Sight

Sight

Posted: May 9, 2008
Title: Sight
Author: LK
Type: FCS
Characters: Erestor/Glorfindel
Rating: NC-17
Disclaimer: Not mine, just playing. Here’s the formal version: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.
Warnings: Slash
Beta: None, those mistakes are all my own
Challenge: Daily Drabble - prompt: Sight

Summary: Erestor’s balcony view.

*****

Erestor gave a sigh, which was really more of a huff. Listening carefully for a moment at the door to his balcony, he grumbled, “Why are they lingering?”

Giving anther irritated sigh, he tried, without success, to see between the drawn curtains to the garden below. He could easily have twitched apart the rich fabric and stepped outside to find out what was going on, but then he would risk being seen.

Having finished afternoon tea in the south garden with Elrond, he had come to his room for the fifteen minutes that remained before he had to return to his office. No one would question his sudden disappearance into his rooms, as it was a well-known part of his daily routine. Everyone knew Erestor vanished into his personal sanctuary at mid-day only to emerge a quarter of an hour later with his cheeks rosy, his eyes bright and a bounce in his step. Many an elf had commented that whatever it was the Chief Counselor did in his rooms for those fifteen minutes each day, it certainly agreed with him.

If anyone ever commented that it was odd how Glorfindel also retreated to his own chambers at precisely the same time each day, Erestor would have scoffed, waived a hand and dismissed it as purely coincidental.

What no one knew was, it was the same type of coincidence that just happened to place the Balrog Slayer’s balcony directly across from Erestor’s– the same balcony that was in plain sight from Erestor’s window–the same balcony where Glorfindel indulged in fifteen minutes of sun worship each day . . . in the nude.

No one knew that, either . . . except Erestor.

He had stumbled across the event quite by accident. When the reborn Glorfindel had arrived in Imladris, Erestor immediately observed how uncomfortable the Balrog Slayer was with his instant notoriety.

Initially, his only thought was to ease Glorfindel’s transition into his new life. So, Erestor had deliberately assigned him the rooms opposite his own, with the intent to befriend the new Captain of the Guard and make him feel welcome. He thought that sharing the small, private garden in the courtyard between their balconies with no one but himself would help the Balrog Slayer relax when he was off duty. Knowing only he and Erestor had access to the area meant Glorfindel did not have to be wary about who might be about and ready to infringe on the famed elf’s privacy.

Although their early encounters in their common area were a bit stilted, Erestor was certain he had made the right decision. His new neighbor was cordial and, surprisingly, a bit shy at first, but Erestor could see that Glorfindel was slowly settling in to his new life. Watching him do so was like seeing a beautiful flower unfurling in the sunlight, and Erestor was pleased to have had a small part in making that happen.

An unexpected stop in his quarters one fateful afternoon had changed everything. He had clumsily dragged his sleeve across a plate of jam-covered scones at tea and needed to change his outer robe lest he spread the sticky mess everywhere he went. Irritated with himself, he moved quickly across his bedroom to his wardrobe. Absently, he noticed with approval that the chambermaids had opened his balcony doors to the fair weather and the fragrant garden air. Casting a casual glance between the opened drapes to the outdoors, he was stopped mid-stride by the sight that greeted him. His eyes grew wide, his jaw went slack and all he could do was stare at what he beheld.

There, across the courtyard, in all his naked glory, was the most beautiful elf Erestor had ever seen. Glorfindel stood on his balcony with the sun shining on his back, his arms outstretched and his palms up as if in supplication.

Glorfindel was tall, even for an elf, so nothing was hidden from Erestor’s sight but his lower legs as they disappeared behind the stone balustrade of the balcony. Erestor, frozen in place more by awe than surprise, could not help himself as his gaze roamed over the golden figure. His eyes slowly took in the superbly muscled shoulders and powerfully toned back that he could easily see beneath the waterfall of flaxen hair; his eyes lingered a moment before moving across to sculpted arms and then down to perfectly rounded buttocks before the muscular thighs disappeared behind the obstruction of the carved stone. Dumbly the dark elf thought to himself that he knew Glorfindel was fair, but if he had known exactly what charms lay beneath the modest clothing the Balrog Slayer wore, he would have put more effort into befriending him. Erestor knew that all elven warriors were well built and finely formed–including himself as he made a point of keeping fit and maintained his battle skills. Glorfindel, though, was honed to physical perfection beyond anything Erestor had seen before.

As he watched, the figure slowly rotated, and Erestor found himself envious of how the sunlight caressed the golden skin. The broad chest came into his view and Erestor thought it was easy to understand why the Imladrin Captain could wield his sword so effortlessly, as so many who had observed him in practice had commented.

