The Librarian 9/
LotR NC17
Summery: Erestor = Erestor! w/ Glorfindel & Melpomean
Warnings: BDSM, kink,
Disclaimer: All LotR characters and settings are the exclusive property of the Tolkien estate. I do not have permission to use them.
Feedback: Oh yes, please. AN More sex.
Haldir rolled out of bed, cat like, gathering his robes and creeping to the door. He slid into the halls nude, unwilling to risk waking Imladris' Lord by the act of dressing. Night air brushed cool around, tickling flesh where heated lips had suckled mere hours earlier. The memory of Elrond, his eyes heavy with lust was enough to arouse Haldir's already sore sex as he carefully climbed into his leggings. He couldn't be bothered with his tunic or over robe, enjoying instead the darkness on his skin. He felt claimed, bruised, connected; he would undoubtably be too sore to ride tommorow, and for this night atleast he allowed himself to enjoy it.
*
Glorfindel was back. Hardly an elf in Imladris could help but notice that fact, as Glorfindel, true to form, arrived with enough pomp and chaos to satisfy Mirkwood royalty. Nipping dogs, excited elflings all heralded the regiment's return, a display neither dignified nor subtle elfin in manners. But then Glorfindel had never been particularily dignified or discreet. While the rest of the company looked tired and dirty, Glorfindel's armor was still polished to a painful glare. His golden hair flowed loose and untangled, his face scrubbed and fresh. Erestor leaned in the window frame. Watching the guard come home had long been a habit of his. Unobserved, high above the court yard in the Library window he felt not that different from when he was an elfling living vicariously through others eyes. He had a life now, position and importance, but the habit of watching the guard, watching Glorfindel had never died. As the last guard disappeared from the courtyard, Erestor sighed, an intangible loss, and then returned to his work.
*
Melpomaen was frozen, his expression caught between desire and terror as he stared ot the scroll he was restoring. It was another sketch made by the Dark Librarian, and possibly the most beautiful thing he had ever seen. All of the images had been like nothing he had ever imagined; wildly cruel and shamefully erotic. But this one, oh how it called him. This image, the symmetry of the graphic twist of a fist as only a talented artist could show, the skin glistening with effort, all made the pain tangible, pleasure enviable and his own body lurch. He ached for this. Had ached for long before he could put idea to need. He pulled of his gossemer gloves and delicatly traced the charcol shadow of the slave's sinew, touching the parchment. Erestor would be furious if he saw, this wasn't some testing disobediance like letting his shoulder sag in his morning posture, this was a serious breach in proffesionalism; the acidity of his sweat would only add to the distruction of the delicate document. Melpomaen didn't care. Imagining the heat that radiated from the darkening stripes on his thighs, carressing the proofs that this slave had been pushed far: lash marks, redened knees, the fatigue in his eyes. Pushed to the edge of breaking and yet he was taken further. All that has passed before the moment was captured on partchment, and yet none of it mattered next to the tear of his exquisite pain. Captured, precious: the moment the Librarian had breached him with his hand.
Reaching under his robe he fondled the abused flest of his nipples. That had been a painful torment, certainly. Erestor had attached the sharp teeth of a pair of matching clamps to them earlier in the morning. And it had hurt. Hurt when Erestor tightened them, then adjusted and hurt when Erestor flicked them casually before pulling his chin forward and sinking his cock into Melpomaen's mouth. He liked that. Liked the feeling of inevitability of being choiceless. He liked the way Erestor drove deep into his mouth, feeling like he was being pushed to take more than he could, the way Erestor's robe caught and dragged the clips on his chest with each thrust. And he liked the way Erestor looked at him then, the way his dark eyes glittered and measured then lost as he pumped himself down Melpomaen's throat. Yes, he had liked it. But staring at the expression of the Dark Librarian's slave left Melpomaen feeling empty and cheated, and he wondered if Erestor would ever bring him there. Glancing furitivly around he rolled up the scroll and slid it under his robe.
*
The knock on Melpomaen's door startled him, and he hastily closed his robe and tucked the scroll under his bed. There was nothing he could to mask the flush of his arousal. Filled with both dread and anticipation for what Erestor would do to him when his transgression was discovered, he slouched forward enough that his robe would at least cover his erection and opened his door.
*
A half naked warrior strolling through the hallways of Imladris would undoubtably have startled any elf. But to Erestor, this half naked elf, emerging from a hallway that led only to the lower quarters, where junior staff and apprentices lived, was nothing short of shocking.
"My Lord Erestor"
The smirk on the Noldo's face told Erestor the miss title was intentional. He bowed stiffly, catching the unmistakable scent os sex wafting from Haldir.
"Haldir of 'Lorien. I am surprised to see you about so late"
Erestor almost managed to keep the edge from his voice. Haldir stretched liquidly, allowing marks of passion to peek from the waistband of his leggings. Erestor's eyes narrowed.
