Gone with the Wind by Sleepless_Malice

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Dreams Come Alive

[Chapter Summary]: After long days spent in solitude Manwë pays Glorfindel another visit. [aka basically the chapter with all the Vala/Elf porn you have ever wanted (or not) - sorry not sorry]

[Warning] - M/M, explicit content.

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Chapter 05 – Dreams Come Alive

 

In the Gardens of Lórien

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Day after long day passed without a visitor for Laurefindil, a week went by and then another, and although he deemed his own impatience ridiculous, worries and melancholy began to gnaw at his fragile state of mind once again: had he said or done anything to displease the Vala during their brief encounters?

Had he been so obvious in everything he had done, had the briefest of caress just been the last good-bye – a sorrowful good-bye like he had experienced it already before?

Oh, cruel this was, and the longer he indulged in his musings, caught in a maelstrom of melancholy, the prospect of having said his last good-bye seemed to be the only valid explanation; but then, hadn’t the Vala said he would pay him another visit once his tight schedule would allow him such idle pleasantries? Unable Laurefindil found himself to distinguish between right or wrong any longer, here in Irmo’s sacred garden, where he had so many questions to ask, about his past and about his future - if there was any for him.

Laurefindil bowed his head and pressed his shaking hands together, and in silence he vowed he would not remain silent any longer, post-pone all the question that burned so wearingly on his mind; no matter how brief their next encounter would last, he would force himself to speak his mind aloud.

 

Many days later

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Day after day, he would come, enjoying the soft sound of gushing water, staring right into the stream for hours and hours and despite the fact that he had always enjoyed the beauty of nature, he was almost magically drawn towards this secluded place. Seated beneath a weeping willow nearby the gushing stream, his hands wandered idly over the tiny violet flowers that covered the entire ground, their heavenly scents wafting around him. It was impossible to determine which season it was as the gardens seemed to be nearly unaffected by seasonal effect, blossoming forever as it seemed.

The tedium of this particular afternoon was proving especially difficult to endure.

For countless years he had sought solitude and rejected all during his stay in Námo’s halls, be it Valar or his own kin, but now, strangely as it perhaps was, he felt lonely. As long as he had lived, Laurefindil had always enjoyed the pleasant company of friends, and much had he been liked among nobles and common folk alike, greatly he had indulged into the splendor of great feasts, and all the amenities Túrukano’s court had to offer. Indeed, never had he been one to shy away from the regular social obligations which came with his rank among the noble lords of the white city; quite the contrary. Wholeheartedly he had indulged into easy conversations and deep discussions alike, and now, somehow his old self seemed to awaken within him again.

Slowly, certainly, yet unmistakably so.

For hours, he was lazily drifting between stages of consciousness and sleep when the rustling of leaves behind him jarred him back into reality, although at first he had almost dismissed the sound as just another figment of his dreaming mind; but then, the soft noise had persisted, and excitement began to coil within him.

No need there was to turn his head nor to rise from the position he was in; the otherworldly presence of one of the Ainur around him was distinct against his mind, and in this moment, he knew that his silent pleas were finally answered.

“Alatúlië,” (Welcome) Laurefindil greeted in delight, yet he resisted the urge to spin around immediately as he would have much desired to do with the childish excitement that rushed through him. O, so many days he had waited to lay his eyes upon the ethereal Lord of the Winds again, to lose himself in those stunning blue eyes as he had done so many times before, to finally be granted time to ask all the questions that were occupying his thoughts day and night.

“Well met, Laure,” The Vala responded in a voice that was strong and soft alike as he took a few steps to come to stand next to the sitting elf, and into his vision, and not unnoticed the widening of Laurefindil’s eyes went, as for long moments the elf simply stared rather mesmerized as his gaze fell upon him, absorbing the sight the Lord of the Winds presented.

“Different thou dost look,” Laurefindil remarked when he had collected himself, at least a little: breathtakingly beautiful the Vala was with his silvery hair that cascaded down his shoulders like a moonlit waterfall, tiny pearls and beads of different blues woven into the strands that now reflected in the sunlight, the silver crown adorned with precious jewels of the same color upon his head. The silken clothing flowed about him as if the material was light as air, the filtered sunlight catching itself in the silver threads that adorned the precious fabric.

Majestically he was like Laurefindil had only once seen him before: on the night Finwë had wed his second wife, Indis of the Vanyar, when all inhabitants of Tirion had gathered for a joyful feast; nothing more than a child he had been then, and in unspeakable awe he had stared at the mighty Lords of the West who graced the newlyweds with their presence. Mesmerized he had been by their ethereal splendor until his mother had scolded him not to stare in such a blatant way. Never before, and never after he had seen such magnificence, such spell-binding beauty, and, truly he had thought a marriage blessed by the mighty lords themselves was automatically granted happiness.

What an utmost foolish assumption!

Peacefully and quiet the first century indeed had been, but soon after, subtle threats of rebellion had wafted through the nightly streets of Tirion, and not much later, Fëanáro openly had openly rebelled against his half-brother, heeding the lies the Black foe had sown in his untamable spirit.

Rumors of planned usurp, weighting one against the other, such malice within the own family and open threats, something Laurefindil, who had always seen siblings as a blessing, could not understand. Barely an adult he had been when Fëanáro’s judgment by the Valar had been spoken in the Ring of Doom, and foolishly he had thought that peace and quiet would gain the mastery once more.

Aye, for a few years peace indeed had come back to the shining streets of Tirion, and with every year that passed, all their lives slowly went back to how it had always been; however, deeply underneath the smooth surface it boiled and simmered like the lava boiled beneath the ground until the pressure would tear the earth apart, until fiercely the hot liquid would erupt. Too deep the hurt and worries ran within Finwë’s eldest son, and the slaying of his beloved sire and the theft of the jewels which had been so dear to him, so much dearer than any living being possibly could ever be, had been the final trigger.

Where others would have sought solace within the family, grief in silent contemplation, Fëanáro had sworn foolish revenge against the Dark One in his blinding wrath, and Laurefindil had never been entirely certain what occurrence the proud Ñoldo had mourned more.

Many millennia ago all these incidences had been, and now, with the wisdom that often came with age and personal experiences, the flight of the Ñoldor seemed only all the more ridiculous, doomed to failure from the very beginning.

But then, after all, he had desired to follow across the Grinding Ice - not Fëanáro himself however, but his half-brother, and out of different reasons. Always had he been indifferent towards the rift that had grown over the years between the sons of Finwë, at least had he tried to be, even if a certain influence from Túrukano’s side couldn’t be denied. However, Laurefindil had always doubted that he would have ever followed wouldn’t it have been for the fateful night all those countless years ago, and now all seemed to be revived by a chaste caress bestowed upon his lips. Incapable he still was to understand the true meaning behind it, and often he thought he simply had interpreted too many a thing into it.

Completely astray his mind had went, back towards the day when he had seen Manwë in all his splendor, when he had blatantly stared - and unable he was to tear his gaze away now; quickly, he closed his mouth because yet again he caught himself staring with his jar gasped open, entirely unbefitting to greet the Elder King. “I wished to step before thee as the one I truly am, for once not hidden in false disguise of thy kin; so wrong it hath felt that something of such importance should be built upon lies and false deception.”

Wise words, the Vala spoke, Laurefindil had to admit, though yet he failed to understand the true meaning behind them, but they held enough beauty to let his mouth fall open once more.

Aye, he had always known – or at least heard of the fact that the Ainur could choose their appearance as they wished, their bodily form merely a projection; always had the idea of the changing fána intrigued him, but long years did pass until he understood the meaning in its entirety. At first, when they have accidentally met in the gardens of Mindon Eldaliéva, he had not recognized the Elder King and so embarrassed he had been afterwards by mistake him for an ordinary elf.  

“Thus, I thank thee,” responded Laurefindil after a while, releasing the breath he did not even know that he was holding until then, and desperately he forced his facial expression to become normal again; how much he succeeded, however, he did not know, because gloriously indeed the Elder King’s appearance was. It was not so, that Manwë’s usual fána which resembled the bodily form of his Laurefindil’s own kin had not been extraordinarily pretty as well, yet this was unexceptional, and such a rare occurrence.

He had never been easily intrigued by the visible display of power, not in Tirion or later in Nevrast; aye, certainly, he had always shown appropriate respect towards his superiors but never had he been found among those who swooned openly upon all the splendor. Much later in Ondolindë, when he had been counted among the noble lords himself, this exact behavior had always made him uncomfortable as respect and affection should always come from deeds and sincere liking, never from a position alone.

Now, however, undeniably he was affected by what he had so much despised whilst he had been alive, at least a little, and like the child with shining eyes holding his mother’s hand, he felt once more, struggling for words which simply did not wish to come: “I ask thee, if thou wouldest not mind, take thy seat beside me,” he finally managed to say, being certain that his state of mind did not go unnoticed, though the Vala remained silent as he sat down beside him.

Slight threads of nervousness began to coil and spread within him; in silence he had vowed to himself to ask all the questions which had so long troubled him lately, and although hard it was to focus on them again now with Manwë’s presence so close, a welcoming diversion from what truly occupied his mind they were. Hardly he could voice his desires to feel the Vala’s lips against his own again, now could he without causing yet another rift between them?

Laurefindil drew in a deep breath, looking down at his own hands, which still played with the violet flowers that covered the lush meadow, before he asked the first question, an ask he almost knew the answer to already: “Thou hast granted me to see mine eternal fate, hast thou not?”

“Aye,” the Vala nodded in confirmation, “Irmo’s vision thou hast seen, given to thee on my behalf. Unable I have always been to understand why both Námo and Irmo hath been so reluctant to show what had happened after Ondolindë’s fall, only just I would name it.”

“This, I do not know; haply they have thought I would be unable to bear the dreadful memories? Admittedly, many a day after the initial dream I have suffered gravely, possibly even whilst I have dreamt, still I so much deem it necessary and past-due. My praise and thank thou hast, and many a thing seems clearer to me now - still not all questions are solved on mine side.”

“What ails thee, speakest, what liest so heavily upon thy heart?”

“O, so many thoughts occupy mine head, so many unresolved questions float through mine mind,” Countless would perhaps been the better choice of word, but at least half of his questions he did not dare to speak of, at least not yet. “The eagles have guarded mine memorial for many years, those divine birds that only follow thy command; wherefore, I ask thee, wherefore?”

Did he truly not know? Hard the Vala found to believe it, but he had vowed silently to answer all of the elf’s concerns. “Always thou hast been dear to me, Laure, thou hast refusest to see it in thy blinding rage. Thy eternal fate I could not alter, nor could another, and neither could I interfere in anything thou hast done once thou hast set thy feet upon the Grinding Ice; yet, despite better knowledge I have watched thee from the utmost West, and listened to the words Thorondor had to say to mine ears. Believe me, I do not lie when I say thou always had mine love, though perhaps I have not understood myself what I have felt for thee, how mine feelings towards thee have been slowly altered over the years - an. Not the only one thou art who hast suffered from thy decision to leave these shores.”

