Surfacing Light by Anérea, Maggie Honeybite

 

In the end what happened was entirely unplanned. After staying up half the night, Erestor had dropped off into an uneasy sleep from which he woke with a start, disturbed by the tendrils of a receding dream. Not Annatar this time. Rather, he had felt the sea closing in on him, its heavy pressure tightening like a vise around his chest, robbing him of breath.

As he struggled awake his first thought had been of the contrast between such a cold, impersonal embrace and the feel of Annatar’s unnatural heat on his skin – the sea as an antidote to poison. This was immediately followed by a profound sense of sadness; curative or no, it wasn’t the sort of final embrace anyone would choose. In the preternatural clarity between dreaming and waking he remembered the Númenórean captain telling one of his men to put his affairs in order before the sea crossing.

It wasn’t a decision so much as instinct that carried him out of bed, bare feet on the flagstones and a robe wrapped around his chilled frame. He’d glanced in the mirror to fix his hair, still with no thought of actually being seen by anyone. Then his feet carried him to the kitchen, ostensibly for a drink of water. He kept walking not out of any deliberate desire to seek Gil-galad out, more out of an instinctive effort to shake off the feel of the water pressing in around his ribcage.

There was no one around in the private wing of the Academy or else he’d have come to his senses. But the curious thing about the watery dream was the way it had temporarily punctured through the layer of distance that had enveloped him since Ost-in-Edhil, since Eriador, since Badger. It was like a membrane had been stripped from him. He walked on, not really thinking, and before he knew it he was at Gil-galad’s door.

He didn’t knock, nothing so presumptuous. He simply put his palm against the door, still meaning to be on his way. He kept it there a while, drawing warmth from the wood grain, and when he had withdrawn it and turned to go he heard the sound of covers being drawn back and Gil-galad’s heavy tread.

The door opened and there Gil stood.

They looked at each other for a moment. Erestor was aware of how he must appear, with his feet bare and his hair unbound. There really was no other reason why people crept into each other’s rooms at night, unless it was to impart bad news, and Erestor had shared his disastrous news weeks ago.

Gil-galad didn’t say anything, merely took him by the wrist and pulled him inside, closing the door securely behind him. Pushed him up against that door, hands on Erestor’s shoulders, clear blue eyes seeing right through him. Erestor didn’t look away.

The king liked to sleep in the nude regardless of weather, and now all he wore was a velvet robe hastily thrown on, open to reveal his strong body beneath. His feet, bare like Erestor’s, were squarely planted on the floor. This was his room, just as it was his kingdom. An arched eyebrow asked the question that didn’t need to be spoken out loud.

“Couldn’t sleep,” Erestor said, which wasn’t really an answer, but there was no way he could put into words the odd sense of clarity he’d had upon waking. “I know this is unwise,” he continued. He meant the mid-night creeping along empty hallways to the king’s bedchamber. It was most decidedly unwise, but then Gil-galad said, “Well, you’re here anyway” and brought his mouth down on Erestor’s with the kind of hunger that only comes from a long separation and the kind of authority that was pure Gil.

For the first time in months, Erestor felt present, right there in his body, every nerve ending attuned to Gil’s touch. Gil’s hands were cradling his head, fingers in his hair; he was kissing Erestor long and deep. It was like being tossed on the waves of the sea, and Erestor closed his eyes and surrendered to the sensation.

His response must have been a clear answer to the unasked question since Gil now growled, “I want you in my bed” and nearly lifted him bodily toward the jumble of covers on the four-poster in the middle of the room. Bonelessly, Erestor obeyed. It was such a relief to finally give himself up to this and to have it feel familiar, the way it always had – without Annatar overlaying every memory like a metallic taste in his mouth. I must still be half asleep, he thought, or else I’d be second guessing every action. But there was no second guessing here.

Gil tossed him onto the bed and then covered Erestor’s body with his own. It felt unbelievably good. Gil was heavy, substantial, his shoulders broad, his chest muscular, and the weight of him anchored Erestor to the spot, grounding him in the moment. Erestor had spent so much time lately worrying and strategizing, that in letting all that go he felt as light as if he were floating.

It was probably similar for Gil, judging by the abandon with which he devoured Erestor’s mouth. A fine pair we make, Erestor thought, and then ceased thinking altogether. Instinct took over, and with it came a sudden understanding of why his feet had carried him here tonight. He needed Gil to wipe every trace of Annatar from his skin, to replace the tactile memory of those unnatural pleasures with Gil’s commanding grasp.

