Title & Chapter Number: Lū Vinui 3/10
Author(s): - Author's Index
Website: Hith a Naur
Fandom: Tolkien
Rating: NC-17
Disclaimer: I do not own LotR or any characters, lands, or items from the Tolkien world. They belong to their respective copyright holders.
Warnings: Slash
Betas: Silvara & Ilye
Cast: Erestor/Lothvaen, Glorfindel/Thranduil
Timeline: SA
Spoilers: None
Summary: Lothvaen joins the staff of the House of Elrond in the newly founded valley of Imladris and finds the Chief Councilor to be a challenge worth accepting. Thranduil meets the Balrog-slayer when the Seneschal is sent to Greenwood to aid Oropher and the attraction is instant.
Notes: Lothvaen is a Sindarin name I have given to the fanon character 'Figwit.' 'Figwit' is not an appropriate name for an Elf and the name 'Melpomaen' (a common used name for this fanon character) is an incorrect translation of the name 'Figwit.' 'Lothvaen' means 'clever flower' since 'clever' is another word for 'wit' (Sindarin does not have a word for 'wit') and 'flower' is used in place of 'fig' (since Sindarin does not have a word for 'fig'). A fig is actually a flower, which is why I chose 'flower' for the name.
Lothvaen is referred to as a 'whip.' This does not reflect upon his bedroom proclivities. It is a British political term, a position within Parliament. We also have a similar position in the US as does South Africa. ^^ It just means he has more responsibility and a higher paycheck.
Greenwood the Great, Firith - 1920 of the Second Age
Glorfindel checked his saddlebags one last time, patting Asfaloth on his rump as he did so. He had spent a month in Greenwood and it was a bittersweet parting he felt as his departure drew nigh. He would be leaving in a few short minutes, heading back to Imladris with three of Oropher's archers. The Seneschal had succeeded in solving the King's problem with the Men who were encroaching on his lands and Oropher had been happy to give in to the small demand of the Elven-lord.
The small escort that had accompanied him into the Greenwood assembled now, plus two of the three archers. Glorfindel furrowed his brow, scanning the paddock for the last addition to his men. Instead of seeing an archer rushing to the party, he saw Prince Thranduil walking toward them, head high and in the garb of his warriors, an unstrung bow in his hand and a quiver on his back containing his long knife. Glorfindel turned to the Wood Elf who took the reins of his horse and brought him alongside Asfaloth, strapping the bow to the mount's tack.
"My Lord, are you to see us to the edge of the Greenwood? I must insist that it is not necessary; we are well-equipped and are accompanied by three of your archers." Glorfindel looked over the Elves once more before adding, "Or we would if the third archer would ever decide to deign us with his presence."
Thranduil smiled at the impatient Elda. "Lord Glorfindel, your third archer is already accounted for."
Glorfindel cocked his head to the side and counted his men once more. "No, I assure you, we are short one Elf."
"And I assure you, you are not. I am the third archer King Oropher is sending to train the Elves of Imladris. I have been ordered to remain in the fair valley for a period of twenty years, at which time your Healers will be returned to you and we shall return to our wood." Thranduil winked at the silent Elf-lord and swung up into his saddle. "I do suggest we get underway, my Lord, or we shall lose the light. And although Greenwood is beautiful, it is not a place to be caught in at night. Dol Guldur has been spewing evil creatures for years now. The denser wood to the South is no longer safe -- giant spiders spin their massive webs between the trees. They hunt and consume anything unlucky enough to enter."
Glorfindel signaled for the escort to mount and he led them from the main city of Oropher's kingdom. They rode in silence as Glorfindel digested what Thranduil had said. Dol Guldur was unleashing deadly beings into the quiet wood. What did this mean for the Sylvan Elves? He slowed Asfaloth so that he could ride beside the Prince. "What does your father do about these spiders?"
"When they come too close to our settlement, I take a host of warriors to clean out the infestation." The conversational tone the younger Elf took when discussing such a task worried Glorfindel. "Now that I have answered your question, perhaps you can answer mine."
Glorfindel nodded, "Of course, though I would have answered anything you had to ask anyway."
