Sorry if I made any mistakes with history or lore or anything; feel free to mention it in the comments and I'll do my best to fix things! Also, sorry about the awkwardness in the first section with the names but I figured that they wouldn't be called Ecthelion or Glorfindel yet but I still called Ecthelion Ecthelion anyways for simplicity and it all ended up weird but it's a fanfiction so who cares. This all happened because of a silly drabble I wrote because I loved this pairing so much and then I couldn't even include the drabble because it didn't fit the plot.

(but it's on my tumblr (azaisya) if you want to read it)

Disclaimer: I don't own any of the characters or locations mentioned below.

I.

Ecthelion couldn't remember dozing off. He hadn't thought he'd be able to, initially. Elves didn't normally feel the cold, but this cold was all encompassing. It surrounded them like darkness itself, ever-watchful and ever-present. Terrible and oppressive in its silence, it prowled and waited and wanted, filled with an insatiable hunger that was painful to even think of.

And then, as soon as the elves tore their weary eyes away for even a second, it would pounce, mercilessly striking down the weak and swallowing up the stragglers without even a whisper.

Ecthelion could feel it even in his dreams, slipping claws into his snow-soaked cloak and encompassing him in its silver embrace. He very nearly let it pull him in. He was cold and alone and so very tired.

But then something blunt and undeniably solid drove itself into his side, followed immediately by a heavy weight that landed on top of him and drove his breath from his lungs.

Drawn back into consciousness, Ecthelion stirred. It took several seconds for his cold-logged limbs to remember how to move, and he haltingly pulled himself out from the weight above him.

The weight moved.

Shocked, Ecthelion froze. There was an elf on top of him. He was fully grown, but, like Ecthelion, there was a youthful immaturity to his face. He was young, an adolescent trying desperately to act the part of an adult.

With the same, aching slowness as him, the elf rolled over onto his side and blinked at Ecthelion with eyes the color of the ice that surrounded them. For a second, Ecthelion couldn't think of anything to say. He was distracted by bluntly radiant the elf was. The dismal misery that surrounded the Ice didn't pass him over, but, rather than diminishing him, made him brighter, his face fair and his hair stunningly gold.

It was his hair that was the most shocking, a spot of brightness in the dark heads that dominated their host. Ecthelion had never seen gold that beautiful before, nor hair so long and curly. As the elf rolled into a sitting position and pushed his hair away from his face, it shimmered and reflected what little firelight they had in a dazzling array.

"My apologies," the golden-haired elf said, finally settling with his legs folded under him, "I didn't see you."

Ecthelion stared for several more seconds. The elf was younger than he was, although not by so much that the gap between them was unsurpassable. At length, he managed, "That's okay. I wasn't sleeping."

The other adolescent nodded, expression suddenly growing somber. "It's too cold to sleep alone."

Ecthelion looked down at his lap, unconsciously folding the corner of his cloak over his legs. He didn't like thinking about the cold; it'd been the cold that'd taken his father, and he hadn't seen his mother for days, and it'd nearly taken him just now.

The golden-haired boy whispered, voice suddenly very low, "I can't find my parents."

Ecthelion's eyes snapped upwards. "Me neither," he admitted, smiling wryly. He knew that they were supposed to find an adult and tell them, but the adults had enough to worry about right now. They didn't need to worry about a wayward child who likely wouldn't survive the crossing anyways.

Something like grief or sympathy passed through those ice-grey eyes, and the golden-haired boy suggested, "We could stay together." He smiled, suddenly dazzling in the darkness. "For warmth."

Ecthelion smiled back, shy and achingly lonely. "That'd be a good idea." He shifted until his side was pressed against the other boy's. With fingers made clumsy from the cold, he untied his cloak and wrapped it around the both of them.

As he fumbled at the ties, the golden-haired boy suddenly reached out and knotted it with a simple bow. Ecthelion's fingers warmed at the contact, and he stuck his hands under his armpits in an effort to retain that warmth. The two boys sat still for a while, shifting closer and closer until their shivers stopped. "I'm Aiktelion," he said, once the silence became comfortable.

"Laurefindil," came the reply, heavy with sleep.

"We should sleep in turns," Ecthelion murmured, "So we don't freeze."

"That's a good idea," Laurefindil replied, dropping his head onto Ecthelion's shoulder, "Freezing wouldn't be good."

Ecthelion laughed for the first time in days. Startled by the fact, he quickly fell silent and turned his gaze outwards, towards the frozen expanse that they had yet to traverse. He could feel the cold creeping back at the mere thought of the painful days before them, but then Laurefindil looped an arm around his waist and the cold fled.