Only then, Laurefindil stopped to idly play with the tiny flowers and tilted his head to meet the Vala’s gaze; always had he been fascinated by the stunning blue eyes that so much resembled the blue of the brightest morning sky, but until now he had not noticed that the change in fána also had an effect on Manwë’s eyes; it was as if he looked right into the endless vaults of heaven.

With sheer astonishment he exclaimed, finding his voice he had thought lost again: “Thine eyes…”

Not by surprise, Laurefindil’s notion came for him, as unusual his eyes truly were, and genuinely he began to explain: “Alas – mine eyes are unlike from what thou hast seen ere, but worry not, Laure; their appearance is a glass of mine emotions, they reflect mine mood unguarded for all to see. Unable I am to take external control, and thus only very few among the Eldar have ever seen me with these eyes in the days of old, Ingwë and Finwë among them.”

Taken aback Laurefindil was, lost for words with his mind reeling upon the divine sight of those bewitching eyes when Manwë spoke again: “Mourned thy decision to leave these lands behind I truly have, and much alike I have mourned thy death and Ondolindë’s fall, and despite of what thou hast assumed for countless years: thou hast had mine love, Laure – no matter what thou hast said or done in thy blind anger, no matter how fiercely thou hast screamed for vengeance, I felt for thee – still I feel for thee, and mine genuine love thou hast.”

Never had he thought to hear such a confession, such gentle words, and deliberately all those long years he had truly thought he had rightfully lost all respect and love the Vala once might have harbored for him – astonishment upon his own misconception struck him violently. “Tis .. wherefore thou hast let me wait for so many a day? Wherefore.. thou hast kissed mine lips o so gently ere thou hast vanished from mine sight?” Too wonderfully this would be, yet hardly he dared to believe it thus, and indeed his thoughts were extraordinarily veering this day.

A shiver rushed down his spine when he caught the Vala’s gaze for the briefest of moments, enough reassurance to let go of the breath he was holding, and for the first time he realized that subtle notes of arousal already began to stir within him as he felt his hardened nipples brushing against the soft fabric of his tunic.

“Verily, seldom it doth occur,” Manwë began, words that certainly did not fail its mark, “a rarity thou mightest say, and right thou art! Yet sometimes mine own emotions seem to overwhelm me, but aye, thou art right in thy assumption: a gesture of reassurance, as something to keep thy mind occupied with instead of those dreadful memories and melancholic thoughts.”

As much as Laurefindil wished to allow his thoughts to wander towards what he had so much hoped for in the darkest of nights, he dared not to, as no matter how much Manwë said he cherished, even loved him, something entirely different simply could not be erased from reality. Briefly, he closed his eyes and drew in a sharp breath only to exhale exaggeratedly shortly after, gathering the internal strength he certainly would need to speak the words, the strength he would need to cope with the devastating answer of which he was certain would follow.

Reluctantly and barely audibly he forced the words past his lips: “What about … what about thy spouse…?” Certain he was that his dream would be heavily crushed once the question was answered.

“Worry not,” responded Manwë, and only seconds later, snippets of a conversation filled his mind, and all he could do was to stare in awe; he heard and saw what perhaps was never meant for him to witness, but then, the possibility that he would not trust him, did exist, he had to admit. ‘No more lies shall stand between us’, the Vala had said earlier to him, and finally Laurefindil realized Manwë truly had meant ever word he had spoken when he continued to listen to his monologue. “Tough it strikest thee strange, she knowest I am here. With thee – and alas, so she doth know about the incidence all those years ago; after many years I have been faithful and revealed everything to her.”

When he looked up again, he felt another thrill; it wasn’t only an answer, it was a statement and Laurefindil had to fight against the urge to simply throw his arms around the Vala in frantic happiness which began to coil in his stomach, but he decided against it and listened closely instead: “Many a thing I have learned the past millennia, Laure, trust me for once I ask thee, and not pleasantly it hath been. In regard to what is on thy mind but thou darest not to speak: she doth love me as I love her, and I most likely she hath always known; she hath seen me suffering all those years, often lost in silent musings, lost in dreadful thoughts wandering mine halls high upon Taniquetil. Love among the Ainur is different to what the Eldar feel towards their own kin... to what I feel for thee, and perhaps always have felt.”

Laurefindil could not prevent the smirk that started to tug at the corner of his mouth when his reeling mind had finally processed the meaning of those softly spoken words.

Had Manwë just said that he loved him, desired him still?

That nothing should ever come between them .. that he would – finally – give into his silent pleas?

O, certainly he must have misheard or misinterpreted the divine words, too heavenly they were to be sweet reality. But then, the Vala’s gentle voice interrupted his train of thought once more: “I beg thy forgiveness, truly I do ask for it,” Manwë added, visibly struggling to voice his most intimate thoughts, his eyes pleading for pardon, “unfaithful I might have been, and trust me when I finally admit: never have I been so mistaken in mine life as I have been all those countless years ago. I desire thee, thy flesh and body in a way I never shall.”

Laurefindil’s mind spun upon the newly obtained information, and oddly he felt a wondrous surge of triumph rush through him. No, he hadn’t thought this possible. Never, and for long moments he relished the silence, pinching the bridge of his nose between thumb and forefinger, and tried to calm his thoughts, but he was condemned to fail. The memory was vivid and fresh as if the night the Vala had been talking about had only been a fortnight ago.

Involuntarily, his body began to tremble ever so slightly, and for moments it felt as if something special, something of which Laurefindil l had no words for transpired between them, sparks of energy, a searing heat that made him hot and cold alike when he felt the burning gaze of the Vala wander along his neck and arms. Without giving his idea much thought he shifted his position ever so slight that he more or less faced the other, and in that moment the Vala rose his hand. He didn’t know if Manwë truly wished to touch him there or if his hand had brushed accidentally against his face, but Laurefindil decided it mattered not; too wonderfully the touch felt against his skin.

“Good lords, many a night mine thought hath dared to dream exactly such…,” was his response when Manwë’s fingers lingered a moment too long on his cheek to be accidental, a little too demanding for a gesture of comfort between friends.

“What sayest thou, what art on thy mind?” Gently the words were spoken, however with such a persistence and beseeching tone that the elf did not dare to refuse him an answer.

A lump began to form in Laurefindil’s throat, the fears of rejection and disappointment still occupying parts of his mind; too wonderfully the words the Vala had spoken simply were, too surreal to be reality. He blinked, partly out of confusion, partly out of embarrassment because his thoughts had not been entirely innocent. “Wilt thou kiss mine lips, as thou hast kissed them under Laurelin’s auric light?” His words were nothing more than a breathed whisper, shy and insecure, nothing remaining of the fierce warrior the golden-haired elf was, the Lord of the Golden Flower upon whose valor and deeds songs were already sung. “As thou hast done to bid me thy farewell?” The subtle notes of worry upon yet another rejection threaded through every vein of his body, and all he could do was to cast down his glance.

Soft fingertips found their way beneath his chin, lifting the elf’s head up ever so slightly to meet the storm-clouded sky that danced now through Manwë’s eyes. “Dost thou require a spoken answer, Laure?” responded the Vala, and Laurefindil was all too easily losing himself in the darkened eyes with undisguised longing shining in them, and for the first time since Manwë’s arrival he dared to touch him, carefully and not more than the dance of fingertips. His hand was warm against the Vala’s skin that was so soft that he did not wished to let ever go.

Visibly he was now aroused, his cheeks flushed and he could feel yet another surge of heat stir in his lower abdomen, sparks of fluttery excitement that elicited a visible shiver: “With all mine heart - nay.” he said without concealing the naked longing in his eyes, taking his delight in pulling the rare smiles from the Elder King’s lips.

But then, the smile was gone and Manwë’s lips were against his own, soft and ever so careful, yet as demanding as Laurefindil had remembered them to be, assisted by eager hands that threaded into his golden hair. How many centuries had he hoped that history would repeat itself, and now it was finally happening, and his heart leapt in delight. Shivering, he hitched himself closer, bringing his own hands upwards to touch the Ainu’s face, his fingertips idly dancing across the silvery brows, the soft eyelids and lashes. For moments, the world stood still, Manwë’s hand was warm and solid against the back of his head, a heat rising from his palm that bleed through his entire body. Laurefindil opened his mouth against Manwë’s lips and tasted the heat of his tongue, a gentle play of desire and exploration, and instinctively he moved closer until the ache in his loins threatened to consume him.

Their eyes have long fallen shut and when the Vala’s fingertips tighten even more in his hair, he felt as if his bodily form would dissolve. In his reveries, the lips of the one he had desired for so many years had been warm and soft, gentle yet demanding, but they were only a poor imitation of reality, lacking the divinity, somewhat unreal – over the years he must have forgotten.

The kiss was slow but passionate, Manwë’s tongue probing against his lips once more and he willingly opened up to him almost wantonly, and equally demanding as if millennia old longing was finally set free; heavy the air between them was with expectations, with sinful illusions of equal desire and temptation, neither of them wanting to pull apart to breathe when the sensation was overwhelming. O, so easily Laurefindil could lose himself in the bliss that threatened to consume him, once already he had lost himself in frantic and blind desire, and long ago he had sworn to himself that he would never make the same mistake again. He had to know, he had to ask the question which would seal their eternal fate; with much reluctance he let go of the Vala’s lips and broke the divine contact, and again nervousness and worry seized him, yet he had to know.

Not easily the words would come, and indeed he had to summon all his strength to choke out what lay so heavily and paralyzing upon his heart and mind: “Thou wilt not rekindle mine hope, mine dreams,” Laurefindil began to mumble barely audibly whilst his eyes held the Vala’s gaze, “mine perhaps ludicrous desires … anew? To ... to..” Desperately, he struggled to voice his greatest fear aloud, but he could not bring himself to say the words - too deeply the disappointment still sat within him, and despite the fact that he was still completely dressed he felt so utterly exposed.

Not necessary it was, however, as the Vala’s voice filled the air again and it was as if Manwë had read his thoughts once more: “I know what fear doth occupy thy heart, Laure; that, at the end of all things, I shall say ‘I cannot’? Nay, Laurefindil – I shall not, and more importantly, I will not. Such a grave mistake I once have made already – deliberately I have hurt thy emotions, placing false hopes in thy heart. Thou must trust me: not mine intention it hath been to hurt thee.” Laurefindil hung on the Vala’s lips, absorbing every single word that was spoken, and he found himself unable to withstand the notions of sincere guilt and hurt floating through Manwë’s eyes. “With all the wrongs I have committed I shall not repeat mine decision! Many a cold night I have regretted such, contemplated mine choices of old, suffered endlessly on the words I have said – no more.” The Vala’s voice caressed the wind, but for many moments, Laurefindil’s senses were too dulled to comprehend the words, and he helplessly glanced at Manwë, his own irritation had rendered him speechless; unable he felt himself to do anything but to stare mesmerized in childish fascination. This was as close to an apology as he would ever receive from the Elder King, words he had never imagined to hear, and still he was not entirely certain if he had not misheard, exchanged words and syllables in what he so desperately wished to hear.