"Why have you not taken me to your bed?"
Glorfindel's head swung around, and his wide, surprised eyes met the cool calm of Thranduil's. "Patience is a virtue, Prince," he said simply.
"Give me no nonsense about patience. You are not made of stone, o Golden One," he teased.
Glorfindel cleared his throat. "It is not that simple, Prince Thranduil. I do not believe your father or Lord Elrond would see it to be appropriate for me to dally with the Crown Prince of Greenwood the Great."
Thranduil's face darkened, his eyes flashing with some unreadable emotion. His voice was cold and bitter when he spoke. "When did my title become a sickness? How is it that being Oropher's son somehow makes me unattainable and left with a cold bed?"
The Balrog-slayer sighed and turned in his saddle to face the Prince. "You must understand, Thranduil," he said, using the Sinda's name. "It is not that I do not find you desirable, it is not that I do not want you. While in Greenwood, I was your guest and you were the Prince. In Imladris, I will be your Captain. In either situation, we are in a delicate position." He reached out and cupped Thranduil's cheek. "Do not doubt that I would take you into my bed, but you must wait. We must be patient or we could end up hurting one another or our realms. And that I will not risk. No matter what I may feel for you, my allegiance is to the House of Elrond and I will not willingly tarnish Elrond's reputation."
~*~*~*~
Imladris, Firith - 1920 of the Second Age
Erestor entered his office just after dawn and looked about. Lothvaen would usually be here by now, diligently working his way through whatever task was most pressing. This morning, though, his Whip was not in his usual place and Erestor's brow furrowed thoughtfully. He had not received word that something was ill with the Elf, or that he would be late. In the last two hundred years, Lothvaen had *never* been late. Erestor was turning to go to Lothvaen's room on the third floor when the missing Elf stepped into the room.
"Master Erestor," he said, bowing slightly.
Erestor smiled. "You're late. You have never been late."
The younger Noldo smiled broadly, secretly thrilled the Councilor had noticed his absence. "I am still not late." He held out his palm, revealing an inkpot. "You were low on ink yesterday afternoon, and I thought I would retrieve some additional ink from the storeroom before you came in for the day."
"Hannen le, Lothvaen. You seem to know what I need long before I do." Erestor chuckled and made his way to his desk with the new inkpot.
Lothvaen went to his own desk, sorting through the day's work. Erestor's eyes kept drifting to the Whip, watching the light play on his features and the graceful movement of his body. Erestor shook his head, chastising himself. The Elf was his employee; it was not appropriate to have such thoughts about him. He began rifling through the papers on his desk, looking for a contract Elrond needed for the Council meeting that afternoon, when he would meet with the Men from one of the villages within Imladris' protective borders. Suddenly, a slender hand held out a cream-colored piece of parchment with the Lord of Imladris' flowing script on it in black ink.
"I believe you were looking for this, my Lord," Lothvaen said softly.
Erestor smiled warmly at his aide, accepting the parchment with an outstretched hand. He had finally come to expect this sort of behavior; Lothvaen was as intuitive as he was efficient. As much as he hated to admit it, Erestor knew that he would never have been able to keep up with the ever-increasing workload -- especially in these past few decades -- if it hadn't been for Lothvaen.
Erestor quickly became engrossed in his work, reviewing documents and compiling all the necessary research Elrond would need when dealing with the Men. Time passed the Councilor by; the noon meal came and went without him even pausing in his pace. It was only when Lothvaen cleared his throat, gently demanding Erestor's attention, that the elder Noldo looked up from his desk.
Lothvaen stood with a tray laden with cold meats, cheeses and bread -- all the items Erestor usually took for his afternoon meal. "I have also brought you a fresh decanter of cool water, my Lord."
Erestor's eyes widened slightly in surprise. He hadn't even noticed the Elf leave the room, so attuned was he to his work. "Is it luncheon already?"
"No, my Lord, that was half an hour ago." The Elf smiled and laid the tray on his employer's desk, then poured a goblet of the water for Erestor and placed it beside the tray. Lothvaen admired how simple Erestor's life was. The Councilor had the same peasant food each mid-day, always with water. He knew Erestor's quarters were tastefully decorated, reflecting his eye for art. Although the Elf was given a large stipend by Elrond for his services, Erestor seemed to never outwardly show that wealth.
