A Dalliance Uncommon by Gwanath Dagnir

circa 64 S.A.

Two months, three weeks, and four days ago the High King returned to Mithlond from the Guard Academy, having retrieved Elrond from a weeklong sojourn there. Along the journey home, during a too-brief reprieve in a secluded cove where they watered their horses, Gil-galad had forsaken his failing efforts to resist the impossible attraction he had developed toward the Half-elven. There in secret, they shared precious few moments of passionate intimacy – not their first encounter but the most fateful, as it set their eventual union upon the path of inevitability. Then, like a fool, Gil-galad insisted they wait for a more accommodating environment to finally consummate their affections.

And after that glorious mid-morning has followed the most duty-bound, inquest-riddled, time-consuming, attention-draining, maddeningly busy but agonizingly slowest-passing two months, three weeks, four days, and six hours in the history of Arda. Gil-galad had cause to interact with Elrond under sometimes more and sometimes less chaotic circumstances, but never privately. His heart, his flesh, ached for their reunion.

“My Lord…”

“I’m listening,” said Gil-galad, blinking away from the window.

Standing next to the desk, Galdor punched one fist against his hip and with his other hand, slid the parchment closer to the High King where he sat. Its edges scratched across the wood like claws. “I said, did you know that he devised this ere it came to you in writing? Compulsory military service – compulsory! Now, with nary a threat of war in all Eriador? It is unseemly, radical. Dare I say…” he withdrew to collect himself and stood as tall as his limited stature would allow. “It is un-elven, sire.”

“Compulsory Assistive Forces training,” Gil-galad corrected. He picked up the parchment in question, Elrond’s meticulous proposal for a prolonged and phased overhaul of the Guard Academy, which would incorporate healing arts among other ancillary fields of study. He followed the curve of familiar handwriting with fondness. Was the lingering scent of its author only his imagination, that enticing blend of sun-warmed spice and rain-washed earth?

“Aye, my Lord,” Galdor deflated enough to pinch the bridge between his eyes, “at the new and improved multi-purpose Guard Academy, cadets can learn to hew orcs and then with the same blade, attend cooking class before dance lessons. Bah! Dress this up with any number of distracting delicacies, it is still a pig on a platter.” He spun away, flinging his thick chestnut braid off one shoulder only to unfurl it onto the other, pacing as he continued, “Respectfully, I must relay that your subjects will not take kindly to loved ones, indeed their own children, being remanded to military service masquerading as some elaborate higher learning program. They aspire to prosper and to nurture a generation free of worry and of danger. Good riddance to dark days long past, when tragedy was as common as bad weather, and our energies sapped by constant preparation for conflict, or recovery from it.”

“Galdor, as always, I appreciate your perspective and your candor. Nonetheless, the Academy as it is received in its current incarnation presents a conundrum to solve – as evidenced by the statistics from your own digests while you served as delegate over the years. Recruitment continues to decline. We simply do not procreate fast enough to fill the ranks of a military force commiserate to the size of the region without conscription, unless voluntary registration more than doubles. And why would it, unless something changes? A more diverse syllabus may help allay public opinion of the Academy, especially in times of peace.” He flung the parchment to the desk, catching another whiff of Half-elven musk on the updraft. “At any rate, none of my advisors have presented better ideas, and I deem Elrond’s proposal has merit indeed. I will submit it for broader scrutiny at the next quarterly review and we can ruminate further. In the meantime, consider your concerns duly noted! Now before I release you, was there anything else?”

His pacing gave no indication of surrender, but the next pivot of Galdor’s heel faced him toward the entryway where Elrond had emerged, and his tongue tripped. “Oh. It’s you. Strange I did not hear your footsteps. How long have you been standing there?”

“Only an instant.” Elrond smiled, either delighting in Galdor’s disappointment or ignoring it. “May I be of service?”

Galdor glanced over his shoulder where Gil-galad beamed at the Half-elven from his seat. “Not to myself.” He turned and bowed to the king. “I leave you respectfully, my Lord. Good day,” passing Elrond to leave, he offered a one-directional nod that left his nose toward the ceiling.

Once the door had shut, Gil-galad said, “Still salty over losing his appointment at the Academy to you, I see. Do let me know if he acts out any worse than that, I will not tolerate overt disrespect.”

