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Your legs feel like jelly as you knock on the door to Elrond’s study. Part of you can’t believe you’re really asking this of him. The rest of you is screaming to get it out before you lose your nerve.
He calls for you to come in. You step inside and shut the door behind you. His study is always so comforting, with its overstuffed reading chairs, the neatly-shelved rows of books, the golden sunlight streaming in through the high windows to glint off the mahogany bookcases. Elrond is at his desk working on some letters, wrapped in a velvet indigo robe, face pinched with concentration. He looks up from his paperwork and his expression softens. He sets down his quill.
“I can come back later if you’re quite busy.” It rushes out of you before he can even greet you.
“What is the matter? You’re shaking,” he says, getting to his feet. Of course he notices. He crosses the room to take your hands in his bigger warm ones. His voice is laced with concern. “What can I do to help?”
“No— I—“ you bite the inside of your cheek, unable to look up at him. This could ruin everything but you can’t think of anyone else you’d rather do this with. “I just wanted to ask you something.”
“Anything,” he says immediately.
You don’t even know where to start. It’s building up inside your ribcage, filling your lungs. You can hear your own heartbeat. This really could ruin everything. He’s your best friend— he’s so good to you—
“I should go,” you say, too anxious to stand it. “This was a bad idea.”
When you pull away, his grip tightens— not imperiously, only with the worry of a healer. “Will you sit and tell me what has you so anxious?”
“I don’t want to sit,” you say. You feel as if you’re about to combust. Sitting down won’t help.
Elrond doesn’t say anything. He studies you. His gaze is as sharp as one of his scalpels. He’s patient, though, waiting to see what you’ll say. You try to swallow, to get the words out; you still haven’t the slightest clue of how to begin.
“Elrond, I—“ it sticks in your throat and then turns into: “You know I haven’t…been with anyone?“
You glance up at him and see he’s frowning, and immediately you have to look away. For some stupid reason your mouth just won’t stop talking and you tumble into: “In bed. Sexually. I haven’t been with anybody sexually. I haven’t— I haven’t had sex.”
You feel hot all over. Elrond’s still quiet. When you manage to meet his eyes, he looks perplexed.
“And this…bothers you?” he says at last. He strokes the backs of your hands with the pads of his thumbs and gives them a squeeze.
“No! I mean— well— yes. A little. I just—“ you don’t know how to say it. “I—I want to. I want to know what it’s like, I’ve just never— I’ve never found the right person—“ until now, “—someone I felt like I could trust. It just— feels like this big hurdle now and I’m tired of it and I— I want to.”
He’s quiet again, watching you. You can’t read the expression on his face.
You swallow again and break eye contact. “I just want my first time to…I want it to be with— with someone…like— I don’t know—“ You’re starting to tremble again. Elrond still hasn’t said anything. For once you wish he’d be less patient. You chew on your lip and finish in a small voice: “I want it to be with someone like you.”
He sucks in a sharp breath. Instinctively, you pull away from him, drowning for distance.
The silence that stretches between you is awful and heavy. Elrond is the first to break it.
“Are you asking me to be your first?”
Just like you can’t read his face, you can’t read his voice either. Your eyes grow hot and your vision fogs and you wish you could just disappear.
“I’m sorry— I know it’s— you’re my best friend and I don’t want to ruin that— I just— I know that you’d— you’d be so good. You’d be really gentle and I just— I feel so safe with you—“ your voice wobbles and then cracks.
He closes the distance between you faster than could be believed. He’s right there, so solid and warm and radiating kindness and feebly you wonder if you haven’t completely ruined everything the two of you have. Elrond takes your face in his hands, coaxing you to look at him. When you do, his smile is soft for you, gray eyes shining. He leans down to kiss your forehead.
“I am honored,” he murmurs. “Truly. I am honored that you trust me so.”
Relief smacks you like a wall of water. The tears you’ve been holding back spill over. He makes a little displeased sound and rubs at them.
“You haven’t ruined anything,” he promises. “Is this truly what you want? You have thought about it at length?”
