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Erestor rarely had time during the week to do as he pleased. Those occasional days when he had a few hours to himself were spent in as physical a way as he could manage, often running or fencing or playing games outside, for he did not like the lethargy that crept upon him, shut up indoors as he so often was.
This afternoon, he dressed plainly in trousers and tunic and made his way to the training yard to see what Glorfindel’s new recruits were up to. There had been a small influx of young Elves from the Harbors who were growing bored whiling their lives away on the slow seashore.
Glorfindel had been complaining bitterly for weeks, and Erestor wanted to see what all the fuss was about.
The training yard was a small, wooden stadium between the stables and the barracks. He could hear the yelling before he was fifty paces near it.
Erestor snuck into one of the many entrances and thought a moment whether he should head up into the stands with the rest of the crowd or lurk about the entrance to the yard itself. He decided upon the latter and walked the circular passage until he came to an open archway.
Summer was hot and the rain that year had been little. The yard was nothing but packed dirt, and some of it diffused the air like a mist kicked up from the little melees taking place all day. Glorfindel had taken off his shirt and was filmed with sweat and dirt. His hair, which looked yellow under the sun, was a single, long braid down his back. He was not happy.
From what Erestor could see, the two recruits standing with him on the field looked suitably abashed, as did most of the Elves in the stands.
“I don’t know what it takes!” Glorfindel was livid. “I’ve shown you; I’ve demonstrated! I’ve drawn diagrams and explained it word by word and still you are not doing WHAT I SAY. It’s not because you can’t: these things are easy to learn. It’s because you’re NOT LISTENING. If I have to repeat myself one more time, you’ll ALL BE SENT TO THE LAUNDRY HOUSES TO SCRUB SHEETS.” He huffed irritably, composed himself, and raised his sword. “Once more. Weapon up.” He took a defensive stance and gestured to one of the Elves. “Bend your elbow,” he instructed. “Bend your elbow. BEND. YOUR. ELBOW.” Glorfindel threw his weapon to the dusty ground and glared at his opponent. “Less scary now, am I? Attack.”
“But,” the youth protested.
“ATTACK ME. NOW.”
The Elf charged the weaponless Glorfindel, who dodged the sword, tripped the Elf, and walked away. Then, he saw Erestor. “You!” He crooked a finger and beckoned Erestor onto the sparring yard. “Care to give me a hand?”
Erestor smiled and strolled out into the yard. He bowed to everyone in the stands in greeting.
“For those of you who don’t know,” Glorfindel bellowed at them, his voice projecting up into the stands, “this is Elrond’s Chief Counselor, Erestor. He’s going to help me with a little demonstration.”
Ignoring the whispers and snickers, Erestor picked a suitable sword from the rack along the wall and crossed the yard to stand opposite Glorfindel, who murmured, “They’re going to be in the Laundry Houses by the end of the day, I swear.”
“What’s today’s lesson?”
“It’s abominably simple,” Glorfindel said. “Single opponent attack and defense. Or defense only, if that's all they can manage.” His blue eyes held back the anger he wished to unleash on his pupils as he turned to address them once more. “Since you obviously have so little faith in my opponent,” Glorfindel announced, “this is a good opportunity for another lesson. DON’T UNDERESTIMATE YOUR ENEMY.” He pointed at Erestor. “What are his strengths? His weaknesses?” He pointed to a lad in the stands. “You! What do you say?”
“Well, he doesn’t look very strong,” the youth observed.
“And you?” Glorfindel asked someone else, who replied more boldly, “He’s a Counselor; you’ll whip him!”
“And you?” he asked one of the few women in the crowd.
“He’s not warmed up,” she observed, “but you might be worn out.”
“One of the first sensible observations all day!” Glorfindel told them. “Erestor!” He stooped to retrieve the sword he’d abandoned.
“Yes sir!”
“Ready?”
“Ready!”
They bowed and faced off.
Erestor attacked without hesitation. “Do you see his ELBOW?” Glorfindel growled at the masses.
Erestor smiled as Glorfindel ducked and dodged and parried.
“Fight back!” the Elves in the stands yelled. “Get him!”
“How will I learn how to fight back,” he hollered, “if I don’t know how he fights?”
Erestor neatly chased Glorfindel round the ring, once more accustoming himself to having a sword in his hand. It had been awhile, although he tried to keep his skills up. As they passed by the weapons rack, Erestor neatly turned and plucked a short sword from the wall.
“Cheater!” they yelled as both blades flashed under the sun. He hadn’t even worked up a sweat.
Glorfindel suddenly produced a knife in his free hand; Erestor didn’t see where it had come from, but deftly disarmed Glorfindel of the knife before he had a chance to use it.
They booed and hissed.
All the time, Glorfindel was narrating, pointing out this tactic or that stance, telling his students what to look for and what to watch.
