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When Halbrand had offered his floristry services in lieu of a more traditional gift after one of his oldest friends decided to throw a last minute baby shower, he hadn’t expected to cross paths with a tiny whirlwind of a woman the very next day, and he certainly couldn’t have predicted that Galadriel would be holding an event at her gallery the same weekend he was going to be in Lindon.
Not that he was complaining about how the tides of fate were now flowing firmly in his favour. Especially not after discovering that instead of a high-end loft with million pound installations, the angry little blonde actually part-owned a former granary mill right on the river. Having spent the last few years converting the space into ‘a haven for local artists’ according to the website, Galadriel’s Valinor now played host to a rotating range of contemporary painters, sculptors and other visual creators, none of which held his attention half as much as she did. Despite wondering why he’d ever thought she would take the easy way out when there were far more interesting choices to be made, since her last day at Cloak and Dagger had come and gone Halbrand had filled in the occasional quiet hour flicking through pictures from past exhibitions. Trying to find her face anywhere in the background, he could only hope she was doing the same with Barad-dûr’s socials after someone at the gallery liked a couple of his thirstiest posts.
All things considered, it hadn’t taken him long to decide that the timing of his visit couldn’t have worked out better even if he had known her plans in advance. He didn’t even feel bad about leaving the shop with Bronwyn for two full days, although he’d probably need a morning to put everything back in its right place when he returned. However, by the time Halbrand was finally standing in Valinor’s highly praised foyer and staring up, and up, at all five floors of art space through an open centre column surrounded by glass and chrome, he couldn’t help but think that he’d maybe miscalculated tonight’s mood. Other than himself and Isildur - the uncle-to-be grinning conspiratorially following more than one mention of Galadriel by name on the drive down - the rest of the attendees milling around were so young, so edgy, so painfully cool that there was no way he could blend in with the chattering crowd.
Suddenly feeling like he was on the wrong side of twenty-five to properly enjoy this showcase, especially after his friend was pulled away to discuss the designer of his teal coloured suit, Halbrand began to roll his shirt sleeves up to proudly display the impressive artwork decorating both of his forearms. If he was going to have to spend the evening looking like a fucking art school faculty member - in the dark grey waistcoat and suit pants he had bought for those court appearances last year - he was going to do it as nothing less than the youngest and most irresistible professor Galadriel had ever seen.
This way, she might even break first and admit her attraction before he did. Just like he’d been hoping she would for weeks now.
Ignoring a couple of interested glances cutting up at him from across the entryway, he was just about to take full advantage of being head and shoulders taller than the groups dotted around him when the gallery’s loudspeaker system crackled to life, a distorted voice instructing everyone to make their way upstairs. Or else. Halbrand glowered at layers of silver foil peeling from the ceiling as his search for sharp blue eyes had to be abruptly abandoned, heading for the stairs while a swarm of people were pulled towards the bank of industrial sized glass elevators. So eager to see and be seen at the event on the top floor, they all missed the introductory pieces lining the walls of the stairwell, each carefully placed canvas guiding him to take another step, spiralling higher and higher. There may have only been one drawing that forced him to pause - a familiar grey scale snake wrapped around a rotting apple rather than a sword - but her influence was unmistakable; from glimmers of hope visible in dark, apocalyptic corners to painted promises of undeniable temptation for even the purest souls. Every colourful contradiction he spotted made his smirk stretch a little wider, convincing himself that there was nothing inherently wrong in gatecrashing, even with less than the best of intentions.
Besides, he really had missed just walking across the street to light whatever spark came to mind and, then, sitting back to watch indignation burn Galadriel from the inside out.
Sometimes she was able to claim the upper hand without really raising her voice, countering each of his playful strikes like her life was all the better for having him in it. Other times they accidentally stumbled onto common ground, their encounters veering away from heated bickering and coming closer to what he could only call bonding. It was strange to think they’d grown up in almost the same middle of nowhere - at different schools but there was always a chance he might have crashed a Noldor house party in sixth form - and both had done the backpacking thing before university. Although she’d gone with a cousin and he’d been on his own, their travels had taken much the same path. Of course Galadriel diligently saw her degree through when she got back, a little older and wiser, while he had dropped out before first Christmas, falling under Melkor’s spell soon after.
