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Galadriel Noldor is a thorn in Halbrand’s side.
It feels like the girl next door is always in his house. She trails at Melian’s heels, absorbing everything she can, and boosts her ego with sweet compliments that make it a hell of a lot more difficult for Hal to cut his sister back down to size later.
At first, his annoyance had little to do with her. It was a consequence of connection, nothing more than misdirected resentment intended for the Noldor sons. The boys never got along, not that this mattered to either set of parents. Year after year, Halbrand was forced to invite them to whatever birthday celebration his mother forced upon him. Every year, Mrs. Noldor forced them to attend, though they made no effort to join in or appear at all pleasant.
The girls were instantly inseparable, though they couldn’t be more different. Galadriel’s bright optimism provides welcome relief from Melian’s sharper edges. Melian takes the lead and Galadriel follows. Galadriel gives. Melian takes and takes and takes.
He wants to tell Galadriel that the moment she’s gone, his sister talks shit about her to anyone who’ll listen— why is she so obsessed with me? like, take a fucking hint and leave me alone— but he doesn’t. Not out of any great loyalty to Melian — she’s a bitch at the best of times— but because he knows that if their friendship falls apart, he might never see Galadriel again.
He doesn’t know what he’d do without those Saturday mornings, watching her play with the dog while Melian sleeps, hair mussed, still wearing the clothes she always sleeps in.
He wishes she’d get new ones, he’d even buy them for her himself if he wasn’t so scared of the connotations. They should violate every ordinance around public decency. The tiny shorts constantly ride up. That threadbare t-shirt might as well scream “bra? what bra?” every time she moves.
And she’s always fucking moving.
“Morning,” Galadriel calls, bounding down the stairs in her pajamas. She’s alone— Melian won’t get up before noon on the weekend.
Hal glances at the digital clock on the oven: 7:45.
He’s usually the lone early bird in a house full of night owls.
Unless, of course, his sister’s best friend has spent the night.
Her bare feet are quiet on the tile floor as those wide eyes flit toward the breakfast nook where he sits.
When he doesn’t respond, she pours herself a cup of coffee— when the hell did she start drinking it black? — and takes his silence as an invitation to join him.
It’s the closest they’ve been in months.
He doesn’t move, except to lift his own mug to his lips. The repetitive motion serves as his anchor to reality, the only thing holding back the image playing itself out in his head as it toes the line between harmless fantasy and irresistible temptation.
He would do anything to taste the drops of dark liquid that glint on her lips, tongue tracing the seam, golden hair soft as silk in his clenched fist. To slip his palm beneath the waistband of those shorts she outgrew three summers ago. To brush his mouth against her ear with warm whispers of quiet now, don’t wake anyone up, can you be a good girl for—
Then he remembers that she’s all of sixteen and gets up from the table without another word.
He wants to blame his mother. After all, the party was her idea.
Or maybe fault lies with his father, who gave in so easily to Melian’s requests for her friend to keep her company.
Everything was fine until his eighteenth birthday.
Halbrand wasn’t even aware of her presence for most of the evening. Her brothers had crept back to their house after less than an hour. Not that he minded. He felt a lot more comfortable without their sneers from the corner.
Maybe a little too comfortable.
He noticed Galadriel when, while leaning over to blow out the candles, he locked eyes with her for a fraction of a second. That’s how long it took for him to realize he was staring at a fourteen-year-old.
Not in any sort of sweet or wholesome way. Like an absolute fucking creep.
Not just any fourteen-year-old. His sister’s best friend. The girl next door.
Galadriel fucking Noldor.
To Halbrand, those few moments stretched on into eternity. Guilt flooded his veins with adrenaline, warming his face and spiking his heart rate. He was certain someone noticed, that it was only a matter of time until someone would call him out on it, or figure him out for the threat he was quickly learning himself to be.
He could not get the image out of his head for the rest of the night. And suddenly it was like she was everywhere he turned, drawing his attention without even realizing it. It didn’t seem to matter how much room he put between them. Time and time again, her laugh cut through all the music and chatter, ringing through Halbrand’s ears as if they were inches apart.
If only she were someone else. If only she were older.
If only he’d noticed a day earlier.
That thought overwhelmed him as he lay in bed that night, running frantic internet searches in hopes that something might reassure him that this was actually totally okay, and not a sure sign of some latent deviance only rearing its ugly head in these first hours of adulthood.
There had to be loopholes for a situation like this. They used to go to school together, for fuck’s sake.
It was only elementary school, sure, but still, that had to count for something, right?
At last, a link popped up, widening his green eyes as hope sprung to life in him.
So there were exceptions after all, provided certain stipulations were met. The key one was that they were not more than four years apart in age.
Halbrand was in the fucking clear.
He breathed a sigh of relief, feeling almost a little silly for spinning so far out. It was perfectly normal to be attracted to the girl next door. It didn’t mean anything at all. In fact, he decided before falling asleep, it was actually kind of sweet.
His thoughts on the matter took an abrupt shift over the breakfast table the next morning.
“Your birthday’s next month, isn’t it?” Melian asked Galadriel through a mouthful of pancakes. “I always forget you were born the year after me.”