“No matter,” Elrond waved away the minor slight. “He is one of Círdan’s folk after all, I accept that some extra salt runs in his blood.” He approached the desk, gesturing to his own proposal that rested there. “I must say, Galdor seems more interested in my observations at the Academy than in his own, if he did not notice the trajectory his own digests spelled out through the years.”

“Now you understand my relief to have you replace him. Finally, insight from someone with an eye for the details and a vision for the bigger picture!” Gil-galad grinned, “By the way, you overheard quite a bit in only an instant. How long were you standing there eavesdropping, really?”

“I had just walked up! Before then I was at the opposite end of the hall, speaking with Celebrimbor – not that it made much difference. If Galdor wishes not to be overheard, he should learn to speak softer than the whistle of a kettle. I suspect they heard his mewling all the way to the kitchens. Someone is probably preparing milk for what they mistook as a disgruntled kitten as we speak…”

From behind a hand that smothered his laughter, Gil-galad sighed and said, “Ai, what an end to this grueling day, if I could spend it here bantering with you. Yet the way things have been going we’re bound to be interrupted soon. If there was something you needed, tell me while you can.”

“Two things.” Elrond found his place perched on the edge of the desk, balancing one foot on the seat of a chair. “The answer to one greeted me as I arrived. You will submit my proposal to your advisory?”

“Yes. But be prepared, I’m afraid you may find the nature of these proceedings very elvish. There will be many discussions over a long period of time before reaching any agreements to even begin making plans. The entire-” Gil-galad’s eyes narrowed. “There’s something different about you.”

“My hair.” Elrond pulled forward his hair in its long box braid to display.

“No, you’ve been wearing it that way for a few weeks now. Something else.”

“Oh!” Suddenly Elrond bounced up to stand. “The clothes you lent me. I forgot to return them after Bainloth delivered my wardrobe.”

“Ah-ha! Now I realize what I see. Turn yourself about, let me have a look at you.” The king stood up to appraise the new raiment as Elrond circled before him. Its base layer was on the beige side of gray, with accent pieces in tones of spruce and rust. Elrond wore again the belt he arrived with, dark leather engraved with bronze hardware, and a sash in faded shades of aubergine that must be meaningful to keep. With chin to fist, Gil-galad realized his tailor somehow managed to produce what most closely resembled a polished version of the clothes Elrond arrived wearing in the first place. “Hm. It did not occur to me when I instructed Bainloth to use the palette of Green-elves that he had never actually seen one of them. Well, so be it – you are a perfect picture of wild imagination and valiant effort. It suits you.” In truth, he concluded that the Half-elven’s physique would wear anything well – or nothing, even better. “So you could hear Galdor speaking from all the way down the hall?”

Elrond tilted his head at the question. “Yes?”

“Then you can hear no one is nearby now.” Gil-galad stepped forward.

Catching on, Elrond closed the remaining space between them. They touched at first gingerly, fingers and lips retracing paths discovered in past encounters until familiar again. Once familiar they grew cozy, then frisky, then bold. The king groaned into their joined mouths as he searched for a place to settle his hands that would stymy his racing desire, but every handhold he took on the Half-elven only enticed him further – the muscled ridges of his lower back, the meaty fullness of his rump, the lithe length of his strong neck. The exploration produced a mirror image of his own hardness, as Elrond kneaded away the tension in his shoulders while they kissed, somehow knowing exactly what was needed most. Soon Gil-galad inserted a little space between them while he still possessed the willpower.

“Look what you do to me – I will be stuck toiling behind this desk for the rest of the hour before I’m decent again.”

“At least you have business behind a desk,” Elrond laughed, “I will be forced to leave carrying one of these chairs for cover if you handle me that way again.”

“Ha! Not if I handle you how you deserve. Let-” They froze in the motion of rejoining at the sound of a door as it opened and closed down the hall. Footsteps and voices followed but diminished with distance until gone. Tamed by the ever-looming threat of discovery, Gil-galad sighed, “Alas to be reminded of this burrowed time. Quick tell me, what was the second thing that brought you?”

“Only that I missed you.” Elrond’s look grew studious as he scanned the scrolls and parchment sprawled before the king’s seat. “You’ve been very busy since we returned, I see that you still are. How are you keeping? Can I help?”