He might have been a little smitten - Bronwyn’s word, not his - but he still hadn’t shared more than he’d had to about those five years with Galadriel. There wasn’t a single barely healed wound he wanted to reopen, the tattoo on his chest the last real thing to go.
Though for all the half hours spent chipping off little pieces of themselves for the other to pick up, Galadriel managed to not only touch, but seize and squeeze one of his raw nerves almost as frequently. Any inferno he’d willfully stoked under her skin became something of a mutually assured destruction on those days. Each desperate to get the last word in, they always ended up snarling in each other’s faces, his brain getting stuck on the idea that shutting her pouty little mouth with the hard press of his lips was the best and most logical next step. But, like clockwork, one of her brothers always appeared to break things up before one of them could accept losing so they could both cross too many lines together - like fucking away the frustration in their budding friendship on her desk or him throwing Galadriel over his shoulder and taking her home for the night - all the tattooists throughly amused by what they saw of his visits during the few weeks she needed to get the family finances in order. Aegnor in particular found it fucking hilarious that his baby sister was trying to take down a guy twice her size, offering insights rather than commiserations while he was drawing out another possible cover-up piece for Halbrand after she’d threatened to end them both with the point of her silver pen earlier that morning.
Halbrand didn’t mention that he was deliberately dragging his feet making a decision, turning up to each appointment twice as early as advised on the days Galadriel was working in the front.
Despite guessing her bark was worse than her bite - although he hadn’t not dreamed about her doing just that as she lost control in his bed - he still noticed that any sharp objects in the gallery tonight were safely behind glass, even if a precariously placed archangel sword felt like he was being judged for every one of his less than savoury thoughts. After a final wary glance, he flew up the last flight of stairs two or three at a time, finally being welcomed into the exhibit proper by the warm glow of the slowly setting sun, a truly terrifying bronze arch of demonic cherubs and the sound of familiar voices.
“… mentioned you had a good eye.”
“And yet, I haven’t seen either of you at one of these events before.”
“I think you’ve seen Halbrand around.”
Isildur chose that moment to point to where he’d been drawn far enough into the room to take a better look at a life-sized painting of a fallen angel lying in a field of misplaced tropical blooms. Her glowing hair all but covered her face, her head turned as if ashamed of whatever had burned her wings away, but there was something so familiar about what was now in front of him that Halbrand felt his mouth drying out well before he could join all the dots forming in his mind.
“I wouldn’t touch that if I were you.”
“I think I could handle a night in art jail, Galadriel,” he called back, pulling his fingers away from where they’d been nearly stroking the mossy green frame. “Unless you had something else in mind.”
“How about I show you the door?”
“I’ve seen it,” he said, smirking as he turned around. “It would look better with some paint on it.”
Casting his eyes over the white-gold waves pouring freely over her shoulders and down her back, Halbrand realised she had done more than dress to stand out from the crowd, she meant to command it, too. If he hadn’t already seen her in leather pants and combat boots, in fishnet tights and skirts so short they barely covered her incredible arse - testing his patience just as much as his self-control, fresh ink being pushed under his skin the only thing able to ease him back to softness - in cashmere and tartan and sky high heels, then maybe he’d have called her midnight blue suit tonight formidable rather than breathtaking.
Casually straightening his spine and squaring his shoulders as the sound of her heels furiously hitting polished concrete grew louder and louder, Halbrand greedily snatched every additional second he was being offered to study the skin tight material moving with her body. Unable to stop staring at flashes of skin that made it seem like she wasn’t wearing anything underneath the tailored jacket, it felt like his memory had been more of a false friend than he’d originally accepted, and now Galadriel was barrelling towards him again, all guns blazing, his friend’s advice about playing it cool flew straight out of his head. “Long time, no see, darling.”
“It hasn’t even been ten days,” she pointed out sharply, picking up a glass from one of the circling servers and sending a smile that should have been his to the next group exiting the elevators. “What are you doing here, Halbrand?”
