscle squeezed his length until white spots danced before his eyes. Glorfindel knew the Sinda had done it on purpose, and gave a hard thrust to retaliate. Thranduil yelped, but surprisingly began to push back against the seneschal. Using all the force he could muster, Glorfindel pushed himself as far inside the king as his body would allow, pressing the panting elf into grimy soil. A desperate groan bounced off the surface of the water, but the Elda could not tell from which one of them it had originated.

Far away over the mountains lightning brightened the sky, but the thunder that arrived long seconds later held no importance in elven ears. Glorfindel’s only focus was the tight warmth that enveloped his aching member, rendering him unable to breathe. He lay heavily on his foe, hands gripping at the mud and sand beneath them. Had he not been so lost in sensation he might have noticed the quiver in the body below his chest. He might have heard the pleading whimpers from the king’s lips. But he did not. The Sinda began panting, frustrated from lack of action.

“Are you actually going to do something, or simply lie there like the useless bag of waste you are?” he growled at the seneschal, pushing his hips up in challenge.

Glorfindel screamed in anger and sank his teeth into a white shoulder. The king gave a painful cry, a violent trembling racing through his limbs. The Elda held still until the elf was quiet and hovering his face just above the surface of muddy water. He released the tender flesh from his jaws and licked it soothingly. Although the king had driven his fists deep into the mud, Glorfindel was able to find them and clasp them in his own before delivering a shallow thrust. He watched delighted how Thranduil trembled even worse than before. He leaned forward to purr into the slightly red ear.

“Don’t tell me what to do, blondie.”

Waiting an extra moment for dramatic effect, he made sure he had gotten his point across. Lacing his fingers with the king’s, he attained leverage for his first thrust. He began setting a slow, murdering pace, knowing it would drive the Sinda mad within minutes. Sure enough, after only a few repetitive motions, the king was wailing with frustration and gripping Glorfindel’s fingers until they turned white at the knuckles. The seneschal would have felt self-content, had there been room for any other feelings in his body. Now there was only room for the slow, simmering pleasure in his groin and the growing ache that roamed his loins.

Finally, Glorfindel himself could no longer stand the slow pace. Picking up speed, he thrust his hips against Thranduil’s rear, the slapping of flesh against flesh only increased by the rain that trickled down their bodies. The king met every thrust with one of his own, pushing back against the seneschal with great urgency. The tight passage held Glorfindel’s shaft in a deadly grip, pushing his arousal to new heights. A low-pitched throaty groan emanated from the king as he swayed with the movements of the Elda, but it was clear that Glorfindel was not hitting the spot. This frustrated him, because he did not know how much longer he would last. It would be the ultimate embarrassment if he came before the king was even halfway.

Untangling his hands and moving them to Thranduil’s hips, he tried to force them into a better angle. To his astonishment, the king was eager to help, bracing his knees in the wet soil and lifting his hindquarters for Glorfindel’s convenience. The Sinda appeared determined to get his fair share. They started moving again, in perfect symbiosis, matching each other for speed. Glorfindel gave it his all, using every trick he knew to locate the bundle of nerves that hid in the depths of his unlikely lover. But still, nothing more than excited whimpers left the king’s throat. The Elda fought for a better grip on the slippery, wet elf.

Muscles quivered and shook the seneschal’s limbs. His frantic pace did nothing to increase the response in his lover. Glorfindel felt like giving up. Nearly sobbing with frustration, his release suspended and denied, he was no longer able to keep up the speed of his thrusts. He nuzzled the dripping hair that clung to Thranduil’s back, not sure what to do to satisfy him.

“Is that the best you can do?” Thranduil’s voice was strained, trying to sound spiteful, but not entirely successful. “If you start something, finish it! Or would you rather have a little nap?”

Glorfindel released a war cry unlike anything he had ever known himself to do, grabbing the blasted elf and throwing him to the ground, ramming himself inside with brutal force. The king threw his head back and howled at the black sky, scaring Glorfindel into believing he had gone too far. He stilled and paused for long moments, afraid to move in case he had hurt the Sinda. The king panted.

“Are you trying to kill me!?” There was a squeak in Thranduil’s voice as he yelled.

“I’m sorry...”

“Just shut up and get moving or I swear you will return to Rivendell in seven pieces. Move!”

With new determination, Glorfindel wrapped his arms around the slightly smaller elf and thrust hard into dark heat. He felt a jerk in the other body as the head of his erection hit the elusive target. Thranduil cried out once more and grabbed onto the arms that held him. The seneschal easily picked up the pace, hitting the spot with every move, leaving the king a whimpering moaning pile of nerves in his embrace. The unrelenting rain kept falling on the elves, a pair of frantic lovers in a sea of brown and grey. Their cries of passion drowned out the thunder on the horizon, and the ripples they caused on the water travelled from shore to shore.

Glorfindel thrust his hips as if his life depended on it, driving Thranduil’s pelvis hard into the ground. The king tried to hold up his end, but it was useless. He clasped the seneschal’s hands and held onto them, whimpering helplessly. The panting Sinda was almost too arousing for Glorfindel’s sanity to cope, but somehow he did.

“Harder! Can you not go harder!?”

The king’s command made him quiver. He knew his outmost point had been reached, but tried nonetheless to please the desperate elf. Even though he trembled terribly, he slid one of his hands over Thranduil’s stomach, reaching for where his leaking length was sure to hide. He was not able to make much of a pumping movement, but at least his touch seemed to have effect. His arms felt like they had turned to steel, holding the king to his chest in a cramped manner, as if worried he might escape. The Sinda groaned loudly with every inward move, thrusting into Glorfindel’s hand.

It felt like an age before Thranduil finally snapped, screaming out his orgasm as his body tensed in Glorfindel’s arms. The point of entrance suddenly constricted around the invasive erection, clamping down on it with sheer murder and forcing a pained cry from its owner as he let go of all his pent up desire. Glorfindel came hard, a raging surge of energy rushing to his groin and exploding with such force he thought for a split second it had killed him. He shot his essence deep into the warm body that quivered beneath him, and felt the same release from Thranduil in his hand. Hot spurts ghosted over his fingers before disintegrating and disappearing in the cool water below them.

Waves of ecstasy were replaced by heavy fatigue, and both bodies fell limp in the newborn lake, one on top of the other. They panted in unison, neither willing nor able to move at all. A light drizzle of rain was all that remained in the air when Glorfindel’s eyes no longer saw.

----------------

A breeze swept through the trees, stirring the leaves into soft song. Somewhere a bird was calling out at the sunrise. Stripes of bright orange and vibrant pink were reflected in the surface of still water. The only thing that moved was a slowly heaving chest that lay flat against the cold ground.

Glorfindel had to force his eyes open, as the lids seemed to be attached to each other. Blinking a few times, he tried to remember where he was. He lay on his stomach in shallow water, head resting on his arm. To his left was a vast mirror of morning sky that met the mountains on the horizon. As he raised his head to look up, he groaned from the stiffness in his neck. His hair, heavy with wetness, rose up like a curtain over the right side of his face. The elf leaned on his elbows, inspecting the surroundings. The shore was only a few yards away and in the bushes stood two horses, grazing happily as if they had not a care in the world. From nowhere came a hand that lifted the heavy curtain of blond hair from Glorfindel’s face.

“Good morning,” said the smiling king.

Thranduil was lying on his back beside the Elda, his wet golden tresses fanned out around his shoulders in a perfect image of beauty. Glorfindel could not find his voice, but merely stared at the breathtaking elf. The king gently pushed the seneschal’s hair out of the way, so that they could look at each other without obstructions. The back of long fingers caressed the warrior’s cheek in a manner that spoke of great affection, but Glorfindel knew that could not be. To his own surprise, that knowledge stung his heart like a poisonous dagger. The king received a worried frown.

“What is the matter?” he asked, stroking the seneschal’s face with more determination.

Glorfindel looked away, not entirely sure what to answer. This caused the king to raise himself from his position, laying an arm around the Elda’s shoulders and bringing their faces close together. Green eyes fixed on blue, searching them for answers.

“You regret what happened.”

It was more a statement than a question, but it made Glorfindel finally find his voice.

“No. I do not.” It was true. When he thought about it, he had no regrets about yesterday’s events. It wasn’t planned, that was for certain, and it was completely unexpected. But he did not regret it. “Do you?”

“Of course not,” Thranduil said, grinning. “Best lay I’ve had in centuries.”

The king, satisfied with hearing Glorfindel’s voice, slipped back into the water and resumed his previous position, caressing the warrior’s pale cheek with idle fingers. He gazed up at the brightening sky, looking quite peaceful. The seneschal had trouble wrapping his mind around it. None of this seemed real. The King of Mirkwood was never peaceful. He was a vicious, arrogant despot, was he not? Glorfindel looked purposefully at the Sinda.

“I thought you despised me.”

The king chuckled and turned his eyes to him. “You thought wrong, my friend.” Friend? Glorfindel was no friend of his. They hated each other. Didn’t they?

“You try hard enough to make me angry,” he said accusingly.

“Ah,” the king grinned. “That’s because you’re so beautiful when you’re angry.”

A hand found the back of Glorfindel’s neck, pulling him into a deep, sensuous kiss. The seneschal moaned contentedly into Thranduil’s mouth, moving his arms to embrace him. When the kiss broke, he gazed into deep, green eyes and wondered what was really going on behind them. The king’s mind appeared to have a hidden agenda, for one should not assume that Thranduil was an elf foolish enough to act regardless of consequence. This was a clever elf who knew exactly what he was doing. So what was he doing?

“I like you, Glorfindel,” he said, his fingertips gently playing with the hairs at the nape of the warrior’s neck. “I have always liked you.”

“Why?” Glorfindel asked. “I have only ever treated you with irreverence and disrespect. Why would you like me?”

“Because you’re not afraid of me, Glorfindel. You do not cower when I raise my voice. You do not bend at my every command. But most of all you have hated me. Hated me without secrecy or concealment. I am amazed at how long you let me walk all over you. It seems that you fear Elrond more than you fear me.”

Glorfindel thought about it for a moment. He did fear Elrond. He feared he would let the Peredhel down, disappoint him. He held no loyalty to the King of Mirkwood, and therefore had nothing to fear. It explained certain things.

“Imagine, Glorfindel, that everyone around you spent all their time trying to please you. Trying to keep you happy at all costs, even if it meant sacrificing their pride, dignity and personal interests, simply because they feared what might happen if they did not. Like you were some monster that needed to be fed so as not to go mad and slay everyone in sight. I may be a hard ruler and I may be too proud at times, but I’m still just an elf. And sometimes...I need those around me to be just elves as well. Not servants, not subjects, not nodding heads or submissive fools. Just elves. Friends.”

It had never occurred to Glorfindel that the king was lonely. In a way he found it hard to understand, but in another way he knew exactly what it felt like. He himself had been to Mandos and back, learning to live a second time, and there was no one around him who understood. None of his ‘friends’ who could help. None who shared his loneliness. It was the opposite of Thranduil’s predicament. He had lots of friends, but none who gave their all to keep him happy.

He looked sadly into green eyes, shaking his head to himself. “We are as night and day, you and I,” he said regretfully. The king looked away, hurt obvious on his face. Glorfindel carefully placed a chaste kiss on the perfect Sindarin lips, caressing the pale face. “I will be your friend, Thranduil, if you will be my submissive fool.”

The king smiled, pulling the seneschal in to rest their foreheads together. “Night and day, hmm?”

“Uh-huh,” Glorfindel nodded slightly, rubbing his nose against Thranduil’s. “Always meeting in perfect harmony at nightfall and dawn.”

“Are you going to get poetic on me, blondie?” the king teased, receiving a hard pinch to his side. “Ow!”

“Don’t call me that!”

Thranduil giggled and pulled Glorfindel in for a playful kiss, groaning exaggeratedly. Glorfindel humoured the king, kissing him back with all the passion in his being. They may not have been made for each other, but at least it would make for an interesting relationship.

The sun was high by the time the two elves left the water. Not risking to scare their horses again, they decided to take the long way around the lake. It didn’t really matter. They were not in a hurry anymore.

Forbidden Fruit - part 2

2009-11-01T22:41:12Z

Back to part 1

All was quiet in the valley, and Ithil slowly surrendered the sky to Arien, warming the earth and waking its children. Elrond stretched in his bed, feeling quite rested after a long, good night’s sleep. He got up and looked outside. It was a wonderful morning. This would be a great day to take a walk in the forest with his closest friend and advisor. It had been a long time since they walked together and just talked. He missed that. Somewhere along the line Erestor had changed, and Elrond regretted not being able to help him.

Washing up and getting dressed, Elrond kept thinking. There had to be a reason for all that had happened. Some event that stirred these changes in his friend. But what could that be? Nothing much had happened these last few centuries that would explain the counsellor’s peculiar behaviour. While braiding his hair his thoughts drifted to Glorfindel. It had always bothered Elrond that his two closest companions never became friends. It was odd. Even though the two of them were very different on the outside, Elrond knew they were the same at heart. Once or twice he had even imagined seeing a spark between them.

But whatever fire had been there, it had been rapidly stifled. In the early years Glorfindel had tried to befriend the shy advisor, but Erestor always withdrew into his study and asked not to be disturbed. And then there was Lindir. The minstrel that had admired Erestor so. Now the poor boy was even afraid to be in the same room as him. All because of the oranges. The damn oranges! Elrond grew frustrated. His thoughts only ever led him back to the problem.

He sighed and left his rooms to go and have breakfast. His mood was not so cheerful anymore. He took a detour around the corridors, hoping to catch Erestor before he locked himself in his study. The door to the Noldo’s rooms was open, and peering in Elrond saw no sign of the advisor. It was still early, and the bed was untouched. So Erestor had not slept. His nightmares were surely bothering him again. He would be in his study, then. Elrond sighed disappointed, and closed the door when he left.

