“Are you coming to bed?” questioned Glorfindel as he fluffed his pillows a third time. He knew the answer by looking at the desk, equipped with numerous candles that were dwindling down to stumps and puddles. It was nearly dawn, and Erestor continued to sit upon the bench at the long desk, scribbling and muttering to himself.

Glorfindel had attempted to sleep, but all he managed were a few disconnected dreams and a sore neck. Erestor was talking to himself on and on and on, and although it was not noticed by the Noldo, the continual utterances were taking a toll on the Vanya, who rolled over. He propped himself upon one elbow and awaited an answer, which came only after Erestor noted he was being watched. “Did you say something?”

“Just talking to myself, I guess,” said Glorfindel, but his jest was lost on Erestor, who went back to his work. “Your muses must be chattering away in your head for you to have been up all night.”

“I wish I could confirm that. Sadly, they are not aiding me.”

“What are you trying to write?” Glorfindel sat up and yawned, and shook his head when Erestor patted the empty half of the bench. “Too early to sit on something that hard.”

“Oh, come on, I let you rest last night,” argued Erestor playfully. “You should well be able to sit on a bench today.”

“Ha! You call that rest? I hardly slept.”

“I heard you snoring.”

“I hardly slept well,” corrected Glorfindel. He waited for a response, and then repeated, “What are you writing?”

“Pull yourself a chair up, love, and you can read my notes,” offered Erestor. He motioned to the varied slips of paper that littered one side of the desk.

Glorfindel squinted his eyes in an attempt to make out anything on the paper. The bed was cozy, and even if he did get up and go to the desk, he would need to find his spectacles in order to read any of the itty bitty lines of text Erestor tended to write while making notes. “It must be absolutely scandalous if you will not simply read it out loud.”

Erestor had the decency to blush. “I have a character who is supposed to be... pleasuring himself.”

A chuckle, which ended in an unexpected snort, came from Glorfindel. “You mean he is masturbating.”

“Shhh... do not say that. That makes it sound dirty.”

“Oh. My apologies.” Glorfindel laughed again and stretched the kinks out of his back. “Was that what kept you up all night?”

“More or less.”

“Well, you have mas—pleasured yourself before,” corrected Glorfindel. He grinned as Erestor gave him what was supposed to be a withering look. “Let me know what you already have, and maybe I can help.”

“I have nothing. Scribbles. Nothing.” Erestor lifted up a few of the sheets, one after another, but they might have been blank for all Glorfindel knew. “This was a waste of an evening.”

“There is still tomorrow,” suggested Glorfindel. “Draw the curtains and then come and cuddle with me; we can sleep through the day and tonight you can write until your heart is content.” He smoothed his hand against the fabric for emphasis.

There was a hopeful look given to the bed, and a sigh to follow. “I have no inclination to sleep right now,” apologized Erestor. “This is just going to keep nagging me.”

“Did I say sleep? I meant not-sleep.” Glorfindel rolled onto his stomach and stretched, but this time, he arched his back and stuck his rear upwards, causing the down-filled quilt to slide off and leave only a thin sheet to cover him. “We can not-sleep all... day... long...” he purred.

“Mmm… love the way you tease me, heart, but you have no idea how much this is going to frustrate me until I finish it.”

Glorfindel flopped back down onto the bed. “Yes, I do.” He fiddled with the tassel on one of the pillows and stared at the ceiling until he heard the scratching of quill against parchment again. “Is there any way I could help you? Inspire you? Be your muse?”

“Well, if you were a brunet, possibly.”

“Did not know that was a requirement,” said Glorfindel, sounding deeply offended.

“No, the character... the character has dark hair.” Erestor frowned and then looked over his shoulder. “He is a lot like you already. If I gave him blond hair... well, then he would be you, except for the name...”

“Ooo! You put me into a story?!” Glorfindel’s eyes sparkled as he sat up in bed. “You wrote me into a story! What do I do? What do I say?”

“Not much, so far – and it is a character that is sort of based upon you, not you exactly.” Erestor crumpled up another sheet of parchment. “Unfortunately, he is a very bad muse.”

“Well, maybe he detests the fact you gave him brown hair. I bet if you gave him a thick, wavy, golden mane, he would be such a darling and adorable muse, you would get nothing but words and words galore from him. Cheesecake bribery helps, too.”

