Elfmeet

ELFMEET By Fiona Glass

ELFMEET A Chippewa Publishing Publication, September 2005 Chippewa Publishing, LLC. 678 Dutchman Drive, Suite 3 Chippewa Falls, Wisconsin 54729 Available Formats: Adobe Acrobat Reader (PDF) Other available formats: Palm Doc (PDB), Rocket/REB1100 (RB), Pocket PC 1.0+ Compatible, Franklin eBookMan (FUB), hiebook (KML), iSilo (PDB), Mobipocket (PRC), OEBFF Format (IMP), Microsoft Reader (LIT) ELFMEET Copyright © 2005 Fiona Glass Edited by Ricki Marking-Camuto Cover Art by Billy Tackett Proofed by Amanda Baker ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. This book may not be reproduced in whole, or in part, by any means, without the written consent of the publisher. This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination, or are fictitiously used. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons living or dead, is entirely coincidental. WARNING: The contents of this book are intended for mature audiences only. Language, violence, and sexual situations may apply.

ELFMEET

Jon was running away from home the day he met Kes. He had stepped aside from the King’s Highway for a while, too fearful of being recognised and sent back home. Out here in the Wildlands, in the woods, heaths, and criss-crossed network of paths, he felt safe. There was almost nobody about, and when he stopped in some hamlet for the night, nobody gave him a second glance…until Kes. He had stopped at a woodsmen’s village this particular night. It was larger than some of the recent places he had stayed and boasted two inns; one at either end of the main street. The first looked too grand for his needs, with lamplight at every window and stabling for six horses, but the second was more modest and he rented a room for the night. “Two silvers for the room and half a copper for a meal and drink,” the landlord said, hardly bothering to look up from the tankard he was polishing. He took the coins, pushed across a large and rusted key, and indicated the stairs with a nod of his head. “Second door on the right. There’s a pump in the yard if you want a wash, and supper’s served in ten minutes.” The mention of food made the juices rise in Jon’s mouth. If he was quick, he just had time to scoot upstairs, dump his pack on the bed, and run back down to the yard. The pump was old and as rusty as the key, but it brought forth a good spout of water when he yanked the handle—enough to wash off the dust of the road. Hair damp enough to stick to his brow and water still dripping from his chin, he went back into the bar, claimed his plate of stew, and took it to a table that was close to the fire’s warmth without fully being in its light. He was the only customer in the bar—presumably a village as small as this and as far from the king’s road got little in the way of trade…and whatever trade there was probably made straight for the other inn. Not that he minded; he was wary of too many folk just now, and besides, if there was nobody else here, he might cadge another plate of stew. It was not to be. Before he could finish wiping up the gravy with his bread, the heavy door slammed open and another man strode in. Jon tried to look at him without being seen himself—rather a difficult task in an otherwise empty bar—and saw a man of impressive height. Jon himself was tall, but this fellow would top him by a head. In the gloom of the bar, he could see little except a cascade of long black hair, and a bow and sword strapped to the man’s chest and back. He wondered who this intriguing stranger might be, and was grateful for the chance to find out as the landlord slouched back in.

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“Yes? Oh, it’s one of you. You’re lucky we’re slack tonight otherwise I’d kick you straight back through the door, but as it is, I suppose you can stay.” “Thank you kindly. Your generosity overwhelms me,” said the stranger with an extravagant bow. “Hmph,” the landlord said with a scowl. “What will you drink?” “Ale, of course, and it had better be your best. A plate of that stew, too, while you’re at it; it smells good.” “Too good for the likes of a ruffian like you,” was the laconic reply, but the landlord handed over an overflowing cup and plate, and the stranger made his way towards the fire. Jon was hoping that he would choose a seat close to the leaping flames, and it horrified him when the stranger turned aside and pulled out a chair at his own table instead. “Hello, there, mind if I join you?” he said, banging the plate down so hard that a spoonful of gravy slopped over onto the trestle. “Oops, now that’s a waste of good food.” He began to spoon chunks of meat into his mouth, chewing, drinking, and grinning at the same time, and Jon found the grin at least was infectious. “You must have been hungry,” he said at last, as he watch the plate scraped clean then licked. The sight of the man’s small pink tongue cleaning the last traces of gravy from the tin did strange things to his cock but he tried to ignore it, shifting in his seat. “Starving,” said the man, banging the plate down at last with a contented belch. “And who might you be, pretty thing?” Jon blushed. He knew he was still boyish in spite of his years, and it annoyed him that he had yet to develop a broad chest or a lantern jaw or a thick bushy beard like the other village lads. “My name’s Jon,” he said in his deepest voice. “And I’m Kes,” said the stranger. “Short for Kestrel.” “Oh! Then you’re...” “An elf? Yes. Why do you think the landlord was so reluctant to serve me? We’re known as wandering vagabonds in these parts.” “It’s a nice name,” said Jon. It sounded inadequate but he could not think of anything else to say. “I’ve always liked birds…and animals, too, better than people half the time.” He fought, and failed, to keep the bitterness out of his voice. “You reckon?” Kes’ voice, by comparison, lacked expression but suddenly his hand snaked out to pull the hair away from Jon’s ear and feel the tip. “What the—?” said Jon, yanking himself away from the unwelcome touch. “What are you doing?” “Sorry, my mistake,” said Kes, but did not bother to explain. Jon took refuge in his beer, upending the tankard to tip the last few precious drops down his throat. He had always hated being pawed about—something that happened far too often with his looks the way they were—and his ears were the 5