He greeted a few elves he met in the corridor on his way to the dining hall, but the house was awfully quiet. This was usually the time of day where Glorfindel found most pleasure in practising with his sword, and many of his admirers would follow him and watch in awe. From the east balcony you would hear the metallic ringing of blades, and the joyful laughter of young elves watching their fathers being bested by the balrog-slayer. Elrond smiled to himself thinking of the snorts Erestor would make when hearing the racket.

‘Does he not have better things to do than showing off his brawn every morning,’ the advisor would say. And there would always be a hint of jealousy in his voice. Elrond entered the deserted dining hall, and went directly to the balcony. The rising sun was shining on an empty yard. A few elves were grooming their horses or oiling their weapons, but all was still. It was a very peculiar morning this day.

“Ada, are you in here?” a young and agitated voice sounded from the hall.

“Elrohir?” Elrond stepped back inside and saw the fear on his son’s face. “What is it, melme? What is wrong?”

“Tell me, ada,” he said. “Tell me, is it Erestor?”

“Is what Erestor?” Elrond did not understand what his son was trying to say.

“Is it Erestor who is allergic to the oranges?” the urgency in his voice told of a more serious matter than the question would imply.

“Why do you ask such a thing? I though we had already discussed....”

“Tell me, ada! Tell me now!”

“All right!” He was not used to his children or anyone else ever raising their voice at him, and he grew uneasy with this whole interrogation. “Yes. It is because of Erestor that I forbad the oranges. Why bother with this now?”

“Because we found him...in the garden...” Elrond heard his heart gallop in his chest, afraid that something terrible had happened. “...we cannot wake him!”

Elrond followed his youngest son as they hurried through the corridors and into the north garden. Pushing past bushes and trees, the two Peredhil took a shortcut to the orchard, where the large orange tree centred a clearing. As they entered the clearing they saw Elladan. He looked very upset. Elrond hesitated in his step. The ground was covered in fallen fruit. Smashed, crushed and torn to pieces, the oranges were strewn across the grass. On the other side of the tree, Elrond could see something lying on the ground.

The twins had covered the naked bodies with blankets, but Elrond did not have to see them to know what had happened. Erestor and Glorfindel were lying a few paces apart, dishevelled and sticky with the broken fruits. Elrond kneeled beside Erestor and hovered his hand over his brow. Closing his eyes, he felt for darkness in the elf’s mind.

Elrohir embraced his brother and tried to comfort him. Elladan felt such guilt over bringing that orange into the house, and thought that somehow this was all his fault. They could not lose Erestor. He had been a second father to them after their mother passed. And Glorfindel who had been their hero since the day he set foot in Imladris, how could they survive losing him? Elladan wept on his brother’s shoulder, praying to the Valar that their loved ones would stay.

Elrond checked both of the sleeping elves, surprised to find nothing wrong with them. They only appeared exhausted. He rose, baffled, not certain what to do about this situation. He looked at his sons, who were holding each other worriedly, looking to him for answers. He reassured his sons that everything would be all right. He concluded that the best thing to do would be to leave the sleeping elves where they lay, until they were properly rested. He situated guards at the entrances to the garden, stating that no one was permitted to enter.

He then faced long hours of pacing and worrying, wondering if he should not check on them one more time. The twins also worried, but their presence helped calm him down. It was a relief for him to finally tell them the truth. They were most shocked to hear about Lindir’s ‘accident’. They would never have believed Erestor to do such a thing. Hours passed. They waited and listened, dreading the moment when their friends realized what they had done.

----------------------------------

Erestor managed with great effort to open his eyes. His eyelashes were stuck together from dried orange juice. Groaning tiredly he sat up and looked around. Arien soared the western sky, and a light breeze ruffled his hair as he cleared his mind. When he tried to smooth his hair from his face, his fingers stuck in the dark locks, and a fierce struggle to free himself took place. His ears filled with a melodic laughter.

Glorfindel lay on his stomach, resting his chin on his hands, and watching Erestor with great mirth. Pieces of drying pulp still clung to his skin. He smiled adoringly, and Erestor nearly melted into a puddle of goo. He couldn’t help but giggle at it all, and blushed like a young boy when the seneschal looked at him so lovingly.

“We need a bath,” Glorfindel stated, and held up his hand to show how his fingers were stuck together. Erestor chuckled and nodded.

“We certainly do,” he said, and held up what looked like a bird’s nest in his hair.

They got to their feet and stretched. Erestor looked around at the mess they had created. It was a wonder no one had caught them here, since it was quite late in the day. He frowned when he noticed the blankets, because he could not remember that they had brought blankets. He saw the same expression on Glorfindel’s face, but in the end they just shrugged, wrapped the blankets around their bodies and headed for the bathhouse.

Surprised to see two guards standing by the house, they sneaked past them while they were talking, and were glad to find the bathhouse empty. Inside was a large pool where everyone could sit together, and then there were a few smaller, more secluded pools for couples who wanted privacy. Glorfindel led Erestor to one of these pools, and helped the sticky advisor enter the water. They sat quietly for a long while, just soaking up the heat. The water came directly from the nearby hot springs, and was always nice and warm.

Glorfindel sighed and put an arm around Erestor, pulling him close. Erestor rested his head on the strong shoulder provided, and closed his eyes in bliss. It had been a long time since he had felt such peace. Nuzzling up against his lover, he felt himself drift off again. But he did not mind. Everything was just right.

-------------------------------

Glorfindel woke softly by a melodious humming. When he opened his eyes he saw a perfect, pale back, slightly curved as Erestor was sitting in front of him, running his skilled fingers through shining, black hair. Glorfindel parted his legs to either side of the advisor, and slid forward to embrace him from behind. Erestor gratefully accepted the kisses bestowed upon his neck and shoulder, and tilted his head to make sure some of them hit his face and lips as well. After kissing softly for a few moments, Glorfindel drew back for a better view of those green eyes that he adored.

Erestor relished the feeling of secure arms around him. Wet skin on wet skin. The slightly wrinkled fingertips tickling his stomach. Those intense blue eyes, seeing him, and only him. It was where he always had wanted to be. He reached up to touch that flawless face. To caress that smooth, perfect skin. Letting his gaze follow his fingertip as he traced over those full, pouty lips, his voice quivered when he spoke.

“I love you, you know.”

“We became lovers but a day ago, and already you love me?” Glorfindel said with a dazzling smile. Erestor only shook his head slowly, feeling the need to be absolutely sincere.

“No. I always loved you.”

Glorfindel’s smile vanished, and he held Erestor even more tenderly. The look in the green eyes was so honest, so pure, and so afraid. Vulnerable even. He didn’t know what to say. He petted the soft hair, trying to wrap his mind around the words spoken.

“I thought you despised me,” he finally said. “I must have tried a hundred times to be your friend, and every time you shut the door in my face.”

“But I never wanted to be your friend, Glorfindel. It was easier to just stay away from you. I hated you as much as I loved you.”

“You hated me?” Glorfindel wasn’t as surprised as he sounded, but he was curious now. This was the first time the two of them had ever really talked. He needed to know everything.

“I hated you. From the moment you showed up in Imladris, everything changed. You were the great saviour, the warrior sent back from the dead by the Valar to protect us. You became everyone’s hero. And you took the twins from me.”

When he spoke the last words he could not manage to look Glorfindel in the face. The bitterness he felt was obvious. He still remembered the pain.

“How did I take the twins from you?”

“Always had I been there for them. Whenever they had a problem they came to me. When they were children I would play with them, read to them, sing with them, teach them things and tell them whatever they wanted to know. I was a third parent for their entire lives, and I was their friend. All that changed when you showed up. They no longer cared for books or songs. All they ever wanted to hear were your brutal war stories. And if one of them found a special someone, I was always the last to know. They spent all their free time with you, and I was forgotten like I never existed.”

“That is not true!” Glorfindel was shocked. How could Erestor believe such a thing? “Many times they came to me out of worry for you. In fact, they often spoke of how much you meant to them, and how it hurt them to watch you change. They said you were different once. That you used to smile.”

Erestor looked at Glorfindel, his eyes swimming in tears. Of course he had changed. Everything had changed that day. What became his sunlight also became his storm cloud. He had loved and admired the Elda as much as the other elves had, but Glorfindel had never treated him as one of the other elves. He wanted to ask him why, but he couldn’t find the words to phrase his question.

“You didn’t like me, did you?” It was more a statement than a question. “Whenever you tried to ‘be my friend’, it was because Elrond asked you to, not because you wanted to.”

“I was afraid of you,” Glorfindel admitted. “I thought you were cold. Heartless even.” It shamed him to say such a thing, but he had to tell Erestor the truth.

“Heartless?” Erestor was not only offended, but deeply hurt by such a grim, not to mention incorrect, term. “Heartless!?” He squirmed to get out of Glorfindel’s grip, but the blonde held him tightly in place.

“I was wrong, Erestor. I was so very wrong. Please forgive me.” Erestor stopped wriggling, and Glorfindel tightened his hold on the advisor, kissing his forehead pleadingly. “Please forgive me.”

Erestor released a ragged breath, and tried to put words to his feelings. “I only ever wanted you to love me. But you made it very clear that you had no respect for people who rather devote themselves to books and politics than to swords and arrows.”

“What makes you say that? I never claimed such a thing.”

“Never mind,” Erestor said. He was growing tired with all this emotion. “Just a lot of little things. I was simply never welcome in your little group of followers.”

“I didn’t think you wanted to be there.”

“I didn’t.”

“Then what are you arguing about?”

Erestor chuckled then, and Glorfindel was relieved he had been able to lift the mood. He kissed Erestor on the forehead once more, and embraced him tightly. He felt sad he had not been aware to see this other side of the chief counsellor before. He wished he had noticed it earlier. As he saw him now, there was nothing cold about him. He was warm, passionate, and incredibly devoted. Glorfindel had been sad when he first came to Imladris. There was no elf that he really felt connected with, no one that was special to him. Elrond and his sons were of course his close friends, but he would have wanted a companion. A partner. He never saw a potential mate in any of the elves he had gotten to know.

Erestor had been so mysterious. He had wanted to get to know him, he really had, but Erestor frightened him. He was a very authoritative elf, and was known across the lands as the negotiator who could stare down a mûmak. He had admired the advisor. Looked up to him. Whenever one was in his presence one felt so insignificant. Erestor simply beamed with pride, knowledge and wisdom. Surely he would have no need of mixing with the mere common folk. Or so Glorfindel had thought.

Erestor adjusted himself in the Elda’s embrace, leaning his back comfortably against the broad chest, and relaxing once again. He didn’t want to fret about the past anymore. He was content to be where he was. He sighed deeply and smiled to himself.

“You know, I might have approached you earlier had you not been such a show-off,” he teased.

“Oh, *I’m* the show-off, am I?” Glorfindel joined in the teasing.

“Always playing with your silly little knifes, taking of your shirt so that everyone can se what pretty muscles you have...”

“Says the walking dictionary!” he countered, mocking offence. “Like you don’t take every opportunity to show off all the knowledge you crammed in that pretty little brain of yours.”

“That is hardly the same thing.”

“It is exactly the same thing.”

“So we’re both show-offs.”

“Exactly.”

They broke out in a fit of laughter, and had to dip their heads under water to be able to stop. When they surfaced, they embraced tightly, and kissed each other in a way that made them feel closer to one another than they had ever felt before. Blue eyes locking with green, they smiled.

“See,” Glorfindel said. “We are not so different after all.” He raised his hand out of the water, took Erestor’s hand in his, and intertwined their fingers. “Look how we fit together.”

----------------------------------

Elrond didn’t have much of an appetite. He passed time at dinner by simply moving the food around on his plate. Looking up, he noticed that his sons were doing the same. It was late in the afternoon, and still no sign of anything happening in the garden. He would go and check in on their friends as soon as he had finished dinner. /What a joke that was,/ he thought to himself. Seeing the worry on identical faces, he tried to say something encouraging.

“They will be all right, my beloveds. There is no need to worry.”

“Is that why you are not eating either, ada?” Elladan asked with a hint of amusement. Elrond smiled fondly.

“Sometimes I wonder if not you two take more after Erestor than you do me. You tease just the way he does.”

“I remember,” Elrohir said. “That we once called him nana, just for fun, and he ended up chasing us through the entire house. We thought he was going to spank us silly.” Elladan laughed so hard he nearly choked. They had been a very mischievous pair, even after they reached their majority.

“I remember you two used to sit on the floor in the library, hour after hour, just to watch him work,” Elrond added. “You were always very fond of him, and he knew that. He would never have hurt you, even if you did call him nana.” He smiled at his sons. He was so proud of them. They had grown into fine men.

“I know,” Elrohir said. “But he changed. We changed. After we started battle training we spent more time with Glorfindel than we did with him, and we lost that closeness that we used to have.”

He spoke with great sadness in his voice, and Elrond felt his heart grow heavy with regret. Erestor had been very close with the boys once. Perhaps in his despair the lonely Noldo had sought other pleasures as substitute for their company. Elrond shook his head. It was still not an explanation, but it felt as though he was getting closer.

“Don’t get me wrong,” Elrohir continued. “I love Glorfindel, and I’m very glad we have grown so close to him, but I miss Erestor.”

“So do I,” Elladan agreed. “Elrohir, do you remember the day Glorfindel first arrived?”

“Of course. I remember everything about that day.” His face received a dreamy expression, and he stared into thin air as if he was picturing it in front of him. “He was wearing the finest clothing, set in green and burgundy, with golden flower embroideries.”

“He looked so regal,” Elladan filled in.

“His armour shone in the sunlight, and his weapons were like nothing I had ever seen.”

