Visitation by Haeron

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Chapter 3

The next chapter will be posted on Tuesday, thank you for staying with me.

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Erestor had met the pavement hard, his shoulder attested to that. He lay on his side and listened to the gunfire burst in explosions that forced the water from his eyes when he squeezed them shut. His panic was mounting, his breathing laboured and far-away sounding and he’d broken out into a cold sweat, lying on the pavement where he’d been knocked over and seemingly forgotten. How many bullets flew over his body? How many screams had he muffled by biting down onto his own tongue? How many of the shouts he heard were shouts of his name? It all sounded so strange; too loud and yet too far even though he was certain he was in the thick of the conflict. He did not dare to look for faces for fear that someone see his and mar it with a bullet. Erestor could see the white parking lines on the floor and, if he looked, upwards, the lights in the concrete ceiling.

 

That was all he needed, but he needed to hide, too.

 

People were rushing around in a frenzy and the echoes of their steps sounded strange and staggered. Erestor pulled himself across the ground in a half-crawl to seek the shelter under the belly of one of the ominous Bentley’s that had boxed him and Jonas in. He’d seen cats take cover like this.

 

From his safe-spot, Erestor rubbed his eyes and tried to centre himself, blocking out the pain in his shoulder and the ache in his head that glared like a siren and screamed each time a gun was fired; which was startlingly often. Cling to reality, Erestor said, making it a chant to focus on, find some strain of reality. But reality was the first thing to shatter when he opened up his eyes again - he saw a thin strip of the action from under the car, and he saw Glorfindel.

 

He saw Glorfindel shooting people.

 

‘What the fuck,’ Erestor whispered, his voice a whisper but sounding loud. ‘What the fuck?!’

 

He looked for Jonas and saw the man slumped on the floor against his Mercedes, clutching at a leg wound that was sparingly merciful. Was that Glorfindel’s work? Glorfindel’s work - Erestor let out a shuddering breath, what was Glorfindel? A hitman? Some sort of secret FBI agent? A madman with a gun and too much money?

 

But the way Glorfindel wielded the slick, black pistol left no doubt that he had been trained to use it - with lethality. He shot another oncoming thug in the leg and turned to shoot another in the shoulder. They weren’t mortal blows, Erestor noted, but they’d be enough to kill if they didn’t have the sense to retreat and seek help. How does he know what to do? Erestor found himself wondering, the thoughts melting and combining and flourishing in a panic. A bullet hit the car Erestor was hiding under and he clapped his hands to his mouth to stifle the yell of terror. There were a lot of men on the floor, there were a lot of groans of pain.

 

Another well-dressed miscreant began to emerge from one of the boxed in Bentleys, but Glorfindel pointed his gun at him - and everything suddenly went still.

 

‘You’re going to leave,’ he said, and his voice was no longer honey sweet; it was sheer authoritarian command.

 

One of the men made to argue, to swear, to curse or otherwise contradict. Glorfindel pre-empted him with a bullet in the foot. He made a strangled cry that twisted at Erestor’s stomach. ‘You’re going to leave,’ Glorfindel repeated, deadlier this time. ‘And God have mercy if I ever see a single one of you again.’

 

His voice had shaken with a quiver of fury but his demands were met and the men were piling into cars, pulling their fallen comrades in with them with a terror-inspired lack of gentility if need be - they were beaten. Erestor heard Jonas say something vitriolic, and Erestor heard Glorfindel shout NOW. Engines started, six cars pulled away from the blonde in the white shirt, idly holding a gun by his side, and six cars made a beeline for the exit. Erestor was left exposed and shivering.

 

He lay there. Cold.

 

His shoulder throbbed and his head whirred round and round and threatened to induce nausea. Part of him wanted to call out to Glorfindel but another part refrained; he’d just seen him shoot half a dozen criminals not an hour after they’d been sat together in civilisation, touching under the table, sharing jokes, smiling...

