Ekleipsis (Fantasy Romance - LGBT, manXman)

2.5.

It took them a long time to let go of one another, as if the rough carpet in the study was the best place for the throes of passion. Finally, Alva remembered his duties as a host. The elf was immediately taken to the bath.

Alva closed the door behind him and had to lean against the wall and try to ward off the trooping visions of silver hair under jets of water, perfumed foam on gleaming white skin, contours of the slim body in foggy mirrors ... By the time Ithildin walked out, wrapped in a towel, Alva had had the time to compose himself. So much that when the towel slipped down and a cool body pressed against him, Alva found the strength to put a robe on the elf and tie the silk belt. Twice.

"Don't you want me?" whispered Ithildin, blushing, eyes lowered.

"I wouldn't drag you to bed without letting you rest after a long journey," Alva smiled tenderly, and kissed Ithildin on the temple.

"I am not tired," said the elf.

Alva kissed him again and stood back. "Let's go have supper."

At the table, food forgotten, Alva stared at Ithildin. He thought he could endlessly contemplate how the elf brought a peach slice or a glass of rosé to his lips. It was said that alcohol did not affect the Ancient Race. Ithildin drank wine like water. It did not flush his cheeks, light up his eyes or confuse his movements. What else would Alva find out about his beloved? He wanted to ask a thousand questions, but instead prattled on, not waiting for answers. His cheeks burned with every glance from the silver eyes underneath the gleaming crescents of eyelashes.

The dusky summer evening flowed into a cooler night. Chevalier Ahayrre blew out the candles and lit the logs in the fireplace, making flickering shadows dance across the walls. Once Alva sat down, Ithildin stretched at his feet like a cat and then rubbed his face against Alva's thigh. Flames cast a red glow over Ithildin's loose hair that now fanned across Alva's legs. Alva responded instantly to the caress, and bent down to drink in the elf's lips. The tender kiss became passionate, the pink hyacinth lips were deliciously soft and fragrant, but the sweetest part was having Ithildin respond – awkwardly and hesitantly perhaps, but still ardently.

Ithildin's hands locked around Alva's neck, while Alva's hands traveled the length of the elf's body, lingered on his shoulders, the nape of his neck, and went down to the waist. Chevalier Ahayrre was happily contemplating whether to move to the bedroom or start right here, but when he let his hands crawl underneath the wispy silk and touch Ithildin's thigh, the elf flinched as if stung by a whip.

Alva, flustered, drew back. "Did I do something?" he asked.

"It's all right," now the elf returned Alva's hand to where it was before, "I do want to please you. My greatest happiness would be to sate your desires."

Alva was certainly not used to hearing words like that in bed. Truth be told, he had only heard this from prostitutes, and it always failed to turn him on. Now too, he felt the excitement drain, leaving behind the sober comprehension.

"Wait, my love. You have never enjoyed it before, right?"

"It is enough for me to bring you pleasure. That's what's important for me. I am only sorry that my experiences have been so ... limited."

Alva winced. He understood what Ithildin meant by "experiences."

"Oh, gods. I want you to feel as I do." Alva ran his hand over the elf's shoulders, kissed his neck and whispered gently, "Don't worry, I won't hurt you. You are shivering, my sweet ..."

"I am sorry," now Ithildin looked abashed, "I am just not used to it. Don't worry about me, do what you want."

"That's not how it's going to be, dearest. I don't want it the way it was before. You will not submit to me out of duty, or whatever you elves call it."