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Beta: Half Elf Lost

Note: For those of you not familiar with dance terms, 'chaînés' is a movement where the dancer moves with quick turns with alternating feet in either a circle or a row.

2: chaînés

There was little box in the corner that played a tinkling tune. It was a magnificent invention, one that the artisans of Imladris had been trying to duplicate since Erestor first arrived in the valley. Because of this little musical box, Lindir did not witness most of their nighttime activities. For this, both the minstrel and the warrior were grateful, though it seemed Erestor couldn't care less who saw him rutting on the floor with the reborn Elf.

Tonight was humid. The windows on the east wall of the ballroom were swung wide, the small breeze offering little respite from the sweltering heat. Glorfindel's hand slipped along the sweaty skin of his partner as he lifted Erestor into the air two beats too early, causing the smaller Elf to slap at his hands.

"I am sorry," Glorfindel panted as he set Erestor back down. "I seem to continually miss that one."

Erestor's eyes glittered in the lamp light, expressing his distaste for Glorfindel's fumbling. He was not born with the graceful fluidity with which he moved, but his movements were so perfectly controlled that it seemed so. Glorfindel returned the nasty gaze, crossing his arms over his bared chest.

"I do not remember asking for this!"

Erestor held a finger in the air, his lips tightly sealed. The words, unsaid, were still heard. Oh yes, Glorfindel had asked for this. He had begged to learn the dance, and Erestor would settle for no less than perfection from the Elda.

Glorfindel sighed as the music began again. He counted the beats, lifting Erestor one beat too late, and the quiet Councilor smacked him again. He released Erestor, who went over to the box and turned off the music. Glorfindel hung his head, his hair clinging to his damp skin. Why couldn't he do what Erestor needed? Why was it he could decapitate a man with style and precision, but he could not lift an Elf who weighed no more than eight stones soaking wet!

He leaned against the wall of mirrors, shaking his head dejectedly. He wanted to get this right! Suddenly, nimble fingers were on the ties of his trousers, parting the fabric and exposing the limp piece of flesh nestled in a soft bed of blond curls. Glorfindel's eyes shot open as Erestor kneeled in front of him, the midnight hair pulled back from his angular face.

It was not long before flaccid became firm -- one glance from the burning, sharp jade eyes could enflame Glorfindel to the point of bursting.

Glorfindel felt the sweat trickle down his back; the feel of the droplets' slow descent heightened by his burning arousal. The dark head of his mysterious, silent partner moved languidly, disregarding the harsh breath that rasped in and out of Glorfindel's lungs. His hands were tangled in the midnight locks, urging Erestor to quicken his pace, but the dancer pointedly ignored the pressure on his scalp.

"Erestor," he breathed, an entreaty to end his torment, but Erestor simply pulled back, allowing Glorfindel's thickness to slip from his mouth.

Glistening lips curved into a sensuous, taunting smile. "Sauté," Erestor prompted.

Glorfindel groaned and tugged on Erestor's hair. "Do not tease me!" This had gone on for weeks. If Erestor was not demanding vocabulary, he was demanding that Glorfindel exact the same talent and drive for dancing that the foreign Elf possessed. The days seemed to blend one into the next. He spent the day on his duties, but his nights belonged to Erestor and the dance hall. Dancing, sex, more dancing, lessons mixed with sex, and then more dancing. Dawn usually coloured the sky by the time Glorfindel fell, exhausted, into his bed. Sated, spent, aching, and lonely.

And still, Erestor's expression never changed. "Sauté," he repeated.

"'Tis a jump!" Glorfindel snapped, but the words were softened by a sharp moan as Erestor swallowed him once more. The tightness and heat of Erestor's throat were heaven, and Glorfindel found himself swept up in the tide of rising release once more. His shaft was worked with marvellous skill, and Erestor's cool, slender fingers teased his tight sac. As his body tightened in anticipation of an intense orgasm, Erestor again withdrew.