Still staring, Erestor’s eyes traveled first across rosy nipples then lower, over tightly packed abdominal muscles to a fine dusting of golden hair and, finally, the treasure that lay beyond. Even in its lax state, the organ was impressive. Erestor licked his lips hungrily, thinking that the notion of Glorfindel’s “mighty sword” suddenly had new meaning.

The golden elf inhaled deeply, drawing Erestor’s gaze up the muscular chest as it expanded, over the long, graceful neck and to the beautiful face above. His eyes were closed and his full, pink lips curved ever-so slightly. He was obviously enjoying the peaceful moment with the sensation of the warm sun on his flesh and the fragrant scents of the garden surrounding him. When the golden lashes began to flutter, Erestor was finally roused to realize that if his neighbor was within his full sight, standing in the middle of his balcony, Erestor was also in plain view through his open doors.

Quickly stepping back from the opening, Erestor pressed himself against the wall next to the balcony doors. Stealing a peak, he confirmed that the reborn elf was still there, in fact was stretching his arms up and smiling more broadly, as he blinked in the brightness of the mid-day sunshine. With a final sigh of contentment, Glorfindel turned around, leaving his balcony for the shadows of his room.

Slowly withdrawing and slumping heavily against the wall, Erestor echoed the sigh, only his was out of relief. If Glorfindel had seen him . . . well, needless to say it would have been far too unseemly for the Chief Counselor to Lord Elrond Peredhel of Imladris to have been caught peeping at his naked neighbor.

After tea the next day, Erestor contrived to need something from his rooms before returning to work; the day after that he managed another excuse; and the same every day for the following two weeks. Each time, Erestor would tip toe to his balcony doors and carefully peak around the drapes to watch Glorfindel’s daily ritual of bathing in the warmth and light of Anor. Each time, he was more amazed than before at the beauty Glorfindel possessed.

Every day, he saw something new that he had not noticed before–the way a stray lock of golden hair perpetually found its way over the reborn elf’s shoulder to curve lovingly beneath his right nipple, no matter how many times Glorfindel pushed it back; how the arch of his neck as he raised his face in homage to the sun exposed a tender spot beneath his left ear that made Erestor wonder if it was as soft as it looked; a small scar beneath his left pectoral muscle that made Erestor wonder at its origins; a single dark spot, like a dot of ink, on the curve of his right hip that was the only discernable mark on the otherwise flawless skin.

It all seemed harmless and nothing more than an act of admiration for Glorfindel’s exceptional form until two things happened.

The first was a series of seasonal rainstorms that found a frowning Erestor glaring at the sky from his closed balcony doors for three solid days in a row. When the counselor grumbled to Elrond about the foul weather and his displeasure with it, the Lord of Imladris merely raised an eyebrow in surprise and replied evenly, “The crops and fruit trees need the rain, Erestor, not to mention the forest animals. The rivers, fresh water wells and all those who rely on both need it as well.”

“Why can it not rain at night, then?” he snapped back, knowing full well that, through Vilya, Elrond had the power to control not only if it rained, but when.

Calmly and with narrowed eyes, which always was a sure sign of irritation in the Peredhel, Elrond responded, “The natural world is very delicately balanced, counselor. Manipulating it for our convenience is a dangerous game. Disasters have resulted from far less interference than I have perpetrated on this Valley. One slip and an entire season’s crop could fail, forest animals could be threatened by flood, or fire from drought. I am certain you are not suggesting I risk such devastation merely to satisfy my Chief Counselor’s desire for sunshine.”

Duly chastised, Erestor had said no more, but he continued to glare at the storm clouds when his Lord was not watching him.

The second event was, he realized some time later, a direct result of the first. When dawn broke clear and brilliant, the world fragrant and clean from its recent washing, Erestor was nearly giddy with anticipation.

At the appointed hour, Erestor quietly made his way across his bedroom. In honor of the glorious day and freshly scrubbed air, the balcony doors were open wide, his drapes pushed as far back as they could be. He approached the open doorway, careful to remain out of sight and cautiously gazed around the edge of the drapes.

Erestor indulged in a sigh of admiration as, true to his self-imposed ritual, Glorfindel was basking in the warm sunlight with nary a stitch of clothing on. Unlike the other times he had observed the Balrog Slayer, though, Erestor noticed that Glorfindel was not standing. This time, he was sitting on the stone balustrade, with his back leaning against the supporting column. One leg was carelessly thrown over the side, swinging lazily, while the other was bent, the shapely foot flat against the broad rail and one forearm resting on his bent knee. His other hand was idly spinning the stem of a leaf between his forefinger and thumb.

