Of all of the rooms in Maedhros’ house, his study was the coziest. Even his bedroom was not as comfortable of a place to be. Unlike most rooms of this sort that many others might keep, there was no desk, and no place to keep implements for writing. Despite being reborn, he had not been entirely restored to his previous state. Missing his hand made him loathe to keep anything which would be useless to him, therefore, he had no quills, no corkscrew and hence no wine, no knives and so ate only that which could be cut easily with the edge of a fork or need not be cut at all.
Wine was the only thing which might come into the house, and only when brought in by his old friend Gildor. Gildor knew enough by now to bring the corkscrew with him, and not to leave it behind after he had gone. This evening he had brought white wine, and it had been poured in heavy goblets used almost exclusively for water or milk. They sat in overstuffed leather chairs, with piles of cushions to rest their legs upon and pillows covered in soft fabrics to rest their heads on. More than once, they had conversed well into the night and dozed off in the study.
It looked to be the case this evening. Already two bottles had been finished, and the third was being poured as Gildor spoke. “I only go to the parties because of my aunt. Auntie Galadriel has always favored me, and I know she is happy to have me there. If not for her, I doubt I would go, despite being related to some of them.”
“Because of Erestor, I assume.”
Gildor shook his head. “I have never much feared Erestor, and especially not now. Remember how I told you that his son shot him with an arrow? Well, he has hardly been the same since. Half the time he sleeps, and when he is up, he tends to sit and read to his grandchild or play chess with someone or write or something.”
“Mmm.” Maedhros sipped his wine. “Just, in general you would not take the time to go?”
“Actually, it has to do with Glorfindel. I had no idea I would hurt him as I did.”
“Mmm. He wanted a solid commitment from you, though, and it sounds as if you were not interested in that sort of thing.”
“I liked a bit more freedom in those days, yes. But he changed. When he was reborn, that was part of it, but I knew he would never truly be happy with me. With me, he was just settling for something because he thought he would never have Erestor.”
“So it was more that you disliked the idea of being only second best.”
Gildor leaned his head back and stared up at the ceiling. “We barely knew each other. The sex was good, but once we started to really talk to one another we conflicted terribly.”
“That would not have been good in the long run.” Maedhros set his wine glass down, and nudged it further to the center of the small table with the side of his other arm. “From what I have seen of him, Glorfindel is an agreeable fellow, but possessive.”
“How true.” Gildor sighed. “I do wish I might have had at least one relationship like the one you and Fingon have.”
“Had,” corrected Maedhros quietly.
Gildor lifted his head up. “Sorry, I assumed... when did that happen?”
Maedhros shook his head. “It just did. When I came back, he was overjoyed at first – both of us were. Then, after a while... well, my death just did not sit right with him. One night he called me a coward, then he said he had not meant it. We talked things over, and we decided it was best for us to leave the past behind and start fresh. He has gone his way, and I... I just sit in an empty house with my thoughts.”
Leaning forward, Gildor placed his hand upon Maedhros’. “Russandol, I had no idea.”
“I have said very little to anyone about it. Actually, I only told Celegorm, and only because he saw Fingon with someone else one evening and came to consult whether he should disembowel them or just break every bone in their bodies. So I had to tell him, lest I be the cause of another kinslaying,” Maedhros explained.
“I wish you would have told me,” said Gildor.
“So that you could pity me? Or so that you could help Celegorm break Fingon’s arms?”
“Did he really break his arms?”
“No, just the one,” Maedhros said with a sigh. “He called it an accident; I have no true account of the details. I just know not to let my temperamental brother anywhere near my ex-lover if I can help it.”
“What do you think his reaction would be if you took another lover now?”
“Why, are you offering?” asked Maedhros, chuckling at the idea. When Gildor did not laugh along, he sobered. “Gildor?”
Chewing his lip, Gildor mused, “If I had known sooner...”
“Seriously?”
“My friend, I would not jest with you about such a thing.” Gildor slowly drank the rest of his wine, his eyes looking upon Maedhros in a way he had only dreamed of doing.
