Dust in Desert Winds by Raiyana

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Chapter 6

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Arash did not seem notably better, Glorfindel thought, walking into the tent three days after their arrival to fetch Erestor for dinner. They had carried a small amount of dried athelas in their supplies, but the potency of the remedy against the forces of Darkness decreased greatly when dried. Erestor had made Arash teas and steam baths to breathe in, helping him cough up more of the dust-coloured slime from his lungs, but the insidious bits of dark dust remained inside the Man, continuing to poison his system.

“Time for dinner, Erestor,” he said quietly, daring to put a hand on Erestor’s shoulder and squeezing gently. The shoulder beneath his hand felt strong, rounded like a warrior’s even though he had never seen Erestor spar with the soldiers of Gil-Galad’s forces. It was not the first time he had realised just how thoroughly he had been fooled by Erestor’s benign counsellor persona, but the realisation was less shock and more fond amusement these days – an odd sense of pride in Erestor’s abilities.

Himig, who had walked in behind him, took up her customary seat at Arash’s bedside, feeding him small morsels from a gently steaming bowl of fragrant soup.

“As you say,” Erestor sighed, adding something in Adûnaic to the two Men before turning to leave, giving Glorfindel a tired smile.

Glorfindel smiled back. Part of him wondered at Erestor’s sudden willingness to be touched, but he revelled in the way his prickly Loremaster remained close to him, their arms brushing with each step as they walked through the camp.

“You’re very different than I imagined when Elrond asked me to go,” Glorfindel blurted, cursing himself when Erestor stiffened beside him.

“How so?” he asked and Glorfindel could clearly hear a warning in the words.

He blushed.

“I don’t know…” he hedged, trying to put his odd pride in words that would not be taken wrongly, “you’ve always seemed such a proper person, quite stern, and a bit aloof, really, separate, somehow. Always with your nose in some book or scroll – but you’re… different, here. And you don’t mind when I touch you…”

Even if I daren’t touch you the way I want to touch you… Glorfindel hoped he didn’t blush.

“Should I mind the touch of my husband?” Erestor asked playfully, and Glorfindel suddenly realised how keenly they were being observed by the Men around them. Flushing, he shook his head.

“No, I guess not,” he replied, something in his gut clenching at the thought that Erestor was simply acting to the tale they had already spun. Glorfindel wanted reality, wanted an Erestor who accepted his heart in return for his own… but he would take this bubble of make-believe fantasy for as long as he could – perhaps he might show Erestor that marrying him would not be such a terrible thing. “I wouldn’t have married someone who disliked that… husband.” Glorfindel knew his smile was fake, but it didn’t matter, catching Erestor’s hand in his own and spinning the shorter ellon into his arms, claiming a kiss that blazed through his mind, burning all reservations to ash.

If this is what I can get before we go back to our real lives… I’ll take all of it. All of you.

 

 

Erestor was surprised by the kiss but it felt so good that he didn’t care that it wasn’t really born of love – had Glorfindel not just called him stiff and disinteresting? – meeting Glorfindel’s lips with his own once, twice, three times and again, feeling himself relax into those arms, desire clouding his brain as his hands roamed across miles of uncovered golden skin.

“Glorfindel,” he moaned softly, opening his eyes to stare into those blazing blue oceans threatening to let him drown himself, “please…”

Even Erestor did not know what he was pleading for, warring desires running through his blood at the sheer hunger he thought he saw in Glorfindel’s eyes.

And then it was gone, like a curtain drawn before the sun and Glorfindel was kissing his forehead gently in response, one hand remaining at the small of Erestor’s back as they continued on their interrupted path towards the cook-fires.

Erestor’s mind spun, his heart yearning for more. He stopped, wanting to yank Glorfindel back to him, finish what he’d started…

“Let’s get you some supper, husband,” the golden warrior murmured, the words like a bucket of icy spring water over Erestor’s head.

It’s just a pretence – who knew Glorfindel was such a good actor? – don’t read into it, Erestor. He’s just playing the part you asked him to play.