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most sensitive of all. He’d been having strange dreams about them lately, too—dreams that involved blood and fear and pain. He could feel them twitching at the memory now. “Want another?” Kes asked as he finally put his tankard down. “I’ll buy.” “Er, yes. Thanks.” Jon tried to keep the surprise out of his voice. In his rather limited experience, strangers did not spend their hard earned cash on each other, especially not for something as ephemeral as drink. Kes strode away to the bar and Jon found his eyes following in the elf’s wake. He was a magnificent creature and no mistake—tall, slender, and handsome, with an amazing fall of ebony hair. Jon’s hand went to his own locks, shorn just past his ears in the manner of the village, and he sighed. He had always hankered after long hair and had never been allowed to have it. Perhaps now that he had run away, he could grow it again. “So, what’s a young fellow like you doing out on the road?” asked Kes, reappearing and setting two brimming tankards on the table. “Hmm? Oh, sorry, I was dreaming. I’m running away,” Jon said, lifting his new cup. Kes laughed a great booming laugh that filled the room and echoed off the rafters in the roof. “Are you sure you should be telling me that?” he said at last. Jon shrugged. He knew he should be cautious about giving information to strangers. What if his father had hired this fellow to seek him out? Nevertheless, it was late, he was getting sleepy, and Kes did not look like any bounty hunter he had ever seen. He had a strange feeling he could trust the elf. “You don’t look like the type to carry tales to my father.” “Ah, but what about your mother?” Kes teased. “We elves have a way with the ladies, you know!” “My mother’s dead.” Straight away, the laughter ceased and Kes reached for his hand. “Then I am sorry indeed. You miss her?” Jon sat for a while, staring into the dancing flames of the fire. Finally, without conscious thought, the words began to spill. “Yes, I do. I miss her terribly. She looked after me all my life and now she’s just not here, like…like a tooth that’s fallen out and left an empty space.” He sighed. “I don’t know what’s happened these last few years. I don’t feel any different, but the whole village seems to have got old. Boys and girls I played with have got married and had kids of their own, and my parents just sort of withered away. My mother died last year and now my father’s a bent old man. I know I should have stayed to help, but I just couldn’t take it any more. I started to think the village was cursed and I was the only one to escape. Even now I keep expecting them to come after me and drag me back to share their fate.” 6

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Kes treated Jon to a searching stare, but said nothing more. At length, he finished his second drink, put the cup down, and smiled. “Why don’t you come with me? You look like you could do with cheering up. And what I said just now about the ladies wasn’t strictly true…” Jon’s mouth fell open in a little “o” of surprise. “Me?” he squeaked. “Yes, you, you’re an attractive lad, you know. I’m sure you’ve been fighting them off for years.” “Well, yes, but…” He hung his head and wished yet again for a curtain of hair that would fall across his face and hide his eyes, but his body was urging him onwards with a strong voice of its own. Kes was the most wonderful being he had ever seen, and the thought of lying with him brought the heat of need to his cheeks. “I have a room upstairs,” he said at last. “Indoors? Oh, no, elves never sleep indoors. Come outside into the grass beneath the trees and we can watch the stars while we mate.” Jon hesitated to take the outstretched hand. “I’ve paid for the room and my stuff’s up there.” “Is that all that’s worrying you? You can collect your things in the morning. Come on.” “All right,” he said at last and felt a weight slide off his shoulders. He took Kes’ hand, which was large and callus-rough, and felt it squeeze his own. The thrill of the first touch sang through him, warming his limbs, and feeding the fire in his veins and he felt his cock stir again in his pants. Oh, but it felt good to be touching another man like this, even if it was an elf. Back in the village, he had done it once or twice, but sleeping with another man was supposed to be wrong. Jon and the other man always had to creep about and hide, but Kes was pulling him towards the door as though there was no such thing as shame, and for some reason, that felt right. As they reached the door, the landlord glanced up, and called out in alarm. “Hey, young ‘un, don’t you be going off with the likes of him. One of the fairies, he is, or as near as dammit, and you know what they say about folks what goes with the fairies.” “They say they never come back unchanged,” Jon replied. “But that’s all right, I’m not sure I want to stay the way I am.” With that, he grasped Kes’ hand more tightly and followed him out of the door. The night was cool and clear. A new moon was rising over the village roofs and tiny snowflake stars dusted the sky. As they left the houses behind, the stars grew ever brighter until they filled Jon’s sight, sparkling like jewels against the black cloth of the sky. He breathed deep. “They’re beautiful,” he said. “I never really stopped and looked at them before.”