 

Hadn’t Erestor thought him gentle? Hadn’t he thought him a doe?

 

Perhaps he made a noise then, out of pain or confusion, for Glorfindel was suddenly alerted to his presence. The ferocity melted from his face in a heartbeat and he stowed away his gun and came jogging over to kneel beside him. Erestor flinched from his touch but Glorfindel smoothed back the dark hair from his damp forehead and said something in a low voice that Erestor could not discern; it became a warm hum, nothing more.

 

Erestor shook, he could not breathe for a moment nor sit up, but Glorfindel was there and Glorfindel was shooshing him, calling him baby, touching his face. ‘He’s gone,’ he seemed to be saying, ‘he’s gone.’

 

Glorfindel misunderstood, but Erestor hadn’t the energy to speak.

 

He closed his eyes, and fell out of space.

 

-

 

Something was hurting.

 

Something was wrong.

 

His shoulder... It was his shoulder.

 

It hurt, and the pain seemed... big.

 

Erestor opened his eyes and was not in the car park. He was moving but he could not move, and there were lights going over his face; again and again and they made his eyes ache if he tried to look at them. They went by too fast. He could see Glorfindel at a funny angle but Glorfindel didn’t see him. Everything was blurry, everything sounded submerged - like they were underwater.

 

That’s a silly thought.

 

Erestor’s shoulder ached, and he realised he was in a car (Glorfindel’s green car) and that it was night-time - that they were driving fast. The engine growled like a chthonic beast. Glorfindel looked worried, his eyes darted here and there and he was murmuring something inaudible. A prayer, maybe. For me - am I dying? Erestor hoped not. He’d not even been able to make a deal.

 

He couldn’t move, he felt like a drained battery, but his hand, he saw, was resting upon Glorfindel’s knee and placed a little awkwardly. How inappropriate of me! thought Erestor to himself, but he felt the lull of slumber more keenly than the twang of guilt, and try as he might, he could not move his hand.

 

But it was warm, he was warm.

 

Glorfindel was warm.

 

And then there were the lights, the engine...

 

And then there was nothing at all.

 

-

 

Nothing, nothing - until there was everything. Sound was restored to Erestor first. He heard beeping, voices, a phone ringing somewhere and the creaking of doors. And then smell - the cloying sanitation of hospital.

 

Oh shit.

 

Erestor opened his eyes and saw that the world was skewed. He tried to right himself but a dull ache reprimanded him for the attempt. He heard a mumble, a call, and someone was standing by him. Why am I on a bed in my formal clothes?

 

‘Easy there kitten, easy.’

 

Kitten.

 

Glorfindel. He was there, looking down at him with a tired stare that had suddenly brightened. He heaved a sigh of relief and rubbed his eyes with both hands, shaking his head, saying something, saying something that was surely not in English. Erestor blinked. His eyelids were heavy and his brain seemed as though it would need the smelling salts to rouse it to functionality.

 

Fucking hell.

 

He felt - rough.

 

‘Erestor, can you hear me?’

 

Yes. He could hear but he could not respond, his throat was dry and scratchy. He licked his lips, and daydreamed of a cold, tall glass of iced water, but it just made matters worse.

 

They were in a cubicle, partitioned off from what was surely the rest of the hospital ward by a tall, white curtain.

 

‘Why...’ Erestor began, and his voice was a dry scrape. He cleared his throat and tried again. ‘Why are we in a cubicle?’

 

‘We’re in A&E, we need to get that graze of yours checked out, Rambo.’ Glorfindel said, and Erestor was pleased to note that he had finally grasped the concept on an inside voice. He smiled, drowsily. Nothing much made sense but the grogginess in his head was at least no longer an acrid pang - and it was nice to be lying down on something soft.

 

‘Can I sleep?’

 

‘Not yet, we’re waiting for the nurse to come. But then I’ll take you home and you can sleep the next century away if you like, and nobody’d question it.’

