April Fancies by AdmirableMonster

Listen

Pengolodh has an intimate encounter during the War of Wrath.

Pengolodh/Erestor

This one's got smut; you have been warned.

Prompt:

♥ running, water, morning, thought

♥ word: listen

♥ The stars know everything,
So we try to read their minds.
As distant as they are,
We choose to whisper in their presence.

The world is ending all around them: maybe that’s why Pengolodh is in bed with a kinslayer.  When they were young, they were fanciful and romantic in their imaginings of a lover.  Then, Gondolin fell, taking their innocence with her.

The man who gave only the name Erestor moves inside them, mouth opening, slim and still beautiful hands splayed across Pengolodh’s hips.  (He was not at Sirion, he said.  He was not at Sirion.  This matters.  No matter what else he has done, his hand did not bring flames to the lorehouse, his voice did not leave Dírhavel a dead shell on its floor.)

The world seems large beneath the stars, almost empty, nothing here but Pengolodh and their thoughts and their sharp-edged lover.  Morning will not come for a long time; perhaps it will not come at all.  Beleriand is dying, and they are all running from the truth. The truth is that the water will take them.  They bite down on Erestor’s shoulder, and he fucks them harder, pressing a sweat-soaked forehead into theirs.  The two of them found a scrap of blanket, laid themselves out in the field beneath the cold white stars.  At least it means Pengolodh need not trade barbs with Gil-Galad’s other advisor, at least they have one night of peace.

In Gondolin, Pengolodh sacrificed to Varda, laying pretty stones and feathers upon her altar, courting the favor of the distant lady of the stars.  Now, they wonder if she is watching now, or if the skies above them are empty.  They wonder which thought is more fearful.

Erestor’s nails scrape down their back, and he kisses them.  Pengolodh kisses back, fierce and lost.  He pulls back; his teeth carve a path of pleasure-pain down their collarbone and across their shoulder.  Pengolodh’s cunt twitches around Erestor’s cock in response, their eyes twitching shut, leaving them for a long and fearful instant trapped in the darkness behind their eyelids.

When they open their eyes, they are not alone.  Erestor pants against them, holding them, solid and sure, and they think they no longer care what he has done.  What would the young Gondolindrim who smiled too shyly for anyone to notice think?  (Doesn’t matter: they are dead now, like everyone else.)

The world is ending, but Pengolodh is not alone.