Between the too hot, too bitter coffees she started leaving on the waiting room table before he covered over another part of himself, the too dark, too sharp long stem roses he sent over whenever it looked like she was having a bad afternoon and the wordless apologies that stopped any stalemate lingering for too long, Halbrand had been sure they both understood their last goodbye wasn’t also goodbye forever.
“Have you been asking everyone that?” he said, pulling a vaguely concerned face as she narrowed her eyes, the reoccurring need to have and keep her close wrapping around the devilry bubbling in his blood. “I thought we dealt with your lack of manners weeks ago. If you want to make a good impression you need to start with ‘hello’, remember? You can practise on me if you want, all-“
“Halbrand,” she snapped as she stepped into his shadow, holding onto the stem of her glass so tightly he thought she might be able to break it from sheer willpower alone. “I know these people and you’re the only one here who’s more interested in wearing their art than looking at it.”
It was his turn to huff out a breath, crossing his arms in an exact mirror to how she’d started or ended some of their earliest conversations, flexing subconsciously. “You know who I am, too. I’m your friend.”
“My friends usually call to let me know they’re coming.”
“Which I did.”
“Which you didn’t. And after I came home Orry said you were…” Galadriel blinked furiously, trailing off like she had to stop herself from saying something incriminating. “That there was a… I mean you look-“
Feeling buoyed that her flailing must have meant she’d been asking after him, Halbrand couldn’t have cared less that she hadn’t been checking her voicemail, his biggest shit-eating grin already aimed in her direction. “Thank you.”
“I was going to say like your mother dressed you.” She sipped at her wine, blue eyes holding his gaze just until she exhaled again. “Give me your tie.”
“You really can’t wait to get me out of my clothes again, can you?” he said, chuckling at the sight of the crease forming between her brows as he languidly pulled out the knot at the base of his throat.
He’d almost picked out something obnoxiously floral with her in mind, knowing how much Galadriel had hated every single rose that arrived on her desk - much to his continued delight - although she hadn’t had the same reaction towards the lilies he’d passed over at the end of that first week. The barely noticeable smile that had danced along her painted lips felt just as good as any one of her delicious scowls. The red orchid he’d also gifted must have been even more appreciated, however, especially if what he’d seen coming up the stairs meant anything.
“Now undo two,” she cocked her head, running an appraising eye over him like she, too, was remembering how long it had been since they were in the same room together. “No, three buttons.”
Done and done and done. “Anything else, baby?”
“I’m not your baby,” Galadriel spat, putting her now empty glass down and wrapping his tie around her knuckles like she was getting ready to spar with more than just words. “And I’m sure your girlfriend wouldn’t like you calling me that either.”
My what? Feeling completely blindsided as his last short term thing ended months ago, Halbrand snatched at her silk covered hand and dragged her into a quieter corner of the room. “What the hell are you talking about, Galadriel?”
She shook herself free, surprising them both by coming closer rather than stepping away. “My sister-in-law overheard you talking about your baby shower last week. She said you were really excited, that it was your first child and you couldn’t wait to come back down to Lindon to see everyone.”
“My first event where I wasn’t arranging for death or divorce,” Halbrand growled, shaking his head. God forbid he think about diversifying his business model without letting everyone around him know. “For fucks sake, if it was bothering you that much, why didn’t you call or text instead of lurking on Palantíri?”
“Why? I thought you ghosted me. You were still talking to them,” she said, colour rising to her cheeks. “And I don’t need to lurk. I've already seen your abs.”
“I’ve not been lying to you,” he insisted as Galadriel slammed her hands onto her hips, her assumption unwavering. She did, however, stop glaring long enough to follow the sharp jut of his head over to where Isildur was talking with one of her business partners. “His sister is having the baby. She’s been like a sister to me, too, through all this shit. Come on, let me introduce you properly.”
So, after a couple of angrily awkward hand shakes, a round of drinks and a lot of Palantíri photo sharing, Halbrand found himself adding to the best - and worst - parts of Isildur’s stories, dredged up from the depths of their long friendship to try and impress both of Valinor’s owners. Elrond chipped in with one or two about him and Galadriel, easier to win over than the blonde by his side who only grew more and more restless at how unfavourably the tales from their younger days painted her.