“The fabled balrog-slayer,” Elladan said, lost in his own memories.

“I even remember the feeling of awe I got when he walked passed me,” Elrohir continued. “And I remember the way his hair smelled.”

“Oh yes,” Elladan agreed. “Like spices and oranges...”

This is when Elrond choked on his meal. He didn’t even realize his sons were patting him on the back until a half chewed piece of an unrecognisable vegetable flew across the table. Before the twins could ask any questions, Elrond was already on his feet and pacing the room. Oranges. Oranges. Always back to the oranges. Elrond thought back to meeting Glorfindel in the twins’ room. /Please, meldir. I have not used this oil in centuries. I simply felt like wearing it. I like its scent./

Indeed. It was the same oil he had worn during his first time in Imladris. It was not much later that Erestor started behaving strangely. Hiding basket after basket of oranges in his room, devouring them in a manner that would bring you to imagine the way an orc would eat a baby’s head. Slowly, Elrond Peredhel was beginning to find the last pieces of the puzzle. The bigger picture was unfolding itself in front of him.

The lonely advisor. The overachieving seneschal. The sparks. The uncharacteristic behaviour. The losses. The suppressed emotions. The obsession. The oranges.

“Ada?” Elrohir’s voice reached him through the haze of his brooding, and he stopped pacing. “Ada, do you think...”

“Yes,” he whispered. Slowly, a sly smile crept into his features, which utterly baffled his confused sons. “Yes, I think.... I think everything will be all right.”

-------------------------------

Three months later, snow covered the entire valley. Naked trees glistened with frost, and everywhere in the forest you could see the footprints of animals imprinted on the white quilt that sheltered the earth. The days were dark, but the valley was alive and lit with lanterns. After the sun had completed its round and left the heavens black, tiny wads of soft snow began their slow journey to join their fallen brothers. In the last homely house, large hearths were warming the elves that dwelled within. But two remained without. A trail of soft footprints led away from the homestead, and up a hill. From that hill anyone who wanted could have a perfect view of the gardens all around the elven haven. Gardens where next spring orange trees would blossom unrestricted once more.

There in the shadow stood two figures, hand in hand, gazing up at the darkened sky. There was a blond one, clad in blue, and a dark one, wearing the deepest of red. From the garden they were barely visible, veiled behind a curtain of falling snow. The air was still. There was no sound that could disturb the couple where they stood in reverence of nature’s miracle. Their heads tilted upward, tiny stars of crystal snow landed on their faces, only to melt away on their warm skin.

Erestor giggled when a snowflake nearly got inside his nose, and it tickled him so badly he needed to sneeze. Glorfindel looked at his mate dotingly, unable to stop a wide grin from appearing on his face. In Erestor he had found the partner he had always craved, and more than that. He loved him something terrible, and could not imagine ever living without him again. Glorfindel rubbed his thumb over the hand in his, drawing Erestor’s attention. Ocean green eyes turned to look at him. It was amazing that he still got weak in the knees from such a simple thing.

“I love you, you silly elf,” he smiled, and pressed a kiss to the pale hand.

“I love you too, you big show-off,” Erestor grinned, and moved in close, face to face with his lover.

“Oh, *I’m* the show-off, am I?” Glorfindel’s grin grew wider, and he rubbed their noses together affectionately. Erestor nodded.

“You are.”

They kissed lovingly, trying not to giggle into each other’s mouths. Glorfindel got a bit frisky, and his hands travelled lower to cup a firm behind as they kissed.

“Guess what I want,” he teased, and started kissing Erestor’s neck, making him groan with pleasure.

“You... want to go inside?”

“No...” Glorfindel teased the most sensitive areas on the pale neck, knowing exactly where they were located.

“So you want to do it here, in the snow?”

“Uh-huh...”

“We did that yesterday, my love. You’ll have to think of something new.”

Glorfindel stopped and raised his head to look at his lover. “So I have to think of something new every day?”

“Uh-huh...” Erestor grinned and started kissing Glorfindel’s neck, eliciting a deep sigh of contentment.

“Don’t ever change, Erestor.”

Erestor stopped the teasing and faced his beloved Elda. The words had moved him almost to tears, but there was nothing but a warm smile on his face as he embraced Glorfindel. Rubbing their noses together affectionately, Erestor caressed the hair and the face he had been spellbound by for so long. They were finally together. Glorfindel took his hand and kissed it. He repeated the words he meant so sincerely.

“Don’t ever change.”

End

-------------------------------------

meldir = friend
ada = dad
melethron = lover
Ithil = the moon
Arien = the sun
lirimaer = my lovely one
melme = love
mûmak = oliphaunt

LotR fic repost: Forbidden Fruit

2009-11-01T22:40:51Z

I'm working on a fic masterlist, which means I need to post some old stuff that I've previously only had on Library of Moria. I'm starting with an old favorite from 2004.

Title: Forbidden Fruit
Author: Eremir
Pairings: Erestor/Glorfindel
Rating: NC17
Wordcount: ~13,000
Summary: Erestor has an obsession. An obsession that threatens to undo him. A secret only Elrond knows. Will Elrond be able to save Erestor when his animal urges are ultimately unleashed?
Warnings: Smut, kink, messiness, and general weirdness. Minor angst and a little fluff. Just the right combination. ;)
Notes: Written for the Library of Moria ‘Secret Fetish’-challenge, November 2004. 3rd place winner in the "Naughty" category at the My Precious Awards.

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In the garden stood a tree. Tall and beautiful, it glistened in the sunlight. A light breeze shifted the leaves, creating a whisper on the air. The tree called to him. Beckoned him to come closer. Erestor took a step. And another. He started shivering with conflicting emotions. He should not...but he wanted to...he should not...

Erestor violently sat up in the bed, panting. Cold sweat ran down his face. It was the same dream every night. They were getting worse. Every night it was harder to fight the urge to listen to the call of the tree. It had come to the point where Erestor did not want to go to bed at night. He fought sleep as he fought the temptation. But Elrond always noticed his weariness, and ordered him to sleep. Elrond did not understand.

Erestor got out of bed, bathed and got dressed. He straightened himself out, and put on his cool face, not showing any of his inner turmoil as he entered the corridor. He made way to Elrond’s study, where the half-elf was already waiting, and they commenced with the morning tasks.

“Well,” Elrond stated as they were almost done. “Everything seems to be in order. I will notify Glorfindel of the changes to the rosters, other than that....” He noticed Erestor’s blank stare out the window. “Meldir, are you listening?”

“What?” He turned his head abruptly. “Oh, I am sorry. I did not sleep well.”

“Again?” Elrond looked at his advisor with a swell of sympathy. Erestor’s eyes turned to the floor. He felt the Peredhel’s inquisitive stare, and suddenly felt like a caged animal. He nearly giggled when he realized that was not very far from the truth.

“Would you excuse me, my lord, I think I will go for a walk outside.” He rose from his chair and tried not to run for the door as the need for air became urgent.

“Of course. But Erestor...” He halted and met Elrond’s gaze. “Do not go into the north gardens. I want you to stay away from there.”

“I know, Elrond.” Erestor nodded, not really needing to be reminded. He quickly turned and hurried to the south gardens, not stopping until he came to a section overflowing with flowers emitting strong scents. There he collapsed.

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Elrond anxiously paced the corridors of the last homely house. Every year around this time, Erestor behaved this way. The dreams returned, and he was unable to concentrate on his duties. Elrond could only pray that he would be able to fight it this year as well. He had seen first hand what happened to his friend when he was exposed to his secret temptation, and he did not want that to happen again.

He looked outside the window, where the trees were heavy with fruit. All the elves in Imladris loved this season, when they could pick the ripe sweets fresh off the branch. The scent of the blossoms was still potent, and the leaves and grass was still green. It was the best part of summer, yet for one elf it was it was a season of nightmares. Elrond sighed and rubbed his temples.

It was then a slow sense of panic arose in his heart. A barely noticeable smell found his sensitive nose, and he swirled to find the source of it. In seconds, he concluded it came from the direction of the library. Infuriated by the fact that someone disobeyed his direct orders, he ran down the hall and into the room where the insolent elf must surely be.

Elladan was sitting in the southward window, reading a book and absentmindedly peeling an orange, when his father came barging into the room. He looked up, surprised at the look on Elrond’s face, but soon understood his mistake.

“Elladan!” The small elf nearly jumped off his seat at the sharp tone. “What have I told you about fruit in the house!?”

“Ada.” He crumbled before his father’s eyes. “It is only an orange....”

“Only an orange!?!?!” Elrond was fuming. “I have strictly forbidden oranges in the house, and you know it!”

“But...”

“But what?!”

“I just do not understand, ada.” Elladan looked at the round fruit in his hand, confused about the reason to why his father would consider it sinister. Elrond approached him, slightly calmer.

“I have told you, Elladan. There are elves in this house that are gravely allergic to oranges. If you want to eat them, do so in the north gardens where they grow.” Elrond felt his heart sink at the sadness in his son’s eyes as he beheld the fiery fruit.

“You know,” Elladan began, his voice tainted with memories. “I remember when we were younger, Elrohir and I, you would make us sweet orange soup on rainy days. We would have oranges with whipped cream for dessert, and orange juice for breakfast. This was always our favourite time of the year, because the entire valley smelled of oranges, and every food dish was enhanced with its flavour. Now we get scolded for even bearing its scent on our breath.”

Elrond put a hand on his shoulder, feeling the present sorrow over a childhood lost. “I know it is hard. I know you love the fruit, but you have to understand, my son. For someone in this house, oranges are a source of great misery and pain. When putting his misery against your pleasure, I choose him.”

“I just don’t understand,” Elladan looked up at his father’s gentle face. “How can an elf suddenly become allergic to a fruit? It does not make sense!”

“I know, my son. I do not understand it myself.”

“But who is he? Why does he not just move somewhere where there are no orange trees?”

“That is an unfair question, Elladan.” He looked sternly at his son. “He does not leave because he cannot. We need him, and he needs us. He loves us. If you knew who he was you would not want him to leave.”

“I am sorry, ada,” Elladan sighed. ”I just wish there was some way to make everyone happy.”

“You can start by taking that orange outside. We will talk later.”

“Yes, ada.” Elladan surrendered, and rose to leave.

“And wash your mouth before talking to anyone.” Elladan paused, but then continued his way to the north gardens. He had to find out who this elf was, and why Elrond was protecting his identity. What harm could the scent of an orange really do?

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Erestor sat under a tree, inhaling the strong scent of the flowers. He felt at peace. He had cleared his head of all impure thoughts, and focused on the sounds of the birds in the canopy. He sighed with relief, and relaxed against the trunk. With his eyes closed, he dreamed of apples. Green apples. Red apples. Apple pie. Applesauce. Apple rings. Apple...orange...cake. What?

His back straightened, and he looked around for whoever had whispered that word into his mind. ‘Orange’. The word made him shiver with delight. “No!” He stood, and began pacing the grass, holding his head between his hands. He fought the impure thoughts. But the stirring in his stomach was relentless. ‘Orange’. He trembled. Where was this coming from?

It was then he noticed. A subtle smell on the wind. A familiar, sweet scent carried down from the house. Erestor looked towards the beautiful structure, wondering which room held the tempting fruit, and which elf was enjoying it. Images of lips closing around the dripping pulp entered his brain, and a shocking tremor hit his body and threw him to the ground. He could almost taste it. He inhaled as much of the scent as he could, sampling it on his tongue like a snake.

He did not know whether to fight or give in, but somehow he seemed stapled to the ground. He could not move. A gust of wind sprayed his face with more scent, and he grew hard in his leggings. He groaned and clawed at the earth with trembling hands. He summoned a recollection of the authority in Elrond’s voice. “You have to fight this, Erestor. You are a danger to others and to yourself. You must give up the fruit before it consumes you. Give up the fruit...”

Erestor succeeded in somewhat calming his raging blood, and his erection faded slowly. He focused on his breathing. In and out. There was no longer a trace of the alluring fruit on the air, and he collapsed onto the soil. It was so hard. He had been fighting this battle for centuries, and it got harder every year. There were times when he hated Elrond. Hated him for taking the oranges away, but he knew it was for his own good.

He had seen the disappointment in the faces of the other elves when Elrond moved all the orange trees to the north of the house, and ordered that no fruit would leave the gardens. He remembered the hurt in the twins’ eyes when they understood. No more pies, cakes, or any other dishes with oranges. Erestor felt so guilty. It was not fair for all the other elves to lose their beloved fruit just because he could not control his passion for it. He sobbed into the ground where he lay, frustrated with his helplessness.

----------------------------------

Elrond still paced the corridor. He walked through the house, feeling a sudden need to remind everyone he saw about the rules regarding fruit. He paid special attention to the wing of the house where Erestor had his residence. He especially checked the twins’ room for any signs of rule breach. He even was as bold as to enter their private bathroom and look in the waste bin for orange peels. He found none.

“Well, this is a sight I thought I would never see,” a voice snickered in the doorway. Elrond turned around, quite angry with himself for getting caught in the act. “The lord of Imladris, digging through garbage?” Glorfindel grinned smugly at Elrond’s offended facial expression.

“What do you want, Glorfindel?” Elrond asked, actually relieved it was not one of his sons that had caught him.

“Oh, I just noticed the open door, that’s all. Just what are you doing, anyway?”

Elrond seemed to be sniffing the air, and without warning pushed past Glorfindel into the twins’ bedroom. “Do you smell oranges?” He appeared frantic.

“Honestly, Elrond,” Glorfindel sighed, concerned. “What is it with you and oranges? Why do you hate them so much that you will not even allow them in the house?”

“Why? What have you heard?” Elrond glared at his seneschal, and Glorfindel could only shake his head in defeat.

“I just saw Elladan.”

