The librarian 3/
LotR 2073 words
R I guess, or NC17.
Summery: Erestor = Erestor! W/ Glorfindel & Melpomean
Warnings: BDSM
Disclaimer: Not mine, Tolkien's. No money made.
For kharessa, because you'd overcome your phobias to hit on me at work *g* Thanks you machiavellian and cruel_illusion for comments and support.
AN Yes, this is a bit of a cheat. I rewrote 3.1 and then continued. But I made it longer and I wrote quite a bit of G's diary so hopefully you won't think I'm too evil.
This is a diary of my personal experiences, my life and exploration with my lover. It is not intended to be a guide, merely my attempt to make sense of the strange and new sensations I am discovering. The discovery that there is intense pleasure to be found in pain.
There was a small etching beneath the entry. An elf, bound in metal bracelets and blindfolded, kneeling prostrated. His cheek was pressed to the floor, his golden hair spilling across his face. A face Erestor knew very well. Beneath was an inscription:
For Ecthelion
Erestor slammed the book shut. Glorfindel?! He had been friends with Glorfindel for centuries and never had the old warrior given any hint that he had such a... such a... The librarian was at a loss for words. What did one call this taste for agony? Glorfindel was one of his closest friends. Whenever he was in Imladris he had made a point of talking to the lonely apprentice, or sharing a midnight meal with him in the Kitchens. Erestor told Glorfindel all his adolescent secrets, sought his advice when an elfling crushed his heart, trusted him implicitly. But those words, that picture, they were incongruous with the Glorfindel he knew. Erestor wondered if he knew his friend at all.
He eyed the diary, telling himself sternly that he had no business invading Glorfindel's privacy. The sentiment was a lie. Erestor knew he would have to read the rest.
Feeling somewhat dazed he surveyed the Library. There really was an enormous amount of work to do. Elrond would expect progress, or failing that, reasonable excuses, and Erestor doubted that 'I stopped working on the documents because Glorfindel's personal life seemed more interesting, and by the way, do you have any books on pain as an aphrodisiac in your private collection?' would suffice.
*
Glorfindel was in agony. Since the delegation of Lothlorian Elves had arrived he had felt himself on display. He, the mighty Balrog slayer that even death could not defeat was the object of study to these cold creatures. They didn't ask him outright, that would have been to gauche; instead they followed him, always watching, as if absorbing some great secret from the way he sipped his wine or braided his hair. Worse perhaps was their leader, the Guardian of the wood, Haldir. Glorfindel watched him through narrowed slits. This elf, with his indifferent façade occasionally marred by an arrogant sneer when Elrond was away, his light insinuations that Imladris was just an ugly step child to the Golden Wood, his measuring appraisals of Glorfindel, this elf bothered him.
He glanced across the courtyard: Elledan was leaning towards the Guardian, his head raised in exaggerated mirth. Elledan was growing up lovely; he'd managed to capture his father's intensity and Celebrian's mercy, combining them into a passion for life. Life he seemed determined to celebrate with the Galadhrim. Glorfindel looked back at them, noticing that the guardian's attention was not on Elledan. Instead he was watching a window above. His gaze lowered, and met Glorfindel's for a long moment. Then he smiled without any hint of warmth, and turned to the elfling before him.
*
Standing motionless and unseeing at the window, Erestor's mind spun in a hundred directions. He needed to buy some time to think. The two diaries had him too distracted to do much delicate work anyway. He glanced at Melpomean. Elrond had only requested Erestor take personal charge of transcribing the writings. He had made no instruction about the drawings. It was semantics, but delegating the paintings and drawings to Melpomean would create progress without technically disobeying Elrond. He slipped Glorfindel's book in his pocket and crossed over to Melpomean.
"I'm going to train you in the restoration of these paintings". Melpomean looked up from his task. He was crouched before one of the lower shelves organizing books.
Erestor laid out a pile of canvases on the floor. He opened a large wooden box next to his desk and laid the contents next to the pile: brushes, tiny mixing vessels, and bottles of sparkling liquids.