"If we don't die," Laurefindil began, voice painfully frank, "we should be friends."

Ecthelion's face, slowly and awkwardly, as if through a half-remembered dream, split into a smile. "I'd like that."

"Wake me up before we start walking again," Laurefinde mumbled, body already stilling as he drifted off.

Ecthelion tore his gaze away from the ice and stared instead at his newfound friend, warmth blossoming in his chest. "Don't worry," he whispered, even though he knew that his words passed unheeded over Laurefindil's sleeping form, "I'll make sure we don't die."

II.

It was pouring outside. The youngest Lords of Gondolin — now named Ecthelion of the Fountain and Glorfindel of the Golden Flower — sat together inside one of the few completed buildings in Gondolin, their limbs hopelessly tangled because they were sharing the only armchair.

Because most of Gondolin's buildings either didn't have ceilings or furniture, what few elves were helping to build the city tended to cluster in the same places during rainy days.

Ecthelion looked up from his book and couldn't help smiling at the dismal look on Glorfindel's face as the golden-haired elf-lord watched the rain fall. He reached out and nudged him with his toe. "Why so somber, my Lord?"

Glorfindel turned and his face brightened into its usual contagious grin. "Gondolin built and we haven't even the ability to go out and enjoy it!" he exclaimed, leaning back against the armrest to scowl at the stormy skies again.

Ecthelion rolled his eyes and pointedly opened his book again. "I'm enjoying Gondolin."

Glorfindel laughed and tossed his golden hair over the backrest. As he stretched out, his legs shifted against Ecthelion and Ecthelion's eyes scuttled upwards towards the blond's face. But he was looking mournfully out the window again.

Ecthelion slowly returned to his book, trying to ignore the sudden heat that ran through his veins. He and Glorfindel had been friends since their meeting at the Helcaraxë, and they'd only grown closer under Turgon's watchful eye and Idril's friendly influence. Indeed, their friendship with Idril and their own strength was likely why they'd been counted among the few to become Turgon's Lords.

But throughout all that time — throughout their travels and their troubles and their joys — Glorfindel had remained Ecthelion's steadfast friend. But recently . . . something had shifted.

Ecthelion found himself staring more and more often, caught up in the glittering gold of Glorfindel's hair and the easy way he smiled and the excitement that effused from simply his presence.

Glorfindel suddenly shifted, disentangling his legs and twisting himself around so that he could rest his head on Ecthelion's shoulder. Ecthelion's breath caught in his chest. They'd touched before — for Glorfindel was an incessantly physical person — but this felt different. Even something as innocent at Glorfindel's palm on his knee would make his heart quicken and awaken an ache within his heart, an ache to be touched, to be close, to feel. "There is nothing to do," Glorfindel complained.

Ecthelion raised his eyebrows and absentmindedly uncrossed his legs so that he could touch his foot against Glorfindel's. "Have you checked that all of the tools are out of the rain?"

Glorfindel raised a hand to make a vague gesture, which meant that he hadn't.

Ecthelion felt a surge of warmth for the golden-haired elf and dropped his head onto Glorfindel's. "Then don't complain, mellon nîn. Just enjoy the rain."

Glorfindel made a bored sound and wiggled until he could sit comfortably. Carelessly, he reached out and grabbed Ecthelion's book. "If I'm to be bored, then you are too."

"I don't get bored," Ecthelion replied automatically, trying to ignore the way his heart sped up when Glorfindel's fingers brushed his. What was going on with him?

Glorfindel chuckled and turned his head so that his nose brushed against Ecthelion's collarbone. "Well then I suppose I'll just have to keep you here until you get bored." Ecthelion closed his eyes, suddenly certain that he was flushing.

But true to his word, Glorfindel didn't move. And so Ecthelion, after opening his eyes and reassuring himself that there was nobody else in their corner of the makeshift library, reluctantly surrendered his book and fell limp against his friend.

Glorfindel smelled of summer days and grass and roses. Lips twitching into a slight smile, Ecthelion allowed himself to drift off. Ordinarily, he was a very light sleeper, and he was able to weave his dreams as he wanted, but Glorfindel's soothing presence pulled him into dreams far deeper than he was accustomed too.

In his dreams, he balanced on a low stone wall, legs crossed before him and arms supporting the flute that he played. The music flowed whimsically throughout the dream, weaving among the trees that towered above him. Movement at the corners of his eyes distracted him, and he put down his flute and turned.

