The Librarian 11/
LotR
NC17
Summery: Erestor = Erestor! w/ Glorfindel & Melpomean
Warnings: BDSM, kink, it gets darker here on out
Disclaimer: All LotR characters and settings are the exclusive property of
the Tolkien estate. I do not have permission to use them.
Summery: Sex & jealousy
Feedback: Oh yes, please
For Kharessa and Machiavellian, and LK for amazing Melpomaen analysis
AN shameless Othello thievery. Although I promise it will all work out
*somehow* in the end there is some nastiness in upcoming chapters. If that
squicks you I will be providing links to short summaries so that you can
first read that and then decide if you want to read the chapter. I will but
a Big warning on it, but I wanted to give everyone a heads up
AN2 In by first draft Erestor realized Glorfindel's diary was missing after
he passed out drunk in his room. Can we please pretend that happened in
this version?
lj-cut text="!"
Breakfast at the high table had started as an accident; Erestor had called Melpomaen over to ask him about Library acquisitions, and Elrond had invited him to join them. Now he perched next to Erestor, his eyes would remain lowered, accepting only food that Erestor offered him, occasionally eating directly from his Master's fingers. It was a ritual that had developed during their solitary lunches in the Library, and balanced upon the polite aversion of notice by anyone at the table. Erestor dipped a berry into a bowl of honeyed cream, then held it up for Melpomaen to nibble delicately. He had slipped into habit so much that the sudden hush at the table startled him. Erestor looked up, for the first time noticing the extra Elves at the table; guests from Lothlorien, staring at Melpomaen with naked hunger.
*
Such little things, but glaringly obvious to Erestor. Melpomaen had changed his hair, for instance. It was not the hairstyle Erestor had once commented favorably upon, but an elaborate pattern of braids favored by much older elves. He still ate late at night in the kitchens, but he went now without a book, and when Erestor followed him one night, he found an elf not withdrawn, but chatting gaily to a chorus of guards. His elf. Surrounded by a coterie of admirer, some of the same elves that had watched him so closely this morning. He felt his adrenaline surge again at the memory: The boldness of them! Frozen with shock and anger, still holding a ripe elanberry in his trembling fingers, Erestor had met their eyes, staring at them until one by one they tore their stares away from Melpomaen and looked at their plates. Except the last one, Haldir. Haldir was staring at him, his expression unreadable. The standoff was broken by the sudden warm sensation of Melpomaen's lips enclosing around his fingers, sucking the elanberry from his hold.
Erestor frowned, the nagging question of whose benefit that sensual display was intended dogging his thoughts. He had wanted to draw Melpomaen out of his shell, hadn't he? And then there was yesterday. Erestor had wanted his the first time he had Melpomaen to be a claiming, a victory of his tender spoils. But instead he felt something else, a lacking, an inadequacy he had no idea how to conquer. The vast knowledge stored in the Library seemed to mock him. He, who had always turned to books to solve life's riddles, now found that route closed.
*
Glorfindel was not having a good day. It had started bad and only gotten worse. During morning practice with the guard, a distraction while sparring had sent a youngster's wooden sword crashing across his nose, giving the cause of the distraction, Elledan, a perfect excuse to drag him to the healing house and smother him with frivolous care. His nose had to be bandaged – he had broken it often enough to recognize the wet snap of cartilage. But now, trapped in his chambers with Elledan, Glorfindel wondered if maybe he should have just let it heal crooked. He was currently swathed in enough bandage to patch up a legion of elves from the last alliance, indeed he could barely move after Elledan's enthusiastic mummification. Now ensnared, far too warm and having an unhealthy amount of minuvar poured down his throat he flitted between pleasant intoxication and wondering if the day could get any worse.
*
The dark scrolls. Before they had come into his Library, no, before Glorfindel had dumped them on his desk and left him with the momentous task of restoration, his life had been simple. He was an advisor to Elrond, he was in charge of the library, he had sweet flirtations with maids and males that didn't involve wanting to tie them down and hurt them.
Tie them down and hurt them.
From the thought an image was born, one that sent all the blood in his body rushing to his groin. Cursing Glorfindel under his breath, Erestor pulled a pile of scrolls towards him, determined to distract himself with work.