“Indeed, you alone can. This work would be hard enough without the constant distraction I must contend with.” At Elrond’s look turned to concern, he brought them close together again, resting one hand behind the head so his thumb could caress the delicate ear. “I am haunted by how we parted that day in the cove, though I have myself entirely to blame. After this temptation, I fear it will be unbearable, the unfed hunger now stirred. It must burn you as badly, judging by your state.” He pulled at the hip until their arousal touched, yearning for attention. “Will you come to my chambers tonight? Wait until past suppertime. Bring the clothes to return. I can instruct my night sentry to expect you on errand but to turn anyone else away so I may have some rest.”

“Of course I would, but- is that not too obvious?”

“If we wait for some serendipitous circumstance that brings us together at random, we are only bound to be intruded upon. We must trust in the discretion of those whose business is not to make judgements.” He stopped short of explaining how his sentries were well conditioned to keep their king’s confidence. It seemed unmentionable that others had come before – tonight he would have a treasure above all.

“As you wish, so shall it be, my King,” said Elrond with a bent knee, overly subservient in jest. “Yet the bells will ring for supper sooner than you seem prepared for, so I leave you to finish this… what-” something on the table caught his eye. He reached to pull out a sketched map aside notations regarding Celebrimbor’s expedition East that Elrond sat on the planning board for. “We agreed to navigate around the Tower Hills. These contradictions are in Celebrimbor’s own handwriting!” He huffed. “Is he so desperate to avoid Celeborn that he would needlessly complicate the journey by refusing to even veer toward Harlond?” He sat down and took up the nearest quill as if it were his own. “Where do you have a map at scale? I need a divider as well please.” He was already writing on fresh parchment as Gil-galad produced the requested tools, amused to be so casually ordered about – a degree of familiarity only Elrond could make charming. “He had the good sense to seek advice only to ignore it in service of his own pride. Well, he will rue the day, once this rebuttal reaches him. If he thinks he can host a meeting so boring that its attendees forget our own conclusions, he will meet his match to behold the punishing detail of my graphical surveying.” Lip between teeth, he committed to the task at hand.

The king sat down and returned to his own work, glad for the company as the air went calm, laced with scent of sun-warmed spice and rain-washed earth.

~tbc~

His ploy to secure one private evening free of unwanted interruptions was founded in as much truth as falsehood: Gil-galad was tired. Even his sentry looked upon him with sympathy as he approached the wing of his private residence.

“My Lord, Celebrimbor came looking for you. Shall I tell him you’ve retired for the evening if he returns?”

Gil-galad played the part of a dutifully fatigued official, letting his shoulders sag. “He must need something, to come here after hours. Did he head back toward the supper hall? Perhaps I should return…”

“He left toward the offices. Also, he did not relay any particular urgency.” The sentry pivoted his stance to present the hallway leading to the king’s bedchamber. “Would you prefer to retire instead, sire? Seems visitors have been nonstop lately; I would exceed my position to say you’ve earned some rest.”

Gil-galad smiled, taking the ease of executing tonight’s plans as a good omen. “I allow it! Your observations ring true, and I must look as exhausted as I feel. Thank you – please see that I am left undisturbed tonight. Oh-” He turned back as if remembering to say, “Except I summoned Elrond to come on an errand later. Do send him inside, but none other.”

The sentry bowed and resumed his stance at attention.

Within his rooms, the king shed his stately attire and donned the casual clothes laid out by his assistants. On the vanity, a silver tray dazzled by moonlight presented a decanter of wine that Gil-galad left untouched. Although no stranger to drunken exploits (indeed, a generous helping of wine had encouraged his very first flirtation with Elrond’s affections), tonight was an occasion that deserved unencumbered presence of mind – no common dalliance like any other. Come to the glass doors leading to his private gardens, he searched the sky for Eärendil’s star to no avail; the Mariner had business elsewhere this night. Gil-galad left open the drapes.