Halbrand choked on his orange juice, coughing and sputtering as it went down the wrong way.
“Are you okay?” Galadriel asked, blue eyes wide with concern.
He shook his head and went back to his room until he was sure she was gone.
What the fuck was wrong with him.
Galadriel Noldor, Halbrand learned a few days later, was born four years, one month, and thirty days after him.
It’s a difference of 36,456 hours.
Or 2,187,360 minutes.
Or 131,241,600 seconds, if you want to get technical about it.
To put it in simple (and, frankly, rather crude) terms: the girl next door is jailbait.
Completely and totally off-limits until her eighteenth birthday on March 31st. Two years from now.
Not that he’s counting.
He thought the first year would be the most difficult, when he still had to see her on an almost daily basis, putting up with the Friday night sleepovers she and Melian had turned into a ritual.
“Why can’t you stay at her house?” he grumbled after a few months of this.
Melian wrinkled her nose. “One brother is nowhere near as bad as three. Even if that brother is you.”
The summer before he left for college, she seemed inescapable.
He did what he could to distract himself.
Parties lost their appeal and became nothing more than ways to kill time. Drinking until he blacked out was not an option anymore. The risk of anything less than complete control over himself was too high.
Still, they were better than being at home, where danger, in the form of a teenage girl, might lurk behind any corner.
It wasn’t until late August, in the relative safety of a dorm room more than three hours away, that Halbrand took his first full breath since February.
When he returned home the next summer, fifteen-year-old Galadriel looked significantly more grown up than he’d expected.
He didn’t see her at first, too focused on the game he was playing.
“Whatcha doing?” she asked from over his shoulder.
He jumped out of his seat, wishing he could jump out of his skin. The controller hit the floor, taking out one of his teammates in the process.
Which of you fucking assholes— was all he heard before he ripped off his headset.
“What the hell are you doing here?” He spat the words out.
Galadriel blinked up at him through her lashes, brushing her long golden hair behind her ears. “I didn’t mean to scare you.”
“Wha— scare?— no, I— “ He wasn’t usually one to struggle for words, but she caught him off guard and he couldn’t see an escape.
“For God’s sake, Hal,” Melian muttered, stepping into the room and taking Galadriel by the hand, “stop fucking creeping on my friends.”
His face burned too hot. “I was not creepin—“
But his sister had already pulled the girl out of his room.
“I think your brother hates me,” Galadriel mumbled in the hallway.
By the last summer before senior year, things are much more comfortable. He keeps his distance still, but he doesn’t mind the occasionally forced proximity when he has to drive the girls somewhere, since neither of them have a car of their own.
“But I need it more. Why do you get to take it with you?” Melian whines each summer like clockwork when he loads it up to go back to Eregion.
“Uh, maybe because my name’s on the title?” he says, slamming the trunk shut, and that’s the end of that.
Galadriel doesn’t do well in the backseat, so she’s always up front with him. The girls mostly chatter back and forth or put music on, usually songs he’s heard before, though he can’t sing along to all the words like they do.
One song charting that summer hits a bit too close to home. Even just the opening notes are enough to put him in a bad mood. Despite their protests, he changes the song every time and pretends not to notice how Galadriel observes him from the passenger seat.
He’s waiting in the parking lot of some store they’re currently obsessed with, listening to music and scrolling through his phone, when she appears at the passenger window.
“Thanks,” she smiles when he unlocks the door.
He nods, glancing at the door. “Where’s—“
“Melian should be done in a minute. I just couldn’t handle being in there any longer.” Galadriel’s hands are in her own hair, combing through invisible snags with her fingers. It’s a nervous habit he’s picked up on.
“Did something happen?” he asks carefully.
She shrugs and tries to smile, avoiding his eyes.
He leans over, and she doesn’t move back, instead turning and catching him off guard with how close her face is to his.
Neither of them move for a few tense seconds.
Hal clears his throat. “I was just, um—“
He pulls open the glove box, sliding out a small bag of sour candy. It’s the same kind she always gets at the movies, usually finishing the bag in the car on the way home.
“Here,” he says, offering it to her.
She looks down at the bag, then up at him, a shy smile lighting up her face. “Thanks.”
When she reaches for it, her fingers brush his hand, sending his brain offline so quickly that he forgets to let go.
Galadriel could easily move her hand, but she keeps it in place.
Before he has time to process this, the interior lights pop on.
“Ugh, I can’t believe he was there with her,” Melian complains. “What a dick. But, you know, Gal, it really only makes you look weak to run away like that.”
Halbrand puts the car in drive, resisting the urge to tell his sister to shut the fuck up.
Galadriel tears open the bag with her teeth.
He’s almost asleep one hot night in early August when his phone buzzes.
It’s Melian.
With a roll of his green eyes, he hits ignore, but it immediately rings again.
His sister only remembers he exists when she wants something. Given the vodka he supplied her with before the party, he can’t think of any good reason for her to reach out to him of all people at two in the morning. So, he reluctantly answers.
“What now?” he snaps.
Instead of Melian’s bad attitude, he’s met with a sharp inhale. “Hal?”
Galadriel’s voice sounds off. It’s obvious she’s had a few drinks, but the anxiety brewing beneath makes Halbrand’s heart race.