He felt his lips twitch as she shifted her weight from one spiked heel to the other, her protests over how differently she remembered things becoming murderous promises towards more than just her youngest brother. Resting his hand on her arm then, Halbrand ignored the pointed looks being sent his way and dipped his mouth to her ear. “Just let me know when you want to do that, darling, and I’ll come and alibi you out.”
“ Halbrand,” she said just as softly, the admonishment fonder than he expected.
“Don’t start,” he smiled fully, the feel of her breath ghosting over his cheek causing a pleasant warmth to bloom in his chest. He thought about pushing for something else then, something more, but Galadriel remembered their small audience before he did. Stepping back to argue with Elrond over a minute detail, she quickly checked over the filling space before her gaze came to rest on the colourful all-seeing eye, fresh and firey, on the back of his left hand.
“When did you get that done?” she demanded, her eyes widening, looking like she was about to trace it the way she had the unwanted crown on his chest all those weeks ago. He’d give Galadriel free rein to touch whatever she wanted, anytime she wanted, if only she would tell him she felt something more than irritation, too.
“Did you get any others? Who’s been looking after you shop while you’ve been in theirs?”
“I’ve found that Noldors work quickly when you tell them what you want.”
He raised an eyebrow and unless he was imagining things, Galadriel just about batted her lashes in reply, looking up at him like butter wouldn’t melt as his returning smirk almost split his face in two. If he had walked in thinking about kissing her until neither of them could think straight, about stripping her of all her haughty airs and graces, about what other pieces of ink she had waiting for him to find, then that desire was becoming unbearable.
Halbrand heard Elrond clear his throat then, as she settled into a charged silence with him, both at a loss for words for the first time since they’d met. “Isildur, can I interest you in a personal tour? I think these two need time to talk.”
“You didn’t offer me one of those,” he said, fighting the urge to pout as she watched their friends head to the official starting point of the exhibition rather than look at him again, her expression shifting back to damn near unreadable. “And we’ve known each other for weeks, not just minutes.”
“That’s because I’m not a tour guide. We’re open four days a week if you need anything explained to you.”
“Are you here four days a week?”
“Why wouldn’t I be?” Galadriel retorted, though there was little bite left in her tone. Allowing him to trail after her as she began a full sweep of the space, the last gasp of a dying sun bathed her in an otherworldly glow and he couldn’t help but think that she’d never been more beautiful to him, her chin held high like a queen walking amongst her subjects. There was absolutely nothing in the whole of Valinor that Halbrand wanted explained to him more than her.
“Can I show you something?” he murmured after what must have been the fiftieth person congratulated her on the exhibit, aiming for nonchalance as soon as they were alone together again but failing spectacularly.
“If that ‘something’ has to do with your dick, then no.”
“In front of all your friends?” Halbrand laughed, his spike of joy more breath than sound. “I didn’t know you had such a dirty mind.”
Rolling her eyes, Galadriel shot him a fondly exasperated look that made him suddenly all too eager to do anything she asked. He should have expected he wasn’t going to get exactly what he’d come all this way for, not when pushing her buttons just got her mad and pushing his somehow made him want her more. “All of this… charm. It doesn’t really work, does it?”
The truth was he couldn’t remember the last time he’d spent this long just talking with someone who drove him absolutely fucking crazy, his hands or mouth usually quickly given other things to worry about long before now. “Depends on who you ask. Why? Does yours?”
“I’m not putting on an act.”
He very much doubted that. She wasn’t quite the same person here in Lindon as she’d been in the tattoo shop. Or in the park where they’d had lunch a couple of times each week. “What you see is what you get?”
“The only thing you’re about to get is some advice,” she muttered, pressing her lips together as they came to a standstill right beside the painting that had pulled him in earlier. “You don’t need to try so hard. You’re not here for a job interview.”
Hemmed in by two angels, one fallen, one avenging, his plan to find a way to show Galadriel the dark moth that now covered most of his right pec slipping out of his reach hand-in-hand with his initial one, Halbrand shrugged. “They say first impressions count.”
“If that was the case, I wouldn’t have spoken to you a second time.” Never taking her eyes off him, she gestured at his hair. “Can I?”
