I own nothing. Nothing! Good day, sir! But in all seriousness, this is basically porn with a comfort/control/pain thing going on, and more angst than I was expecting. But that's what happens at times. Anyway, this is also my first story in years. I had a lot I was working on, especially a sequel for "Honour", but my laptop crashed and I lost a lot of work and a lot of ideas and just didn't go back until now. I really hope y'all enjoy, and please R&R
The city was lit up. Laughter, music, and joyous yelling floated through the streets. It almost seemed a defiant show of victory: after years of darkness and silence, the land needed to be as loud and bright as it could. No longer did people need to be quiet so they could hear the cry of the Nazgul or approaching Uruk-hai; the darkness did not need to be unbroken just so there was no hint of life to be targeted. Now, finally, people could be loud and silly. The lights could be left on all night, and doors could be left open for any happy wanderer who wished to join in the revelries.
Eomer stared out at the reclaimed White City, leaning a hip against the balustrade, a glass of wine in his hand. A nearly empty bottle sat beside an unopened bottle of wine, both red and uncomfortably chilled in the night air. He could have been inside. He was for the first little while. He joined in the first night, and the second. He smiled with genuine joy as his sister glided around the dance floor with her betrothed. He bowed his head with respect and deference to the man who had saved her life, and now the new King on Gondor. He kissed the back of Gondor's new Queen's hand, her skin smooth and unblemished despite the centuries she had on both men beside her. He felt the same relief and happiness, and he had so many ideas for his people. The crown, sitting on the head of a young king, was a sign of hope.
But then his smiles became more forced, his joy harder to feel. The crown on his head began to feel constricting, as if all the ideas he had were too much for the traditions of monarchy, and the limitations inflexible. So now, into the third week of celebrations, he stood outside and looked away from the light and sound of the city into the dark and silence of the stars. The past few nights had been spent by himself, grimacing through wine that was too cold. He could have stayed inside, but his sister had taken to gently reprimanding him when he opened a second bottle. His future brother-in-law, because Eowyn wanted to marry in Rohan even though she would now be a lady of Gondor, would talk to him incessantly, and Eomer realized it was a distraction tactic. So now he retreated to parts of the castle he knew no one would come to, especially when warmth and laughter was what everyone else sought out.
Finishing his glass, he poured out the rest of the first bottle, some of the ruby wine sloshing out and over the rim, splashing against the cold stones.
"You have been absent of late."
Eomer stiffened at the even tone, casual and without any censure. Looking over his shoulder, he tilted his head as much as possible in greeting. The blond elf moved to stand beside him, large hands settling on the stones. He leaned over and looked down. Eomer thought it was likely the elf could see into the individual homes, and wondered if anyone else was hiding away as well.
"There is not much to do up here," Glorfindel noted, his glance shifting to the bottles, and then up into the young king's face.
Eomer looked away and back into the sky. "No." He left it there. One word. A single syllable.
Glorfindel responded with a similar "Hmm", and then turned back to look at the sky as well.
They stood there, looking up into the darkness together. Glorfindel had turned and was now leaning his elbows against the balustrade, his head tilted back to look up at the stars. His long blonde hair, usually in a tight braid that fell down his back like a sword, was kept in a loose pony tail. Eomer sighed, rolling his eyes toward his unwanted companion.
"Why are you not at the festivities?" he asked, uncorking the second bottle of wine to allow it to breath.
"I am unneeded," Glorfindel replied easily, still looking up. "I am merely a Seneschal, and need not advise anyone during a party." He tilted his head to look at Eomer. "You, however, are a king," at this he glanced pointedly at the crown that was sitting on the stones and not Eomer's head, "and much more necessary than I am."
Eomer snorted. "Has anyone made a note of my absence?" he asked, finishing his glass.
Glorfindel shook his head slightly, still watching the man beside him. "No, but I assume that is because you have told your sister you have not been feeling well of late. Does she know you drink alone?" The question wasn't asked with any malice or irony, just flat curiousity.
Eomer's jaw tightened. "She is aware, and unhappy." He sighed, looking down at the opened bottle. His fingers tightened around the empty glass, but he placed it on the stones and turned away. "She is aware, and unhappy," he said again, "but she has her own future to worry about, and I do not want her to worry about mine."
