Title & Chapter Number: Misfits 9/30
Author(s): - Author's Index
Fandom: Middle Earth
Rating: NC-17
Disclaimer: I do not own these settings or characters, and am making no profit from the writing and sharing of this story.
Warnings: Haldir's in it. Need I say more? /snicker
Betas: Circe
Cast: Haldir/Melpomaen
Timeline: TA AU
Spoilers: None
Summary: Haldir brings Melpomaen a gift, and sex ensues.
Notes: Thanks to Flannery, Stardust, Pira, Angilou, Hel, Kylie, TrinityC, Maggie, Rune Dancer, Erestor, LK, Larien, Alex, Larian, Mirasaui, Dawn, and Jess for comments, support, and feedback.
Word traveled fast within the royal talan, and Melpomaen was more than grateful to return to his room after dinner. His musings on what place he held in Lord Elrond's household in the others' eyes now seemed very small and trite. That he had been concerned about the off-hand assumptions that were being made about he and Erestor now seemed laughable. It was nothing compared to the looks of curiosity, amusement, and bafflement that had followed him since he'd left the baths an hour before the dinner hour. He could only imagine what was being said.
For the first time since he'd come to work at the Imladris Library he found himself wishing for the status that would have allowed him to sit at the high table with Lord Celeborn and Lady Galadriel rather than at the lower table among the skilled, quartered servants. People would still talk, of course, but they would do so more discreetly; and, he would be able to do some talking of his own, if he were so inclined. They'd be patting him on the back instead of looking at him as if he had suddenly and inexplicably grown wings or a tail.
He smiled as he imagined himself casually chatting with Lord Glorfindel. -- Oh, yes, Haldir. He's not really such a bad fellow once you get to know him. And, though I wouldn't wish to sound disloyal to our Imladris defenders, I must say that, in some regards, the Galadhrim do it better-- Melpomaen could almost hear Glorfindel's trademark laugh, and, for a moment, his smile broadened even further before abruptly fading away.
What was he thinking? That he would allow others to laugh at Haldir if that would save him from their scrutiny? His cheeks colored with shame as he remembered himself standing next to Arwen, holding her bow and listening to the derisive rustle of mallorn leaves. Haldir could have ignored him, could have left him to stand there and make a fool of himself alone. Instead he'd stepped forward, and put himself squarely in the sights of the tree city's gossips - and he'd done that for his sake.
Melpomaen sank down onto his bed, rubbing his left arm ruefully. Gossip had not been the only result of that minor catastrophe. His back, shoulder, and arm ached; his fingers were blistered. It had been that last draw that had really done it to his fingers. Haldir's hands had been over his, and Haldir was able to draw the string further and hold it longer than he could. At the time he hadn't noticed; with Haldir's body pressed so firmly against his own he didn't think he would have noticed if the string had cut completely through his fingers. Now he was feeling it, though, and he could only be grateful that he held his quill with his right hand instead of his left. As it was, he didn't think his left hand or arm was going to be good for much of anything on the morrow.
He glanced up sharply a moment later when his door began to open. It swung inward by a couple of feet, and then the person on the other side of it seemed to reconsider, pulling it halfway back. Melpomaen watched, more puzzled than annoyed as it jittered there. At last, his visitor knocked lightly, still holding the door partially open, and Melpomaen stifled a giggle.
"Come in. You're almost in anyway."
The door completed its inward arc, and Melpomaen's heart missed a beat as Haldir stepped inside. He was casually dressed, and once more his hair was unbound. His smile was slightly embarrassed, and Melpomaen grinned.
"Not used to knocking?"
"Well, no, actually." He glanced down at his boots, then back to Melpomaen. "I thought I'd stop by. I brought something… I thought you might be a little sore after today."
Melpomaen watched in mingled horror and gratitude as Haldir produced a bottle of massage oil from behind his back. The older elf was wearing the same expectantly nervous expression that Melpomaen imagined he would have worn if he had presented Haldir with the bouquet of flowers.
"Haldir." Melpomaen licked his lips, swallowed, stifled any potential bursts of hysterical laughter. "Haldir, did you carry that through the entire palace? I mean, not in a pocket or belt pouch?"
"Well, yes." Haldir looked puzzled. "Of course I carried it. Why wouldn't… Oh." Color suffused his face, and his eyes shifted away from Melpomaen's. "Dammit, I wasn't thinking." His hands curled around the bottle as if attempting to hide it. "I'm sorry."
"No, don't be sorry," Melpomaen said. "And don't you dare try to put it away now." He patted the mattress next to him, and Haldir joined him, resolutely avoiding his gaze.