Finally, Glorfindel began fighting back. Their blades flashed and sung; their feet kicked more dry dirt up into the hot air. Erestor attacked with the best of his skill, and nearly knocked his rival to the ground for his efforts.
But Glorfindel was quick, especially considering his size, and he was just more experienced. The old warrior turned the tables; it was Erestor being steered about, retreating, but fighting for each step. Still, Glorfindel shouted and carried on about what they were doing, what his students should be learning.
A neat flick of the wrist sent Erestor’s short sword flying. He knew he was losing. Yet he fought on, tiring swifter than he should have liked.
All of a sudden, it was done. Erestor’s hands were empty and there was a sword at his throat.
The Elves cheered.
Glorfindel removed the blade and they bowed to one another. Glorfindel called down several of the students and nodded his thanks to Erestor, though it was a cynical nod. Erestor could see his friend’s hopes weren’t high.
Erestor returned to the doorway and watched as the next set of duelers failed miserably to do much of anything, as well as the pair after, and the pair after that.
Glorfindel’s hollering escalated. Finally, it came down to, “STOP. EVERYONE STOP. Put down your weapons. Go to the Laundry Houses.”
They all stood or sat, looking at one another.
“THIS IS NOT A JOKE; IT IS A PUNISHMENT; GO.”
There was much grumbling and dragging of feet as the Elves in the stands headed for the stairs and those in the yard replaced the practice weapons.
“You are not fit for soldiering; maybe you are fit to wash my robes. GET OUT.”
Erestor had rarely seen Glorfindel aim any amount of anger toward his fellow Elves, and even with his loud blustering and threats, Erestor knew it was more frustration than anything else. The Counselor watched the Elves stream by in the dark tunnel he stood in.
Once they were gone and, hopefully, out of hearing, Erestor retook the yard. “Glorfindel?”
Glorfindel turned and let out a shriek of rage, heaving his sword at the cylindrical wall that circled them. It stuck between the old planks and quivered ominously. “SHIT.”
“It’s not your fault,” Erestor pointed out.
“I disagree!” Glorfindel shouted. He turned his angry blue eyes on Erestor’s calm features. “When an entire class fails, it is most often the fault of the teacher.”
“Sounds like something I would say,” Erestor pointed out.
“I learned that from you,” Glorfindel acknowledged.
Erestor noticed that Glorfindel’s furious eyes were roving his body. Erestor smiled. “Well. Class dismissed. Looks like you have the rest of the day off.” Erestor’s grin grew into a leer. “I see the way you’re looking at me; I know a secluded place, not too far from here.”
“Thank you,” Glorfindel said, his voice a quiet rumble, blue eyes dark and thoughtful. His naked shoulders and chest glistened in the sun.
Erestor cleared his throat diplomatically and turned to stride away.
Glorfindel ran to the wall where more supplies were kept under an overhang and he grabbed a little vial before setting off after his quarry.
Slowing, Erestor let the other catch up. Glorfindel walked practically on his heels, following closely.
“Glorfindel, are you… smelling me?”
“Maybe.” Restrained hunger deepened the warrior’s voice to a husky drawl.
They walked through the stables where a few boys were busy with the horses, which whickered softly and nodded their great heads.
After the stalls, there was a short training field for the horses; they walked across it. Glorfindel hopefully quickened his pace.
Erestor also sped his steps and they vanished among the trees edging the field.
The forges constructed for the Last Alliance were here. They were long out of use and had been reluctantly converted into barns. They passed several of the poor buildings beginning to fall into disrepair. The only life they saw were a few stray barn animals that lived there.
Erestor ducked into the low entrance of the last stone building. It smelled sickly sweet and neglected-- some of the hay there was mildewy from where the rain came in through the glassless windows. The gigantic bellows had long been removed, and the space above the empty stone furnaces had become a series of lofts. The hay there would be stale, but not smelly.
The ladder was old and narrow, but held. Erestor led the way up, careful not to bump his head on the rafters. He ducked the succession of beams and proceeded further along, to a raised level of old but secure floorboards. He was in the process of turning about to see if Glorfindel had made it up when the warrior tackled him, sending both sprawling into the hay.
The rough friction of a body atop his fanned the fire of Erestor's arousal and he smiled into the hay, trying to turn over onto his back to see Glorfindel’s face. But Glorfindel pressed him there and would not let him move. The blond braid fell over Erestor’s neck and Glorfindel ground his hardness into the tempting crease of Erestor’s ass. “I need this,” the warrior hungrily grumbled at Erestor’s pointed ear.
The Counselor nodded. “I know.” When Glorfindel wasn’t squashing him quite so much, Erestor squirmed his hands down to argue with the drawstring of his trousers.
