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lordgrimwing · 5 months

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Nesting

Gil-galad hadn’t seen much of Elrond over the last several days. That, in and of itself, wasn’t too unusual; they were both busy people, after all. But he’d spoken to him briefly last night as he was heading to his study after dinner and the apprentice was just getting back from the Hall of Healing. So he knew he’d come back to the house instead of falling asleep in the Hall or (even worse) somewhere along the streets between there and here. He wanted to talk to him about an upcoming gala, one with visiting dignitaries from Doriath, but his friend looked like he was nearly dead on his feet, so he let the moment pass, telling himself they could talk over breakfast the next day—Elrond should have the day off from the Hall if his memory served him, so he should make an appearance at the morning meal, simple as it was.

Which was all well and good, up until he checked his schedule and realized he was supposed to attend the agriculture council this morning. The council always met at a terribly early hour. Honestly, he didn’t even know why he was the one who had to attend, he knew next to nothing about farming or harvesting or anything else related to agriculture beyond the eating of delicious food. He must just be low enough on the peon ladder to get the meetings no one else wanted. The 'why' really didn’t matter because now he had to leave the house hours ahead of schedule and he couldn’t wait for breakfast if he still wanted to talk to Elrond, which he very much did.

So, he went to his room and knocked on the door.

“Elrond,” He called, opening the door. “I apologize for the horribly early visit, but I—”

He swallowed the rest of his words. The room was empty.

Elrond wasn’t there. In fact, it looked like he hadn’t been there all night: the bed was perfectly made, and the pitcher of water the servants left on the occasional table was completely untouched. The half-elf was generally a very tidy person, but he wasn’t so obsessed with order as to keep things exactly the way he’d found them. Had he not used his room last night?

Puzzled, he stepped out of the room and looked up and down the quiet hall. Where would Elrond sleep if not in his room? This was very peculiar. He should have set the oddity aside and gone to prepare for the council, but if there was one thing he liked, it was sniffing out a good mystery. He began checking the other unused guest rooms.

Fifteen minutes and half a dozen rooms later, he stood outside his own chambers, no closer to finding his wayward friend. Baffled, and slightly concerned, he started toward the stairs down to the kitchen. Perhaps the cook, who always arrived frightfully early, saw Elrond or had some idea for where he might have gone off to.

As he neared the tightly spiraled staircase mostly used by the servants for quick access to different floors, he passed an old closet, hardly used these years except for the occasional guests who brought more than they could keep in their rooms. Gil-galad had no reason to stop here, except that as he passed the door he thought he heard the faint sound of something moving inside.

He paused.

Oh, he hoped that wasn’t some animal that decided to move into the unused space. The house really was built for grander affairs than even he could pull together on a regular basis, and it seemed like every few months he heard about another nest of little critters getting relocated after someone found them living in a too-long unused spot. He didn’t particularly want to deal with angry little creatures who’d just had their home disturbed, but if he just continued on, he might forget about it entirely and not ask anyone to look into it later. Steeling his nerves, he put his hand on the little handle and opened the door.

Inside, he was confronted by a mound of blankets and winter clothing twisted together into a mass that managed to keep its shape when the door opened. In the center of the fabrics, nestled comfortably under what looked suspiciously like a tablecloth he'd seen last week, his eyes half hooded and smiling slightly in dreamy content, lay Elrond.

Gil-galad stared at him in open-mouthed surprise. What in all of Middle-earth was he doing sleeping in a closet? He said as much, voice high with shock.

Elrond blinked, his eyes coming back into focus as he shook himself and looked up. His expression quickly changed from profound relaxation to surprise and then embarrassment. He blushed, color rising in his cheeks.

“I’m sorry,” He apologized, uncurling himself in the tight space and sitting up, somehow still looking comfortably nestled in the mound of material.

“What are you doing in here?” Gil-galad asked. This couldn’t possibly be more comfortable than a bed with a proper mattress.

“I’m sorry,” He said again, picking up the hem of a garment that looked suspiciously like one of Gil-galad’s winter riding robes which should have been shut away in storage until the weather cooled. He held it up to his chest like some kind of flimsy barrier. “I tried finding someplace where I wouldn’t get in the way.”