But it was merely Glorfindel, emerging from the trees. He wore a robe of gold and white, and his hair was twisted into many intricate braids. Rather abruptly, Ecthelion realized what memory this was; it was Glorfindel's hundredth begetting day, and they'd escaped into the woods for a moment of peace. He remembered doing those braids, remembered twisting flowers and ribbons into those fine locks.

"You play as beautifully as ever," Glorfindel murmured, pulling himself up onto the wall beside Ecthelion.

"Thank you." Ecthelion remembered what happened after this. They exchanged some more meaningless frivolity, and then. . . . "I've a gift for you." But the wooden stag he'd carved specifically for this event was nowhere to be seen, and Ecthelion cast around helplessly for the dream object. Something else pushed him forwards, and he found himself leaning towards Glorfindel anyways. "It isn't much, but I hope you'll like it."

The dream-Glorfindel laughed, lips twitching into a bright smile. "I'll love anything you have for me."

Without another word, Ecthelion leaned forwards and sought out those lips with his own, kissing him tenderly and warmly.

Rather abruptly, Ecthelion was awoken when the warmth beside him vanished. Blinking blearily, he found himself face to face with Glorfindel who, though older now, still smiled as brightly.

Confused, Ecthelion reached for him, fully intending to pull him down and kiss him again, but Glorfindel unfolded himself from the armchair and stretched.

"Thel, the rain has stopped! Come out and help me find some flowers for the supper table."

Ecthelion froze, eyes growing huge as he realized where he was. "What?"

Glorfindel's fair brow furrowed. "Before the rain starts again."

Ecthelion didn't move for several long seconds, staring at his friend with new eyes. Several things fell into place, and he felt as though he'd been electrocuted.

I've just dreamed about kissing Glorfindel.

"Thel?"

When had that happened? Surely he should've remembered falling in love with Glorfindel? But to identify the moment — the exact second when Ecthelion's heard had decided it'd loved Glorfindel — was a senseless pursuit, and Ecthelion realized that perhaps he'd always loved Glorfindel.

"Ecthelion?"

Ecthelion awkwardly got to his feet, hoping beyond hope that his blush would go unnoticed. "Right. Of course."

Glorfindel's face split into a broad smile, and he grabbed Ecthelion's hand. "Come, mellon nîn! You can finish your nap later." Without another word, he whirled about and raced out of the office rooms, dragging Ecthelion behind him.

III.

Ecthelion lay on his back, watching the sky with half-lidded eyes. His fingers wrapped loosely about his flute, and Glorfindel sat at his side, playing with Ecthelion's dark hair.

"As I was saying," Glorfindel continued, "I think that I should learn to play. Then we can play together. I just haven't decided what instrument yet."

Ecthelion hummed noncommittally, enjoying the simplicity of his closest friend at his side. He could almost believe that was the only thing on his mind, but then Glorfindel's fingers would twist in his hair and Ecthelion would feel a blossom of warmth in his chest, tempered only by cool longing.

He did his best to ignore it, to merely bask in Glorfindel's glow, to tell himself that he was content to be friends and nothing more. But he wanted more. With an almost painful ache, Ecthelion longed to chase Glorfindel's light, to touch and to feel and to love.

Oblivious to his friend's confused torment, Glorfindel continued, "You could always teach me how to play flute, but I don't know how entertaining it is to play with somebody who's using the same instrument—"

Glorfindel's familiar voice was as soothing as a bird's song, and, with the heat and the sun, Ecthelion began to doze off. He was woken rather abruptly when Glorfindel let out a shout and there was a sharp tug on the side of his head. Eyes flying all the way open, Ecthelion attempted to snap up into a sitting position, but Glorfindel was still holding some of his hair and he only made it halfway up.

Glorfindel released him rather abruptly and sprang to his feet, racing across the grassy field.

Ecthelion shouted, "Glorfindel!" But Glorfindel was gone, the tips of his golden hair just visible as it vanished behind a large stone statue.

Ecthelion brought his hand up to the side of his head to see if Glorfindel had torn any hair out. To his surprise, he found the smooth bumps of a braid beneath his fingers. Brow furrowing, he brought up his other hand and ran it lightly over his hair. While the some of the braids were admittedly crooked, most were fine and even. His fingers brushed against something soft and supple, and a small star-shaped flower fell into his palm. Blinking at the pale white blossom, he turned it over wonderingly in his fingers.

