Breath.
On the back of my neck.
It brings me back to that barely conscious state, on the edge of the dream you are soon to forget.
It brings back the memory of last night, and I smile.
Just before midnight, when I was about to bow out of the celebration in the Hall of Fire, he backed up and bumped into me. The wine spilled everywhere, burgundy blotches on my shoes and the bottom of my black robes. Not that he could tell; he was blitzed. Bloody harpers never can hold their liquor.
"Ooopssh."
I furrowed my brow and glared.
"So, I 'schpect what you want to do is schlap me, right, O chief conschlur of unhappinesshh?"
I hate it when they beat me to it; of course I had planned to slap him. But then, what fun would it be, since he had already anticipated the move? I shook my head and advanced upon him boldly -- was this not a party? "Boy, you accuse me of such an act, at so blissful an event?" He steps backward, swaying a bit. There should really be a law prohibiting the imbibing of alcohol before an elf reached a hundred-- these young ones turn fifty, and suddenly, they know it all. The minstrels by far are the worst.
He shook his head as he took another step back, and another, and then hits back his the wall in the corner, and he splashed the wine again, now onto the floor. I needed take only one step to reach him, blocking his way out with my arm stretched out, palm against the wall. "There is no need for displeasentries this evening, young one, but I will not be so kind again." He dumbly nods, and tries to go, yet still I block his way. "However, there is something I would like to do to you," I tell him, my head bent down, my breath warm, barely ghosting his lips.
"Oh?" he squeaks. He quivers. He is divine to watch, despite being such a royal pain in my arse most days.
I nod as I lick my lips and press them to his, breaching his mouth with my tongue. He melts into me, and I can taste the strong lingering of the berry wine he is drunk on. We press together, more me into him, and just as I feel the hardening of his shaft, the little mewl in the back of his throat, I break away. He looks bewildered, and he should be, and before he is given time to think further, I do as I intended and slap him. Not too hard, but honestly, they were my best robes and come morning would still reek like the distillery.
I find myself shaking now, and playfully a firm hand comes in contact with my behind.
"Stop that," complains my husband. "You had your fun with Lindir last night, now give me peace for an hour!"
I stop laughing, but I continue to grin. "Peace, you say, my brave and beautiful warrior?" I turn in his arms, brushing against him delightfully, as for so long I have yearned to do. "Oh, no, by the promises made yestereve, I am not required to give you peace... just some nonsense about loving and honoring and--" His hand covers my mouth and he peeks at me, one eye half-opened, before grinning himself.
"One hour, dearest, or I will not give you peace over your kissing the minstrel on our wedding day!"
I pry Glorfindel's hand from my mouth. "Wedding night."
"Even worse," he mumbles, but he smiles. He knew what he was getting into when we began courting. I think he enjoys my mischief. "Peace. For one hour."
"Alright." I turn back around, his breath on the back of my neck again as he falls back asleep. Still, I cannot help but smirk to myself.
