What An Elf Needs

What An Elf Needs

Posted: January 26, 2007
Title: What An Elf Needs
Author: Inwë Sáralondë
Type: FCS
Characters: Glorfindel/Lindir/Lothvaen
Rating: NC-17
Disclaimer: The characters portrayed are the property of J.R.R. Tolkien. No profit or such is made from this.
Warnings: Well, apart from sex between three luscious elves, nothing much.
Beta: Patricia Pleasant (slayer9649)
Author's Notes: The name Lothvaen came from Orchyd Considine as an alternative for ‘Melpomaen’, and I began using this name when I wrote my ‘Four Seasons’ series. This story takes place after Glorfindel arrives at Imladris. I’m sure there’s a plot in there somewhere…*goes off in search for it*…

Summary: It may be Winter Solstice, and Glorfindel is feeling depressed and alone. But things are about to heat up for him in ways he wasn’t expecting…and he’s not afraid to provide a little heat of his own.

*****

Two pairs of eyes watched the elf that sat before the fire, his gaze captured by the flickering flames, a goblet still half filled with wine held loosely in his hand.

Words were not needed between the elves standing in the doorway. Together, they soundlessly entered the room and approached him.

“You should not be sitting here alone, Glorfindel.”

The voice purred seductively in the seneschal’s ear, startling him, and he dropped the goblet, watching with some dismay as the wine slowly trickled out onto the floor.

Turning, he looked up to see the two elves he least expected: Lothvaen, Erestor’s scribe, and Lindir, resident minstrel of Imladris.

Recovering his equilibrium somewhat, he ground out, “What do you want?”

“Is it not obvious?” responded Lindir. “We worry about you. For too long we have watched you sit alone, lost in your thoughts and memories.”

“There is nothing wrong with thoughts and memories, pen-neth,” said Glorfindel tiredly.

“They become wrong when they threaten to consume you,” Lothvaen replied, his voice gentle.

Glorfindel’s gaze fixed upon the two elves. “I repeat: What do you want?”

“You, Glorfindel.” The two voices spoke in unison.

“Me.” The tone of Glorfindel’s voice was flat, designed to discourage. “What happens if I choose not to participate in whatever game you have in mind?”

“Are you trying to get rid of us? We can assure you that we will not go away, not until we have what we want.” Lindir’s voice was resolute, and Glorfindel began to wonder at the stubbornness the two elves were showing. He could not recall either of them being like this before.

“In simple terms, Glorfindel, we want to make love to you. The memories that now crowd your mind are too dark, too depressing. We wish to give you new ones, full of light and love. Let us give you that – please?” Lothvaen’s pleading gaze captured his.

Glorfindel stared at them, trying to take in what they were saying.

“You are lovers,” he said finally.

Lindir nodded.

“For how long? Then Glorfindel shook his head. “No, there is no need to answer that, for it is none of my business.” He paused slightly, before saying, “I do not understand why you wish to share yourselves with me.” He held up his hand to forestall any further comments. “I appreciate your…offer, but I can not accept. Please, just leave me be.” He bent down to pick up the fallen goblet, only to have his arm caught by Lothvaen.

“No. We will not leave you alone. We have had enough of your feeling sorry for yourself.”

Glorfindel’s eyes flashed. “Sorry for myself! I have experienced much in my life, more than you will ever know. I crossed the Helcaraxë, watched as elves fell through the ice into the freezing water, many of them sinking before we had the chance to pull them out. I watched as my city was betrayed, watched too many of my friends die trying to save it, to finally have my life taken from me as I protected those fleeing Gondolin. Yes, I have been reborn, but my memories were reborn with me. I fought alongside many brave elves and men in the Last Alliance, watched as many of them died, including Gil-galad. I think I am entitled to reflect and, if necessary, feel sorry for myself.” He rose from his chair, intent on leaving the room, only to find his lips captured by a determined Lindir.

Stunned, Glorfindel allowed the minstrel to kiss him, parting his lips under the onslaught, and was surprised at the frisson of excitement the kiss elicited. He felt Lothvaen press against him from behind, and he could feel his excitement growing – particularly in a certain area of his anatomy, which was being aided by Lindir rubbing suggestively, almost wantonly, against him.