Standing bathed in the celestial lights of the night sky, he slipped into elven reverie of waking sleep. His thoughts drifted to random interactions with the Half-elven, a companionship so new it should feel strange, yet so comfortable it must be destiny – stolen glances in boardroom meetings that relayed thought as clear as words, shared laugher at the supper table that infected everyone within hearing, interludes of quiet contemplation so intense the world waited for its conclusion. He had dimensions like a gemstone that reflected different qualities from every angle, perhaps a manifestation of his mixed heritage. He could be sagacious and forgiving as calm water, or penetrating and resolute as strong wind. Which of nature’s elements would walk through that door, which ethereal force would guide their path? Would they unite to swing from trees carefree, or launch fearless into combat? As he ruminated half-awake, his hand made a path to his manhood, roused even by these mundane memories and engorging as Gil-galad turned his mind to more lustful encounters, recalling their first kiss: merry and curious, authentic and tenacious. Their second kiss, entirely unintended but raw and heartfelt, comforted them amidst a storm of shared pain and forgiveness. And the third, bold passion laid bare – a truce, a pact, a pledge in motion. And now, finally….
Caressed by the speeding cusp of his palm, his cock seized in desperate release, angry from neglect.

Startling aware just in time to stifle his own outburst, he steadied himself with a hand shaking against the glass while he recovered. As he tucked himself back into his loose pants, it occurred to him that he had little knowledge of the physiology of Men, sexual or otherwise, and much less so of the Maiar. One crude fact he had overheard elves discuss in mockery is that mortals have no control over their breeding, and achieving orgasm results in an emission of sperm involuntarily, akin to animals. For the Eldar, this is a conscious deed with the intention of conceiving children, mutually exclusive from the climax of pleasure. Elrond himself may not know his own nature in this regard. Most Elves remain chaste before marriage, many abstaining from gratification even by their own hand, and sexual blooming often occurs well after adulthood. Some fall somewhere in between, while few (Gil-galad among them) would politely be described as born hot-blooded. The prospect of discovering which characteristics the Half-elven inherited from which lineage for the first time sent a fresh rush of blood to his loins.

A knock at the door awakened him completely. “Enter.”

Elrond obeyed and shut the door behind himself. Balancing a stack of folded clothes atop one arm, he cast a harried look around the room to find the king, then blinked before shaking himself to say, “Sorry. Celebrimbor caught me leaving supper, you know how he gets to talking. Is it too late?”

“Of course not. Just put those there,” Gil-galad pointed to a chair and came to give welcome as he took in the sight of his guest with a resigned sigh. “I admit I will miss seeing you in my clothes, there was something endearing about it.”

Elrond scoffed, “To you maybe, but somewhat emasculating for me if I’m being honest. I can name on the fingers of one hand those in your court who did not see fit to acknowledge I would be naked without the king’s charity, in their own way. Sorry, never mind – that was ungrateful.” Turned after unburdening his load, he froze there staring blankly, then belatedly came into the embrace opened for him. “Uhm… I did not think to have those laundered beforehand. Sorry.”

“Good, and nor will I, now that they carry your scent.” Gil-galad took an appreciative breath of that intoxicating musk and wasted no time to claim the lips that had taunted his recent dreams – but for the first time of all their encounters, the reception of his kiss was reserved, the body tense in his arms. “You are not yourself. Has something happened?” At the busy silence in response, Gil-galad moved his palm to rest over the heart fluttering like a wild bird caged. “It’s all right – tell me.”

“Nothing happened, just when I waked in... I don’t know. This scene whelms me, the way the starlight holds you, the way you fit in this room, in this whole realm, as if someone painted it for you to belong. Somehow this does not feel real.” Elrond unclenched his hands where they landed on the king’s biceps, bringing up one finger to trace the collarbone exposed by the relaxed shirt, then the line of his jaw. When their eyes met and held, a symphony of fond emotion danced between them, and his strained features began to relax. “Yet here you are.”

“Here we are; I in this kingdom of my belonging, and you as though conjured by my own heart’s secret need.” Gil-galad kissed those lips again that this time yielded at once, and moved his mouth onto the neck, expecting the same submission and receiving it, feasting between words, “Let us not invite sorry into this tryst, dear one. Nor worry, or judgement. Only free of such things can I have you all to myself,” he held their bodies together tighter, satisfied by the hardness he had inspired, but not by the barrier between them. He started to unlatch the fastenings of the outer layer Elrond wore, tugging playfully as he did. “Though I complimented this garb earlier, you are woefully overdressed for the occasion.”

“Mm, your sentry said the same.”

“What?”

Elrond snorted into a fit of laughter. “O your face… he did not, of course.” He took over his own undressing when Gil-galad balked, but the king dove back in to speed it along.