“The pain of regret we share,” Laurefindil said at last with astonishment still ringing in his voice, but now the words he had not dared to say during their previous encounters, spilled freely over his lips when he changed his position to come to sit between the Vala’s parted legs, his back resting against the other’s chest just as it had been the night he could never forget. “Truly, countless the hours have been in which I have recalled the past - from our first meeting in the splendid gardens of Mindon Eldaliéva, how day after day mine emotions for thyself grew, flourishing, blossoming like the luscious flowers we both have so much enjoyed. O, so young I have been, so innocent and fragile in all mine hopes and dreams. Mine mind hath been reeling, and barely I have been to understand it such – nor could I understand the desire that so freely began to flow through mine veins, a desire so fierce that I thought it would consume me. Over years we have met and talked for many hours, walked the gardens, remember?”

Finally, Laurefindil allowed his gaze to wander, and mesmerized he watched as the Vala’s hands slid down his arms until both of his own hands were entwined with them: “Every word thou hast spoken I remember as if it hath been only a moon’s turn ago? O, Laure, sayest, how could I not remember such a fortunate coincidence? Together we have enjoyed the soft light of the mingling trees, the flowers, the forests, the swarming butterflies that took an odd liking to thy hair. Day after day and our unusual friendship grew, and aye, often have I lingered in time long past, too; thou wilt not leave mine soul, mine heart, and in mine dreams I still could pretend that we would meet there besides the ever flowing stream, how so often we have done before that night which changed all. Dreams, naught more than a humble fragment of reality, and alas, the truth is: never have I thought anything could come between us,”

Laurefindil leant backwards and tilted his head and momentarily, the Vala’s eyes became unfocused as if his mind was wandering astray and caught somewhere completely else, and much the elf would give to be able to read the other’s thoughts.

“Neither have I,” Laurefindil admitted, as his thoughts already travelled back to the night so many years ago, “and never have I forgotten anything of what had happened that day; such innocent details seemed to be etched into mine mind, beginning with mine own excitement when I prepared myself for one of the first weddings I have attended to, finally having come of age. A traditional Vanyarin wedding, both bride and groom of noble birth, the firstborn children of lords – such splendor, such an abundance of mead and wine, truly they have surpassed themselves in the preparations,” Briefly, Laurefindil allowed his eyelids to flutter close to let the memories appear before his inner eyes: the breathtaking ceremony, the cheering crowds that had welcomed the newlyweds, the abundance of flower bouquets in silver and gold – but foremost, he remembered how his gaze had fallen upon the Lord of the Winds when he had last expected it, the outrighteously beautiful fána the Vala had decided to disguise himself into that day. “A marvelous feast this truly was, so much beauty and perfection all around me, yet I only had eyes for thee, searching for thee among the sea of honored guests, and more often than not, I caught myself staring.”

“Thou thinkest no-one would ever see,” responded Manwë with a chuckle much to the elf’s dismay, yet the voice rippled through him, the heat rushing to his face, “truly, mistaken thou hast been; thy burning gaze I felt upon me, hungrily thy gaze roamed over mine shoulders, mine back – though disguised as one of thy kin I have been mine senses remained the same.”

Was he shocked, or amused, Laurefindil could not exactly tell. Had he truly been so obvious?

“Thou hast never revealed such knowledge to myself,” Laurefindil said with played annoyance and for the first time, he allowed his fingers not to lay idle at his sides but to brush against the Vala’s thigh for the briefest of moments, enough to feel the electrifying sparks against his skin, a touch instantly reward by a fierce tremor from the Vala’s side.

Did Manwë hesitate or was he yet again mistaken? “How should I have, tell me? Barely a word we have spoken that day, remember, with prying eyes around us, and therefore, no possibility there hath been to reveal mine knowledge to thee,” he said at last, a blissful smile tucking at the corner of his lips.

“Aye, unwise such behavior would hath been,” the elf nodded in confirmation as he recalled the scenes so vividly as if it had only happened yesterday, “and truly otherwise engaged thou hast been until late at night with honored guests and bride and groom alike, condemned for an endless flow of idle conversation instead of indulging into the merriment,” Laurefindil’s eyes sparkled with mirth upon all the memories that flooded his mind, because he had both embraced dance and wine alike that night.

“‘I shall take my leave now’ thou hast said with such an unmistakable twinkle in thy shining eyes, and with every word that hath so freely spilled from thy lips, thou hast fueled mine hopes, mine desires all the more; ‘meet me down at the river when Laurelin’s auric light is at its highest. I shall await thee and anticipate thy arrival thus.’ And so I have sneaked away from the festivities without saying a word whence I was heeding to and wherefore I am leaving not to raise any suspicions – oh and so wonderfully I have felt in my foolish anticipation, so excited I perhaps never been ere – and ever after. Good lords,” Something between his legs began to stir to life upon the memory, and the same foolish excitement rushed through him in the most wonderful way, “not even now I have the words to explain what I have truly felt that very night, how I nearly have tumbled over mine own feet to get to thee all the faster; mine wildest fantasies would come alive, would be fulfilled, I truly have assumed.”

Much to his surprise he felt Manwë’s arms sneak around his waist, with his hands coming to rest on his stomach where he covered them with his own. O, forever he wished to stay like this, reveling in the bliss and beauty only he could give him, dissolving in the strong arms that held him close, and suddenly all too close the Vala’s lips seemed to be against his skin, as Manwë spoke again, warm breath brushing against his ears and neck, and he actually had to force himself to keep listening to the words Manwë had to say: “Forgive me, Laure, and regret I harbor, I truly do; every word thou hast repeated I have said, and perhaps these words can easily be counted among my gravest mistakes, at least in personal matters. So much I desired to speak with thee in private, away from all those prying eyes, and as ere I have said, I have noticed thy blatant stare, and I caught myself staring more often than I should have, inappropriately so, yet impossible twas to speak with thee amongst the crowds, dangerous enough have been the words I have spoken,”

Briefly, Laurefindil allowed his eyes to fall shut whilst he drew idle patterns across the Vala’s hands, before Manwë’s voice stirred him; “Always have I know thou wouldest come, but I have not thought that two flagons of wine would accompany thee. I know not what to say to earn thy forgiveness, apart from begging thee for forgiveness and offer thee mine most humble apology.”

The words simply seemed to slip from his tongue on their own accord: “Countless years I have been determined that I never could, but by now I think I might – and perhaps I already have…” Not even certain Laurefindil was if he spoke the truth, but for the first time since many a day, he genuinely held no grudges against the one he had once loved – and still loves.

Laurefindil drew in a deep breath and allowed his head to fall back just a little until the Vala’s lips accidentally brushed against his earlobe. The brief contact was glorious despite its innocence, and the world he would give to provoke the reaction he so much anticipated, however, not a single inch he seemed to move, instead his pleasant laughter filled the air, before Manwë spoke anew:

“On purpose thou hast done this, hast thou not?”

Laurefindil furrowed his brows and shrugged his shoulders just a little, as if he would like to say ‘Needless to say’ “A little encouragement from mine side,” he laughed after brief hesitation, again looking for the right words, giving him his most charming smile as he tilted his head to catch his gaze, “as I have tried under the weeping willows all these years ago. Remember, how thy lips hath wandered along mine neck,”

O, what would he give to feel the grazing teeth against his ear once more. The memory, clad and disguised in the Vala’s voice, stirred through his mind, and he adjusted his position ever so slightly to catch his gaze. Where once the white clouds drifted through them, they now resembled a darkening sky. “As it is now,” the Lord of the Winds said quietly, his breath dancing over Laurefindil’s skin, brushing against his flushed ear, and leaving a shiver in its wake.

“Whence the wandering water gushed, were we drank and laughed until the light of the trees began to mingle and painted the sky in the most surreal twilight.” By now, Laurefindil’s mind was completely consumed by the distant memories; it felt truly as all the anger that had come afterwards was erased, as if nothing of it had ever happened.

Deeply he inhaled and the Vala’s unique scent, a scent of freedom and distant lands, of the fresh air of the early morning tickled his nose in the most wonderful way, “Whence thou hast said words I have never thought existing in the vocabulary of the Lords of the West,”

Soft chuckle filled the air, as Manwë’s phrasing had been indeed extraordinarily filthy for one called King of all, before both grew silent, each occupied with their own thoughts of what had happened afterwards

Laurefindil was the first who somehow managed to stir from his musings: “Whence I have dreamt of so many more sweet words of adoration to follow, words which soon would have been exchanged against moans and gasps tumbling from thy divine lips.” he shook his head to chase the melancholy that once more found its way into his mind away, “All those years which came after, mine nights were haunted by those painful what if’s and figments of mine own imagination; scenarios of how it would feel like, to kiss thy lips, to kiss thy skin. Countless scenarios I have made up in mine head, of how thou caressest every inch of mine body, how I let mine own lips wander across thy silvery skin; O so futilely I have clung to all the memory I had, buried deep in mine heart never to forget, but those dreams and memories seemed to lack everything.”

The night that came after, Laurefindil had nearly lost his senses.

Repeatedly he had heard his own screams again and in anger and frustration he had screamed anew, cursing himself and the world for his crushed dream, disappointment mingling with wrath and cries for vengeance.

Laurefindil had laid in bed and thought about how Manwë had nearly begged him not to argue in such a furious manner, but then he had only laughed as fey and had screamed all the more, countless obscenities freely spilling from his bruised lips.

Hurt he was, especially his pride and betrayed he felt; so utterly betrayed, and he had wondered if the Vala had felt for him at all, or if he had completely misinterpreted everything in his drowsy state of mind.

But, then, the kisses had been all but innocent, all but brotherly love – that at least had been what Manwë had tried to tell him. Never had Laurefindil been certain if those apologies had not been anything but blatant lies.

Manwë hummed, a pleased little sound, and with that he brushed his nose along the elf’s cheek in utter affection before he spoke. “Shh, dost not irk.” The Vala murmured against his neck, his tongue darting out to lick up that little spot behind the pointy ear. All those millennia he had not forgotten of Laurefindil’s fierce reaction to exactly this, and he was not disappointed by the elf’s immediate response that was so breathtakingly divine. Still half lingering in his reverie, Laurefindil whimpered, with a jolt of incapable and powerful sensation rushing through him. Carefully he let his head fall backwards against Manwë’s shoulder and tilted it just a little to the side, actually meant to give him better access, but his reaction provoked an entirely different response.

The kiss that followed, was just an innocent peck to the corner of his mouth, yet it was enough to make his stomach flutter, eliciting sparks and frustration alike. “I beseech thee, dost not hesitate or discontinue,” the elf demanded, catching the lust-filled gaze that made him shudder, the Vala’s eyes that were so much darker and burning now than they had been before, spoke more than words could ever tell. “Countless years I have waited to feel thy lips caress mine skin, I beg thee,” Laurefindil swallowed hard to fight against the nervousness that rushed through him – once, only once before he had seen the Vala like this – in said fateful night.