Lindir broke the kiss and whispered against Glorfindel’s lips, “You want this. I can feel it. We both can. We can smell the desire on you.” At these words Glorfindel groaned.

“Tell us, pen-vain. Tell us you want this as much as we do.” Lothvaen’s words were whispered, but they echoed resoundingly in the seneschal’s head.

Their onslaught had only been brief, but he could feel his resistance slipping. Maybe they were right. Maybe he had allowed his memories to dictate to him for too long. With a sigh he capitulated, bowing to their desire and his own rising need. “Yes,” he moaned, “yes, I want this. Im baur le…”

“As we want you,” Lothvaen replied, brushing aside Glorfindel’s hair and placing a kiss on his nape.

Lindir smiled a slow, seductive, smile. “Do you have any idea how long we have wanted this? From the first, when we had seen you on the training ground, your tunic off, your chest glistening with sweat…we became hard just watching you. We knew we had to have you. And now we have that chance. We promise that you will not regret it.” Lindir leaned in and kissed the seneschal gently before taking him by the hand. “Come. Let us continue this in more comfortable surroundings.”

As if he were a child, Glorfindel allowed Lindir to lead him, sensing that Lothvaen was close behind. They soon found themselves outside Lindir’s room, and Glorfindel watched as the minstrel opened the door.

“Why do you both not share a room if you are lovers?” he asked.

“Because it suits us to have somewhere to go to if we need to be alone,” Lothvaen replied. “We may decide to share a room in the future, but now we are happy with things as they are.” He shut the door behind him, then approached the two elves standing in the middle of the room. “My turn, now.”

Lindir stepped aside, a gleam in his eyes. “He has soft lips, melethen, just right for kissing.”

“Does he? Then I must definitely sample them.”

Glorfindel whimpered as his lips were claimed once more, this time by Lothvaen. This kiss was slow and sensual, and the seneschal could feel himself falling further into the fog of desire. He opened his eyes as the kiss ended, his gaze unfocussed, his face flushed. He wanted more, much more.

“You were right, melethen. He has wonderfully soft lips. Look at him, Lindir. Is he not beautiful? His lips swollen from our kisses, his blue eyes soft and cloudy from desire… We should have done this a long time ago. We have let him wallow in his sadness for too long.”

“You are right, melethron. We should have done this the first time we saw him, hot and sweaty on the training field. Just led him away and devoured him, licking the sweat from his body, ravishing him till he was totally oblivious to anything around him except us.”

“Nevertheless, we can still devour him, ravish him…we have all night to play with him as we will. I wonder, merilinen, if his voice will be as beautiful in song as yours is in the throes of passion.”

“Then let us find out, shall we?”

Glorfindel’s knees threatened to buckle from underneath him. The two elves continued to surprise him. When first introduced to them upon his arrival in Imladris, he found them to be quiet and shy, almost reticent. Now he was seeing them in a different light, one that was exciting him more than he cared to admit. He could feel his erection straining underneath the lacings of his leggings, but he dared not untie them. Despite the sexual haze he was in, something told him to remain as he was, that Lothvaen and Lindir were in charge. He just wished they would hurry.

“I do believe our seneschal is having trouble standing.” Lothvaen’s voice permeated through the fog surrounding his brain. Glorfindel found himself being gently propelled backwards until his back hit something solid.

“Hmmm…do you think he will remain upright?” There was a teasing note in Lothvaen’s voice.

“Possibly. I do not think it will be for long, though. I confess I would rather have him in bed; the sooner we can get him there, the better.”

His back against the wall, Glorfindel felt helpless, like a mouse cornered by a hungry cat. Except, in this case, two hungry cats, both licking their lips and their eyes bright as they stood before him, mesmerising him with their stares.

“Just think, Glorfindel…the longest night of the year. There is much we could do in that time, do you not agree?” Lindir’s voice, Glorfindel thought dazedly. The musician’s voice, normally as clear as a bell, had undertaken a huskiness that sent shivers down the seneschal’s spine.