"I am sorry, though, about earlier today. If I'd left you alone no one would be talking, and my brother would still be the only one who knows that we don't spend our evenings playing cards." He spoke toward his lap, and Melpomaen wrapped an arm around his waist, wincing slightly as he did so.
"No, instead I'd feel even worse for having made a fool of myself in front of you." He took a deep breath, squeezed carefully. "I'm not ashamed of you, Haldir." He felt a twinge of conscience at his words, remembering his imagined conversation with Glorfindel. Melpomaen quickly pushed the thought away, and leaned against Haldir's shoulder. "Are you going to do something with that?" he asked, nodding his head toward the bottle of oil lying on the bed.
"Oh!" The color had been receding from Haldir's cheeks; Melpomaen was amused to see it renewing itself. "That. Yes."
"Good." Melpomaen began wiggling out of his tunic, wincing as he pulled it over his head. Haldir scooted behind him to help him with his undershirt, and Melpomaen grabbed his calves before his boots could do any more damage to the coverlet. "These have to go."
"Sorry," Haldir murmured near Melpomaen's ear, and Melpomaen shivered as he set about unlacing Haldir's footgear. First one and then the other boot fell to the floor. Haldir wrapped his arms around Melpomaen, pulling him back until their bodies were flush against each other. "Rumil told me what the guards have been saying. Word has it that I did this."
Melpomaen's eyes widened and a small whimper passed his lips as Haldir's tongue touched his sensitive ear. For a moment he stiffened, but then he melted bonelessly against Haldir, head canted at a severe angle to permit fuller access. The blond warrior worked from lobe to tip, pausing to lightly nip and suckle the delicate peak, and Melpomaen shuddered when that warm wetness finally drew away. The sensation had been incredibly intense, nearly as delicious as the direct touches of more heated contact. His leggings suddenly felt far too tight, uncomfortably so, and he remained lying back in Haldir's arms.
"Aiya, Haldir," he whispered raggedly. "If you'd done that, Iluvatar Himself could not have guided my arrows home."
A low chuckle met his words. "Nonsense. You had me to help you." Haldir's hands moved to his biceps, pushing him into an upright sitting position. He attempted to create a little distance between himself and Melpomaen, but the younger elf promptly wiggled backwards against him once more. For a moment it appeared that the two would wiggle their way completely off of the bed, but at last he managed to position Melpomaen properly. "I did not come here solely to ravish you!" he admonished, and Melpomaen glanced back over his shoulder, pouting.
"But what if I wish to ravish you?" He asked, and Haldir grinned.
"Then you will have to wait," he said as he unstopped the glass bottle. "I won't have you moving about like an elderly human cripple tomorrow."
Grumbles met his reply, but they vanished into soft moans of pleasure as Haldir's competent hands moved over sore and aching muscles. The art of massage was one in which Haldir was skilled; among the Galadhrim, the knowledge of soothing aches and pains was learned in tandem with weapons training, if not in any official way. He had performed this service for both Rumil and Orophin on occasions without number, and that favor was always repaid in kind. Haldir knew exactly which muscles would be strained, where and how to touch to ease the aches and stave off the incipient stiffness that would make the morning-after miserable. Of course, this was not the same as with his brothers; Haldir had never felt an electric thrill at the sensation of their skin under his hands, nor felt lightheaded with the desire to touch. They had never shivered and strained back towards him, had never glanced back over their shoulders through eyes dilated with lust.
Melpomaen twisted under his hands, turning to face him. His face was flushed, and the ends of his hair were darkened where they had fallen onto his oil-glazed skin. "Take off your clothes, Haldir," he said, his tone low and promising.
"I'm not done with you yet," Haldir replied, and there was only the slightest quaver in his voice. Melpomaen smiled. "Yes, you are. And now I want to start with you."
Hands attacked the front of his tunic, fumbled at laces, tugged and pulled. Melpomaen's expression was intent, narrow in its single-minded focus. It was a look Haldir was familiar with, a look that meant all else had vanished from Melpomaen's mind and that, for this small segment of time, nothing existed for him except for Haldir. --I did that.-- Haldir thought giddily as he moved to facilitate Melpomaen's actions, as his slick hands reached for the closure of Melpomaen's breeches.
He spared no thought for the oil stains left on Melpomaen's remaining clothing as he worked the younger elf out of them, thought nothing of the oil darkening the fabric of his own clothes. His tunic and undershirt were gone, and somehow Melpomaen had acquired the bottle, pouring the warm liquid over Haldir's smooth chest. It drizzled down in warm rivulets, pooling at the waist of his leggings before slyly absorbing into the cloth, slicking yet hidden flesh. Then Melpomaen's hands were there, too, slipping on laces, pushing, pulling.