*Slaves, my slave, are you a treacherous creature? You love the pain I give you, but will you grovel as you do, knees apart, head against my boot for any and all who hurt you? Do you pretend to be mine while you long for Krale's touch? I know you want him. You think I miss the subtle changes about you? Do you think he can hurt you deeper than I can? He is more brutal than I, it is true, but I know you. I know the places that you hide. Before I let him have you again I will conquer those precious temples, you will have that memory to compare all other touch to, if you be false my pretty slave.*
Erestor sighed heavily. Even the Dark Librarian had troubles. There were no answers, no neat lines of script that had the magic advice to untangle his life. Pushing himself to stand he walked to the door, pausing to watch Melpomaen at work. He kneeled now as he restored the drawings, his posture erect and graceful and undoubtedly horridly uncomfortable. He shifted slightly, glancing up when he became aware of Erestor's stare, then looking down again quickly, a blush shading his cheeks and racing up the points of his ears. Then he arched his neck, allowing his robe to fall slightly open and exposing a perfect ring of Erestor's teeth marks.
It would be so easy, Erestor mused, to walk over and take that. Easy and tempting and so very close to what he wanted, to what they both wanted. And yet, it wasn't. There was only one elf in Rivendell who had any experience with this nameless need. He lingered a moment longer, watching Melpomaen, he turned and left the Library.
*
The wetness had started on an exposed toe. The sensation startled Glorfindel enough to stop singing a rather raunchy version of the song of Gil-galad. He looked down. Elledan had removed his boots and was darting his tongue between his toes. Hazily Glorfindel tried to move, only to discover he was securely fastened to the divan.
"Elledan, what is it you think you are doing?"
What was intended to sound like a sharp warning, instead came out as a soft pleading. Whether from being restrained or the lightness from the minuvar, Glorfindel felt defenseless. Elledan was touching him lightly, almost reverently and despite himself, Glorfindel felt his body begin to respond. He groaned, then struggled in earnest, the divan creaking as he tried to rock out of his bindings. He was securely bound; knot tying apparently being one of the lessons Elledan had paid attention to.
"Glorfindel, let me? Please?"
The younger elf's earnest pleading touched Glorfindel. He was lovely, eyes wide with hope and anticipation, stroking gently, burrowing slender fingers under bandage until he found hot flesh.
"Please? I know you don't... Let me? This comfort can remain between us"
Such quiet touches, matching the gentle timbre of his voice fanning Glorfindel's arousal. Tempting, and it had been so very, very long. He fixed a hard stare upon his captor.
"Elledan, if you insist upon this course then either do it correctly or untie me. I will hardly break but I will become quite annoyed if you continue to touch me as though I were a virgin maid"
*
Melpomaen stared at the figure in the doorway. Haldir never came to the Library. And certainly few Library visitors looked so... so... well, so overwhelmingly elfin. He held himself framed by the entrance, appearing almost hesitant to intrude, and Melpomaen flushed red at his lack of manners. Standing hastily he rose and invited the visitor in.
*
There really was no avoiding it. His mind had played all the possibilities, tried every option and come to just one solution. Taking a deep breath, Erestor raised his hand to knock on Glorfindel's door, and then noticed it was slightly ajar. Knocking hesitantly he pushed it open.
lj-cut text="!"
Breakfast at the high table had started as an accident; Erestor had called Melpomaen over to ask him about Library acquisitions, and Elrond had invited him to join them. Now he perched next to Erestor, his eyes would remain lowered, accepting only food that Erestor offered him, occasionally eating directly from his Master's fingers. It was a ritual that had developed during their solitary lunches in the Library, and balanced upon the polite aversion of notice by anyone at the table. Erestor dipped a berry into a bowl of honeyed cream, then held it up for Melpomaen to nibble delicately. He had slipped into habit so much that the sudden hush at the table startled him. Erestor looked up, for the first time noticing the extra Elves at the table; guests from Lothlorien, staring at Melpomaen with naked hunger.
*
Such little things, but glaringly obvious to Erestor. Melpomaen had changed his hair, for instance. It was not the hairstyle Erestor had once commented favorably upon, but an elaborate pattern of braids favored by much older elves. He still ate late at night in the kitchens, but he went now without a book, and when Erestor followed him one night, he found an elf not withdrawn, but chatting gaily to a chorus of guards. His elf. Surrounded by a coterie of admirer, some of the same elves that had watched him so closely this morning. He felt his adrenaline surge again at the memory: The boldness of them! Frozen with shock and anger, still holding a ripe elanberry in his trembling fingers, Erestor had met their eyes, staring at them until one by one they tore their stares away from Melpomaen and looked at their plates. Except the last one, Haldir. Haldir was staring at him, his expression unreadable. The standoff was broken by the sudden warm sensation of Melpomaen's lips enclosing around his fingers, sucking the elanberry from his hold.
Erestor frowned, the nagging question of whose benefit that sensual display was intended dogging his thoughts. He had wanted to draw Melpomaen out of his shell, hadn't he? And then there was yesterday. Erestor had wanted his the first time he had Melpomaen to be a claiming, a victory of his tender spoils. But instead he felt something else, a lacking, an inadequacy he had no idea how to conquer. The vast knowledge stored in the Library seemed to mock him. He, who had always turned to books to solve life's riddles, now found that route closed.