The reborn elf seemed to be finding particular enjoyment in soaking in the sunlight, as if he was enjoying it all the more for being denied it by the recent bad weather. Erestor was no artist, but in that moment, he sorely wished he could capture the sight before him on paper so he could view it time and time again.

Glorfindel, in his thoroughly relaxed pose, was the very image of a golden god at his leisure. The sight took Erestor’s breath away. When Glorfindel dropped the leaf and allowed his freed hand to wander provocatively over his chest and teasingly down his abdomen, Erestor was certain his heart stopped. In the same indolent manner, the golden elf reached down to a point hidden from view by his body to what Erestor assumed was a table standing beside him on the balcony. Erestor strained to discern what it was Glorfindel held, but he could not see the small glittering object in the warrior’s large hand. It was not until Glorfindel upended the object and poured a glistening liquid into the palm of his other hand that Erestor knew what it was. Sudden understanding, and no small amount of guilty hope, flared and Erestor’s heart pounded in his chest.

The Counselor’s eyes grew wide and his mouth hung open as he watched Glorfindel’s oil-filled palm smear the liquid over his chest and stomach. Using both hands, the naked elf slowly spread the slickness over himself and down, lower and lower until he gently took his now-partially erect penis in his hands and coated it with the glistening substance. Continuing to use both hands, Glorfindel worked the oil into the sensitive skin of his enlarging member. As the already impressive organ became more engorged, growing thick and long, he paid particular attention to the tip.

Finally fully erect, Glorfindel gripped his shaft in one hand and slowly stroked up toward the tip, throwing his head back and groaning. Erestor’s hand flew to his mouth to stifle his own moan lest he alert his neighbor of his presence.

Watching as Glorfindel’s encircling fingers reached the end of his turgid arousal, he was entranced as the movement was followed by the other hand doing the same in a slow pull toward the tip.

Glorfindel continued stroking himself thus, hand over hand, and his eyes fluttered closed as he moaned softly, occasionally lolling his head back and forth in pleasure.

Not even pretending to want to stop himself, Erestor shamelessly licked the palm of his hand before reaching beneath his black robes to his own aching erection.

It was not long before Glorfindel tired of teasing himself. He took his arousal firmly in hand and began stroking himself faster, his breath coming in labored gasps between parted pink lips.

The rasping sound echoed Erestor’s own heavy breathing as he stroked himself in time with Glorfindel’s rhythm, keeping apace of the other elf’s ascent toward bliss. Erestor watched in awe as the warrior’s body stiffened. The golden head was thrown back and the cry that escaped those pink lips at his release was Erestor’s undoing. Just as hot jets erupted from the plum-colored tip of Glorfindel’s erection, Erestor came with a strangled cry that he tried his best to choke back.

Leaning against the wall, spent and desperately trying to regain control of himself, Erestor saw Glorfindel stretch languidly in contentment. Erestor was brought to mind of a great cat–an image that was only reinforced when the warrior swung his legs back over the balustrade and dropped down lightly to the balcony floor before prowling back inside his room.

In that moment, Erestor knew he was lost. He knew that, if at all possible, he simply had to bear witness to Glorfindel’s daily rite, telling himself that it would be nearly sacrilegious for such a sight–all that beauty–to go unobserved. Although he tried to convince himself that aesthetic appreciation was his main motivation, deep inside, he knew there was far more to the matter.

Ever since, as long as rain or snow did not fall from the sky, Erestor’s sojourns to his chambers in the fifteen minutes after daily tea became a part of his normal routine.

Whenever Glorfindel indulged himself and brought pleasure to his own body the way he had that first time, which he often did, Erestor also capitulated to his own need. He was no stranger to the pleasures of the flesh, but the mere sight of Glorfindel’s naked beauty could incite him to lust as none other ever had. He would grow hard just entering his rooms at the appointed hour, knowing the vision that awaited him across the courtyard. Each time he witnessed Glorfindel’s indulgence, he would take himself in hand at the very same time, biting back his groans as he reached completion. Witnessing Glorfindel coming undone under the ministrations of his own hand enhanced Erestor’s experience tenfold from what it would otherwise have been. He would hold back his own climax as long as possible, desperately trying to reach his pinnacle at the same time as the other ellon–imagining the warm wetness dripping down his hand was Glorfindel’s essence and not his own.

How the advisor managed to remain composed and cordial in all of his other daily encounters with the Balrog Slayer he could not say. All Erestor knew was that he was beyond grateful that for four decades, he had managed not to blush or become flummoxed around the Captain, but had remained cool and collected in all of their daily dealings. Whether they were in counsel chamber, at dinner in the Great Hall, in private meetings with Elrond or merely exchanging greetings as they passed in the hallway or across their courtyard as they each enjoyed an evening on their balconies, Erestor remained composed, never giving any hint of what he witnessed nearly every day for forty years from his window.

