Eisenknall, or Iron Bang by Moringottocake  

Wanting Gondolin (Also, years after the first date)

It was one of those Tuesday evenings when Gothmog actually had time after coming back from the building site he was overseeing and Melkor was still in the office. 
“Any beer left in the fridge?” Melkor gleaned through a series of mostly tired grunts.  
“Stocked it up yesterday!” He called back, locking his screen to show the photo of that volcano on Iceland he had taken on his last holiday. That trip felt recent but it must have been over a decade ago by now.  
“I’ll join you!” He smiled, hearing a content hum from the kitchenette. 
“I’ll kill that Hurin if he were not lining our pockets!” Gothmog frowned, setting down his bottle, the late afternoon sun shining through the brown glass, revealing half of its contents were already gone. Gothmog’s smell confirmed the exertion he must have been put through today. 
“He sent me an e-mail asking about us turning that old French Military apartment block into luxury condos.” Melkor popped open a bottle of his own and sat down.
“As long as he decides on the details beforehand.” Gothmog huffed. “He wanted us to change the paint-job for the top floor, because the color he initially chose did not look good in the evening sunlight.”
“Has he ever heard of swatches to test colors in different light conditions first?” Melkor silently thanked Mairon for widening his knowledge on painting rooms beyond the technical, when consulting him on a new coat of paint for the bedroom. 
Gothmog chuckles and downs the rest of his beer. “Mr. Hurin von Thalion of Fancy Pants had our folks re-paint the entire top floor in a soft champagne because the Chantilly white was apparently too stark for today’s more mellow taste.”
“Rich of of him mentioning mellow.” Melkor felt relieved he did not have to deal with unfiltered client contact anymore like poor Gothmog did. 
“Isn’t there anything more pleasant we can talk about?” Melkor’s eyes glazed over briefly, and Gothmog got up. “Why not think of something until I am back from the restroom?” He stomped towards the stairs, Melkor’s ears followed the fading footsteps into the basement while he allowed his eyes to stare into the void a little. The most pleasant thing he could think of was Mairon’s birthday coming up next month. It was about time to take his love out to a seriously high end dinner. They had been to most decent places here in the region, even in the wider area. Not that he had ever been to any of those higher end places himself, so curiosity drove Melkor to grab his Laptop from the office next door and look for Restaurants with two or three Michelin stars. After a few scrolls he found a good target: Gondolin. It was just over the boarder in France, sitting by a picturesque stream, tucked away in a Vosges mountains valley under a horribly blue sky. It was perfect! 
The menus looked decent enough to satisfy Mairon’s lust for the highest quality and creativity possible, so did the pictures of the custom interior he found in a separate category on Gondolin’s website, touting the highest quality craft there could be for a restaurant of this caliber. This would could be a wonderful surprise for Mairon to immerse himself in. Melkor imagined hearing that undertone of satisfaction in his partner’s voice when beholding something or someone had met his high standards, especially if that something-someone was himself.
Melkor raised his eyebrow when he discovered that place even had a spa. They could both do with a good massage and pampering. 
So Gondolin it was.