You nod, leaning into his touch.
“Give me some time,” he says. “I will not say yes or no now, but rest assured that regardless— I still care for you deeply and nothing has changed.”
Your mouth twists and you nod again. Elrond pulls you into a tight hug and holds you. When you bury your face in his shoulder and heave a shuddering breath, he rubs your back and holds you that much tighter.
True to his word, nothing changes. The two of you still go for your long walk; you still read on the porch that sun-drenched afternoon; you still join him in the Hall of Fire with the rest of his house and sit at his table while Glorfindel teases him about his bad jokes and Lindir anxiously hovers from goblet to goblet, trying to be useful, until Elrond eventually begs him to sit down and eat something.
You go on one last walk together to watch the moon rise, then take the path back to the house arm-in-arm. When it comes time to part your separate ways, Elrond turns to face you, taking your hand.
“I truly am honored,” he says at last. You brace yourself, ready for the ‘but’, and he goes on: “This is a precious gift: letting me share this with you. I accept.”
It knocks all the air out of you. You look up at him in wide-eyed shock. “Truly?”
One corner of his mouth turns up in a little half-smile. He dips his head. “Truly, dear one.” Then, his voice takes on a more serious note. “But there will be no Bonding. I will be closed to you, and you to me. I will not risk an accidental tethering.”
You agree, shoving down the strange disappointment that rises in your chest. Of course this is how it must be. Elrond had no reason to want to Bond in that way. You’re friends. It was good to set a clear boundary.
“When shall we do it, and where would you be most comfortable?” he asks.
“My room?” You offer. And then you say, “Tomorrow? Or—if that’s— if that’s too soon—“
He takes your hand and squeezes it. “The choice is yours.”
“Tomorrow night?” you repeat. “I’m just— I’m worried that I’ll overthink if we put it off too long— but if you need more time or— or you’re busy—“
Elrond shakes his head. “I will make time. Tomorrow night, then. Very well.”
You share a hug, then go your separate ways.
Elrond is so calm at dinner the following day. You wish you could have half his composure. You hardly eat, completely unable to tell if the way your stomach twists is anxiety or anticipation. After dinner, the two of you go for your usual walk. In the quiet space between the rustling leaves overhead and the trilling crickets, Elrond softly asks:
“Are you still certain you want to do this?”
“Yes,” you say at once. “Yes. I am.” You’re perfectly aware of how your anxiety is radiating off of your body.
He offers you his arm. “Shall we head back?”
You give him a tentative smile and let him walk you to your room.
The two of you slip in together— Elrond first, then you. When you shut the door and the latch clicks, your stomach ties into all sorts of knots again. You have no idea what to expect.
Elrond, to your surprise, simply gathers you up into a tight hug, resting his cheek on the top of your head. Your breath hitches, then rushes out of you. He’s so warm and solid. He makes you feel so safe. His heartbeat ticks steadily away in your ear. When he pulls back at last to take your face in his hands, his expression is soft and full of affection.
“Would you like to be kissed?” he asks.
Your stomach flutters. “Yes.”
Elrond dips down and captures your lips with his own.
Somehow, this feels no different to any other touch you’ve shared. Elrond loves gently, deeply, generously. Every touch is infused with warmth. His kisses are no different.
He kisses you just the once, then draws back to gaze into your eyes. There is a gravitas to his gaze which you have always admired. It draws you in.
“We can stop at any time,” Elrond says, stroking your cheek with the pad of his thumb. “Just tell me if you wish to.”
You nod, then wet your lips and say nervously: “I— I don’t really know what I’m doing— I’m not going to be any good—“
Elrond interrupts, “I seek no benefit for myself. Let me take care of you.”
You swallow and nod once. Elrond gravitates down again to brush his lips against yours. His breath ghosts over your mouth, warm and even. Your eyes flick up to his. He doesn’t press any further.
Tentatively, you stand on your toes to close the distance yourself, and kiss him.