This ploy will be the death of me…

 

 

“I am so pleased you’ve made up with your husband, Sapthân,” the young woman who served him a bowl of stew said. Glorfindel had been stopped by one of the young men – he was keeping himself occupied by giving lessons in swordplay to anyone interested and riding out with Behnam’s hunters now and again – and did not hear her. Erestor flushed slightly.

“Thank you…” he tried, only the be interrupted by a scoff from the older woman by the pot.

“I you ask me, that warrior-lad of yours still looks mighty tense, boy,” she said, nodding at Glorfindel. “And you could do with a bit of loosening up too, I feel.”

“Mother Mara!” the younger woman protested, but the old lady ignored her completely. Erestor felt a little warm beneath the frank gaze of old Mother Mara.

“You know, I've had five husbands,” old Mara began, her fond smile revealing that she had only a few teeth left, “and I've always found that a great way to cheer them up was to use my mouth.”

Erestor tried very hard not to think about the place his thoughts immediately went, his body still singing with the joy of Glorfindel’s kiss. He failed abysmally, part of him wondering what delicious sounds he might be able to wring from Glorfindel’s plump lips.

“You... want me to sing for him?” he tried cautiously, deciding that ignorance was his best defence. He really did not want to discuss what occurred on in his bed – or did not occur, as it were – with the old crone. “I'm not a great singer, I'm afraid…” Of course, the direction of his thoughts could not be changed quite so easily and Erestor could not deny that the idea of filling his mouth with Glorfindel’s taste was a heady cocktail of lust washing through his system.

“Not singing, boy,” old Mara replied drily, giving him a wink. “Think about it.” Shooing him off with her large ladle, Mara turned to smile toothlessly at Glorfindel and handed him a steaming bowl.

Erestor blushed, finding himself a seat by the fire and determinedly not looking at the way the flames painted enticing dancing shadows across golden skin when Glorfindel joined him.

 

Erestor’s evening did not improve; old Mara’s advice had not gone unheard, and more than one person was keen to offer him other suggestions of ways to improve Glorfindel’s mood – and his own.

Hiding his blushes in his cup – continuously refilled by a young boy darting to and fro filling cups for the scattering of adults – did not make the tantalizing images of Glorfindel’s skin beneath his tongue – or being explored by curious fingers – disappear.

By the time Varda’s stars showed overhead, Erestor had had quite a lot of suggestion made to him – some he hadn’t even heard of before – and fended off more than one well-meant offer of a ‘demonstration’. He was beginning to think they were right – Glorfindel had been tense even before they left Umbar; perhaps it was the lack of regular bedmates that made him so tense?

He studiously ignored the jealous rage igniting in his heart when he thought of Glorfindel sharing his bed with anyone else. Of course, his own needs had been pushed aside like he usually did in order to focus on the work… but it had been so difficult not to notice the glimmer of sun in Glorfindel’s hair, the breadth of those shoulders or even the soft way he smiled sometimes when he slept, making Erestor’s heart melt with the boyishness of it.

Erestor wanted Glorfindel, mind, body, and soul, and the buzz of alcohol in his blood made the want stronger than his mind’s protests, the desire to taste, to feel overpowering all rationality until Erestor was little more than need, all his attention fixed on Glorfindel.

Glorfindel’s hands were making shapes fly through the air when he spoke, passionately gesticulating his thoughts to one of the younger outriders. Erestor was surprised but how much he seemed to enjoy the sweet fruity flavour of desert alak – the local wine. Taking another sip himself, he let the liquid flow silkily across his tongue.

Glorfindel’s skin – usually a pale creamy shade – had been darkened by the sun; the fire throwing moving shadows onto his body, outlining each muscle in turn. Erestor wanted to trace some of those paths with his tongue, discover the salty-sweet taste of Glorfindel’s skin for himself.

Those blue eyes seemed to blaze at him whenever Erestor caught them, promising all kinds of things that he did not dare examine too closely, reminding himself that Glorfindel was playing a role, nothing more. They were both just playing the roles he had written, no matter how much he wanted the fantasy to be real, wanted Glorfindel’s heart to truly belong to him.