"Have you had your meal, Lothvaen?" Erestor sliced a bit of cheese off and Lothvaen watched the sliver of food enter Erestor's mouth. He found that watching his Lord eat was an erotic experience like none other. He shook his head.
"No, my Lord. I was filing last week's Council minutes and preparing the sheets for this afternoon's Council. I must have overlooked my own meal." He stood straight, his arms folded behind his back and his head high.
"You have been quite busy these last few years, have you not?" Erestor motioned for Lothvaen to bring a chair and join him in the small meal. "You have completely rearranged my office -- I still cannot find a thing in here without you!" Erestor chuckled. He found he was most at ease with the young Noldo. They had much in common and had taken to spending every evening after work in each other's company. "One might think you ambitious, if you but put in for a promotion. I would hate to see you go, but I do believe you could do much better than being my Whip, Lothvaen."
Not many knew, but the young Elf *was* ambitious, and was determined to be Erestor's equal. Lord Haldir, he knew, was unhappy with his position in the Council and would request a replacement soon. He hoped he could be that replacement. These last fifty years in particular, Lothvaen had spent his time and energy applying himself to all tasks presented, learning all the ins and outs of the political front in Imladris. He had spent endless hours advancing his education and befriending the right Elves. Smiling at the Councilor, Lothvaen replied, "I am honored you have such faith in my abilities, my Lord."
Erestor watched the Elf before him as he sipped his water. Lothvaen was beautiful when he smiled. "Will you be joining me for the evening meal, meldir?" It was a redundant question; Lothvaen always joined him for the nightly meal in the privacy of Erestor's chambers.
Lothvaen's eyes widened slightly; guilt could easily be read in his gaze. "Forgive me, my Lord. I forgot about a previous engagement this eve."
"Oh?" Erestor asked, raising his eyebrow inquisitively.
The Whip nodded. "Lindir and I have made arrangements for supper." Lothvaen's eyes became slightly glazed as he spoke of the white-haired secretary. "We have been trying to mesh our schedules enough that we could spend an evening together. Since Lord Elrond will be entertaining the Men tonight, Lindir's presence is not necessary and we planned an evening ride to one of the waterfalls with a cold meal packed away."
Erestor swallowed the piece of cheese that seemed to stick in his throat at the image of Lindir and Lothvaen in such a private, initiate setting. He took a long drink from his goblet, schooling his features to reveal none of his displeasure. "Sounds very romantic, Lothvaen."
Lothvaen blushed slightly. "Aye. It's what I thought when he suggested it."
"You are fond of Lindir, then?" He cleared his desk of the tray and water, reshuffling his papers to avoid looking at the object of his affection.
"Very. He quite a bit older than myself, though younger than you, but we have many common interests. Just as you and I do." Lothvaen smiled brightly at the Councilor, reading the tense movements of the elder Elf. He had accepted Lindir's offer of supper with the intent of using the liaison as a way to bring the Councilor's affections to the surface. He knew Erestor wanted him; he had learned the subtle signs of Erestor's true feelings. Though they had an easy rapport and enjoyed each other's company immensely, Lothvaen knew the Councilor sought his company for the same reason the Whip sought his: he was smitten.
He felt a brief stab of guilt at using Lindir, his dear friend, in such a way, but it passed before he could truly recognize the emotion. Lothvaen always got what he wanted, and he wanted Erestor. He had been patient long enough. Now, it was time for more forward measures.
~*~*~*~
Erestor was in a foul mood. He had been for the past week. He ran down the stairs to the main entrance of the vast home with his Whip's lover at his side. Lover. Erestor felt his mood darken further and he quickly pushed the thoughts of Lothvaen and Lindir together out of his mind. The party from Greenwood was arriving and he had to greet them.
In an Autumn thunderstorm.
The season had changed while Glorfindel had been away and they were constantly bombarded with rain. The grounds around the home were muddy and a hazard to navigate and many of the Humans who lived in or near the Last Homely House had contracted some sort of fever. Elrond was constantly busy in the Healing Wing and that left the day-to-day affairs of running Imladris in Erestor's hands.
