Dust in Desert Winds by Raiyana

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Chapter 7

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Erestor woke early, his head a little fuzzy, but feeling comfortable where he lay, tangled with another body in sleep. He smiled, nuzzling against soft skin, content to doze in the softness of the moment. It was the slight soreness of well-used limbs that made him wake fully when he moved.

What… oh.

Opening his eyes revealed planes of pale skin, moving gently beneath his cheek every time Glorfindel took a breath.

Oh.

Erestor breathed deeply, the smell of sandalwood soap and Glorfindel a heady combination that he had come to adore over the course of the trip, desire stirring in him.

I want to wake up with you like this all the time, he thought, daring to trail one finger lightly across Glorfindel’s bare hip. Too bad it will only be a beautiful dream, my love…

Erestor sighed. He called himself all kinds of coward, but still he could not bear to stay, to watch Glorfindel wake to the realisation of just who had shared his bed. He preferred to think of him like he was last night, passionate and loving, making Erestor feel as though this was more than a sham they were portraying, more even than the simple search for release and pleasure shared between two elves.

He needed a bit of time to recreate the shields protecting his fragile heart from the truth of his reality, needed just a little distance from the dream of love he couldn’t truly have.

Bundling up his clothes with another heavy sigh, Erestor ducked out of the tent. One final glance back at the sleeping Glorfindel showed him a study of gold in the first rays of dawn that took Erestor’s breath away with its loveliness.

 

 

Glorfindel woke while Erestor was still asleep, tangled in blankets and a delicious combination of limbs that he wanted to savour, remaining in that half-state between dreaming and reality where it seemed possible that Erestor returned his affection, the gentle fingertips playing across his skin making him smile.

And then Erestor left.

Breaking the dream in a flash, Glorfindel’s eyes opened on a gasp, just as the fabric of the tent closed once more, shutting out the brightness of the sun – and leaving him alone with the misery of his thoughts, trying to hold on to the gentle love and comfort of the night before only to have it slip away like the finest sand, impossible to hold even in memory.

 

 

Arash was coughing up a storm when Erestor entered his tent, still chewing on the last spoonful of his breakfast. Himig was supporting him as he tried to expel more of the black slime and Erestor quietly fetched a bowl, studying the mucus with some interest. The dried athelas had had more of an effect than he had hoped – more dust had been cleared from Arash’s lungs, it seemed; the expelled goo was darker than when he had arrived, which Erestor considered hopeful.

“Hopefully,” he told Himig when Arash’s coughing had subsided into an exhausted doze, “Talim will return soon; if we can avoid fevers there is good reason to hope.”

 

 

Glorfindel did not take Erestor’s midday meal to the ring of tents where he looked after his patients, riding out just after breakfast with some of the young men in what he told himself was not a cowardly flight.

He wasn’t quite convincing enough, his mind distracted by random flashes of Erestor’s neck, pale except for the redness of his kisses when he threw his head back in a moan, or the way those soft delicate lips had stretched to accommodate his girth, sloppy moans making his spine tingle.

Abrazân seemed to notice his preoccupation, the camel delighting in all the antics of a much younger mount, and Glorfindel’s arse was only slightly less sore than his mood when he finally returned to the camp of the Nas Krassat.

Accepting his bowl of stew from Mother Mara, he failed to respond to her friendly greeting, instead retreating into himself, staring at the flickering flames and licking his wounded heart in peace. He remained undisturbed, the mighty scowl plastered on his face and the gossip of his terrible mood keeping even the most friendly of the tribesmen away.

How could I think one night of make-believe would ever be enough?

 

 

Erestor’s stomach grumbled, not-quite overshadowed by his bleeding heart, but impossible to ignore Glorfindel had not brought him food and encouragement, and that – to Erestor – felt like an even worse condemnation than any of the recriminations he’d been aiming at himself all day. Last night’s thought process had seemed so logical, but now Erestor was lost in a mire of misery and longing, tormented by agonisingly clear memories of Glorfindel’s hands, his sighs, that golden hair tangled around Erestor’s fingers…

He had been a fool to believe that he could solve the troubles with his heart’s desire by giving in to a moment of recklessness and longing – Glorfindel obviously did not feel for him anything more than the contempt his lewd actions had rightfully earned him.

Walking towards the cookfires, he saw the flames flicker in the distinctive golden hair, the last unspoken vestiges of hope fleeing at the sight: Glorfindel had not stayed away because he was away, he had stayed away because he did not wish to speak to Erestor.

