Married To An Elf 3

Married To An Elf

Part 3

Posted: October 5, 2007
Title: Married To An Elf
Author: Inwë Sáralondë

Summary: Lothvaen meets his mysterious Galadhel again.

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“Ouch!” Lothvaen sucked his thumb where the thorn had pricked him and glared at the offending object. As much as he loved roses, he had no love for their thorns. He was contemplating where best to hold the stem so he could cut a bloom when a shadow fell over the bush. Looking up, he nearly dropped the knife in shock.

“You!”

The Galadhel grinned. “Have you missed me?” he asked teasingly, and then laughed as he pretended to reel back in shock at the wrath emanating from the scribe.

“Miss you?” Lothvaen spat. “How could I miss someone who did not even have the courtesy to tell me his name, and then disappeared for over a week! Everyone here thinks you are a figment of my imagination.” The scribe turned away, feeling the sudden urge to cry.

“Forgive me, pen-velui.” The Galadhel was contrite. “I was asked to join a border patrol; that is why you have not seen me. Please,” the Galadhel beseeched, “will you not turn and look at me?”

Slowly Lothvaen turned to face the other elf, unable to hide the shimmer of tears in his eyes.

“Ah, pen-velui, I did not mean to make you cry,” the Galadhel said softly.

“I think you are a beast,” Lothvaen said petulantly.

The Galadhel’s lips twitched. “A beast, hmm? What sort of beast? A spider with a nasty bite? Or mayhap a ravenous wolf, ready to pounce on his unsuspecting victim. But what about the sly and cunning fox? No,” the Galadhel shook his head, “not beastly enough. Nor is a rodent, though the Valar knows I have been nipped more than once by nasty-looking rats during my rare forays to human settlements. Hmm, what other beasts could there be, I wonder?”

Lothvaen laughed, giving up the struggle. “All you are being now is rather silly,” he chortled.

“Silly?” The Galadhel looked affronted, but then smiled. “Ah, at least I have made you laugh, pen-velui. Does that mean I am forgiven?”

Lothvaen smiled coyly, his head to one side. “Possibly.”

“Only possibly,” the Galadhel mused. “But not definitely. I must try harder, then. However, there is something I must know, pen-velui. Is there one I must envy? Do I have a rival to your heart, one who waits hidden somewhere to rush to your rescue should I do anything untoward?”

Mutely Lothvaen shook his head.

The Galadhel gave a brilliant smile. “I am more than glad to know you are unattached, pen-velui, for I dreamt of you while I was away on patrol. And believe me when I say that my dreams were…tantalising. Do you want to know what I dreamt of, pen-velui?”

“What?” Lothvaen whispered, his eyes wide.

The other elf leant down so close that the scribe could feel the other’s breath on his cheek. “I dreamt I had you over my knee, pen-velui,” the Galadhel said huskily. “Your beautiful buttocks were bare, and I was rubbing them slowly, gently with my hand before I raised it and brought it down hard, leaving a red imprint. But you did not cry out, pen-velui. Instead you moaned so beautifully that I could feel myself shaking with need. I brought my hand down again and again, till your beautiful buttocks were red, while you continued to moan, and then beg, your own member hard and throbbing against my leg. One last slap to your buttocks, and you came, screaming, and I could feel your essence dripping down. And then you said to me: ‘Take me. I want to feel you inside me. Make me yours, claim me.’ So I did, pen-velui. I took you so completely, so thoroughly, and it was the most glorious experience in my life.”

Lothvaen’s legs were shaking, and he found himself grasping the other elf’s arms to stay upright.

“Touch me.” The Galadhel’s voice was hoarse. “Feel how hard I am for you, how I ache for you.”

His hand trembling, Lothvaen touched the obvious bulge in the silver-haired elf’s leggings, and gasped. ‘Valar,’ he thought, ‘he is so big!’ He began to rub gently, fascinated as the Galadhel closed his eyes and thrust his groin into the scribe’s hand. Then the Galadhel reached down and pulled Lothvaen’s hand away, much to the scribe’s disappointment.

“Enough.” The other elf’s voice was harsh with need. “Will you come to me tonight, pen-velui? Will you make my dream reality?”

“Yes,” Lothvaen whispered. “I will come to you.” The scribe stumbled slightly as the Galadhel moved away, his breathing laboured.

“Good. Till tonight, pen-velui.” With a small bow, the Galadhel turned and started to walk away, albeit a little stiffly.

“Wait!” Stopping, the Galadhel turned his head. “You still have not told me your name,” Lothvaen said.

The Galadhel smiled briefly. “Haldir.”

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Elvish translations:

pen-velui – lovely one

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