"I see them!" cried Lindir, pointing through the thick sheets of water to the drenched escort riding up slowly, many with their shoulders slumped and their horses' heads hanging low with weariness.
Erestor sighed. "Call for several pages and send word to the stable. I don't want Lord Glorfindel having to traipse back from them covered in more muck and mire. Find Lothvaen and have him quickly assign rooms for our three new residents." When Lindir hesitated a moment, still watching the riders, Erestor turned cold eyes to him. "Now, Lindir. I do hate repeating myself."
The white-haired aide nodded, walking quickly away from the chilling gaze of Elrond's Chief Councilor. Erestor turned his attention back to the escort and took a deep breath. He walked down the wide, sweeping stairs, ignoring the cold, fat raindrops that quickly soaked his hair and his robes. Glorfindel pulled Asfaloth to a stop and smiled a cheerful smile down at his adversary.
"Welcome home, Glorfindel," Erestor said pleasantly.
Glorfindel's golden eyebrows shot up in surprise at the gentle greeting. "It's good to be home, Erestor."
Erestor's eyes flickered over the three dressed in the uniform of the Greenwood. They settled on the fair visage of the archer mounted next to the Balrog-slayer. A small smile quirked the Advisor's lips. "Prince Thranduil. You were not expected to be among those your father sent."
"Adar sent word of our arrival?" asked the Prince, shifting heavily in his saddle.
Erestor nodded and took the reins to Asfaloth's bridle. "Come, dismount. The grooms shall take the horses to the stable and care for them." Erestor watched Glorfindel fluidly land on his feet, his eyes still radiating unspoken questions. Erestor averted his eyes, not sure he wanted to explain his sudden change in demeanor. He was lonely, simple as that.
Glorfindel touched Erestor's arm gently and met the ink-like pools. "I have missed your wit, meldir." He smiled and did something that surprised both Elf-lords; Glorfindel pulled Erestor into a soggy, squishy embrace. For the first time in many centuries, Glorfindel heard the warm trill of Erestor's laughter.
Erestor pulled back and graced the Seneschal with a rare smile. "And I have missed your harassment."
"You seemed to have changed so much in a single month." Glorfindel kept his arm around the slender waist of the Advisor. "Why is that?" He turned a serious gaze on Erestor. "Did you kill a small child, Erestor?"
Erestor gasped and let loose a firm punch to Glorfindel's shoulder. "You are cruel! Mayhap it is simply that the value of your company is only most keenly felt by your absence."
Glorfindel simply grinned, leading Erestor down the hall to one of the stairwells that would lead them up. He turned and motioned for Thranduil to follow, not noticing the dark look that passed over the Prince's face.
Thranduil felt the fire of jealousy burn in his chest as he followed his would-be lover and the dark-haired Noldo. He had never met the Councilor, but he had heard from his father about the clever, sharp somber-eyed Elf. He wondered if Glorfindel had shared Erestor's bed before coming to Greenwood. His eyes narrowed with suspicion, focusing on the Balrog-slayer's arm wrapped tightly around the Elf-lord. Perhaps that was why the blond had never taken him to bed, simply stolen kisses and heated touches; he had his lover here in Imladris to think of.
As they navigated the halls, Erestor's thoughts drifted to Lothvaen. Why they did this he could not say, but ever of late, when his mind was free of other concerns, he found his wandering thoughts more and more often settling on his young Whip. Neither could he understand the sudden flare of hostility he felt toward Lindir. Perhaps it was simply because Erestor had cultivated a friendship with Lothvaen --his first serious friendship outside of Elrond (and, he reluctantly admitted, Glorfindel) -- and he was afraid that he might lose that should Lindir begin to monopolize Lothvaen's time.
Suddenly, as though Erestor's thinking brought him into being, Lothvaen was before them at the bottom of the staircase. Erestor blinked, not quite believing the coincidence. After a moment's thought, though, the Councilor mentally cursed his forgetfulness. Of course Lothvaen would be here; Erestor had sent Lindir to fetch him.