You feel him smile against your mouth. He kisses you back, sliding his fingers into your hair at the nape of your neck, cradling your head. Then, he leads you into a second kiss, this time a little more openmouthed, but still sweet. You can’t help the little sound that escapes you, so close to a whine that you blush and pull back to duck your head with a nervous, half-embarrassed laugh.
“Sorry—”
He presses his fingers beneath your chin to tilt your head back towards his. His gray eyes are warm and bright and fond. “Do not be.”
Elrond kisses you once more, just briefly and chastely, and then takes your hand and leads you to sit with him on your bed.
Despite your nerves, you lean in for another kiss, resting one trembling hand on his thigh, wanting to be so much closer, but too shy to do much. You’ve done this before with others, gotten this far. Never farther. You don’t know how to get where you want to go, but he’s promised to guide you. You trust him. You trust him. You trust him.
Elrond’s mouth wanders: just the dry brush of his soft lips against your cheek, then he presses a kiss to your ear, then trails down to kiss your neck just at your thundering pulse. A delicious shiver slides up your spine. Your fingers on his thigh twitch and you curl them into a fist.
“You can touch me,” Elrond murmurs against your skin.
“I don’t know how,” you whisper back, horribly shy.
Elrond pulls back and adjusts to sit cross-legged, then curls his fingers— confident but undemanding— around your hip and tugs, guiding you to straddle his lap. Your heart lurches and speeds. You settle. He coils one arm around your waist and brushes your cheek with the back of his hand.
“Any way you like,” he tells you.
You’re so close that you can feel the way his voice rumbles in his chest. The starlight filtering in from your window paints his face into chiseled lines of blue and silver. He hardly looks real. You reach up and graze your knuckles along the curve where the light splashes against his cheek. He leans into it, eyes slipping closed.
Feeling a little braver, you feather your fingers over his mouth, tracing the shape of it. His eyes open, dark and pitch-blue, somehow comforting despite the depth, and he kisses your fingertips. The way he looks at you makes your stomach flutter. You’ve thought about this, if you’re honest with yourself. You’ve seen what he looks like under his robes, seen him training with Glorfindel in the courtyard in nothing but a pair of leather trousers and boots— a creature carved from power, not quite an elf and not quite a maia and not quite a man— and yet somehow he is here, just at your fingertips.
Without thinking, your hand wanders down to the clasp of his robe.
You stop and look at him.
He’s still smiling.
He unclasps the pin with his free hand in one deft motion and leaves the rest for you.
You curse the way your hands shake as you push the first button through its loop. Then the second, then the third. Elrond shows no resistance, only rubs circles on your hip with the pad of his thumb that drive you almost to distraction.
The robe pools around his shoulders as you free it. You hesitate at the laces of his shirt. It’s then that it hits you:
This is really happening.
You never thought you would ever get this close. Your tongue feels like its turned to sand in your mouth, you’re so nervous. Your stomach winds in knots. Fear is a spike of ice, skewering you from crown to root. I don’t want to mess this up—
It’s Elrond who unlaces it, lets the robe fall to the bed, lets go of you long enough to tug his shirt over his head and cast it aside, then gently takes your hand and places it, palm first, to his heated skin.
You suck in a breath.
Your eyes lock. He is still open and warm and fond. His heart pulses beneath your touch, steady and sure, just a little faster than you remember it ever being.
He is built like a Vala.
It’s different. It’s so different being this close. So close you could press every inch of your body against every inch like his—- and you want to, Elbereth, you want to.
Your head falls to his shoulder, resting in the crook of his neck, and you begin to map every shape. Every muscle. Every time you hear his breath hitch, your confidence grows. You map the sensitive places: the line of his breastbone, the way his stomach quivers and flexes when you drag all five fingers down the flat plane of it.
“Are you learning me by heart?” he whispers.
“I already know you by heart,” you whisper back.
But it’s different when you’re this close.
You lift your head in a burst of courage to kiss his neck, and you think you hear him whine.
“You can touch me,” you repeat his words back to him.
He does.
