Into the Fire

Right, so, having little time to myself while I was at home..no writing was done. Feeling like a horrible cad, I give a small bit of a peace offereing..sort of.


As it is quite well known, I don't write anything above PG-13. Why? Well, anything out of that is far out of my comfort zone and I am not good, at all, at PWP or smut in general. Just, really, not my area.


That being said, many have asked, wondered, pleaded, for Morwen and Glorfindel beyond their simple and subtle ways.

This is my unfinished, not-html-coded, SPOILER-ish, attempt at such a thing.

Still subtle though, because that's their style.

Way out of my comfort zone.

But here it is; in its unfinished glory. fire_shrew has read a draft of this and assured me it was not a scracth your eyes out horror, but I believe she was a bit tired at that time.

So:

Who: Morwen and Glorfindel
What: Unfinished spoiler-ish sort of "sex" scene. Again, subtle.
When: Sometime in the Fourth Age
Where: Aman
Why: Um, well, you see, when an elf and another elf love each other very much..
How: Um, that's not my job to tell you, you should already know unless you are far too young to view such things.

Also, if you read the spoiler scene for Paper Tigers( Here) (once, "Friends Close, Enemies Closer," Title changed) some of this will make sense to you. Darkness and Diamonds will explain more of the "Huh, but when did they...huh?" Bit.


Again, unfinished, subtle, spoiler-ish, going into subtle R-rated writing land,

This was so familiar and yet Glorfindel knew tonight would be different from the past.

It had been centuries since such an impatience and such a fire ran through his veins. All those years, all the control he had to impose on himself.

Now, the reward laid out before him watching him with eyes which teased him for his hesitation.

“Has it been so long, Glorfindel, that you have forgotten how to….”

Morwen’s words were cut off as Glorfindel tilted her chin upwards and crushed their lips together, sure it would teach her for teasing him at such a time.

“Somethings,” Glorfindel’s gruff voice began as his fingers moved to loosen Morwen’s dress, “are merely instinctual.”

(This would be the fade to black for the PG-13- rated version.)

***********************************************************


Pale skin against paler linen; the purity of white broken by the dark hair scatted across the pillows.

The bare body laid out before him, naked save for the golden chain glinting around her neck. He knew if he was to turn her around he would see the sign of his house resting in between her breasts.

Such a sight he could not handle without truly losing his lauded control.

Instead, he trailed slim and calloused fingers down her spine, smiling as she arched into his touch so like the felines she adored.

He pusher her hair over a naked shoulder, shivering as it slid against his over sensitized fingers. Lips met nape as he brushed his fingers down her sides, pulling her back into him. The sounds she emitted were not so unfamiliar but Glorfindel knew that this night would not end with the imposition of a great restraint upon them both. No frustration, no sudden and abrupt ending, just simple and final fulfillment.

All those nights he had shared with her in the past; all the nights he had spent without her……

…..he had not imagined it would be like this. So simple, so understated, so slow and yet, he would not have it any different. This was their way, there was no other.

He tilted her head back giving her a deep kiss before laying her back down on the bed. He brought his mouth back to her neck before marking the line from nape to shoulder with a trail of kisses. Reaching his destination, his tongue traced the intricate pattern of the dark knot work over the wound and scar tissue of old. It was that wound, so important and never spoken of. He pressed reverential kisses over the wound and if a few tears covered the spot along with his lips, both elves remained silent. That wound had separated them for many years; that wound reminded them of what could have been lost for an even longer time.

“Glorfindel…” she whispered, pleaded. Her fingers were tugging on his hair, pulling him closer, ordering him, demanding him.

“So impatient.” Glorfindel murmured as he traced a line from shoulder, to nape, to shoulder, over and over again. This torture he could perform for hours if it meant they could stay here like this, so close, with each other; so focused on what truly mattered, the world outside and all talk of duties, destinies, and demands far faded away.

Glorfindel laughed softly, his breath brushing against her skin, as he felt impatient nails dig into his flesh.

“I would never do this to you.” Morwen whispered.

“Oh, but you have been doing this to me for over an Age.” Glorfindel stated as he finally allowed her to roll onto her back. “All those bare shoulders,” he said as he pressed his lips to the white skin, “bare ankles,” he said as he rubbed a hand from calve to ankle and back, “All those whispers while I slept,” Glorfindel said as he nuzzled her ear, “all those suggestions, did you think I would never exact my revenge?”

“Warrior.” Morwen muttered as she leaned her neck back.

“Councilor,” Glorfindel whispered as he breathed over the pulse point of her neck, “sadly your strategy failed.”

Glorfindel moved back to her lips, kissing her deeply. He pulled back and pressed a kiss to the tip of her nose as he smiled.

His smile was answered with one of Morwen’s own; Glorfindel knew he should fear such an impish expression on her face.

Morwen rested one hand against his cheek as the other rubbed down his side, “Is that so?” she asked.

Glorfindel could not answer as his throat had gone dry either in lust or fear he would never know. His world titled for a moment as Morwen used a defensive tactic he had taught her years ago and quickly switched their positions.

“My own defensive moves used against me.” Glorfindel muttered.

Morwen sat back, resting on his thighs, “Elladan always said you would rue the day you taught me to defend myself.” She fiddled with his hair for a moment, brining it to tease over his neck, his chest, causing him to shiver against his own will.

He marveled at her as she hovered over him, wicked smile and the wild spirit she had always possessed still in her eyes. The betrothal necklace glinted in its blues and golds against her skin, the intertwined flower pendant moving with each breath she took. It was barbaric of him, he knew, to feel such pleasure and desire at seeing the mark of his ancient home on her. It was a sign of ownership and she was someone who would never allow herself to be completely tamed. It was a lesson he had learned when she was still so young; you could tell Morwen what to do, you could order her, but you never had full control over her. She had enough sense not to be reckless and enough spirit not to be mindless.

How could he had even thought of honestly giving this up?


“Stop thinking.” Morwen said, hands pressed low on his abdomen, long hair tickling his chest and mixing with the loose strands of his own. “Stop thinking,” she repeated, “about what was, what could have been.” She whispered, bringing their bodies closer together. “I need you here,” the soft lips said against his own, “I need you with me now,” she insisted, “not with the us of the past, the old life.”

His hands wound themselves into her hair, holding her mouth in place against his lips. “Here,” Glorfindel murmured between their kisses, “now.” He agreed.