Drabble for ![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
lauand
Title: Truth Serum
Fandom: LotR
Pairing: Glorfindel/Erestor
Rating: PG-13
Word count: 620
Summary: Erestor looks at a familiar view from a different angle, but he might regret it in the morning. Fluff for ![[info]](https://l-stat.livejournal.com/img/userinfo.gif)
lauand who suggested the prompt G/E and vodkacon, or, as the case may be dwarvenmeadcon.
And many thanks to levadegratchets and questails who put up with me, sentence by hair-pulling sentence, every day.
The mead had been chilling all day in the stream that flowed past Erestor’s bedroom window. Skillfully crafted by dwarves, the rare drink had been left in Imladris as a weary traveler’s token of thanks and Erestor had hidden it behind the other stock, stashed it away for an early spring evening when the chill of the air was soothed by the lazy warmth caught up in the rocks. He was not surprised to find that the mead tasted like liquid sunshine. It also tasted like Glorfindel’s hair, but maybe that was because Glorfindel’s hair was in Erestor’s mouth when he reached for the flask to take another sip. Luckily, he hadn’t swallowed.
He picked the strand free from his lips and examined it inscrutably by the fire light before his eyes closed again. At some point a pillow had appeared beneath Erestor’s head and he welcomed the warmth of it, deep warmth like the mead, like Glorfindel’s voice coming from a spot just behind him.
Erestor reached back to adjust the pillow and his palm collided with an implacable hardness of a knee.
“Your leg makes a serviceable pillow,” Erestor said, and sighed. Everything was altogether too warm; Erestor’s head on Glorfindel’s lap, the rest of him sprawled across the stony floor in front of Glorfindel’s hearth.
“I’ve been told worse,” Glorfindel said from somewhere not too far away from Erestor’s eyes, a puff of breath against his eyelids. He opened them a crack and discovered that either the room had been diffused by a mead-golden veil, or Glorfindel’s hair hang to either side of Erestor’s face. Maybe the latter, because Glorfindel’s own face hovered, upside down, above him and if Erestor lifted up, just so, he could bring Glorfindel into focus.
“How did you get there?” Erestor asked, but there wasn’t any time for an answer.
It was the warmth that made him do it. It had to be the warmth, because Erestor had been so cold, ages of cold, cold as long as he could remember, and if he lingered here long enough he could soak it all up like the stones beside the river.
Glorfindel’s lips tasted like the mead, or Erestor tasted his own lips on Glorfindel’s, it was hard to tell with their mouths mixed up together, and weight of it all rushing through Erestor from his toes to the tips of his fingers.
When Glorfindel drew back, just a space, and they stared at each other, forehead to chin, a slightly delirious perspective, Erestor reached out and groped blindly for the flask because he wanted to taste it forever.
“You’re a fair kisser,” Erestor said, very quietly.
“I’ve been told worse,” Glorfindel replied, an inverted expression at the corners of his mouth, and took the flask from Erestor’s hand, the thief, and downed the last of the drink. Erestor watched him swallow.
And that was the last he remembered. It had been too comfortable, too warm, and then Erestor woke to find the sunlight slicing like infernal blades across the unfamiliar bed he half hung off of. He opened his eyes to find a pair of upside down boots on the floor beside the bed and allowed his aching gaze -- had he received a blow to the head? -- to follow the boots up, up to a very familiar face.
Erestor winced and smiled weakly.
Glorfindel bent low and whispered in Erestor’s ear, “It could be worse. “ And he lingered there a moment before he pressed a kiss to Erestor’s cheek and turned to walk loudly across the too-bright room.
As the door closed behind him, Erestor righted himself on the pillows and cursed the practicality of the dwarves.
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This was perfect. I really love your mastery on 'echoeing' (I don't know the technical name in writing) and the minimalism of their conversation.
...liquid sunshine. It also tasted like Glorfindel’s hair, but maybe that was because Glorfindel’s hair was in Erestor’s mouth when he reached for the flask...
Lovely. Especially with first the reference to sunshine, then Glorfindel, then the explanation of the hair in his mouth. Pure genius.
Even if it shouldn't be all that noticeable, I really loved your Glorfindel.
I've got a very stupid doubt, though... why the practicality? I hate when I can't get the final sentence of a fic T_T (sorry for my 'denseness').
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YOU ARE NOT DENSE! You speak 3,000 languages! Good lord. Coffee? Hmmm?
Thank you! Even though I freaked out in ahpookishere's journal, I am actually having fun writing these today, and you're fun to write for.
And soon I will torture you with my virgin, virgin Saiyuki fic. *evil laughter* unless I type it and realize it HORRIBLE (most likely). Things look different in the notebook. And I'll have to let it sit in the refrigerator for a while.
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XDDDD!!! No, no, it's 3,258. I hate it when people round it down. Nooooo!! It's bedtime for me!!! (more than bedtime. I've been calculating and I'm going to get three hours of sleep today. If I get to bed and fall asleep ASAP)
Oh, you're quite the charming rogue! I'm sure you say that to every girl you meet on the Internet.
Okay, don't type it up. Send me scans. Or pics. Whatever. But give me the damned fic!!! (Still can't wrap my mind around the fact that you keep your notebook in the fridge. It gives the expression "to cool my ideas" a whole new dimension, you realize...)