 

Erestor might have laughed if he didn’t feel eighty-five years old all of a sudden. When he looked at Glorfindel he was struck stark and white by the clinical overhead strip lights. His shirt was untucked in places and his golden hair ruffled but otherwise he looked no worse for ware, considering what had happened.

 

The memory was numb and tender to the mind’s probing touch. His head was numb. Glorfindel was smiling down at him, worriedly, but Erestor could not raise his voice to reassure him, he simply didn’t have the strength. He wanted to sleep or at least rest his eyes, but Glorfindel tapped him when he closed them and said in a soft voice that he had to keep them open, he had to stay awake. But if he stayed awake - then he would remember.

 

Bullets hitting the car, Glorfindel pointing the barrel at Jonas - and the deal, the deal that had never been!

 

Erestor suddenly felt revulsion like a swathe.

 

Elrond would... Elrond would be so disappointed, but how on Earth would Erestor go about explaining it all to him? He blinked slowly and tried to focus on the ceiling tiles and the grooves between them, probing for an answer to his own conundrum. He followed the grouted patterns whilst his mind churned over. I’m sorry Elrond, but I couldn’t secure new stock for the antiques shop because I was assaulted by a seller and saved by the man who I’d just been on a date with.

 

He could just picture Elrond’s face.

 

And the eyebrows.

 

Fuck.

 

Perhaps he said the word aloud. Glorfindel laughed, but it seemed more a statement of his own lagging stamina rather than any expression of mirth. ‘I’ve phoned Elrond, if that’s what you’re worried about. He says he’ll call you tomorrow and that he might pop round to yours, if you feel up to it.’

 

Erestor swallowed, his throat was dry. He’d like some water. He’d like to have secured some business for the shop, too.

 

‘And don’t worry - he’s not angry. How could he be angry?’

 

Glorfindel brushed the back of his hand gently across Erestor’s brow, and his fingers were cool.

 

Erestor let his eyes close for a moment. The touch was a refreshment, a balm, and the hospital was alive with ambiance unique to itself; hope dangling by a thread, smiles masking a greater trepidation; falsity with honest intent. They’d touched their knees together under the table in the restaurant, Erestor’s hand had rested on Glorfindel’s knee in the car...

 

There was something gnawing at him.

 

‘You shot some people,’

 

Glorfindel acknowledged the truth of it with a soft yes but said nothing else to alleviate Erestor’s concerns. He nodded, simply, and then the nurse came - pulling back the curtains. They scraped along the rail and Glorfindel flinched.

 

She had a kind face and straight, shoulder-length hair. She couldn’t have been much older than Erestor, with a sweet smile and little crinkles around her eyes that were the etching of a merry soul. She was dressed in white, and suited it.

 

‘Good evening,’ she said to them both, ‘how are we doing, then?’

 

Glorfindel said good, good! and Erestor made a vague noise of agreement. The nurse laughed, and it was a tinkling sound. ‘I’m going to ask you a few questions and do a few checkups, but you should be free to leave within the hour if we’re lucky.’

 

She spoke slowly, clearly, and asked if it hurt when she touched Erestor’s shoulder. He said it hurt only a little and not as much as it had, and the nurse seemed well pleased with his answer. ‘I’m going to need to take a look at the graze.’ she said and it took a moment for her underlying request to hit Erestor.

 

‘Oh!’ he said, and acquiesced. It was hard to sit up, Erestor’s head felt like it were made of lead and when he managed to pull himself to sitting he gave himself a moment to acclimatise. His eyes swam - the lights were very bright, and his arms and hands and fingers felt very clumsy as he tried to pull off the navy jumper.

 

He imagined it was not a very seductive disrobing, but the nurse did not seem to mind.

 

Glorfindel had meanwhile turned around and was reading a poster about the proper disposal methods for needles and used vaccinations. He seemed very invested in it, Erestor noted, as he pulled the jumper over his head and piled it in his lap to bury his hands into the fabric.

 

The cubicle was a bit chilly. Erestor shivered.