“Even if I would wish to, I do not know if I ever could,” Manwë said, as his hands finally sneaked beneath Laurefindil’s tunic, his fingertips so heavenly ghosting over his stomach and chest, “nay, truly I could not,” he added after brief consideration, whispering against the elf’s ear “and perhaps worse: I do not even wish to, even if it means to break mine own laws.”

Laurefindil looked at him, fascinated by his words and reassuring touches, how he fought against the inner turmoil that certainly raged within him; the mere thought of the regal and ethereal Lord of the Wind caught in frantic desire with him was enough to fuel his own desires, longings against which he had struggled so long to keep them at bay. Manwë’s hands found his waist, strong hands, perfectly manicured and soft, but firm, nevertheless – hands that could easily pin him down and end his life if the Vala desired so. There was neither haste nor hesitation from the Vala’s side, when blissful dreams finally became reality for the elf. Every gentle touch elicited gooseflesh on his skin, ever small kiss against his neck left a shiver in its wake, and not long did it take until the first shy moan fell from his lips,

“Those laws thou hast defied and broken eons ago, if I may remind thee” the elf reminded him with a sigh of approval when the fingertips brushed against his hard nipples where they idly remained for a while whilst the luscious lips grazed along his neck downwards towards his collarbone, “and certainly no consequences hath followed, otherwise thou wouldst not be here I assume. However, thou art not the only one, perhaps no one of thy own kin hath broken them, but of mine; the knowledge thou mayest not like and perhaps dismay thou feelest, but readily the laws are broken among mine own kin – myself no exception.” he confessed, although it became impossible hard not to let coherency entirely slip from his mind.

Much to Laurefindil’s surprise did not comment on the last words he had spoken: “Verily I recall, how should I not? And aye, the truth thou speakest, ere I have acted against them. However, Laure, kissing thy luscious lips in foolish excitement after the consumption of many a goblet of wine, and taking pleasure from thy body are two different matters entirely, dost thou not think?” Cautiously Manwë stroked down his side, an idle dance of fingertips that were so maddeningly arousing.

“Aye,” he nodded in response, “However what I desire from thee is not only take, but give as well – a heavenly exchange of pleasantries and caresses. Against ‘taking pleasure from my body’ I am speaking, as pleasure wilt come to both of us. Manwë, I beg thee – thou of all knowest exactly how much I desire thee, desire this. O, how many dreams I have spent dreaming about thee, about giving mine body to whom I will – thee and thee alone! Not about thee this is, but us, a journey of mutual exploration and endless heights of bliss.” Beseechingly he spoke, hoping that his passionate words would erase remaining doubts from the Elder King’s mind.

“Thou better than I, shouldest know to whatever consequences the act of love shall lead,” Manwë said with hesitation, struggling to find the right words for something he had no experience with, words he had never used before. But then, never had he thought to hold one of the fair children in his arms in such a compromising manner, his arms sneaked around the divine body, his fingers exploring skin with taut muscles underneath whilst his lips and teeth grazed along the golden skin until the elf moaned upon the caress. Where he had been worried upon the alien sound at first, these little moans soon became heavenly music to his ears, and his own desire began to flare. Had the Vala previously thought he could never feel the same sexual attraction and desire as the Firstborn could, now he had to admit that he was thoroughly mistaken. The burning sensation between his legs told him as much, and soon he felt his body reacting violently upon the tingling heat.

“Consumed I have, but never truly loved,” confessed Laurefindil with equal consideration, completely aware of the reassuring hardness that grew against his back. However, it was only partly true, as his heart had never forgotten the one whom he had loved over all the years and unable he had found himself to open his heart readily for another. “The moon hath waxed and waned as my desire hath flown and ebbed like the tides against the rocky shore, but something deep within mine heart hath remained untouched as long as I have lived.”

Astonishment was an understatement for Manwë’s response, had Laurefindil truly never gifted another with his heart? “All those years?” So much more he wished to say, to do – anything to comfort the troubled elf in his arms – but he did not know what, he had never been good at this, and so he remained quiet apart from the question, and listened to Laurefindil’s confession instead.

“Aye,” he began his monologue, bringing his arms around the Vala’s neck to pull him closer if that was ever possible, “Thou hast won my heart and soul all those millennia ago and although I have never spoken the words, I have been in love with thee, perhaps from the first time I have met thee and always have been ever since – and still am; foolish excitement of youth thou mightest say, but twas not so. Aye, I have cursed thee with everything I was, mine heart and spirit, and to some extent I might curse thee still - truly I have thought the pain of thy betrayal will consume and end me, as I cannot deny mine heart had undergone a change after what I deemed utmost betrayal from thy side; so disappointed I have been, so sad and angry at the same time, drowning in melancholy. Often I have tried to hate thee with all mine heart, believe me, but after a while I could not find the strength to do so. ‘Never hate the one thou hast once loved,’ my mother hath once said to me, my mother who hath died on the Grinding Ice; but then, when she hath spoken the words I have only laughed bitterly, unwilling and unable to see the truth in her words. The realization came centuries later – I might have changed, but mine heart and feelings for thee hast not, not even death could alter my longing for thee as it seemeth.”

The air between them was heavy with expectation, and for once words did not seem to be sufficient any longer.

“Laure…” Manwë whispered against his ear before his lips continued their journey along the elf’s cheekbone down his neck and collarbone, showering him with such intimate affection that a sigh tumbled from Laurefindil’s lips in beautiful sensation, maddening desire washing through him.

O, so often had he fantasized to feel Manwë’s lips exploring his skin, his hands mapping every inch of his body until he would lose himself in revelation, and now that it was truly happening, Laurefindil felt as if he would dissolve in the Vala’s arms. So wonderfully his lips felt, and the soft bite against his collarbone only intensified the divine feelings that catapulted him into the realms of his own fantasies; and more importantly, every journey of the lips was accompanied by gentle fingertips that brushed against his nipples, playfully lingering there for mere moments until they trailed down further, brushing over the taut muscles that flexed beneath the skin, halting briefly as they reached the waistband of his leggings. Laurefindil released the breath he did not know he was holding, which resulted in a helpless sigh of anticipation. Never had he touched him there, not once, no matter the elf had secretly wished of it to happen, but always had this seemed like an overstepping of boundaries, an act of intimacy which Manwë had not been willing to give.

“May I?” Laurefindil heard the words spoken to him through his veil of lust and anticipation and truly amazed he was by such words of politeness where others – perhaps himself included – would have simply acted upon their own desires.

‘Everything thou desirest, Lord of the Winds, as thy desire is mine,’ heavily and reluctantly the words lay upon his tongue, and would not slip over his lips. In fact, unable he found himself to say a single word, wherefore he simply nodded his consent, a reaction the Vala found extraordinarily endearing.

Sparks were already flowing behind his eyelids when the Vala’s hand slipped beneath the waistband whilst he pulled him close with his other arm, hindering him from trashing all too violently. Soft fingertips ghosted over his silky skin, carefully and almost scared to use too much pressure, but for Laurefindil it truly felt like heaven. Every stroke, every touch bestowed upon him pulled a gasp or moan from his lips, all the more, when Manwë whispered something in a tongue he could not understand in his ear. “Good gracious, dost thou know how many years I have waited for this? More.. I beg thee,” beseechingly Laurefindil mumbled in a ragged voice, and much to his delight, the Vala obliged to his voiced desires, enwrapping his arousal completely before he allowed his hand to run up and down, slicking it with his own fluid. They fell into a comfortable silence that only was interrupted by soft moans filling the air around them, all the more when Manwë’s teeth grazed his earlobes, the breath maddeningly hot against his skin. Unable for Laurefindil to see, the Vala watched his expression closely, losing himself in the bliss that was visibly adorning his fair face, pleasure that spurred his own desire, and more eager his hand became with every stroke, with every moan that fell from the elf’s lips.

Laurefindil’s legs parted on their own accord to give the exploring fingers better access as they constantly trailed lower from the head down the shaft, until Manwë’s fingertips brushed against his testicles and he rocked his hips in response. Long his eyelids have fallen shut and his head back against the Vala’s shoulders, and o so heavenly he was touching him, with his own body rocking back and forth to meet each trust. He knew not long would he last if the Vala decided to keep such a frantic pace, but apparently entire different ideas were on Manwë’s mind; further down the fingers wandered until they disappeared between his cheeks where they remained idly for a moment and desire mingled with threads of nervousness.

“Wait,” he whispered almost apologetically when Manwë’s fingers resumed their journey, and instantly the explorations ceased. Laurefindil’s eyebrows drew together, worry mingling with pleasure, worry that was visible trapped between the creases in his forehead.

“Reluctantly I am to admit, believe me, but a certain nervousness filleth me,” Laurefindil admitted with a sigh, “and I hate myself for it. Never have I done anything alike.”

Millennia old he was, yet still a virgin in that regard, overwhelmed by ridiculous worries spreading through every fiber of his body, and no matter how often he had dreamt about this exact scenario, experiencing it was a different matter entirely.

“Worry not, Laure, neither have I,” carefully, the Vala placed his hands tentatively on the elf’s shoulders, his fingers catching in the golden strands that glowed so wonderfully in the filtered sunlight that fell through the dense leaf canopy, and truly amazed Laurefindil was by the look of genuine understanding and reassurance. “But thou wilt excuse my curiosity: I thought consumed thou hast, or do I recall thy words wrongly?”

“Nay, those words I have spoken to thee, and verily consumed I have, Lord of the Winds, but never have I submitted to anyone in mine life,” This came hardly as a surprise, Manwë thought in silence, and he could vividly imagine the golden-haired elf’s reluctance to such a suggestion. “No matter who hath asked, always have I been utmost reluctantly to be on the receiving end, and therefore never submitted to anyone. Never have I experienced this side of desire. Wherefore, thou mayest ask thyself: my reason is simple - such an intimate act I have wished to share with the one I loved – and trusted – which is thyself! Plainly speaking, it hath never felt right with another.”

Relieved to a certain extent Laurefindil was that the truth was finally revealed, and exactly this had been how it had always felt; he wished to savior this precious gift for the one he had truly loved beyond hope, and actually for many years Laurefindil had not even had the faintest of desires to indulge into the foolishness of bed play, too deep his hurt and betrayal still ran.

But now, lust was rekindled anew, and despite his nervousness his thoughts were heading into a rather distinct direction. “O, good lords, art thou aware of how often I have dreamt to spread my thighs for thee in the darkest hours of the night, nearly consumed by searing desire? Art thou aware of how much thou hast left to mine imagination that fateful night? Nay? O, truly, mine imagination rather vividly could be.”

Much to the Vala’s delight the wrinkles of worries had finally disappeared, and Laurefindil seemed to be his own self again, almost and despite his own longing he had offered that there was no need to continue, words which probably would have earned him at least a stare of dismay – if not worse. Laurefindil’s entire body was trembling against Manwë s and something within him arose, something which he had long thought lost; a playful eagerness, a mighty need to touch the other, to feel kiss and devour every inch of his divine body began to spread through his veins.