Just as in everything else: he is patient and self-assured, every touch infused with tender reverence. If he hesitates, its out of respect. Each time he does, you murmur your encouragement. He strokes your sides, your back, your neck, runs his hand over the planes of your chest and swipes his thumb over your nipple through the fabric of your shirt. It makes you gasp and arch into him, hips tilting to his, feeling your trousers tighten as your cock starts to fill. He does it again, seeming to relish your reaction, and kisses your neck once more.
You want more. Your clothes are an annoyance that you want out of right now. You tug your shirt up over your head and cast it aside —though it makes your face heat— then take his face in both your hands and kiss him again.
Without thinking, you roll your body along the length of his, and he pours another breathy sound into your mouth that makes your mind empty. It feels so good.
Through the fabric that’s left between you, you can feel he’s just as hard as you are.
He also feels big.
Anxiety ices your spine again. You pause, blushing furiously, and drop your head into the crook of his neck once more.
Elrond senses it— he always does— and cards his hand through your hair, soothing his thumb over your temple. He’s so safe. He makes you feel so safe. You know he won’t hurt you.
Your body aches for his. You don’t know how to ask for more.
Gently, he asks: “Do you want to keep going?”
“Yes,” you hiss out.
You can swear you feel him smile. He strokes the curve of your spine and asks, “Do you think you would rather take me, or have me take you? The former would be easier for your own pace.”
He’s probably right. But the thought makes you even more anxious. You’ve never done this and you don’t really know how, and you’re worried you’ll be too awkward, too unsure, for it to be even half enjoyable for him.
“I–I’d rather you-- could you be on top? Please?”
He hums something in the back of his throat and traces the hem of your trousers, tentatively at first, giving you a chance to stop him. You only whine and tilt your hips toward his touch, so he traces down and palms you through the fabric, just a gentle squeeze that feels so, so good.
It makes you jerk. More out of the surprise of it than anything else. You’ve touched yourself. It’s a completely different thing for someone else to do it. Let alone for that someone else to be Elrond.
Your goosebumps are back. When he next catches your eye there’s something mischievous in his gaze that you don’t understand-- that is, you don’t until he actually brings his own fingers to his mouth, sucks on them, and slips them -- now wet-- inside your trousers to wrap his fingers around your cock.
You gasp at the touch and he responds with a hum of approval. The sound arrows straight to your cock and makes it jump in his hand. You let out a whimper and turn to bury your face in his neck. He’s hardly touching you, holding you in a loose grip, but the heat spreading through your body is unlike anything you’ve ever been able to build for yourself. His fingers are so long and clever...(what would it be like--him pushing them inside of you, filling you up, scissoring you open, fucking you on them—)
—you moan and immediately flush red.
Elrond doesn’t seem to mind in the least, only stroking you just a bit faster, and it’s so, so good.
The pleasure winds at the base of your spine, tighter and tighter, stoking the fire burning inside of you as you buck up into his hand. Elrond studies your face, then slows his pace and stops, and it makes you whine in disappointment.
Elrond murmurs and apology in your ear with a fond sort of smile, holding you flush to his chest.
“If you come too quickly, you may be oversensitive later.”
You blush, because you had been about to come-- and you can hardly breathe, you’re still so close to the precipice, unable to stop yourself from rocking your hips and grinding your cock down to his, relishing the surprised moan that rumbles out of him. If you thought he felt big beneath you before, he certainly feels big and rock hard now.
You’re still panting as he winds his fingers through your hair again, scritching your scalp, soothing your spine, before unlacing your trousers the rest of the way. Then he flips the pair of you around and gently lowers you to your back, grabbing a pillow to tuck beneath your head.
He sits on his knees next to you on the bed, then Elrond reaches out to the hem of your trousers again, pausing like a question. You give him a shaky, still-nervous smile and hook your thumbs in the waistband, then tug them off.
You had expected to feel…exposed. Vulnerable. You’ve never been naked in front of someone like this. Somehow, you don’t. There is nothing lewd in the way Elrond looks at you. His expression is one of admiration. If you shiver, it is only because of the cold of the room.