The phone was picked up almost instantly. 
“Maeglin, chez Gondolin!” A heavy French voice answered. 
“Good evening, this is Bauglir from Silmaringen.” Melkor introduced himself.
“How may we help you, Monseigneur Bauglir?” The young man’s French flowed in to an otherwise pretty understandable German. 
“I would like to reserve a room and table for two for the 8th next month.” Melkor felt good that he thought of it at least 3 weeks in advance instead of a day before, so he awarded himself one brownie point for this effort and the act of remembering on time. 
“Your name was Bauglir?” 
“Indeed.” Melkor smiled into the receiver, waiting for the young man to offer him a time slot. 
“One moment.” It sounded like the receiver was put down and he heard typing noises and a faint snort. 
“Monseigneur?” The voice returned. 
“Yes?” Melkor had a feeling. 
“Since you are not on our list of regular guests, I can offer you the 8th of September next year, but it would have to be at 18:00, the late slots are already booked. But we can give you the corner suite.”
Melkor’s eyes nearly popped, noticing that Gothmog had returned from below, leaning back in his chair, eyes closed. 
“Come again?” Melkor had no other words to say, returning his attention back to the phone call at hand.  
“Monseigneur Bauglir, we can offer you a table for two for September 8th for the next year, together with a corner room in our lodging. 
“So what do I have to do to become a regular?” Melkor tried to cut straight to the problem at hand. 
“Accept this booking and we can talk about getting you in for the next Holiday Dinner that year too. That should suffice to get to know you as our new guest.” The French accent had a certain velvety quality that sounded scratchier than it should. 
“You make it sound like a cakewalk.” Melkor tried his best not to sound angry, thus endangering his chances of ever dining at wretched Gondolin. 
“What would you like me to do?” 
“Book me in for next year, but maybe try to make it 19 or 20 hours?” 
“We shall see, Monseigneur Bauglir. May I take your phone and credit card number?”
“Gladly.” Melkor reaches for his wallet in his back pocket and goes on to read out the credit card number Gothmog has overheard often enough. 
“Thank you Monseigneur Bauglir.” The young man sounded like he was opening a door for Melkor. “We will be happy to see you next year.”
“With whom did I have the pleasure of speaking with?”
“My name is Maeglin. I will pass your booking on to Monseigneur Glorfindel. He will see if you can be moved to a later time for dining.”  
“And you are the secretary I can call If I have any questions meanwhile?”Melkor was curious. 
“Non, I am the Sommelier.” Maeglin laughed. In future you will speak to Monsigneur Glorfindel who is in charge of all reservations.”
“Thank you” Melkor wrote down the Name, trying not to roll his eyes. It was what it was. 
“Thank you, Monseigneur Bauglir. Have a pleasant evening.” And Maeglin hung up. Melkor wiped his brow and theatrically mimicked banging his head on the table. 
“Of course it would be one of those!” he wailed at Gothmog, who was grinning too knowingly for his comfort. “What’s up?” Melkor did not like this look. 
“Do you want the good or bad news first?” Gothmog answered. 
“The bad, and then it’s over with!” Melkor said after rubbing his face with both hands. “I need some water? You too?”
Gothmog shrugged a half-assed yes. “Well, I know who is on that fabled list you are not on.” 
“Don’t say Hurin.”
“I’m afraid so.” Gothmog’s smirk morphed into a frown. “He could not stop talking about it last year finally making it on the list after going there for his birthday, his brother’s birthday, and then treating his wife to a weekend with full board and spa treatments for their wedding anniversary.” 
“So what you are implying” Melkor says following a feeling forming in his gut. “Is that I might stand a chance for an earlier date if Hurin recommends me, or where is this going?” 
Gothmog scratched his head. “If I recall correctly, Hurin boasted that his brother-in-law’s tennis partner’s sister got his reservation moved forward considerably, after she put in a good word with Turgon who runs the place.” He paused, cracking open a second beer, leaving the glass of water Melkor had given him untouched. “As if I care for those places, yet I still remember those blasted details.” 
Melkor was already picturing himself schmoozing with Hurin just to make Mairon happy. While he detested the thought of spending his free time with that upstart real estate monger from Cologne, he did not begrudge the effort in front of him for his beloved’s sake. “And what’s the good news?”
“The good news is, that you know someone who could get you an earlier date to take Mairon out.” Gothmog smirked.
“I figured.” Melkor preferred water and downed his glass in one go.  
“So you want to join me on the building site tomorrow to inspect our paint progress and make sure it’s up to Hurin’s exacting standards?” Gothmog goaded him. 
“The only exacting standards I truly adhere to are Mairon’s, thank you very much.” Melkor smiled. “But I suppose it will not hurt to show myself and look diligent for our dear Hurin.”

They spent the remainder of the evening raiding the fridge for leftovers to have for an evening meal and came up with a plan that might work to make Hurin not just feel their customer care was up to scratch, but Melkor might even be more than just someone he did business with. He should become more useful, more indispensable in Hurin’s life.  

And then Ungoliant came in. “Gentlemen, I see you have already dined?” She commented after seeing their emptied plates in front of them. “What are you two plotting?”
Melkor gave her a dirty look. “It’s a long story, but to cut it short, your Thuri might be able to help us.” He hoped she would have some capacities for a new client. 
“She is not going to re-do our company flyer again.” Ungoliant snapped. 
“No!” Melkor tried not to sound too defensive. He thought that fiasco had been forgotten. But of course she would not. “I might have a new client for her that also pays well.” 
Ungoliant’s eyebrows raised in a good way, leaning against the kitchenette counter. “Are we talking one big thing or a steady client?”
“Could be both, I have to see what Hurin really needs.”
“Doesn’t he have that Agency he uses up where he’s from that does his ads?” By the way she rolls her eyes Melkor deducts there might have been some attempts to get Thuri working with him already. 
“Actually, he was moaning about not getting enough social media exposure and news coverage.” Gothmog said, offering Ungoliant a beer, she took after he opened it for her. 
“So he might be in the market for a new agency.” She smiled, looking at Melkor for more answers. “So why are you two worrying about Hurin’s marketing dilemma? Is this some scheme to keep the gravy train going?” 
“That, and I want him to put in a good word for me at Gondolin, so that I can actually take Mairon out for dinner there this year, not next.” He sighed. 
“Always the scheming charmer, my Melkor.” Ungoliant clinked her bottle with his empty water glass. “So Thuri might be able to thank you for your wish to spoil your boyfriend.”
“He’s my partner, we’re not teenagers anymore!” Melkor protested, laughing. 
“You sure did talk like feeling like a teenager every time you had to pick up self-sealing steambolts from his smithy back in the day.” Gothmog did not spare him that reminder. 
“I have grown up since,” Melkor grunted. Adding “in his care.” to make his point clear and nip any further teasing in the bud.

