He placed his hand on her hand, and she clasped his knee more tightly. "My lady… I know, a little, of what it is you speak," he said carefully. "A wizard must carry a fraction of those burdens with him, as well."
She looked up at him, her pale eyes letting down their icy walls. "I thought perhaps, if we met, and spoke of these things, we could aid each other. That is why I asked you here, Mithrandir."
He opened his mouth to speak, then thought better of it. Instead, he moved closer to the elf so that their knees were touching as they sat on the cushions.
After a moment or so of silence, his youthful curiosity got the better of him. "My lady, if I may ask…in the mirror, today. The last image we saw—"
She turned abruptly to look directly at him. The ferocity of her gaze felt like an icicle in his stomach. "I thought I had seen all there was to see for you, thus far, Mithrandir," she began. "Yet it seems even I can still be surprised. That image…it was as new to me as it was to you. That is…assuming it was a new thought to you?"
Gandalf felt a bright blush rising up from his dark beard. He averted his gaze, but not before he caught a glimpse of Galadriel's self-satisfied smirk.
"I see." Again, they sat without speaking, both deep in thought.
When he could take no more, Gandalf turned and opened his mouth to speak, only to see Galadriel looking at him in watchful silence. He did not know how long she had been doing this, but the look on her face was one he had not yet seen.
And then, without a word, she leaned forward and kissed him, softly, her lips meeting his amid the thatch of his beard. She tasted of the clean, sharp scent of pine, and he found himself leaning into her kiss, moving his hand into her long blonde hair, marveling at the satiny softness of her lips.
After a moment, she pulled back, a look of shock on her face. "I must apologize, Mithrandir, for my indecent behavior—" she said, moving gracefully yet quickly off the couch.
He reached up and grasped a handful of her gown, crumpling the velvet and pulling her back down to the settee. "I do not mind, my lady," he said, before pressing his lips to hers a second time. She resisted, only for a second, before eagerly returning his kiss. She ran her fingers over the thin material of his robe, feeling the leanly muscled body inside, and caught her other hand in his dark hair. She could feel his hands exploring her back, feeling the laces on her dress, before rethinking that course of action and returning to her hair. Their kisses became more passionate, punctured by gasps from Galadriel as the young wizard decorated her neck with soft kisses. When she could take it no more she pulled him up, away from her collarbone and back to her lips. Their tongues worked in a rhythm she had never known with Celeborn, and she felt something in herself, an arousal, a passion, that she had not felt in hundreds of years.
Gandalf's mind raced, still unable to take in his great fortune. The lovely, ethereal Lady Galadriel, here, with him, biting his lower lip—he moved his hands on her waist, tracing up her spine, finally toppling her over so that his solidity pinned her to the couch. Still they kissed, never breaking contact, and he felt her exploratory hands moving gracefully down his back, circling his buttocks, then moving back up to stroke his hair. He felt himself unable to think anymore, only doing what he felt right.
And then, she pushed him off of her. Sitting up, straightening her bodice and righting her diadem, the Lady Galadriel looked up Gandalf and said, "I must leave now. But, Mithrandir… I will come back."
Her lips were still bee-stung from his rough kisses as she spoke. He rose off the couch to try to catch her as she left the room, but she was too quick for him.
