Resurrection 18

Resurrection

Part 18

Posted: November 17, 2006
Title: Resurrection
Author: Larien Elengasse

Summary: Gildor and Erestor travel a new path. Imladris receives an important visitor.

*****

Erestor moaned unashamedly as he arched beneath Gildor’s touch. His body was stretched tight like a bowstring, his wrists held fast in one of Gildor’s hands, his legs spread wide as the warrior gently rolled the soft sack of skin between his legs against his palm. It was both familiar and unfamiliar. Gildor’s touch was possessive, yet giving at the same time; he could surrender and let the warrior take him without fear. As slick fingertips circled his entrance, he spread his legs further, fighting back the urge to resist.

“Take it,” he murmured. “Take it all; take all of me.”

Erestor gasped raggedly as two oil-slick fingers slid inside his body. Immediately, he tightened and arched his back, his fingers curling around the headboard and squeezing the wood tightly. Gildor’s fine, powerful body moved against his own, the warrior’s deep voice murmured sensual words in his ear, strong, rough hands held him, and warm decadent lips suckled a painfully erect nipple.

“Gods, oh gods, please,” he whispered hoarsely. Then Gildor struck his mark, causing a ragged cry to escape his lips as he arched off the bed. Panting he settled back into the soft bedding, sweat beading on his skin, his arousal aching and straining against his stomach. A third digit opened him further; his lover worked his body diligently and expertly. Gildor somehow knew what he wanted without him having to say it.

As his lover moved between his legs, he opened his eyes and murmured, “Just let me see you, please… I need to look into your eyes.”

Gildor gathered Erestor’s long legs in his arms and smiled wolfishly. “Aye, my dark love, you shall look into my eyes, for I want to see your face when you fall.”

A heartbreaking cry escaped Erestor’s lips as Gildor entered him, his body initially resisting, and then finally acquiescing. His lover’s tongue teased his parted lips, his own breath coming in harsh waves. So long . . . it had been so long since he had given so much of himself.

“Look at me, Erestor,” Gildor murmured.

Erestor refocused his gaze upon Gildor’s stormy, deep blue eyes.

“This night, you and I are joined,” he murmured huskily, slowly flexing his hips and sliding deeper inside his lover. “This night, you are mine and I am yours.” Another slow flex of his hips caused his lover to whimper and shudder with pleasure.

“Yes,” Erestor whispered. “Take me, please, I need you to possess me; not just this night, but all nights. I have been so lost.”

“You are lost no more, my dark love. You belong to me now, as I belong to you.” Gildor covered Erestor’s mouth with his own, kissing him deeply.

Erestor’s hands left the headboard, and he gripped Gildor’s back as his lover began moving inside him. He had forgotten how good it felt; nay, this was better than anything he ever remembered. The pace was leisurely at first, each slow, deliberate flex of Gildor’s hips sent waves of pleasure coursing through his trembling body. Gods, it felt so good to hold someone inside him, to wrap his arms and legs around his lover’s strong body, to feel his rigid length delve inside him, opening him up so that all he was and all he had to give was taken so completely.

The pace quickened, and Gildor struck his mark with increasing vigor. Erestor hovered between struggling against painful ecstasy and surrendering to the fall utterly. “More,” he whispered huskily, and Gildor complied. “Harder,” he murmured, and his lover obeyed. As his own fall roared out of the red-hot fog of his lust, he dug his nails into Gildor’s back and cried out, near tears as his body convulsed and he buried his face in the fall of pale, flaxen hair that hung from his lover’s head.

Gildor’s fall came hard upon his own, a deep growl escaping his lover’s throat as the warrior drove deep and spilled inside him. Gildor collapsed upon him, his chest heaving with each breath, his strong body trembling in the aftermath of their joining.

Slowly, as Erestor returned from that misty place that lay between ecstasy and reality, he drew lazy circles in the sweat on Gildor’s muscled back. His legs trembled with complaint, tired from riding so high on the warrior’s hips, but he did not want to move, he did not want to do anything that might cause his lover’s subsiding desire to slip from his body.

“Sweet Eru,” Gildor murmured tiredly.