“Can you come get us?” she continues. “Melian’s… not good.”
“And by not good you mean?”
She hesitates before responding. “Completely shitfaced.”
Fucking fantastic.
Three teenage boys decide they want to be heroes when Halbrand tries to carry his half-conscious sister out of the party.
“What the fuck do you want me to do?” he says to one football player blocking the exit. “My ID’s in my wallet, but, if you haven’t noticed, my hands are pretty full at the moment.”
Taking it upon herself to assist, Galadriel slides her small hand into the front pocket of his jeans.
Hal recoils so fast that he almost drops Melian.
“Gonna puke,” she groans, stirring slightly.
The football player steps closer to her. “You know this guy, Mel?”
She blinks, face contorted like she’s annoyed by the question. It takes her pupils a few tries to focus on his face. “Duh. Brother.”
Hal glares at the kid, who steps aside to let them pass through the door.
“Lemme walk,” she mumbles, hitting him weakly.
Halbrand sets her on her feet, following close behind.
Melian makes it as far as the bushes before she’s sick.
“Galadriel!” some blonde kid calls, stepping outside. “You’re leaving already?”
“Um,” she starts, throwing a glance at Hal that he deliberately ignores in favor of guiding his sister to the car. “Yeah,” she says, with an apologetic laugh, stepping closer to the boy.
Hal gets Melian settled in the backseat and, not for the first time, finds himself wishing he’d been lucky enough to be an only child. Then, he slides into the driver’s seat and starts the car, watching Galadriel and the guy in the mirror.
He keeps trying to touch her and doesn’t notice the tiny movements she takes to evade him.
Or maybe he just doesn’t care.
Halbrand’s jaw is so tense it aches.
He taps the horn twice, prompting another irritated groan from the backseat as he sticks his head out the window. “If you’re coming, get in the fucking car. Now.”
Galadriel does as he says, scurrying into the passenger seat without so much as a goodbye to the boy.
Halbrand watches his form grow smaller and smaller in the rearview.
“Seatbelt,” he reminds Galadriel, once he notices she’s still peering up at him in silence.
Her obedience is instinctive and immediate.
After a few moments of false starts into speech, she reaches for the glove compartment.
Halbrand swats at her hand, but it’s too late, she’s already popped it open.
“Fuck’s sake,” he mutters, doing his best to keep one eye on the road.
Galadriel slides out the bag of sour candy she knows he keeps there, but she leaves it open. It takes him a minute to realize what she has in her other hand, running the tip of her index finger over the jagged edge of the foil. It’s an image that he doesn’t need, added to a mental file of similar memories acquired over the last few years.
“Put it back,” he says, harsher than he intended.
The condom falls from her palm back into place.
He leans over, so close that her exhale tickles his arm, and pushes the compartment closed with a click.
She mumbles “Sorry” through a sticky mouthful of candy, a dusting of citric acid clinging to her lipgloss.
When she slips her fingers into her mouth to suck off the last traces, Halbrand almost runs a red light.
“Don’ feel so good,” Melian slurs from the backseat.
They make it home without incident.
He stays with the girls until Melian is safely in her bed, curled onto her left side. Then Halbrand slips away to his room.
He’s laying in bed, still haunted by the memory of her pink pout’s suction on her fingers, when there’s a soft knock at his door.
There’s only one person it could be, but he’s still surprised when the doorknob turns and Galadriel steps into his bedroom.
Halbrand sits up immediately, though this exposes more of his bare chest to the teenager. He blinks a few times, trying to get his bearings, reminding himself that no matter how many times he’s imagined this, the circumstances are different in reality.
“Is everything okay?” he asks when he finally remembers that he has a voice.
Instead of answering, she turns to close the door behind her.
He could tell her not to. Galadriel can be very good when she wants to be.
I could tell her to do anything and she wouldn’t fucking hesitate.
The thought is automatic, but he’s certain it’s true. It touches something dark in him that he’s tried to suppress for years.
The girl’s steps are nervous but deliberate. There’s no uncertainty here.
She’s almost beside Halbrand’s bed before he speaks again. “Do you need something?”
White teeth dig into her bottom lip. He’s grateful for the blanket so she can’t see his cock tighten in response.
She hesitates, sitting on the side of the bed.
He already knows what she’s here for, but he wants to hear her say it anyway. Two sounds ring in his ears: the girl’s labored breath and his own blood, quickly rushing down, urging him toward a deep, primal pull.
“Galadriel?” he asks.
Baby blue eyes trail along his body. Her chest inflates with each ragged inhale.
Halbrand knows he shouldn’t be staring at a seventeen-year-old girl’s chest.
Especially not this seventeen-year-old girl.
At least, not so openly.
She follows his gaze, lips curling halfway between a smirk and a shy smile as she understands.
Deep in the back of his mind, he knows he should send her away and put a stop to this, once and for all. If he were to lay a finger on this girl, her parents wouldn’t hesitate to ruin the rest of his life.
He cannot go to jail over Galadriel Noldor.
But she slides closer, little by little, testing the water, gauging his reaction.
And he does nothing to stop her.
“Tell me what you need,” he murmurs, words slipping out on the back of his exhale.
She locks her eyes on his, holds his gaze.