"Come kneel over here, Melpomean" He patted a spot on the floor next to the desk.
Melpomean was already on his knees, and rather than rise he simply crawled over to where Erestor was waiting. Erestor felt his breath hitch. Melpomean, supplicant beneath him, his face turned upwards, open for instruction, bright, almost mimicking Glorfindel's face in the etching. Why was that so appealing? He squatted next to him trying very hard to concentrate on his tutoring.
"These brushes are to remove the top layers of dirt. They are a little coarser than most of the brushes"
Erestor tickled the bristles against Melpomaen's cheek. Melpomaen's eyes widened, watching Erestor as the sable stroked his skin.
"After that you may start to see stains. Use these brushes, they are some of the softest in Imladris"
Again Erestor demonstrated their texture on Melpomaen's face. He wasn't sure why he was doing this, but unable to stop, he ran the tip of the brush against Melpomaen's cheekbone, tracing down his nose then outlining hip ripe lips. It seemed as though his assistant leaned into the touch, and Erestor wanted desperately to touch him then, to feel the warm blush spreading across his cheek, to cup his chin and then taste him. All highly inappropriate.
"If they are protein stains use a few drops from this vial". His hands trembled slightly as he handled the bottle.
"Protein?"
"Yes, like blood" and seed.
Erestor felt sweat pooling along his hairline. Berating himself silently, he finished his instruction, rushing, and then retreated to his desk. Glorfindel's diary dug into his thigh as he sat down. He hadn't felt so out of control in centuries. The diaries stirred his interest, his passion, making him feel like an adolescent elfling with his first crush. He didn't like it. He needed a distraction. He picked up a brush and focused on the parchment before him, studiously ignoring the lump of diary pressed against his thigh.
I have decided that within the Library, Slave will crawl at all times unless I otherwise instruct him. I like him on his knees, so low and subservient. He's quite agile in that position, racing through his tasks and then kneeling prettily beside me awaiting direction. [piece missing]
This transition was also an accident. Slave has been trying to entice me to take him since he was given to me, constantly rubbing against me or bending over, hands and knees. There is something so right about him in that position that I ordered him to remain in it always. He is lovely like this, even now as he crawls towards me. His tongue is poking out slightly, enticingly. I still have not tasted him. Perhaps I shall try his mouth.
Erestor leaned back. He was painfully aroused, easily switching the setting to his own library, with Melpomean crawling towards him, his delicate tongue teasing against teeth. It wasn't far of leap: Melpomean was kneeling beside him, though his tongue was not visible, he was busy with a task his master had set him. He painstakingly swirled a tiny brush against a stained spot, so much care, each movement a declaration of respect for his teacher. What would it be like to own him? To have him completely at his whim to be used and controlled so completely? These thoughts further aroused Erestor, tenting the fabric of his robe and effectively trapping him behind his desk. His distraction hadn't worked. He sighed heavily. He was stuck now; he might as well read it. After making sure that Melpomean wasn't watching, he pulled Glorfindel's manuscript from his pocket.
How we started is a tale for another place. Suffice it to say that we met and found comfort in each other's company, and from that grew love. Our first nights together were of the kind of passion I was used to. Glorious, tender and soft. I was content with that, to rest my head in my lover's arm, still sticky with lust and to doze off to the cooing of this warrior's breath. He loved me and guided me, and when he asked me if I would allow him a trespass, to humor him in an unusual taste, I could no more refuse him than a flower could refuse the sun.
I was nervous, he had not told me what to expect – only that I was to present myself 'for training' in his chambers after luncheon. Giddy with romantic fantasy I went to him, eager for his touch.
Alone in his chamber he bade me to strip, and then circled me, examining my nude form. I was aroused with anticipation; what new game was this? Until he touched me – not as a lover, but almost with the disinterest of a scholar – asking me what about the situation hardened me. I could not answer, and began to blush furiously to which Ecthelion answered by stroking me, squeezing moisture from the head and rubbing his thumb against its ridges. It was confusing until he leaned in and whispered,
"That is what I want today. Humiliation and arousal. I want them linked forever within you so that I know a blush on your cheek means the blood is pulsing here too". He squeezed me tighter.