"She is your sister, your family. She will always worry." Glorfindel looked away again and back at the stars. "She is also formidable."
Eomer looked over at the elf with some surprise, the beginnings of a smile curling the corners of his lips. "She is," he said with pride. "She was, even before she readily donned stolen armour and killed the Witch King." The smile dropped from his face, and he turned back around, filling the glass to the brim. "She would make a much better Queen to Rohan." He swallowed half the glass in one, grimacing at the cold of it.
Glorfindel nodded. "I think she would. She has an inspiring presence, and enough steel to cut down an army. And does not retreat."
At this Eomer turned to face the elf head on, infuriated to see him still staring up at the stars. Infuriated that they were standing as far away from the party as they could possibly get. Infuriated that this immortal being had the audacity to judge his mortal weaknesses. Infuriated that he agreed with what the elf said.
He was as shocked as Glorfindel. The wine dripped down the elf's face, rivulets of red curving around the raised eye brows and dipping between the tight lips. The glass was clutched tightly in Eomer's hand. He looked from the glass to Glorfindel's face, then back again. His jaw moved, his mouth opening and closing.
"Guh." Whatever he was trying to say, and even he wasn't sure, got stuck in his throat. He noticed a muscle in the elf's jaw tick, causing a drop of wine to follow the movement, causing Eomer's eyes to follow the drop of wine as it slid down the long neck into the high collar of the formal robes.
Glorfindel raised himself up to his full height, slowly, menacingly. Eomer found his eyes going up, and then his chin. He was suddenly reminded that while Glorfindel was a mere Seneschal, the advisor to Lord Elrond and Captain of Imladris' guards, he was also a reborn Balrog Slayer and had fought in more wars than could be counted on a dozen hands.
He was also very tall and covered in red wine. Not all of it, though. Eomer reached blindly beside himself, knocking the empty bottle over, the glass rolling and dropping over the edge. He grasped the full bottle, knuckles turning white. Glorfindel's eyes slid over to the bottle, and then back to Eomer. Reaching out, leaning down and into the man's space, Glorfindel's large hand closed over Eomer's.
Lifting the bottle, his fingers holding Eomer's tight against the glass, Glorfindel brought it up to his mouth, the movement stretching Eomer's arm out. Turning his grip slightly, Glorfindel tipped the bottle up, forcing Eomer up and closer to him, and let the wine run into his mouth and over his lips. The ruby liquid splashed onto the broad, cloth covered chest, running down his neck and soaking his robes. Eomer moved closer, one step, and then another. His breathing was even and deep, his eyes watching the red stain spread down Glorfindel's chest. The elf pushed the bottle toward Eomer's mouth, bringing it down, compensating for the height difference. Eomer's lips, already opened, instinctively closed around the mouth of the bottle, his tongue pressed against the rim. The bottle tipped up, and Eomer let the wine run down his cheeks, his face tipped up so much that the liquid ran to the back of his neck and into his hair line.
The bottle was placed on the stones and the two stared at each other for a heart-beat. Eomer stood looking up at the elf, the wine already sticky against his skin. Glorfindel stared down at the man, his face only partially illuminated by the lights below, the stars above darkened by the brightness of his eyes. Strong, long fingers threaded themselves through Eomer's wavy hair, gripping at the back of his neck, and tilted his head to the side. Eomer was trembling. He didn't want to seem weak. One of his hands came up, wrapping around Glorfindel's wrist, about to push him away when a long nose was pushed into his hairline. Glorfindel took a breath in, deep into his lungs and his body.
"You smell like fire," he said hoarsely, his lips against Eomer's cheek. His tongue flicked out, licking the wine from the man's beard, and down to just underneath his ear. "You taste like earth."
Eomer sighed, a deep, ragged sound that came from the pit of his being and was expelled with so much force he wasn't sure he'd ever breathe again. The hot breath was back at his ear, sharp teeth biting his ear lobe. "You sound like an earthquake."