Idly sitting on the ground did not seem to be sufficient enough any longer and without giving his idea much thought, Laurefindil turned around and crawled onto Ainu’s lap which earned him a quizzical look and a delicately raised eyebrow.

“My humble apologies in advance I give thee. Thou wouldst not be reluctant, wouldst thou?” he asked with a delighted laugh, his voice filled with curious excitement and an unmistakable portion of wickedness. For seconds, he looked down in awe, as Manwë’s desire was so obvious, and these brief moments were enough to be entire caught off guard.

In response to his words, the Vala only chuckled lightly before he spoke, “perhaps I would, haply I would not,” and before Laurefindil could follow the words and process them, their position was reversed with Manwë sitting astride of him, pinning him helplessly down onto the soft grass, struggling futilely against the hold.

There was a strength in Manwë’s grip he had for some reason not expected and an almost threatening note in his voice that made his blood boil in his veins. “Foremost, thou sparkest my curiosity of what thou hast imagined, Laure. What dreams have occupied thy mind in all those lonely nights?” For moments silence reigned again, and Manwë admired the divine sight the elf presented with his golden hair fanned out over the lush green, highlighted against it, shimmering like a halo.

Laurefindil’s cheeks reddened as he recalled his imaginations how he had imagined what exactly the Vala’s frantic movements would feel against his sticky skin, his face flushed and his breathing shallow as he devoured every inch of his body, until he trashed and tossed beneath him, just as he did now.

Carefully he raised his head until his lips were only inches away from the Manwë’s, the silvery hair that cascaded down his face acting as a sinful veil around them. “Myself yielding, submitting to thee and thy will and desires,” whispered Laurefindil as if it was the most natural thing to say for the battle-steeled warrior. In truth, he would not ever yield, not in battle, nor in bed, with one exception: “Willingly, for thee to ta.., to devour,” he corrected, because nothing else his fantasies had been. Of such frantic pleasures he had dream that he had been unable to walk for many a day afterwards, of golden skin that was so heavily bruised and decorated with countless scratches that he had to cover himself up with high-necked clothes; his hair tousled and a untamable mess after the bliss of orgasm slowly ebbed and he still lay in the Vala’s strong arms, whispering sweet words of adoration into his ear. Nay, not of the gentle art of love under Laurelin’s golden light he had fantasized, of ruthless fucking and carnal lust his dreams had been made of.

A hint of surprise danced through the Vala’s eyes and Laurefindil took the opportunity to wrap his arms around the other’s neck, pulling him close until their lips touched. “I desire thee with all mine heart and soul, my body aches and yearns for thy divine touch. Wilt thou satisfy my insatiable needs, right here on this flowery bed?” Laurefindil breathed, repeating the words he had said millennia ago. “Wilt thou accept what I am offering so freely, with all mine heart and soul?”

This time, no words were said between them, as Manwë claimed the elf’s lips in a gentle kiss that soon became more frantic and demanding, until his entire body quivered with need, until he begged for mercy. Laurefindil tried to catch his breath, overwhelmed by the sheer intensity of their kiss, by the expertise of the Vala’s lips and tongue, with desire endless as the floating sky above them.

A secret whisper stirred in Laurefindil’s soul as if the Vala’s words were placed right there, ‘Tis I will, and so much more, I promise’; nothing alike had he ever experienced, and in surprise his body seized and his eyes snapped open, before his lips were sealed again. At first it was barely a press of lips against his own, and yet he felt a shiver of delight run down his spine, making the tiny hair at this neck stand on end; soon Laurefindil did not know anymore where his body ended and the other began. The silent promise to take things slowly from the Vala’s side was easily forgotten as the elf’s breathing increased, rather it seemed as if he nearly begged for him to proceed.

As Laurefindil’s lips were released again, he allowed another of his fantasies to spill free, his voice ragged and heavy with arousal, “and sometimes, when all my other fantasies seemeth not to be sufficient anymore, I have imagined myself yielding - not so willingly.” The little detail that the Vala still wore his jewel-adorned crown, the visible sight of his rank as King of All only served to fuel his desires. His breath hitched upon the filthy thoughts and confession, and his eyes shone in mirth – but his words evoked a reaction he had not expected. As if his breathing was not heavy with lust enough, Manwë brought a hand between them, cupping the bulge in Laurefindil’s leggings until he ached against him in response, all coherency slipping from his mind and body. “If thou desirest such, thou shalt have both – in time, my golden love.”

The sudden heat that surged through Laurefindil’s body upon the sinful promise caused his skin to prickle with visible manifestation of his excitement as the Vala withdrew his hands from his chest and began to undo button after button of his tunic, every motion accompanied by an audibly gasp falling from the elf’s lips, before he found himself unable to be patient anymore, capturing the lips until all air had left his lungs. Shortly after, desire knew no boundaries anymore; the elf’s tunic was the first garment which carelessly fell onto the ground, followed by his leggings and the Ainu’s delicate robes and crown, a tangled mess of arms and limbs, hungry kisses and gentle bites against the other’s skin.

Never before had he seen the Vala in his breathtaking and glorious nudity, and Manwë’s hungry gaze that roamed over his body told him that the Vala had exactly the same thoughts as he himself harbored, and for long moments they simply admired each other’s well-shaped bodies, before they wholeheartedly indulged into searing kisses and not entirely gentle caresses once more.

Manwë’s hand tightened on his wrist, and he looked down on Laurefindil who tried to pull away in playful eagerness. “O, not the gentle art of seduction, Lord of the Winds,” the elf laughed heartily with genuine mirth dancing across his face as the shift in angle meant that he could feel almost all of his body pressed against his own, including the prominent erection against his stomach.

“Art thou complaining, and hath it been not thyself caught in dreams of carnal desires?”

“Haply this was me, haply twas not” teased Laurefindil, rolling his hips as much as it was possible against the weight that pinned him down, “O, well – admittedly neither was the case: my humble self merely wished to see a glimpse of thy own desires to which willingly I shall succumb to.”

Since his brother’s betrayal and ensuing flight, Manwë had not been tricked upon, and this insolent elf had managed to fool him. “Art thou begging for thy due punishment?” he asked, and for seconds the elf could not quite distinguish if the Vala had uttered the words in sincerity – or not. A visible shiver eased down his spine as he recalled fleeting fantasies of unusual desires that had often found its way into his mind later in his life, fantasies of mingling pleasure and pain, where the sweetest sort of unease lasted so much longer than pleasure ever could. His own need matched the fleeing cadence of his heart, spurred on by his filthy thoughts. “Thou considerest such divine treatment punishment? O, trust me, gladly will I spent the rest of mine life in thy dungeons, becoming a thrall of thee.” Astonished Laurefindil was by his own words, a little bit frightened even as if he might have overstepped an invisible boundary, but when the bite against his neck came not a moment later, he knew he was mistaken.

“Be careful of what thou art asking for,” dangerously the words were whispered against his heated skin, but still a certain playfulness rang in them, a fact that made the elf smile broadly in response.

Carefully, he weaved his hands in the silvery strands and pulled the Vala’s face close to his own until their lips were almost touching. “Thou might grant me my wish?” Foolish expectation rang in his voice, and although he knew nothing of that sort would ever occur, he could not stop himself voicing his thought aloud.

“O, Laure, thou art persistent” responded Manwë with a soft chuckle and shake of his head, “verily, a tease art thou, and hast always been, incorrigibly so,”

Laurefindil could not breathe, could not think anymore, it felt as if he was dreaming yet again, toe-curling and sensual, messy and heavenly alike the Vala’s lips and hands explored every inch of his body, ere his lips were captures in another breathtaking kiss again.

His lips curled into a heart-warming smile ere he spoke again, the words accompanied by childish chuckles, “Art thou voicing thy complaints?” he asked without much sincerity.

“Nay,” said Manwë and suddenly all easiness was gone from his voice, exchanged for something utterly sincere, almost worrisome, Laurefindil noticed and furrowed his brows in response as the Vala lifted his head to meet his gaze. “Thou hast counted among the fairest children of the Eldar, thou not attracted toward thy beauty I have been – not solely at least – rather towards thy demeanor around me, thy laughter and shining eyes. Thou hast been one among very few who ever dared to speak thy true mind whilst being around me, one of few who hath done so. With cunning hast thou won mine heart.”

Idly, the Vala’s fingertips traced along the scar tissue that ran from Laurefindil’s left shoulder down towards his right hips, now blossoming where once had been smooth and soft skin, a ferocious manifestation of the Valarauka’s horrid assault, and Manwë found himself unable not to feel compassionate. The elf who had always strived for utter perfection, marred by such a horrendous wound, “I ask for thy forgiveness,” he mumbled, once more apologizing for his brother’s despicable actions.

“No need there is to,” he said with sincerity, “mine own desire twas to keep the scar after my re-embodiment as a visible reminder of the Black Foe’s gruesome deeds – and mine own limitations in combat,” he added with a sigh; he had fought, but then at the end he had fought in vain and when Námo had spoken about granting him his old body upon re-embodiment, the only words Laurefindil had spoken whilst he had still felt as if he was suffocating, caught in the endless vacuum of numbness, had been that he much desired to keep the countless scars.

“Not limitation such a decision showeth, but strength,” and upon these words, Laurefindil forced his lips into a smile even though he still was not entirely convinced that his deeds had been of valor. However, remains of doubt and self-loathing were erased from his mind as the Vala’s hands continued their journey over his naked body, followed by his lips kissing every inch of the impressive scar, and more than one wave of bliss made his body move against his will; soon words were exchanged by searing kisses against his lips, careful touches became scratching against each other’s skin until Laurefindil decided he could take no more. “Manwë, I beg thee,” he asked in a voice thick with emotion and dreading desire.

When he caught his gaze, he shuddered upon the undisguised desire that shone from Manwë’s eyes, “What for art thou begging, I ask thee?” he heard the Vala ask, and certainly, Manwë knew what he was talking about, still he could perfectly understand the urge to hear his own desires voiced aloud. O, and beg he would at all costs; no matter what Manwë wished to hear, he would gladly say the words, every single one.

“Thou dost not know?” Sharply he inhaled before he confessed the desires which so long had accompanied him and robbed him of many a good-night’s sleep. “Claim me here amidst the weeping willow as I have dreamt so often in the cold and bitter nights, as I have hoped thou wouldest have done so many centuries ago,” A tremor began to spread throughout his entire body, and helplessly his gaze searched for his lover’s eyes to catch the subtle changes upon his admission, and wouldn’t he had already fallen under the spell of those bewitching eyes, at the latest he would now lose all his wits.

“I shall, but therefore turn around.” Much harsher than he had intended the words fell from the Vala’s lips, but how should he think coherently when the temptation made flesh lay right before him nude like the day he was born, his shimmering hair fanned out around him like a golden halo highlighted against the lush green of the grass they lay upon.

“Nay,” Laurefindil l stated with such determination that the Manwë was robbed for words for seconds, “I shall not.”

Briefly, visible puzzlement mingled with sheer disbelief was spread across the Vala’s fair face.