Lamplight gleamed on oiled flesh, upon Melpomaen's night lily whiteness and Haldir's lightly honeyed cream. They slid together and against one another, hands skating nearly frictionlessly on each other's bodies, technique forgotten in the sheer desire to touch, feel. Haldir found himself kneeling upright over Melpomaen's seated form, and he shuddered in ecstatic anticipation as Melpomaen's lips and tongue began dancing over his cock, while Melpomaen's hands slid over the curve of his buttocks and along the backs of his thighs. His own hands moved to the dark silk tangle of Melpomaen's hair, caught in it as the soft tresses adhered to the oil on his fingers and palms. Melpomaen only clung more tightly, moaning as he allowed himself to be drawn forward to envelop hot, rigid flesh.
He rocked in Melpomaen's hold, in and out, head thrown back and blond hair clinging darkly to his shoulders and back. Wave after wave of expanding pleasure built and broke, and Haldir was almost beyond sensibility when he felt Melpomaen's fingers working upward to the cleft of his buttocks - working inward, parting them. Cool air touched his hidden opening; hot fingers kneaded inner flesh. Haldir moaned, froze, and gazed downward into dark eyes that were now peering upward. A single digit circled his puckered opening, and Haldir whimpered, biting his lip as he read the unspoken message in those dark eyes: --Let me.--
For a moment, the only movement was that of lips and tongue and finger, each moving in a slow dance of tantalization that threatened to undo the older elf. At last he bucked forward in graceless need, voiced his wordless assent as his hands once again tightened in Melpomaen's hair. The single finger became more insistent, stroking over him with gentle care and increasing pressure, and Haldir felt his stomach dance with nervous anticipation, even as the unremitting cycles of swelling pleasure began to increase once more.
There was a moment of panic as he was breached, a sickly feeling of shocked realization as muscle gave way not through his own compliance but only as a result of steadily applied, oiled pressure. Resisting this gentle invasion was futile, impossible when his traitor body gave way so easily and sweetly for this slickness that was not pure pleasure, but instead a faintly burning discomfort and fullness. Haldir's first instinct was to struggle against it, to balk, or pull away. But his only option was to move forward into Melpomaen's eager mouth, a wet heat that demanded motion.
Melpomaen sensed his confusion, felt the quivering of thighs and involuntary shivers that ran counter to the rigid heat sliding smoothly over his tongue. He let Haldir's cock slip from his mouth, gazing upward to watch his lover's tense face.
"Are you alright, Haldir?" he whispered, and received an abbreviated nod in response. He was not all right, Melpomaen knew, though he did not want to admit it, and he gently eased his finger back out, slowly began circling once more. "I'll be careful with you, Haldir. I promise."
Hazel eyes met his own, clear and vulnerable, ambiguously pleading. Melpomaen nestled closer, felt the soft tangle of blond curls against his chin, the heat of Haldir's arousal against his cheek. "I love you, Haldir," he said, and he had no idea from where the words had come; he knew only that he wanted and needed, and that Haldir was so painfully close. Haldir did not respond in kind. He blinked, and when his eyes re-opened they revealed shock and amazement, transparent awe and uncertain delight that easily surpassed any ecstatic expression of carnal fulfillment. Suddenly Melpomaen was not so sure of himself. Again he felt a twinge of conscience, barely felt before being pushed away, and Haldir was lowering himself into his lap, face beatific as he slowly impaled himself upon the finger Melpomaen had retracted but not pulled away.
Thought vanished; anything that could have persuaded Haldir to this now seemed perfectly acceptable. He was tight, incredibly tight, so tight that it seemed impossible to Melpomaen that Haldir would be able to accept his not inconsiderable length and girth. Now it was as if he wore a single-fingered glove held in place by a hot, pulsating ring of fire; as if that glove was alive, gripping and massaging, flexing in an ecstatically erratic rhythm. Melpomaen leant his sweating brow against Haldir's breast bone, listened to the hitching quality of Haldir's breathing, corkscrewed and stroked inside of him. He knew there was something inside that would make this more than just something to be borne for Haldir, and Melpomaen searched relentlessly, thrust and twisted, crooked his finger and finally added another.
He had no idea how long they remained that way; how long Haldir knelt on shaking knees; how long his face was pressed to uncomfortably hot flesh that was slick with both oil and sweat. Haldir's weeping length pressed against his stomach, and Melpomaen's free hand circled it as his fingers scissored inside of the warrior's body. Then, at long last, he'd found it, that small hidden nub that guaranteed ecstasy.
Haldir nearly screamed, bucking between Melpomaen's hands so insistently that Melpomaen feared he would topple them both. He abandoned the idea of establishing a rhythm swiftly, allowing Haldir to set his own, and, though he had wanted to bring the blond to his climax while taking him for the first time, the thought of seeing Haldir coming undone thusly became too much for him.