He bends over you to kiss your forehead, then your mouth, then the curve of your jaw, and each touch is like a spark, building that fire in your belly higher and higher and higher.
Then he trails his lips down your body, pausing to press his lips to your hip bone, and then --without warning-- takes your cock into his mouth.
You have to cover your mouth to stifle the surprised shout. His mouth is so hot and wet, perfect, as he flattens his tongue along the length of you, hollows his cheeks out, and sucks. Stars burst across your vision and you have to reach down to clutch at his hair just for something to hang on to. Elrond just looks up at you through his dark eyelashes, gray eyes twinkling, and damn him--- he moans.
The vibration has you bucking up into him to hit the back of his throat, for which you immediately apologize. Elrond simply pulls back, unbothered, and licks his lips, expression casual (maybe a little smug), but you think it’s entirely too modest considering he’s utterly wrecking your world.
He sits up and settles back on his haunches again, stroking your thigh, and then his touch traces inward, brushing between your legs. It’s so featherlight, barely-there, even still your breath hitches. When Elrond catches your eye again, there’s a touch of concern in his expression when he asks: “Have you done this? With yourself, even?”
A breath rushes out of you. You nod. Never more than a finger, really. Still, it’s not entirely new territory.
He looks relieved and goes back to rubbing little circles on your thigh with his thumb. Unconsciously, you part your legs a little more for him. Elrond smiles at this, but just reaches past you to his bedside drawer and pulls out a bottle, pours a little of the liquid inside into his hand, and then brings his slick fingers to your hole.
Despite yourself, you clench. It’s more out of surprise than anything else. Elrond doesn’t push inside, though, he just traces tiny circles, drags the crook of his finger up to the sensitive place behind your cock, then back down again. You let out a breath and reach for him, and Elrond takes your hand in his free one and gives it a warm, affectionate squeeze.
“Open for me, dear one,” he murmurs.
You let out another breath, trying to relax, and the second you do he pushes in past that ring of muscle.
It’s not uncomfortable, only a little strange. Elrond pushes in a bit farther, leaning down over you and bracing himself on his elbow so he can kiss your cheek as he drags that finger out, in again, gentle strokes that have you opening up for more.
“Good?” he asks softly.
You nod, twisting your hips to try and get more friction. “More?” you beg softly.
He smiles against your cheek and carefully presses a second finger inside with the first. It’s farther than you’ve gotten with yourself, and his fingers are bigger and longer than yours. You already feel so full--
When your forehead pinches, Elrond croons something in the back of his throat, withdraws, adds more lubricant and slides his fingers in again-- and then it’s not too much-- it’s good, wringing another hitched breath out of you which he seems to drink in like it’s something holy.
“You’re doing so well,” he praises with another kiss to the side of your head.
You twist your hips again, trying to catch a bit more friction, and plead: “I-- I want--”
What you mean to say is his cock, but he just kisses you again and adds a third finger, and it’s like it pushes all the air out of your lungs.
He doesn’t move. He stays like that, letting your insides flutter around it, letting you adjust. Then he curls his fingers, pets something inside of you, and your vision blurs.
You cry out, clutch at his shoulder, Elrond rumbles another moan and something warm and affectionate. It feels so fucking good. He strokes over it again and your spine melts into the mattress, every nerve in your body alight. You want more, you want more, you want more.
“Elrond,” you breathe. “Please-- please fuck me?”
Shy as it is, it’s dripping with lust.
Elrond only smiles and says: “Not yet.”
You could cry from frustration. He almost looks like he enjoys the desperation written all over your face, the way you cant up into his touch and sink your fingernails into his skin. He only kisses your neck, fucks you on his fingers, and then starts to scissor them and it’s like nothing--- nothing you’ve ever felt before.
You can hardly breathe as he works you open, petting your insides, stroking over that spot that he’s found. Your cock’s leaking precum all over your stomach and you can’t fucking think.
At last, he says: “You’re ready.” His hand stills.