Had he been mistaken in what he had thought how these things tend to work?

Hadn’t his research been sufficient enough in those matters?

O, so much he wished to had better insights into the art of love among the Eldar, and for seconds he even wished to have personal experience, yet he hadn’t and all he could ever do was to ask the elf: “Nay thou sayest? But …” he began, but Laurefindil interrupted him immediately after placing a soft kiss against his palm.

“Verily I refuse thy proposition,” he said with a reassuring smile, “and despite my knowledge that it mighteth be easier how thou suggestest, I say nay with all mine heart: much I desire to look upon thy fair face whilst …” the word lay on his lips, but he could hardly use such a filthy vocabulary right now, could he? “.. thou takest me,” he opted for the safe phrasing which earned him a delicately raised eyebrow.

Aye, Manwë was genuinely relieved and glad alike that the elf had voiced his concerns aloud, not even had he thought about such important facts, but how should he ever know with his own lack of experience?

“I cannot deny that thou hast raised a more than valid point, Laure, and thy wish shall be my command, and therefore heeded. However,” he added briefly afterwards, unable to suppress a hearty laugh recalling the filthy word that had rushed through the elf’s mind, “be thy true self whilst around me, and use the words thou wouldest say with another, and always remember: many a thought of thee I can sense and feel.”

Now Laurefindil blushed like one of those innocent maidens of Ondolindë who had admired him from afar and blushed to the tips of their pointy ears no sooner than he had talked to them, but before he could revel more in long past events, he felt a hand gripping his shoulder tightly, pinning him down against the earth. The words the Vala spoke were nearly incomprehensible to his drowsy ears and desire-veiled mind, and his own fingers trembled when he reached out to touch the Manwë’s iridescent skin as he had never done before.

O, so often a night he had wished for exactly this to happen, so often had he lost himself in the ever occurring dreams, which so maddeningly and vividly had ran through his mind in the dark and lonely nights – the secret fantasies which now came alive.

Nothing could disguise the pure joy Laurefindil felt in this moment; naked skin against skin, earthy scents and the sweetness of the nearby flowers drifting through the warm air, the ever flowing stream with its gushing and gurgling sounds.

Anticipation and mutual longing that was indescribably with words alone, and no matter if this was nothing more than idle fun for the one he had loved for countless years, he began to completely dissolve in the pleasures the Vala’s hands and lips against his skin brought.

Involuntarily, his mind and thoughts lay completely bare to the other, and curiously Manwë asked: “Idle fun .. as such the act of love is named by thy kin?”, and for seconds, astonishment was visibly spread across the elf’s face, but he did not question the Vala’s notion further.

“Otherwhiles,” answered Laurefindil, words which were not a lie but not the entire truth either, but he was in no mood to offer a sufficient explanation for what he had just thought, knowing all too well that exactly this did heavily violet the laws which were imposed upon them. Ridiculous his hesitation to reveal his thoughts was, he had to admit, because was this what they did not a hundred times – worse? Perhaps, but at the same time, exactly this added to his excitement.

Soon however, all thoughts were erased from his mind when Manwë changed his position until he came to sit on his haunches between Laurefindil’s parted legs, his hungry gaze travelling from his face downwards, and all he could do in response was to admire the otherworldly beauty of the Vala – no crown adorned his head, but still majestically his aura was, his iridescent skin and silver hair shimmering in the filtered sunlight as if the starry sky was project onto it.

Laurefindil’s breath hitched and nearly unable he found himself to speak, “Beauteous thou art, Lord of the Winds, enthralling” he complemented in words that were nothing more than a breathed whisper, yet they were enough to elicit one of those rare smile from the Vala.

“As thou art,” responded Manwë, equally affected by the situation they were in. Carefully, he leaned in to kiss Laurefindil’s scar once more before he allowed his lips to wander towards the hard nubs, caressing them with his tongue until the elf’s body trashed underneath. Simultaneously, Laurefindil felt a warm finger slip between their heated bodies, trailing downwards into a very distinct direction. Never had anybody touched him there, never had he allowed anything of that sort to happen in those frantic nights after many – too many - glasses of mead and spiced wine which so abundantly had flowed during Ondolindë’s feasts, saving the touch for what he was certain would never come. Reflexively, he tried to summon the remaining strength to keep his eyes open but he failed, utterly and completely, and perhaps for the first time of his life he embraces his own failure with indifference, joy even.

“Touch me,” a voice which Laurefindil recognized as his own through the haze of lust demanded rather impatiently of the Vala to proceed, “so many centuries, so many millennia I have waited for this to happen; so many nights I have dreamt of this to occur, I beseech the, continue.” Scarlet cheeks graced his handsome face as he was begging so wantonly beneath the Elder King. “Wilt thou?”

“Patience hath never been counted among thy biggest strengths,” Manwë said with a smile, and Laurefindil had to admit that he had never been extraordinary patient, especially not with himself.

“Nay, verily it hath not,” he answered, unable to suppress another moan when the Vala’s hand brush ever so lightly against his erection, “and beware, in death I shall not alter mine habits of old.” Especially not now, when his mind was occupied with thoughts of heavy breaths and tremors, fluttering eyelashes and feverish kisses, dreams of pleasurable gasps and panted, filthy confessions, cries of carnal lust and the treacherous smell of sex which already hung in the air.

 “No need there is to, as I cannot deny a certain impatience myself,” Manwë confessed, and upon the words elf’s eyes fluttered open again to meet the Vala’s eyes which now so much resembled a stormy sky, undisguised desire shining from them, desire which certainly reflected his own longing. Laurefindil had no idea where the small flask in his lover’s hands came from but soon enough he found himself he couldn’t care anymore about the ‘whence and whys’.

Easily the first slicked finger found its way inside Laurefindil’s untouched body, and rather on their own accord, he found his hips pushing back impatiently against the alien caress, which was like nothing he had ever experienced before. Good lords, words failed him yet again to voice just how much he wanted this, had always wanted exactly this! And no matter what discomfort he would feel, no matter if pain would filled his very being, and gladly he would embrace all of it.

Demanding lips covered his own o so sensually, and so easily it was to lose himself into the kiss, to completely relinquish control and willingly yield for the first time in his life.

“More …” Laurefindil was murmuring his words in anticipation against the Vala’s lips, and without hesitation his wish was heeded.

Not so easily a second digit found its way inside and reflexively he winced in slight discomfort, cursing himself for it as the fingers immediately stilled their explorations in response. Exactly this he had feared, and it was not what he wished.

“Proceed, I beg thee,” whimpered Laurefindil, fighting against the discomfort that was carried away with his voice.

Stormy eyes met his own, a gaze so heavy with unspoken apologies and worries that Laurefindil wished he could have remained quiet, “No desire do I have to hurt thee,” Manwë whispered against his lips, placing his free hand against his cheek.

“Nay,” Laurefindil found himself respond when he cupped the Vala’s face with both of his hands, “every moment, every breath thou keep thy foolish hesitation shall hurt me more than pain thy hands couldeth ever bring, believe me; only momentarily mine discomfort shall last, and be assured that something greater, something far more pleasurable will follow - for both of us. Thou wouldest refuse what I am offering so freely? What I desire with all mine heart and mind? What not only is mine desire, but thy own? Unmistakably long harbored longing shines from thine eyes.”

Laurefindil spoke with such accuracy and determination that made it all too easy to – at least – partly ignore the pained expression that still veiled the elf’s face.

Wordlessly, the Vala reached out and threaded their fingers before he spoke at last, “Nay, I shall not, and right thou art; I, too, desire thee with all mine heart,” continuing his gentle preparations.

Every touch and every kiss against the elf’s neck provoked a visible shiver or a breathy moan, a wonderful distraction from the discomfort Laurefindil certainly still felt; O for endless hours Manwë could simply have watched the writhing figure beneath him, losing himself in the filthy noises that spilled from the elf’s lips. Truly a marvel the Firstborn were, and deep inside he dwelled on melancholic thoughts of how he could have seen all of it many millennia ago wouldn’t he have let the presented opportunity slip by.

However, no need there was to hang onto gloomy thoughts when the most wonderful being demanded his complete attention once again; the elf’s lips searched desperately for his own, and more than willingly the Vala obliged and returned the quest of searing lips and tongues.

“Take me,” ere Laurefindil was aware of the fact that he wished to say anything at all, he heard himself whispering in between kisses, his breath ragged and short, all the more when long fingers ran along his neck lightly, touching him at the spots where his pulse was most evident, making it nearly impossible to speak: “Make me thy own after all those long years in which I have lingered in futile want and despair, never daring to wish that the situation would repeat itself.”

“Nor have I dared to hope for such to occur, and admittedly often have I wondered how thy fate would have been altered if my decision wouldeth have been another.” As much as the words served as a distraction, Laurefindil cried out and bit on his bottom lip as a third finger was pushed passed his ring of muscle. Good lords, he wanted this so much that it nearly hurt, more than the Vala’s fingers within him could ever hurt him, and deliberately he forced himself to relish the divine feeling of him filling him.

His breath was coming short already, the words nothing more than chokes accompanied by needy whimpers, “No more – let us not linger in all those ‘what if’s’ if the present is so much more appalling and beguiling,” Laurefindil did not dare to speak of future, judging everything that had happened and shall happen between them as idle fun how he had previously named such encounters.

“Rightly thou speakest,” Manwë was lost in what they shared, overwhelmed by the intimacy he had never experienced or witness as such; and no matter what the elf would desire of him he could not deny him any request, nearly sickening his longing for Laurefindil was.

As alien the entire concept of love and physical longing still was to him, oddly enough, his own body had been reacting fiercely to every touch the elf had bestowed upon his skin, to every kiss and gentle bite. Never before had he felt such a searing longing that threatened to consume his very being, never before had he been aroused with such an urge to complete what they have started long ago, a fierce longing that was irresistible to ignore.

“I shall fulfill our both desires,” the words spilled over his lips on their own accord, voice thick with desire, and momentarily, Manwë simply admired his lover’s beauty, observed those emotions that randomly flickered through his shining eyes and the unmistakable feeling of love filled his heart, spreading its warmth throughout his body.

Frantic excitement began to rush through Laurefindil as Manwë withdrew his fingers and positioned himself for what was about to come; O, ever so often it was himself who had been in the same position in all those nights spent in idle pleasure, the cries and filthy moans of the ones who he had taken now were ringing in his ears.

This, however, was different as anything could ever be and he could not help but wonder if he would cry out all the same when his last remaining innocence was taken.

The corners of his lips were turned upwards into a smile a felt himself being pinned down against the earth, he, the mighty warrior, so willingly yielding to the most carnal acts of lust still amazed him. But then again, it felt like the most natural to do, submitting to the divine creature his lover certainly was, and momentarily his eyelids flew open again to catch a last glance of those bewitching eyes that so much resembled the sky above them. Dark and stormy, filled with searing lust that reflected his own desire. Restrained he was, both of their hands by now entwined with each other, which – a little to his own disappointment – made it impossible to touch and caress; his time, however would certainly come, a time where he could touch every inch of the flesh he so much desired to devour inch by inch.