"I have never been one to keep regular hours. Such is the life of a warrior. Orcs seldom schedule their attacks according to schedules of Court" He glanced back at the hallway from wence he'd come "But fortunatly not all members of the household are abed early. Or perhaps it is only the staff of the Library?"
"You have been visiting my apprentice" A cold flatness overtook Erestor.
Haldir arched his eyebrows in exagerated surprise.
"Is there some arrangement between you? He did not say"
Erestor remained silent.
"I assure you, Master Erestor, nothing untoward occurred. We merely discussed... politics and had tea. Do not worry yourself on that score. Truly my conscionse in clear"
He bowed slightly, and departed, feeling Erestor's glare upon the angry red scratch marks across his back.
*
Krale Dun came into my Library today, sniffing around like the filthy beast he is. He wears my Lord's favor as a shield, arrogantly taking whatever he wants. Today his eye fell on my slave, and it surprised me how angry I was. HE WILL NOT TOUCH MY SLAVE. Slave is mine alone, My Lord gifted him to ME. But his interest is obvious and I believe he is trying to connive a way to get my boy. Slave was shaking when Khazud left. He knows well what would become of him in that creatures clutches. I held him then, wanting to comfort him. Strange how the thought of loosing this creature should evoke such emotion in me, emotion I see mirrored in slave's eyes. He is mine, and I will not share.
Erestor looked up from his work and caught the dreamy gaze of Melpomaen's reverie. He was clearly fantasizing about something, and for a brief moment Erestor felt a flash of something unfamiliar and ugly. A nagging question that flashed: was Melpomaen dreaming of him or perhaps one of the handsome Galahdrim that sniffed around constantly? That Haldir fellow that seemed to be Elrond's new favorite? The sudden surge of anger made his hands shake and he put down his brushes for fear of damaging the scroll he was working on. Where had that come from? Melpomaen was his, wasn't he?
"Melpomaen, kneel!"
The assistants glanced up then snapped out of his lassitude as he scrambled to position himself in the center of the room. Was there a pause? Erestor narrowed his eyes, watching Melpomaen through a veil of lashes. What was his assistant feeling? Thinking? Wanting? He knew something was off but he couldn't name it, instead feeling like he was slipping and blind. Changing his mind, Erestor issued a new order:
"Go to my chambers, bathe and wait for me".
And Melpomaen's scurrying exit was a relief. With shaking hands he picked up a new scroll.
*
LotR NC17
Summery: Erestor = Erestor! w/ Glorfindel & Melpomean
Warnings: BDSM, kink,
Disclaimer: All LotR characters and settings are the exclusive property of the Tolkien estate. I do not have permission to use them.
Feedback: Oh yes, please. AN More sex.
Haldir rolled out of bed, cat like, gathering his robes and creeping to the door. He slid into the halls nude, unwilling to risk waking Imladris' Lord by the act of dressing. Night air brushed cool around, tickling flesh where heated lips had suckled mere hours earlier. The memory of Elrond, his eyes heavy with lust was enough to arouse Haldir's already sore sex as he carefully climbed into his leggings. He couldn't be bothered with his tunic or over robe, enjoying instead the darkness on his skin. He felt claimed, bruised, connected; he would undoubtably be too sore to ride tommorow, and for this night atleast he allowed himself to enjoy it.
*
Glorfindel was back. Hardly an elf in Imladris could help but notice that fact, as Glorfindel, true to form, arrived with enough pomp and chaos to satisfy Mirkwood royalty. Nipping dogs, excited elflings all heralded the regiment's return, a display neither dignified nor subtle elfin in manners. But then Glorfindel had never been particularily dignified or discreet. While the rest of the company looked tired and dirty, Glorfindel's armor was still polished to a painful glare. His golden hair flowed loose and untangled, his face scrubbed and fresh. Erestor leaned in the window frame. Watching the guard come home had long been a habit of his. Unobserved, high above the court yard in the Library window he felt not that different from when he was an elfling living vicariously through others eyes. He had a life now, position and importance, but the habit of watching the guard, watching Glorfindel had never died. As the last guard disappeared from the courtyard, Erestor sighed, an intangible loss, and then returned to his work.
*
Melpomaen was frozen, his expression caught between desire and terror as he stared ot the scroll he was restoring. It was another sketch made by the Dark Librarian, and possibly the most beautiful thing he had ever seen. All of the images had been like nothing he had ever imagined; wildly cruel and shamefully erotic. But this one, oh how it called him. This image, the symmetry of the graphic twist of a fist as only a talented artist could show, the skin glistening with effort, all made the pain tangible, pleasure enviable and his own body lurch. He ached for this. Had ached for long before he could put idea to need. He pulled of his gossemer gloves and delicatly traced the charcol shadow of the slave's sinew, touching the parchment. Erestor would be furious if he saw, this wasn't some testing disobediance like letting his shoulder sag in his morning posture, this was a serious breach in proffesionalism; the acidity of his sweat would only add to the distruction of the delicate document. Melpomaen didn't care. Imagining the heat that radiated from the darkening stripes on his thighs, carressing the proofs that this slave had been pushed far: lash marks, redened knees, the fatigue in his eyes. Pushed to the edge of breaking and yet he was taken further. All that has passed before the moment was captured on partchment, and yet none of it mattered next to the tear of his exquisite pain. Captured, precious: the moment the Librarian had breached him with his hand.