"Lord Glorfindel, Prince Thranduil," the Whip said respectfully. "I trust that your journey was uneventful, save for the Valar's most recent attempt to wash Imladris into the Bruinen. I have sent word to the Captain of the Guard to find quarters for the Greenwood archers among the other fighting-men. However, Lord Elrond has instructed that Prince Thranduil, out of respect for his station, be given special accommodations in the family wing. I have taken the liberty of preparing the empty room beside Lord Glorfindel's. If you will follow me, my Lord Thranduil."
Lothvaen turned and started up the staircase. Thranduil stepped from behind Glorfindel and Erestor, flashing a less-than-dignified look from the corner of his eye as he passed. The expression was not lost on either Seneschal or Councilor. Erestor cocked his head at Glorfindel in confusion.
"Breaking the hearts of impressionable young warriors again, mellonen?" he asked, only half in jest.
"Not to my knowledge," Glorfindel said seriously. "In fact, I had half a mind to court the young royal."
"Indeed? Then perhaps you should tell *him* that before he incinerates half the courtyard with one of those looks."
Glorfindel shot Erestor a lopsided grin. "Perhaps. A warm bath and a dry tunic first, though. Will you walk with me, Lord Councilor?"
"By all means, Lord Seneschal." Erestor smiled in return and began to climb the steps to the family wing where he and Glorfindel each also maintained a suite of rooms.
~*~*~*~
Thranduil turned at the sound of a knock at his door. He had just finished unpacking his meager things into the spacious closet of the suite. Despite his heritage, he had expected to be housed with the other archers, and had packed accordingly. He had also not expected to be given a private bathing chamber, but had taken full advantage of it nonetheless. Now, warm, clean, and dry, the Prince felt more like one of his rank should, and he strode proudly to the door and opened it.
Glorfindel stood before him, also washed and dressed in dry clothing, with a cautious expression on his face. "May I come in?" he asked softly.
Thranduil grunted an affirmative and opened the door wider to allow the Elda entrance. Glorfindel swept past him into the room, and Thranduil pushed the door closed. When he turned to face his visitor, the Sinda was pulled into Glorfindel's embrace. The Seneschal had moved so quickly, he hadn't seemed to move at all; one moment he was in the center of the room; the next, he was wrapping his arms around Thranduil and pressing him against the door.
When Glorfindel lowered his head for a kiss, Thranduil turned his head, breaking the grip indelicately, and spinning out of the elder blond's reach. Glorfindel, confused by this sudden change in attitude, stood speechless and motionless, staring at the intricate grain of the thick oak door.
"Is your Councilor-lover so consumed with affairs of state at this moment that you would seek to slake your lust with me?" Thranduil asked acidly.
Glorfindel finally turned from the door to face the Prince. "My... what?" Understanding dawned in the Seneschal's blue eyes. "Oh! You thought that Erestor..." Glorfindel broke off, too taken by a sudden fit of laughter to continue.
Thranduil narrowed his eyes. "I am pleased that you find such humor in my situation. However, in future I would appreciate you finding another to be the victim of your pranks."
Glorfindel sobered instantly, eyes widening as he realized that Thranduil was serious. "Erestor and I are not lovers," he tried to explain, but Thranduil did not seem to hear.
"You could have simply told me that you were previously involved and I would have troubled you no further. Instead, you led me on, thinking that when you left I would remain in Greenwood and never be the wiser. What a crushing blow it must have been to you when you learned that I would be returning with you."
The Sinda would have continued, but Glorfindel took the initiative and grabbed Thranduil by the arms, staring down at him intently until the younger Elf broke off in mid-sentence.
"Erestor and I are *not* lovers," Glorfindel repeated more slowly, pushing down the swell of anger that Thranduil's accusations had caused. Thranduil winced under the pressure of Glorfindel's grip, and the Elda released him and stepped back. "We are and have always been friends and nothing more," he began in a gentler tone of voice. "You may have mistaken our particular brand of teasing and easy friendship for something more, but that does not mean that it exists."