His words aroused me further, and I began pushing against his hand, trying to find relief. The picture I made was so wanton, I blushed further, humiliated that my true licentious nature had been so easily unbound, and that my lover must think me pitiable that I was so willing to abase myself. I felt tears forming, and when the first fell Ecthelion stayed his hand and asked me why I cried. I tried to explain, haltingly, afraid of his reaction to my immaturity. He merely stroked away my tears and said
"Is it not a beautiful gift that you give me then? To let me see the darkest most secret well in your soul? Your humiliation pleases me nin- bain, and I love you the more for it"
I was sobbing loudly by then, even as he fisted around me, stroking faster, harder than he ever had before, until he succeeded in wrenching a release from me. He caught me then – I would have fallen had he not – and gently lowered me to the floor. Kneeling over me he lifted his hand to my face, making it clear he wished me to lick myself from his fingers. He stared into my eyes, his expression not unlike that of a predator.
"Henceforth, the time between luncheon and tea shall be reserved for your training. You will come to my rooms as you did today, strip and await my instruction"
He pressed against me, kissing and tasting remnants of my seed, hungrily devouring me.
My beloved Lord, how could I refuse you?
"It's dinner time, Master. Shall we break now and continue later?"
Erestor jumped at the sound of Melpomaen's voice, coming from about knee level. His face was peeking around the corner of his desk, hopefully. Ah yes, he had promised that they would dine together with the household. Erestor groaned inwardly. Why tonight of all nights? There was no way he could disappoint Melpomean, so eager and happy. He shifted uncomfortably.
"You are quite right. I need to uh change out of these robes, they are quite Orc contaminated. Shall I meet you in the dining hall?'
There was no way he was going to face Glorfindel without a little time to collect himself. He watched as Melpomean bounded to the door, more joyful and excited than Erestor had ever seen him. He waited until he was gone, then grabbed a stack of books to carry in front of him like a shield, and made his was stiffly to his rooms.
LotR 2073 words
R I guess, or NC17.
Summery: Erestor = Erestor! W/ Glorfindel & Melpomean
Warnings: BDSM
Disclaimer: Not mine, Tolkien's. No money made.
For kharessa, because you'd overcome your phobias to hit on me at work *g* Thanks you machiavellian and cruel_illusion for comments and support.
AN Yes, this is a bit of a cheat. I rewrote 3.1 and then continued. But I made it longer and I wrote quite a bit of G's diary so hopefully you won't think I'm too evil.
This is a diary of my personal experiences, my life and exploration with my lover. It is not intended to be a guide, merely my attempt to make sense of the strange and new sensations I am discovering. The discovery that there is intense pleasure to be found in pain.
There was a small etching beneath the entry. An elf, bound in metal bracelets and blindfolded, kneeling prostrated. His cheek was pressed to the floor, his golden hair spilling across his face. A face Erestor knew very well. Beneath was an inscription:
For Ecthelion
Erestor slammed the book shut. Glorfindel?! He had been friends with Glorfindel for centuries and never had the old warrior given any hint that he had such a... such a... The librarian was at a loss for words. What did one call this taste for agony? Glorfindel was one of his closest friends. Whenever he was in Imladris he had made a point of talking to the lonely apprentice, or sharing a midnight meal with him in the Kitchens. Erestor told Glorfindel all his adolescent secrets, sought his advice when an elfling crushed his heart, trusted him implicitly. But those words, that picture, they were incongruous with the Glorfindel he knew. Erestor wondered if he knew his friend at all.
He eyed the diary, telling himself sternly that he had no business invading Glorfindel's privacy. The sentiment was a lie. Erestor knew he would have to read the rest.
Feeling somewhat dazed he surveyed the Library. There really was an enormous amount of work to do. Elrond would expect progress, or failing that, reasonable excuses, and Erestor doubted that 'I stopped working on the documents because Glorfindel's personal life seemed more interesting, and by the way, do you have any books on pain as an aphrodisiac in your private collection?' would suffice.
