*snicker!snort* I've known Glorfindel for a ludicrously long time, Doc, and I can tell you—he's about as far away from a pink-guy as you can get. *nodding pleasantly* Yeah, Ecthelion's the boss, also a friend (*it's a bit of warmth down deep, to be able to say that*), also Glorfindel's boyfriend. (*and that buried ache has become a curious sort of warmth, too*) We're sort of a tight group up here.
Saturday afternoon If you want
*exhales slowly, unutterably pleased and some shade of nervous as well (which is ridiculous, he's sure, but there's no helping that)* *softly, hoping you can hear how fervently he means it:* Oh. I want. No question.
*raises his sandwich for a mechanical bite, almost dazed with the knowledge that you (and your smile and your hands) will be here (in his arms, in his bed) within a week's time* *catches sight of his wrist, then, and blinks hard against a sudden rush of realization; you haven't seen his skin, the mess she made of him and the long split to save his life* *and it shouldn't bother him, it's not like it matters, and you don't strike him as that kind of person... but.*