“What?” Elrond walked up to him. “Where is he?”

“Well, currently he is sitting in the north gardens, crying under the orange tree. Elrohir is with him.” Elrond sighed and rubbed his eyes wearily.

“Somehow I get the feeling all hell is about to break loose,” he said, and leaned on his seneschal for support. Glorfindel put an arm around him and rubbed soothing circles on his back. Elrond apparently could not get the orange smell out of his nose, and was beginning to think something was wrong, until he had an epiphany. “What have you put in your hair today?”

“What do you mean? There’s nothing in my hair.” Glorfindel wondered about the Peredhel. He was acting very strangely.

“Nothing? No oils even?”

“Well...yes. I have oil in it.” What was he getting at?

“What type of oil?” Elrond looked accusingly at him. “What is it made from?”

Glorfindel nodded, as he finally understood. “Oranges....”

“What were you thinking putting that in your hair?!” Elrond was raising his voice in a pained manner, and Glorfindel did not know what to think. “I specifically ordered, no oranges! In any form! Why did you make an oil from them?”

“Please, meldir,” the seneschal pleaded. “I have not used this oil in centuries. I simply felt like wearing it. I like its scent.”

“Well, you can just go straight back to your rooms and wash it off. I will not tolerate this blatant breach of my rules. Am I making myself clear?”

“Yes, of course, my lord.” He slumped his shoulders in defeat, and watched as Elrond turned and stormed out of the room, mumbling something inaudible. Glorfindel sighed, and ran a strand of hair between his fingers. Something very strange was going on in the last homely house. Something very strange indeed.

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Erestor tried to return to his rooms, but seemed unable to find his way. His body pulled to the north, and he had to stop himself several times when he realized he was almost at the door to the garden. He felt drained. The struggle tired him. The best thing for him to do would be to lock himself in his room for the next few weeks, and busy himself with making scented candles. Anything to keep that alluring smell from entering his mind.

Lost in thought, he hardly knew where he was stepping, and bumped into another elf passing through the corridor. “Erestor, are you all right?” Glorfindel asked concerned, as he caught the chief advisor in his arms. Surprisingly, Erestor did not struggle to free himself. He appeared weak for some reason. “Erestor?”

“I am fine, Glorfindel...” he began, but suddenly felt more weak than ever. His knees buckled, and he could hardly stand. The seneschal acted instinctively, and swiftly helped Erestor to his rooms. Well inside the door, he tried to make the raven-haired advisor look at him.

“Erestor, what is wrong?” He pressed the slighter form to his chest, to keep him from falling to the floor, and noticed a slight shivering. He could not be sick? “Tell me what is wrong,” he begged, and was rewarded by large, shiny eyes of a deep ocean-green.

“I...I....” Glorfindel looked at him so expectantly, he did not know what to say. Staring into exotic sapphire eyes, he understood how truly beautiful the Elda really was. That long golden hair, that smooth, fair skin... He was utterly exquisite. Erestor also noticed how close they were standing, bodies pressed fully against each other. His hands were on Glorfindel’s chest, put up in some mock-reluctance gesture. When he moved his fingers, they experienced the contrast between the soft, silken tresses of hair, and the coarse fabric of the light blue tunic. For some reason, it made him feel very warm.

“Erestor, what is it?” Glorfindel was getting really worried. Erestor never behaved this way. What was wrong with the Peredhil today? Elladan crying, Elrond obsessing, and now Erestor collapsing into his arms. Erestor even seemed to move closer. Before he knew it, the half-elf’s breath warmed his ear.

“You smell nice...” he nearly panted into the pointed ear. Closing his eyes, he relished the feeling of soft hair against his face. Glorfindel grinned from ear to ear, never knowing this more seductive side of the otherwise so sober advisor.

“Do you like it? It is orange.”

Green eyes grew wide and he gasped. Erestor felt his heart speeding up its rhythm, and sweat broke out on his brow.

“Say it again.” He trembled in the blonde’s embrace.

“What? Orange?” Erestor whimpered at the sound of the word, and rubbed up against the dumbstruck Elda like an overheated feline.

“Again,” he panted. Glorfindel grew increasingly amused at Erestor’s mystical behaviour, but he could not deny it was also arousing him. He spoke teasingly, elongating the word that brought such pleasure to his friend.

“Oooooraaannngge....”

Erestor groaned loudly, wrapping arms and legs around the warm body of the larger, more muscular elf. With his heated lips against a delicate ear, he panted his desire. “More...”

“More what?” Glorfindel teased, nipping at a pale neck, and extracting a whimper from the flushed Noldo.

“Please... I need it,” he pleaded, feeling his hardness straining in his groin. Everything was spinning inside his head. The scent on him, his voice... it was all so intoxicating. More so than Erestor could bear.

“You need oranges? I can bring you some.”

Such a simple offer, it would seem. Erestor started shaking violently, anticipation heating his loins. He wanted it so badly. He wanted to taste it. It had been so long. He panted uncontrollably, and planted wet kisses on Glorfindel’s neck. The Elda groaned from the treatment. If this was what the word could do to Erestor, he could not even imagine what the actual fruit would do. He needed to get hold of some oranges, that was for sure, but he did not want to leave Erestor now.

Erestor ground his hips against Glorfindel, seeking the glorious friction his presence brought. Both elves, delirious with excitement, exploring each other’s bodies with trembling hands. It was not long before lips found lips, and passionate kisses consumed their entire attention. Glorfindel grabbed onto a dark head, angling it for easy access to the eager mouth. He pushed his questing tongue inside, exploring every corner of the wet cavern with great delight. Erestor groaned, and happily engaged his tongue in the wrestle, swirling it around Glorfindel’s, trapping it and suckling it seductively.

It was the blonde who first broke the kiss, desperately needing to breathe. Their lips bruised, they looked into each other’s eyes and panted hot breath onto blushed skin. “Come to my room,” Glorfindel asked breathlessly. “I have more orange oil.” He knew it was a shameless bribe, but he did not want to let Erestor get to his senses, for then he would surely be rejected. The beautiful Noldo was beyond dreams, and Glorfindel did not want to end this moment.

“More...orange?” The dark haired elf asked between breaths, and once more engaged their lips in a passionate combat. They stumbled out the door, their mouths never losing contact as they dragged themselves down the corridor to Glorfindel’s room, not even caring if anyone saw them. Erestor only realized they were there when his back touched the mattress of the Elda’s bed.

The seneschal laid down on top of his unexpected lover, pressing him deep into the mattress, still kissing him with rapture. Erestor groaned at the intimate contact, and grabbed hold of the blonde’s backside, pushing their erections together. Glorfindel broke the kiss with a loud groan. He rubbed his hips in circles against the excited half-elf, bringing them both dangerously close to the edge. Erestor whimpered and writhed beneath him, and the situation was unbelievably erotic to the aroused blonde.

“I have something for you, melethron,” Glorfindel whispered, suddenly afraid to move.

Erestor let out an unrecognisable sound in response, as his eyelids fluttered in delirium. The blonde pushed away and got out of the bed, heading to the bathroom with quick steps. Erestor lay breathlessly left behind. His mind was spinning. In the back of his conscience he still heard Elrond’s commanding tone, but his primal brain had taken over, and swiftly killed off the annoying voice of reason. /To Mordor with reason!/ he thought, and started tearing off his clothes.

Glorfindel’s hands were shaking so badly, he dropped the flask of oil several times. He took a few moments to calm his raging blood before returning to the bedroom. He froze in the doorway, startled to find the chief advisor naked on his bed. His eyes were closed, and a fine sheen of sweat covered his face and torso. He was still panting. The fiery afternoon sun gave his skin a warm glow, and the ordinarily raven locks shone of mahogany. Glorfindel came to wonder why he had never noticed what a breathtaking beauty Erestor really was.

Seeing the elf on the bed calm his breathing, Glorfindel realized he needed to act quickly lest the moment would pass him by. He stripped more rapidly than he remembered ever doing in his life, and uncorked the flask of potent orange oil. Sneaking up to the bed and sitting down, he lowered the opening of the flask under Erestor’s nose.

Green eyes shot open, and long limbs trembled in the sheets. Grabbing Glorfindel’s wrist, Erestor pulled himself up sitting, his nose pressed to the mouth of the crystal flask. He inhaled the bittersweet scent, finding himself immobile in the seneschal’s arms. Glorfindel grinned from ear to ear. Apparently it was not Elrond who had a thing for oranges after all. Placing his hand flat against Erestor’s heart, he pushed the mesmerized Noldo back into the mattress.

Erestor gasped when a thick liquid trickled across his skin. His mind was in uproar. Glorfindel’s extremely gifted hands started working the oil into his skin. The scent of it, the feel of it, the mere sight of it nearly caused Erestor to spend himself. He groaned at every touch. Thinking he had reached the highest level of bliss, he was once again shocked when the Elda managed to push him even higher into the sky.

Glorfindel laid down on top of his lover, rubbing their bodies together, making sure not an inch of skin was left without oil. The liquid sensation of their oily muscles sliding over each other was far more intoxicating than anything either of them had ever felt. Adding extra oil to his hands, the seneschal started working on their erections. Erestor groaned loudly at the slightest touch, and Glorfindel knew it would not be long. They were both beyond the point of no return.

Carefully holding their arousals in one hand, the blond elf took charge of their passion. The Noldo shivered beneath him, and Glorfindel could think of nothing else to do than to claim his lips and ravage his mouth until pleads for release escaped him. Erestor instantly threw his arms around the Elda, trying to pull him deeper into the kiss. The oil on his skin made it difficult to hold onto anything, but he tried desperately.

The two slick bodies moved in such perfect symbiosis, it almost seemed as if they were one being. The fluent motion of their carnal act causing ripples of ecstasy to flow through their souls. The sounds and scents filling the room would have hypnotized any elf that had dared to enter. Orange orbs of light danced inside Erestor’s eyelids, and a sparkling, buzzing feeling spread through every nerve in his body. The hot mouth pressed against his panted the same passion.

Suddenly, as if all the muscles in their bodies contracted at the same time, their movements halted, and wave after wave of painful pleasure washed over them. Erestor wanted to scream, but no sound left his lips. His jaw remained barred open, and his eyes wide in shock after the powerful convulsion. Glorfindel’s stiff form jerked, as he spilled his seed on Erestor’s oily flesh. Collapsing heavily on top of his lover, he rode out the final waves of orgasm.

The Noldo still panted below him, but he also sighed blissfully. Glorfindel smiled tiredly, and realizing he would not be able to stay awake much longer he moved off Erestor, letting the exhausted advisor breathe. None of them had the urge or the will to clean up, and both fell asleep in a tousled, oily mess on the bed.

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Elrond sighed to himself while unfastening his robes. He felt more tired than he had in months. He would have liked to check in on Erestor before going to bed, but had decided that the troubled advisor probably wanted to be alone. He always did. The loneliness soothed him better than any form of company ever did. Elrond slipped out of his daywear and made way into the bathroom.

He had spent the entire day running through the house, making sure no oranges were brought inside. Poor Erestor. He loved those fruits, but they had such dangerous effects on him. Elrond was not entirely sure how it all began, but it had changed things for everyone. Erestor started to obsess about the fruit. He would use them for strange purposes. He would turn into someone else.

It frightened Elrond to see his friend in such a state. Erestor drew some form of perverted pleasure from the oranges, and it did not matter to him what he had to do to get hold of them. He had nearly killed Lindir the last time. That was when Elrond had put a stop to it. Lindir still battled his internal demons over the incident, and kept well away from the chief advisor. Erestor could not be allowed to continue this madness.

Elrond leaned over the sink and washed his face in cool spring water. Looking at his tired features in the mirror, he traced the lines of his face with slightly calloused fingertips. Lines that would surely not be there had he been fully elven. /Half-elves have weaknesses,/ Elrond thought to himself while drying his face with a towel. /We are not as strong as other elves. Not like the Sindar, the Galadhil, or the Eldar./

The only Elda in Imladris was Glorfindel, and Elrond was suddenly reminded of him. Strolling back into his bedroom to slip into his sleeping robes, Elrond thought back to meeting the blond seneschal in the twins’ room earlier. The former balrog-slayer had no idea of the danger he was in wearing that oil in his hair. What if he had run into Erestor? The results would be catastrophic to say the least. The beast that dwells inside the counsellor must stay caged.

Elrond crawled into bed and nuzzled into the pillows. He was looking forward to a good night’s rest. All was quiet in the last homely house. The aged lord hoped good dreams would visit his friend this night. His urges always got worse after nightfall. /Be strong, meldir. Sleep well and dream beautiful dreams. May the Valar watch over you in your hour of need./ With that thought, Elrond fell asleep.

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Glorfindel’s sleep was disturbed by an unfamiliar sensation. His gaze fastened on the moonlit body in his arms. Erestor was covered in cold sweat and shaking violently. Glorfindel worriedly raised himself on his elbow and leaned over his lover. Touching his hand to a clammy brow he grew alarmed. Something was not right.

“Erestor?” he whispered anxiously, but the only response he got was a weak moan. “Erestor, love, what is wrong?” But the advisor said nothing.

They were both still covered in oil, and quite slippery, but Glorfindel tried his best to rearrange them in the bed to make Erestor more comfortable. He held the quivering form tightly to his chest and wrapped them both in a warm blanket, but the shivering was unrelenting. The whimpers coming from the chief advisor grew louder, and Glorfindel was beginning to despair. He wanted to run and fetch Elrond, but somehow he had the feeling his lord would have his head if he knew what had transpired in this room.

Erestor began moving his shaky limbs, and awareness came back to his eyes. He looked around, his gaze wandering the outline of an unfamiliar room. He had no idea how he had gotten there. The bitter smell of orange peels was still in his nose, making him dizzy, and waking his inner beast once more. As he moved, he felt the body of another wrapped around his, the oil between them slicking his form. He groaned, and weakly tried to push away from the grip that held him captive.