“Aye, lover,” Erestor murmured into the warrior’s ear. “That was worthy of such high praise.”

Gildor chuckled and it caused Erestor to smile, an infrequent occurrence as of late.

“Are you well?” Gildor whispered as he slowly rose to look into Erestor’s eyes. What he saw there was something that he had not seen in all the years that he had known Erestor. There was a slight sparkle in those lightening gray orbs, as if a shroud had slipped away and the light within his friend could finally break through.

Erestor smiled and pushed the damp hair back from his lover’s face. “Oh, I am more than well,” he replied softly. “You have set me free.”

Gildor felt a tear trickle from his eye. “Then I have done the best I could ever do, and I can meet my fate without fear or regret.”

Erestor took Gildor’s face in his hands. “You are so dear to me, Gildor Inglorion,” he murmured, and then he pressed a gentle kiss upon his lover’s lips.

Gildor melted into Erestor’s kiss and embrace, utterly overwhelmed by what had transpired between them.

“Gods, you smell good,” Erestor murmured. “Like the woods and all good wild things.”

Gildor chuckled. “My lover is a poet as well as a genius,” he replied as he nuzzled Erestor’s lips.

“Aye, your lover,” Erestor whispered huskily. “I am yours.” He smiled as Gildor’s lips teased his own. “Mmm… bathe with me before we catch a chill from the night air.”

“I will draw the bath,” Gildor murmured, kissing his lover again before departing the bed.

Erestor stretched like a contented cat, a smile curving his lips as he looked through the window at Ithil, who hovered high above. “’Tis a new year and all things are possible,” he murmured. “No more pain, no more regrets, only this from now on.” He heard the water splashing and he slowly rose from the bed and joined his lover in the tub.

* * * *

“Oh! Oh gods,” Lindir moaned, his back coming into contact with a tapestry that hung upon their bedchamber wall. Glorfindel held him in the air, his legs were wrapped over the warrior’s hips and his beloved’s length was buried to the hilt inside him. Locking his ankles together, he pushed against the warrior’s broad shoulders as his lover flexed his hips and delved deeper inside him. Glorfindel’s teeth gently marked his throat. He wadded the Elda’s golden hair in his fists as they moved from the wall to the bed, the abrupt motion causing Lindir to arch his back and cry out again.

“You feel so good,” Glorfindel growled. “You always feel so good.”

“As if I were made for you?” Lindir purred as his lover thrust inside him.

“Aye, just.”

“I believe I was, my warrior. I am yours to do with as you please. I am your thrall…”

Glorfindel paused and looked into Lindir’s eyes. “Say not that, sparrow,” he said softly. “I would never want you to be that.”

Lindir caressed Glorfindel’s face. “I love you, Glorfindel. What I have is yours, all of me; I give it without hesitation.”

“Be my beloved, be my friend, be my life, but never my thrall.”

Lindir held Glorfindel’s face in his hands. “Never your thrall, my love. Only your heart.”

Glorfindel smiled. “Aye, my heart, and my fëa. Always. I love you, Lindir.”

Lindir wrapped his arms and legs tighter around his warrior, sighing as Glorfindel slid within him. “This is where we both belong: you inside me, me wrapped around you.” He gasped as the warrior withdrew and then found his mark again, and he arched his back. “Sweet Elbereth, yes, that feels so good…”

Glorfindel delved deeper, buried himself to the hilt, and it still did not seem deep enough. He wanted to climb inside Lindir and stay there forever, wrapped in his lover’s warmth and love. “Touch me,” he heard Lindir whisper, and he complied, taking his lover’s arousal in his hand and stroking it in time with his thrusts. His lover’s beautiful voice cried out in passion and Glorfindel’s climax came close behind. He lie wrapped in Lindir’s embrace, feeling his lover’s hands stroke his back, hearing his ethereal voice softly hum to him. Only a small part of him was remote, somewhere else, with someone else, and he resolved to cut that part out of him.