The hand wrapped around Glorfindel's wrist tightened and then fell away, settling on the elf's broad chest. Eomer closed his eyes. He grasped the elf's shirt, and then pushed. Not hard, just enough to test. Enough to resist. Enough to fight.
Glorfindel moaned into his ear, the hand in Eomer's hair tightening and pulling the man's head back further. Eomer's other hand was caught and held behind him, Glorfindel pressing both their hands into Eomer's lower back. Eomer arched his back, pressing his hips into the older elf, pushing against the hand that held his.
Eomer wasn't sure how to articulate his need, wasn't even sure if the elf could or would give him what he wanted. He tried to pull away, his scalp tingling when the fingers in his hair tightened.
"You will burn me," the elf whispered into Eomer's ear, "and I will turn you to ash." He pushed Eomer back, the man stumbling backwards until he fell against the wall with a grunt. His hair was let go, but he didn't have a chance to recover, to enjoy the blood returning to his scalp, before Glorfindel had both his hands pinned above his head.
"Stay there," the elf whispered, nipping at Eomer's cheekbone.
"Make me," Eomer breathed. His breath hitched when dark blue eyes narrowed, and a smile curled the thin lips upward. Without breaking eye contact, Glorfindel reached down and Eomer heard the clink of metal, and then the slide of leather. Glorfindel brought his belt up, pressing the metal tip against Eomer's lips. The man slid his tongue out, tasting the cool metal. Glorfindel took a deep breath, pushing the belt in further. Eomer bit the metal tip, gently, holding it between his teeth. He tried to swallow, but with his mouth open a drip of saliva slid out of the corner of his mouth and pooled at the edge of his beard.
Glorfindel withdrew the belt and replaced it with his mouth. His tongue darted out, licking at the saliva just at the edge of Eomer's beard, the coarse hairs erotic against his tongue. The kiss was surprisingly gentle. His tongue was back and pressed against Eomer's teeth, the tip playing with the sharp canines, daring the man to bite. Eomer smiled and took the bait, ever so slightly closing his mouth, feeling the sharp point of his tooth dig into the muscle.
Suddenly Glorfindel was pressing into him, forcing Eomer's head further back, forcing the man to adjust the angle so he could tilt his head further and give the elf total access. Glorfindel's hands, both hands, were on his hips, tilting them up and pressing them together. Eomer tried to bring his hands down, and his eyes flew open when he realized he was restrained. He glanced up, as much as he was able, to see the hilt of a dagger sticking out of the wall. He bit the lip in his mouth, hard, and Glorfindel reared back.
They stared at each other, both breathing hard. Eomer tugged at his hands again, pointedly, obviously. Glorfindel grinned, feral. His hand rose to Eomer's throat, the large hand curling around the man's neck, strong fingers pressing against thin skin and strong muscle. Eomer swallowed but said nothing, did nothing. He didn't move, could barely breathe. He just stared at the elf, hoping his face was blank, afraid that his every want and need was written clearly. Hoping that it was.
Glorfindel's hand moved down, his fingers undoing the buttons of Eomer's robes. The robes of a king. Undone by the fingers of a soldier. Glorfindel's fingertips traced the shape of Eomer's clavicles, the delicate bones, dipping into the hollow in between. He pushed, deep, enough to cause pain. Eomer took a sharp breath in and moaned. His eyes widened, red rising from his chest, spreading in splotches up his neck, and finally climbing up to his cheek bones.
Glorfindel smiled and undid the rest of the buttons, revealing a fine linen shirt underneath. He leaned down, attaching himself to Eomer's neck, and bit down, barely exerting any effort when he ripped the fine shirt in two. Eomer grunted and moaned, his hips moving forward, pushing himself against the elf. Glorfindel had already fallen to his knees, grabbing the man's buttocks and bringing him forward; his lips opened and he mouthed the erection straining against the thick leggings.
Eomer's head fell back, connecting with the stone with an audible thud. He groaned, trying to push himself further, trying to free his cock and shove it into the willing mouth in front of him. The dagger gave a little, flakes of cement dropping onto his hair and shoulder. He stopped pulling immediately, tensing, his eyes flying open. He felt caught. He felt that he had a way out, a way to finish this. He also felt that he needed this, he needed the inability and the lack of choice. So, ironically, he chose not to struggle.