Breathtakingly was an understatement when he felt those demanding lips again cover his own, indulging him into returning the caress as distraction; familiar Laurefindil was with such procedures, but that knowledge did not hinder his body from quivering in excitement, and somewhere in between that he found himself nod his consent.

The Vala entered him in one smooth thrust, and instantly a sharp cry spilled from Laurefindil’s lips against his own, and the elf’s entire body bucked against him.

Delay would possibly had only made it worse, the Ainu thought, still compassion for the elf’s state filled his heart as he broke the kiss for brief moments. “Breathe – for me.”

Somehow the words found their way through Laurefindil’s lust-clouded mind, and so he obeyed, at least he tried to as much as it was possible with his lover’s lips sealing his own, kissing away the pain that was so alien to him.

Great pleasure had he taken from the elves that have writhed and tossed beneath him, but only now he truly understood all the countless emotions, which had so evidently shone from their eyes. For many moments nothing happened, the peaceful tranquility only torn by their ragged breathing, precious moments in which Manwë stilled his movements to give him time to adjust his body to his erection. Every subtle change in angle Laurefindil savored, the odd and yet astonishing feeling of being completely filled by the one he loved so much – combined with the knowledge that soon he would find himself floating in endless waves of bliss.

Carefully, Laurefindil detangled his hands from Manwë’s and cupped his face before he sealed the Vala’s lips with his own.

“Never ere have I felt this way,” The words the Vala spoke were barely there, gentle like the softest of winds dancing across his golden skin, his eyes endless pools of dark blue in which Laurefindil so easily could lose – and nearly lost - himself. “Never have I thought I would ever feel this way, not for the endless years of immortality.”

The moment, where Manwë wished to continue to speak, the elf gently interrupted by squeezing his legs around him, whispering against his lips; “Pardon me, but wouldest thou mind to move?” he asked with a chuckle, which earned him a brief stare of utter confusion.

Easily it was forgotten, but if he had interpreted the Vala’s previous words correctly Manwë had never done anything alike, not even remotely, but at the end, carefully he rolled his hips against the elf’s body.

Absently, Laurefindil’s hands weaved into the silvery strands that threaded like silk through his fingers, pulling him close for yet another breathtaking kiss, upon which he began to caress the Vala’s silky skin. Slowly, his fingertips started their journey along Manwë’s back, ghosting over the broad muscular shoulders until they came to a comfortable rest around his neck where they remained, gently painting patterns on the silvery skin for moments. Where his touches had been gentle, almost insecure at first, soon Laurefindil felt himself unable to withhold; he couldn’t breathe, could not think any more, hardly able to fight the urge to scream the Vala’s name over and over again as pleasure seemed to overwhelm him, but before he could day a single word, his lips were sealed with a kiss that was so different than all the previous ones they have shared, far more fervent, wanting, sinful.

Obscene.

Mingling hands and fierce kisses and scratching fingernails soon accompanied each thrust, careful at the beginning, but soon becoming more wantonly, more demanding - words that long seemed forgotten spilled from their lips, confessions which were meant to be said centuries ago and the armada of ‘what if’s’ became reality as the earth around them vanished, as they were existing as one for what seemed like a little eternity.

Manwë had always known, or at least assumed, that elves had different beliefs and desires when it came to the act of love and pleasure, and from time to time he had caught himself wondering what it would feel like to indulge into those pleasantries of body and flesh, but no matter how vivid his dreams had been throughout all the years, they had lacked everything he now had to admit.

Now, that he had tasted the sweetness of desire fully, the subtle change of breathy moans and whimpers that tumbled absently from the elf’s lips, the sensation of shivering skin against his own and the feel of experienced lips kissing and biting him.

Addictive.

Utmost addictive and captivating.

That were the only words that seemed to be vaguely befitting for all the emotions the Vala felt as he repeatedly pushed into the wet heat engulfing him, and each thrust was rewarded by yet another hearty moan. Those moans however, were the most innocuous sounds that spilled over the elf’s lips as Laurefindil’s spoken admissions in the throes of passion were all but innocent – indeed they were outrightly filthy – obscene – and so entirely alien to the Vala; never before had he heard the fair children speak in such a hardly befitting tone, but then again, he had never witnessed the act of love nor had he taken partake in it.

His lips wandered along Laurefindil’s collarbone, at first kissing him there before he allowed his teeth to graze the tender skin, “such filthy words spilleth forth from thy sweet lips Laure,” he breathed against the wet trail he had left behind, and the elf’s body underneath him twitched in response. Aye, astonished he truly was by everything Laurefindil said, but neither did he feel repulsed or embarrassed, in fact, quite the contrary was the case. This was yet another side of the golden-haired elf, who had always been special to him.

Like an endless journey of novel discoveries their encounter seemed, and easily both lost themselves easily in the thrill of it, cherishing the other as if there was no tomorrow for them – and maybe there wasn’t.

“Only the truth it is I speak,” the elf mumbled his words of flattery, interrupted by another sharp gasp, “for thou hast claimed to never have done alike, thy talents are incredibly.”

Not that he had much comparison though.

Everything felt so perfect, so divine, and so easily he lost himself in the motions of their bodies rhythmically and fluid, never-ending like the waves ebbing against the sandy shores, intense as nothing had ever been.

“I fear I could love thee,” Manwë whispered between kisses; to some extent he had always loved him but the shared passion evoked something within him which was even for him impossible to describe.

Laurefindil smiled as the Vala lifted a hand to brush a stray lock away from his forehead, and the slight shift of angle only increased the pleasure that ran through his veins.

“Allow me to remind thee, but thou art already loving me.” This was madness, even if it was the most wonderful madness Laurefindil had ever succumbed to. To lay with another man – no, one of the mighty Ainur, in the middle of another Vala’s sacred garden, not only this but everything they have indulged into was hardly appropriate to do or see, not once had he thought about it before. Wasn’t this judged as blasphemy, and weren’t there not certainly consequences to follow?

Involuntarily, his body began to tense and his eyes snapped open.

Not aloud he had spoken his worrisome thoughts, however, Manwë commented on his fears nevertheless, having read his mind once more or maybe the unmistakable language of his body had simply betrayed him: “Worry not, Laure, Irmo cannot see or hear through the veil of enchantment around us – nor can any other who passes by; this is for us and us alone, Laure. Every second, every minute I spend with thee I wish to savior until it is etched into my mind with every blissful nuance of desire accompanying it.”

A sigh of relief spilled from his lips, and slightly ridiculous he felt assuming that such an important detail should have been ignored by the Elder King, and astonished he was by the possibilities such an odd dalliance offered.

When the Vala resumed his motions, impossible it was to withstand the waves that swept repeatedly through his body; many years he had lived, yet never before had he felt such an incredible and overwhelming sensation before during the most intimate of acts, and everything he had experienced seemed shallow and meaningless in comparison. “More, I beg thee,” he whispered against Manwë’s bruised lips, and much to his delight the Vala obliged immediately, increasing his pace until he whimpered helplessly beneath him, arched his back against the grass to intensify the divine contact. Often the Eldar King had been described as emotionless and distant, his words only a few expect in grave matters that affected all – o, truly they all had been so utterly mistaken. Such fierce and heated passion he showed in this moment as he fucked him, devouring his mouth and dominating his body with such perfection that Laurefindil felt his heart race in response. With incoherence he found himself mumbling between heated kisses, scratching along Manwë’s spine until the Vala moaned against his lips, biting it shortly after and pleasure and pain began to mingle in the most heavenly way. Rarely elves sweat, but he found tiny droplets of transpiration form upon his forehead; and as much as Laurefindil wished their frantic would truly last forever, he knew he could not withstand the treacherous tingle that began to form in his stomach much longer. Manwë kissed him over and over, drove into him relentlessly until he cried out his name, begging him for what he did not even know it exactly was, his head thrown back in pleasure and his eyes tightly close to savior every nuance of the divine sensation, to etch every touch, every kiss into his mind for the rest of eternity.

It was everything!

Everything Laurefindil had ever wanted, so much better than he had ever dared of it to be, and when Manwë’s hand found its way between their heated bodies he knew he had lost his internal struggle – not a second longer he would last.

Suddenly his entire body shuddered and clenched around the Vala’s erection, and again he cried out his name in a primal scream in which his heated moans mingled before he closed Laurefindil’s mouth with his own. For moments the world stood still as their mind and bodies existed as one, rocking and breathing together at the heights of pleasure, exploding like the grandest of fireworks with their hands and legs entangled and salacious fire searing through their bodies. Time seemed to become a blur when Laurefindil felt coherency leaving his body as he rode the never-ending waves of climax, his mind flying through the cloudless sky towards the endless vaults of heaven until nothing more than sparkling stars seemed to surround him – and his beloved, and for the first time in his life he began to understand what it was like to truly experience mutual love and pleasure. The stars seemed to flow past them as they soared through the sky as only eagles could, detached from bodily restrictions, their deepest thoughts unveiled, laying bare to the other in all its innocence. Cried could have, and unable he found himself to describe the joy that pierced his soul, the fierce tremors that continue to shake him as he reached out to touch the clouds that wafted around him, floating through the moonlit sky for what seemed an eternity. (*)

When he awoke from what he had no words for to explain, his still trembling body was carefully enwrapped by the Vala’s strong arms and gently Manwë’s fingertips brushed against his burning cheeks.

‘To reach for the stars, to fly into heaven’ was a common allegory for the experience of orgasm, ‘experience exploding fireworks’ - but now he had truly and literally soared along the endless sky until the stars were within reach. For long moments words simply failed him as he tried to recover from the most intense and amazing climax he had ever experienced. Nay, he found himself unable to explain what had happened.

Was it because he still lingered in the strange state between death and life?

Because of the blessed soil beneath their quivering bodies?

Easily, Manwë could read his unvoiced questions as his mind and thoughts lay completely bare to him. “Neither,” the Vala whispered against the crook of Laurefindil’s neck, “twas thy fëa flying with my own in the heights of pleasure.”

Laurefindil’s eyes widened in response and deliberately he searched for his lover’s gaze, lifting his head, “how .. and wherefore?” he asked in sheer astonishment, and patiently the Vala began to explain, still holding him close, “mine body is not much more than a lifeless shell, Laure, a projection of what I truly am, manifested in flesh and bone to make myself visible to thine eyes. All I feel and sense is through my mind alone, a mind that can fly to the end of the world and soar high up into the sky if I desire so. Ere the beginning of days I have often wandered among the clouds for countless days, mingling with the winds that are so dear to me, observing the stars, swimming in the endless ocean of heaven.”

Fascinated, Laurefindil stared down at him, unable to voice his countless questions, but then again, there was no need to as the Vala continued: “As for the rest: I wished thee to experience the same explosion, the same bliss I felt during the heights of pleasure. Remember, when I have said: ‘No more secrets and lies shall stand between us’?”, upon which the elf merely nodded, “I meant it, Laure, every word I have said was nothing but the truth. Not of thy kind I am, everything I perceive and feel is different to how thou seest the world, and although I am easily able to see the world through the eyes of the Firstborn, naturally the gift to sense with the mind of the Ainur is blocked for all of ye. However, thou canst catch glimpses, experience the journey among the stars if I will it.”

