Fic: As Enjoyable as Kissing (reposted, beta'd), Gildor/Elrohir, FCS, R
The planes of Elrohir’s stomach stretched tautly in the air, blind response to this new touch. Gildor loved the curve and hollow of his pelvis. He ran the tip of his finger along the smoothness of Elrohir’s erection, crossed the bump of the thick vein and the softness of that skin, traced the groove below the roused head. Elrohir gasped.
Elrohir was his to play, and he was beautiful. Grey eyes opened upon him against white pillows.
“Gildor?”
Slowly, Gildor gathered a mass of dark hair out of the way and eased a pillow free from the tension that was Elrohir’s neck. He kissed him, in just that spot over the jugular.
All control, all pent patience, he slid a hand under solid thighs, under the sweet, curved smoothness of Elrohir’s arse. Elrohir was watching him, wordless now, staring as if to imprint this moment on his mind. His lips parted, showing his tongue, imperative and innocent as a desert well…
Gildor bent again and found Elrohir’s kiss passionate, his arms rising in active demand about Gildor’s neck - Gildor pulled his wrists apart and laid him back.
“Up.” He worked the pillow past roiled sheets and under the waiting body. Elrohir, still reaching for him, managed a kiss on his shoulder, a hand in his hair; the other urgently stroked and kneaded his back, then grabbed for his prick.
Gildor drew in a sharp breath. “Elrohir, just - ” ‘Wait,’ he wanted to say, ‘Or I will be coming all over you and I don’t want that to be the first you know of this business.’ Valar, what was he doing? “Elrohir, in a moment, just another moment…” The shea butter was warm and melted in its pot practically hidden beneath them. The cork came off suddenly, spilling clear, liquid wax. Gildor scooped some up onto three dripping fingers and smeared the mess over pillow, sheet and Elrohir, who froze.
The only thing that moved between them was Gildor’s hand and their fast-breathing chests.
Gildor was hard, Elrohir tense, his stillness all waiting desire, eyes burning into Gildor’s face making themselves felt even while Gildor watched his fingers work. He took hold of Elrohir’s jerking erection with the other hand and looked up in time to see his eyes fall closed and his mouth start to move.
“Gildor, yes,” he was saying, “Valar, yes, please, Gildor…” Gildor let his movements follow the rhythm of that quiet litany, hand revelling in the firm draw and pull, fingers diving where soon - now - he would follow.
“Look at me,” he said and kissed him gently, easing himself into position, the kiss and touch below a match in pressure.
Elrohir wanted more, more from the kiss, and - more where Gildor was holding himself ready. “I want you,” Elrohir said unsteadily. “I want to feel you.” He turned his head away from the dark eyes that almost pitied him.
Hands gentled his hip, his hair. A fist grasped it tight. “Kiss me then.” Gildor’s voice was strained, his mouth no longer gentle. His other hand felt between them, making sure - he shoved, and Elrohir panted tightly into Gildor’s mouth, belly like iron, legs scrabbling instinctively under him.
Gildor held him, by hair and lips and hand under his buttocks, and pressed into him, rigidly controlling his own body when it screamed at him to slam home, to take, to feel this heat against him as he moved.
When he lifted his mouth away at last to look at what he had done, Elrohir clung with shadowed eyes and with his hands. They hung in their tableau, Gildor suspended over Elrohir, only their eyes kissing.
He leaned down to brush pained lips which hid nothing.
“Gildor,” Elrohir sighed and suddenly relaxed.
They embraced, and Gildor moved in him and over him, head coming up, while Elrohir gasped and kissed what he could between those sharp little breaths, hands clutching, legs bracing his assent.
Hard between them, Elrohir’s prick slid in sweat close against his belly, full of need. Gildor thrust, deeply, and felt Elrohir tightening around him. He pushed his hand into the cave of their ribs and anchored on that need, holding fast - holding on.
At last, Elrohir’s hoarse shout was his permission. With hands planted, he gave and took all he had, all he could.
Limply they lay, until Gildor pulled the greasy jar from under him, eased the pillow out from beneath Elrohir and collapsed again. With a sweaty arm he pulled the slack, sticky body into his own, buried it against him. He curled close to mouth Elrohir’s hair, body content, heart terrified.
Love was like that.