For years I have kept private journals, expecting them to remain just that – private. Perhaps this is a mistake, and perhaps I shall regret my decision later. The rest of my journals are already prepared for our journey.
Tonight I came to the conclusion, that if we are ever to hope for a future together, in any capacity, that no longer can I keep anything private. From others, yes, but not from you. It is not fair, though I do not expect reciprocation of my actions. I promise you I will not pursue any further intimacies of a sexual nature, unless you give me leave to do so. I apologize for my actions earlier this evening.
I really do love you.
Glorfindel
- - -
The note was folded around the book that had been propped against Erestor’s door. Entering his quarters, he took them to his bed, leaving the door open. Sitting down, he read the note again, then folded it and placed it on his nightstand. Next, he changed into a pair of light pants for sleeping and took the book with him to his couch. When he read for pleasure, he didn’t sit. He liked to lounge, and lit the lamp on the nearby table before situating himself comfortably.
Flipping through the pages, he recognized Glorfindel’s hand, and the dark ink he had seen on the note. He wondered for a moment if he should go to the other elf to let him know nothing had been done that night to truly upset him. Glorfindel had finally admitted to him that his cooking left much to be desired, and then spent the rest of the meal silent when Erestor had not replied, but Erestor had known as much for some years. There was a very good reason he did not boast culinary skills, for he had none to speak of, and even his beloved books had done nothing to cure this.
Opening the book randomly, Erestor began to read the words of the passage. He knew that Glorfindel made daily notes, but never knew of exactly what he wrote. Much of it was rather dull, for he had been there for what was being written about. He started to look for lines where his name was listed, curious to see how Glorfindel viewed him. He found a section where the writing changed a bit and sat up. The color was the same, and still it was Glorfindel who wrote, but the words were smaller, and the text messier.
- - -
Glorfindel pressed Erestor's wrists to the wall beside his raven-locked head. He knew his long time friend wouldn’t give in to him so easily; no matter how tempting he was to the older elf. Erestor was no elf’s plaything to be used, only to be set aside. But it was not Glorfindel’s intention to set him aside, and he needed to know how to make him believe this.
Long had he yearned to introduce Erestor to sexual delights, but always in his mind that introduction happened within the confines of a serious relationship. Not the illicit affair Erestor thought he was offering. The Noldo’s jaw was set, defiantly mocking him. He was trapped, but then, he allowed himself to be trapped, for he could leave at his own choosing and Glorfindel would not have given chase.
Snapping back to his present situation, Glorfindel moaned as Erestor tilted his hips forward, forcing firmer contact between their arousals. Caught off guard, Glorfindel whimpered, and Erestor smiled triumphantly; he was enjoying this...this utter agony he was putting Glorfindel through, and his own struggle to resist the pleasure he truly wanted.
- - -
Erestor gasped, realizing that he had forgotten to breathe. Unable to believe his eyes, he rubbed them with one hand, and set to reading the passage again. When it hit him that he was really reading what he was reading, he threw the book away from him as if it would burn his hand. It struck the corner of the bed and opened as it fell, the cover facing up as it hit the floor.
Grabbing one of the pillows from the couch, he drew it up to his chest and hugged it to him, wishing it were Glorfindel instead. The pillow was tossed aside next as he fully realized his thought, and he shook his head, getting up to retrieve the book. This proved harder than he had anticipated, for he concluded, as he looked down in front of himself, that he indeed was fully erect. “What is wrong with me?” he wondered out loud, flopping back onto the couch. Looking to the door, Erestor hoped that it was not Glorfindel’s intention to enter or walk past the door anytime soon, for he would have been so completely embarrassed he either would have had to kill him or himself.
After calming himself enough to be able to comfortably pick up the book again, he first went to the door to close and lock it, and then to his couch. The book was left on the cushion as he brought a small bottle of liqueur from the cabinet next to his desk with him. Taking a deep breath as he uncorked the bottle, he drained half the contents of the raspberry-peach concoction and placed the rest of the miruvor aside. “What other naughty thoughts have you written, dear Fin, and why do you want me to read them?”
Erestor paused, repeating himself. “Dear Fin. When did that come about?” Finding he often reasoned things better aloud, and that he enjoyed the sound of his voice, he continued his investigation, speaking when he thought it helpful. He opened the book and read through the passage again. “What are you trying to tell me? That you lust for me? Aye, but I know that, and know that you love me, for I love you. But lust – that is something I am not sure of. At least not yet. You do not wish me to fear you, in that you want me to know your intentions are pure. I want to believe that.” Erestor ran a finger along the page, across words so very personal in some ways it seemed almost sacred that he was reading them now. “I want very much to believe that. And I want very much not to fear, but it is not you that I fear.”
He set to find more of the interludes, and though they were few, Erestor found three others in the journal. The last, he concluded had been written after dinner, but before the journal had been left for him. “We were together in the parlor when you wrote this,” Erestor whispered. “Not more than ten feet from you, and still, I did not know you had such thoughts, so close…”
Shutting the book, Erestor placed it on the table beside him, and lifted up the bottle, drinking the rest. The cordial warmed him thoroughly, for he was not used to taking such amounts of alcohol. Erestor opened the windows to let in the breeze of late autumn, then crawled into his bed, planning to think on things in the morning.
Instead he stayed wide-awake, listening to the leaves rustling across the grass outside. “I don’t lust for him,” he said suddenly, in defense of his uncontrollable actions earlier. “It was an accident. It was only the words, I was unprepared.” But his hand had slipped down under the sheets, loosening the cord of his pants to allow him access. This night, as on so many other cold nights, he did as he had always done before. He took himself in his hand and thought of the most beautiful blonde elf he had ever known. “Mmm… Artanis…” he smiled, shutting his eyes, imagining her as he drew his hand along his hardening shaft. It took mere seconds for him to pant and moan softly, hoping that Glorfindel did not hear the sounds.
Throwing his head back, he cried out suddenly, and his hand ceased as he felt the warmth spread across it. Growling as he gasped for air, he wiped his hand across his thigh, removing it from inside his sleepwear. Sitting up, he drew up his knees and rested his chin on them, arms curled around his legs. “Glorfindel,” he said again, for the name that flowed from his lips as he released was not that of his golden maiden of old, but of the golden lord that was with him in this very house, where they were alone and unbothered by others. “Glorfindel…” Erestor bowed his head and sighed.
Throwing the covers back, he slid out of bed, shut the window, and lit the fire. Wandering into the bathroom, he drew cold water into the tub, stripped and washed himself, and warmed then in front of the fire while rereading the sloppily written passages. So intent upon the words was Erestor, he did not notice that he had been lazily running his free hand along his legs, chest, and stomach until his erection throbbed once again. “Aiya, Glorfindel,” sighed Erestor, rolling to his back as he tossed the book next to himself on the fur he was upon. “What am I to say to you when I do not know what to say to myself?”
The hour was late, but Erestor knew he would not sleep, and so retrieved a fresh set of nightclothes – pants, and a robe that reached just past his waist. Unlike so much of what he wore, these were not black, but blue-violet, and so light to almost have been mistaken for white in the sun. He left the robe untied, picked up the book, and made his way to Glorfindel’s chambers.