Then she lowers her head toward him.
He doesn’t mean to surge up to meet her warm lips.
And if his hand winds itself into her golden hair, it’s an accident.
He definitely didn’t intend to pull her closer, to work her mouth open, hints of sour blooming to life on his tongue as it slips past her lips.
It’s unclear how Galadriel ends up in his lap, but she’s there, pressing him back against the headboard, only surfacing for small sips of air, like she doesn’t want to give him time to think.
He focuses on details. Tiny noises. A whimper on her inhale, a hum in her throat. Each sigh against his mouth takes on a different flavor: satisfied, overwhelmed, eager. She’s still clothed, but her mind is already bare to him.
Halbrand knows she is his for the taking. The thought of claiming her fully takes a rapid shift from fantasy to temptation to fate.
Fate and doom are often indistinguishable.
It’s a simple matter of perspective.
Only when she’s trying to slip out of her shirt does his intellect kick back in. Alarm bells ring through his mind, clearing out all baser instincts.
Hal reaches for what he can.
His right hand wraps around the soft flesh of her upper arm.
His left palm covers her throat.
“What the fuck is wrong with you?” There’s a harsh bite to his panicked whisper.
Galadriel’s brow furrows, her eyes go glassy.
Staring directly into the pools of blue, he watches every tiny ripple within. They collect into drops, leaving wet trails down her cheeks.
He drops his gaze, releasing the girl completely.
Then, before he can say anything, she flees.
The next morning, as a very hungover Melian hugs her friend goodbye, Halbrand surprises himself by speaking.
“Who was that guy last night?”
Each girl’s stare holds a very different sentiment. Melian might as well have “fuck off” tattooed across her forehead, but that’s nothing new. It’s the fear behind Galadriel’s eyes that concerns him.
Melian breaks the silence with an eye roll. “Are you talking about her boyfriend?”
“I have to go,” Galadriel whispers, ducking through the door immediately.
Melian watches her cross the side lawn and slip into her family’s garage. “Why are you so fucking weird?” she mumbles in her brother’s general direction.
“I didn’t know Galadriel had a boyfriend,” he says without thinking, looking through the window at the Noldor house.
Melian’s already staring at her phone, scrolling for someone else to sink her hooks into. “Thank god for Celeborn,” she mutters. “Thought she’d never get over her little crush on you.” She makes a retching sound.
“What?” he asks, head snapping around so fast he tweaks something in his shoulder.
But Melian’s already trudging up the stairs.
He’s too aware of the Noldor house in the weeks that follow.
A car begins to appear out front with increasing frequency, though there’s no routine schedule that it follows. Sometimes Galadriel gets in and they drive away. Sometimes she gets out alone. Sometimes she’s hand-in-hand with the blonde boy.
Occasionally it loiters down the street making it difficult for Halbrand to resist the urge to take the dog for an extra walk. When she finally exits and walks to her door, he takes furtive glances, searching for any shred of evidence as to the full extent of her activities with this Celeborn.
Hal’s short with Galadriel when he sees her.
She can’t look him in the eyes.
Each Friday night, a bag of candy sits on the kitchen table, awaiting Galadriel’s arrival. Halbrand doesn’t leave a note, but it’s always gone by morning. The tell-tale crinkle gives her away when he passes the darkened living room where the girls sit in the glow of the television.
On the last Friday before Halbrand’s return to college, he’s grabbing a drink from the fridge when he hears the familiar crinkle of plastic.
He closes the door to the appliance, then leans against it, watching her.
Galadriel is on her own, in those same pajamas that have driven him mad year after fucking year. An inch-wide sliver of skin is visible between the shirt’s hem and her waistband.
Another crinkle comes as she slides her hand into the bag again, dropping the last pieces of candy into her open mouth. Her lips look wet, like she’s been licking citric acid off of them.
She doesn’t stick her fingers into her mouth like he expects.
Instead, Galadriel crosses to the fridge, stepping too close to him and staring up in a strange blend of expectation and defiance. Almost like she’s daring Halbrand to do something. As if this is all just a silly game for children to play.
In so many ways, she’s still the same little girl who first moved in next door. She doesn’t understand the potential consequences of her actions. Or if she does, she doesn’t care.
And for a moment, neither does he.
He takes hold of her wrist, slipping her index finger past his lips.
Galadriel’s eyes go wide, fixed on his face. Her breath catches with the faintest hum as he sucks the remaining crystals off, tart and sweet taste receptors coming online immediately.
“Hal,” she breathes, so quietly.
He removes the first finger, using his own to secure the next. “A pretty little girl like you should be seen and not heard.”
He doesn’t look at her face, but her inhale is just loud enough to make him hesitate, lifting one expectant eyebrow until she nods her understanding, lips slightly parted.
From this vantage point, he can also see the subtle tremble of her legs as her thighs press close together.
Proceeding as before, Hal slips the remaining fingers into his mouth, one by one, sucking each until he can only taste the slight brine of her skin. He finishes with a soft brush of his tongue along the pad of her thumb, then one pass of her knuckles across his lips.
Her grip tightens when he moves to release her, but she relents just as quickly, taking a furtive glance over her shoulder to the empty doorway.