His groin ached, and Glorfindel glared balefully down at his lover. "You are trying my patience, Erestor," he warned. The smile on Erestor's lips remained fixed, and his eyes twinkled. Erestor never said much, but when he did, Glorfindel listened. Melodious tones floated up to him and pushed through his angry desire.

"Demi-plié," he prodded, slowly stroking the slick, dark erection that bobbed before his lips.

"Half bend of the knees," Glorfindel spat out, the words forced through clenched teeth. These 'lessons' Erestor liked to favour him with were irritating at best, but mostly they were pure torture. The throbbing in his loins was intense, and Erestor deliberately kept him on edge.

The dance lessons had begun innocently, with Glorfindel being swept up in the poise and passion Erestor exhibited when he danced. It was only when the small, slim Elf had donned the black shoes that allowed him to dance on the very tips of his toes that Glorfindel had witnessed true, tear-inspiring beauty. When Erestor had finished that first dance on those shoes, Glorfindel had wiped the stray tears from his eyes and demanded Erestor teach him to dance. He wanted to be a part of this ethereal, elegant world that Erestor dominated so easily.

Had he but known Erestor's teaching methods...

Again, lips surrounded hot, hard flesh, drawing forth answers and moans, curses and words of affection. Their relationship was an odd combination of sex and dance, but Glorfindel felt the tug of deeper emotion, stronger meaning, and each day he prayed to whatever deity would listen that Erestor would ask him for more. More than coupling on the floor of his little dance hall, more than painfully pleasurable moments of education on the finer points of dancing.

Instead, each time they met, it was the same. "Entrechat..."

Glorfindel clenched his fists in barely restrained anger. "It is a jump, Erestor, beginning and ending in that damnable fifth position." Erestor raised an elegant eyebrow, waiting for the completion of the definition. Glorfindel huffed. "And while the dancer is in the air, they rapidly cross their feet."

Why did he do it? Was it because those swollen lips could open for him, take him to the hilt, and remain close around the base of his desire as Erestor's throat worked him in a way Glorfindel had never experienced?

No.

It was because Erestor's eyes, his face, lit up when Glorfindel gave the correct answer. The correctness of his words showed he paid attention to Erestor's movements, truly watched him dance, and the pride and affection warmed Glorfindel's spirit. Only then did the enjoyment of Erestor's carnal talents come into the equation.

A small moan vibrated along Glorfindel's length from Erestor as the dancer devoured him once more. The lesson for the day, it seemed, was now over. Glorfindel knew this by the fervour with which Erestor suckled him. His tongue danced into the slit, drawing out the sticky drops of Glorfindel's arousal. Their eyes met, emeralds and sapphires, and Glorfindel felt his knees buckle with the force of his climax. Erestor's throat contracted once, drinking what Glorfindel's body eagerly poured forth.

Glorfindel leaned heavily against the mirrored wall, his body still trembling with the aftershocks of his release. Erestor, wearing only his practice trousers and those pointed shoes, stood up in one fluid motion. A secretive smile played on his bruised lips as he lifted and extended his right leg, resting it against Glorfindel's tall body. With a suppleness that any warrior would envy, Erestor stood on pointe and curled his extended leg a bit around the golden Elf's neck, bringing their lips together as he pressed his engorged, cloth-covered sex against Glorfindel. Mouths met, and as Erestor snaked his tongue into Glorfindel's mouth, the Elda realized that the dancing sprite had not swallowed all of his seed. His softening member stirred quickly, rousing itself to a painful, semi-hard state.

Erestor winked as he licked Glorfindel's lips, and then the nymph was gone. The musical box cranked up again, the tinny sound echoing through the room. Glorfindel sighed and stuffed himself back into his trousers, lacing them quickly, though reluctantly, before joining Erestor before the mirrors in their first position.

He began to count the beats, losing himself to the music and the easy movements of his partner's body.


