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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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From:
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.
From:
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!
From:
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!
From:
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.
From:
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
From:
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.