 

‘Relax for me, that’s it.’ said the nurse, touching his grazed shoulder with gloved hands. She had a firm touch, poking and pushing here and there and gauging Erestor’s reaction. It twanged, it ached - but the greater injury he’d sustained in the car park wouldn’t be so easily forgotten, and no amount of ointment and bandages could mend a waver in the conscience.

 

Once the nurse was done with her ministrations with the ointment and bandages, she helped Erestor tug on his jumper and free his hair from the collar. She said he had pretty hair and he returned the compliment. It made her laugh. He said she had a pretty laugh, too, and he saw Glorfindel smirking at him as he turned back around. In truth, Erestor was barely aware of what he was saying, such was his tiredness - but it’d just seemed right.

 

‘I’m going to fetch the doctor to come and sign your papers, and then we’ll see about letting you loose again.’ said the nurse, and with a bow of her head she excused herself through the cubicle curtain. Glorfindel came close.

 

‘Does someone have a thing for women in uniform?’ he asked.

 

Erestor smiled, and raised a hand to rub the skin under his eyes.

 

‘I’ve a thing for my bed, and that thing is undying, unconditional love.’

 

‘A romantic,’ Glorfindel said with a soft smile that Erestor returned, and for a dozen heartbeats nothing else passed between them save for that glance and a shared warmth. But then it came again; the memory of the car park and the men clutching at their knees, writhing, writhing on the floor...

 

Glorfindel had left his gun in the car.

 

Erestor shifted on the bed, he had a crick in his back.

 

‘Glorfindel, do you maybe have something that you need to- that you want to tell me?’ he asked, keeping his voice as low as he might. It was a rasp, and Glorfindel looked down for a moment. When he met Erestor’s eyes again, his smile was just a tad weak.

 

‘Shall we go for a drive again? Or for some later night dinner? Another date?’ he laughed, but Erestor did not. Bright eyed, Glorfindel faltered. He pushed back his hair and gave a sigh. ‘I can tell you everything - tonight.’

 

-

 

Glorfindel had driven them to an electric diner in the heart of the city’s night scene where the doors were always open and the neon sign that flashed Rita’s! was never dark. The classic 20s style diner here was meshed with the modern urban overture of the city, a pristine depravity - and it worked. The waiting staff were in costume, and their tongue piercings and ombre hair somehow authenticated their attire.

 

It was fusion.

 

Erestor held his head in his hands, seated uncomfortably in a booth opposite Glorfindel. The leather seats were a bright tawdry lemon colour and two cups of decent coffee sat in front of them like bargaining chips, but Glorfindel had already drank most of his wager. He would watch the lights flash around the menu over the counter sometimes, and Erestor would see its reflection in the black of his eyes that was surrounded by the blue. Too tired to emulate any kind of appropriate social grace, Erestor sat and stared and waited.

 

He had been promised answers. It was 1am, but he would get them, sure enough, sure enough...

 

Strange to think that not so long ago they had been sat in similar positions in the Palace, wearing the same clothes, the same shoes - and yet now they seemed to be entirely different people. Erestor blinked, tiredly, and Glorfindel was apparently mentally psyching himself up for his grand reveal. He took a swig of coffee. Erestor had not touched his, and sometimes the steam rose up and lost his focus - watching the tendrils that lured him to slumber, rising up and up and then vanishing to thinness. Gods, but in-between the shoot out and the hospital; Erestor was tired.

 

But the city never sleeps, even if she sleepwalks.

 

‘Who are you?’ he asked, a bit bluntly, but there were only five people in the diner to overhear the exchange. He and Glorfindel seemed to be the only two who had any kind of lucidity, however. A youth in a worn leather jacket sat at the counter in the middle of the diner, staring vacantly at a Smartphone, and two older ladies sat by the window talking in a hush together, sharing a slice of pie and a shade of lipstick.

 

Erestor hoped their date was going better than his.

 

They have pie, of course it’s going better.