*
Glorfindel was in agony. Since the delegation of Lothlorian Elves had arrived he had felt himself on display. He, the mighty Balrog slayer that even death could not defeat was the object of study to these cold creatures. They didn't ask him outright, that would have been to gauche; instead they followed him, always watching, as if absorbing some great secret from the way he sipped his wine or braided his hair. Worse perhaps was their leader, the Guardian of the wood, Haldir. Glorfindel watched him through narrowed slits. This elf, with his indifferent façade occasionally marred by an arrogant sneer when Elrond was away, his light insinuations that Imladris was just an ugly step child to the Golden Wood, his measuring appraisals of Glorfindel, this elf bothered him.
He glanced across the courtyard: Elledan was leaning towards the Guardian, his head raised in exaggerated mirth. Elledan was growing up lovely; he'd managed to capture his father's intensity and Celebrian's mercy, combining them into a passion for life. Life he seemed determined to celebrate with the Galadhrim. Glorfindel looked back at them, noticing that the guardian's attention was not on Elledan. Instead he was watching a window above. His gaze lowered, and met Glorfindel's for a long moment. Then he smiled without any hint of warmth, and turned to the elfling before him.
*
Standing motionless and unseeing at the window, Erestor's mind spun in a hundred directions. He needed to buy some time to think. The two diaries had him too distracted to do much delicate work anyway. He glanced at Melpomean. Elrond had only requested Erestor take personal charge of transcribing the writings. He had made no instruction about the drawings. It was semantics, but delegating the paintings and drawings to Melpomean would create progress without technically disobeying Elrond. He slipped Glorfindel's book in his pocket and crossed over to Melpomean.
"I'm going to train you in the restoration of these paintings". Melpomean looked up from his task. He was crouched before one of the lower shelves organizing books.
Erestor laid out a pile of canvases on the floor. He opened a large wooden box next to his desk and laid the contents next to the pile: brushes, tiny mixing vessels, and bottles of sparkling liquids.
"Come kneel over here, Melpomean" He patted a spot on the floor next to the desk.
Melpomean was already on his knees, and rather than rise he simply crawled over to where Erestor was waiting. Erestor felt his breath hitch. Melpomean, supplicant beneath him, his face turned upwards, open for instruction, bright, almost mimicking Glorfindel's face in the etching. Why was that so appealing? He squatted next to him trying very hard to concentrate on his tutoring.
"These brushes are to remove the top layers of dirt. They are a little coarser than most of the brushes"
Erestor tickled the bristles against Melpomaen's cheek. Melpomaen's eyes widened, watching Erestor as the sable stroked his skin.
"After that you may start to see stains. Use these brushes, they are some of the softest in Imladris"
Again Erestor demonstrated their texture on Melpomaen's face. He wasn't sure why he was doing this, but unable to stop, he ran the tip of the brush against Melpomaen's cheekbone, tracing down his nose then outlining hip ripe lips. It seemed as though his assistant leaned into the touch, and Erestor wanted desperately to touch him then, to feel the warm blush spreading across his cheek, to cup his chin and then taste him. All highly inappropriate.
"If they are protein stains use a few drops from this vial". His hands trembled slightly as he handled the bottle.
"Protein?"
"Yes, like blood" and seed.
Erestor felt sweat pooling along his hairline. Berating himself silently, he finished his instruction, rushing, and then retreated to his desk. Glorfindel's diary dug into his thigh as he sat down. He hadn't felt so out of control in centuries. The diaries stirred his interest, his passion, making him feel like an adolescent elfling with his first crush. He didn't like it. He needed a distraction. He picked up a brush and focused on the parchment before him, studiously ignoring the lump of diary pressed against his thigh.
I have decided that within the Library, Slave will crawl at all times unless I otherwise instruct him. I like him on his knees, so low and subservient. He's quite agile in that position, racing through his tasks and then kneeling prettily beside me awaiting direction. [piece missing]
This transition was also an accident. Slave has been trying to entice me to take him since he was given to me, constantly rubbing against me or bending over, hands and knees. There is something so right about him in that position that I ordered him to remain in it always. He is lovely like this, even now as he crawls towards me. His tongue is poking out slightly, enticingly. I still have not tasted him. Perhaps I shall try his mouth.