“Be gentle with me,” he purred without thinking, immediately wanting to take it back as he watched Galadriel blink in offended surprise, not meaning to sound so fucking needy.
“I’m not a monster, Halbrand. I can be nice.”
Feeling her place one hand on his shoulder as the other reached up to ruffle through the tamed red-brown curls, Halbrand instinctively bowed his head so her small fist could scrunch his hair a little more vigorously. The obscene noise he released as Galadriel did something that felt more than nice made her pause and his heart drop, almost pushing his temple against her retreating hand so she knew exactly where to keep touching.
He hadn’t lied when he’d told her Melkor had not been a good man. Maybe for a few months in the beginning, before his affection had to be earned, doled out at just the right time to keep Halbrand from feeling less than content at the end of his tightening leash, but even the messy hook-ups before and after had been fleeting, emotionless things. There were few people he’d met who saw him the way he wanted to see himself, who treated him with kindness, even less who pushed him to think about what he could really be capable of - alone or with a strong, sympathetic partner backing him up - and Galadriel had unknowingly added herself to that short list in record time.
“Am I better now?”
“I wouldn’t go that far,” she nodded, unable to hold back a genuine smile at how mussed he must have now been, almost like she’d pulled him into the coat check downstairs for the kind of hello they’d been tiptoeing towards but hadn’t discussed yet. “But you look closer to belonging here.”
Halbrand liked the sound of that almost as much as the breathless quality in her voice and the pink in her cheeks. “You’re really not going to tell me anything about what you’ve put in here? I’ll answer any plant questions you have. Did you know there’s a-“
“Still not a tour guide,” she reminded him, Halbrand quickly correcting his earlier assumption that she’d handpicked each piece. “Read the descriptions if you like anything that much.”
He pointed at the angel and her magical hair, a shade or two lighter than Galadriel’s almost equally as long mane, biting into his teasing smile. ”I’m sure you could have found something else if you have such a problem with female nudity. I know you don’t feel the same way about me… men.”
“No, I have a problem with that piece. And I was overruled when I asked for it to be swapped out.”
Whatever puzzle piece he’d been missing earlier now flashed before him, as clear as day. “Shit,” Halbrand swore, rapidly glancing between the woman and the painting, seeing Galadriel’s freckles liberally dusted over the bridge of what he could see of her nose. “Is that you?”
“It can’t be,” she spat vehemently, taking a step forward as he took one back, her hands balling into fists as neither of them were really focused on the painting anymore. “He swore it wouldn’t be but that’s. My. Fucking. Face. Halbrand. If you can see it, so can everybody else.”
They hadn’t talked much about her ex either, just that after his painting career faltered, he began working as an art buyer, but whatever she wasn’t saying now seemed to make his tongue work faster than his brain. “I’ll buy it,” he decided, ignoring her settling scowl. “And we can burn it later.”
“You can’t afford to do that.”
A growl rose in his throat then, unbidden. “You don’t know that, darling. You’ve seen how many followers I have.”
Closing her eyes, Galadriel hung her head, not quite defeated but as close as she probably ever was. “That’s because you’re hot, not because you’re good.”
“I can be both,” he smiled at her confession, two words enough to cause a wave of satisfied relief to flood through his veins. Anything else could wait until after they’d dealt with the piece of shit who thought he could disrespect Galadriel Noldor. “What do I do now?”
“I can’t ask you to-“
“You’re not. I’m offering.” Without thinking, Halbrand reached out to touch her chin, gently encouraging her to look at him again, wondering if he still had any of that poison ivy leftover from Halloween. “Call it a gift.”
“Fine. Valinor will accept your donation,” she grumbled, the familiar fire in her eyes sparking anew as he swiped his thumb along her lower lip just hard enough to mess her up a little, too. Satisfied with how much lipstick he’d collected, Halabrand marked the name of the painting she despised with a ruby red smudge, covering up the name of the only artist he’d truly hated. “And now it’s mine… Ours.”
He watched Galadriel shiver, pushing her shoulders down one after the other and then shaking her hair back, squirming on the spot his gaze and dropped voice had pinned her to. “You’ll need to speak to Elrond about that.”