 

‘Who am I?’ Glorfindel tasted the question aloud.

 

Erestor raised an expectant brow.

 

‘I’m Glorfindel,’ said Glorfindel in attempt at humour but it was wasted. Erestor was too far gone into the realm of sleep depravation to be appreciative of his chirps and japes. He remembered that he’d laughed in the Palace... Glorfindel furrowed his brows a little, resolving himself to the severity of the situation. ‘But I am an... agent, of a kind.’

 

‘A federal agent?’ Erestor asked with incredulity stretched by a yawn.

 

‘Yes,’

 

‘Oh, good.’ Erestor’s laughter was dry. ‘Am I under arrest?’

 

‘You’re not under arrest.’

 

‘Am I under surveillance?’

 

‘You’re not... under surveillance, no.’

 

The hesitation made Erestor frown.

 

‘Then what am I under?’

 

Glorfindel worked hard to conceal a smirk. He tried to take another sip of coffee but found that he had already drained his cup. Erestor pushed his cup towards him, and Glorfindel met his eye and took the offering only when Erestor had nodded his certainty. He took a sip and deliberated.

 

‘Protection,’ Glorfindel said. There was a siren somewhere outside and he looked out of the window (or rather, the wall) but the streets, though largely empty, were a sparse and timed cacophony of headlights and taillights passing in a rush. The drivers in the dark skirted the bounds of the law with their speed. But it was night-time - and the law saw best with sun upon her brow.

 

‘I’m not sure I understand,’

 

‘There’s no easy way to explain,’ Glorfindel said, smiling his plight of the sincere. Erestor could understand but wished he’d try, regardless. He looked at him, at Glorfindel the federal agent. It at least explained the fucking £700 plate and the gun and the Palace. Glorfindel returned the stare, seeking to prove something in the contact, perhaps? If so - it was another wasted gesture, for Erestor was aware of nothing more complex than Glorfindel’s pretty eyelashes and the strength of his shoulders.

 

He might have told him so if the mood had been better - as it was, he still didn’t rightly know where they stood in relation to one another anymore. And I’m tired. I am literally the tiredest that a human being has ever been ever before in the history of the world ever. ‘You could always just have a go - but use small words for me I’m... not at my best.’

 

Erestor relinquished a drudging smile, and Glorfindel brightened.

 

‘Jonas is a known scumbag - a criminal, rather - and we’ve been tipped off about him for months now but without a fixed location on him or a preferred meeting place of his. He’s tangled with Elrond before. Jonas wanted to, well, he thought that yours and Elrond’s little enterprise was ripe for the plundering.’ Glorfindel paused, he looked ponderous. ‘Can you plunder antiques?’

 

Erestor said that you probably could, yes, if you were some kind of sugar tongs pirate. Glorfindel laughed at that. ‘Didn’t I buy some of those of you?’ he asked, genially.

 

‘You did, but don’t go off topic.’

 

‘Pardon me, I don’t mean to,’ Glorfindel apologised and Erestor was inclined to believe him. The was a candidness about him here, tonight, in the diner at 1am. Perhaps they both were too tired to maintain a perceptible front, perhaps they were both too tired to hold up their usual masks.

 

And again, it was intimate.

 

But Erestor still didn’t understand.

 

‘The people I work for are interested in preventing this sort of thing. When bad guys take over the good guys - it’s just another syndicate waiting to blow up in all our faces. Elrond pays for protection - for himself and the shop, and for you, kitten.’

 

Doubt crested and reared like a foamy wave coming to brace against Erestor, and he felt the slam of it like a dead weight. It stung his eyes. It made him numb. He chewed the inside of his lip, nodding, thinking, fretting disquietly. Protection. Had that been the motivation for all of this? For the date and the ride? Had Glorfindel come into the shop on that first fateful day because he’d been paid too?

 

Erestor sighed, a short huff that exhumed the air from his lungs. A thousand fresh doubts tapped him with fey fingers but he had not the brevity of wit sufficient to tend to them tonight, and Glorfindel was making puppy eyes at him.