Placing her hands on his shoulders, Galadriel rises to her tip-toes, practically begging him to kiss her again.
Halbrand watches her for a long minute, weighing his options.
Then, he opens his beer and walks away, leaving Galadriel standing in the kitchen alone.
Halbrand is home unexpectedly the weekend after his twenty-second birthday.
His parents are out with Melian, having been encouraged by her therapist to spend more focused time with her, in hope of resolving some of her behavioral issues. Halbrand has no faith that it’ll work, but he doesn’t mind the peace and quiet of an empty house.
A knock on the front door catches him off guard, and he opens it without thinking.
Galadriel Noldor smiles up at him. “I thought that was your car.”
All Halbrand can do is nod like an idiot.
She waits in silence for a solid thirty seconds, smile turning slightly sheepish. “Hal?”
“Hm?” He blinks a few times, reminding himself that there are less than two months to go. He can let his guard down then, but not a moment sooner.
There’s a kind laugh in Galadriel’s voice. “Are you gonna invite me in?”
“Oh. Right,” he says, stepping back to let her pass.
She smells different, like she’s just put on new perfume. It’s nice, but there’s something unsettling about it too.
“Melian’s not here,” he remembers as she takes a seat on the couch.
Galadriel nods, not in the least surprised. “I actually, um, wanted to see you.”
He doesn’t move from the doorway, trying to process the situation.
They’re so fucking close to the finish line. He’s made it this far already, no point in slipping up now.
She gazes up at him, eyes soft. “There’s no need to keep your distance.”
His feet propel him toward the couch without his conscious consent.
What’re another few weeks? Does it even matter?
He’s barely off his feet before she slides closer. “Did Melian tell you I broke up with Celeborn?”
“Melian’s M.O. is essentially ‘you don’t exist if I don’t see you’ when it comes to me,” he says, swallowing as his eyes search for a safe place to settle.“But I’m sorry. About the breakup.”
“Why?” She tilts her head just a little, brushing her hair to one side. “I’m not.”
He lets this sink in for a second, lifting one eyebrow. “You’re not?”
Galadriel’s smile widens, lighting up her entire face. “Not one fucking bit.”
“Then I take it back.” It’s hard to resist the pull of a matching grin. “Good riddance. May only the shittiest things befall him.”
She laughs for real this time, throaty and full-bodied.
It’s a sound Halbrand hasn’t heard in years, since she usually stifles it into something more reserved, less joyful, when she’s in public.
“I missed that,” he says, intending for it to remain a thought.
Before he can come up with a way to save the conversation, Galadriel leans her elbow on the back of the couch, resting her head in her hand, and whispers, “I missed you.”
He extends his arm toward her, resting it along the back of the couch, while still maintaining a safe distance. Everything feels so precarious at the moment. Even the smallest touch threatens to unravel everything.
The family will be out for a few more hours. It would be so easy to kiss her again, right here in the open, with no one to witness it. To ignore the fear burning at the back of his mind. To take what Galadriel has made clear, albeit without actually using her words, is already his.
Like she’s reading his thoughts, Galadriel drops her hand to meet his.
He freezes, stuck on the small action of her thumb tracing his knuckles.
Galadriel follows his gaze and stops. “Did I do something wrong again?” Her voice is so small.
Again? “No,” Halbrand says, trying to reassure her, despite knowing that everything about this is wrong. “No, it’s not your fault.”
“If you want me to go,” she starts, biting into her lip instead of finishing the thought.
Against his better judgement, he brings a hand to her cheek, brushing the corner of her mouth. “You know I don’t.”
Though she tries to suppress it, there’s no mistaking the tiny shudder that rolls through her. It’s such a small movement, one that probably would’ve gone unnoticed if he wasn’t so familiar with the girl.
When she speaks, it’s so soft, like she doesn’t want to hear the words herself. “Do you want to kiss me?” It comes out in one breath before she can lose her nerve.
“Yes.” The honesty of this admission surprises him, but he makes no effort to retract it. “But,” he clarifies, watching the hope on her face fall back toward tension, “I shouldn’t.”
“Everything turned out okay last time,” she protests, moving her head so that his thumb skims across her bottom lip.
Without thinking, he pulls his thumb down slightly, encouraging her lips to part.
She responds immediately, lightly dragging her teeth along his skin. The soft moan that accompanies this proves too much for him to resist.
His free hand travels to her thigh, sliding up her skirt. She’s wearing thin tights underneath, the fabric rolls a little under the friction of his palm.
He starts on the outside of her leg, learning the contours of her from knee to hip.
Galadriel’s eyes fall shut, and a soft exhale of relief flutters past his fingertips.
Then, starting at the edge of her underwear, he moves down from the top of her leg, brushing her knee.
Her leg trembles slightly, she shifts in her seat.
Halbrand hesitates at the inner edge of her knee, brushing his thumb back and forth in agonizingly slow circles.
Galadriel wraps her little fingers around his opposite wrist, drawing it back to her open mouth.
He presses the pad of his thumb to her tongue, and her warm lips close around it with easy suction.
“Fuck,” he whispers under his breath, trailing his fingertips along the inside of her leg, all the way to the damp seam of her tights.
