AN: In the same universe as "To My Shining Light"
It is dark in the library, and he thinks he is alone. He is unaware that someone stands behind the door.
He is lying on the couch, slim thighs spread, black velvet robe loose, leggings untied. He is unaware that the door is slightly ajar.
His dark eyes are closed and he shivers as his hand slides down into his leggings. He is already half hard. His thoughts aroused him before his hand got the chance to.
Visions of strong limbs, of pale glowing skin, of bright golden hair, of sparkling green eyes. Thoughts of full lips kissing, nibbling, sucking. Sucking...
He moans softly and bites into his lip as his hand closes around himself and he begins to stroke himself in a firm, slow, sweat-slickened grip.
He knows it is wrong. He knows he should not do it, not in the library, anyone could walk in. But no one will. It is late. Everyone is in bed. No one comes here at this time of night, this he knows.
No one comes here but him. He comes here often when his dreams keep him awake. He stopped trying to fight the urges of his body years ago. When he wakes, he dresses and sneaks to the most public of private places.
He cannot bear to pleasure himself in his own bedchamber. He cannot bear to make himself spend to thoughts of the one who sleeps in the next room. He worries he would hear him.
Three inches of stone and plaster separate him from his love's body at night. Unfathomable miles of dreams separate him from his heart.
Glorfindel....
The name hangs on his lips but he will not release the word into the air. He cannot. To release it would make it real. And it would make it untrue.
While his eyes are closed he can pretend. He can pretend he is in bed, he can pretend that it is Glorfindel's mouth upon his flesh rather than his own hand. He can pretend that golden hair caresses his inner thighs rather than his own fingertips.
Glorfindel... Glorfindel... Glorfindel...
The name beats in his mind like a mantra, beats with his heart, fighting to be freed on every stuttering breath.
He whimpers as his thumb runs over the weeping head of his erection and he bites his lip hard. He has to be quiet. Just in case.
Glorfindel...
He has seen him naked in the baths, but he cannot begin to imagine how beautiful he would be unclothed and undone. Would he still be pale? Would he glow with desire? Would his eyes darken to the colour of pine?
Glorfindel...
So beautiful...
He doesn't think he would stand a chance, but he doesn't see what others see. He doesn't see that strange dark eyes are in fact unique pools of depth, he does not see that limbs wasted from years behind a desk are lithe and slim. He thinks a dark robe hides old wounds and scars, he does not see that it hides promise. He does not see that scars shine like silver in the moonlight, a diagonal line down his back like an icy river on a plain of snow.
He does not see how beautiful he is.
He does not know that his wan cheeks flush pink when he is aroused. He does not see that the slight muscles in his thighs tremble as his body screams with tension. He does not see that his thick eyelashes flutter against his cheekbones. He does not realise how wanton his mouth looks when he gasps. He doesn't realise how inviting a flailing hand gripping the arm of a sofa is.
He could never know how incredible he looks. White skin lit up by a pale moon, enfolded in black clothes, long limbs quivering, long fingers moving...
He doesn't know how sensual his breath sounds as he tries to contain his cries. He only knows how dirty he feels when his cock gives that final pulse and he comes, messing another pair of leggings.
He only knows how awful he feels when he returns to reality.
He only knows how lonely he feels when he looks around the secluded library.
He doesn't see the door close quietly. He doesn't know that a pair of emerald eyes have been watching him. He doesn't know that someone has just realised he is beautiful...
~END~
It is dark in the library, and he thinks he is alone. He is unaware that someone stands behind the door.
He is lying on the couch, slim thighs spread, black velvet robe loose, leggings untied. He is unaware that the door is slightly ajar.
His dark eyes are closed and he shivers as his hand slides down into his leggings. He is already half hard. His thoughts aroused him before his hand got the chance to.
Visions of strong limbs, of pale glowing skin, of bright golden hair, of sparkling green eyes. Thoughts of full lips kissing, nibbling, sucking. Sucking...
He moans softly and bites into his lip as his hand closes around himself and he begins to stroke himself in a firm, slow, sweat-slickened grip.
He knows it is wrong. He knows he should not do it, not in the library, anyone could walk in. But no one will. It is late. Everyone is in bed. No one comes here at this time of night, this he knows.
No one comes here but him. He comes here often when his dreams keep him awake. He stopped trying to fight the urges of his body years ago. When he wakes, he dresses and sneaks to the most public of private places.
He cannot bear to pleasure himself in his own bedchamber. He cannot bear to make himself spend to thoughts of the one who sleeps in the next room. He worries he would hear him.
Three inches of stone and plaster separate him from his love's body at night. Unfathomable miles of dreams separate him from his heart.
Glorfindel....
The name hangs on his lips but he will not release the word into the air. He cannot. To release it would make it real. And it would make it untrue.
While his eyes are closed he can pretend. He can pretend he is in bed, he can pretend that it is Glorfindel's mouth upon his flesh rather than his own hand. He can pretend that golden hair caresses his inner thighs rather than his own fingertips.
Glorfindel... Glorfindel... Glorfindel...
The name beats in his mind like a mantra, beats with his heart, fighting to be freed on every stuttering breath.
He whimpers as his thumb runs over the weeping head of his erection and he bites his lip hard. He has to be quiet. Just in case.
Glorfindel...
He has seen him naked in the baths, but he cannot begin to imagine how beautiful he would be unclothed and undone. Would he still be pale? Would he glow with desire? Would his eyes darken to the colour of pine?
Glorfindel...
So beautiful...
He doesn't think he would stand a chance, but he doesn't see what others see. He doesn't see that strange dark eyes are in fact unique pools of depth, he does not see that limbs wasted from years behind a desk are lithe and slim. He thinks a dark robe hides old wounds and scars, he does not see that it hides promise. He does not see that scars shine like silver in the moonlight, a diagonal line down his back like an icy river on a plain of snow.
He does not see how beautiful he is.
He does not know that his wan cheeks flush pink when he is aroused. He does not see that the slight muscles in his thighs tremble as his body screams with tension. He does not see that his thick eyelashes flutter against his cheekbones. He does not realise how wanton his mouth looks when he gasps. He doesn't realise how inviting a flailing hand gripping the arm of a sofa is.
He could never know how incredible he looks. White skin lit up by a pale moon, enfolded in black clothes, long limbs quivering, long fingers moving...
He doesn't know how sensual his breath sounds as he tries to contain his cries. He only knows how dirty he feels when his cock gives that final pulse and he comes, messing another pair of leggings.
He only knows how awful he feels when he returns to reality.
He only knows how lonely he feels when he looks around the secluded library.
He doesn't see the door close quietly. He doesn't know that a pair of emerald eyes have been watching him. He doesn't know that someone has just realised he is beautiful...
~END~