***

2 Weeks Later
Melkor rested his forehead against the mirror. It was too hot and he would have rather have been decluttering his wardrobe with the cool breeze of the airconditioner and the company of Mairon. Instead, he found himself getting ready to go to the tennis club of all places to meet Hurin for “a quick catch-up”. Everything for that man is verbally “just quick” and “uncomplicated”, or “not a biggie”, when actually socializing with him feels like driving on a winding road with lots of intersections and you can’t read the roadsigns. Worst of all, the tennis club is Manwë’s territory. He does not want to meet his dear brother and risk enduring inquisitive comments. 
The things you do for love!
Melkor had even taken the trouble to do some dress code research utilizing the photos from last year’s tournament on the tennis club’s handcrafted website. 
His wardrobe was mostly black, divided into work, free time and formal. He did own sporty clothes for the gym, but nothing for prancing around Silmaringen’s well-to-dos at the tennis club. 

There were those mid-blue denim pants he had bought a while ago, trying to prepare himself for situations like this when it might have been necessary to cosplay as someone with different tastes. They still had the price tag and label on them and the sinking feeling he felt when the shop assistant complimented him after trying them on. They still fit, but sitting was like his abdomen was being crushed. Nope! How was he supposed to stay alert and cajole Hurin in this leg wear corsetry claiming to be the garment of utter freedom? Melkor never understood the whole concept of “Blue Jeans” anyway. He ripped the pants off himself and looked at the clock. The boutique up the road should still be open and being the busy businessman he was, Melkor decided to inform Hurin that he would be dropping in a little later. Hurin answered with a smile and a tennis racket emoji, so there no visible complaints from that side. Easy going then, Hurin!

After marveling at this new trend called “Quiet Luxury Health Goth” the young man at the boutique had a lot to say about, Melkor carried a paper bag with his new outfit back home to get properly dressed for his “date” with Hurin. Those black linen pants with thick stitching details on the seams looked excellent with that heavy cotton-silk blend shirt in deep teal. He looked dressed and chic enough without feeling like he was wearing another person’s clothes.

***

Melkor was thankful for the cool-ish breeze out here in the green, that made the bright sunlight somewhat bearable. The sunscreen he had applied still looked a tad too shiny on his forearms. Oh well! 
Hurin was sat on the terrace in a polo shirt that looked like Melkor’s worst nightmares from the 80ies. They ordered coffee and he listened to Hurin talk about his real estate ventures and how “that PR team I hired” was failing in today’s circumstances. “The markets have changed, you have to speak to younger customers.” Hurin ranted through a bleachy grin. “The heirs selling their grandparents houses don’t look in the newspaper, they need to be met on Isigrem!” Hurin’s fist met the table, almost knocking their coffee cups over. “Even on TukTuk we would have better exposure to the market!” Melkor blinked, grunted and gave a measured nod, trying his best to look like he was agreeing. “Morwen always says you need to keep your eyes on the young ones and get them early!” 
Melkor waited a few seconds. “We do have Atelier Wethil at our disposal.” 
“I have heard of them!” Hurin’s tone shifted towards curiosity. “They would need to focus on video content.” 
“They are the agency for Mayor Sulimo’s office and do his QuickClips, you know.” Melkor dropped, unsure if Hurin knew Manwë was his younger brother. 
“So if you and Finsterweber are not overworking Wethil, can you put in a good word for me?” Hurin waved the waiter to his side. “Get me a bottle of that Champagne I had sent from Gondolin.” He smiled handing over 20 Eros corkage fee. “It’s always good to have your own stuff here.” Hurin said to Melkor, who had not eaten enough yet to stomach French bubbly at this time. “I am driving!” 
“Morwen will take you home later, she will be back from her game any minute now.”

Melkor excused himself to seek out the restroom and texted Mairon for a pickup. “If you don’t mind my bike in the back of your Benz, I will be at the Tennis Club in two.” 
“Thanks, my flame!” Melkor shot back, enjoying the calm of his stall with no one else in the room.