Reminding himself once more that it was just and act, Erestor took another swig of the potent wine.

And still… why not take advantage of the roles they were playing to get what he needed – what they both needed?

Smiling to himself, Erestor abandoned his cup, following Glorfindel through the tents, catching up with him just as he bent to untie the flap of the one they shared. For a moment, Erestor stood there, committing the sight of Glorfindel’s arse outlined by the loose fabric of his trousers to memory.

Then he moved.

Coming to a stop beside Glorfindel, he let one hand run lightly up his spine to tangle in that golden hair, tugging gently until Glorfindel rose, looking questioningly at him.

Erestor smiled.

“Heading to bed, husband?” he purred, feeling a thrill of illicit pleasure thrum through him at the title. Not waiting for an answer, he leaned in, nipping lightly at Glorfindel’s lower lip once before kissing him with all the desire he felt, pressing his body as close as he could get to Glorfindel’s. Trailing one hand down the chiselled planes of Glorfindel’s chest, the soft skin beneath his fingertips hiding strong muscles, Erestor continued to kiss his love.

“…Erestor?” Glorfindel moaned, pulling away slightly though he returned willingly when Erestor chased his lips.

 

 

Glorfindel growled into Erestor’s mouth, his arms tightening around that slender body, one hand moving down to press him closer still, grind him against Glorfindel’s sudden erection.

Fuck it’s been too long.

Erestor’s slender fingers running over his body seemed bent on scrambling whatever mind the evening’s wine and those heady kisses had left him. Glorfindel’s mind reeled with questions, pulling away from Erestor to glance around them, wondering who Erestor was trying to convince of their ploy’s verisimilitude.

He could see no one.

Erestor is just as hard as I am.

The thought was gone in a moment, subsumed by the sudden flash of knowledge that Erestor was doing this because he wanted to, because he wanted Glorfindel – not because someone was watching.

Erestor mewled when Glorfindel’s hand found his arse, those fingers tightening in his hair to the point that Glorfindel hissed at the slight pain, nipping at Erestor’s kiss-swollen lips.

 

 

Erestor’s mind swam in a cocktail of intoxication; Glorfindel’s kisses and the way his hands squeezed rhythmically quickly won out against the slight buzz of alcohol that had lit the fire in his blood.

“Erestor…?” Glorfindel repeated, the syllables of his name running down Erestor’s spine like liquid droplets of fire. “What…”

Kissing his way up to Glorfindel’s ear and running his tongue along the sharp ridge stopped whatever question had been about to spill from that perfect mouth. Erestor smirked, the hand that had been playing over Glorfindel’s chest moving further down, cupping him gently, rubbing the heel of his hand slowly across the tempting bulge he found there.

“Come to bed, Glorfindel,” he murmured, hardly recognising his own voice in the roughened croak that escaped his lips and feeling the way Glorfindel shivered against him with a stab of satisfaction. The hard length in his hand twitched, straining against its fabric prison.

Moving away, his hand still rubbing in slow circles, Erestor used his free hand to push away the opening of the tent, ducking into the soft darkness with one last caress, seeing those blue eyes blaze in the light of the stars.

Tossing his cloak onto his bedroll, Erestor knelt facing the doorway, watching the fabric flutter in the night breeze.

“Coming?” he asked, proud that his voice did not wobble with the rush of sudden dread that filled his heart.

What if Glorfindel turned him down?

 

 

Watching Erestor disappear into the tent, Glorfindel licked his lips, his hands remembering the give of the body he had just clutched. His mouth tasted of wine, sweet and tangy, though not quite so much as Erestor’s…

Fuck.

Ducking into the tent, Glorfindel’s well-meant enquiry disappeared like morning fog at the sight of Erestor kneeling on his bedroll, the colourful cloak abandoned on his own. The gold tokens of his necklace gleamed in the light coming in from the far-away fires, resting against warm golden skin.