Series: Taking place in the Anestel universe, some time in the future.
Pairing: Glorfindel/Legolas
Rating: R
Warnings: slash, mention of mpreg
Written for the Hair challenge of the tripledogdare community on livejournal.
~*~*~
Gold - beautiful, elusive, most precious of all ore save for mithril, and as Legolas ran his fingers through the wealth of gold that was his and his alone, he thought that mayhap, he was not so unlike his father after all.
His father, they said, was enamored of silver, unnaturally fond of precious green stones, yet Legolas knew that no jewel would ever hold the same appeal for him than even a single strand of the flamboyantly bright hue that on these mortal shores graced the head of one person alone.
Glorfindel. He wondered who had named him so - his father? His mother? Or had it been an epessë given by a friend? He had learned much about Noldorin culture during his life in Imladris, and yet such customs were still strange to him. How could someone hold so many names when it was only one person?
Glorfindel had once asked him whether he wanted to give their son a name of his own. He had been tactful enough not to call it mother-name, yet Legolas knew that it was what he had meant. He had refused - not because he was afraid of being called a mother, but simply because their Gîl was their Gîl, and he was perfect the way he was. How could he give him another name when he was Gîlríon?
No, Legolas would not give Gîl another name when the one he had was already perfect, and yet he wondered whether his Lord had ever not been called by the epithet that seemed to have been made for him alone.
He could not imagine him with any other name. Glorfindel was Glorfindel, bright as the sun, warm as light, noble as the royal ore.
He ran his fingers through the heavy mane once more, marveling at the weight of it, the unruly locks that refused to be tamed by any comb, and yet they felt like silk on his skin. A special fragrance clung to the bright tresses, an elusive scent that refused to be recognized and which yet always brought images to Legolas' mind of bold sunflowers, freshly cut grass, apples ripening in the sun, of resting in the heat of a summer noon after taking a bath in a cool lake. All good things, bright things, and Legolas knew that to observe his Lord in his full glory in the light of Anor had long since made even the splendor of the stars pale for him.
He buried his face in the heavy tresses, sighing in quiet happiness and a part guilty pleasure when he realized that he had enjoyed it so much to play with Glorfindel's hair that he had hardened against his thigh. He hesitated for a moment, his guilt heightening as he imagined how the silken hair would feel against his swollen length, and then suddenly he found himself rolled onto his back, a very much awake and aroused Lord of the Golden Flower resting atop him. His vision was restricted by the golden hair that surrounded him like a veil, and he could not stop himself from reaching up to run his fingers through it once more.
"You are so beautiful!" he said softly, flushing when he realized that he sounded like a besotted maiden - and yet, the golden splendor above him, around him had bewitched him in truth. "I love your hair," he admitted then, his cheeks still hot with embarrassment, yet his love and admiration for this noble Lord who had once given his own life to save his King's heir was such a vast, bright thing inside him that he could not keep silent. He turned his head, brushing his lips against the golden tresses that were smoother than the finest silk, and sighed a little, for as always when he thought about Glorfindel's accomplishments he felt terribly young and inexperienced, and the love his Lord bore him seemed a baffling mystery that could never be understood.
"Have you wondered how I came by my name, then?" Glorfindel asked, a knowing, wicked light in his eyes as he slowly moved one leg, his thigh sliding along Legolas' erection. "There is not much to it, no story for a minstrel. 'Twas my mother-name... I am certain that my father was disappointed, for it seems an obvious and dull choice for one with Vanyarin blood, yet I was told that scarcely a year had passed that my father-name was all but forgotten, for even among my cousins, Finarfin's get, I was without rival when it came to the brilliance of my hair."
"Vain!" Legolas exclaimed with an affectionate smile, arching invitingly against his Lord until their lengths were aligned, and they both gasped. "And yet you have reason to be," he then amended, burying his hands in the heavy tresses once more as he leaned up for a kiss.
"Mmh," Glorfindel agreed. "'Tis the name of a braggart, someone overly proud and arrogant, and thus, I think my mother showed uncommon foresight in naming me after all, little though they knew it then."
"You have never lacked confidence, but you are no braggart, Lord. You are rightfully proud of who and what you are..."
Glorfindel smiled and wound a lock of Legolas' paler hair around a finger. "The days I have spent with self-doubt can indeed be counted on the fingers of one hand. And that is what you like about me, is it not?"
"Almost as much as your golden hair, Lord!" Legolas admitted, his smile gently teasing so that Glorfindel growled and took his mouth once more until Legolas felt lightheaded from lack of breath, unable to produce any sound but a helpless whimper when he was released at last. Golden hair pooled in his lap when Glorfindel's hot mouth moved down his body, and his last coherent thought was that while his father might love only silver, there was nothing more precious to him than the bright splendor of his Lord's famed gold.