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Kes smiled and wrapped an arm around his waist. “Yes, they are beautiful. There are lots of beautiful things in this world that men never take the time to see.” Just past the last straggling buildings, he led Jon along a narrow path and into the woods. It was quiet in here with the deep silence of air that was rarely disturbed, and Jon felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand up. There was magic in the air, and a faint, silvery music that tinkled in the breeze, and if he wasn’t much mistaken, there were eyes amongst the leaves. “Who are they?” he whispered, holding as close to Kes as he could. “Just the rest of my tribe; don’t worry, they will watch over us and bless our mating,” Kes whispered back. Jon found himself in a clearing full of white flowers and the longest, softest grass he had ever seen. The trees formed a circle; their branches raised high to give a clear view of the sky. The moon had vanished behind some wispy cloud but the stars were still there, larger and more brilliant than ever, forming a vast and glittering necklace around the world. He stood and stared in awe until Kes tugged and he tumbled down amongst the grass stems in a tangled heap of leggings and limbs and hair. He tried to shuffle about so that their heads and chests were level, but it was hard with Kes’ arms wrapped so tightly round him and Kes’ hands making a journey of their own, exploring him inch by inch. He began to squirm, gasping as a finger found his nipple and another his lips. Opening his mouth, he sucked the finger in and licked it, grinning when Kes gasped in return. Jon’s hands were wandering, too, seeking the ties to Kes’ clothes, tugging with frustration when he could not get them undone. “Wait…let me.” Kes began to unlace his jerkin himself. Jon watched in the starlight as the pale skin emerged. The skin was cool and smooth, like polished quartz or moonlight on an icy pond and he rested his fingers on it, feeling the warmth leach out of him and into the other’s body as though Kes were thirsty and drinking his heat. “Feels good,” said Kes, flinging his tunic off and baring a bit more flesh. “Let me do the same to you?” Reluctantly, Jon let go and set about unfastening his own clothes. His jerkin flew off and landed in a nearby bush and his boots he simply kicked into the air. Kes’ hands were sure on his belt, helping him to undo the loops and drawing his hose down his legs, and he was free. Just for a moment, he thought about the eyes and blushed that his body was visible to them all, but Kes bent his head and kissed his thigh, and all thoughts fled. The warm breath tickled his thigh, the soft grass tickled his back, and a moth fluttered against his cheek and tickled that, too. He squirmed again, bringing his

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body into closer contact with Kes, and the sudden thrill stole the breath from his throat. “Oh! It’s like a spark from the fire!” Kes raised his head and smiled. It was darker now, the stars dimming their light to match the mood, and Jon had to trace the curl of Kes’ lips to be sure the smile was there. The lips curved into a bud and kissed his fingertips, and he took away his hand and replaced it with his mouth. Kes’ lips were cool, too, though less so than his chest, and he tasted not of stew and beer but of nectar, sweet and ripe. Jon sucked and sent his tongue flicking inside to find more and moaned as Kestrel pulled away, but not for long. Kes was touching him now, resting the tips of his fingers on his chest, and he could feel the warmth he had lost seeping back, heating his skin in whorls and trails. He murmured, savouring the sensation, and Kes’ hand slipped lower, brushing his belly, then his hip, then the thin shade of hair that led to the end of his quest. Jon’s staff was already hard, and his murmurs became whimpers as Kes wrapped long fingers around it and began to pull. “Ah! So good, so good, don’t stop.” For a moment, he wondered who had spoken the words and who was begging so pitifully for the pleasure not to end. For a moment, too, he remembered the silent eyes, still watching his every move. Soon the heat passing between their bodies grew too much, and hardly knowing his own strength, he flipped Kes over and pounced, straddling the narrow hips with his knees and lowering himself towards Kes’ proud spear. “No!” Kes gasped, drawing his knees up and trying to roll away. “Stop! You’ll hurt yourself.” “I don’t care,” he replied, insane with need, and finished the move in one swift thrust, impaling himself without preparation or fear. The fire burned inside him now, a flame of sudden pain lancing into his gut, but the pain felt good, and around them the music had changed, the tinkling bells segueing into a steady, sullen beat. It quickened, matching the blood pounding in his veins, and the rhythm of thrust and pull in which he rode his lover. Kes lay back with his eyes shut; whether in ecstasy or denial, Jon couldn’t tell, but the pole of his sex lay long and hard in Jon’s arse, and the sheer power of it took Jon’s breath away—wide, so very wide, stretching him further than he’d ever been stretched before. Sweat dripped down his brow onto Kes’ chest below, pooling on the labouring white flesh and turning to steam wherever their fingers roamed. Obeying some unknown instinct, Jon lowered his head and licked Kes’ nipple through the steam. Kes jerked as though on strings, so he did it again and this time elicited a groan. Kes’ arms came round his head and drew him down and they shared another kiss, full and deep and very, very wet, their breath misting in the cool forest air. Finally, Jon felt the hard shaft inside him grow, flexing into a bulbous tip that swelled, strained, and sent its searing burden of seed deep inside. 9