“Erestor, please!” Glorfindel tried to steady the shaking counsellor, but Erestor easily snaked out of his grip.

Erestor heard the pleading voice, but was confused as to its source. His only focus was escaping the sticky sheets clinging to his skin. Tumbling over the edge of the bed he ended up on the floor, finally freed from his prison of cloth and flesh. On all fours, he panted, trying to clear his head. But the potent scent of the oil was still all around him. Images flickered through his mind. Blond hair. Blue eyes. That smile... Did any of that really happen, or did he just dream it all? Was he still dreaming?

A hand on his back quickened him, and he cocked his head only to see the same face that haunted his brain. The touch on his skin no longer felt like a violation of his person. It aroused his senses. The air was bitter on his tongue, and the sweetness in Glorfindel’s voice as he spoke made Erestor wish for other types of sweetness. In one easy turn he faced the seneschal, throwing himself into his arms and kissing him madly.

Glorfindel was surprised by this sudden change, and for a moment he could not bring himself to react. Erestor seductively rubbed his slick body against him, pressing them tightly together. A groan escaped Glorfindel, his primal lusts awoken by Erestor’s questing kisses. He enfolded the other body with strong, warrior arms, and sent his tongue into battle. As their passion grew their kisses lost control. Panting into each other’s mouths, they were unwilling to disconnect.

Straddling Glorfindel’s lap on the floor, Erestor tried to push him over on his back, but the seneschal was not so easily swayed. Their movements were fervent and erratic, bordering on hysterical, and Erestor was exited beyond belief. In a moment of pure desperation, Glorfindel’s need for air overshadowed his need for Erestor, and he harshly pushed him off. This left the advisor sprawled on the floor, panting, still licking his lips as if he felt the presence of another’s.

Glorfindel beheld the beautiful creature. Long pale limbs, hair as black as night, all shimmering in the light of Ithil. Shiny from oil and sweat. Erestor lifted himself on his elbows, dark, lust-filled eyes fixing on the blonde. He tentatively lifted his foot, and let his toes play over Glorfindel’s chest. Tiny shivers travelled through the seneschal, hardening his nipples and bringing a grin to the counsellor’s face. With both feet on Glorfindel’s chest, he massaged the taut muscles, rubbing the nipples between his toes. Glorfindel groaned and leaned into the touch.

Erestor’s features twisted with another grin the moment before he spread his legs, letting Glorfindel fall unprepared on top of him. He giggled at the blonde’s shocked expression as he landed, but Glorfindel silenced him with a deep kiss. His hands full of dark hair, Glorfindel tasted the laughter on Erestor’s tongue. He felt light-headed and warm, the advisor’s saliva seemly manipulating him as if it were an aphrodisiac.

Erestor displayed great skill in his kisses, suckling the tip of Glorfindel’s tongue into his mouth, and circling it with his own. His fingertips were lightly grazing the long muscular neck, sending shivers down Glorfindel’s spine. The advisor was calm and composed, kissing the seneschal lazily, as if his passion was already spent. Glorfindel on the other hand was more aroused than ever, but was afraid to push it with the chief counsellor. Erestor was the one in control.

It was he who ended the kiss, turning large shiny eyes to his lover. They looked at each other for what seemed like an eternity, drowning in one another. Glorfindel felt his heartbeat quicken at the intensity of the moment. He would never have thought there existed another side of the advisor he had always known. Erestor had always been withdrawn, paying more attention to books and scrolls than to the other elves in the house. Glorfindel had been so preoccupied these last hours, he hadn’t given himself time to think things through.

The oranges. The oranges were the key. He had never seen Erestor in the north gardens were they grew, nor had he ever seen him eat one. Elrond must have forbidden him. It was the only explanation to why the Peredhel had been so distressed when he saw him in the twins’ rooms. Why forbid him? It was no wonder Erestor had such a fixation with the fruit if he knew it was forbidden. Glorfindel could not even imagine the horror of having your lord forbid you your favourite fruit. He himself was particularly fond of cherries, and would never accept a restriction of that sort.

A sudden swell of sympathy for the counsellor nearly made his eyes water, and he gently caressed the flawless features with the back of his fingers. The expression in the shimmering green eyes had changed, and Erestor now looked up at him with a bewildered gaze. His brow furrowed ever so slightly, and there were many questions in his ocean depths. Glorfindel just smiled warmly and placed a chaste kiss on his brow.

“Come,” he said. “I want to take you somewhere.”

“Where?” It was a mere breathless whisper, as wide and frightened eyes searched his.

“I want to take you to your forbidden desire, my love. To a garden that has never known your footprint. To the north, where your passion grows.”

Erestor’s face was blank, all emotion hidden again behind the mask he had always worn. But a glimmer in the green eyes told Glorfindel all he needed to know. He sat up, carefully pulling Erestor with him, and gathered him into his arms. He kissed him reassuringly, lightly touching their tongues together. In his embrace the chief advisor started to relax. His eyes sparkled with lust, but hesitation gnawed at him still. He pulled away and looked to his lover.

“Why?”

“Because no one has the right to tell you which fruits you can and cannot have. If you want oranges, then oranges you shall have, my love.”

Erestor was nothing short of amazed. He had never seen this side of the seneschal before. He placed his hand on the exquisite face, mapping the angelic features with his fingertips. He traced his thumb over the arch of a rosy lip, earning it an appreciative kiss. Their eyes met as Glorfindel kept kissing each finger, making his way into the palm before finally resting it on his cheek. They looked at each other, and Erestor felt it was right. It was time to let go.

----------------------------------

The corridors of the last homely house were deserted. Not a sound was heard and no lanterns were lit. The only source of illumination was a row of windows along the west wall, where the moonlight created pools of silver on the floor. As Erestor ran down the hall, the air was cool on his naked skin. He felt freed. Liberated. Saved from the shackles that had bound him for centuries. So he ran. He ran north.

Glorfindel was not far behind. He followed the musical chuckle and the long mane of dark hair flowing behind the advisor. He smiled as he ran, watching the naked body in front of him change hue as it passed between light and shadow in the corridor. They ran naked through the north wing of the house, giggling like children playing catch. As Erestor turned his head and smiled at Glorfindel, liquid raven locks framed his face, and Glorfindel thought it was the loveliest sight he had ever seen.

When they reached the north gardens, Erestor flung the doors open, but paused a few steps out on the grass. Glorfindel caught up, and stood behind him, adoring his figure. Washed in starlight, Erestor inhaled the scent of the night. He closed his eyes to better experience the tranquillity he felt. The breeze in his hair. The soft grass under the soles of his feet. And then he felt Glorfindel at his side. He opened his eyes. The blonde was even more beautiful under the stars. Erestor did not realize the Elda had taken his hand, until he was led away, into the garden.

It was very quiet. Serene. Even the birds were sleeping. Erestor explored every piece of vegetation with eyes widened by curiosity, like a child exploring a new room for the first time. Glorfindel walked beside him, still amazed that this was the same person who always wore dark robes and sat in a stuffy library all day. He slowly led the raven-haired beauty toward the orchard. Erestor walked with his eyes closed. He had picked a flower, and was now twirling it under his nose, letting the soft petals tickle his upper lip. The smile he wore was unmistakeable. It was one of pure joy.

The flowery bushes parted into a clearing, and in its centre stood a single tree, showered in moonlight. Heavy branches bore round, golden fruit, and the beauty of the scenery almost made Glorfindel’s heart stop. He looked to his side, where Erestor was still standing dreamingly, twirling the little flower over his lip. Their hands still connected, Glorfindel pulled him closer.

“Open your eyes, lirimaer,” he whispered. “Look at this.”

As the advisor opened his eyes, his jaw dropped and the flower he had held danced to the ground in tiny loops. It was like straying into a dream. The tree that had always haunted his nightmares was everything but threatening to him now. Eyes wide with admiration, he entered the clearing and walked towards the glowing tree. A few steps away from his companion their hands slipped apart, and Glorfindel let Erestor take his time. He would have been content with merely watching him, but he hoped there would be more. They couldn’t ask for a more romantic setting.

Erestor felt a jolt of energy surging through his body when he first laid his hand against the rough bark. He stroked it, feeling the coarse texture move on his sensitive skin. He smiled as joy filled his heart, and in a moment of final surrender he flung his arms around the trunk and embraced his own desires. No more would he deny it, no longer hide from it, and never ever again would he give it up. Deep breaths of night air filled his lungs, carrying him off on waves of euphoria. This was no bitter oil that filled the air. This was the real thing. The tree, the flowers, the fruits; they all helped spread the wonderful scent in the valley.

Erestor pressed himself harder against the tree, the rough bark leaving temporary imprints on his skin. A single tear left each eye, even though he desperately tried to hold them back. What must Glorfindel think of him? As he started to relax, a strange thud sounded from behind. Mystified he turned, but Glorfindel was still standing in the shadow, too far away to have made the sound. His gaze dropped to the floor, where a single golden ball lay on a cushion of grass. It called to him. Beckoned him to come closer. Before he realized he had left the tree, the orange was in his hands. He held it gently, almost with reverence, carefully caressing its leathery surface.

Glorfindel could not contain himself any longer. He saw the desire building inside the counsellor, and ever so stealthily he treaded the soil that lay between them. He was unable to take his gaze off Erestor. The fruit alone appeared golden in a sea of silver wherever the moon touched the land. Tiny gold specks reflected in Erestor’s dark eyes. For a brief moment, those eyes left the round object situated in pale hands, and locked gazes with Glorfindel. Weak at the knees, the seneschal stood in front of the chief advisor. He placed his hands over his, cradling the precious fruit in a nest of protective fingers.

Erestor looked at the blonde appreciatively, leaned forward and softly touched their lips together. Glorfindel shivered slightly from the gentle kiss, and kept his eyes closed for several seconds after, just to savour the feeling. When he opened them, there was Erestor. Smiling.

“Thank you,” Erestor said.

“For what?”

“For setting me free.”

They smiled at each other, their hands joined over the sphere of perfect gold. Another thud sounded in the clearing, and they both turned to see a second perfect fruit lying waiting in the grass. Erestor looked at the Elda and smiled even brighter. Then another thud was heard, and a third sphere settled on the ground after rolling down a tuft of grass. The two elves now looked at each other with bewildered amusement. Suddenly, the air filled with a sound not unlike thunder, as dozens of oranges tumbled off the branches, one by one hitting the ground like raindrops. For a few incredible seconds, the couple was surrounded by falling orbs of fire. As silence returned to the garden, a stray orange rolled into Erestor’s foot, where it stopped and settled against his naked skin.

The two elves looked around, completely dumbfounded. The grass was covered in bright marbles, except a small circle around their feet. Not one fruit had hit them, even though they had been standing right below the heavy branches. They looked up at the canopy, where fruit still lingered, suspended above their heads, waiting for their turn to ripen. Erestor closed his eyes and silently thanked the tree for his luscious gifts. A light breeze rustled the leaves, giving Erestor his reply. Glorfindel could only watch in pure awe. He would remember this night for all eternity.

----------------------------------

Erestor lay on the grass with closed eyes, humming on an old song, simply content with being at peace. The oranges were all around him, and he felt such serenity in his heart knowing he had but to reach out and he would be fulfilled. He enjoyed the feeling of empowerment for a moment. A tearing sound alerted his ears, and when he opened his eyes he saw Glorfindel with his back against the tree, ripping the peel from an orange. Erestor immediately felt his mouth water. He licked his lips and quietly watched the blonde part the fruit in a very erotic way.

Glorfindel tore off a segment and raised it to his lips. But as he made to put it in his mouth he heard Erestor’s sharp gasp. He chuckled and looked teasingly at the advisor. He took the segment in both hands and broke it in half, sending the sweet scent of the hidden juices into the air. With a shocked groan Erestor sat up and urgently dragged himself over to Glorfindel. He stopped only a couple of inches away from the parted orange segment, which Glorfindel was holding up so enticingly in front of him.

“Did you want the first piece?” the Elda said innocently, the amusement visible in his eyes.

Erestor nodded, never taking his eyes off the prize. Glorfindel moved the piece of fruit closer, and Erestor expectantly parted his lips. The blonde jerked the fruit back, nearly making the advisor jump after it. Glorfindel giggled teasingly at the dark haired elf and did it again. Erestor looked almost offended, but Glorfindel was actually beginning to fear for his fingers should he try to put the fruit past the elf’s sharp teeth.

“You are not going to bite me, are you?” he asked, and Erestor merely shook his head.

Glorfindel finally surrendered, and held the fruit in front of him. Erestor waited for him to jerk it back, but he never did. He extended his tongue and received his reward. The soft pulp melted away in his mouth, and he closed his lips to suck Glorfindel’s fingers clean of the juices the fruit had left behind. The Elda felt an immediate heat envelope his body as he watched the counsellor suckle his fingers. With his other hand he held up the other half of the orange segment, earning the fingers on that hand the same treatment.

Erestor had closed his eyes again, eating the fruit slowly, trapped in silent worship. Glorfindel took the opportunity to put a piece of fruit into his own mouth, and chewed on it hastily. As soon as he had swallowed, he grabbed Erestor and pressed their lips together with great urgency. The other body was alive and vibrant, full of unspent passion and lust. Glorfindel embraced it, feeling his own limbs quicken from the intimacy. They kissed heatedly, falling in each other’s arms on the grass.

Glorfindel reached for the parted fruit, putting another piece between Erestor’s lips before kissing him again. Within their kiss the fruit was shared and spent, only to make way for another piece. They ate of the forbidden, they drank of one another, they lived one second away from the edge and never feared to fall. They were lost in the moment, and nothing else mattered than what was right here, right now.