While he was fighting with himself, though, he hadn't noticed Glorfindel glance up at him and frown. Didn't notice the experienced eyes take in the slight change in the dagger's position, or the way Eomer's arms now seemed tense, no longer being held up but holding something up.
Rising, detouring slightly to pinch a nipple between his teeth, Glorfindel caught Eomer's mouth in another passionate kiss and pulled the dagger out of the wall. Eomer whimpered and stiffened, his eyes closing and tears, hot and unknown, slid out of the corners of his eyes. Glorfindel licked the salty tracks away, kissing Eomer's temples softly. They stood like that for a time, Eomer's hands still held above him, Glorfindel breathing gently against his hairline.
"Please."
It was soft, and slightly broken. Glorfindel heard everything: the word, the plea, the need, the fear, and the shame. The dagger came back up, and this time Eomer's arms were stretched further, his heels rising off the ground as Glorfindel brought his hands up higher. Finally he heard the dagger thrust into wood and looked up to see Glorfindel's belt, wrapped around his wrists and stabbed through with the dagger, into the base of a window sill. He looked down and met Glorfindel's eyes. The elf stared at him, into him, before leaning forward. His cheek brushed against Eomer's beard, his sharp teeth grabbing the man's ear lobe and tugging painfully.
"I did not lie," he whispered into Eomer's ear. "I will turn you into ash, and we will burn so bright." He licked up Eomer's neck, tasting the sticky wine and salt. The man panted, his hips pushing against the elf, his bare chest seeking out warmth.
"I am already ash," Eomer moaned, "I need to burn again."
Strong fingers wrapped around his throat once again, and squeezed, this time the pressure not gentle or hesitant. This time Eomer closed his eyes and relaxed, letting himself fall forward as much as possible, the taught web of skin between Glorfindel's thumb and pointer finger pressing harder against his oesophagus. The strong fingers shifted, gripping Eomer's chin, pulling the course hairs of his beard. Soft lips came down, warm and wet, but the kiss was hard and demanding. The tongue that pushed into his mouth was no longer questing or teasing. Now it conquered and took. It took Eomer's taste, his breath, his soul. He tried to parry, tried to move his tongue into the open mouth plundering his, but was rebuffed time and again. Once, when he was finally able to force Glorfindel to retreat and followed him eagerly, the elf broke the kiss and then lunged forward to bite Eomer's lips. The man cried out but was silenced by Glorfindel's hand. The elf now began to kiss his way down Eomer's neck, biting the delicate bones of his clavicle, sucking at the offended skin with so much brutality that there would be a bruise for days. Glorfindel sucked harder, biting some more. Maybe he could extend it to a few weeks.
Eomer felt the burn begin in his shoulders, but ignored it, adjusting his feet to get more comfortable, trying to relieve some of the discomfort. Glorfindel continued his exploration, broad hands now at the man's waist. His thumbs dipped into the deep v that led down beyond his leggings, guiding toward the neglected yet still very attentive erection. His tongue was licking around the small, tight nipples. The hard buds were quickly abandoned, much to Eomer's vocal dismay, but Glorfindel kissed his way quickly down to his abdomen. And finally, finally, Eomer felt the laces of his leggings loosen. Finally, finally, finally, his cock was free. Eomer's eyes were closed, his head pressing into the stone behind him, his erection almost painful.
For long moments he felt nothing except the occasional waft of air on his cock. Opening his eyes, he looked down to find Glorfindel looking up at him. Eomer's breath caught when Glorfindel opened his mouth and slowly, teasingly, his tongue poked out and licked the tip of Eomer's cock. The man could barely breathe, looking at the elf below him. The tongue was now circling the head of his cock, and then back up into the slit, pushing. The leggings were pulled down further, past his knees, and then strong hands were gripping his buttocks. His cheeks were pulled apart, and then his hips pushed up, his cock pushed and pulled, sucked, into a waiting and eager mouth. The new position released some of the tension from Eomer's shoulders, and he nearly came with the pain of the blood rushing back to his shoulders. He groaned, long and loud, with relief and pain and arousal.