	Navigation multi-part stories previous next		The Gateway Beta: Half Elf Lost Note: For those of you not familiar with dance terms, 'chaînés' is a movement where the dancer moves with quick turns with alternating feet in either a circle or a row. 2: chaînés There was little box in the corner that played a tinkling tune. It was a magnificent invention, one that the artisans of Imladris had been trying to duplicate since Erestor first arrived in the valley. Because of this little musical box, Lindir did not witness most of their nighttime activities. For this, both the minstrel and the warrior were grateful, though it seemed Erestor couldn't care less who saw him rutting on the floor with the reborn Elf. Tonight was humid. The windows on the east wall of the ballroom were swung wide, the small breeze offering little respite from the sweltering heat. Glorfindel's hand slipped along the sweaty skin of his partner as he lifted Erestor into the air two beats too early, causing the smaller Elf to slap at his hands. "I am sorry," Glorfindel panted as he set Erestor back down. "I seem to continually miss that one." Erestor's eyes glittered in the lamp light, expressing his distaste for Glorfindel's fumbling. He was not born with the graceful fluidity with which he moved, but his movements were so perfectly controlled that it seemed so. Glorfindel returned the nasty gaze, crossing his arms over his bared chest. "I do not remember asking for this!" Erestor held a finger in the air, his lips tightly sealed. The words, unsaid, were still heard. Oh yes, Glorfindel had asked for this. He had begged to learn the dance, and Erestor would settle for no less than perfection from the Elda. Glorfindel sighed as the music began again. He counted the beats, lifting Erestor one beat too late, and the quiet Councilor smacked him again. He released Erestor, who went over to the box and turned off the music. Glorfindel hung his head, his hair clinging to his damp skin. Why couldn't he do what Erestor needed? Why was it he could decapitate a man with style and precision, but he could not lift an Elf who weighed no more than eight stones soaking wet! He leaned against the wall of mirrors, shaking his head dejectedly. He wanted to get this right! Suddenly, nimble fingers were on the ties of his trousers, parting the fabric and exposing the limp piece of flesh nestled in a soft bed of blond curls. Glorfindel's eyes shot open as Erestor kneeled in front of him, the midnight hair pulled back from his angular face. It was not long before flaccid became firm -- one glance from the burning, sharp jade eyes could enflame Glorfindel to the point of bursting. Glorfindel felt the sweat trickle down his back; the feel of the droplets' slow descent heightened by his burning arousal. The dark head of his mysterious, silent partner moved languidly, disregarding the harsh breath that rasped in and out of Glorfindel's lungs. His hands were tangled in the midnight locks, urging Erestor to quicken his pace, but the dancer pointedly ignored the pressure on his scalp. "Erestor," he breathed, an entreaty to end his torment, but Erestor simply pulled back, allowing Glorfindel's thickness to slip from his mouth. Glistening lips curved into a sensuous, taunting smile. "Sauté," Erestor prompted. Glorfindel groaned and tugged on Erestor's hair. "Do not tease me!" This had gone on for weeks. If Erestor was not demanding vocabulary, he was demanding that Glorfindel exact the same talent and drive for dancing that the foreign Elf possessed. The days seemed to blend one into the next. He spent the day on his duties, but his nights belonged to Erestor and the dance hall. Dancing, sex, more dancing, lessons mixed with sex, and then more dancing. Dawn usually coloured the sky by the time Glorfindel fell, exhausted, into his bed. Sated, spent, aching, and lonely. And still, Erestor's expression never changed. "Sauté," he repeated. "'Tis a jump!" Glorfindel snapped, but the words were softened by a sharp moan as Erestor swallowed him once more. The tightness and heat of Erestor's throat were heaven, and Glorfindel found himself swept up in the tide of rising release once more. His shaft was worked with marvellous skill, and Erestor's cool, slender fingers teased his tight sac. As his body tightened in anticipation of an intense orgasm, Erestor again withdrew. His groin