“‘Get in the way’?” Gil-galad repeated, baffled. He looked at the pile of fabric, this time realizing that it wasn’t just a randomly thrown-together collection of unused bedding and clothes. It looked, albeit poorly made, like a nest. “Are—Elrond, are you nesting?”

The half-elf blushed harder and hid his face in his hands. “I didn’t mean to!” He exclaimed.

Gil-galad was horrified. “You can’t nest in here,” He reached out to take one of the quilts.

Elrond’s hand shot out as if to stop him.

He froze, fingers hovering over the old quilt, and looked up. To his surprise, his friend looked like he was on the verge of tears. “This isn’t—” He began to say but was interrupted.

“You’re right,” Elrond sniffled. “I shouldn’t have taken these things. They’re yours and I’ll put them back where I found them so you can use them. I shouldn’t have let myself take them in the first place. I’m sorry, I’ve inconvenienced you. You must have better things to do with your morning than tracking all this down.”

He rose on his knees and began picking up the top layer of the nest. Gil-galad felt almost physically ill at the distress on his face at the prospect of pulling apart what he’d so painstakingly built.

“Wait,” He said. “That’s not what I meant.”

Elrond looked at him cautiously, the embarrassment still clear on his face but mingled now with a touch of shame that made Gil-galad’s chest clench.

He sat back on his heels, making it clear that he wasn’t about to go anywhere. As calmly as he could, he said, “You shouldn’t be nesting in a closet. You don’t need to hide.”

Looking a little confused, Elrond settled back down on the fabric, unconsciously snuggling against the armful of clothes he’d picked up. “I’m not hiding,” He said. “I just don’t want to be in anyone’s way.”

“How would nesting in your room, on an actual bed, put you in anyone’s way? It’s your room.” Gil-galad said, feeling like he was missing something.

“I don’t want to be in my room,” Frustration flashed in his friend’s voice.

“Why?” He made a point of ensuring all the rooms were perfectly comfortable. He liked comfortable things.

Elrond squinted back at him and his tone suggested that was a rather foolish question. “It’s too big and empty.”

“So you’d rather be in a closet?”

He groaned and clutched at the makeshift bedding. “It’s out of the way.”

Gil-galad furrowed his brow. As far as he understood, the point of nesting wasn’t to hide in some small, out-of-the-way spot, all alone. In fact, it generally involved a lot of cuddling and spending time with romantic or platonic friends. He couldn’t wrap his head around why Elrond would want to shut himself away and avoid everyone else in the house.

“Is this a Fëanorian thing?” He asked.

The half-elf came to Mithlond from one of the nomadic bands. While nothing like the savage avari tribes in the eastern wildlands, the Fëanorians kept themselves separate enough from the rest of the realm to develop their own peculiar traditions. He wouldn’t put it past them to have some kind of taboo on nesting.

That was, apparently, the wrong thing to say, as Elrond’s expression grew suddenly defensive.

“I didn’t mean it like that!” He amended, even though he had. Thanks to all the trade meetings he attended, he had a better understanding than the average citizen of how important those wandering groups were to the economy and particularly in maintaining contact with the human settlements far to the north. That didn’t mean he couldn’t find them odd and off-putting at times. “It’s just that it feels like we may be running into a cultural difference. I’m sorry that I made you feel like you can’t nest in here—and you can! If that’s really what you want to do. But you don’t have to.”

“I don’t mind,” Elrond said quickly, not nearly as defensive as he’d been before.

Gil-galad sighed and resisted the urge to roll his eyes. “You don’t mind a lot of things that I, and most everyone else here, think are absolutely intolerable. Could you explain why you want to nest in this old closet?”

He knew it wasn’t his friend’s job to explain himself or his upbringing to anyone, least of all a minor member of King Finarfin’s court, but he wouldn’t be able to focus all day if he thought the other was hiding because he didn’t want to be a bother—which he never was—or, worse yet, because Gil-galad did something to make him think the behavior wasn’t acceptable.

That last part was a truly horrible thought. “Wait,” He said. “Did I do something that made you feel unwelcome?”

“No!” Elrond exclaimed, releasing the comforting material and taking one of his hands between his own. “No, you’ve been nothing but unbelievably kind and welcoming, even if you do drag me off to every event you can.”