“No,” said Maedhros after pondering a few moments.
“Why not? Am I not your type? I honestly thought I was.”
“It is not that. It is... Gildor, look at me.”
“I am,” affirmed Gildor. “And I must say, your mother named you well, Maitimo.”
“Please, not that name,” begged Maedhros, holding up his hand. “It was what Fingon preferred to call me when we... if you must call me by another name, Russandol will do.”
“I would call you Maedhros, but it seems so impersonal. It would be like you calling me Inglorion.”
“Russandol, then,” said Maedhros again.
“You are handsome, though,” Gildor said. “Such glorious red hair, I have always had want to touch it, to run my fingers through it for hours if only I could. Your eyes, so dark and beautiful. Your body, so perfect.”
“Perfect, is it?” Maedhros snorted and lifted up his arm, displaying for Gildor his wrist and the appendage that it lacked. “This is perfect in your eyes?”
Sliding off of his chair onto the floor, Gildor shoved aside the cushions and rested before Maedhros. “If I knew a way to fix this for you, I would,” he said, taking hold of Maedhros’ arm with one hand and using the other to caress the healed stump. “You think it makes you ugly, but it shows to everyone your strength, your determination, and what you suffered and endured. That, too, makes you beautiful.” Gildor bent his head to kiss Maedhros’ wrist.
“Fingon always avoided touching me there,” said Maedhros softly.
Again, Gildor kissed Maedhros’ wrist. “I will stop only if you tell me to.”
“I would have you continue, but not here.” Maedhros placed his hand upon Gildor’s shoulder. “Bring the wine.” He stood and picked up a candle, extinguishing the rest, and then led Gildor from the study to the bedroom, which was meagerly furnished, with a rather small bed at the center of the room.
Gildor set the wine atop the dresser before returning to Maedhros to take the candle from him to place that beside the wine. “I promise you, tonight will be a night—“
“Gildor, are you going to flirt with me as if I am some cooing maiden, or are you going to take off those dirty traveling clothes so that we can get into bed?”
Smirking, Gildor unfastened his vest and shrugged it from his shoulders while Maedhros very quickly removed his simple shirt and pants, kicking the garments in the direction of the door. Gildor’s clothing soon joined the pile as Maedhros turned down the bed and crawled in. As he picked up the wine from the dresser, Gildor saw a glove, stuffed with cotton so that it appeared to still contain a hand. He recognized it from the few times he had seen Maedhros appear in public since his return. It attached to a few specially made tunics with long sleeves, and Gildor realized how sensitive Maedhros had to be about his injury.
“As requested, I have brought the wine.” Gildor set it on the floor beside the bed for there was no table, and joined Maedhros beneath the blankets. “Before you ask, because I know what you are thinking, this is not something I am doing out of pity. This is something I have wanted to do for a long time. Just as Glorfindel did not wish to settle for me, I had no desire to settle for him.”
“I was always so certain Fingon was my match, but Fingon never knew me as you know me. As you proved now, for I was indeed about to question your reason once again.”
“So... where do we begin?” wondered Gildor.
Maedhros brushed his right arm against Gildor’s thigh, happy that the blond ellon leaned against him instead of shuddering at the foreign touch. “Come now, neither of us are blushing virgins.”
“Yes and no. Glorfindel and I never... well, we talked as if we did, but obviously we could not have.”
“Obviously,” agreed Maedhros. “Let us make a pact, for at least tonight. I will not speak Fingon’s name again, if you no longer say Glorfindel’s.”
Gildor nodded and coughed. “I do not have experience with... with the final act of... of...”
“I never expected you to be one to have difficulty with the topic.” Maedhros rested his chin on Gildor’s shoulder and said, “Fing—er, ah... you-know-who and I never got that far, either.”
“I would have thought—“
“We were both much too dominant. We could never decide who should be on the receiving end, because neither of us wanted to be in that position.”
Gildor swallowed hard. “Interesting.”
“Does that... that is, are you amenable to such a proposition?”