Gil had gotten Erestor’s robe off, half unbuttoning and half ripping it, and discarded it on the floor. His broad hands moved down Erestor’s stomach, over his hipbones, to his groin. Grasped Erestor’s cock, tugged, and Erestor instinctively parted his legs, hissing “yes.” Erestor’s hands delved down to seek out Gil’s erection, heavy and rigid, this part of Gil’s body no less substantial than the rest of him. For a while they rocked together like this, stroking and kissing, Gil panting into Erestor’s neck. Then, aware it could be over all too soon, Erestor found Gil’s ear and breathed, “Inside me. Please.” Gil groaned and his hips bucked forward at those words.

They broke apart for a moment then. Gil’s eyes were wild and his tangled hair fell forward over his shoulders. “You sure?” he said, “I don’t think I have anything. I wasn’t prepared—”

“Don’t care,” Erestor found himself saying. “I need you to wipe all traces of him from me.”

“But what if I hurt you?”

“I probably deserve it.”

“Res, don’t say that—"

“It’s true. In any case, it doesn’t matter, it’s what I want.”

Gil glanced around the room, looking for something that might do, while Erestor bent down to take Gil’s cock into his mouth, licking, sucking, breathing in the musky scent from its nest of curls. That had always got a reaction, and this time was no different: Gil let out a shuddering breath and curled his lip in pleasure, all the while looking down, watching Erestor at work. His hand was in Erestor’s hair, gently cradling the back of his head as if to direct its motion – the king ever in command.

After a while Gil said, “Wait, wait…” and broke away to seek something from across the room. He came back with the remains of a buttered roll on a ceramic, blue-bordered plate. With his fingers, he scooped up the butter and slicked his length.

“That’s a new one.” Erestor had the presence of mind to be amused.

“I’m nothing if not resourceful.”

Which was true. The High King of a scattered people, his entire reign had been about making do.

They moved with purpose – old lovers with the practice of many years. “How?” Gil asked simply, and Erestor lay on his back and raised his legs. Gil grinned possessively. “I like this way. I get to watch you.”

“Shut up and do it.”

“Look who’s in charge. You’ll be calling me an ass next. I’ll do it when I’m good and ready.”

But that was just talk; Gil was more than ready. He placed the head of his cock against Erestor’s opening and pushed, breaching slowly. He closed his eyes. “Oh Res,” he breathed. “Oh heavens.”

It was a tight fit. The butter helped, but only so much. Alongside the pressure of it was an exquisite pain, and Erestor willed himself to stay still, to accept Gil’s full measure. He kept his eyes open too, locked with Gil’s, to see, yes, but also to be seen – open, vulnerable, honest. That was the whole point: for Gil to lay claim to him again.

Gil’s hips were pumping, his thighs flexing with every push. He was kneeling on the edge of the bed, Erestor’s legs draped over his shoulders, his hands holding Erestor’s hips steady. His thrusts were forceful, his mouth set in a determined line. For Erestor, the pain was gone now and all that remained was the pleasure, sharp bursts of it, alongside a deep, satisfying fullness. He’d been quiet so far but now each push of Gil’s hips brought forth a breathy moan.

“Be quiet, Res, or someone will hear.” Gil leaned over him, his face half amused, half serious.

“Oh…”

“Res, I mean it. If you can’t be quiet I’ll have to gag you.”

Apparently the look on Erestor’s face spoke volumes for Gil leaned over further and clamped his palm over Erestor’s mouth. The resulting wave of arousal was such that Erestor’s eyes nearly rolled back in his head. Still, he maintained eye contact.

Gil had let go of Erestor’s hips and slid his other hand over to grip his cock. The palm over Erestor’s mouth was truly necessary now; his pleasure had reached a level beyond reason, he couldn’t have kept quiet if he tried. Gil’s movements were frenzied and he was muttering something under his breath. It took Erestor a moment to make out that he was saying, “You’re not his. You’re mine. Mine.”

From there it was only a matter of moments before Gil’s hips gave one last push and then stilled as his body shook with the tremor of orgasm. Erestor felt Gil’s grasp tighten over his mouth and on his cock, and the floodgates opened and he was awash in purifying light, and Gil was right: he was his, Gil’s.