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The heat and pain grew until he was dizzy with it—shouting and bearing down to feel every last drop. He took his own staff in hand and pulled, and with a single stroke, it burst forth and rained its seed across the white of Kes’ chest. The music was a hammer beat now, a ringing forge of noise that surged until he thought his head would explode. Mixed in with the drums were whispers that he fought at first to hear, let alone make sense of, but as the blood ceased its path of war through his ears, he began to distinguish a word here and there—the same few words repeated over and over by a hundred voices or more. “Jonquil…” “Welcome, Jonquil.” “Welcome to Elfmeet, fellow elf.” He lay in the long grass, dazed, for a long while. Kes had rolled off to let him breathe but stayed in touching range, his out flung arm brushing Jonquil’s hip. Jon could feel the comfort passing through the link and was grateful for it. Eventually, he squirmed around until he could see his lover’s face, gleaming softly in the moonlight. “Did you always know?” he asked. “From the moment I first saw you in that bar, I suspected. You’re tall for a human, and too fey by half. It’s why I felt your ears. Speaking of which…” He reached for them again, murmuring soothing words as Jonquil tried to pull away. “No, I was right the first time. They’re definitely round.” “I don’t understand, isn’t that impossible?” Kes frowned. “I don’t know. It should be, but I’m no expert. There’s only one person who might know.” “Your Queen?” Jon had heard tales of the Elf Queen who was reputed to be the wisest woman in the world. “Not exactly, I was talking about your father.” They argued about it all the way back to the bar. The sun was rising over the rooftops like molten gold and the air was alive with birdsong, but Jonquil barely noticed the loveliness that surrounded him. “I don’t want to go back,” he said for the fiftieth time. “I wouldn’t have run away in the first place if I’d wanted to go back.” Kes looked down his nose. “It’s your choice, of course,” he said with a shrug. “But if it was me, I’d want to know.” That silenced Jon because he, too, wanted to know. He wanted to know why an elf had been raised as a human child, and he wanted to know who his real parents were and why they had not brought him up. He wanted to know how he had ended up in that particular village, and how old he really was, and half a hundred other things that all buzzed through his brain at once. Most of all, he wanted to know what had happened to his ears, but he was scared of going back. His father might 10

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be dead by now, or weak, ill, and angry with him for running away. He knew he should have stayed to look after the old man and felt the strangling tendrils of guilt twist around his heart. “But if you’d stayed, you wouldn’t have met me,” said Kes. Jonquil jumped. He knew so little of elves; he had forgotten that his lover would be able to read his thoughts. “True,” he said, and shrugged. He knew what he must do—it was only a matter of finding the courage. “Very well, I will go back if you will come with me.” Kes smiled. “Is that all? Of course I’ll come. We’ll be together for all time now. Just try keeping me away!” **** The old man straightened slowly from his task of sweeping leaves from the front step and watched the two tall figures come over the brow of the hill. It was growing late and the setting sun shone into his eyes forcing him to shade them with one hand; his sight was not too good these days but at length he could see enough to make them out in the distance. They were on horseback, trotting steadily with a minimum of baggage to slow them down. Both were tall—one dark, the other very fair—they were holding hands as they rode. He sighed, set down his broom, and went inside. He was waiting for them when the knock came. “Come in.” His voice was weak now, too—a mere scrape of the rich baritone he once commanded, but it served. He had been right about their height; they had to stoop to avoid hitting their heads on the lintel of the door. Jon seemed to have grown this past week or perhaps he himself had shrunk again. His bones were getting soft, which was the trouble. Sometimes he felt like he was melting away a little more each day, skin hanging in folds from flesh that was no longer there. It was good of the lad to come back, though. He had not expected that last week, when he watched his son sneak out after nightfall with all his worldly goods in a pack on his back. He was sure his son had left for good now that his mother was dead. He peered at the lad, noting other ways he had changed. It was not just the height—there was a new purpose—a new maturity about him that had not been there last week. Presumably it was due to this gangling black-haired fellow at his side—the one with the challenging gaze and ready-for-anything stance. At least the fellow had a nice face—a good face, if he wasn’t much mistaken. If he would have called Jon back to his own kind, he could have done a lot worse than him. “You’re keeping well, then?” he asked his son and heard the guarded note in the brief reply. “Yes, Father.” 11

