At last the third - and last - tiny ficlet that deals with Glorfindel's youth. I guess he has always had a taste for blond princes. ;)
Written for prompt 4 of the B2ME challenge
: Role Models Strength
Sequel to Honesty
Rating: ...I have no idea. PG-13? R? There is not even a real kiss in this... But you all know my Glorfindel anyway.
“Finrod the beloved,” Glorfindel mused, looking at the fair prince who lay breathless and disheveled beneath him, and who laughed softly at this epithet he had been given.
“'Tis why Celegorm hates me, I think – can you imagine Celegorm the beloved?”
Glorfindel snorted in surprised hilarity. “Celegorm the prickly, mayhap... Though I should not think so of him; he was indeed strangely generous.”
“And I do love my cousins, all of them,” Finrod murmured, “strange and exhausting though they often are. He did bring you to me, after all...”
His eyes were soft with surrender as he looked up at Glorfindel, so that the youth felt a rush of hot desire once again at this trust, the taste of Finrod's submission as invigorating as the spiced mead served in his father's halls.
“You are surprising!” Glorfindel whispered, lowering his head to nuzzle the silken hair. “Surprising, and lovely...”
“And you have pleased me well.” Finrod turned his head to brush his lips against Glorfindel's so that they both sighed, his eyes filled with warm contentment and a deeper amusement beneath. “Indeed, I think this has pleased us both very well – do you think I should thank Celegorm?”
“I have not released you yet,” Glorfindel pointed out, tightening his hands around Finrod's wrist, his heart beating faster when he thought of the bruises he had left on the perfect canvas of Finrod's sun-gold skin. “For now, had you not better do what I tell you?”
“Or you shall do... what? Punish me?” There was a teasing light in Finrod's eyes, but there was no missing the hunger in his voice.
“Oh, you are just as impossible as your cousins,” Glorfindel said, though his fingers shook slightly where he still held Finrod's wrists in his grasp. “Lovely... but impossible. I might, you know!”
“Yes... you might indeed,” Finrod murmured and swallowed, yet his eyes still gleamed with lazy pleasure. “You might indeed do anything you wish... my Lord.”
“Now you are just teasing me!” Glorfindel complained, his voice trembling. “Will I truly have to make you surrender once more? I shall not be gentle this time.”
“Do not be, my Lord” Finrod breathed, his cornflower eyes dark as the night sky as he surrendered in truth, baring the pale expanse of his throat to the youth's lips and teeth with the sensual contentment of a cat basking in the sun, and Glorfindel thought he understood then.
"I like who I am, too!" he whispered. "If it can be like this... I like
"Your poor friend does not - but that does not mean that you are at fault. It might not be for him, but clearly, it is for you - and for me. And there are others, Glorfindel... 'Tis not as strange as you might think." Even when flushed with pleasure, there was wisdom and kindness in Finrod's speech, so that Glorfindel relaxed against him for a moment in gratefulness, and love.
"Finrod the wise," he then teased gently, though he held the words close to his heart and would cherish them for many ages yet to come. "Shall we see whether I can make you forget all speech? For I think what I love most is the way you moan my name..."