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*peers at untyped pages* AGH! New fandoms are hard.
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Come on! Stop worrying about it and just type it! What's the worst that might happen?? I'm feeling optimistic now. Guess why:
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For you! Just for you! Tonight, I will pull out the little Turkish coffee pan and make, all from scratch and shit, Turkish coffee with perfect bubbles on top and one single sugar cube.
Your photo captures all my favorite things in one spot. It's not like my fingers would know what to do with a brush, but the art history major in me (the girl that wanted to be able to paint things, but couldn't, so she studied all the other people's stuff for four years and then worked in museums and wrote features about artists until she realized that she didn't make any money and started training horses instead) is delighted to stare at your coffee, your brushes and your computer cord.
I'll go type now after some coffee. Yum.
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And what, hm, what? Some virgin Saiyuki fic?? I can't wait to read it as well; bring it on! :)
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Ah! Saiyuki -- the obession's only gotten worse since I was bugging everyone for recs, and the logical progression to obsession is that I'm forced to write something and then my fingers get all tangled up because trying to get the voices right the first time (and the second and the third and the fourth) is soooo hard. We'll see how this one goes once it's typed. *sigh*
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Oh, yeah. Obsession. Obsessions can be quite ... demanding, yes. I'll keep my fingers crossed, you awesome writer, you. <3
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I'm not reading anything new thing in anything for a year at least and then I'm going to plug by ears and go "lalalala" so as not to be sucked in.
I doubt that will help.
I'm desperately in love with Hakkai. Oh, dear lord, flawed and flawed and then more flawed. And the art, thank goodness, is good so I don't have the reservations as I have with say, WK, when I tell someone to look at something.
This is terrible.
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Your LJ cut line was the best thing I've seen all day.
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There are some things in this world that just weren't meant to be swallowed.
THE TRUTH
Now, the truth is, (and I see that you, like levade, are going to take numerous reminders on points like this before they soak in, not that I care) that you spoil / flatter delight the hell out of me by showing me bits as you're working on them! (A sharp stick would not be necessary to get levade to tell you the same, I'm sure, but she can speak for herself!)
Am I or am I not the one with a fetish for works-in-progress? Exactly so. I love them. Show them always.
He was not surprised to find that the mead tasted like liquid sunshine. It also tasted like Glorfindel’s hair, but maybe that was because Glorfindel’s hair was in Erestor’s mouth when he reached for the flask to take another sip. Luckily, he hadn’t swallowed.
.. is my favourite part, and favourites are hard to pick in something so fantastic as this, but this is so very vivid. It's the kind of memory that stays for a long time, and for an elf, a long time is very, very long indeed. Mmmmmm.
Re: THE TRUTH
Because I would not want to do anything that annoyed you.
For instance: having you meet me for coffee and making sure that I turned up fifteen minutes late (usual for me) so that I could sneak up behind you, and stick a wet index finger in your ear (I've been vet checked) and as you're going "Ooooh!!! Ooooh! Gross, damnit, gross!" and running off to the counter for napkins; I take the oppportunity to flip through your sketch book.
Also, I love your use of semicolons here: "Look; even. . ." because you know how to use them, use them to great effect, and I want you to teach me how.
I adore you!
Re: THE TRUTH
Thought the second: all a semicolon really does is let one stuff two ideas into one sentence. The first time you talk to me in person (after we've sorted out any issues that arise from unexpected wet fingers in my ears and sketchbook predation) you'll notice that I have a horrible habit of starting to talk in the middle of what I'm thinking. I very frequently say, 'Wait, wait.. let me start this sentence in a different spot' because it's, well, true.
Now then, back to front, MIND? Mind? You spoil me with little visions that inspire me to sketch (and that's a compliment, coming from me, not one I hand out often at all!), and ask if I mind? I sit here and desperately wish I had something better than inept commentary to offer in trade! That part, I mind. Nothing else. I am going to go draw you a tree!
Re: THE TRUTH
I'm very depressed because it's the first of autumn and that means it's going to start getting cold and all the leaves will be gone from the trees, but I did buy two fabulous winter hats, so I might make it after all.
And I have a pot of coffee brewing and I'm going to go bug you by email and I'm going to type things from my notebook while doing so.
Multi-tasking. Which is a lot better than the poultice/standing wrap/giving lessons/answering the phone/damage control/take hoof pick from puppy's mouth/change your freakin' diagonal multi-tasking that I've been doing all day.
Re: THE TRUTH
Autumn has some of my favourite colours and some of my least favourite weather.. especially autumns like this one, when it's mud as far as the eye can see, that will in a handful of weeks be frozen mud. Bah.. well, I think I'll buy a new scarf this year! I would like that. I have one, but it's rather itchy wool. I'd like a nice plushy one, mmmm. <3
I hope you do bring a mug of coffee and a sketchbook to your desk and email me! That would be the best sort of multi-tasking.. sip coffee, type from notebook. Sip coffee, listen to questails rave about this song she's loving right now. It is about a horse. And a lunar landscape. And the sea. <3
Re: THE TRUTH
And if you, perhaps, told me your favorite colors and what type of plushy-ness you'd like in a scarf, I would really like to knit one for you. Tee-hee. We can't have our artists running around with cold necks.
I fucking hate winter. I need a grumpy icon.