He watched as two pairs of hands began to divest him of his clothing. His mouth was dry as he watched one of the two elves – belatedly recognising him as Lothvaen – bend down to remove his soft shoes, and then reach up to undo the lacings on his leggings.

Glorfindel’s member sprang free from its confines, pre-come already glistening on the tip. “Oh, yes…” Lothvaen whispered. Glorfindel felt the warm breath on his shaft, making it twitch.

In the meantime, Lindir had managed to remove Glorfindel’s tunic, baring the seneschal’s chest to his hungry gaze. “He is truly beautiful, melethen,” he said. Lothvaen glanced at Lindir and merely smiled before returning his attention to the leaking shaft before him.

“I want to taste you, Glorfindel,” he breathed. “Already I find myself drooling. Shall I taste you, hmm?” Glorfindel gave a hoarse shout as Lothvaen, without waiting for his response, proceeded to take Glorfindel into his mouth, tongue swirling in the slit, licking away the pre-come gathered there. He began to apply himself assiduously to the task of sucking on Glorfindel’s erection, taking it deeply into his mouth so that the tip touched the back of his throat

Glorfindel babbled something incoherent. He felt as if he were a young elf undergoing his first sexual experience, so close was he to exploding.

“Let go,” Lindir’s voice whispered softly into his ear. “Let Lothvaen taste you…”

And the seneschal did, almost weeping as his orgasm tore through him, leaving him shaking, his breathing ragged.

“Mmm…” Glorfindel looked down to see Lothvaen licking his lips, looking positively sinful in he process, and he groaned. Already he could feel his member stirring again at the sight Lothvaen presented.

“Do not fear, pen-vain, we are not finished.” Lindir smiled coyly as he stepped away and began removing his robes. “The night is long, remember?”

Lothvaen rose to his feet and approached his lover, his hands helping in removing unwanted clothing. Soon Lindir was naked, and was looking at the scribe in reproach. “*You* are still dressed, melethen. Come, Glorfindel, help me to undress him.”

The seneschal needed no second invitation. He walked as quickly as his quaking legs would let him to stand behind Lothvaen, and soon the elf was as naked as the other two.

“Bed, now,” Glorfindel growled.

Lindir quirked an eyebrow. “Ordering us about, seneschal?”

Glorfindel smirked. While he was happy enough to let the two elves control things, he did not want to come across as being totally passive; it was not in his nature. But he had to admit it was proving difficult. “It may be the longest night of the year, but I see no need to stand here and waste time when we could be doing something more…productive.”

“He has a point there, melethen,” Lothvaen said. “I, for one, am in full agreement with him.”

Lindir did not answer, but the glint in his eyes was reply enough.

Glorfindel settled onto the bed, his back resting against the headboard, his shaft once more hard and eager.

“Who takes who?” he asked suddenly.

Neither elf seemed surprised by his question. “Sometimes I take Lindir, sometimes he takes me. We both enjoy taking and receiving.” Lothvaen cocked his head. “Why? Do you have a request?”

“I want Lindir to take you.”

Lothvaen merely smiled at the seneschal before turning to the minstrel. “I would enjoy that,” he purred. “To have you thrust deep and hard into me as I plead for you to take me deeper, harder…oh, yes, I would enjoy that very much.” He turned back to Glorfindel. “As would you, pen-vain…I can see you are eager for it. Already your shaft is once again hard and leaking…” He leaned down to lick the said shaft its whole length, the unexpected touch making Glorfindel almost jump off the bed. He whimpered as Lothvaen sucked lightly on the tip, his eyes clouding over in bliss.

“Enough.” Lindir’s voice penetrated the fog that was once more threatening to engulf Glorfindel’s mind. “You have had your taste of him. This time it is my turn.”

“Ah, but will he be able to wait until you have had your way with me, melethen?” Lothvaen raised his head, his eyes on Glorfindel. “Can you wait that long, pen-vain? Can you watch as Lindir takes me without coming? Or should he see your needs first?” He eyed Glorfindel’s erection speculatively, his eyes gleaming. “You look as if one mere touch will make you come… Shall we find out?” He reached out his hand, but Glorfindel quickly grasped it.