Erestor happily devoured everything Glorfindel gave him, but he grew frustrated with small pieces and slow dealings. Growing heated and feverish with lust, he forcefully rolled the Elda over on his back, and straddled him. Glorfindel was stunned at first, but had no problem with Erestor taking charge. If there was something he had always admired about Elrond’s chief advisor, it was his determination. If he wanted something, he usually got his way. Erestor sat up straight and looked down on his lover. He teased his fingers over taut nipples, sending a surge of shivers through the muscular body of the elven warrior.

There was still oil on their skin, but not enough to please Erestor. Grabbing the nearest orange from the grass, he held it up in both hands, sunk his nails through the thick peel and tore the fruit apart. Cool juices dripped down onto Glorfindel’s chest, trickling in tiny rivers between the muscles on his stomach and throat. Erestor pressed one half of the orange against the blonde’s skin, squashing the pulp and smearing it over his torso. The other half he put to his own face, devouring the fruity flesh with large bites as the juices ran down his neck.

Glorfindel only got more aroused by the counsellor’s savage behaviour, and his member was now painfully erect. Erestor picked up another orange and tore it apart. This time he made the blonde eat it, pressing the fruit against his mouth. He enjoyed watching the balrog-slayer lap up the pulp, and intrigued he watched the larynx move up and down the warrior’s throat as he swallowed. He slowly became aware of the erection pressing against his buttocks, and decided it was time it received some attention as well.

Using the other half of the orange he pressed the engorged member against his behind, rubbing the exposed pulp over the hard shaft. He felt Glorfindel’s desperate groan, and removed the empty peel from his face to let him breathe. The blonde bucked beneath him as he continued to rub the swollen length with the dripping fruit. Erestor bent down and started licking the sweet juices off Glorfindel’s fair face and neck. The seneschal groaned and squirmed in his grip. Erestor nipped at the sensitive skin and withdrew an excited whimper from his lover.

Glorfindel’s hands wandered from his sides, searching for something to grab onto. One hand found grass, and the other took hold of another orange. Erestor’s tongue was massaging his lips, making him dizzy. Erestor was a very skilled elf, in whatever task he took upon himself, kissing included. The whimpers and moans Erestor was able to extract from the seneschal only aided in arousing him further, and he started panting heavily. Glorfindel was able to rip apart the orange, and fed it to his lover so he may catch his breath for a moment.

Erestor greedily tore the flesh from the orange with his teeth, and swallowed it in one gulp. Casting aside the peel, he returned to kissing Glorfindel breathless. Lying flat on top of the blonde, he rubbed himself against him, craving the friction his body provided. Erestor still had a hold on Glorfindel’s member, squeezing it inside the shredded orange, the juices slicking the shaft and dripping down the sac. However, the chief counsellor was growing impatient.

He threw away what was left of the orange, and took a firm hold on Glorfindel’s thick member, catching the Elda’s cries of pleasure with his mouth. Slowly, Erestor stroked the erection in his hand, ever so teasingly nudging the blunt head against the entrance to his body. The blonde quivered with anticipation. Glorfindel groaned into the kiss, his hands grabbing hold of Erestor’s hips. Their skin was slick and sticky with oil, smashed pulp and fruit juices, but they hardly noticed.

Erestor started licking and kissing his way down the Elda’s chest, lapping at the sweet orange that lingered on every inch of his skin. The skilful advisor let both hands massage a muscular torso as he slid himself down to settle on Glorfindel’s long legs. His inquisitive tongue found a pool of golden liquid in a perfect navel, and kissed it clean. The balrog-slayer moaned his consent. Jet-black hair tickled his every nerve as Erestor’s kisses travelled lower.

That ever so skilled tongue drew a wet path up the reddened column of Glorfindel’s member, making him quiver with suspense. Erestor eagerly licked the dripping juices from the sensitive skin on the Elda’s inner thighs, the wrinkled sac, and the hard shaft that so impatiently awaited his attentions. Deciding to have pity on the suffering blonde, Erestor took the member into his mouth, and suckled the purple head until Glorfindel was groaning with mad desire. Letting his tongue dance over the sensitive tip, he elicited noise after noise of pleasurable surrender from the wicked blonde. Tracing the tip of his tongue at the slit, he could make Glorfindel’s entire body tremor with lust.

He finally decided that the Elda had had enough, and planted one last kiss on the glistening head. Sliding back up Glorfindel’s body, he brushed their erections together briefly, before he once again settled himself on the muscular hips. Leaning forward to kiss his blond warrior, he let him taste the mixture that was their lovemaking this night. The taste of Erestor, of Glorfindel, and of the fruit that was forbidden.

Glorfindel could not recall ever being this aroused. Oranges must indeed be a very powerful aphrodisiac. He kissed his love passionately, tasting the sweetness of the fruit, and the saltiness of his own essence on Erestor’s tongue. That thought only excited him further. He wanted to have Erestor, to take him and ravage him until the sun came over the mountains. He ached for it.

His arms and hands frantically searched to get a good hold on the slippery advisor, but it was useless. The straining member jutting out from his groin ached for contact, but Erestor only kept teasing him. Frustrated, Glorfindel grasped both of the Noldo’s buttocks, and pulled them apart. Erestor cried out and broke the kiss. He panted with excitement as the Elda kept massaging his backside. Erestor reached back and carefully laid his hand over Glorfindel’s. He tentatively moved the hand into a more desirable position, and Glorfindel caught the hint.

His fingertips gently traced the puckered opening, teasing it, before very carefully inserting one finger. Erestor whimpered, and collapsed heavily on top of his lover. Glorfindel teased and stretch the tight entrance, and then added another finger. Erestor groaned pitifully, and circled his hips enticingly, signalling he wanted more. Glorfindel grinned wickedly, and scissored his fingers as deep inside Erestor as he could. The aroused advisor responded by groaning loudly and pressing harder against the Elda’s firm body. Erestor felt a slight brush against the most sensitive spot inside him, and it made him shake fiercely. Goosebumps spread over his skin, and he tried desperately to push into the touch.

Glorfindel sensed his lover’s desperation, but it was not much more he could achieve with his fingers from the position he was in. He retrieved his hands and soothingly rubbed them over Erestor’s back. To his surprise, Erestor sat up, instantly glowing with all the might that was Ithil. He was still panting as he reached behind him, and took hold of Glorfindel’s member once more. Before Glorfindel could say anything, Erestor had impaled himself upon the slick shaft.

Erestor grimaced with pain when he felt the thick erection sink into his body. He lowered himself slowly, until he was securely settled on Glorfindel’s hips. There he stayed still for a moment, adjusting to the throbbing member filling him. The Elda’s hands were moving on his skin now, stroking his hips, begging him to move. The blonde’s brow was glistening with tiny beads of sweat, and he drew shallow, ragged breaths. Erestor grinned, and clamped his inner muscles around the invasive erection.

Glorfindel screamed and arched his back, his nails digging into the skin on Erestor’s pale hips. Erestor fell forward, and braced himself on determined arms. He moved his hips in tiny circles, making his lover whimper and beg. When he felt comfortable, he started moving more forcefully, trying to get Glorfindel’s member to go where he wanted it to. The Elda was not used to lying back and being passive. He pulled Erestor into his arms, and squeezed their bodies together while trying to thrust into the Noldo’s welcoming heat.

Erestor felt as if he were about to implode on himself. All sensation in his limbs seemed to travel inward, and congregate in his lower body. The heat where Glorfindel was moving in and out of him was unbelievable. His own member was pressed tightly between their bodies, and so hard it almost felt numb. He whimpered in Glorfindel’s embrace, not able to take the state of his arousal anymore.

Growing frustrated with lack of reach, Glorfindel rolled them over, ending up on top of the chief advisor, comfortably settled between his spread legs. Now it was his turn to tease. He repeated Erestor’s circular movements, rolling his hips enticingly against the Noldo’s slick behind. Erestor groaned, the thick member pushing against his swollen prostate with every move. Their union was taking its toll on them both. Limbs were shaking with strain and built up desire.

Erestor wrapped his arms and legs around Glorfindel’s strong frame, and pulled him close. They were too lost in their lovemaking to kiss. Fumbling lips and tongues missed their target. So they just held each other as tight as they could muster, while their heated coupling proceeded in pushing the limits of what their bodies could take. Glorfindel thrust as hard as he could into the tight body, his mind reeling with unimaginable sensations. Erestor was almost beside himself with the feeling of Glorfindel filling every part of him. Their bodies undulated together in a snakelike dance of ancient origins, their souls lifting in joyous union, a celebration of love and lust as old the earth itself.

Loud groans and screams filled the air as the friction created between them drove them both to the edge of their sanity. Erestor at last surrendered to the erotic pleasure that overwhelmed him, and when his lover pushed himself deeper than he had ever been, Erestor screamed his release. Glorfindel jerked violently and drove himself as deep into his lover as he possibly could, and there he spent himself. Spraying his warm seed inside the dark channel, he tickled Erestor’s senses, making him clamp down on the swollen member still inside him. Glorfindel groaned painfully, his whole body throbbing and shaking from the brutality of his orgasm. Erestor too quivered with relief, and welcomed an exhausted seneschal into his arms.

Rolling over on their side, Glorfindel’s sated sex slipped out of Erestor, and they both sighed from the loss of intimacy. Looking into each other’s eyes, they smiled tiredly. Gathering the slightly slimmer body into his arms, Glorfindel cradled Erestor protectively against his chest. Stroking the dark silken tresses, he soothed the beautiful Noldo to sleep. And by doing so, he himself drifted off into a web of dreams.

----------------------------------

On to part 2

Mmmm... one can dream

2009-10-31T00:24:00Z

Stole this from azzy, because it looked like fun.

-List 5 celebrities you would have sex with without even asking questions.
-Put all of them IN ORDER of your lust for them (5 - 1, 1 is the hottest).
-Say which movie/show/thing it was that hooked you.
-Supply photos for said people.

I don't think these first two are surprising...

1.

Jared Padalecki. Except for the hot bod and the southern charm, he's goofy and funny, ridiculously smart, and basically a huge dork. But those long legs....look at those legs... I first noticed him in Supernatural, naturally, but he's a good actor and I've kept an eye on his other stuff.

2.

Jensen Ackles. Might be the broad shoulders, the handsome face, the reserved personality, the comical streak...or it could just be those long legs. Damn. I first saw him in Dark Angel, but started loving him in Supernatural. Awesome fucking actor, and the only reason he doesn't have an Emmy is because he's in a genre show. Underrated like WTF.

3.

Hugh Jackman. I'm starting to see a theme here. Tall. Built. Funny. Brunette. Great personality. And would you look at those god damn legs! Man...they are up to here! Watching him go at it with Liev Schreiber in X-Men Origins had me all hot and bothered. I first saw him in the first X-Men and thought he was a good actor and the perfect Wolverine. He only grew on me from there. Except for "Swordfish". I'd give anything to unsee that movie.

4.

Thomas Jane. I've seen him here and there, but it wasn't until The Punisher that I seriously got the hots for him. The body, the voice, the silent strength. That, and the fact that watching him get repeatedly thrown through a wall by a man twice his size really turned me on. Why is it so hot to watch guys going head to head like that, when I find boxing and such a total turn-off? I guess I like it when they fight dirty. Either way, Tom Jane is H-O-T.

5.

I could not decide on a fifth place. I'm a little anal about rules, and the rules were, "no questions asked". There are a dozen guys I could put here, but none without reservations. The four above are the only ones I could think of that I find so hot I would not be able to keep my legs crossed. So I guess I'm breaking the rules anyway and only posting four.

A few years ago this list would probably have been all LotR-actors... I swear, Sean Bean was almost up there, but he's seriously let himself go lately. Give me Sean Bean three years ago and I'd be done for. He could give me an orgasm just from whispering into my ear. His voice is a weapon of mass-panty-destruction, no joke.

Okay, I'm officially horny now.

Holy Slash Fan, Batman!

2009-10-26T15:38:53Z

Tattoo WIN!

Halle-friggin-lujah

2009-10-23T21:29:24Z

As of yesterday, the swedish church decided to recognize same sex marriage, and allow gay couples to marry in church should they wish it. The government decided eariler this year to legalize gay marriage and abolish the old partnership laws, meaning the church had to decide one way or the other, either marry all couples, or risk losing their right to wed any couples at all. Apparently there were more priests who thought love was the most important message of the bible, not the literal interpretations of "God's rules". Thank fuck. Not that it matters much on the whole, but to gay christians who actually want to marry in church, it means everything.

Go team.

Oh no, not another one...

2009-10-12T10:34:29Z

In Memoriam

Stephen Gately
1976 ~ 2009

Another young, talented artist leaves the world too soon... Former boyband member, singer, actor, writer... You yanks might not know about Boyzone, with lead singer Ronan Keating at the healm, but in Europe they were a big deal in the 90's. I had so many posters all over my wall and listened to their songs over and over when I was 12-14 years old. Stephen was my favourite. He was the short, cute one with the high, angelic voice, and he always seemed so shy. He was really only private, afraid that his secrets would ruin the band. He came out of the closet ten years ago, and recently married.

He was on vacation on Mallorca with his husband when he went to bed one night and didn't wake up. They say "natural causes", but the circumstances of his death have not yet been clarified. I just found out a few hours ago, and I've been so fucking sad all day. He was such a sweet guy.

Feels like we've lost a lot of good people these past few months.

Felt like doing a rainbow post...

2009-10-09T08:50:12Z

I love Wulffmorgenthaler.com.

And in other news, this made me so happy in the wake of half_elf_lost's post the other day:

Guys attack transvestites who turn out to be cage fighters on stag night

Transvestite WIN! It was all caught on camera too. Better luck next time, jackass!