Erestor turned on his heel, abandoning any thought of food – the roiling sensation of his guts told him it would be a futile endeavour anyway – and retreated to their tent, burrowing into his bedroll and closing his eyes in a vain hope that he would wake up just as happy as he had been that morning – was it really only that morning? It felt like centuries ago – when the next day dawned.

 

 

Glorfindel was well aware that he was moping – not even the sight of old Mara haranguing Chieftain Behnam for some reason or other, the large man cowering before his diminutive aunt like a young boy, could bring a smile to his face – but he found himself unable to stop. The flickering the flames seemed to turn into visions of Erestor’s long limbs wrapped around him at every second glance, their crackles transforming into soft sighs and moans that made him want to ignore the pain he was feeling in favour of repeating last night’s exercise in pleasure.

Growling darkly, he emptied the last of his bowl, returning it to the stack beside Mara’s youngest helper.

“Apologies, Lord Sun-Warrior,” the small boy mumbled, tugging on his sleeve, “but the Sapthân has not eaten… and he is not in the healing tents, either.”

For a moment, Glorfindel’s heart raced, despite his attempts to tell himself that he was foolish to care so much, and then the young voice continued:

“but Mila saw him go into his tent… but Mother Mara said I should not disturb the Sapthân – but Nimrî must eat?” he said, looking so anxious Glorfindel felt his heart twinge. Unbidden, Huni’s frank question appeared in his mind, retold in Erestor’s wry tones.

“I shall bring Erestor some food,” he sighed, reaching to ruffle the boy’s hair, “you need not fear he will eat any of you, I promise.”

The boy studied him – Glorfindel swallowed back sudden recognition, seeing Behnam’s calculating glance in the youngster’s face – and nodded. Swiftly refilling the bowl, he pressed the ceramic into Glorfindel’s hand, shooing him off – all the while looking as though he wasn’t quite certain he dared shoo an elf – towards their tent.

 

 

“Erestor?” Glorfindel’s concerned voice pierced the gloom of the tent, though its owner remained outside. Erestor buried his face in his blankets.

Please don’t be nice to me when the outline of your lips is still dark upon my skin…

“Erestor, are you in there?” Glorfindel continued.

Erestor groaned. He knew better than to believe Glorfindel would simply go away. Throwing off the blankets, he yanked the ten fabric aside, staring up at Glorfindel in a way that brought back a memory of the night before, stark and potent enough to steal the air from his lungs, even if the gaze in those blue eyes was mingled concern and annoyance rather than blazing with desire.

“Yes?” he replied pointedly, belatedly remembering that he had thrown off his cloak and necklace when Glorfindel’s eyes ran down his dishevelled form.

“Uhm…” he tried, but the words petered out.

Erestor sighed. He had known he’d have to have this talk – he’d just tried to avoid it for a little longer, staving off the ultimate crushing of the hope he still couldn’t shake off.

“They’ll heal soon enough,” he began, gesturing at the random darkened spots along his neck and chest that perfectly matched Glorfindel’s lips. “And you may forget it ever happened – chalk it up to a moment of insanity… something.” He sighed, unable to meet those blue eyes for fear of what he might see. “I apologise for attacking you as I did. I’m sorry.” I’m sorry you won’t feel for me what I feel for you… and I’m sorry I can’t settle for what transience you might offer me.

 

 

“Sorry?” Glorfindel boggled at him, the stew forgotten entirely. “Sorry?!” Did Erestor truly believe he could simply forget?

Erestor flinched, the pale light of the moon making the marks ringing his neck stand out even darker against his skin.

“Yes,” he repeated stubbornly, those silver eyes flashing with the beginnings of anger as he got to his feet. “You can forget it ever happened – I should appreciate that – no one need know.”

“No.” Glorfindel said, equally stubborn, and honestly offended. “So you slept with the brawny warrior; who cares?!” he ranted. “I’m not just going to forget, Erestor, even if you’d like me to!”

“You don’t have to, just – oh why does it matter, Glorfindel! –” Erestor tried, but Glorfindel interrupted him, grabbing his wrist and yanking him closer.

“Because- !” he tried, failing to find the words, feeling Erestor’s pulse hammer just as hard as his own, those silver-blue eyes wide and reflecting the starry night above when he looked up.

Glorfindel kissed him.

It was hard and unrefined, their teeth clacking together more than once. Erestor bit his lower lip, making Glorfindel hiss at him, dropping the bowl he still held in favour of Erestor’s hip, tugging him closer.

Biting and anger gave way to the same blazing need he had felt the night before, the small mewling sounds Erestor made when he set to darkening those marks further only spurring him on.