Thranduil's gaze remained skeptical, so Glorfindel sighed and continued. "Have I had lovers in the past? Certainly. Do I have one at present? No. I had a wont to cultivate such a relationship with you, ernilen. If you can forget your irrational jealousies, perhaps one can still be forged. That is a choice I must leave up to you."
Before giving Thranduil a chance to reply, Glorfindel nodded his head curtly and left the room, closing the door on the Sinda's chastised expression.
~*~*~*~
Erestor watched the Prince all but storm into his room, offering Glorfindel a heartfelt look as the Seneschal entered his own suite. He sighed and turned, coming face-to-face with his Whip.
"Lothvaen," he said tiredly. "Shouldn't you return to your duties?" He pushed past the younger Noldo and opened the door to his own rooms.
Lothvaen's face darkened and he followed his employer into his chambers, closing the door firmly behind him. "My duty is to you, my Lord." He walked passed the Councilor, going directly to the private bathing chamber he knew Erestor possessed. He lit several lamps in the room, smiling as he took in the decor of the room for the first time. He leaned over and plugged the tub, releasing the tap that would allow hot water from the large copper boilers on the upper floor to flow into the basin.
Erestor slowly came up behind Lothvaen and crossed his arms. "What are you doing?" he asked, his voice much sharper than he had intended.
"You are soaked to the bone, my Lord, and I would wager your skin is as cold as the snow drifts on Caradhras. A heated bath would do you wonders before you come down for the evening meal." Lothvaen reached for an open phial of oil and poured a generous amount into the rising water, the sharp scent of ginger permeating the room.
"What would lead you to believe I would be dining in the main hall this evening?" Erestor was becoming flustered with Lothvaen's presumptuous attitude.
Lothvaen turned to the Elf-lord and smiled sweetly at him. "Lord Elrond has called for a feast to welcome Oropher's son to Imladris. As the Imladrian ruler's dearest friend and his Chief Councilor, I would assume your presence would be required." Lothvaen knew his tone was bordering on mocking, but he could not understand why Erestor had been treating him so distantly the last few days.
Silence hung between them as Erestor tried to rein in his temper. He could not understand his anger with Lothvaen. This Elf brought out parts of Erestor's personality the Councilor had never known existed. It was then, in a blinding moment of clarity that he realized he was *jealous*. He was angry that Lothvaen had begun spending time with Lindir, time that was once all his. He was furious that his Whip would lay with Elrond's secretary but not with him.
But, did he really wish to take Lothvaen as his lover? Erestor had taken no other in all his years, but Lothvaen... He brought up his confused eyes, seeking answers in the violet depths of the young Elf before him.
Lothvaen knew the moment had come, he saw it in the innocent clarity of Erestor's eyes. He could not waste it. He slowly closed the space between them, his hand coming up to cup the back of the elder Elf's head. Erestor was few inches taller than he, but Lothvaen did not see this as a disadvantage. He pulled Erestor's face close to his, rising up slightly on his toes, and brought their lips into contact. Erestor's lips were soft and pliant beneath his and he sought to deepen their kiss. Nipping at Erestor's lower lip caused the Elf-lord to gasp. Lothvaen took the opportunity to slip his tongue into the warmth beyond Erestor's lips and teeth, sweeping his tongue thoroughly over the expanse.
Erestor felt weak, his head swimming with desire for the slightly smaller Elf ravishing his lips. His eyes closed and he moaned deep in his throat, wrapping his arms around the slender waist of his employee.
The younger Noldo broke the kiss and stepped back, panting, his eyes the darkest shade of plum Erestor had ever seen. Lothvaen turned off the tap and returned to the still-dripping Elf. His eyes never leaving Erestor's, he began to undo the intricate series of buttons that held together the black robes Erestor always donned. Deft fingers made short work of the garment and it fell to the floor in a heavy, sodden mass. Lothvaen's hot hands skated over the planes of Erestor's clammy chest, fulfilling a fantasy he had long harbored about his employer since seeing him in only his sleeping trousers centuries before.
