#salmar

He made himself more comfortable on the grass and played a haunting air about a deep and abiding love that was found, and then carelessly lost. It was a theme of such indescribable beauty that it soon reduced Maglor to tears. When he stopped, nothing could be heard save for water bubbling in amber fountains and golden fruit swaying gently in a cooling wind.

"That was most wondrous, my lord." Maglor came closer, and held out his hand. Salmar returned the harp, but only after forming a most wicked idea. His student and companion had struggled to play for many a day now. Perhaps an incentive to do better was needed. "May I try again?"

Salmar agreed. Then he bided his time till the right moment presented itself. Maglor plucked at silver strings, unaware at first of the hand gliding up his thigh. Then warmth radiated through the silks of his robes. He opened his eyes, and shivered.

"My lord?"

"Do you want me to stop?"

Maglor licked his lips, his passions slowly rising when Salmar gave his thigh a gentle squeeze. Certain he was flushing, he said, "No. Never."

"Good." Salmar was pleased. His hand now slipped beneath the hem of Maglor's tunic, gentle but determined. "And so long as you play well, I will keep rewarding you. Carry on."

The elf continued even when a practiced hand moved between his thighs. Salmar gave another playful squeeze and smiled when the music eventually faltered, and he was rewarded with a moan that was as bewitching as his student’s singing.

"Start again," he commanded, and he drew back his hand.

Maglor gazed at his mentor, his startling azure eyes now dark with wild need. Salmar saw it, and thought no sight in all of Arda was more alluring.

"I will touch you," Salmar urged. "But as an enticement, nothing less than that. So if you want me to keep pleasuring you while you play...."

“I will play. I will play.” Maglor took to his instrument and sang again, greedy for more. Salmar waited and listened, then continued to indulge in his own way. His hand found its way back to that place between Maglor's thighs, and he groaned under his breath when he found the elf already stiff to his touch.

"You have been blessed in more ways than one," he admitted without shame. "And nothing pleases me more than knowing you are mine."

Maglor eagerly lapped up the praise. He did not waver either, no matter what his body demanded. Salmar took note of his composure and set himself to the task of loosening drawstrings and clasps. Maglor's breath did not hitch until Salmar took him into his hand.

"Continue playing," he insisted.

“Hail and well met, my lord.” Salmar dipped to his knees, then shivered when the Lord of Waters touched him on the shoulder, caressing it in a way that was familiar only to him.  

“Arise, Lirilo.” Ulmo extended his other hand, and he took it. “And tell me what you have beside you.”

“A gift, my lord.” Ulmo lifted a chest wrapped in soft doeskin lying in the sand. He loosened the thin strip of ribbon that bound it and lifted the lid to reveal the treasure within. “Tis a horn, my lord, and the only one of its kind. It holds all the songs of the sea, of the dark waters that flow within the earth, and of the creatures that call them home.”

Ulmo accepted the gift and studied it for himself. It held the understated brilliance of a pearl, and the craftsmanship was unlike anything the Lord of Waters had seen.

“This is a worthy gift,” Ulmo replied with gratitude. “And one that would be treasured, I assure you.”

Salma smiled, his gaze firmly on the fine sand. They may have been Ainur, he and Ulmo, and so much more than that to each other, but it did not alter the fact that Ulmo was one of the Aratar, and far greater than he. It was only proper that he conduct himself so. Ulmo sighed. He lifted his chin and cupped it in his hand.

“How many times must I ask you not to hide those beautiful eyes from my own?”

“One more time, my lord,” Salmar flushed, and glanced at him playfully. “As always.”

The shadow of a smile played across Ulmo’s lips. “As always,” he echoed, and kissed him on the mouth. It was light, tremulous, and tasted faintly of salt. Salmar sighed when Ulmo held him in a warm embrace. He let go of the chest and twined his arms around his companion’s neck, his passions inflamed. When Ulmo drew him even closer, it was plain his own passions were reaching their peak.

“That was far sweeter than any gift.” Ulmo stepped back and looked over his shoulder. The whales swam further away and pulled the chariot with them beneath the water, as if an unheard voice commanded them to. “Let us stay here a while, Lirilo. I am in no hurry to return."

Stay they did, until Ulmo took Salmar with him to his own halls deep below the sea.