*
Glorfindel was not having a good day. It had started bad and only gotten worse. During morning practice with the guard, a distraction while sparring had sent a youngster's wooden sword crashing across his nose, giving the cause of the distraction, Elledan, a perfect excuse to drag him to the healing house and smother him with frivolous care. His nose had to be bandaged – he had broken it often enough to recognize the wet snap of cartilage. But now, trapped in his chambers with Elledan, Glorfindel wondered if maybe he should have just let it heal crooked. He was currently swathed in enough bandage to patch up a legion of elves from the last alliance, indeed he could barely move after Elledan's enthusiastic mummification. Now ensnared, far too warm and having an unhealthy amount of minuvar poured down his throat he flitted between pleasant intoxication and wondering if the day could get any worse.
*
The dark scrolls. Before they had come into his Library, no, before Glorfindel had dumped them on his desk and left him with the momentous task of restoration, his life had been simple. He was an advisor to Elrond, he was in charge of the library, he had sweet flirtations with maids and males that didn't involve wanting to tie them down and hurt them.
Tie them down and hurt them.
From the thought an image was born, one that sent all the blood in his body rushing to his groin. Cursing Glorfindel under his breath, Erestor pulled a pile of scrolls towards him, determined to distract himself with work.
*Slaves, my slave, are you a treacherous creature? You love the pain I give you, but will you grovel as you do, knees apart, head against my boot for any and all who hurt you? Do you pretend to be mine while you long for Krale's touch? I know you want him. You think I miss the subtle changes about you? Do you think he can hurt you deeper than I can? He is more brutal than I, it is true, but I know you. I know the places that you hide. Before I let him have you again I will conquer those precious temples, you will have that memory to compare all other touch to, if you be false my pretty slave.*
Erestor sighed heavily. Even the Dark Librarian had troubles. There were no answers, no neat lines of script that had the magic advice to untangle his life. Pushing himself to stand he walked to the door, pausing to watch Melpomaen at work. He kneeled now as he restored the drawings, his posture erect and graceful and undoubtedly horridly uncomfortable. He shifted slightly, glancing up when he became aware of Erestor's stare, then looking down again quickly, a blush shading his cheeks and racing up the points of his ears. Then he arched his neck, allowing his robe to fall slightly open and exposing a perfect ring of Erestor's teeth marks.
It would be so easy, Erestor mused, to walk over and take that. Easy and tempting and so very close to what he wanted, to what they both wanted. And yet, it wasn't. There was only one elf in Rivendell who had any experience with this nameless need. He lingered a moment longer, watching Melpomaen, he turned and left the Library.
*
The wetness had started on an exposed toe. The sensation startled Glorfindel enough to stop singing a rather raunchy version of the song of Gil-galad. He looked down. Elledan had removed his boots and was darting his tongue between his toes. Hazily Glorfindel tried to move, only to discover he was securely fastened to the divan.
"Elledan, what is it you think you are doing?"
What was intended to sound like a sharp warning, instead came out as a soft pleading. Whether from being restrained or the lightness from the minuvar, Glorfindel felt defenseless. Elledan was touching him lightly, almost reverently and despite himself, Glorfindel felt his body begin to respond. He groaned, then struggled in earnest, the divan creaking as he tried to rock out of his bindings. He was securely bound; knot tying apparently being one of the lessons Elledan had paid attention to.
"Glorfindel, let me? Please?"
The younger elf's earnest pleading touched Glorfindel. He was lovely, eyes wide with hope and anticipation, stroking gently, burrowing slender fingers under bandage until he found hot flesh.
"Please? I know you don't... Let me? This comfort can remain between us"
Such quiet touches, matching the gentle timbre of his voice fanning Glorfindel's arousal. Tempting, and it had been so very, very long. He fixed a hard stare upon his captor.
"Elledan, if you insist upon this course then either do it correctly or untie me. I will hardly break but I will become quite annoyed if you continue to touch me as though I were a virgin maid"
*
Melpomaen stared at the figure in the doorway. Haldir never came to the Library. And certainly few Library visitors looked so... so... well, so overwhelmingly elfin. He held himself framed by the entrance, appearing almost hesitant to intrude, and Melpomaen flushed red at his lack of manners. Standing hastily he rose and invited the visitor in.
*
There really was no avoiding it. His mind had played all the possibilities, tried every option and come to just one solution. Taking a deep breath, Erestor raised his hand to knock on Glorfindel's door, and then noticed it was slightly ajar. Knocking hesitantly he pushed it open.