 

I’m so tired.

 

Glorfindel looked sad.

 

He was using me.

 

Glorfindel was shaking his head.

 

Erestor had to look away. When he turned his head the world blurred for a moment, neon and silk and the late night electronica show on the radio.

 

The waitress at the bar was cashing up the till, noisily piling coins together and bagging them up. She chewed gum and had a shock of electric blue hair for a fringe where otherwise her head was shaven. She caught Erestor’s eye and widened her own - a kindly gesture, somehow.

 

‘Erestor,’

 

Erestor rubbed his eyes, and turned back.

 

‘Erestor, I know what you’re thinking and it isn’t true.’

 

‘Isn’t it?’

 

Glorfindel looked strangled for words, frustrated with himself. He tapped the table a few times with anxious fingers and then drew himself forward a little.

 

‘I’ve never been directly involved with the shop before, or you! The orders they... well, the jobs come as the crime does, does this make sense? No, no, probably not. I knew of you, Elrond talks about you all the time and I knew you did the buying for the shop. And I knew Jonas would rear his head eventually and make a move against you. That’s where the protection part comes in, see? But I’m glad I met you for you, that much is true.’

 

So it’s logic. Funny, even though logic was a perfectly rational and admirable motivator, it did tend to leave a person hollowed. There was no emotional depth to logic.

 

Emotion - Erestor was ruled by it, though he had the world thinking otherwise. He asked Glorfindel in an undertone if he could have a sip of their shared coffee and Glorfindel nodded and pushed the cup back across the table. It was cooling, already, and grainy. Erestor checked his phone - no calls, but a quarter of an hour had passed. It was 1:24am, and the hour was an ache behind the eyes.

 

‘I’m honestly not sure what to make of any of this,’ Erestor said, truthfully. ‘How did it get to this? Do you know how mundane my life was before all this happened?’

 

Glorfindel smiled, just a little.

 

‘Come on,’ he said, and rose from the booth. Erestor stood up too though he didn’t rightly know what the point of it was. His body obeyed whilst his brain whirred, the slowing spokes of a bike’s wheel spun by hand. Glorfindel put a neat stack of change on top of a banknote and left it at their table. He touched Erestor’s elbow briefly and guided him out of the diner. The night was a gaping, high sky and the air brisk and almost damp with the wind providing a chilling nuisance. Erestor mumbled to himself - unsure if he were really speaking aloud or if the thoughts were his own.

 

‘I miss my damn shop and the obituaries and the three regular customers we used to get who weren’t federal agents...’

 

He didn’t mean it, but it felt good to spout it all anyway. Glorfindel was walking slowly beside him, listening sweetly and silently and shouldering the blame. They stood under a streetlight so that Glorfindel could search his pockets for his car keys. He looks just as tired as me when he lets the smile slip, Erestor thought to himself, he has laughter lines and a few crow’s feet. A few people were walking the pavements at this time of night - and some sidled past them with no more than a brief glance up at two well dressed strangers, stood still, stood close.

 

Glorfindel caught Erestor’s eye.

 

The orange streetlamps stole colour and replaced it with a gradation of its own artificial glow. Erestor wondered if he would even recognise this street if he were to walk down it again in the daytime. The night was its own world.

 

‘I can go, if you like.’ Glorfindel said, without the barest trace of mirth.

 

It was a heavy statement.

 

Erestor let his breath melt with the twilight and shoved his hands into his pant pockets, feeling the little mint from the Palace and turning it about with his fingers like a worry token. He looked up and saw high-rises, apartment lights, and he saw the patches of night sky between it all - holding everything together.

 

Glorfindel was trouble.

 

No. Trouble was too unkind of a term - Glorfindel was life and action and so foreign to Erestor, who had made a career of surrounding himself with the static and the passive. ‘No,’ he said and thought he heard Glorfindel’s masked breathe of relief. ‘No, you’ve been good to me.’