Glorfindel continued to suck, taking the man's cock deep into his mouth and as far down his throat as possible. His hands kneaded the tight buttocks, and his fingers brushed over the tight, puckered muscle. Eomer tried to bear down on the teasing fingers, but Glorfindel's hands tightened, not allowing the man to move. Eomer growled and tried to move, kicking out at the elf's thighs. Glorfindel pulled off Eomer's cock suddenly and jerked the leggings down to his ankles but didn't remove them. Instead, he ducked under the impromptu restraints and took Eomer's thighs on his shoulders, pushing Eomer further up the wall. His mouth returned to the man's cock, and he swallowed him, as much as possible. His hands returned to Eomer's bottom, spreading the cheeks almost painfully wide. He held Eomer there, swallowing the hard cock as deep as possible, his long nose almost, but not quite, brushing against Eomer's pubic hairs. His long finger was once again at the tight ring of muscle, and then was inside, up to the first knuckle.
Eomer hissed, his eyes closed, teeth clenched. His breath was whistling, in and out, between his teeth. His jaw was so tight he thought it would break. And still he bore down on the finger, not quiet relaxing but begging for more. Glorfindel obliged, pulling off his cock with a loud, wet, sucking pop. He adjusted Eomer's thighs, tilting his hips forward. Eomer's cock curved up and away, his balls tight to his body, revealing the puckered muscle currently stretched slightly around Glorfindel's pointer finger. This time Glorfindel groaned, experimentally pushing his finger further, the both of them moaning at the resistance.
Glorfindel's tongue, sticky with Eomer's precum and wet with saliva, reached out and licked around his own finger, and then the pucker of Eomer's anus. The tip probed and tried to fit in beside his own finger. Frustrated, Glorfindel removed his finger and replaced it with his tongue, pushing into the tight entrance. Eomer's thighs were closing around Glorfindel's head, the hairs on his legs rubbing against Glorfindel's ears, causing such delicious pleasure to shoot through him that he moaned against the tight muscle. Eomer heaved against him, the vibrations sending him over the edge.
"Glor-." He cut off with a tight groan, but the warning was enough for Glorfindel to pull back and wrap his lips around the head of Eomer's cock. Hot streams of cum burst onto his tongue and pooled in the sides of his mouth, leaking from the corner of his lips. Eomer tried to thrust, but Glorfindel held his hips against the wall, not letting him move. When he was finished, Eomer slumped in relief, his whole weight balanced on Glorfindel's shoulders.
Carefully shrugging off his outer robe, the elf stood slowly, not removing the man's legs, forcing Eomer to bend in two. Glorfindel came up to face level, pressing forward, Eomer's knees now beside his cheeks.
The man watched him, unembarrassed at his position. His cheeks were pink and sweat was dripping down the side of his face, cutting through the wine stains. Glorfindel leaned forward and pressed his mouth to Eomer's, opening the man's lips. Eomer's eyes widened and he instinctively tried to move away when he felt his own cooling cum forced into his mouth. Glorfindel gripped the slim hips hard, forced the man's mouth to stay open, and moved the cum around their mouths with his tongue.
One of his hands left Eomer's hips and lifted to the man's closing mouth. Pushing two fingers in, he pushed down on Eomer's lower teeth, forcing his mouth to open wider, stopping him from swallowing. Eomer stared at him, his tongue flicking out and licking the fingers holding him open. Glorfindel pushed further, his fingers slowly sliding toward the back of Eomer's mouth, saliva and cum dripping into Eomer's beard. The thick fingers moved back and forth, a gentle fucking of his mouth, lubricated entirely by Eomer.
With a breath, Glorfindel removed his fingers. "Swallow." It was a low command, followed slowly, too slowly, by a finger pushing into Eomer's ass. Eomer swallowed, the salty thickness of his own cum arousing because it had lubricated the fucking of his mouth and now the fucking his ass. Another finger joined, and both were pushed up to the third knuckle immediately. Eomer groaned, his head falling forward, his brow meeting Glorfindel's. The elf's skin was dry and cool, a refreshing contrast to his own hot and sweat slicked skin.