Licking his lips, Gildor nodded. “Oh, I am very much open to such a thing. I have only one question.” Maedhros lifted a brow. “Why are we still talking about it instead of doing it?”
Maedhros wet his own lips before seeking out Gildor’s. As they kissed, Gildor slid his hand between Maedhros’ legs and began to stimulate him, first with gentle caresses and then with a strong hand, squeezing, licking his hand to lubricate it, to have Maedhros thrust forward as he wrapped his wet fingers around the hard erection.
Their bodies became tangled together as they felt one another in ways neither ever anticipated before that night. More often than not, Maedhros was unable to reach Gildor’s erection, and so he pushed him down onto his back before sitting up and pushing the covers down with his hand.
Before Gildor could sit up to protest anything, his hardening length was surrounded by moist warmth, and his head fell back onto the pillows while Maedhros took him deep into his throat. This was brief, for Maedhros has a desire to look upon Gildor as he was undone. The fluid leaking from Gildor’s member was used to begin preparing him, while Maedhros made an attempt to rub Gildor’s erection with his wrist and arm.
Frustration set in as Gildor’s length shrunk back, despite Maedhros’ best efforts. Moaning, Gildor’s hand wandered toward his groin, but it was smacked away. Maedhros left the bed, knocking over the wine in the process as he went to the dresser. From it he withdrew a jar of thick, greasy ointment which he brought back with him.
Maedhros resumed his task, using his fingers to prepare Gildor once more. He swiftly moved from one finger to two, from two to three, until he had even managed a very shallow attempt at all five.
He dipped his fingers into the ointment again, smearing it over the wrist of his right hand. His left took hold of Gildor’s length and with practiced strokes brought forth an erection again. It was as Gildor started to lift his hips up to meet the strokes that Maedhros placed his wrist against Gildor’s entrance and gently pushed against it. “Spread your legs,” he commanded as he angled his arm slightly.
“Russandol, are you... oh! Wait, you are... oh! Oh!” Gildor’s eyes closed as he groaned, his mouth open and jaw slack.
Maedhros looked surprised as well, pushing forward only a tiny bit and then doing little more than shaking his arm slightly as he used his hand to stroke Gildor’s erection. “You are so tight!”
“You have your arm in there, what do you expect?” gasped Gildor.
“Let me try this instead, then,” offered Maedhros as he removed his wrist and sat up. More ointment was used to coat his length before it was plunged into Gildor. “Holy Eru!” he shouted as Gildor managed to burst out with “Ai, Elbereth!”
“Manwë, we forgot Manwë – wait, does that count?” wondered Maedhros.
“Who cares?! Just... just... move! Or something!” pleaded Gildor with a whimper.
Maedhros rested on his forearms and plunged into Gildor over and over, both of them trying to outlast the other until they seemed to reach the agreement that they had to come lest they burst. The spiral down from their climax was spent clinging to each other, soaked with sweat, staring into each other’s eyes.
“I changed my mind,” said Maedhros as he slipped from Gildor and settled onto the mattress beside his mate. “You may call me Maitimo if you still wish.”
“Oh?”
“I like it when you say it.”
“Good. I think it suits you well.” Gildor’s hands wandered over Maedhros’ toned abdomen and chest.
“Gildor?”
“Yes, Maitimo?”
Maedhros smiled. “This bed is very hard.”
“Yes, and not in a good way.”
A chuckle, and then, “Perhaps we should find some other place to retire for the evening.”
“I think,” said Gildor, sitting up, “that we should take the rest of the wine—“
“I spilled the wine.”
“Ah. In that case, we just take ourselves back to the study, pile up the cushions in one corner, and snuggle up in there until tomorrow, when we can scandalize the entire community by going together to find a bigger bed and a softer mattress.”
Maedhros was already out of bed and retrieving the candle from the dresser. “Excellent idea. Besides, there is something I have had the greatest desire to try with you on one of the leather chairs. Well, in reality, I would be sitting on the chair and you would be on the floor on your hands and knees... but the chair is involved.”
“Well what are we still doing in here then?” questioned Gildor as he hurried Maedhros from the bedroom.