As the coolness of the room settled about them, Erestor became aware of the weight of the king’s body on his own. “Gil,” he said, touching his shoulder. With an effort Gil-galad rolled over to the side. The sheets were a mess.

“Well. That was a bit of insanity.” Erestor’s reason had returned and with it, his sense of propriety and shame.

Gil-galad lifted himself up on an elbow. “I think it’s the sanest thing you’ve done in weeks. It did us both a world of good.”

“I sail in a matter of hours.”

“Neither one of us was getting much sleep anyway.”

“Still, in a house full of people… It’s too big a risk. It was stupid.”

“Hush now, it’s done.” Gil-galad brushed Erestor’s hair back from his eyes. “We’ll sneak you back into your room somehow.”

Erestor pictured deserted hallways and wondered when the household would stir on such an important day. Before first light surely. There wasn’t much time.

“Res?”

“Yes?”

Gil-galad’s voice was all gruff tenderness. “Is it any better now? I mean, are you—”

Erestor closed his eyes for a moment. He did feel less haunted, and despite the stickiness on his stomach, cleaner somehow. Calmer. “Oddly, yes. I think so.”

“Nothing odd about it.” The tenderness was gone and in its place was mischief. “I’m the king. You know my touch can heal. I can only imagine the power of my seed.”

“Oh, you are an ass. And arrogant too.”

Gil-galad laughed. “I am. That’s why you—”

There was an awkward pause. Gil-galad had been going to say, “That’s why you love me,” but that was no longer something they said to each other, not even in jest. For a moment the air in the room felt oppressive, easy banter out of reach. But the night was not young and Erestor was out of patience.

“Listen, Gil,” he said. “I’m too tired to have this conversation now. It’s too deep for me, I just can’t.”

“Fine.” Gil-galad’s tone was calm but firm. “Let me just say my piece.” He sat up. In the moonlight filtering in through the window, the shadows under his eyes seemed more pronounced; he was tired too. They all felt the heavy weight of the times but the burdens Gil-galad carried were his alone. “Res, I don’t care who you sleep with. You can have your musician, and your guilt over what happened in Ost-in-Edhil and Eriador – I don’t care about that either, not as it concerns you and me. Affairs of state are different, but that’s just a matter of discretion. You’re good at discretion.”

“Judging by tonight, not so much. And Ost-in-Edhil. My recent track record is pretty awful.”

“You’re overthinking this and not letting me get my point across. What you do, what you’ve done… I may not like it, but it doesn’t change the material fact that you belong here, in my arms, in my bed. Whenever you come back to me, my door will be open to you.”

“Gil—”

“Don’t interrupt me. Times are bad. We don’t have the luxury of navel gazing. I said my door would be open to you when you chose to walk through it. As for when that will be – that’s up to you. Now go to Númenor and save all our asses. You and I both know how much is riding on your mission.”

Erestor knew; he’d been thinking of nothing else for days.

Gil-galad caught his eye, held the connection. “I know you know. You of all people know. So worry about that and let the other shit go.”

Erestor let out the breath he’d been holding and smirked. “Eloquent as always.”

“I don’t like bullshit.”

“I know.”

Gil-galad nodded and pulled Erestor to him in a rough embrace. Held on. “Damn, you feel good. I’ve missed this. Unwise or not, I’m glad you wandered in tonight.”

“Was hauled in, more like.”

“That’ll teach you to loiter by my door.”

The sound of morning birds chirping brought them back to the problem at hand. The household would be up soon, and under no circumstances could anyone witness the identity of Gil-galad’s mid-night visitor. “I need to go now, while they’re all still asleep,” Erestor said. He gathered up his robe, examined the torn buttons.

Gil-galad gave a sheepish grin. “Sorry.”

“You’re a brute.”

“I was eager. That’s why you love me. Or used to.” He put an arm around Erestor, kissed his temple. “Maybe will again, who knows.”

They walked to the door on silent feet. Erestor put his ear to the wooden surface, listening. Reached out his hand for the handle.

“Res?” Gil-galad’s face was serious and tired again. “It’s a lot to ask, your mission. I know that. But I’m asking.”

Erestor straightened up to his full height, still a head shorter than his king. “I won’t let you down, Your Majesty.”

 

END