“Well now you are back to your usual state indeed. Come here, you rascal!”

They rejoined to kiss with escalating fervor between discarding layers of clothes, until both were bare from the waist up and breathing excitedly, eager to map the curves of each other with hands and eyes.
“I like this on you,” Gil-galad caressed the pendant that Elrond wore against his skin, an heirloom of his house, then let his fingers and his gaze follow the trail of fur angling to a point above the navel. “I like this as well,” as the journey continued lower, he lingered over the cock fully upright and then the plump sacks underneath. “Yet your boots, less so. How am I supposed to get these pants off you with those on?”

Elrond jolted out of a daze from the stimulation to his privates. “Ai, I should have removed them at the door! Sor-” he stopped short of the forbidden word, kneeling briefly to free his feet. “Fixed. You were saying…”

“Ha!” Gil-galad resumed to unfasten the pants and helped slide them down over obstacle of erection and well-formed arse. The sight revealed stole his breath. He had oft said that Elrond is the best of the kindreds when referring to his character, and his physique honoured that assessment as well – he embodied a marriage twixt the grace of the Eldar and the virility of Men and the majesty of the Divine. “Glory be, you are magnificent...”

“And now you are the one overdressed – if I may,” Elrond reached out to return the service, pulling undone the single tie that let his loose pants fall to the floor and his erection bound free. The Half-elven smiled, taking his time with the view as an artist appraises a masterpiece, “And lo, now you are perfect.”

So said all his past lovers. Gil-galad had grown to exceed his own father in stature and endowment; elders remarked that he exemplified Ñoldorin greatness of the highest-born in Valinor. But the praise of one so formidable by his own measure struck a different chord – next to Elrond, Gil-galad did not feel superior, but instead profoundly harmonious. They stepped out of the tangle of cloth around their feet to embrace flesh to flesh for the first time, remaining long to savour the feel of their closeness and the differentness of the other.
With his own appetite piqued to the point of waning resolve, Gil-galad said at last, “The Eldar are said to be slow to rouse and slow to sate, yet in youth I nearly climaxed at the mere sight of my first lover, and regrettably did so at their first touch. You are remarkably controlled for an innocent!”

“Not that innocent…” Elrond flushed to admit, “My thoughts ran wild while I prepared your things, and I feared what you just described would be my fate for certain if I did not tame myself before coming to you.”

“Then we are alike in this way too, you and I – hot-blooded. Tell me,” Gil-galad raised a hand to rub the bottom lip with his thumb, and with the other exposed the ear to trace its unique curve. “Did you think of me while you touched yourself?” He guided the mouth to open and interrogated it with his tongue. “Did you think of me as the end consumed you?” He accepted a breathless nod as answer, and coaxed that tongue held silent in rapture to play with his. “Is that when you invaded my dreaming and guided my hand upon myself? I almost toppled over when I finished, knowing how you want me. I see how you want me still, you are hard as stone chiseled in a monument to lust.”

Suddenly Elrond growled, shivering to break the spell, “It’s unfair of you to speak this way, so silken and- and naughty! I am already as an hourglass turned upside down and struggling to bide the time, do not tap the glass lest you break it!”

The king laughed. “Very well, enough teasing – I enjoy it too much anyway, I’m on the verge again myself.” Taking the lead as the more experienced of the pair, he brought up one of Elrond’s hands to kiss its scarred wrist while his other shifted to perch under the chin. “Know that I make no presumptions, nor demands. Tell me what you want.”

Without hesitation came the response, “To be worthy of your love.”

Gil-galad gaped, captured by the sincerity of that gaze so divining it could bring one to shame. Love? But if this is no common dalliance, then what else? He was not prepared to consider it.
“I meant- tonight, in bed.”

“So did I.”

Seeming in that moment every bit his own species, Elrond peered straight into Gil-galad, making him feel more than naked if not altogether inside out. The king moved his hand from chin to shoulder, trying to steer this. “Of anything that we might do, have you any qualms at all? Some tend to themselves while enjoying each other’s company, either in respect for propriety, or to build rapport with a new partner. We could start there.”