Taking the hint, the warrior reared backward and struggled, cursing at the leather trews that did not want to part from sweaty skin. He kicked off his boots and wiggled out of the trews before Erestor had done more than set his shoes aside. Glorfindel grabbed the ankles of Erestor’s trousers and the smaller Elf obliged by lifting his hips. They came off in a single yank and Erestor pulled off his shirt and smallclothes. “Do you ever wear underthings?” he teased the nude warrior, who shoved him back into the hay.
“Not if I can help it.”
They looked upon one another’s nakedness for the first time.
There was still something dark and lusty in Glorfindel’s eyes, but Erestor was not afraid. The Counselor lay back, naked in the straw, the rough stalks scratching at his sensitized skin. He tugged playfully at the yellow braid hanging down. “I can obey orders,” Erestor told him, “unlike some Elves.”
Blue eyes drank in the sight of him laying prone and open in the hay: the sunlight suffused the room and Erestor’s skin shone pale with a silver-golden sheen. Glorfindel bowed his head to lick softly at Erestor’s thigh and then moved up to place a hand on either side of Erestor’s head. Those dark blue eyes dragged like insidious fingers over the sight beneath him. “Erestor. Erestor. Darkling Erestor.” His whisper was wicked and demanding. “I want you to get on your knees like a mare.” He lowered his head to whisper even more quietly, “I want to mount you.”
Erestor groaned and arched up to rub his erection against Glorfindel’s, making them both gasp. “Your words… incite a new lust in me,” Erestor promised.
Glorfindel jerked back, pulled away. He twirled his finger at Erestor, who obeyed by turning and rising to his knees to present his ass. Fueled by anger at himself and desire for his friend, Glorfindel ripped the cork from the glass vial he’d brought along and dribbled a line of it over Erestor’s backside. “Spread your legs!” His wide palms roughly pushed pale thighs apart before his fingers dragged paths through the polishing oil, rubbing it between firm buttocks and toward the tiny opening.
Erestor crooned with desire and flexed his muscles, the little rosebud winking hopefully at Glorfindel, who quickly eased in a finger. “This is going to be fast,” Glorfindel warned.
“You promise?”
He shoved three fingers in, making Erestor yelp and grab fistfuls of coarse hay. Glorfindel emptied the rest of the slippery oil over his straining member and quickly stroked himself to spread it.
Then the large, callused hand wrapped around the back of Erestor’s neck and shoved him face-first into the hay, so that his shoulders were pressed to the floor and his ass was raised to the heavens. Glorfindel plunged in, only slow enough to keep Erestor from screaming.
Theirs was a fierce rutting in the hayloft; Erestor could barely move as Glorfindel pounded into him wildly, scratching his pale back and grunting with each thrust like an animal. He would retreat until just the head was in Erestor’s body, and then drive forward until he was in all the way, his balls slapping Erestor’s.
Glorfindel kept one hand on Erestor’s shoulders to maintain his prone position, but his other hand steadied himself by grasping and pinching Erestor’s hip, sometimes slapping his rear in a burst of angry passion when he pulled back, as his hoarse breathing grew airy and guttural.
Each time Erestor tried to move his hand to jerk himself off, Glorfindel slapped it away, letting Erestor’s erection bob in the air without stimulation.
So Erestor crossed his arms underneath his head to keep the straw from scratching his face as he let Glorfindel use his body in the most intimate way.
Erestor grunted each time Glorfindel shoved in until the piston-like action was too fast for him.
Glorfindel grabbed Erestor’s waist and slammed in three final, sputtering thrusts, spurting deep inside him. His breathing hitched and wheezed as he let go and slid out and sagged to the side in a heap of sweating limbs.
Casually, Erestor rolled over onto his back, dark eyes alight with desire. Just as he was reaching to bring himself off, Glorfindel’s blue eyes snapped open; he crawled toward Erestor like a beast and licked at Erestor’s stiff cock, wiping the precum away with his tongue. Then he sank his head down.
Erestor felt himself sucked into Glorfindel’s hot mouth with lips wrapped tight around and the tiniest graze of sharp teeth until the throat muscles relaxed and he was swallowed all the way down. He uncontrollably pumped his hips and grabbed Glorfindel’s head, wished the hair was loose so he could twine his fingers into it.
Making no complaint, Glorfindel followed the movements and sucked and sucked until Erestor called out and came in his mouth, pumping hard and fast.
Glorfindel spat over the side of the loft and weakly crawled up to lay beside Erestor, still catching his breath.
When their breathing was no longer loud and harsh, Erestor crawled on top of Glorfindel, complaining of the straw, “Scratchy.”
“Yes, it is,” Glorfindel agreed, lightly settling his strong arms around Erestor’s back.
“Thanks for bringing the oil,” Erestor muttered, letting his eyes close to the world as their skin stuck together with dirt and sweat and the dust of the hay.
“I’m not a beast,” Glorfindel teased, “even though I want to act like one sometimes.”
They both laughed slowly, deep in their throats.
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The End