ached, and Glorfindel glared balefully down at his lover. "You are trying my patience, Erestor," he warned. The smile on Erestor's lips remained fixed, and his eyes twinkled. Erestor never said much, but when he did, Glorfindel listened. Melodious tones floated up to him and pushed through his angry desire. "Demi-plié," he prodded, slowly stroking the slick, dark erection that bobbed before his lips. "Half bend of the knees," Glorfindel spat out, the words forced through clenched teeth. These 'lessons' Erestor liked to favour him with were irritating at best, but mostly they were pure torture. The throbbing in his loins was intense, and Erestor deliberately kept him on edge. The dance lessons had begun innocently, with Glorfindel being swept up in the poise and passion Erestor exhibited when he danced. It was only when the small, slim Elf had donned the black shoes that allowed him to dance on the very tips of his toes that Glorfindel had witnessed true, tear-inspiring beauty. When Erestor had finished that first dance on those shoes, Glorfindel had wiped the stray tears from his eyes and demanded Erestor teach him to dance. He wanted to be a part of this ethereal, elegant world that Erestor dominated so easily. Had he but known Erestor's teaching methods... Again, lips surrounded hot, hard flesh, drawing forth answers and moans, curses and words of affection. Their relationship was an odd combination of sex and dance, but Glorfindel felt the tug of deeper emotion, stronger meaning, and each day he prayed to whatever deity would listen that Erestor would ask him for more. More than coupling on the floor of his little dance hall, more than painfully pleasurable moments of education on the finer points of dancing. Instead, each time they met, it was the same. "Entrechat..." Glorfindel clenched his fists in barely restrained anger. "It is a jump, Erestor, beginning and ending in that damnable fifth position." Erestor raised an elegant eyebrow, waiting for the completion of the definition. Glorfindel huffed. "And while the dancer is in the air, they rapidly cross their feet." Why did he do it? Was it because those swollen lips could open for him, take him to the hilt, and remain close around the base of his desire as Erestor's throat worked him in a way Glorfindel had never experienced? No. It was because Erestor's eyes, his face, lit up when Glorfindel gave the correct answer. The correctness of his words showed he paid attention to Erestor's movements, truly watched him dance, and the pride and affection warmed Glorfindel's spirit. Only then did the enjoyment of Erestor's carnal talents come into the equation. A small moan vibrated along Glorfindel's length from Erestor as the dancer devoured him once more. The lesson for the day, it seemed, was now over. Glorfindel knew this by the fervour with which Erestor suckled him. His tongue danced into the slit, drawing out the sticky drops of Glorfindel's arousal. Their eyes met, emeralds and sapphires, and Glorfindel felt his knees buckle with the force of his climax. Erestor's throat contracted once, drinking what Glorfindel's body eagerly poured forth. Glorfindel leaned heavily against the mirrored wall, his body still trembling with the aftershocks of his release. Erestor, wearing only his practice trousers and those pointed shoes, stood up in one fluid motion. A secretive smile played on his bruised lips as he lifted and extended his right leg, resting it against Glorfindel's tall body. With a suppleness that any warrior would envy, Erestor stood on pointe and curled his extended leg a bit around the golden Elf's neck, bringing their lips together as he pressed his engorged, cloth-covered sex against Glorfindel. Mouths met, and as Erestor snaked his tongue into Glorfindel's mouth, the Elda realized that the dancing sprite had not swallowed all of his seed. His softening member stirred quickly, rousing itself to a painful, semi-hard state. Erestor winked as he licked Glorfindel's lips, and then the nymph was gone. The musical box cranked up again, the tinny sound echoing through the room. Glorfindel sighed and stuffed himself back into his trousers, lacing them quickly, though reluctantly, before joining Erestor before the mirrors in their first position. He began to count the beats, losing himself to the music and the easy movements of his partner's body.