Of course, he did. As his patron, it was his duty to set him up for the most successful future possible, and in Lindon that included introducing him to as many powerful figures as he could manage. Plus, those parties were far more pleasant when he had Elrond to talk to.

“Then why do you want to hide?”

“I’m not hiding,” Elrond insisted despite all appearances to the contrary. “I’m—I—” He struggled over whatever he was trying to say, flustered.

Gil-galad squeezed his hand encouragingly.

Elrond inhaled, his shoulders hunching up to his ears. “There isn’t much opportunity to nest,” He said the word like it was some kind of ill omen, “while traveling. We’re usually moving around too much to have the urge. But if you do get it and can’t shake it, the only option is to take space in one of the wagons and try to make do or else make the whole group stop while you make a nest somewhere quiet. And it’s so frustrating for everyone because we need to keep going but we can’t.

“It’s different when we set up a longer camp. We’ll stay for a few fortnights sometimes, and that’s more than enough time to build a nest and get through it. And if you want someone in the nest with you, there’s always someone around who doesn’t mind doing nothing for a little while.” He exhaled heavily, his entire body seeming to shrink down from the loss. “I can’t do that here.”

“Of course you can,” Gil-galad said, keeping his voice calm and reassuring.

“I can’t,” Elrond insisted firmly. “I don’t have family here, or a tribe. I hardly know anyone outside of the Hall besides Erestor and you. He detests everything to do with being like this, and I can’t bother you when you already do so much for me.”

‘You damn well can,’ He almost said. Instead, he pressed his free hand to his chest and said, with complete sincerity, “I am honored that you feel safe and comfortable enough in my house to nest, and as my dear friend, I am more than happy to spend as much time with you as I can.”

Elrond looked like he didn’t know what to do with himself at this, so Gil-galad patted the edge of the pile and asked, “Mind if I join you now?”

His face lit up and he shifted to one side, making a little room for him to squeeze in beside him. The closet was not designed for one, let alone two occupants so it was a snug fit. Gil-galad had to hike up his robes and shimmy his way in, apologizing when he invariably trod on some part of the other. Elrond gave no indication that he minded in the slightest and pressed up against him as soon as he’d settled.

Gil-galad shifted around until he could rest his cheek on the top of Elrond’s head, and soon found himself with two armfuls of very happy and very cuddly half-elf. As cramped as he was, this still beat listening to counselors drone on and on about the latest harvest or how many sheep had sore feet.

They stayed like that, half sitting, half lying, for a good long while.

Eventually, he felt movement beside him and opened his eyes—when had he closed them?—to see Elrond shifting around as he pulled up parts of the bedding with his fingers and toes.

“What are you doing?” He asked, fascinated.

Elrond stopped, and from how his voice sounded, he was surely blushing. “Making it more comfortable.”

“Ah,” Was his reply. Then, because he couldn’t help himself and because there was something so profoundly uncomfortable with thinking about anyone shutting themself away in a dark closet because they didn’t want to be perceived as a burden, he added, “A bed really would be better for that.”

Elrond sighed and pressed his face against his shoulder. “I don’t want to be in my room.”

“Because it’s too empty, right.”

They were quiet for a bit. Elrond resumed fluffing up the bedding, his breath coming out in little huffs as he worked. Gil-galad pondered the issue.

At length, he spoke again. “Are you in here because you don’t want to be in your room, or because you want to be in here specifically?”

Elrond twisted his shoulders so he could look up at him. “I don’t want to be in my room or in anyone’s way.”

Gil-galad hummed in thought. “What about my room?” He could see the argument building in the other’s expression, so he pressed onward. “You can’t say you’re in the way if I invite you.”

A pause, and then, “But you need your bed.”

He snorted. “I certainly don’t need to sleep in it until tonight. Not to say you should be done by then. There’s more than enough room for two.”

“You really wouldn’t mind?” Elrond asked, his voice small and muffled as he hid his face again.

“Of course not,” Gil-galad ran a hand down his companion’s unbraided hair. He rather surprised himself with the touch, it felt far more intimate than he expected.

“If you change your mind, you can tell me to go and I will.”

“I’m sure I won’t.”

“But you can.”

He really was insistent over some of the most peculiar things. “Thank you for letting me know.”

They settled for a moment, Gil-galad not wanting to push too hard. He had plenty of time before he needed to leave for a meeting that he really couldn’t skip. There was no rush.