“Please?” she whines around the thumb in her mouth, before pulling it further in.
In lieu of an answer, he offers her the heel of his hand.
Galadriel responds to this new source of friction instinctively, pushing her hips forward, moving in tight circles, doing her best to quiet the small whimpers that brew at the base of her throat.
The sound draws him closer to press open-mouthed kisses into the smooth skin of her neck. The faint chemical flavor of her perfume burns his tongue as he nips at the soft flesh and feels her rapid pulse beating beneath.
He cannot forget how young she is when she’s like this. Despite the perfume and the makeup and all her little attempts to disguise herself as a woman, it’s too clear she’s standing right at the edge of her childhood.
They’ve been so good, patiently enduring four years in the hell of this waiting room, only to give in now, eight weeks from the finish line.
He wants to give in now.
How much clearer could it be?
She wants this. She wants him. Shouldn’t that be enough?
Why should such a small technicality force them to fight this pull for another eight weeks?
And she’s so goddamn beautiful in her breathlessness, mouth still tugging at his thumb as though through this she might coax them far beyond the line he’s worked so fucking hard to maintain. The line he’s moved so many times already.
And he’s so fucking hard.
No. He can’t go there, not yet.
Halbrand squeezes his eyes shut, burying his face in the crook of her neck.
He’s the adult, even if he doesn’t want to be. Even if he isn’t behaving like an adult should right now.
Galadriel resists, but he slides his hand from between her lips.
When she stills, he lets the other drift to her knee.
Each breath she takes is ragged and raw. Her chest inflates against him with every inhale.
She speaks between sips of air. “I’m sorry. Fuck. I’m so sorry.”
He leans up, wrapping a hand around the back of her neck, and presses his forehead to hers, looking directly into her eyes. “You’ve done nothing wrong.”
Her eyes narrow slightly, and Hal knows she doesn’t believe him, not fully. “I’ll be eighteen in a few weeks.”
“I know,” he says, a sad smile breaking through on his long exhale.
Galadriel drifts closer. “If I ask you…” she trails off, fingers hesitantly brushing his jaw.
If you asked me to do anything, I would do it for you.
She takes another breath, biting her bottom lip. “If I ask you to kiss me,” she says, scanning his face and settling her gaze on his green eyes, “will you? Just once? And then, I swear, I’ll go.”
He can’t say no, and she knows it.
A kiss seems so harmless after everything that came before.
He holds her chin with one hand, thumb and index finger pressing into the bottom of her cheeks, and tilts her face up toward him.
The kiss is soft and sweet. Shockingly chaste. Undeniably reverent.
Parting is painful, but she has to go.
“Will you come back?” Galadriel asks at the door. “For my birthday?”
Halbrand nods. “Of course.”
He doesn’t tell her that he’s counting down the days, but he’s certain that she knows.
Hal packs up his car the moment she’s safely in her house. It’s too dangerous to stay any longer. It would be too easy to change his mind.
Texting his parents some bullshit excuse about wanting to beat traffic, he slides behind the wheel and takes one last glance at the Noldor house.
Galadriel sits in her bedroom window, looking into the street.
Looking at him.
Halbrand starts the car and drives away.
As soon as his last class finishes on March 30th, Halbrand is in the car, heading home for spring break.
The three hours go by in a blur. He only realizes he can’t remember the drive once he’s bringing his bags into the house, nerves frayed and pulsing across every inch of his skin.
The girls are together for their usual Friday night sleepover. He glances briefly at Galadriel as he passes the living room doorway. She’s laying on the floor, feet kicked up behind her, but she’s not looking at the tv. Her eyes brighten the moment she sees him, though she quickly turns away to hide her smile.
The door to the guest room is cracked. He should just walk past, but he sticks his head in, looking around at Galadriel’s things.
“The girls do better with a bit more space these days,” his mother says, walking down the stairs from the top floor of the house.
He takes in her unusually formal outfit, then clocks the bag she carries. “Going somewhere?”
“Didn’t your father tell you? He’s got a work event.”
“Oh,” he says, working hard to keep his face steady. “When are you back?”
“Late tomorrow,” she says, starting down the next flight. “We’re leaving now, but we can catch up once we’re back, alright?”
Halbrand nods and continues to his room.
He does his best to keep his distance, only seeing the girls when he goes to the kitchen to steal a slice of pizza.
“I don’t get it, Gal,” Melian says. “Why won’t you take him back? He’s so fucking hot.”
Galadriel takes a sip of her drink, shrugging. “I don’t want him.”
“You can be so selfish sometimes, you know?” Melian groans, sitting back in her chair. “We were supposed to be able to double date. Thingol’s his cousin!”
A secret smile hides in the corner of her mouth as she shakes her head apologetically.
Time slows down.
The clock on the wall ticks at such a leisurely pace that Halbrand checks the batteries twice before relying solely on his phone.
Nothing holds his attention.
By 11:45, he’s almost certain he might die before the next fifteen minutes are through. He drums his fingers on the small box beside him, then lifts the lid and peers inside.
He hears feet on the stairs, then his sister’s voice. “Don’t wake me up early this time,” Melian calls.
“I won’t,” Galadriel promises from the guest room doorway.
