The Captain and the King by oshun

Heartsease

Anardil lay in bed, with the windows open, and listened to the gentle rising and falling of the surf. The bad weather had passed and the world felt fresh and new—what a worn-out image he thought. He did not have the wherewithal to come up with a better one. It was a lovely, warm, still night, with an almost eerily calm ocean. One did not need to be a poet to think it might be a perfect night to fall in love. Then he again cursed himself as a clumsy fool and tried to relax once more.

He could not resist mulling over and over snippets of conversation from his long and unexpectedly strenuous day. One must think about essential issues—quite enough reminiscing for one night about the lush red lips and husky laugh of a handsome king. He had every reason to hope that he would eventually get his timber and that he and Gil would be encouraged to cultivate the alliance which he had so dearly hoped to negotiate. He was not sure Tar-Meneldur would approve of how much he had taken upon himself. But then he did not believe his father would try to interfere either. 

He tried to relax, humming to himself an old, old song with a wistful and romantic theme that dated to the Elder days, probably written by Maglor. Unable to recall its name and only a few of the words, he finally snubbed out his candle, hoping sleep would come, but his restless mind would not permit it. Then he heard a soft tapping on the door—definitely not Carvor's knock.
 
He realized he had been waiting for that sound. “Gil?” he whispered—wistful, hopeful. Then he leapt out of bed, not bothering to cast a robe over his night shirt. He cautiously eased the door open a crack and with all of the tremulousness of a virgin maid he peeked around the edge. He felt foolish, embarrassed, and jubilant all in a matter of seconds. Gil stood there in his night clothes—loose trousers and a floppy tunic. It stuck him as almost humorous how good he looked standing in the dim light of the hallway sconces in those shapeless garments, how discernible was his impressive form.

“It is you! I was afraid it might not be, or perhaps I had jumped to conclusions, or even that you might have expected me to look for you!”

Gil looked shy and wily at the same time. What a stew of heady emotions! “You wouldn’t have known where to find me. And, anyway, I don’t have a lot of patience and tend to think in practical terms. Like, even if you wanted to see me, you would not know where to look. May I please come in?”

“Come in. Please come in. What a relief. I am such a child! I am so glad you are here.”

“You don’t look like a child.” Gil let his eyes run up and down him with a touch of bold lasciviousness that he not shown him before. “You are a feast for the eyes.”

“Seriously, Gil! I know I am a better than average looking mortal but you are an ageless, gorgeous Elven King—desirable beyond the stuff of daydreams that only a sex-starved adolescent could seriously entertain. Come in and sit on the bed with me. Now that you are finally here I do not intend to let you easily slip away.”

“You ridiculously undermine yourself and overrate me, but if that allows you to invite me into your bed, I will indefinitely postpone arguing about it!” His eyes so filled with silver fire and mischief sent waves of excitement sweeping over Anardil. Gil smiled at him and left him breathless. If a smile did that to him, what would a kiss do?

“So, young captain, do you really find me attractive? I was not certain but I decided if I did not take a chance and try to find out that I might regret it until the end of Arda.”

“I love that you are so dramatic. It is far from the end of Arda and here we are—hot and happy with an entire night before us and a large soft bed. We do not have any tight breeches or cumbersome laces, or complicated buckles, or even any reason to be quiet or wary of discovery. I am here and open to you. Whatever you want of me I can willingly offer!”

Anardil fell back on the plushy bed opening his arms and then he sat back up and pulled his nightshirt over his head.

Gil said, “Oh, my! You are definitely hot and hard, and well-made. I had extravagant hopes for you since I first laid eyes on you, my dear, but you exceed expectations. Before I lose complete control, I ought to ask you one question. Have you made love to a man before?”

“I guess I have,” he blustered. “Well ‘making love’ is a rather high-sounding romantic expression for the kinds of things I have done. I am a sailor, you know. And sailors spend months at sea, away from family, friends, wives, and sweethearts. Also, I should mention that it has been a long time since I could have been characterized as what someone called me earlier today—an able-bodied seaman. Officers have to be far more circumspect in their behavior and there are proscriptions relating to what is appropriate and inappropriate behavior between enlisted men and their superiors. It has been a few years since I was but an ordinary lad among equals.”

Gil threw back his head and laughed loud. “I do love the way you talk. You are so articulate and straightforward.”

Uncertainty was not an option for Anardil at that moment. “So, are we good then? If you do not mind being somewhat of a mentor. . . I do not want to be vulgar but the longer we negotiate . . .”

Gil shut him up with a devouring, desperate kiss. After a few moments of a kiss the likes of which Anardil had never experienced or even imagined, he had to pull back, short of breath and giddy, to look at his lover. The undisguised lust that flickered unchecked across Gil sculpted face almost made him spend. But then he fell into an almost dreamlike trance of arousal and response. Gil knew exactly how to touch him, when to be tender and when a bit rougher, when to tease and when to gratify.

This was really happening. Two days ago they did not know one another. Gil was passionate and insistent and yet he made Anardil feel supported, cared for, and cherished. He thought of how he had told Gil that he had never really made love before. He had no idea how right he had been.

When they had finished, Gil held him close and still in his embrace until they began to drift back from a trancelike state into some semblance of reality. Finally Gil whispered teasingly into his ear, “Will you call that not really making love?”

Anardil flipped onto his back, pulling Gil on top of him, and grabbed his smirking face between both of his hands. “Don’t be an arrogant ass. It really is unbecoming after an experience like that!”

“So it was good for you too, sweetheart?” Gil asked, tickling him. Suddenly, they both were laughing and rolling around on the bed.

“You are beautiful! Admit it was spectacular. We are amazing together.”

When they finally settled down again, Anardil said. “Hmm. I admit it was very nice. But perhaps we need a little practice.”

“I can live with that. We can practice until you can’t sit down and can barely walk.”

He responded impatiently, "Oh, Gil, can't you see that it was so good that now I am terrified. How can I ever walk away from this?" Anardil was still holding onto an instinctual self-protection.

"I could say the same but I will not. One can never live well if one is afraid of being hurt. And, anyway, I do like to think that I am good at this. I am on good terms with all of my former lovers. But it is silly to think about that now. Let us enjoy the newness of being together, appreciate the surprises, the wonder of discoveries. We will only have this opportunity one time. Let us think of this as the beginning of a significant friendship."

"Be kind to me," Anardil said. 

"I promise that I will be. And I hope that you will open yourself to me. Let me explain something. I have always avoided even a casual encounter of this sort with one of the Secondborn. The reason for that is that they are the ones who always leave.

“So, your logic is a little flawed. I am the one who is taking the risks here and it is worth it to me. You are charming, funny, beautiful, optimistic, and idealistic. I feel young and more determined since I met you. So let us allow events to happen as they will. The worst thing that can happen is that we will have brought joy to one another for however short or long it lasts.

“The way it will work is that you will return to Númenor, you will marry a lovely maid, you will have beautiful children, and for better or worse you will die serving your people on that problematic and beloved island of yours. And I will live on without you. Hopefully with lovely memories.”
 
“So why would we even want to put ourselves through all of this if this is bound not to work out?”

“Best reason there is, captain.” Gil gave him a soft, heart-melting smile. “Like the brokenhearted lover in that song you were humming before I knocked. For heartsease!”