"How can I burn you when you're so cold?" Eomer asked, his hot breath wafting over Glorfindel's face.
"How can you be ash when you're so hot?" Glorfindel countered, grinning when he scissored his fingers, eliciting a groan from the man. Instead of dropping back, Eomer pressed himself further into Glorfindel, letting himself fall into the elf in front of him.
With little warning, Glorfindel removed his fingers, replaced them with his cock, and pushed. He had barely stretched the man out, but neither cared. Eomer whined and bucked his hips, biting just underneath the elf's ear, sucking the skin into his mouth. Glorfindel pulled Eomer's leg closer, biting the flesh of his knee, and pushing further.
He was barely halfway in and he could feel Eomer trembling, could see the muscles in his legs tense and release. Glorfindel stopped pushing, pulling out slowly, gently. Gripping the back of Eomer's head, he forced the man's head to tilt uncomfortably forward and down. Bringing his mouth close to Eomer's ear, he licked the lobe and into the whirl of the ear. "Spit," he commanded, kissing Eomer's temple, just at his hairline. When the man hesitated, looking beyond his own hardening cock to Glorfindel's magnificent, intimidating, glorious length, the elf tightened his grip and gave him a little shake. "Spit," he commanded, harsher, his bared teeth now pressing into the spot he had just kissed.
Eomer took a shaky breath, and then pursed his lips, his tongue darting out before a ball of saliva slid out of his mouth, over his bottom lip, and hung there before falling down, down, onto the hard cock that at once promised and threatened him.
"More," came the harsh voice, the sharp teeth now biting the top of his ear. Self-consciously, Eomer noisily brought up more spit, holding it in his mouth, gathering it, before opening his mouth and letting it drop onto Glorfindel's cock.
The hand tightened once more, keeping Eomer's gaze down. Glorfindel took his cock in hand and spread the spit around and over, paying particular attention to the head. Framed by Eomer's knees and shins, Glorfindel pushed his shoulders forward, forcing Eomer to tilt his hips up, and making the man watch as Glorfindel lined himself up. "I will fuck you hard, and I will fuck you fast, and the moment you want to stop I will fuck you harder."
Eomer sobbed, unable to close his eyes as the hard cock was forced back into him, opening him and tearing every part of his soul asunder. He watched the thick flesh stop when it met resistance, retreat, and then push forward again. He watched his own cock bounce, precum already forming on the tip. He wanted to raise his head, wanted to kiss Glorfindel or look away, but he couldn't. He was forced to watch, over and over, as he was fucked. The hand at the base of his neck didn't relax, but the fingers were now massaging, mimicking some sort of gentleness, and Eomer realized he was once again in control. The grip never relaxed, but the gentleness was a reminder that at any moment he could stop, contrary to Glorfindel's passionate statement. He pushed against the hand, only slightly, just enough to let Glorfindel know he was part of the game.
The hand moved up, beyond his neck to the back of his head, and gripped, pulling his gaze up. Eomer met Glorfindel's eyes, warm hazel against cool blue, and wondered how anyone could not fear this living legend; could not look into his eyes and tremble with the power and anger and fear that existed there. Glorfindel's beautiful, difficult eyes narrowed briefly. He smiled, suddenly, but the light in his eyes was manic, and Eomer realized Glorfindel needed as much understanding as he did.
The man reached forward, his lips just brushing the elf's. His words slid out on a hot breath, barely in the air before they were swallowed by Glorfindel's mouth.
"I will burn you, and we will suffocate in the smoke."
There were no more words after that. Glorfindel thrust forward, his thick cock hilting, his balls slapping against Eomer's ass. Eomer groaned at the sensation, his cock caught between his abs and Glorfindel's clothes, the precum staining the fine linen and smearing on Eomer's stomach. Realizing the elf was still fully clothed, remembering the dagger holding him up, and recognizing the need in the other aroused Eomer further and he whimpered. He moved his hips as much as possible, trying to meet the elf's rhythm. Glorfindel growled and slammed into him harder, his other hand now gripping Eomer's throat, the man's head immobilized. Eomer was held completely still except for the movement forced on him by the cock fucking into him.