Erestor leaned back. He was painfully aroused, easily switching the setting to his own library, with Melpomean crawling towards him, his delicate tongue teasing against teeth. It wasn't far of leap: Melpomean was kneeling beside him, though his tongue was not visible, he was busy with a task his master had set him. He painstakingly swirled a tiny brush against a stained spot, so much care, each movement a declaration of respect for his teacher. What would it be like to own him? To have him completely at his whim to be used and controlled so completely? These thoughts further aroused Erestor, tenting the fabric of his robe and effectively trapping him behind his desk. His distraction hadn't worked. He sighed heavily. He was stuck now; he might as well read it. After making sure that Melpomean wasn't watching, he pulled Glorfindel's manuscript from his pocket.
How we started is a tale for another place. Suffice it to say that we met and found comfort in each other's company, and from that grew love. Our first nights together were of the kind of passion I was used to. Glorious, tender and soft. I was content with that, to rest my head in my lover's arm, still sticky with lust and to doze off to the cooing of this warrior's breath. He loved me and guided me, and when he asked me if I would allow him a trespass, to humor him in an unusual taste, I could no more refuse him than a flower could refuse the sun.
I was nervous, he had not told me what to expect – only that I was to present myself 'for training' in his chambers after luncheon. Giddy with romantic fantasy I went to him, eager for his touch.
Alone in his chamber he bade me to strip, and then circled me, examining my nude form. I was aroused with anticipation; what new game was this? Until he touched me – not as a lover, but almost with the disinterest of a scholar – asking me what about the situation hardened me. I could not answer, and began to blush furiously to which Ecthelion answered by stroking me, squeezing moisture from the head and rubbing his thumb against its ridges. It was confusing until he leaned in and whispered,
"That is what I want today. Humiliation and arousal. I want them linked forever within you so that I know a blush on your cheek means the blood is pulsing here too". He squeezed me tighter.
His words aroused me further, and I began pushing against his hand, trying to find relief. The picture I made was so wanton, I blushed further, humiliated that my true licentious nature had been so easily unbound, and that my lover must think me pitiable that I was so willing to abase myself. I felt tears forming, and when the first fell Ecthelion stayed his hand and asked me why I cried. I tried to explain, haltingly, afraid of his reaction to my immaturity. He merely stroked away my tears and said
"Is it not a beautiful gift that you give me then? To let me see the darkest most secret well in your soul? Your humiliation pleases me nin- bain, and I love you the more for it"
I was sobbing loudly by then, even as he fisted around me, stroking faster, harder than he ever had before, until he succeeded in wrenching a release from me. He caught me then – I would have fallen had he not – and gently lowered me to the floor. Kneeling over me he lifted his hand to my face, making it clear he wished me to lick myself from his fingers. He stared into my eyes, his expression not unlike that of a predator.
"Henceforth, the time between luncheon and tea shall be reserved for your training. You will come to my rooms as you did today, strip and await my instruction"
He pressed against me, kissing and tasting remnants of my seed, hungrily devouring me.
My beloved Lord, how could I refuse you?
"It's dinner time, Master. Shall we break now and continue later?"
Erestor jumped at the sound of Melpomaen's voice, coming from about knee level. His face was peeking around the corner of his desk, hopefully. Ah yes, he had promised that they would dine together with the household. Erestor groaned inwardly. Why tonight of all nights? There was no way he could disappoint Melpomean, so eager and happy. He shifted uncomfortably.
"You are quite right. I need to uh change out of these robes, they are quite Orc contaminated. Shall I meet you in the dining hall?'
There was no way he was going to face Glorfindel without a little time to collect himself. He watched as Melpomean bounded to the door, more joyful and excited than Erestor had ever seen him. He waited until he was gone, then grabbed a stack of books to carry in front of him like a shield, and made his was stiffly to his rooms.