Halbrand’s heart is in his throat, beating so loud he’s surprised Galadriel can’t hear it through the wall.
At 11:55, he decides he’s waited long enough.
He grabs the box from his nightstand and crosses to his door.
Galadriel stands outside, hand suspended in midair.
“Hi,” she whispers, cheeks turning a soft pink in the dim light. “Can I come in?”
She’s not wearing the same pajamas. No, these are decidedly more grown up, a projection of the legal adult she’ll be in less than five minutes. A smooth satin tank and matching shorts, in a deep emerald green, with tiny threads of gold stitched across the front.
Galadriel follows his eyes as they chart a course down her body, biting back her smile.
Halbrand opens the door wider and she slips inside.
He locks it behind her.
When he turns back to the room, she’s already in his bed.
She swallows when he takes his first step toward her, then shifts her legs on his second.
“Are you okay?” he asks, stopping a few feet away from her.
Galadriel’s quiet for a minute, staring at his sheets. Then she looks up, smile unfurling completely. “Yeah. I just,” she clears her throat softly, brushing her hair behind her shoulders, “I can’t believe this is happening.”
“And when you say this,” Hal says, setting the box on the nightstand before placing one knee on the mattress, “you mean…”
Her answer comes in the form of a kiss.
It’s not the soft, shy kind he’d expected, though he should’ve known better than to ever imagine her to be docile.
No, Galadriel is eager, he can taste her excitement, feel her smile against his mouth.
Her hands are insistent, pulling him down over her by his shirtsleeves, then sliding lower, down to his hips, then to the front of his pants. A soft sigh slips between their lips as her warm hand finds the hard ridge of his erection.
Hal’s fingers are tangled in her golden hair, dragging his fingertips across the roots. Her lips part so readily for him, and her tongue is on his, so sweet and soft. Hints of vanilla and amber float off her skin, so warm and comfortable and right.
His free hand slides to her hip, then dips beneath the hem of her top, giving way to smooth skin. Despite her sharp inhale in protest, his mouth moves down to follow his hands, lips and tongue and teeth working up the side of her body. After four years of waiting, he doesn’t intend to rush through this.
Tiny noises die in her throat.
“You have to be quiet for me, baby,” he murmurs into her waist, left hand covering her breast. “Can you do that?”
“Mm.. mmhmm,” she says, breath hitching as his thumb skims lightly across her already pert nipple. Her hands are in his hair, then on his shoulders, pulling at his shirt impatiently.
He laughs into the side of her chest, softly grazing the flesh there, before sitting up just enough for her to pull the offending garment over his head. “Happy now?”
Galadriel nods, grinning.
Hal traces the seam of her mouth with his fingertips, pulling her shirt up past her chest with the other hand. “Good.”
Her hips hover slightly off the bed beneath when his tongue flicks across the front of one breast, then the other, breath growing heavier as his lips close around a peaked nipple.
Beneath him, her legs tighten together, then fall apart, like she can’t quite make up her mind about what sensation to chase. He chooses for her, sliding his knee between her legs to hold them apart.
She stifles a whine and her back arches up eagerly the moment he moves to the other side.
Apparently coming to the conclusion that his leg is a suitable source of friction, Galadriel grinds her hips into his thigh. “Fuck,” she whispers, pulling at his hair until he returns his mouth to hers.
If she’s at all self-conscious, she doesn’t show it. To Hal, she seems totally exposed and open, like the thought of trying to hide from her desires hasn’t even occurred to her.
He doesn’t realize how arousing he finds her eagerness until she’s slipping her hand beneath his waistband, fingers tightening around his hard cock, thumb brushing against the head.
“Jesus,” he mumbles against her lips as she hesitantly pumps her hand once, then again. “Just like that, fuck.”
With newfound confidence from such a small morsel of praise, Galadriel tightens her palm, hand working a little faster.
Halbrand buries his face in her neck, sucking the skin beside her collarbone.
“Ohhhh.” The sound flutters past her lips before she can stop herself.
He grips her wrist, pulling her hand out of his pants.
She furrows her brow, inching toward a weak protest, before she can make a sound, he slides her shorts down her hips, leaving her bare and squirming beneath him.
“Fuck, baby,” he says with a soft click of his tongue. “You aren’t wearing any underwear.”
Her face flushes as she shakes her head, and a few blonde strands cling to the edge of her mouth.
She’s so fucking wet already, enough to have darkened the fabric at the seam of her shorts, but he decides against commenting on this.
Grip tight on her hips, he lowers himself between her legs, sending a soft exhale across the inner crease where thigh meets hip.
Just as he expected, it’s enough to make her tremble. “Be a good girl and hold still,” he says with a glance up at her face. Her eyes are wide, mouth hanging open in a small ‘o’ shape.
He doesn’t wait for her mind to catch up, instead sliding his palms to her inner thighs and urging them farther apart.
“Ohmyfuckingfuck,” she starts as he takes his first slow taste. A hand goes to cover her own mouth, though she soon replaces it with her top, biting down on the fabric.
Hal fights the smirk that tugs at his lips. Her cunt is so sweet, it’s impossible not to immediately go back for more. Palms easily resisting her tightening thighs, he circles her clit with his tongue, then swipes up again. Her knee trembles in response, though her muffled noises stay trapped within her mouth.