Elrond took a deep breath. “I’m ready to go.”

Gil-galad sat up, his back complaining at the movement after spending so long in such an odd position. “Excellent.”

“You don’t mind if I bring this too?” He asked, hesitant again as he delicately picked up an old hat.

“I rather hoped you would. Mind if I help?”

“Please.” Elrond laughed at himself, “It’s a bit more than I meant to gather.”

Together, they collected up the odd assortment of quilts and clothes and curtains and, yes, even a saddle blanket, and walked to Gil-galad’s room.

#the story i've been talking about #now kiss #they're precious your honor #please let them realize they're more than just friends (or patron and benefactee)#sometimes you just want to nest but you're kind of embarrassed about it and your friend has to reassure you it's fine #why a saddle blanket? because I said so #the silmarillion #gil galad #elrond #elrond and gil galad #silm abo au #grimwing writes

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pollyna · 1 year

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Six months of deployment, even when he isn't the one flying but giving directions and instructions, leave Maverick more tired than any other tour before. He can almost feel it in his bones why Sunny is stepping down the moment he's going to turn sixty.

All he wants to do is sleep for the next seven years and lay on his bed until he can't anymore. But he promised to his class and to the Daggers to go out for a drink, and seriously, how could he say no when Halo looked at him with shiny, pleading eyes?

"Just one drink and then I'm gone." He says it out loud and he doesn't know if he's trying to convince himself or Javy, even if the other pilot is looking at him like he knows it's all a ruse and Mav is going to stay until the end of the night. But no, no, it's not going to happen; he needs t- oh. Oh.

"Penny, I'm looking good, right?" he asks to the woman behind the counter.

"Yeah?" she answers, but she doesn't seem sure of why he should ask her that question until her eyes follow what, who, is in Mav's line and "oh Maverick" she says laughing softly. "You look handsome, he won't be able to resist you."

Someone snouts behind his back, and Bradley, behind Neil, almost screams, "Seriously, dad?! Oh my god. Penny, I'll need a beer, I can't stand to watch this all over again."

What a dramatic child he helped raise, but Pete is on a mission and fuck being tired. He's going to take the man in front of him home at the end of the night, or he's not going to go home at all.

The man is looking at him from across the room when he starts moving his first steps, and he bites his lip so he doesn't start smiling like an idiot or worse, let his cheeks go red. They meet in the middle of the room, and jesus Maverick is really going to hit the jackpot this time around.

"Hi stranger"

"Hello to you" he answers, and God, why does he feel like twenty-four all over again, stumbling on his feet to get the attention of a particular person?

"I heard you're a pilot. Your friends back there couldn't stop talking about how good you are behind the cockpit." They're going to write, here rests Pete Mitchell, died because a too handsome man killed him simply by talking.

"I'm the best." He smirks and what a dumb way to answer, but it should be consider a miracle he isn't answering monosyllabic.

"Are you sure of that, sweetheart?" He whispers against his ear and Mav's hands close around his shirt.

He's going to answer, he swears, but when he looks in the man's eyes, they're so close, so fucking close, he just has to tilt his head to kiss him. And so he does, until he can feel his lungs running out of oxygen, but even then he doesn't move far, just enough to look at him in the eyes.

"Welcome back home, love" Ice whispers before kissing him again.

(It takes Rooster pleading for mercy, Penny asking and Slider removing Mav from Ice to make them stop and promise to not kiss anymore until after they'll be alone. The promises last two hours before they're both tipsy and handsy all over again.

On the back of the cab, Mav's hand are around Ice's face all over again. "I missed you so much" he whispers.

"I missed you too, babe" Ice answers, hugging him against his chest "I'm glad you're back."

Mav hums in response and yeah, maybe he is still a little tired but he's going home with the man; he said he was going home too, so sleep can wait for another couple, or maybe four, hours.)

Val Klimer application post.

#tom iceman kazansky #pete maverick mitchell #pete sees tom after 6 months and his brain goes fucking .exe #bradley🤝second hand embarrassment: 36 years later is still present #it's terrible idk who to write cheesy things sorreh #icemav #they're so in loveeeeee #your honor pls help me #married icemav #the dagger squad #ron slider kerner #penny benjamin #post tpg: maverick #top gun: maverick

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