Remaining close enough that he didn’t need to speak any louder than a growled whisper, Halbrand risked bodily harm for a second time in as many minutes by reaching out to cup her cheek. The air in his lungs left his body in an unmistakable groan as Galadriel tilted her head, leaning into the touch. “Do I need to speak with Elrond to make anything else mine?”
“Only the art,” she murmured back. “But you might want to ask nicely before you do something stupid.”
“It’s not stupid if you feel it, too.” Realising most of the crowd had moved into the next room, descending into hell while they stayed in heaven, his hand slid down over her jaw, tugging and teasing at her ear lobe as she took two tiny steps forward, the scent of her perfume intoxicating. Stroking the length of her neck, he rubbed his thumb over the quickening thud of her pulse, twirling strands of hair around his fingers and listening to Galadriel hum in assent.
“I feel it, too.”
“Galadriel. Please.”
She moved a millisecond before he did, anything left in his head gone the second her arms wrapped around his neck and her plush lips finally brushed over his. Returning the kiss like it was all he’d ever wanted, Halbrand found and matched her rhythm effortlessly, giving her a moment to adjust before pushing it harder, faster, needing to feel her pressed even tight against his body.
“I’m warning you right now I’m not good at casual,” Galadriel mumbled as he became desperately aware of the need to both breathe and the problem they were going to have if she didn’t stop rolling her hips into his, kissing his cheek, his jaw, the corner of his mouth over and over again. “You better have thought this through beyond tonight.”
He had. He’d been meaning to start expanding his little flower empire long before he’d met her, already finding trusted employees who’d be happy to step up and stay in Eregion. It hadn’t taken too long the first time, surely it wouldn’t if he tried again elsewhere. People had to die and break up everywhere and he would learn how to make the most of that.
“Does that mean you’re never coming back to Cloak and Dagger?”
She shook her head, sighing as Halbrand teased a tangle out of her hair, her head falling back to look him in the eye. “I don’t know. They don’t need me unless they fuck everything up. And if that happens, they won’t want me.”
“I want you,” he promised, knocking her nose with his so he could add another eagerly welcomed claim to her parted lips, no longer holding back from pouring all his hunger into the deepening kisses they were trading, sucking at her lower lip between words. “And my books still need looking at.”
With her fingers clutching at his shirt as he found a spot on her arching neck that made her shudder all over, Galadriel moaned into his shoulder, tugging at his curls so he had no choice to do the same in return. “You can’t pay your accountant in orgasms, it’s unethical, never mind un-“
“Why don’t you take me home and let me change your mind about that kind of bonus?”
She laughed and he sucked a little harder, knowing any mark he left now wouldn’t be fully formed until the morning, by which point he was hoping to have covered Galadriel in them. Valinor wouldn’t be open again until mid-week and he could always spend some time scouting for where to open Dol Guldur after he wore her out.
“Do what you need to do, darling. I’ll find a seat and wait for you to finish up.”
“Hal,” she all but whined. “Could you not just take your friend and go to the pub for half an hour? I can’t… oh, fuck it, I concentrate when you’re here. You striding around without your shirt added two whole days to my short visit.”
“Oh, baby, I’m sorry,” he purred, feeling nowhere close as his hands slipped under her jacket, the warmth of her bare skin against his palms incredible. If he’d known that tidbit sooner, he would have gone out of his way to keep her buried in her brothers’ accounts for months. Surely the gallery could have survived without her longer than three weeks.
“Shut up,” she muttered, pulling his hair again and yanking him down to near on devour his mouth, seconds becoming minutes, Halbrand unable to resist tasting her kiss-swollen lips again, and again, and again, until she was determinedly pushing him away, her voice breathy and reed thin.
“Okay, you win, this time. I’ll let Elrond handle the rest of this by himself. Just this once.”
“Just this once,” he grinned, ready to unleash every trick he could think of so that it wouldn’t be long before sneaking out of events together became a habit neither of them wanted to break, but there were more important things to focus on tonight. Like getting her home and getting them both naked.
“Darling, I can’t wait to show you all my tattoos.”