* * * *

The years drew on without incident in the Hidden Valley, and Imladris’ forces quietly continued their preparation for the inevitable conflict to come. However, outside of their safe haven, war was spreading; Sauron had gained control of Eregion, and bands of orcs and evil men were prowling the region, laying waste to villages and murdering the inhabitants. Each day, more refugees were smuggled westward, aided by elves and those men who resisted Sauron.

Missives passed between Lindon, Imladris, and Nûmenor, and soon, communication would begin with the elves in Lórien and Greenwood, and the Dwarves in the mountains and to the east. All free peoples would be called to war.

Gildor and Erestor settled into a comfortable, easy life. Within months, Gildor moved into Erestor’s quarters. Elrond was most happy to see his faithful friend and his new protégé together; he believed that each was just what the other needed. Erestor worried terribly about Gildor when he would leave their home to help those in need, but his lover always returned, happy to be home, and glad he had saved those that he could.

Glorfindel and Lindir’s relationship continued to grow as well, and many thought it was only a matter of time before they would see rings of promise on their fingers. Glorfindel tried to insulate Lindir from the growing danger outside their borders; he was determined to keep his sparrow safe from harm.

For Erestor, having his own lover made watching Glorfindel and Lindir’s bond grow seem easier. Deep in his heart, he still loved and yearned for Glorfindel, but having someone whom he so truly loved in his life made it less of an effort to let go. He had not entirely relinquished hope, but each year that passed made it seem easier to do so.

* * * *

On a fine Spring day, in the year 1700, Imladris received a most noble visitor…

“Careful there,” Gildor murmured as a young elleth nearly collided with him, unable to see where she was going because of the large vase of flowers she carried.

“Pardon me, my lord,” she said, blushing.

“That Erestor, ever the slave driver,” he murmured.

“My lord?” she asked.

“Never mind,” Gildor answered with a grin. “Do not let Master Erestor run you into a frazzle,” he said with a wink, then he continued toward the library.

He found his lover bent over, tugging on the hem of a very young ellon’s tunic.

“Now, Lord Celeborn will be here at any moment. You are not to play outside until he has entered the house, understood?”

“Yes, Master Erestor,” the youth replied. “Can I take Gwathel for a walk after?” The youth looked up at Erestor with pleading eyes.

Erestor smiled and tucked an errant braid behind the youth’s ear. “Very well, but only in the garden, not in the woods.” The youth beamed at him and he could not help but smile in return. “Now, go take your place with the others.” He turned and watched the ellon walk toward the door and take his sister’s hand. There he found Gildor, leaning against the doorframe with a broad grin on his face.

“Sweet Elbereth! Please tell me they are not here already!”

Gildor held up his hands. “Calm down, my love. I rode ahead of the escort. You have yet some time.” He strode forward, pausing to rub Gwathel on the head, then grinning as Erestor heaved a sigh of relief. “You complain, but I know you secretly love all this commotion.”

Erestor defiantly held his chin in the air. “I do not. This is my least favorite of my duties.”

“Liar.”

“Rogue.”

“Yes, but I am your rogue,” Gildor murmured as he took Erestor in his arms.

Erestor caressed Gildor’s face. “Mmm… yes you are. A rogue and a wolf . . . I am not entirely sure this is suitable company for one of my stature.”

“Complain, complain,” Gildor murmured as he nuzzled Erestor’s mouth. “Perhaps I should give your mouth something else to do.”

Erestor closed his eyes and sighed as his lover’s lips moved against his own, then his eyes widened as he felt Gildor’s hand slide between his legs. “Gildor!” he barked. “Lord Celeborn will be here any moment, as will Lord Elrond…”

“Pity that, I find myself somewhat . . . preoccupied with you.”

“You are incorrigible!” he mockingly protested, reluctantly pulling away from his lover’s amorous touch. Straightening his robes, he turned to Gwathel. “Go to my office,” he said softly, with a smile. Gwathel snorted and wagged her tail, then turned and jogged into his office, plopping upon a thick pillow he had made for her. “Stay,” he said gently, and then he turned and took his lover’s hand. “Come, walk with me to the courtyard.”

Gildor smiled, taking his lover’s hand and placing it in the crook of his elbow.

*****

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