It only took a matter of minutes. Haldir was panting, gasping, straining between Melpomaen's hands, and then his body stiffened, turning to steel as his orgasm gripped him. Cream jetted in pearlescent streams, spattered on Melpomaen's chest, mixing viscously with coating oil and beaded sweat. Haldir sank down against him, his greater weight threatening to bear Melpomaen down onto the sodden sheets, and the younger elf slipped from beneath him before that could happen, heart racing.
"Hands and knees," he said, voice thick and shaking. Haldir gave him not so much as a nod in response, but complied nevertheless. Melpomaen felt a heady rush as he watched Haldir position himself, witnessed the trembling of shoulders, the exaggerated dance of thigh muscles, and the quivering of firm buttocks. His arms were crossed on the pillow, cheek nestled against his wrist, but his hair formed no modest veil as it clung to shoulders, back, forehead and cheeks. His back had become an inverted arch, and the globes of his buttocks were prominently displayed. Melpomaen parted them, moaning at the reflexive shudder of the powerful body before him.
The glass bottle was no longer easy to grasp, but at last Melpomaen had the stopper out once more. Penetrating Haldir was easier now; there was almost none of his initial resistance, no instinctive move to repel. Again Melpomaen felt that enclosing heat, but this time he felt no doubt, no concern for the practicality of what they were about to do. He wanted only to be inside of Haldir, to feel the indescribable pleasure of spilling his seed within his body.
Haldir hissed as Melpomaen pressed his cock against the ring of barrier muscle, but Melpomaen didn't think he could have stopped at that moment even if Haldir had shrieked in agony. Even so, he moved slowly, carefully, as carefully as he was capable of moving within that delicious tightness that was unlike anything Melpomaen had known before. There had never been anything to compare to this, nothing like this sheathe of flexing muscle, the surge of sheer power he felt at the sight of this powerful body submitting so beautifully, so perfectly.
There was no hope of making it last, and Melpomaen knew it. He could feel the tension in Haldir's body, hear his partner's labored breathing, and could hear his own voice speaking in a soothing litany of nonsense as he gently stroked Haldir's flank. All of that was distant, though, not as real as the scarlet fire that raged through him, rendering all else insignificant. He felt the minute relaxation of muscle around his throbbing member and began to move, to rock toward that place of starlight and moon breeze. Time stood still and Melpomaen's hands locked on Haldir's hips, scrabbling for purchase upon slick skin as everything vanished, as awareness narrowed until there was nothing but pleasure, nothing but rapturous release.
The two collapsed upon the bed, and Melpomaen barely managed to roll off of Haldir's overheated body. "Are you alright?" he muttered against Haldir's shoulder, vaguely aware that he was supposed to say something. Haldir's eyes were closed, his expression serene.
"I'm fine," he murmured. "You love me?"
There was no time to think, no time to consider his feelings as they lay there together in the mess of oil and sweat soaked sheets, as Haldir rested peacefully beside him. Melpomaen licked his lips, answered in the only way he could imagine answering, the only way he could bear to reply.
"Yes, Haldir."
"I love you, too." There was happy relief in Haldir's voice, and Melpomaen shifted uneasily beside him. He reached to gently caress a broad, strong shoulder, and made a moue of disgust as his hand encountered mixed sweat and oil. They were filthy, their clothes were filthy, and Melpomaen's room did not boast a private bath. A basin of water and a shared towel would not suffice this night.
"We're going to have to go to the baths."
"That's fine," Haldir answered blissfully. "I don't care who sees me."
"Mmm," Melpomaen answered, his thoughts running in uneasy circles. His words from earlier in the evening came back to haunt him: --I'm not ashamed of you, Haldir.-- "Let's go then. I'm sure I have something in the wardrobe that I can drape you in."
~ Next Chapter ~
~ Previous Chapter ~
~ Library Main ~
~ Author Index ~ Character Index ~ Title Index ~
~ Hall Of Fire ~ Gallery ~
~ Links ~ Shops ~ Map ~ News ~ Rules ~ Lists ~ ~
This page is in no way affiliated with New Line Cinema or Tolkien Enterprises, and no profit is being made.
The information contained herein is NOT to be used to spam or in any other way harrass its members. Be advised that abuse of this site will not be tolerated, and the appropriate legal action will be taken.
Hall-Of-Fire.Com v.4.0, Copyright © 2003, 2004, 2005, 2006, 2007, 2008, 2009 by Cristine Cook-Fireheart. All rights reserved. This web site may not be reproduced in any form, except as occurs in normal browser caching, without express written permission from the author.
Website by Infinite Connections Design.