I'm not the only one...

2009-10-06T10:08:54Z

It's time for another edition of "Dirty Minds".

Also known as: Are they blind, stupid, or totally doing it on purpose?

Like, who designed this for example? Is that a slot or a slit?

Now, I was into the Turtles too when I was a kid, and I was totally going to marry Raphael when I grew up, but I never went quite that far...

Seriously; blind, stupid, or totally on purpose?

I mean, they're kidding right?

I bet these all have the same designer.

Come on!

I don't even know what to say about this one. The ball goes in the hole in the ball?

I know it's supposed to say crea-mass, but that's not what it reads as... Felching, anyone?

No, I don't want to see his boner. I had such a weird dream about Jack Nicholson last night... *shudders*

My first thought wasn't to the shape, really, but more like: WTF flesh-colored umbrella?

I know it was drawn this way for skeletal comparison, but that's not the first thing that comes to mind.

Ewwww....

Not sure I'd want to eat that.

Seriously, this is appropriate for a carnival ride?

Whatever you do, keep that thing the hell away from me!

Hopefully me.

Eh...yeah...

Why, Mike? There were so many funny names to choose from; Jack Goff, Dixie Normous, even that sign asking you to vote for a Mr Loser, but this guy takes the cake. Why? He could be Michael Litoris. No one would notice a Michael Litoris. But he chooses to be Mike Litoris. Try saying that five times fast in a public place.

Blind, stupid, or screwed over by the print company?

As a counterpoint to all the phallic stuff. This purse totally creeps me out. It's like it's inviting me in. *gags*

And this just made me laugh:

Birthday season is here!

2009-07-08T20:16:48Z

The summer/fall season is when most people I know have their birthdays for some weird reason.

Today I want to say Happy Birthday!!! to my beloved half_elf_lost and awesome wifey dock_leaf. I hope you both had lovely birthdays yesterday, with lots of self-indulgence and attention-whoring. I swear my presents are under way, but will be a tad late (as usual...)

In the meantime I'll leave you with something to smile at. Super FAIL:

Fic: When the light is gone

2009-06-18T20:30:04Z

I had a really, really bad day today. Felt like a good time to post this, even if I never got it off to a beta.

Title: When The Light Is Gone
Author: Eremir
Fandom: Supernatural
Pairing: Sam/Dean
Rating: R
Word count: 1,551
Warnings: angst, death, gore, spoilers for season 3 finale.
Disclaimer: I don’t own the boys. Kripke does. Lucky bastard.

Summary: Takes place between “No Rest for the Wicked” and “Lazarus Rising”. I missed this scene from Sam’s flashbacks in “I Know What You Did Last Summer”, so I decided to write it. Sam grieves.

A/N: Wrote most of this when I was feeling really crappy and sick of everything. Just wanted to write something painful. Enjoy.

---

It felt like a nightmare. One of those nightmares where no matter how fast you run you’re not getting anywhere. No matter how hard you try you can’t move a muscle. And it all happened so fast there was no way to stop it.

The light faded and Lilith fled, her meat suit a dead heap on the floor, but Sam barely noticed. The only thing he could see was Dean. Sam didn’t know how he had moved from the wall to Dean, but there he was, holding the torn body in his arms. It was strange. He had expected the eyes to be lifeless, but they weren’t. They were as clear and soulful as they had ever been, and it made him cry all the harder. He clutched Dean to his chest, willing it all to be a very bad dream, ignoring the blood seeping through the fabric of his clothes. It was still warm.

He couldn’t say how long he sat there, just holding him. Rocking back and forth. Sobbing. Once he looked up, only once, to see the carnage that the hellhound had inflicted on his brother, but the sight of mangled intestines sticking out through torn clothing was too much for Sam to handle. This was one wound he’d never be able to stitch up. No pain that a bottle of tequila could numb. Dean was really dead this time. No wake up call, no do-over, no “heat of the moment” and he’d be whole again. In the circle of his arms, Dean’s body was going cold.

Sam cried. Harder than he had ever cried over anything. Over mom. Over dad. Over Jessica. Over Madison. Over his seriously messed up life. Dean was all he had left. What was there now? Dean was gone and Lilith had stolen his very soul. Sam had promised not to let that happen. He had promised Dean he’d save him. And he’d failed. Failure had never been such an understatement.

With every minute that ticked by, the pain in his heart nestled in deeper and deeper as their whole lives together flashed in images through his mind. With all the unimaginable horrors they had seen, it was strange that all he could think of now were the good times. The smiles and the laughs. The jokes and the banter. Dean. Just Dean. He had sworn so many times to save him, and he still swore it. He would do anything, anything, to save his brother. He would rip up heaven, earth and hell and he would find a way. Until his dying breath, he would fight.

“I swear, Dean.... I’ll get you back. Somehow.”

He pressed a desperate kiss to a cold forehead and swore it again. Tears had run down his face and landed on Dean’s. With trembling fingers Sam wiped them off, along with spatters of blood, careful not to disturb a single eyelash. He had probably seen a hundred movies where someone closes the eyelids of a deceased person, and it felt like something he should do, but he couldn’t bring himself to do it. Not yet. Not when those eyes still looked at him like that. Sam’s heart clenched with grief, and he pulled his brother to him once more, letting a new wave of tears fall from his face.

---

Bobby watched. For hours, he stood by the living room door, keeping watch. He had gotten the family out of the basement and made sure the area was clear, but it seemed all of the demons had vanished just after midnight. He’d shed his own tears in solitude. Mourned the loss of a boy he loved as a son. The scene he had walked in on when the noise and the screams had died down darn near broke his heart. No man should have to watch his brother die like that. Hours passed, but Bobby could not bring himself to disturb. He was afraid if he spoke his voice would fail him.

So he watched.

---

The sun was rising when Sam finally gave up. Dean’s body felt heavier than it should as he lifted it from the ground, and when Sam realized he almost cracked a fat joke his throat swelled up again. They had parked the impala at a safe distance, and it was a long way to carry your dead brother, but he did it without pause. The entire time Bobby was a silent presence beside him. Not a word had been spoken since... Since.

Gently, Sam wrapped Dean’s body in a blanket and maneuvered him into the backseat. His tears had gone, and all he felt now was an indescribable void. A hole in his heart nothing could ever fill again.

“Where are you gonna do it, son?” Bobby asked softly.

“Do what?” Sam asked in return, his voice nearly breaking from exhaustion.

Bobby paused, as if the answer was obvious. “The salt n’ burn.”

“You think I’m gonna.... burn him?”

“It’s the right thing to do. It’s what he would have wanted.”

A switch flipped in Sam’s head, and he was suddenly filled with rage, grabbing Bobby by the shirt and slamming him back against his rusty old Chevelle. “What he would have wanted? What he would have wanted is to be alive! To not be in hell! That’s what he would have wanted! For me to save him like I promised, that’s what he would have wanted!”

“You know it’s what you have to do.” Bobby’s voice cracked, but he remained calm.

“No. I’m gonna get him back, Bobby. I’m gonna get him out, and he’ll need a body when I do.”

“So you’re gonna do what? Keep his corpse in the freezer while you go after Lilith? Dean’s gone, Sam. There is no coming back.”

Sam let go and backed off. It scared him that he was actually considering it, thinking of ways to preserve his brother’s body while he hunted the demon bitch down. He took a deep breath, collecting himself.

“Don’t follow me.”

“Sam...”

“Don’t. Follow me.” Sam glared at his friend, to tired to argue. Then he turned around, got in the car, and left.

---

It wasn’t fair how life went on. Went on like nothing happened, like the most important thing in Sam’s life wasn’t gone. It wasn’t right that the sun shone and the birds sang when the pit in his chest was so dark. It wasn’t right.

Sam Winchester had dug at least a hundred graves in his life, so many it had become routine, and he did it on autopilot. But this grave was different. This grave, he felt every shovel of dirt like a knife through the heart. Every ounce weighed a ton, every minute lasted an hour, and with every dip of the shovel Sam thought his back would break. He ached and he suffered until he couldn’t suffer anymore, a shallow grave gaping up at him.

Plain pine boards, nailed together side by side. To most, just a box. But to Sam it was a temple. He put all his hopes and dreams into that pine box. His life, his heart, his soul, and all the love he could no longer muster, he put in that box. Dean’s body; cleaned, stitched together and redressed, now laid waiting for Sam to close the lid. He kept telling himself it was only for a short while. The crossroads was his first stop, but there were other ways. Somewhere, somehow, he’d find a demon who would deal. Or a witch, a spell.... Something. Anything.

He took another swig from the bottle at his feet, draining the last of the cheap whiskey. He was putting his brother in the ground. No way he was staying sober for that. One last look. One last look at that freckled face, and he almost couldn’t take it. This was Dean. Dean wasn’t supposed to die. He never ever thought he’d be burying Dean. This couldn’t be happening.

But it was happening. And somehow he managed to close the box, put it in the ground and cover it up. He even put up a cross. A poor excuse for a tribute to the man lying underneath, but a cross nonetheless. Sam had chosen a spot not far from the dirt road, but it was secluded and shielded by trees. The grave would not be disturbed. Sam stared at the pile of loose soil, Dean’s pendant a burning weight around his neck. This was so wrong.

He didn’t have the energy or the body fluids to cry anymore. The exertion and the alcohol leaving him dizzy and dry. He stumbled back to the impala, pointedly not looking over his shoulder. It was only temporary.

Dean was on vacation.

Dean wasn’t here.

Dean had gone away for a little while.

Dean was not dead. Dean can’t die.

Sam smiled wryly to himself as he pushed the pedal to the metal. Hell was in for a surprise. They did not know who they were messing with. You can’t kill a Winchester and get away with it. Yellow eyes had paid. Now Lilith would pay.

Dean back. Lilith pay.

It was the only thing on Sam’s mind as he swerved down the road.

Dean back. Lilith pay.

Dean back....

Dean.

For real real?

2009-05-18T20:18:36Z

Why am I only hearing of this now?!?!?

The Hunt For Gollum

It's...it's... It's a new LotR movie! Must....get....the precious!

I haven't been able to watch it yet, because my old computer can't handle large media players, so I had to find a downloadable version that will play on my tv. I'm gonna have to wait till tomorrow to see it. Damn. I hear it's really good. You know, for a fan-made film.

I gotta say I love the initiative. And since they're not making any money off it, they don't need permission from the "copyright holders". It's all made from love. Awww....

We have the best fans.

I have ants

2009-04-28T15:24:50Z

Yesterday when I came home from work I saw this tiny little ant crawling around on my kitchen floor. I just thought "Aww, cute. Well, as long as it's only one ant..."

Later that evening I came into the kitchen and there was a whole bunch of little ants crawling around under my stove, and the more I looked the more there were, coming out from behind the trim. Got out the vacuum and sucked the suckers up, but they kept on coming. And they're resiliant bastards too! You can smack 'em, step on 'em, squash 'em, and they just keep on moving. I think they're coming from under the floorboards by the window. There's a pretty big gap there. So after vacuuming I got out some chemical kitchen cleaner and sprayed down the cracks. I think a couple of them drowned in it, but I mostly hoped the smell would keep them away. It definitely made them run faster in whatever direction they were going.

My efforts seemed to pay off, so I hope I'm not coming home to an anthill today. One ant is cute, a few are tolerable, two dozen is disturbing, and any more than that is a fucking infestation. I was prepared to call up the exterminator if it got worse. I was worried they were pharao ants. Once those suckers are in your kitchen, it's only a matter of time before they're in your food.

I even dreamt of ants last night. And there was a plane... Ants on a Plane? I think I saw that movie.

When one has a dirty mind...

2009-04-08T15:51:19Z

All from failblog.org. These made me laugh on a really bad day. I hope they made you smile too. That website is brilliance.

Thank fuck...

2009-03-15T00:09:01Z

So, the swedish eurovision tryouts are over, and man, it was a close call. I have no idea how the crappiest piece of shit song in the history of music got so popular, but that scarecrow of a woman almost won. Thank holy fuck she didn't. Instead, we got ourselves a fabulous opera singer in this opera/pop/dance/techno-something, that might actually have a chance in Moscow. Don't know if my darling husband's ever heard of Malena Ernman, but she's quite well known in opera circles in europe.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=s4kHUO6wOmM

My favorite though, was the rock band H.E.A.T., who just happens to be sponsored by, and close personal friends of Peter Stormare. Cool song, kinda retro, and So. Fucking. Hot. I don't know why, but the singer gets me a little flustered. He's like a lion that guy. Big mouth, sharp teeth, and wild hair. I'd do him. Hard. The drummer isn't so bad either, and the topless thing doesn't hurt. Rowrrrrr....

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=JektAoLPNSA

And can someone please tell me why the hell the damn youtube videos will never embed? I've tried everything and still the stupid videos won't show up. If someone can tell me how to fix that, it'd be super. It's really fucking pissing me off.

Meme

2009-02-28T19:17:11Z

Snagged from dock_leaf, because it looked like fun.

Comment to this post and I will give you 5 subjects/things I associate you with. Then post this in your LJ and elaborate on the subjects given.

And she gave me these:

1. Supernatural

For as long as I can remember I've had an obsessive/compulsive/addictive personality, and after so many years of Lord of the Rings I got this huge void in my fandom heart when it dropped out of the media. In november 2006 swedish television aired the pilot of Supernatural, a year after the american premiere, and since I'd heard mentions of it on LJ I thought I'd check it out. I was hooked from the opening scene. A new fandom! And the whole brother/brother relationship was a serious rush for a slash junkie like me. After the third episode I downloaded all of season one and the first half of season two and watched them all before christmas. Then I just had to wait for hiatus to end like all the other fans. We've just been renewed for a fifth season, and it's still going strong. It still makes me laugh and cry and go cold with fear. It's in my head every day. Every single day since that first episode. It's my heroin.