“I can not believe that I am confessing this, but you have both rendered my self-control to almost useless,” the seneschal ground out.

“My, my…it *has* been a while for you, has it not?” Lindir smirked.

“Whether it has been or not is beside the point.” Glorfindel reached around Lothvaen to grab Lindir by the arm. “I suggest,” the seneschal continued as he pulled the minstrel towards him, “is that you use your talented mouth for something else other than talking.”

“Ever the forceful warrior, Glorfindel,” Lindir said. “That is what Lothvaen and I like about you. The strength, the authority you wield…plus one or two other things,” Lindir murmured, eyeing the muscled form of the seneschal, taking in the weeping erection that was begging for immediate attention. He wondered what it would feel like to have it inside of him, and was determined to find out before the night was through.

The minstrel then wasted no further time, but took Glorfindel’s member in his mouth, making the seneschal almost cry out in relief. Glorfindel threaded his fingers through Lindir’s hair and thrust into the warm cavern, trying to exercise what little restraint he had in not thrusting too hard, lest he caused the minstrel to choke. The force of his release was no less than his previous one, and he sagged back against the headboard. It *had* been quite some time since he had a lover, not that he would actually say it out loud. But he suspected that his reactions were speaking louder than words ever could.

“You taste…incredible. Like nectar, absolutely wonderful.”

Glorfindel smiled weakly at Lindir’s choice of words.

“Time for just the two of us to play, merilinen,” said Lothvaen. “It will give our seneschal time to recover.”

Glorfindel leaned forward glared at the scribe, noting the cheeky grin adorning the elf’s face. “Be careful, pen-neth,” he said, a half-smile playing on his lips. “You may find it will be you needing time to recover.”

“Is that a promise?” Lothvaen licked his lips as if in anticipation.

“I think if fair to warn you, pen vain, that our humble scribe here can be…insatiable,” Lindir stated, enjoying what was developing in front of him. He suspected there was an ember burning in Glorfindel; it just needed something to fan it into flames…

The seneschal’s smile widened as he leaned back onto the headboard, his blue eyes gleaming in the candlelight. “Indeed. I look forward to seeing exactly how ‘insatiable’ he really is.” Lothvaen swallowed; there was a definite challenge in Glorfindel’s voice, and he began to wonder whether he was up to it.

Lindir watched his lover, noting the slight hesitance. He decided it was time to take matters in hand. Reaching for the small table beside the bed, he grasped the small bottle of oil and opened it. “On your hands and knees, melethen,” he said to Lothvaen as he poured some of the oil onto his fingers.

Glorfindel watched in rapt fascination as Lindir prepared the other elf. The small mews and whimpers that came from Lothvaen excited the golden-haired elf more than he thought possible; he could not wait to see Lindir bury himself inside Lothvaen, taking him hard. The two elves were proving to be very passionate, indeed. Glorfindel issued a low growl and Lindir looked up, a look of amusement on his face.

“Impatient, are we?” he asked. He removed his fingers that had been so diligently preparing his lover, and Lothvaen whimpered at the withdrawal. Quickly slicking his erection with oil, Lindir gently pushed inside the other elf, his eyes closing in ecstasy.

“Perfect.” Lindir’s eyes snapped open at Glorfindel’s voice. The seneschal was kneeling before them, pushing Lothvaen gently up so that his back rested against the minstrel’s chest. Without breaking rhythm, Lindir wrapped his right arm around his lover’s chest, and watched as Glorfindel leaned down to take Lothvaen’s turgid erection in his mouth.

The duel sensation was wreaking havoc on Lothvaen’s senses. Lindir was hitting that small nub with every single stroke, and as for what Glorfindel was doing with his tongue…

“No!” Lothvaen looked askance at Glorfindel, who had stopped what he was doing and was kneeling back on his haunches. The seneschal merely quirked an eyebrow.

“Something wrong?” he asked pleasantly.