He looked back up, staring at the spot where his friend had vanished, and felt a sudden burst of warmth for Glorfindel. He knew for a fact that Glorfindel couldn't braid. He hardly did anything with his hair at all, and only through Ecthelion's handiwork had it ever been braided.

But Glorfindel had clearly been practicing in secret, and it warmed Ecthelion's heart. He loved braiding Glorfindel's hair, loved the feeling of those fine golden curls slipping between his fingers. It made him giddy to think of Glorfindel braiding his hair, to imagine that Glorfindel felt the same things that he did.

Glorfindel came around the statue again, bounding over with his hands cupped before him. He dropped to his knees beside Ecthelion, his expression alight with infectious glee.

Ecthelion's fingers closed around the small silver blossom, taking care to hide it and his affections from Glorfindel, and he raised his eyebrows. "What had you hurrying off?"

Glorfindel's smile was radiant. Without speaking, he held out his hands and bared his palms towards the sky. Sitting in his hands, a small butterfly with dazzlingly blue wings stretched itself out, feeling for the sun that shone above.

"It's very pretty," Ecthelion murmured, but his eyes were on Glorfindel, on the way his grey eyes lit up when the butterfly moved and the way his smile made the light dusting of summer freckles across his cheeks twitch and the gentle sway of his golden hair in the breeze.

Glorfindel laughed, and the butterfly took to the air. He tilted his head to watch it, delighting in its simple beauty. "But surely not as beautiful as you." Ecthelion froze, afraid he'd been caught, but Glorfindel's grin was innocent as he turned his gaze towards his friend. "Do you like them? I've had Idril teach me."

Confused, Ecthelion spluttered.

Glorfindel fair brow creased with sudden anxiety. "The braids? If they're very bad, I can take them out."

Ecthelion immediately shook his head. "No! They're lovely." The look of radiant relief that broke out on Glorfindel's face made him smile. "The flowers were a nice touch."

Glorfindel plucked another flower from the grass and placed it carelessly on top of Ecthelion's head. "Thank you. They fit you."

Ecthelion's brow arched. "Truly?"

Glorfindel's eyes sought out his, and there was something immeasurably tender in his gaze. Thoughtfully, he admitted, "Upon reflection, I suppose not. You are better compared to the stars of Elbereth, for far more fair are they."

Ecthelion's breath caught, and he realized suddenly how much he loved Glorfindel. Tell him, a voice in his head whispered, and he opened his mouth. But all of his fair words — those fickle things he let loose in council meetings and in his songs — fled him, and all he said was, "What a silly notion." Glorfindel pulled away, expression shuttering, but Ecthelion didn't notice. To hide the traitorously loud beat of his heart, he leaped to his feet and said, "Come! The sun is already high in the sky, and we shall be late to luncheon."

IV.

It was late when the spluttering candlelight forced Ecthelion to finally put his book down, realizing belatedly that his eyes were burning with exhaustion and his leg had fallen asleep.

Wincing, he set his book aside and unfolded himself from his chair. He rubbed his eyes and looked out the window that overlooked the courtyard below. In the distance, he could hear music and voices.

One of Egalmoth's parties, undoubtedly. Ecthelion grimaced and blew out the candle. He'd forgotten the party had been tonight; he'd had such a long day and he'd wanted nothing more than a quiet evening of nothing but sitting and reading.

Casting his eyes up to Rána above, Ecthelion sighed and rubbed his eyes. It seemed that he had done nothing but sit and read for a good part of the night as well.

With a yawn, he shut his curtains and crawled into bed, falling asleep nearly immediately.

He wasn't sure how long he slept before a soft tink broke the silence of his bedroom. He ignored it, but soon two more sounded in rapid succession.

Blinking back into consciousness, Ecthelion rolled over and pushed himself up into his elbows, searching sleepily for the source of the noise. As he watched, something small flew through the window, narrowly missing his face before landing on the floor behind the bed.

Ecthelion groaned softly and rubbed the exhaustion out of his eyes. With some trepidation, he leaned over the side of his bed, peering down at the small object.

But it was simply a pebble.

Brow furrowed, Ecthelion flung his legs over the side of the bed and padded over to the window, fully intending to give whoever it was a piece of his mind. He'd barely drawn the curtains back when another shape came through the window.

But this one was much larger and heavier than a simple pebble, and Ecthelion let out an undignified squawk as he was knocked onto his back.

Sprawled on top of him, the golden figure of Glorfindel sat up, peering with confusion at the dark-haired elf below him. His hair, as ever, was unbound, and it hung in glittering tresses about his face. For once, he'd made the effort to dress nicely, his body clad in emerald silks and glittering gold. "What're you doing here?" he asked, puzzled.