“You are kind to be so gentle with me…” Elrond’s eyes softened appreciatively, then narrowed with salacious intent as he shifted their joined hands to write some rune on Gil-galad’s palm, unexpectedly alluring. “I should be abashed to admit I had imagined more creative use of your fine company.” He brought their bodies close enough for their erections to nestle and rub with the deepness of their breathing. “Besides, are we not more familiar than that already?” He demonstrated with a penetrating kiss returned enthusiastically, and an opening of his consciousness, allowing Gil-galad to sense the extent of his comfort.

In response, the king made a fist around their cocks and began to massage them together as one. “This is what I imagined, the first time I felt your hardness against mine.” After an initial gasp of shock or delight or both, Elrond took a turn trying the technique, then they shared space between the top and base, finding a rhythm that filled the cavern of their joined mouths with moans while their tongues mimicked the friction.
Separating with a gasp of his own as Elrond’s thumb circled his glans, Gil-galad said, “Wait- move over here. My legs are wobbling already!” He went to the bed and threw aside the top blanket to claim his place in the center of the mattress. The silk sheets stretched under his weight like a net while the canopy overhead crowned him -regal even in nudity, even on his knees- where he watched hungrily as Elrond approached.
“Careful not to cut down the banister with that thing. By the stars, you are hung like a beast!”

Elrond laughed, surprised by the compliment as only one unacquainted with the average elvish dick would be. “I have what you have, fair lord.” As he crawled forward on all fours, beastly indeed, he added, “Except practice, as you know. Pray teach me, so I may surely satisfy you.”

“Then your first lesson shall be surrendering to my hand, for I will not be satisfied until I’ve made you swoon. Come, match me this way,” they moved to sit face to face with opposite legs over and under the other, lapping and folded like petals of a flower. Gil-galad stretched to retrieve a vial from the sideboard and anointed them with delicate oil before resuming how they left off, starting tender but rapidly maturing, exchanging kisses while they still had composure, then nesting their faces to pant as the race hurried into its plateau, the point of no return.
Captivated by the beauty of their bodies at the joining, Gil-galad rasped, “Mercy… you are ribbed like the spine of a great oak. I could mount you and relieve my shaft against the ridges of your cock like a proper scratching post! Ah, yet I cannot bear to abandon this now – look how we fit together, how our meat fills my hand.”

Hissing through bared teeth, Elrond grated, “Again I say your words are too much!” Though he obeyed, groaning at the sight of their oil-slicked rods, bruised and pulsating. He held on with his free hand behind the king’s neck with a grip that became claw-like in desperation. “Ai… I cannot compete with your skill, I cannot even think. How well you undo me!”

Hearing this as an invitation, Gil-galad eagerly commandeered of every inch of their most intimate flesh. “Let me finish this, I want to. Are you close now? Yes? Good – hold to me and let it take you, gift me with your release. I will repay you very soon.” He changed his grip to the cinch of a vice, slipping a finger in between while pumping at their roots to ripen the tips. Their moaning turned throaty from the bittersweet torment. “I am honoured to have you first, my favourite, my equal. Honoured and-” his own concentration tore between thought and body as deliverance neared. He sped and lengthened his strokes to reward the throbbing heads of their cocks, “humbled- by your-”

“Ereinion- please…!”

“-humbled by- your love!”

“Ai! Gil-galad- my King!” Elrond spasmed only once before Gil-galad too came hard and sudden, his own end ushered by a wave of pride at his title called out in such reverence, and the sight of the mighty Half-elven brought to orgasm by his own hand. Singing a wordless duet of supplication and gratitude, they quaked through the final throes of pleasure’s demise as Gil-galad milked them unto the very brink of pain. At last, Elrond fell backwards like a hewed tree, still gasping and half laughing, trying but failing to say something about stars.

Marginally better composed, Gil-galad disentangled their limbs to stretch out onto his side next to him, tickling his fingers up and down the stomach in languid brushes. He noticed there was no ejaculate after all, realizing at the same time such a strange newness would have excited him. Every little idiosyncrasy that differentiated Elrond from elf-kind excited the king. Would anyone ordinary ever excite him again, or close to this much? As of that instant, it mattered not: this scene was painted for them to belong.

Once Elrond had regained enough wits to make eye contact, he smiled lazily into the gaze examining him. “What? Did I do something silly? I feel silly. And wonderful.”

“Not at all. I stare because I’m awestruck. That was marvelous. How does it compare for you?”

“Compare?” Elrond laughed, “Oh, poor me. What would I have to compare it to aside from my own lonely hand in solitude?”