 

Erestor looked to him and he was smiling, a little sadly, but it was a smile nonetheless. He held his tongue, though, and Erestor half wished he might come out with one of his awful jokes to balm the mood. But Glorfindel stood stoic; thinking, perhaps, of what to do next? There was a neon sign on the building behind him, across the road, a neon pink martini glass dancing this way and that.

 

And then he felt a hand, Glorfindel’s hand, sliding to hold the small of his back.

 

An invitation.

 

Erestor took it and drew closer; pulled in equal part by a curiosity, a want and a dull, dull pang of fatigue that bade him rest his head somewhere! There would be no more answers for him tonight, not until he woke in the morning (or afternoon, most likely) with sleep’s clarity. So on Glorfindel’s chest he rested himself and Glorfindel held him about the waist.

 

‘Erestor,’ he said, using a finger to turn Erestor’s chin. He said his name again, and Erestor smiled. Glorfindel had such pretty blonde eyelashes - now he thought he might be able to count every one of them. And Glorfindel was leaning in close, closing his eyes as he came for a kiss...

 

But Erestor pulled away, just a touch, but enough to make Glorfindel open his eyes.

 

‘I don’t usually kiss boys on the first date,’ Erestor said. It wasn’t strictly true, but it conjured a smirk on Glorfindel’s lips - and if he was going to kiss him, this federal protective agent, he’d kiss one of those honey smiles.

 

‘I’m no boy,’ said Glorfindel, his voice a low hum that was cause enough for a surge of shivers. ‘And this isn’t our first date.’

 

Erestor lifted a hand. ‘Isn’t it?’ he asked, coyly.

 

He pushed his fingers into the gold of Glorfindel’s hair, mussed and ruffled by wind and no small amount of exertion, an yet it was silk between his fingers.

 

‘The first one didn’t go that badly,’ whispered Glorfindel, brushing their noses together and smiling his contentment. It made Erestor smile too. It made him blink. The ache behind his eyes had turned to something profound, he let out a sigh and a light, breathy laugh.

 

‘I got shot at!’

 

‘Ah, but that was after the date.’

 

‘Yes, but-’

 

‘Shh, kitten,’ said Glorfindel, still smiling - but it was a demure thing now, a soft thing of comfort. ‘You’re okay, you’re okay now.’

 

Glorfindel’s kiss was light and glancing.

 

And warm.

 

Erestor closed his eyes and Glorfindel kissed him again with a new confidence. He let Glorfindel lead, he had two hands on either side of Erestor’s hips and was pulling him closer and closer until they were connected; body to body. Erestor curled his other hand around the back of Glorfindel’s neck. He had to lift himself on his toes slightly to reach up to the embrace, but Glorfindel was smiling at his efforts and parting his lips with easy sighs.

 

The kiss became slow and languorous and Erestor sighed his desire. Was Glorfindel whispering his name? He couldn’t tell. Mingled exhaustion and arousal clouded him completely, pleasantly - like a blanket one covers themselves in to help them weather a cold. The night had fallen away, so had the buildings and the signs and all of the people, and all that remained were he and Glorfindel and their shared warmth. Erestor pulled Glorfindel down for more, Glorfindel laughed, meeting the demand with all of his gentility; kissing Erestor shallowly and prettily.

 

He kisses like a porn star, Erestor thought to himself as Glorfindel tugged at his lower lip with his teeth. I knew he looked like a “plumber” the day he came in the shop.

 

And then Erestor was laughing inbetween the kisses. Glorfindel started laughing. He kissed Erestor once again, a peck, a press of his lips that was affection’s seal. He said thank you, and then again and again and again. He pulled Erestor close to his body so that he could rest his head under his chin.

 

Thank you, he was saying, and his voice was a breath of wind.

 

Erestor kept his eyes shut and blocked out the sounds of cars and a the dull bass of a club somewhere, and clung to the body that clung to his.