“Finish what you started!” the scribe demanded indignantly. Lindir was continuing to thrust into Lothvaen, but there was a small frown on his face.

“Hmmm…I could. However, I seem to recall you saying you wanted Lindir to thrust hard and deep inside of you.” He leaned in closer to Lothvaen. “And I want to see him do precisely that,” he said softly.

“But…I am so close…,” Lothvaen whimpered.

“Are you indeed?” Glorfindel glanced at Lindir. “You are just going to have to wait until your lover is finished with you. After that,” Glorfindel gave a small shrug, “I may deign to finish what I started…providing, of course, you do not spill beforehand.”

Lindir began thrusting harder into Lothvaen, making the elf gasp. “Exerting…your…authority, Glorfindel?” he managed to say between thrusts.

The seneschal merely smiled and proceeded to watch the scene unfolding before him. When Lothvaen reached towards his erection, Glorfindel raised an eyebrow, and the elf dropped his hand, glaring at the seneschal as he did so.

Lindir’s thrusts became more erratic, and he soon spilled inside his lover with a groan. Shuddering, he held onto Lothvaen as if he were a lifeline, and looked at Glorfindel with a satisfied gleam in his eyes.

Lothvaen’s eyes, in the meanwhile, had a look of almost desperation in them. “Glorfindel…please…I…” he pleaded.

“Seeing as you said ‘please’,” Glorfindel responded, “and as you did not come…” His mouth closed around Lothvaen’s shaft, and almost immediately the elf exploded, his moans of pleasure resounding throughout the room as he came.

Glorfindel straightened and kissed the elf gently on the lips before doing the same to Lindir. Moving back, he helped both elves to lie down on the bed before lying down next to Lindir.

“Were you and Ecthelion lovers?” Lindir asked as he made himself comfortable between his lover and the seneschal.

“No, though there were many who thought we were, for we were together more times than not. But he was like a brother to me.” Glorfindel smiled. “He would find great amusement when any elleth or ellon tried their charms on me, thinking they could ‘tempt’ me away from him. If only they knew!” Glorfindel was chuckling now, and the other two elves smiled at his mirth.

“But you *did* have lovers, did you not?”

Glorfindel looked at the elf who had asked. “Contrary to what you may have read or heard, I did not have scores of lovers. There were only two…”

“At the same time?” Lindir was rewarded by receiving a swat to his backside by the seneschal.

“You are being impertinent, pen-neth,” Glorfindel scolded, ignoring the little moue on the minstrel’s face. Lothvaen sought to appease his lover by rubbing on the spot, earning a smile of gratification from Lindir, while Glorfindel merely shook his head.

The three elves were silent for a time. Finally it was Glorfindel who spoke.

“Thank you,” he said simply.

Lindir raised his head slightly. “You are welcome,” he said. He knew what Glorfindel meant, and he felt a degree of pleasure that he and Lothvaen had finally succeeded in getting the seneschal where they wanted him and, more importantly, given him pleasure. He only hoped that this would continue; while he and Lothvaen cared deeply for each other – he was not sure, though, that it was love – they did consider themselves mutually exclusive. But Glorfindel was the exception.

“Glorfindel…” he started hesitantly, “would you…consider doing this again with us?”

The seneschal gave a smile. “We still have the rest of the night, Lindir.”

“I know. I mean…what we wanted to know was, would you share our bed in the future?”

Glorfindel looked at the two elves, noting the hopeful looks in their eyes.

“Is that what you both truly want?” he finally asked.

The two elves nodded eagerly. “More than anything,” Lothvaen replied.

“I am honoured that you wish to share yourselves with me,” Glorfindel said. “I think I could be…persuaded to do so.” His smiled turned into a grin. “However, as for now…” He leaned towards Lindir and whispered into the minstrel’s ear.

“Oh, yes…” Lindir breathed, his face flushed with desire…

*****

Elvish translations:Elleth – female elf

Ellon – male elf
Im baur le - I need you
Melethen – my love
Melethron – lover (male)
Merilinen – my song bird
Pen-neth – young one
Pen-vain – beautiful one

*****

THE END

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