“Well, compared to whatever you thought you knew, however you learned it, I don’t know. Books, fireside bragging, dreams...”

Suddenly serious, Elrond popped his head off the mattress. “Ereinion, there is no comparison. I tried to explain before, this is unreal, surreal, too good to be true – you are. Kiss me again before I wake up!”

The king obeyed, made both satiated and ravenous by the bounty each gave. His hand wandered from the center of that prickly chest, sweat-dampened and still heaving from exhilaration, back down to that impressive dick, subdued until caressed, when it resonated with purpose like the plucked string of a harp. “Your suspicions may be true, if this is what I can do to you with one mere touch. Perhaps we are having the same dream.”

Elrond trembled, his hyper-sensitive erection bucking like a penned stud to be handled again so soon. He collected himself to rasp out, “Sometimes you inflame me so with only a glance.” A pattern he traced on the king’s chest lingered over his nipple, then moved to follow the curve of his ear and receive the same encouraging whimper there. “I have been hard inside of your clothes more times than you know, how you watch me.”

“Not I alone. Many eyes have searched you lustfully.” Gil-galad’s pride kept secret the jealousy incited to see another covet the object of his own affection. His grip became possessive, thumb undulating over the frenulum as he asked, “Does any other stir you thus? Has one ever?”

“No one, never!” Elrond arched up to devour the neck and shoulder within reach. By the time his own hand dropped to encircle the king’s member, it too raged with renewed need. “Do unto me as you would enjoy, fair lord, I will mirror you until I’ve learned your wishes.”

“Nay – we can do better.” Emboldened in the arms of his new lover (and determined to outclass any competition), Gil-galad dared to endure that penetrating stare and willed himself open, allowing Elrond -warm as sunlight, safe as home- to touch his mind. “I do not have a Half-elven’s gift in Ósanwë,” he admitted, “yet with you it comes easier to me. And since I entice you as no other, also I want to feel you as none before. I want you to know my needs how I do, from the inside.”
Meeting in the timeless depths of star-lit eyes, they shared a wordless exchange of guidance and gratification so that what one willed the other enacted and the pleasure echoed between them – thus conjoined, they worked each other’s cocks with the precision and zeal of master craftsmen, achieving their second climax within minutes, powerful and simultaneous, almost an aftershock of the first and redoubled in intensity being experienced from both sides at once.

Crying out in unison and shuddering to ruin, they collapsed anew, panting hot against the cool sheets, their limbs boneless and criss-crossed and the world forgotten as they sank into blissful repose, utterly sated.
Some uncounted time later, Gil-galad awoke from a stir beside him.
Elrond straightened himself and sat upright, rubbing his eyes to peer at the window, then the door.

The scene whelmed Gil-galad in turn, how the starlight captured him twixt night and dawn, himself a creation between the fates of heaven and earth. Perhaps he, better than any, could be trusted to thread the needle that weaves obligations of duty and desire, he whose very nature is a patchwork.

Elrond lowered his feet to the floor.

Dreading the loneliness and nagging doubts that invade a new lover’s hasty absence, Gil-galad reached out, drawing his hand down the strong back, its scars muted in the dimness. “You need not scamper from my quarters like some shameful plaything cast back to its shelf after sordid use – not you, son of Eärendil, not ever. Keep your place at my side.” When Elrond sat unmoving, his insides shrank with a pang of insecurity. “Unless you wish to leave, of course.”

“No…” finally Elrond cast back a smirking glance, equal parts mischievous and adoring. “I just wanted to hear you say it.”

Laughing, Gil-galad flung a pillow in playful rebuke, then pulled another under his shoulders as the Half-elven swiveled to unfurl along his side.

“Though I should warn you, my brother oft complained that I cling like a drowning vine in my sleep.”

“Oh, I’ve slept through worse none the wiser. Ask Círdan sometime about the hurricane – telling that tale is his sixth-favourite way to embarrass me.”

They settled together in perfect balance, Gil-galad ruling their embrace as bedrock with that most dear to him held close to protect, Elrond as molten steel that fills void with curling tendrils to link sundered parts into one whole.

Adrift in the unbridled honesty of slumber’s self-reflection, it occurred to the High King that an uncommon dalliance by another name would not inaccurately be called love.