Teeth and tongue attacked Eomer's mouth, thin lips swallowing him whole. Eomer tried to give as good as he got, but every time he tried to push past his own mouth into Glorfindel's, the elf's hand would tighten around his throat. So Eomer left his mouth open and let the elf fuck him, take him, ruin him for anyone and everyone after this. The hand at the back of his head pushed him forward, and now Eomer felt his breath become more restricted, felt the muscles of his throat rebel against the hand.
He moaned, thin and reedy, rasping at the very end. He could barely breathe. Dark spots began at the edge of his vision, floating in and out of the corners. His hands were starting to go numb, as were his feet, and the lack of sensation in his extremities increased the sensation everywhere else. His nipples were chafing against Glorfindel's shirt; his cock hit against his abs, and then Glorfindel's taught stomach; his balls were dragged slightly with each push in and each pull out; his asshole was stretched so far, and then released and empty, and then stretched again and so full.
The hand at his throat released slightly, and the heady feeling of air in his lungs and oxygen in his blood sent him over the edge. He came, hard. His cum spurted on his stomach, covering one of his nipples. It arced onto Glorfindel's shirt, soaking in with the wine stains, white and red. He groaned, loudly, the sound cut off when the hand around his throat tightened again, and thin lips sealed his mouth. An animalistic, terrifying, deep sound emerged from Glorfindel's chest as he thrust once, then again, and finally held still. The muscles of his stomach jumped as he came, the heat filling Eomer and the elf felt himself burn up. He felt the marks on his back heat and scald him, and he pressed his hand harder, pressed his lips harder, groaned everything he was into Eomer's waiting mouth. And Eomer took it greedily, his tongue finally allowed to explore and conquer, sweeping Glorfindel's mouth. He revelled in the difference of the cool air on his buttocks, the wind starting to play with their hair, and the heat, the absolute fire of the elf in him.
They finally broke apart with a loud, satisfied, disappointed sound. Glorfindel rested his brow against Eomer's shoulder, his own broad shoulders heaving. The hand at Eomer's throat had fallen away and now rested on the man's thigh, stroking up and down.
Eomer swallowed, licking his lips. "Tha-." He stopped. His voice was hoarse, and he could barely speak, his throat constricted and sore.
Glorfindel's shoulders tensed, then fell. He moved Eomer's legs off his shoulders, letting the man down gently. Eomer winced, breath hissing out from between clenched teeth, the change in position revealing new tender spots in his body. The dagger was pulled away, and he suddenly found himself without any support. An embarrassing grunted noise came out of the man as he suddenly found himself falling.
Strong arms caught him and held him up, steadying him until Eomer could feel his feet again. When he felt sure enough, he placed his hands on Glorfindel's forearms and squeezed, letting the elf know he was alright. Glorfindel stepped back abruptly and tucked himself away. Eomer did the same, shame beginning to turn the heat into something cloying and sticky. His shirt was ruined, but he could pull the robes closed. He was doing up the top button when his fingers pushed against his clavicle, dragging against the large bruise that was likely to be there for days, if not weeks.
There was still the sound of revelry, but it had quieted, and judging by the darkness spreading out over the city many people had already left the warmth of the parties for the warmth of their beds.
Eomer shivered. Partly from the cold, but partly from the fear and shame of revealing himself so completely, and then being turned away. He tried to swallow but the pain of his recent activities, as well as the lump forming in his throat, made him choke and cough. Strong hands steadied him when he nearly fell over, but they were indifferent now, deferent. They were the hands of a Seneschal helping a foreign king.
He refused to need help, refused to want it. Shaking the hands off, he coughed into a closed fist, straightening. The two stood like that for a while, Eomer looking at the ground, Glorfindel's arms hanging at his side. Eomer finally looked up, and when he did he felt physically winded.
The cool blue eyes were now ice, cold and impenetrable. In response Eomer tightened his jaw, lifting his chin. He opened his mouth to say something, anything, but nothing came out. Finally, he nodded curtly and turned away. The bottle of wine was still there, but he reached past it for the crown. He hesitated, just briefly, before grabbing it, cursing his own weakness in front of the person who had torn him apart, and then hurt him. Taking a deep breath, he turned to leave.