The lack of movement is a kind of heartbreak. You tremble and reach for him, and he just catches your hand, gives it another squeeze, and asks: “Are you sure you want me inside you? I am content to finish you like this.”
“Yes,” you sob out. “Please. I want nothing else— please Elrond—”
“Hush.” It’s gentle and reassuring. He kisses your cheek and withdraws. “I promised I would take care of you.”
He sits back on his heels again and unlaces his trousers, then shucks himself out of them. His cock springs out: magnificent, long, thick, flushed red at the head and leaking. He is— he is huge. And he’s beautiful— every inch of him is beautiful. Impulsively, you reach over to tentatively wrap your fingers around him.
He hisses. He’s hot and pulsing and stiff in your hand. Heavy. You give him one curious, almost open-handed pump, then your eyes flick up to meet his.
His eyes are darker than you remember.
Still kind.
Elrond pours a generous amount of lubricant out onto his palm, slicks himself up, pushes more inside of you, then he settles over you again, resting on his elbows and cradling your head. You spread your legs to accommodate him without thinking.
When the tip of his cock touches your hole, that’s when it sets in. It’s blunt and huge, so much larger than his fingers. You trust him. You trust him. You know he’d never hurt you, but you panic and clench anyway.
At once, you shiver and blush and stammer out an apology. “I want this—” you try to reassure him. Almost like you’re trying to convince yourself, because you do, you do. You’re so horribly turned on— “I’m sorry— I’m sorry— I’m just so nervous—”
“Don’t fret.” Elrond dips to kiss your forehead. Its warm and firm and full of affection. “You are perfect. I am in no rush.”
“Is it going to hurt?” It comes out of you in a rush. He still feels so safe— but he’s so big.
“It shouldn’t,” he says at once, holding your face, soothing the pad of his thumb over the muscles that’ve tensed in your face. “If it does, I want you to tell me.”
You nod. He kisses your forehead again. Your nose. Your mouth. You let out a long, shuddering breath. He slips his hand between your bodies and begins to stroke you again, and your spine relaxes.
“I am right here,” he reassures. “I have you, dear one.”
“Elrond,” it slips out of you in a sigh. You trust him.
He drags his hips only a little at first, just rubbing the head of his cock against your hole and stroking your cock until you’re weightless and moaning into his mouth again. Only when he’s content that you’re finally relaxed does he press the tip inside.
It breaches you with a little pop that makes you gasp.
Elrond pauses, hovering. Studies your face.
“Does it hurt?” he asks to be sure.
“No,” you breathe. You reach up to drape an arm around his shoulders. Elrond sinks a little deeper and all the air leaves your lungs. It doesn’t hurt— it just feels… “You feel so good. M—more?”
Elrond pulls out, then slides a little deeper, still touching you in languid, decadant flicks of his wrist that leave your head light and every nerve in your body singing. That is how he does it: in slow, shallow thrusts, deeper and deeper until he’s fully seated inside of you and you’re so fucking full that you can’t think.
His head falls to the pillow and he groans in your ear as your body clenches around him, getting used to the sensation. You’re gasping, panting, digging your nails into his shoulder so hard that you’re worried that you might be drawing blood.
Then, Elrond rolls his hips.
Pure pleasure sparks behind your eyes. It’s so much. You gasp and clutch at him. He stills, stroking your hair, kissing the side of your head.
“I have you,” he reminds you.
“More,” you beg.
He smiles against your skin and obliges.
This is going to ruin you, you think inanely as he pulls out and sinks back inside, splitting you open. You have always loved him. Now you know what it feels like to be with him, and nobody else is ever going to compare with this.
You can’t bring yourself to care. Not now. Not while he’s buried to the hilt inside of you and your body sucks at him, trying to pull him deeper still.
He builds his pace. Never demanding, never hard. The slide is a slow-building fire that saws up your spine, coiling around it. You can feel the blood rushing in your ears, hear the way he praises you—
“You’re doing so well,” he hisses out, voice thick with pleasure. “You feel so good wrapped around me like this. So good. I love the sounds you make. Love to hear you. Love the way you clench around me just. like. that.” It’s punctuated with three, deep thrusts that make you shake. You’ve never felt so utterly consumed. You can’t think about anything else except Elrond, Elrond, Elrond. He feels so perfect inside of you, like you were made for this.