And now, despite the shining sun and comfortable breeze, Erestor was trapped behind his closed balcony doors by the presence of some unknown persons in the courtyard below. When he arrived in his room at the same time he always did, he was surprised to find his balcony doors closed and the drapes drawn tightly. Given the lovely spring day, the chambermaids should have thrown them wide open as they always did whenever there was an absence of precipitation. As he approached the closed doors, however, the sound of numerous voices and the clamor of metal instruments being wielded below provided the necessary clue to explain the matter. But who was in the garden and what they were doing remained a mystery.

Cursing softly he tried once more to see between the closed panels of the drapes and find out what was going on. For certain, with the presence of others within the courtyard, Glorfindel would not leave the confines of his room or, if he did, he would most assuredly be fully clothed.

Resigned to having his guilty pleasure stolen from him for the day, Erestor flung open the drapes in preparation of doing likewise to the glass-paneled doors and demanding to know what was going on. Just as he did so, though, he was met with the sight of a large, heavily leafed tree being hefted within his view as it was planted exactly in the middle of the wide garden courtyard below.

Horrified, Erestor scrabbled for the handles of the doors, desperately trying to get them open, hoping beyond hope that what he was seeing was either a mistake or not really happening.

Stumbling back slightly when he finally managed to grip the handles and yank the doors open, he staggered onto his balcony and flung himself at the stone balustrade to peer at the workers below. Much to his chagrin, the chief gardener himself was directing the planting of the magnificent tree, which was no taller than the first story. It certainly reached high enough, however, to thoroughly and completely obstruct the view from Erestor’s balcony to the chambers on the opposite side of the courtyard.

Nearly panic stricken, Erestor moved from one end of his stone terrace to the other, desperately trying to see around the lush vegetation. Leaning out over the balustrade, Erestor stretched his body as far as he could in an attempt to spy even a corner of Glorfindel’s balcony. In the process, he overextended himself and, before he could correct himself, lost his balance and found himself tumbling over the rail with a cry of “Whoof!” escaping his lips.

Thankfully, the elevation was no more than the average height of an elf. Still, the ignominy of having landed flat on his back in a bed of tulips was just too undignified. He simply lay there for a moment, hoping no one had seen his graceless fall and even worse landing, but his wish was denied.

He squinted up at the silhouette that moved into his line of sight, trying to make out the identity of the elf. The brilliant sunlight behind the figure made this difficult, though. The spots in front of his eyes from the fall were not particularly helpful, either.

“Are you well, Erestor?” a familiar voice asked. As the figure leaned closer to examine him for injuries, Erestor was better able to see the elf, although he would have known him from his voice alone.

“Oh, yes,” he answered. “I was just enjoying the flowers.”

Glorfindel chuckled and determined from the self-deprecating remark that Erestor was not seriously hurt. Reaching down, he silently offered his assistance to the prone elf, as he said, “I see you have noticed that our little courtyard garden has become one of the beneficiaries of Celebrian’s redesign of the gardens at the Last Homely House.”

Erestor gratefully accepted the proffered hand, and allowed himself to be pulled to his feet as he said, “Is that what is going on?”

“Aye,” was the soft reply.

They both stood for a moment, silently watching as the gardeners filled in the dirt around the root ball of their new tree.

Pursing his lips, Glorfindel said, “Although it is lovely, it will severely hinder the view from our rooms.”

Not trusting himself to respond more specifically, Erestor merely gave a non-committal grunt.

Not dissuaded, the golden elf continued, “So, now that your line of sight has been ruined, I suppose you will just have to join me on my balcony everyday.”

Erestor froze with shock as the meaning of those words–ALL of the meaning of those words– sunk in. After a moment, his cheeks crimson with embarrassment, Erestor turned toward Glorfindel.

Glorfindel’s cornflower blue eyes were dancing and shining with mirth and more than a little promise when he continued, “Or perhaps we will just stay inside.”

“Inside?” Erestor asked dumbly.

Glorfindel smiled broadly. “Aye. Inside–where the bed is.”

“Bed?” he repeated.

“You see, counselor,” Glorfindel said as he drew closer, his voice growing husky, “I never minded sharing the view of my balcony with you, but I will never share the sight of you with anyone else.”

Fortunately, Erestor was spared having to answer when Glorfindel closed what little space was left between them and captured his lips in what would be the first of many kisses.

*****

THE END

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