Mesmerized, Laurefindil listened to every word the Vala said. The chances were extraordinarily high that he was the very first of his kin to have ever witnessed such a heavenly and addictive experience. So many thoughts occupied his head, and barely able he found himself to speak a single one aloud: “Wilt thou make me fly again?” he asked at last, his voice almost insecure and filled with notes of melancholy.

Not possible he had thought such, but a genuine smile graced Manwë’s lips: “If thou desirest so, gladly I will oblige; no harm doth come from it,” he said which such affection that Laurefindil’s heart leaped in joy. A promise this was, a promise he had never dared to hope for.

Never had he felt happier in his life, and words which he had long forgotten resurfaced in his mind.

‘Death is just another path,’ Ñolofinwë had once said to him when he was sick with grief after his family had died on the Grinding Ice, words he wouldn’t understand for many millennia, but now they returned to him, and where he once had doubted their truth and they certainly had failed to ease his grief, now he understood them at last.

In death he had found his salvation, the reason to live which he had always searched in vain whilst being alive.

And then they kissed, for long moments that nearly seemed endless with their legs and arms still entwined, savoring the close intimacy which both perhaps never dared to hope for, their fingertips idly painting useless patterns against their skin. Absently, Laurefindil played with a strand of his own hair, before he began to braid it together with a strand of the Vala’s silken tresses; never had he realized it, and he truly wondered how that had ever been possible, because it was breathtakingly obvious.

"Look,” he mumbled in a wondrous tone, holding the braid into Manwë’s vision, “the same colors as the trees were, mimicking their mingling light.”

An affectionate smile tugged at the corner of the Vala’s lips before he spoke softly: “Aye, I know – it is wonderful, is it not?”

Everything of what they have said and done, every single motion just had felt – and still feels - so natural, so beyond perfect as if they were made for each other, Laurefindil thought in silence when he snuggled against Manwë’s body that still carried a pleasant heat, lowering his head against the muscular chest and listened for a while to the even heartbeat of the Vala.

Previously the Vala’s time for him had been so extraordinarily sparse and often almost seemed to be non-existent, yet today countless hours he had already spent with him, certainly other obligations must await him.

“So this it, then?” Laurefindil finally dared to ask when Manwë shifted his position, regret and an indescribable sadness audibly in his voice as he broke the silence. “I understand if thy duties await thee, truly I do.” No lie it was as indeed he would, still he wished to stay like this forever.

With a gentle smile, the Vala murmured, lifting Laurefindil’s head a little to look him directly into the eyes, “verily, my desk is filled with endless paperwork, however, I prefer to spend mine time attending to thee for once, my sweet child of summer.” And with that said, Manwë leant down again and kissed him sweetly onto his lips, their naked bodies touching from toes to chest. Laurefindil closed his eyes, and breathed him in. Oh it was perfect, more so than he had ever imagined it could be, having his desire of old so close, invading all of his senses.

It was as if those words had broken the last remains of hesitation, as if something within him was finally set free, and curiosity awoke within him. Carefully, he shifted his position, almost rolling on top of the Vala with his arms crossed over Manwë’s chest. Long moments of silence that was not uncomfortable at all passed, time in which all he did was to admire the beauty of the Vala’s face.

“Pardon and allow me mine curiosity,” Laurefindil said at last, idly playing with a strand of silvery hair, “are there .. I mean has something what we just have shared … ere happened? Dost thou know?”

Of course, if anything alike should have ever happened in the endless tidings of the world, the Elder King should know, and oddly Laurefindil felt the urge that he must know, too.

“Aye, apparently,” the Vala nodded in confirmation, and involuntarily the elf’s eyes widened in astonishment. “I have not known it all the years back then, maybe if I would have I had been wiser, but over the past millennia I have seen and heard many things that hath been hidden from mine eyes.”

“Who?” For some reason this little detail intrigued the golden-haired elf, and to provoke an answer he gave him his most charming smile.

Was it wise to give away the information, the Ainu did not know, but he could not deny Laurefindil the desired information as he caught the sparks of curiosity in his eyes. “The third son of Fëanáro and Oromë, a dalliance of carnal lust I might say, long years before they have sworn their forsaken oath in our Allfather’s name and have left these lands.”

Laurefindil’s eyes widened – never had he even thought about this, but it all made sense now: the endless hunts in the wilds, the gift in form of a giant dog that even followed into exile, the countless hours they have spent together. Before he could say anything, Manwë continued: “and many years after they have left the hither shores, something else had happened. Thou knowest that Fëanáro’s spouse hath not come with her family into exile?”

Of course he knew; he had always admired Nerdanel for her strength and witty demeanor, although he had never understood how she could have fallen for the arrogant son of Finwë. “Aye,” he simply said, unable to guess whom she might have given her heart after the fierce disappointment Fëanáro flight with all her children certainly had been.

“The contact between Aulë and Nerdanel hath remained over all the years and every so often she hath been a much anticipated guest in his vast halls.”

Laurefindil’s mind was reeling, “art thou implying her and Aulë…?” He asked in pure astonishment.

“Nay, nay, beware,” the Vala laughed, as this had been his first suspicion too, before he placed an idle kiss upon Laurefindil’s nose. “Naught but friendship exist between them. However, over the years a strong friendship hath developed between her and Yavanna, too, and from said friendship love hath grown and is still blossoming.”

Never would he have guessed this dalliance, but now, when he thought about it, they fitted perfectly together for some reason, and somehow a certain happiness filled him, because Nerdanel had certainly deserved better. This happiness however only lasted for the blink of an eye, until he caught Manwë’s gaze again. Where he had only moments ago seen affection and understanding, disdain raged in the now stormy eyes. “What is it?” he asked carefully.

“Mine brother,” the Vala said with a heavy sigh, pulling Laurefindil closer to his body if this was ever possible as if he wished to protect him from the evil deeds, “he as well hath engaged into despicable acts, which are a different matter entirely.” The true extent of Melkor’s foul deeds was still partly veiled, even to the Lord of the Winds, but glimpses of certain elves he had hold captive over all those years were enough to make the Ainu’s stomach cringe, after all he had granted him leave after his imprisonment, when others had advised him he should not, “a matter of unspeakable gruesomeness, torture .. and worse.”

With every word Manwë spoke bitterness crept into his voice, and pain was visibly spread across his otherwise relaxed face; O, how much Laurefindil wished he could console him, as he heavily could assume what his lover’s words implied, what gruesome deeds took place in Angamando’ darkest dungeons of which only a handful had ever escaped alive.

“Dost not despair,” he tried, simply because he felt he had to say anything at all, weaving their fingers together, “thou hast been lied at and tricked by him, how on earth should thou hast ever known what insanity reigned in his corrupted mind?”

Manwë simply shook his head but at the same time he gripped the offered hand firmly as he spoke: “When I should have heeded the other Valar’s warnings, I have been blinded by his sweet words and charming lies, a tragedy which maketh me responsible for all your fates, the fates of Arda Marred. Evil deeds are such an alien concept for me, Laure as I cannot feel this way. Despite all the years my being exists, I am still struggling to discern the concept of enmity and wrath, to understand the nature of evil.”

“Shhh,” he whispered against the Vala’s lips, briefly kissing him in an innocent gesture of comfort, “not forever shall he roameth these lands.”

‘Wisely spoken, and perhaps he shall not,’ Manwë thought in silence, as he allowed his eyes to fall shut, ‘yet others, long corrupted by his evil soul, shall take his due place, adapting and spreading his horrors and evil deeds.’ He couldn’t bring himself to tell the elf his own fate in the final defeat of evil, although he had long foreseen it, the reason why recovery of the elf lord was of utter importance. Not for many years, Laurefindil would be sent back towards the lands he had once loved, to fight the spawns of the Black Foe until the fate of all is sealed.

No need there was to trouble him now with a knowledge Manwë himself wished he had not as it seemed just like another betrayal, stir him from the sweetest of exhaustions, when their fingers languidly traced each other’s skin. A day would come when he had to finally reveal the Ainur’s plan for him, a scornful day when he would face the golden-haired elf’s due wrath again, today, however this day was not. Nor tomorrow, or the day after, and now that he had tasted from those luscious lips, had consumed – devoured – Laurefindil’s body in the most wonderful way, the thought alone made his innards cringe.

‘I fear I could love thee,’ he had said earlier, words which certainly had to be altered into: ‘I fear I love thee with all mine heart and soul.’ A warmth began to spread throughout his body, a tingling sensation awoke anew as he felt Laurefindil’s lips and teeth graze along his collarbone. Some wickedness was on the elf’s mind but for the first time he failed to read the thoughts - or simply did not comprehend them.

“What occupies thy pretty head? Speakest!” Manwë asked in silence, placing the words right into Laurefindil’s mind.

Instead of replying immediately, Laurefindil rose to his feet, stretching his exhausted body, yawning before he extended his hand to the Vala that looked up at him with a certain puzzlement, before finally he spoke: “Rise, I ask thee.”

Golden locks were cascading over the elf’s shoulders, a truly magnificent sign to behold he was – beauty and temptation incarnated, and o so easily the Vala could lose himself in those eyes which were filled with mirth and reawakening desire.

Manwë failed to understand the elf’s request, but followed his wish nevertheless, and not a second later after he had risen from the lush grass, he found himself being pinned against the trunk of the tree, with the elf’s hands immobilizing him against it. “What is this, I ask thee?” he asked and Laurefindil almost felt pity when he saw the panic floating through his lover’s eyes.

“Dost thou remember thy words, Lord of the Winds? Thou hast asked what thought hath occupied mine mind and soul – I merely assumed thou art curious still,” Laurefindil said with the most charming smile he had to offer before he released the Vala’s shoulders and sunk down onto his knees with his hands trailing over the iridescent skin, with his smile only intensifying towards the most radiant and sheepish grin. “If not – my humble apology I give thee.”

Much to his delight, he certainly was not mistaken as Manwë’s words confirmed, “Nay thou art not,” the Vala said still slightly puzzled, and his words were followed by a sharp intake of breath as Laurefindil’s hands trailed tantalizingly lower until they came to rest on his hips.

Curious the Vala indeed had been of what the elf had dreamt of in the darkest hours of the night, but what he certainly had not expected was that Laurefindil would use his mouth on him the way he did, slowly encircling the tip of his reawakening erection with his bruised lips for the briefest of moments, before he confessed: “I know not by what power I am made bold. King of All they name thee, the Elder King – believe me, countless a night I have spent dreaming of how to pay rightful homage to my king on mine knees right before thee, my gracious lord.”

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The End

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Chapter End Notes

(*)This part was heavily inspiered the the most amazing Eönwë/Mairon fanfiction Chasing Mirages by Russandol where I first have read about the concept of flying fëar and admittely I simply LOVED it