Your hand joins where it’s wrapped around your cock. The pleasure winds to a fever pitch, crashing over you in wave after mounting, cresting wave. You’re so close— surging up to a cliff bigger than any you’ve ever fallen off before.
“Come,” you find yourself panting in his ear. “Please, Elrond. Come for me. I want to feel you come inside me—”
He makes a surprised, choked noise in the back of his throat. His hips stutter, then speed. He hits a spot inside of you that wrenches a cry out of you, that makes your vision spark and split. Then, he bursts.
It’s that sensation: the feeling of him filling you up that shoves you over the cliff with him. You come with an utterly wrecked noise, grabbing on to any piece of him that you can just to hold on to something solid as you splatter Elrond’s stomach and your own, shaking and moaning and saying thank you, thank you, thank you. Elrond cradles you and fucks you right through it, and vaguely you register that he’s saying: “Good— beautiful. Beautiful boy. Good boy, just like that—”
He sounds just as overwhelmed as you feel.
Eventually, his pace slows and stills. You collapse together. He lies next to you and draws you up to his chest. You’re still floating, high off the hormones and adrenaline coursing through your body. Every single inch of you is trembling.
He draws circles on your shoulder and murmurs soothing noises in the back of his throat. Kisses the top of your head, then each cheek. It’s then that you realize that your face is wet. You don’t remember starting to cry.
“Thank you,” you manage. You wrap your arms around him and cling to him, shivering like a wet branch. “Thank you, Elrond.”
He pushes some of your sweat-slicked hair back from your forehead. “No, thank you, melda. You were—” his voice seems to crack. His lips brush against your forehead and he slips out of you, softening. “You were utterly magnificent.”
As your body cools, a hollow space begins to grow between your ribs. You feel so empty without him.
He didn’t bond with you. That was the agreement, of course. But this only solidifies it: you have to go back to being friends. You don’t want to.
You love him.
Tears fill your eyes again. Frustrated with yourself, you try to rub them away, but they just won’t stop welling up.
Elrond makes a displeased sort of noise and dries them for you. “You’re not hurt?”
“No,” you say. Your mouth twists. “No— I’m so—” your voice catches on happy. “Thank you. I’m sorry.”
You curl up, turning to face him despite your better judgement, and bury your face in his chest again. You just want to be close to him.
The shock in his voice is obvious when he asks: “Whatever for?”
“I—” can you say it? “I— I only— I just—” I love you. I am in love with you. This is a horrible idea, now that it’s happened. Because I won’t ever be able to stop thinking about you.
You pull back to look up at him. His face is etched with concern. You can hardly bear it. Immediately, you break eye contact and look away.
“I only wish that…” you trail off. “I’m sorry. I know that you— that you don’t— I just…I really like you, and I know that I shouldn’t. I don’t have any right to you. I just wish that this…” you run your hands along his chest. “That this could be us. All the time. I’m sorry— I didn’t realize— I didn’t realize that I was in love with you until…”
He sucks in a sharp breath. You freeze.
“Will you look at me?” he asks softly.
You do. His eyes are filled with so much love that you can hardly breathe.
“I am in love with you too,” Elrond says.
He stare at him in dumb shock, unable to believe that you heard him correctly.
A shy smile tugs at the corners of his mouth. You can’t remember seeing him ever look shy. He rests his head on the crook of his elbow and reaches over to stroke your cheek.
“The boundary about bonding was for me. I did not want to accidentally… impose myself—”
“It’s not an imposition,” you say at once. “You could never be an imposition.”
His smile softens. “I do love you, if you will have me.”
Your breath catches. Quietly, in the silence that stretches between the two of you, you ask: “Do you want to be kissed?”
Elrond’s features soften, and he answers: “Yes.”