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“Good, good, and…er…who is this fine fellow?” His son glanced at his companion, he saw, as though for approval—approval that he seemed to have found. “His name is Kestrel and he’s an elf and so am I. My name is Jonquil now.” The old man sighed and picked up the object he had placed on the table minutes before, after he had seen them coming and known why they were here. “You’ll be wanting this then,” he said, holding out the jar. Jon took it, awkwardly, and peered inside. “What is it?” “Can’t you guess?” The black-haired man stepped forward and took the jar out of Jon’s grasp. “I can, at least. Why did you do this, old man? Did you not know an elf’s ears are his most sensitive part? Why did you deny your son that?” His face darkened and was no longer kind. The old man quailed and held his hands up to ward off the expected blow. It never fell. Instead, there was a gasp of horror from Jon. “My ears? You cut off my ears?” His hands went as if by reflex to either side of his head, covering and hiding the stumps that remained. The old man saw, and felt tired. “Only the tips, we kept them, after… Well, your mother insisted. Said you might have need of them one day. We did it with the best intentions, you know. You have to believe that. After we found you abandoned by the roadside and took you in, we didn’t want folks treating you any different than if you really were our own. Although, you always were marked out as different, even without those pointy ears.” He shook his head, still feeling the familiar bafflement. They had done the best they could with the lad, but he had never been their own. “Can you do something with them?” he asked the tall fellow at his son’s side. “I’ve heard your people are good with remedies and such.” Jon was still shaking and pale. The old man watched as Kestrel put his arm round his son’s shoulders and peeked him on the cheek. At least Jon had someone of his own now, someone to comfort him and take his departed mother’s place. “I doubt it,” the elf said with a frown. “We’re not quite that skilled, but we’ll keep them. He can take them out and look at them every now and again to remind him of what he really is.” He reached behind him and tucked the jar into the top of his pack. The old man breathed a sigh of relief. He was glad to see them gone—glad he no longer had the reminder of an ancient guilt. They should not have touched Jon’s ears, of course, but he and his wife had been young and lacked the wisdom he had since gained. The old man nodded. “I can give you other things, too, that we kept. A pendant with a lock of hair and a pretty jewel. They may lead you to your real parents. I was going to give them to you soon, anyway, my son, but I could never seem to 12

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find the right time. You know how it is. Now, what did I do with them? Oh, yes, they’re in the chest over here.” Shuffling a little in boots that were too big for his feet, he moved to the chest and heaved open the lid. He soon found the little package tied up with blue thread in a scrap of faded cloth. He turned with it held aloft. “Here, Jon, this should…” The door to the cottage stood ajar, allowing the cool evening air to mingle with the scent of wood smoke from the fire. The room was empty; his visitors had gone, stolen away into the night as though they had never come. He stood for a moment, undecided, and then he replaced the precious package in the chest and closed the lid. He shut the door and locked it, then stoked up the fire to ward off the sudden chill. “He’ll be back,” he told himself, lowering his aching bones into a chair and pouring a small glass of wine. “He’s a good boy, is Jon. He’ll come back one day.”

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About the Author

FIONA GLASS Fiona lives in a rambling Victorian house in Birmingham, UK, with one husband, one visiting cat called Squeak, and far too many spiders. She writes mostly short stories, but also has a collection of gay love stories published. In her spare time (what there is of it), Fiona edits an online homoerotica magazine. In any spare time after that, she reads, gardens, and dabbles in graphic design. Fiona would like to invite you to check out her website for further information on her published works and works-in-progress. http://www.tavaran.pwp.blueyonder.co.uk/fionaglass/

Our Authors love to hear from their readers! You can write to Fiona here: Fiona Glass c/o Chippewa Publishing, LLC. 678 Dutchman Drive, Suite 3 Chippewa Falls, Wisconsin 54729

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