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It all began with a bass line, driving and intense, the backdrop in the building of a crescendo, but before reaching its apex, reverting back, only to rise again in a long series of pulsating rhythms of unresolved tension Again and again, the same low beginning, striving to its conclusion, only to remain unfulfilled at its peak.

And then the low thrum of a harp, joining the rhythm in counterpoint, the barest hint of a melody in the drum and the drift of long fingers over the strings. Low and slow it commenced, each note strummed as a lover might tease flesh, some notes languid and light, some plucked with intent.

Lindir closed his eyes as he felt the rhythm course through his body, each subtle note entering his mind before it traveled to the caress of his fingers over the strings. His body swayed with it, and his breathing matched it, each note of the crescendo rising up from his diaphragm into his chest.

Gildor watched the harper and he felt his body begin to involuntarily sway with the music. He watched every move of Lindir’s fingers, and felt their touch upon his body as surely as if Lindir’s hands moved over <i>him</i> and not the harp itself.

He felt himself rise with the crescendo, the backbeat of the drum resonating deeply in his groin and he leaned into the wall behind him so as to provide ballast to his rapid descent into the magical enchantment of the music. With a deep breath, he centered himself and reached down to grasp his own harp, wanting to enjoin Lindir in the magisterial pas de deux.

Gildor’s fingers moved sinuously, adding another, nearly silent echo to Lindir’s melody, but the musician had seen him out of the corner of his eye and caught Gildor’s glance. With a broad smile and a lick of the lips, Lindir beckoned, and Gildor walked toward him, increasing the volume of his tune, adding to the rapidly ascending fugue.

Gildor slid into the chair next to Lindir, fingers moving more quickly over the strings, mirroring Lindir’s tune, but two bars later, and soon they were caught in a sensual duel, each more attune to the other than either thought possible.

Lindir closed his eyes and led them, each new series of notes followed by Gildor’s reply until each of them were so fully caught in the music that no others existed. When Gildor’s thigh brushed against Lindir’s, he felt the younger elf quiver against him, but still they thrummed.

With a flick of a finger, Lindir signaled to the rest of the musicians and the music escalated to its powerful climax. Thunder and lightning and one small moan and Lindir and Gildor, legs nearly intertwined, the air electric surrounding, finished the tune.

The next anyone looked over at the group, they saw two empty chairs, harps gently placed beside them.

Later, Lindir rose lazily from his bed, put on his robe and went to the balcony, sighing as he leaned on the doorway. He looked back at Gildor, nestled snugly in the bed, a satisfied smile lining his face.

“Oh Gildor, you should look. Lord Elrond let it snow and it is beautiful. Come outside and play with me!”

“Lindir, please. It is so warm here – but it could be even warmer. Come back to bed with me.”

“Come on Gildor, it is solstice! And it is so rare, this snow. Let us go and let it tickle our tongues!”

“Ah Lindir, I have seen enough snow to last a lifetime. Several even. But there is no other way out that I can see or think of. I can deny you nothing, my sweet muse.”

Gildor lumbered out of bed and donned his clothes, smiled an indulgent smile and followed his lover out of the room.

Afterward, after the running and jumping and the dodging of snowballs, with rosy cheeks and light hearts they returned to their room. Lindir nestled into the warmth of Gildor’s arms and, sighing with contentment, they closed their eyes and slept.