Erestor shuddered at the intimate, heated touch and felt himself harden within his leggings. His mind was blanketed in a thick fog of arousal, and he arched into the touches bestowed upon him. His cock throbbed when his Whip gracefully fell to his knees before him, unlacing the house boots Erestor wore while at work. Lothvaen raised his eyes once more as his fingers loosened the lacings to the Councilor's leggings and slid them off the narrow hips and defined thighs, revealing Erestor's desire to his hungry gaze.
"You are one of the most beautiful beings I have ever seen, Erestor," he said raggedly and reached out to take his Lord's shaft in his hand. He gave a few tentative strokes and then licked his lips hungrily when a few beads of clear fluid appeared upon the slit.
The elder Noldo watched with wide, unblinking eyes at the erotic sight before him. Lothvaen's eyes were at half-mast as he inched closer and closer to the Lord's desire. Erestor felt a wave of dizziness when Lothvaen's tongue snaked out and retrieve the sticky fluid from him. "You are one of the sweetest Elves I have ever had the pleasure of tasting," came Lothvaen's melodious voice, followed by Erestor's cry of pleasure when he found himself completely swallowed by the younger Noldo.
Erestor's hands flew to Lothvaen's shoulders, desperate to find some purchase in the sensual tempest in which he was currently adrift. His head fell back and Lothvaen's hands came to cup his buttocks, urging him to thrust in the hot, moist cavern of his employee's mouth. Erestor's body took over and he plunged into the waiting suction over and over, knowing his release was just within reach.
Lothvaen swallowed swiftly, feeling Erestor's cock jerk in his mouth; felt the Councilor's body go tense right before his mouth filled with the viscous fluid of his release. He swallowed, moaning as he cleaned his secret love reverently and savored the almost sweet taste of the older Noldo.
Erestor panted, falling back against the wall with exhaustion. Despite his having never taken a lover, he was not a stranger to the feelings he'd just experienced. Like most younglings, he had been curious about the changes in his body and had touched himself in various ways. That had been literally Ages ago, though, and the sensation of being pleasured by another was distinctly different, while at the same time being familiar. The familiarity was what allowed the Councilor to linger in that gentle state in the aftermath of his orgasm for a moment.
That moment ended abruptly, though, when he felt a sharp stab of guilt for allowing Lothvaen to service him in such a way. The Whip's words from only a few moments ago echoed suddenly in his stricken mind: 'My duty is to you, my Lord.' The implications of that statement worried him. He closed his eyes against the now unwanted sight of his friend on his knees, licking his glistening lips and running his hands lightly up and down Erestor's trembling thighs.
Lothvaen sensed the subtle change in Erestor's demeanor and stood slowly, cautiously taking the measure of the dark-haired Elf before him. "Erestor?" he asked softly.
The Councilor turned away from Lothvaen and stepped into the rapidly cooling water, more from a desire to conceal his nakedness than to clean himself. As he sank down into the pool, he was acutely aware of Lothvaen's eyes following him, clearly expecting some kind of response.
"That was inappropriate," Erestor said hastily, then gently added, "Enjoyable though it was," in hopes of easing the unintentional sting of his words. Lothvaen began to stammer an apology, but Erestor held up a hand. "No, do not apologize, mellonen. The experience was not unwelcome, and I thank you for it. However, you are still subordinate to me, and it would be highly unorthodox of us to pursue this sort of entanglement." The rising embarrassment Erestor felt had thrown the Elf into full "Councilor mode", leaving him struggling lamely to defuse the situation with the careful application of vocabulary.
Lothvaen got the idea readily enough. He could almost see the wall of forced professionalism that Erestor suddenly slammed down between them. The Whip was not angered so much as disappointed. He had been certain he had not misunderstood or misinterpreted Erestor's feelings, and yet now he felt as though he had performed a desecration of sorts, a betrayal of the carefully garnered and hard won friendship he shared with the Councilor. The lingering taste of Erestor's seed in his mouth suddenly felt bitter and acidic. He thought briefly of saying something -- anything -- but he knew better than to trust his voice in that moment. Instead, he lowered his head, biting his lip to hold back the threatening tears, and rushed indecorously from the room.
~*~*~*~
English/Elvish:
*Firith : Late Autumn season
*Mellonen : My friend
*Ernilen : My Prince~ Next Chapter ~
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