2. Sweden

Sweden is my home, my heritage, and part of my identity. I like to think of myself as a patriot, even if I don't love everything about my country. I think we have the world's wimpiest penal code, and a really crappy immigration system. But to me, when someone says "Sweden", I think of the blue and yellow flag. I think of mountains and rivers and lush forests as far as the eye can see. Of midsummer poles dressed in flowers. I think of the farstretched hills in the north, glistening white in the winter and golden green in the summer. I think of little red cottages and pine trees growing over the cliffs along the coastline. Screw politics.

3. Reptiles

I always had a thing for dragons, but being a reptile owner was not something I planned. I wanted a dog, more than anything, but my mom is really allergic to most things with fur. I had a toad for a while, but it was so boring. All it did was sit in the water and poop. My grandma said she'd never come over again if I got a snake, so it was settled on an iguana. Had him for over eight years, but in the end he was mostly my mom's baby. She's the one who misses him most. After he died, I could still hear him. His claws against the floor. It was creepy. Mom heard him too. Being a zookeeper and all, I wanted to do an autopsy. Kept his body in the freezer for six months before I was able to emotionally go through with it, but I did it. From what I could tell he died of a blood clot. A big one. Although, I wouldn't trust my own judgement. I didn't find any kidneys, but I found a strangely shaped organ that I to this day have no idea what it was...

4. Photography

I was just a kid when I got my first camera. I was trying to take artsy pictures from day one, but with a crappy camera most of them turned out shit. My friend nsslan and I would goof around with cameras together, and even entered a photo competition at the public museum once, when we were like thirteen. Need I mention we got the "consolation price"? We were so bad.... I took photography as an elective class in grade school, getting to play around in the dark room. Almost ten years later, in art school, I was back in the dark room, making real art on my own terms. And god, how can you miss the smell of developing chemicals? I'm just sad we never got to do colour, even if I love black and white, I think it has severe limits when it comes to depicting the beauty of nature. You can't shoot a sunset over the ocean in black and white.

5. Art

Photography is part of my artistic side. As is writing, drawing, painting, scultping and all the other things I do to express myself. There are photos of me as two or three year old, making things out of clay and drawing pictures of stuff. When I was around four I made a portait of my mom that stayed on the wall for years and years. When I learned how to read and write I started making my own novels in school. I drew the cover art myself and wrote short stories about talking lions. Always did have an affinity for anthropomorphic creatures. Thunder Cats. Ninja Turtles. Biker Mice. Anywhere animals where human-like, walked on two legs or talked.
But art school was hell for me. I know artists are supposed to be tortured, but fuck... Our principle was a snob and so high on himself you'd think he was Rembrandt. His word was law, and if he said your work wasn't art, then it wasn't art. And the other students were a bunch of jazz-loving vegans who painted abstract and wore surplus clothes. Excuse me for being drawn to the cosmetic surgery buff with the hair-extensions who listened to rock. Art to me is in everything, not just the things pathetic has-beens decide is art. I think interior design is art. Comedy is art. Film is art. Cooking is art. Light is art. Music is art. Friggin'...ventriliquism is art. Art comes from inside you, it speaks to you, holds you captive. No one else can decide it for you. And that is why I can never go back to art school. They killed my joy of it, and I had to fight to get it back.

Okay, this was long-winded... :)

Unexpected

2009-01-28T22:31:50Z

I'm so fucking sad. I think I've been crying non stop for about three hours.

Hadn't checked my flist for a couple days, and when I check in I'm stunned to find a throng of tributes and In Memoriams to the director and producer of Supernatural, Kim Manners. I couldn't believe it. Lung cancer? No one even knew he was sick. He didn't want a big fuss, apparently. He was such a sweet, funny little man, and so damn talented. It's just sad. How are they going to finish Supernatural without him? He was part of what made the show so great.

He was known for shows like Charlie's Angels, 21 Jump Street, Baywatch, Star Trek: The Next Generation, X-Files... In his defense, though, he only directed two episodes of Baywatch and about 50 episodes of X-Files. Smart man. He did all the premieres and all the finales for Supernatural, save for the pilot, and it's not going to be the same in the future now that he's gone. I feel so sad for his family and friends. He was a very loving person. Only 58 years old, same as Ron Perlman or Richard Dean Anderson. Way too early for him to go.

Guess I just had to vent. This was very sudden.

I need to stop crying and go to bed.

Halle-friggin-lujah

2008-11-05T15:12:49Z

I always set my tv as an alarm, that way I can slowly wake up to whatever channel I want. Mostly I choose MTV, but last night I set it to the news channel, knowing that the election would be over around the same time I needed to get up, and the first thing I would hear would be the voice of the next president. I was not disappointed. Barack Obama was in the middle of his speech when I woke up, and I just started crying. Although, that might have been from the lack of sleep and food. The first thought in my head this morning was "What do you know, there's hope for the world after all".

Oh, and I just recently rediscovered this:

Because embedding didn't work

Man, that song gets stuck on my brain...

Best. Thing. Ever.

2008-10-25T00:13:03Z

I should have been in bed hours ago, and I have a bunch of things I wanted to post about, but that's going to have to wait until later. Right now I just wanted to SQUEEEEEEEE!!!! over the latest episode of Supernatural, which I just got to see.

Best. Episode. Ever. And no, I don't say that every week. I'm mostly pretty critical and tend to think better of the episodes after rewatching them later, but this one rocked. Literally and figuratively. Jensen Ackles is the most awesomest awesome that ever awesomed. After the episode they showed a 90 second gag reel of Jensen doing a little song and dance routine to "Eye of the Tiger" after a failed practical joke. Awesomest thing I've ever seen (fifteen times). You probably have to be into the show to enjoy it, but still. All you guys stuck somewhere in season one or two, you need to get your asses up to speed for season four if only for this episode. Did I mention how awesome it was? I laughed my ass off, and meanwhile it was a great story, fantastic acting, and really scary at parts. But despite all that, it will forever be known as the episode where Jensen did Eye of the Tiger.

I love my show.

♥ happy sigh ♥

Totally makes up for my crappy week.

Meme

2008-10-05T21:22:57Z

Stolen from ladyjanelly.

* Grab the nearest book.
* Open the book to page 56.
* Find the fifth sentence.
* Post the text of the sentence in your journal along with these instructions.
* Don't dig for your favorite book, the cool book, or the intellectual one: pick the CLOSEST.

And here's the quote:

"The Duke fixed himself in a sitting position on Florian's chest and throttled him with his cock."

Yep. I am just that classy. It's from The Duskouri Tales, by Byrd Roberts.

FYI, Mr Roberts is a very sick man with some seriously disturbing fantasies. But he somehow managed to get published, didn't he? Thanks for this one, dock_leaf. I'm forever mentally scarred.

Is "moronicy" a word?

2008-07-23T12:26:28Z

So, my cable has been gone for two weeks, and a notice on the company's website said they're working on a problem in my area. It shouldn't take two friggin weeks. So I called the helpline to ask what was going on, since my emails have gone unresponded. Spent 20 minutes in line and got to talk to someone who said the notice on the website didn't apply to me, and that they had to do a connection search from their computers. Which meant I had to wait until I got home and turn on all my equipment before I called again. So later I spent another twenty minutes in line, calling from my cell phone, and some slurring, teenage boy answers me. At first he says "There's no cable where you live, it's impossible for you to have internet". WTF?!?!? I've lived here for five years, I think I know whether I have cable or not. Their company is the only company that owns hardline in the area. Moron! So I have to spend the first ten minutes convincing this idiot that I do indeed have cable, and it's not working.

So he runs through his checklist and makes me check all the stupid settings that I had already checked, and since my computer is old and slow every damn thing took forever and he just sat there sniffling loudly in my ear while I purged my temporary internet files. I don't want to hear some idiot's runny fucking nose when I'm paying god knows what per minute for the call.

After all that hassle and over 50 minutes on the phone it turned out that my firewall, which has worked perfectly for four years, suddenly shut off all program access to the internet. Turn the damn thing off and I was back online in seconds. Bastard. I wanted to scream at that (no doubt) pimply-faced idiot, but in the end just said a sarcastic "thanks" and hung up.

Here's where I need help:
What happened? I use ZoneAlarm firewall and AVG anti-virus, and they have both worked perfectly so far. They update themselves daily, so I can't see how anything changed. Now I've got ZoneAlarm shut off and my computer runs only on the Windows firewall. Can I trust windows? Is it good or full of holes? Can I do something to straighten out the ZoneAlarm? I couldn't find any settings that would work. Is there another firewall that works well with AVG? You guys helped me last time, so I'm hoping someone knows something. The last thing my old, creaky laptop needs is an infection.

Thanks in advance for any help.

Not good enough?

2008-07-22T08:03:46Z

I don't know how many of you know this, but a big part of my artistic identity is photography. I've never shared any real photos here for the simple reason that I don't have a proper digital camera. I have a really nice, really fancy camera with tons of manual settings, but it requires film, which makes converting them either expensive or complicated. But my acupuncturist tipped me off to this photography website, and I desperately wanted to join, so I collected some of my best work and spent half a day at my mom's house scanning them and spent hours more editing them. But when I went to upload them to the website I suddenly found a whole ton of rules in fine print that I hadn't seen before, so not many of my photos are going to be seen. My biggest regret is that they don't have a place for zoo animals. They have a category for wild animals in their natural habitat, where zoo animals are banned, and they have another category for pets and tame animals, where zoo animals again are banned. Since I'm an animal care professional and have worked in zoos all over the country and travelled to others, most my animal photos are from there. It sucks. Just because they weren't in their natural environment doesn't mean I didn't struggle to get a good shot.

Anyway, I thought I'd show them here, as here I can post however many photos want, and without rules. I'd love to know what you guys think, and I'd especially like to know which photos you find the best, photographically speaking. But this is only the first batch. I have a bunch more photos at home, but since I have to do all my internet stuff at work right now I have to limit myself.

Baboon

Working in the monkey house of the Skansen Aquarium I was able to get this great shot of the alpha male. It's taken through glass, of course, because you would not want to stand face to face with this sucker. They are lethal. As you can see.

Sunbather

This is taken at the same zoo. As you can probably tell from her boobies, this mama lemur has young kids near by.

Caught in a meal

I don't think anyone can help but laugh at this one. He's just got a hilarious expression. Adolescent lemur.

Parabolic ears

In the nocturnal ward photographing with flash is prohibited, but I got to go in before they turned the "daylight" off in the morning, and photograph the bush babies just as they were waking up. This one was bouncing around, eagerly anticipating breakfast, and it was a pretty lucky shot I got in.

Evil in disguise

These little pygme marmosets look cute, but they are little devils, and will bite you first chance they get. Apparently, their biggest enticement is the human mouth. They're fascinated with the way our lips move, disguising tongue and teeth inside. I did not know this the first time I went in to feed them. Need I say more?

Let sleeping bears lie

Different zoo, different year. I just thought he looked very peaceful and comfortable on his cliff, not batting an ear at the tourists. There was another bear draped over a rock not far away, who didn't even blink at the crows that were jumping around him.

Sheep in wolf's clothing

Another zoo, another year. The wolves were pretty tame, but we were told not to treat them as such. They were very curious, and would steal any loose items, such as mittens, hats, and whatever else you weren't holding on to. I think they were hoping for meat, though. This one's name is Arthos.

Skull

This is the cranium of a watussi, and it's around six feet in width. The zookeepers had placed it on an anthill, so that the ants would clean all the soft tissue off the bone. Whenever a "cool" animal was put down there was always a fight for the remains. Lion skulls, claws, horns, skin... Whatever the zookeepers and vets could harvest themselves they could keep. Don't know who was going home with this one, but I wonder how they would fit it in their car.

Gizmo

This is my late iguana. Had him for nearly 8 years, and he was around ten years when he died. This close up was to test my new telescopic lens, and I like the effect.

A pair of butterflies

I took these photos in a zoo in the Netherlands. The thing about butterflies is that they, like flowers, are too pretty and can make a boring photo unless you find some special angle or composition. The butterfly photos on the website I was aiming for are amazing, and my photos are shit compared. But I don't have a macro lens, so I can't get close enough to do anything amazing.

Trapped

Here's a butterfly photo I like. It's dark and gloomy and angular. Too bad it's not that sharp. Found this common butterfly in my aunt's barn.

Heaven on Fire

Sunset over the hostel where I lived during my animal school years.

The Mist

I'm standing on a mountain, looking down over the town where I lived my final year of animal school. The trees and the mist cover most of it, and I liked the dimensions it brough. You can see the tree line gradually fading away in the distance.

Water

This was an experiment in zoom and exposure. What looks like a straight spout of water is actually anything but when you photograph it in 1/2000th of a second.

And this is where the water landed in the fountain. I was so surprised when I developed this, because it had colors and shapes I couldn't have imagined. I'm absolutely fascinated by the behavior of water, and the film that is currently in my camera will have a bunch more of these experiments. Earlier this spring I tried to catch a rainbow in a waterfall, so we'll see how that comes out.

Let me know what you think. :)

Annoying...

2008-07-21T12:02:19Z

I haven't had internet access at home for over a week now. The damn cable company has fucked something up. This means I have to do all my internet stuff at work, which isn't always great. On the other hand there isn't much to do at work when everyone's on vacation, so I have lots of time. I'm just a bit annoyed that I have to carry files with me back and forth, editing them at home and posting them at work... I'll be making a post soon with some stuff, but for now I thought I'd tip you off about this:

Wulffmorgenthaler.com

It's a danish comic strip, and it's just mad. I think it requires a very particular sense of humor, but it's the funniest, weirdest, sickest comic you'll ever find. I'll start you off with this one:

*snort*