Heated skin, incandescent in the darkness. Strong fingers, everywhere and nowhere.

A wet tongue and dry lips. Nipping, licking, sucking, probing...

Gasping, groaning, a gutteral cry. Bodies quivering in perfect parellel, melting, joining...

Sable twining with gold in intricate tangles on sweaty flesh. The flushed skin of a half-mortal against the glowing skin of the Elda.

The ghost of hands upon his hips.

A searing pain, hotter than the fire of Morgoth's demon, burning as much, scarring as deep. A slip, a slide, a shudder.

Elrond's name upon his lips.

And he awoke, altogether too early, and altogether too late.