The walk back to the House of Elrond was quite a long one and Haldir found that by the time he had reached its gardens, the long flaxen strands of his hair had dried to a lightly sunny hue, the freshness of the rivers caress reviving his senses. He had chosen to bathe upstream of the taunting advisor, for it seemed everywhere he lingered, the dark elf was already there.

And Haldir watched him. Although he loathed to admit it, he watched. Soon, Lord Elrond would call for Council and then, the advisor would be gone, at least for the rest of the afternoon. Too bad Glorfindel would be gone as well. The thought of the golden Lord brought the faintest curve of a smile to Haldirs lips, for he very much loved the elf more so than he had ever cared for another. Bonding with Glorfindel was the crest of pleasure's peak, for to know another on such an intimate level rather than a mere carnal one was something Haldir had never dreamed he would himself experience. The pitfalls of love were among those he wished to avoid, yet Glorfindel had stolen him. . .mind, body and soul. Claiming him as his own. Making him a part of something far greater.

A flicker of movement with the dining hall caught his eye as he passed, drawing him out of his blissful thoughts and into the present. Perhaps the servants were still about, cleaning up the remnants of breakfast, a meal that Haldir had neglected. Intrigued by the thought of possibly snagging a last minute snack before lunch was served, Haldir began to stroll into the large room, but stopped short upon recognition of the one who resided there.

Erestor. Always Erestor. It was as if some strange force was intent on the clashing of their wills, for once again, Haldir found himself stumbling unwittingly upon the dark advisor. Thankfully, the elf did not see him and Haldir withdrew into the cover of shadows, watching.

Erestor swept a gloved hand over the polished dining table, fingering the soft petals of the roses that adorned it admiringly. Plucking a single flower from the impressive bouquet, he brought it to his nose and inhaled deeply, savoring the heady fragrance with an approving smile before tucking it into the top of his braided hair, a gesture that Haldir found to be rather poncy.

"You are watching me again, Haldiiirrr," Erestor purred, his back still to the March Warden as he stroked the thick plait of dark hair that he had draped over his shoulder. "Do you perhaps see something you like?"

Haldir snorted indignantly. "I see only the vain musings of an absurdly adorned elf."

Erestor chuckled as he turned with a sweeping flourish of crimson-lined ebony, the heels of his boots clicking upon the wooden floor with an insistent tap as he approached the stiffly postured Warden of the March, fingers of both hands interlaced loosely before him. The richly spiced aroma of exotic woodland grasses wafted once again to caress Haldirs senses as Erestor glided closer, coming to stand far too close to Haldir for his liking.

"Have you no appreciation of beauty, Haldir?" Erestor asked, plucking the rose from its odd resting place and sweeping the velvety petals across his own lips before caressing the March Warden's cheek in much the same manner, twirling the stem slowly between his gloved fingers as it slid along the palely smooth skin.

Stiffening, Haldir swatted the errant hand away with a sneer. "Do not seek to touch me again, lest you relish the thought of losing a finger."

Erestor laughed, a low, mellifluous sound that rose from the depths of his chest. "Ah, Haldir. . . how little you understand in the ways of permission."

Haldir bristled. "What nerve you have, mellon. . ." he growled, his hand lighting upon the hilt of one scimitar. "I would hold my arrogant tongue if I were you, lest someone teach you some manners!"

"Perhaps I would rather you hold it for me," Erestor said slyly, his hand snaking around the March Warden's waist and jerking him roughly against his chest.

"You little.....!" Haldirs snarl of rage was cut short by a pair of sensuous lips enveloping his mouth in a searingly demanding kiss, the warmth of a teasing tongue invading the moist cavern with a taunting flick as it lazily perused about, thoroughly tasting and exploring him.

Long fingers wound within his flaxen tresses, securing a fervently painful grip before snapping his head back with a gasp as sharp teeth sank into the flesh of his neck, the hot mouth nibbling and sucking upon the tender skin, branding him with the mark of lust. And against his will, the March Warden moaned softly.