“If I make him blond, I have to go back and rewrite all of those passages,” pointed out Erestor. “Do you know how long that will take?”

“Less time than it will take for you to write a simple masturbation scene,” remarked Glorfindel. He was hit squarely on the nose with the wadded up page a moment later. “What if we draw the curtains and make it darker in here? Then you would not be able to see the color of my hair and you could pretend I am whatever your character’s name is.”

“And then what?”

Glorfindel untangled the sheet from his legs and walked to the windows himself, pulling the curtains across to block out the light of the sun. Although the windows faced the west, it still tended to get fairly bright within an hour of sunrise. “Then you let me be your muse.” He reclined on the bed again, drawing up the sheet and blankets. He fluffed the pillows again and nestled his head onto them. “Like an artist who draws his model... you watch me and write what you see.”

The few candles that continued to burn gave Erestor the light he needed to continue writing. He brought the bench beside the bed and rearranged the candles behind him before he set a thin board across his lap that he often used when writing in bed. “Your character just returned from a celebration, where he was introduced to his future lover. Now he is, umm... taking care of things,” trailed off Erestor as he arranged his ink and parchment.

“Wait... is this character supposed to be thinking about making love to a lady or to a lord? Because if you based it on me—“

“Yes, yes, he is based on you,” assured Erestor hurriedly.

“You!” Glorfindel sat up again and pointed an accusing finger at Erestor with a wicked grin. “You are writing... oh, you better let me read this when you finish,” he said as he settled down again.

“You will probably be the only one who gets to read it.” Erestor looked to the bed expectantly. “Are you planning on keeping all of the covers over you? That might not help me very much.”

“Sorry.” Glorfindel swept aside the thick down blanket. “Better?” He stretched his body out to relax it and settled his left arm over his head as his right hand slid down.

Erestor leaned forward so that he was able to tear another layer off, now leaving only the sheet to cover Glorfindel. “Now I can see what is going on while you remain somewhat modest.”

The sheet clung to Glorfindel’s form, except for one part that tented upwards, moving slightly as his hand did. “Who needs modesty?” Glorfindel kicked the sheet down to the end of the bed and continued his display. He let his eyes close slowly as he slipped away from complete reality and into that muted state of blissful, rhythmic pleasure.

“I love to hear you breathe inside,” said Erestor, suddenly reminding Glorfindel that he was not alone.

“What?” he managed to gasp, now quite aware of the sounds he was making. It had been a long time since he had needed to stimulate himself. Erestor had proved an enthusiastic bed partner, and a loud one as well. For the first time since their first night, Glorfindel could be heard in the midst of passion. There was no needful moaning and no grunts or groans – only breathing, quiet and excited pants for air... inhale... exhale.. inhale.. exhale, inhale, exhale – faster and faster.

“I love to hear you breathe inside,” whispered Erestor. His hand moved along the paper, eyes darting down to it sparingly. “When we make love... when you are within me, I can hear you breathe... it is glorious... humbling... I wish to have you here within my arms again.”

Glorfindel quivered like a reed, feeling the warmth inside him pool and explode. For a few moments he relaxed with a sigh and simply listened to the stillness of the day, punctuated by the sound of the quill scratching against the page. He could hear the frantic beating of his heart, and recalled their first night of love together. The sheet was pulled up and used to wipe away the evidence of his pleasure before he slipped out of bed.

“How much of that are you going to write into your book?” asked Glorfindel as he slid onto the bench beside Erestor. He squinted and peered closer to the page. “Hey! You told me you were writing,” he said as he gave Erestor a little shove.

“Sorry.” Erestor put the finishing touches on his sketch, adding the shadows and shading that he skipped over earlier. “I could not help myself.”

Glorfindel edged closer and closer until he was able to settle his chin on Erestor’s shoulder. “Maybe the trouble is your muse would rather be in bed with someone instead of by himself.”

“I am never going to get this chapter done that way,” stated Erestor, somewhat unconvincingly. “If I just apply myself a little longer...”

“Oh, let yourself go, old one,” teased Glorfindel as he nuzzled Erestor’s neck. He kissed his way back down to Erestor’s shoulder as he listened to the deep chuckle that followed.

“Old one, am I?”

“Prove me wrong?” Glorfindel rubbed his cheek against Erestor’s chest as he felt the lap desk being set aside. Strong arms encircled him as he smiled and said, “I love the way you do, so...”