Ecthelion realized suddenly that he was lying on the floor in nothing but his night clothes, straddled by his best friend. Cheeks suddenly flaming with more than just embarrassment, he snapped, "What are you doing here?!"

Glorfindel reached out to pat Ecthelion on the head, his ice-grey eyes glowing with affection. Despite the sparse moonlight, he seemed to glow with an inner light that flared hotter and brighter than the Sun itself. Ecthelion had ever been the cold one, silver and subtle, and like Tilion pursuing Arien, he found himself drawn incessantly into Glorfindel's glory. But Glorfindel merely said, "Your hair is pretty."

With a groan, Ecthelion dropped his head to the floor, trying to dispel the useless analogies. "You're drunk." But his heart was pounding almost painfully fast, and he wanted nothing more than to tangle his fingers in those golden locks and drag Glorfindel down until their breaths mingled and there was nothing between them but heat and sweat upon skin.

Glorfindel rose to his feet, a little unsteadily. "I am not," he said firmly, as impressively coherent as ever.

Ecthelion sat up, watching his friend with wary eyes. "How many have you had?" A more alarming thought occurred to him, and he rocketed to his feet. "Did you climb all the way up here?"

Glorfindel's brow furrowed upon seeing the alarm in his face, and he leaned forwards, reaching for his friend. "Shhh," he murmured, his thumb brushing across Ecthelion's cheekbone in a gesture far more intimate than it should've been. "Don't do that."

If his cheeks hadn't been bright red before, they mostly certainly were now. Unable to form a coherent thought with Glorfindel touching his face like that, Ecthelion could only open and close his mouth soundlessly.

Glorfindel came forwards, leaning forwards until his brow alighted upon Ecthelion's shoulder. One arm snaked around his back, drawing him close, and Ecthelion was too shocked to protest. "Yours is not a face to frown," Glorfindel murmured, and Ecthelion helplessly cursed him for being so eloquent even when drunk. Glorfindel pulled away, but only far enough to stare with open rapture upon Ecthelion's face. "Yours is a face more radiant than even the light of Rána."

Slowly, hardly daring to hope, Ecthelion whispered, "You're drunk."

To his disappointment, Glorfindel pulled away, flopping as if boneless onto the bed. "I am not," he said, as if he were a stubborn child.

Ecthelion felt his skin burning where Glorfindel had touched him, and he alighted on the bed beside his friend. "You are," he said warmly, "and you were throwing rocks in my room."

"I was trying to wake you," Glorfindel replied matter-of-factly, rolling over and burying his face in the pillows, "But they were not bouncing back, and so I climbed your balcony to see if somebody had stolen your window."

Ecthelion couldn't help the laugh that startled out of him, and he shook his head amusedly. As quietly as possible, he reached out, his fingers brushing against the tips of Glorfindel's hair. They were feather-soft and impossibly bright against the dark covers of his bed. "And what did you find?"

Glorfindel's fingers curled around the edge of the pillow. "It smells like you."

It took a second for Ecthelion's sleep-deprived mind to catch up with this new turn in conversation, and he stared wonderingly at the golden-haired elf. He couldn't help wondering, longingly, how much of this was the drink and how much was genuine. "I should hope so, considering that it's my bed," he murmured, sliding over and finally giving into the temptation to thread his fingers trough those golden locks. He did so hesitantly, reverentially, as if Glorfindel was a shrine to be worshipped. Glorfindel let out a soft noise of contentment and pushed his head into Ecthelion's trembling hand. "You should sleep," he said finally, wondering how much Glorfindel would remember in the morning. "I've a couch, and I could sleep th—"

Glorfindel shot upwards so quickly that Ecthelion's hand got snagged in his hair. "No!" With more alarm than neccessary, Glorfindel grabbed Ecthelion's arm and dragged him down until they were both lying on their sides, staring at each other. "It'd be very rude of me to kick you out of your bed."

Ecthelion shifted, drawing away from Glorfindel's warmth. "Fin. . . ."

Glorfindel blinked at him, grey eyes wide and earnest in the semi-darkness. "Stay with me."

"We're not children anymore," Ecthelion said, half as a warning to himself and half as a reminder for Glorfindel. As an afterthought, he added, "And you're drunk."

Glorfindel heaved a long-suffering sigh and turned into his side, pressing himself up against Ecthelion. "I don't care," he said decisively, "I miss sleeping with you anyways."