Someday, he decides as he continues, he will do this again, somewhere private, where he can savor every sound Galadriel makes, each curse or prayer or hint of praise that forms on her tongue. Someday, he is certain, he will make the girl next door scream.
Her hips roll toward him and he leans back slightly. “Baby,” he chides, “what did I say about sitting still?”
Galadriel’s face is frozen in shame, though her hands clutch desperately at the sheets. It doesn’t look like she’s breathing.
Wiping his mouth on the back of his hand, Halbrand replaces his mouth with his fingers, circling and pressing against her clit as he makes his way back up her body. He removes the damp fabric from her mouth, lips twitching at the visual, then shifts his hand, thumb still working at her clit as a finger teases her entrance.
Galadriel sucks in a breath, and he smothers the whimper that forms as his finger works its way inside her impossibly tight cunt. Only up to the knuckle at first. The next gentle stretch goes better, though the sound he swallows down is significantly louder than the last. She doesn’t seem to notice the motion her hips take, lifting easily before settling back down on his hand, taking in more.
“More,” Galadriel breathes, as though she’s reading his mind.
Halbrand watches her, all bleary-eyed and rosy-cheeked, with her teeth held tight to her bottom lip. “More? You sure?”
He doesn’t wait for her answer before working in a second. His thumb grows more insistent on her clit, and her lower lip quivers, a pained cry struggling in her throat as her cunt pulses hot around his fingers. “Good girl. You gonna be good and quiet like this once you’re taking my cock?”
Galadriel tries to nod, too worked up to speak. Hal fucks her with his fingers, curling them to find just the right—
With a shudder, her small body goes so tense, contracting around his hand. “Hal—“ she starts, voice breaking, as he silences her with his mouth.
He doesn’t release her until she’s stopped moving, chest inflating and deflating in a steadier rhythm. Her opal eyes search his face for a moment, before she surges up for another kiss.
“Oh—“ she catches him off guard, tugging at his pants. He slips his hand into his pocket, foil glinting in the soft light, before sliding them off along with his boxers.
Galadriel is on him the moment he’s free, pushing him down onto the bed so quickly that he doesn’t notice the condom falling to the floor. All he’s aware of is her, the smell of her neck, the taste of her mouth, the silky feel of her hair brushing his skin from above. Then her warm palm is gripping him tight, stroking the length of his cock.
“Fuck,” he mutters, intellect clocking out for the night. He takes her by the hips as she aligns herself above him, a small whimper humming beneath her gorgeous neck as she— at last— eases herself down onto him.
“I just— unh—“ Galadriel tries to adjust herself to a more comfortable angle, nails digging into his shoulders, when his hips lift of their own accord.
Halbrand is about to apologize, but she tips her head back with a soft “mmm” and tightens around him as he eases back out.
“Hips up,” he whispers, and she obeys, watching desperately for his approval. “Yes, good girl. You’re doing so well.”
Another snap of his hips into her pulls a cry from the back of her throat. “S-sorry, Hal, but— uhn— Jesus,” she whines, clutching at his hair, then his shoulders. She moves her palms to grip the edge of the headboard, spine straightening to give him a view of her entire body.
“Fuck, Galadriel,” he mutters, driving into her again. “Do you know— how fucking— beautiful you are?”
She doesn’t respond, and he doesn’t need her to.
His words emerge unmediated, a steady chain of murmurs. “My gorgeous girl— God— taking it so well— being such a good girl for me.”
Halbrand feels her cunt pulse around him, so fucking warm and tight and perfect, and he knows he won’t be able to hold off for much longer.
“Feels so— mmm— so— so fucking good,” Galadriel manages, watching him with wide eyes that flutter closed on each impact.
At this, Hal takes over, driving into her relentlessly, no longer concerned with noise or age or any of the trivial matters that once seemed so important.
The only thing that matters is this girl— the girl next door— his girl, and every little cry of pleasure he can draw from her lips, each the sweetest reward for his good behavior, after so many years waiting for her— Galadriel fucking Noldor— his pretty girl to grow—
Halbrand comes inside her, holding Galadriel tight against him, mind blank and bare and white hot.
In his next moments of clarity, he realizes his mistake and watches for Galadriel’s reaction.
The smile she wears is gentle and sweet, her hair a messy halo of gold.
He says nothing, just makes a mental note to Venmo her for Plan B in the morning.
“Can I stay here?” Galadriel asks through a yawn, nuzzling her head against Halbrand’s chest before he can respond.
The clock on the wall catches his attention. It’s well past midnight on March 31st. Galadriel Noldor is all grown up at last.
“Of course. Do you want your gift now or in the morning?”
“Wasn’t that my gift?” She yawns again, snuggling even closer. “You’re spoiling me, Hal.”
With a soft laugh, he nods toward the box on the nightstand, before pulling the blankets up around her. “Morning it is.”
She smiles at him softly, then tips her head down.
Halbrand presses his lips to her forehead. “Happy Birthday, baby.”
“Hal?” Galadriel asks in the dark, just a few minutes later.
“Hm?”
“Can we do that again tomorrow?”
“We can do that whenever you want.”