Reaching under his robe he fondled the abused flest of his nipples. That had been a painful torment, certainly. Erestor had attached the sharp teeth of a pair of matching clamps to them earlier in the morning. And it had hurt. Hurt when Erestor tightened them, then adjusted and hurt when Erestor flicked them casually before pulling his chin forward and sinking his cock into Melpomaen's mouth. He liked that. Liked the feeling of inevitability of being choiceless. He liked the way Erestor drove deep into his mouth, feeling like he was being pushed to take more than he could, the way Erestor's robe caught and dragged the clips on his chest with each thrust. And he liked the way Erestor looked at him then, the way his dark eyes glittered and measured then lost as he pumped himself down Melpomaen's throat. Yes, he had liked it. But staring at the expression of the Dark Librarian's slave left Melpomaen feeling empty and cheated, and he wondered if Erestor would ever bring him there. Glancing furitivly around he rolled up the scroll and slid it under his robe.
*
The knock on Melpomaen's door startled him, and he hastily closed his robe and tucked the scroll under his bed. There was nothing he could to mask the flush of his arousal. Filled with both dread and anticipation for what Erestor would do to him when his transgression was discovered, he slouched forward enough that his robe would at least cover his erection and opened his door.
*
A half naked warrior strolling through the hallways of Imladris would undoubtably have startled any elf. But to Erestor, this half naked elf, emerging from a hallway that led only to the lower quarters, where junior staff and apprentices lived, was nothing short of shocking.
"My Lord Erestor"
The smirk on the Noldo's face told Erestor the miss title was intentional. He bowed stiffly, catching the unmistakable scent os sex wafting from Haldir.
"Haldir of 'Lorien. I am surprised to see you about so late"
Erestor almost managed to keep the edge from his voice. Haldir stretched liquidly, allowing marks of passion to peek from the waistband of his leggings. Erestor's eyes narrowed.
"I have never been one to keep regular hours. Such is the life of a warrior. Orcs seldom schedule their attacks according to schedules of Court" He glanced back at the hallway from wence he'd come "But fortunatly not all members of the household are abed early. Or perhaps it is only the staff of the Library?"
"You have been visiting my apprentice" A cold flatness overtook Erestor.
Haldir arched his eyebrows in exagerated surprise.
"Is there some arrangement between you? He did not say"
Erestor remained silent.
"I assure you, Master Erestor, nothing untoward occurred. We merely discussed... politics and had tea. Do not worry yourself on that score. Truly my conscionse in clear"
He bowed slightly, and departed, feeling Erestor's glare upon the angry red scratch marks across his back.
*
Krale Dun came into my Library today, sniffing around like the filthy beast he is. He wears my Lord's favor as a shield, arrogantly taking whatever he wants. Today his eye fell on my slave, and it surprised me how angry I was. HE WILL NOT TOUCH MY SLAVE. Slave is mine alone, My Lord gifted him to ME. But his interest is obvious and I believe he is trying to connive a way to get my boy. Slave was shaking when Khazud left. He knows well what would become of him in that creatures clutches. I held him then, wanting to comfort him. Strange how the thought of loosing this creature should evoke such emotion in me, emotion I see mirrored in slave's eyes. He is mine, and I will not share.
Erestor looked up from his work and caught the dreamy gaze of Melpomaen's reverie. He was clearly fantasizing about something, and for a brief moment Erestor felt a flash of something unfamiliar and ugly. A nagging question that flashed: was Melpomaen dreaming of him or perhaps one of the handsome Galahdrim that sniffed around constantly? That Haldir fellow that seemed to be Elrond's new favorite? The sudden surge of anger made his hands shake and he put down his brushes for fear of damaging the scroll he was working on. Where had that come from? Melpomaen was his, wasn't he?
"Melpomaen, kneel!"
The assistants glanced up then snapped out of his lassitude as he scrambled to position himself in the center of the room. Was there a pause? Erestor narrowed his eyes, watching Melpomaen through a veil of lashes. What was his assistant feeling? Thinking? Wanting? He knew something was off but he couldn't name it, instead feeling like he was slipping and blind. Changing his mind, Erestor issued a new order:
"Go to my chambers, bathe and wait for me".
And Melpomaen's scurrying exit was a relief. With shaking hands he picked up a new scroll.
*