Erestor’s nails drew lines of pain along his shoulders even though the cloth and Glorfindel didn’t care, mindlessly rutting against him. Letting go of Erestor’s wrist, he grabbed another handful of that perfectly round arse, lifting him slightly to change the angle and growled against his throat.

It was glorious.

 

 

Erestor never wanted this to stop, humping against Glorfindel’s thigh, feeling those tough callouses through the fabric of his trousers when his fingers squeezed. Moving into the cool dimness of the tent, Glorfindel knelt on his blankets, keeping Erestor perfectly positioned in his lap, pressing against him in a way that made him mewl breathlessly. Rationality deserted him in an instant, giving way to soul-searing need. He whimpered, wrapping his lips around the tip of Glorfindel’s ear and biting when he sucked a deeper bruise into a spot that pulsed heat and pleasure through Erestor’s body.

“Yessss,” he moaned deliriously, fingers dancing across any bit of skin bared to his sight. “More, love, please… please!”

“Erestor!” Glorfindel groaned against his skin, hands locked tight around those bucking hips, moving in perfect rhythm.

 

 

Glorfindel froze, the moaned plea he had just heard replaying in his mind.

Love…

Flipping them, he stared down at Erestor’s flushed face, those silvery eyes blinking open to stare at him.

“Wha…?” Erestor moaned, his hips continuing to move for a moment.

“What did you say?” Glorfindel hissed, pulling away despite every part of him screaming in need, wanting to claim the ellon below him.

Erestor’s gaze skittered away once, pearly teeth marring the flush redness of his lip when he bit it, shaking his head.

“No-nothing,” he tried.

Glorfindel kissed him again, softly this time, keeping himself tied with iron bands of self-control when Erestor made another confused moan, his fingers scrabbling across Glorfindel’s back with a sigh of pleasure.

“Tell me,” he murmured, hovering just above those tempting lips, straining for more. “Please, dear one…”

Erestor blushed, visible in the small triangle of sun spilling through the tent opening. Glorfindel’s heart hammered in his chest.

“I love you…” he murmured, and then his expression hardened, those silver eyes sparking. “Is that what you wanted to hear?” he asked, pushing against Glorfindel’s chest. “Let me go!”

“No.” Glorfindel’s heart felt too light to contain his laughter, swooping down to pepper Erestor’s face in kisses. “Never.”

Erestor made an odd sound of half-protest, half-needy growl, hands clutching at Glorfindel’s clothes. “Stop!” he moaned, tilting his head back to allow Glorfindel better access to that spot on his neck that was quickly becoming a favourite, moaning deeply when Glorfindel’s teeth found it.

“Is that what you want, love?” Glorfindel purred, rolling his hips slowly, “Want me to stop?”

“Hnnn,” Erestor groaned, “…what?”

“Love,” Glorfindel continued, moving slightly to tongue at Erestor’s finely pointed ear, “my love, my Erestor, my husband…”

Beneath him, Erestor gasped, his hands flexing as Glorfindel kept rolling his hips, curious tendrils of fëa skittering across Glorfindel’s as though Erestor still didn’t wholly believe himself welcome.

Reaching out, Glorfindel stroked against him slowly, a sinuous wave of love and longing washing over and around the brightness that was Erestor and feeling the deep well of emotion opening beneath him in return.

 

 

Waking at the sound of shouting, Erestor stretched along the length of Glorfindel’s body, raising his head to return the softly affectionate smile on his face. With a soft kiss, Glorfindel’s arms released him, getting them both dressed swiftly and joining the upheaval outside.

“Talim is back!” Himig shouted happily when she spotted them.

Erestor broke into a run, Glorfindel following on his heels.

 

The athelas sent by the North-King steamed gently beside Arash’s bed, Erestor muttering something to himself as the heady green scent filled the tent. The herbalist that Amihan had found for Talim had brought several sacks worth of plants – her full harvest, Glorfindel assumed – and was busily working to make more fragrant teas and gently steaming baths, washing the potent medicine across fevered brows.

“It’s working…!” Himig exclaimed, staring raptly at her man, whose pallor already seemed improved, and helped him spit out more of the almost-black mixture that had terrorised his body. “It’s really working!” Her smile was brighter than the noon-day sun when she reached for Erestor, planting a firm kiss on his lips.

Erestor spluttered slightly, glancing at Glorfindel who shrugged. He smiled.

“It will take time for all the dust to be released,” Erestor cautioned, but no one was paying attention, a festive mood spreading through the gathered tribesmen despite the sounds of retching and coughing that accompanied the expulsion of mucus.

“We can worry about that tomorrow,” Glorfindel murmured, catching him round the waist and pulling him back against his chest for a quick hug, “for now… hear them sing.”