Ecthelion groaned inwardly. It was too late and Glorfindel was too alluring and he didn't have the willpower to say no. "Fin—"

Sounding suddenly forlorn, Glorfindel asked, "You don't want me to go, do you?"

"No," Ecthelion said quickly. Too quickly, he realized belatedly. Glorfindel made another happy sound, and Ecthelion's heart warmed. Trying to ignore the way his heart flipped at the merest contact, Ecthelion slipped his fingers into Glorfindel's hair again, combing out the golden tresses over the pillows. In an admittedly weak effort to sound like normal, he murmured, "As if I'd force you to climb down when you're this drunk."

Glorfindel chuckled, and his breath tickled the skin at the base of Ecthelion's neck as the golden-haired elf curled closer, slinging his arm over Ecthelion's waist.

Ecthelion's lips curled into a slight smile. He'd spent so long watching Glorfindel from afar, wondering what it'd be like to hold him, to kiss him, to love him, that he could scarcely believe that he had him now, pressed against him and smelling of wine and flowers.

Glorfindel, voice hazy with sleep and limbs going lax as he drifted off, murmured, "Love you, Thel."

Ecthelion stiffened, eyes widening as he stared down in shocked silence. But Glorfindel had already drifted off, eyes far away, and Ecthelion shook his head, unable to help the smile that tugged at his lips. "You're so silly," he whispered, unsure whether he was talking to himself or to Glorfindel. His voice caught in his throat, and he was unable to give voice to the countless fluttering thoughts that circled within his mind, warm and comforting and golden-bright. I've always loved you, he thought, leaning down to press a kiss to Glorfindel's brow, and I always will.

V.

Ecthelion's inner clock didn't wake him as it normally did; in fact, he only woke up when the warmth at his side suddenly withdrew. Protesting, he reached out to draw it back. But when his fingers found soft skin and fine silk, he jerked upright and gaped at the elf lying in bed beside him.

Glorfindel stared back, his entire face slowly flushing red. It seemed to dawn on him where he was, and he let out a low groan and buried his face in his hands. He was radiant in the light of the rising sun, his golden hair fluttering at his abrupt movement before settling about his body like a halo.

Ecthelion's lips twitched into a slight smile, and he shifted to pull his hair out of its customary sleeping braid. Glorfindel had never been one to get hung over unless he drank an astounding amount, but it was still fun to tease him. "Good morning, Fin."

Glorfindel made an incomprehensible sound.

Ecthelion felt a sudden stab of anxiety and dropped his hands into his lap. Perhaps Glorfindel hadn't meant what'd happened last night? Perhaps his words — and his actions — had simply been in the heat of the moment? "Fin?"

Glorfindel looked up, cheeks still violently red. "I'm so sorry," he said quickly.

Ecthelion drew away, turning his face to hide the stab of pain those words gave him. "Oh."

Glorfindel's hands shot forwards, grabbing Ecthelion's and holding them tightly. "No, not for that! I just—" He let go with his left hand and ran his hands through his hair, distracted. "I didn't want to tell you like that," he finished finally.

Ecthelion's eyes flicked over, seeing the consternation in Glorfindel's grey eyes. But there was affection there, too, and love more genuine than could be put into words. Slowly, suddenly unsure of his words, he asked, "You love me?"

Without hesitating, Glorfindel nodded. "Thel, I love you so much I can hardly breathe sometimes." He laughed, a little bit embarrassed, and squeezed Ecthelion's fingers. "I'm just . . . sorry you had to learn that from me after I fell through your window." A look of doubt flashed across his bright face, and he quickly rambled, "I really shouldn't have done that. I'm not normally so stupid when I drink, but I was walking home and your window was open and I just— actually, I don't remember why I wanted to see you, but I wanted to see you and I missed you at the party and you're so beautiful in the moonlight and—"

Ecthelion knew for sure that he was grinning now, because his cheeks were hurting. Without waiting for Glorfindel to finish, he reached out and grabbed Glorfindel's collar, pulling him down and kissing him full on the lips.

Glorfindel fell into his grasp as though he was starved of touch, leaning forwards and kissing back with a warm intensity.

By the time they parted, they were both panting and flushed with happiness. Grinning brightly, Glorfindel teased, "That's uncharacteristically bold of you, Thel."

Ecthelion raised his eyebrows. He was soaring above the clouds now, and he needed nothing more than Glorfindel's lips on his. "Well, you weren't going to do it first."

Glorfindel hummed thoughtfully. "Then I'll have to do it second." And without another word, he leaned forwards and kissed Ecthelion again.