Glorfindel cleared his throat, and Eomer stopped, unwilling to look at the elf. His hand tightened around the crown, the cool metal reminding him of his responsibilities and his infinite unreadiness.
"I apologize," the elf said lowly, respectfully. Eomer gasped, the pain in his stomach nearly bending him double. He didn't stop himself. He knew what he was doing, and he suspected Glorfindel did as well, but he didn't stop himself. The fist not holding the crown collided with Glorfindel's jaw. Although they were both expecting it, Glorfindel looked very surprised at the force. His head snapped back, long blonde hair flying before settling perfectly over his shoulders and down his back.
"Fuck your apologies," Eomer bit out. The tears gathered at the corners of his eyes, leaking down to follow the same trails they had carved when he felt himself fully give in, when he decided he need to be taken. "Fuck you. How dare you. How dare you!" He could hear his voice crack, and the humiliation forced more tears.
Glorfindel stood impassively, watching him with those eyes that moments ago were asking him for the same understanding that Eomer needed. They were now cold, an icy blue that had no cracks.
"Why?"
It was broken, the word shattered into two or three syllables. Glorfindel swallowed and looked away, his shoulders straightening and his hands going behind his back. A soldier's pose. The pose of a man about to take orders and follow them through unquestioningly.
"It was…" Glorfindel trailed off, taking a breath before continuing. "It was a mistake. I'm sorry. I overstepped." His breath was coming fast. It was even, but it was deep and fast, and Eomer began to think that maybe the elf wasn't as unaffected as he seemed to be.
Eomer stared at the elf, at the red blossoming on his jawbone, thinking that it would bruise rather spectacularly for a few days. But maybe not. Elves were notoriously fast healers. They were also notoriously cold. Even Gondor's new queen, for all her beauty, seemed so spectacularly aloof.
"The elves brought fire." Eomer's voice broke the silence, and Glorfindel swallowed audibly. "They brought fire and showed men how to use it, how to stoke it brighter and hotter." He began to step closer, noticing the muscle beginning to tic in Glorfindel's jaw. "You gave us heat." He stepped closer again, Glorfindel's eyes closing. "And kept none for yourself." He reached out now, tracing the red mark on Glorfindel's jaw. The elf shuddered, his shoulders slumping, head tilting to give Eomer more access. "Why do you have so much?" At this, he moved his hand over Glorfindel's shoulder and down to his back, stepping closer. "Did you keep some?" He was now pressed almost flush against the elf who, at this close distance, he could tell was trembling. "Or was it forced on you?" His hand was on the elf's back. He didn't know where, but he knew that Glorfindel, reborn Balrog Slayer, carried the marks of his killer. "Does it still burn you?" He circled around, now, standing behind Glorfindel, moving his blonde hair aside, the pony tail draping over Glorfindel's broad shoulder. "Is that why you need to burn others? Why you needed to burn me?" He pressed himself flush against the elf's back, his hands moving up to the elf's chest and forcing them together. "Why you needed to hurt me?"
Glorfindel finally broke away with a cry. Eomer stumbled back, not surprised and quickly got his footing.
"Don't ever apologize to me," Eomer commanded, his voice lower and rougher. "Don't ever apologize to me for what happened. I needed it." At this Glorfindel turned to look at him, cracks appearing in the ice of his eyes. "I wanted it, and I think you did as well." Eomer advanced on the elf, resting his hand gently on his arm. Suddenly the stress and exertion, and the hour of the night, caught up to him and whatever he was going to say next was swallowed by a yawn.
Glorfindel smiled, then snorted, then laughed. It was full bodied, and slightly hysterical, but it flew out over the cold night air and joined in with the lingering music.
Eomer grinned sleepily. "Now," he said, placing the crown on his head, albeit at a bit of an angle as his arms refused to raise that high, "I believe we need to have a talk."
Jeepers creeps. That was...fun. Anyway, I really hope y'all enjoyed. If not, please let me know why. This was meant to be a one-shot, but it got away from me and I have quite a few little snippets of these two that I'm gonna polish up and put up here.