Secrets and Pleasure, parts 5-8 (LotR)

[thefrogg]

Part 5

Legolas' eyes widened, and he stepped forward to peer intently at Aragorn. The look of awe and wonder on his face, in his voice, was stunning. "You...you're not..." Legolas swallowed hard.
"I'm not what?" Aragorn asked, genuinely puzzled. "Angry? Upset? Betrayed? Why? It's obvious you aren't allowed to tell anyone, and I can understand why if you can do..." And he broke off with a gesture to the bower, turning back to it with eyes that gleamed with moisture. "It's one thing to do something like this, to use it to care for others...but I can see where it'd be applicable in war, and Earthspeech should never be used that way. It's a betrayal of what it *is*."
Stomach in knots, Legolas forced his legs to carry him the few steps to Aragorn's side, his own eyes glistening. "Amin mela lle," he whispered once again, the words heartfelt, and rested his head against his beloved's shoulder, breathing deeply of the scent of earth and green, leather and sweat.
Aragorn smiled softly, one hand rising to cup the back of the Elf's head, fingertips just brushing that oh-so-sensitive ear. That one caress he'd been aching to have the right to. Legolas shivered against him, clutching helplessly at him to keep balanced as a soft moan escaped, but he only burrowed further into the folds of his cloak.
He would have stood like that forever, savoring the feel of Legolas' weight against him, the slight tremors of pleasure vibrating through the Elf's slight frame, but his own restlessness caught up with him, and he swallowed against it. "Ada..." Aragorn began softly. "Ada used to tell me stories of the First Age, of the great works of the Earthspeakers. How they were a legend even among the Elves. I was fascinated by the very idea...But I cannot even imagine carrying that kind of responsibility."
A sharp pang of loss stabbed through Legolas as he lifted his head, staring at his beloved. There had been curiosity, yes. Curiosity and awe and wonder, but no envy or jealousy or even want.
Aragorn smiled ruefully at him. "I cannot fathom ruling Men; how can I want to rule Middle-Earth itself?" He shook his head, laughing softly at himself. "If anything, perhaps together we can help the world heal from Sauron's depredations."
"You underestimate your own wisdom, a'mael," Legolas replied. Aragorn's muscles jumped beneath the fabric of his tunic; Legolas recognized the rising restlessness and took a step back, a light of acknowledgement in his eyes.
"Enough of such serious topics." Aragorn shook himself free of Legolas' grip, nodding towards the bower. "Show me more of the wonders you have wrought for our..." and he hesitated, "...comfort."
Legolas noticed the hesitation, thought he knew what Aragorn had started to say, but said nothing. Reaching for his beloved's hand, he turned and started towards the mound of greenery. Feeling Aragorn's calloused hand grip his firmly, he could only hope that they would soon be as at ease with each other as lovers as they had been as friends and companions. A bemused chuckle escaped him as he brushed aside the curtain of vines guarding the entrance.
"And what has you so amused?" Aragorn asked insistantly, tugging on the hand still in his.
Another laugh lightened the tension between them. "Us. We've been best friends for most of your life, and the best part of mine, and yet now we're as skittish as untamed colts."
Aragorn smiled. "I have often wondered where our relationship would be had we bonded so many years ago..."
Sensing the thought unfinished, Legolas raised an eyebrow in encouragement.
Breaking eye contact, Aragorn pressed a soft kiss to Legolas' knuckles. "Yet I cannot help but think that perhaps we are better off this way. We barely knew one another back then; we've seen each other at our best, and at our worst, and everything in between. And we know we can, and will last. And that, a'mael, is worth the heartache."
He barely had time to register the flood of color spilling from Legolas' ears, the flush spreading bright across his face, before a sharp tug on his hand unbalanced him, sending him crashing against the Elf. His hand was released, the Elf's wrapping around him, holding him steady, holding him close; he was vaguely aware of the other letting the curtain of vines fall free in a rustle of green-laden wind, only to bury itself in his long, dark hair. His breath caught in his throat at the flash of something dark in Legolas' eyes and he fought to swallow his sudden apprehension.
Legolas' eyes gleamed, a hunger burning in their sapphire depths, and he fought for control. Fought, and lost, and bent to take Aragorn's mouth with a savagery that bled decades of want and need and fear, frustration and love. His tongue swiped firmly across Aragorn's lower lip, darting past at the Man's gasp to plunder the warm, wet heat inside, finding and stroking across the rough slickness of his tongue and inciting him to battle. His hands tightened, pulling Aragorn more firmly against him, and he felt his nipples harden beneath his tunic, dragging across the cloth. Part of him railed at this violent taking, the loss of control, but even the painful pressure between his legs could not enable him to drag himself out of the maelstrom of emotions that had been unleashed.
It was only at Aragorn's mewling cry, a tiny whimper that clawed its way out, that Legolas was able to break away, chest heaving in a panicked breath. Aragorn was panting, lips dark and swollen, a single droplet of blood beading at the corner of his mouth to be swiped away by an agile tongue. He could not look, could not stand the thought of having hurt the Man he loved above all else, and took a step back, once more brushing aside the curtain of greenery.
"Legolas."
The Elf shuddered, pulling further away, curling in on himself as his breath rasped in his throat. Guilt ate at him; he'd asked, no, begged, Aragorn to trust him, and he'd abused that trust. What was happening to him? Why did Aragorn's unquestioning acceptance strip him of control?
How could he guide Aragorn in his time of need when he could not even keep a grip on his own tangled emotions?
"Legolas!"
Aragorn's voice was harsh, snapping him out of his inner turmoil, and he looked up, a wild and wary look in his eyes.
Understanding and lust shadowed the Man's eyes. "Don't hold back from me, please. We've been so close and so far apart for too long already." Aragorn reached up, brushed a wayward strand of blond hair back behind Legolas' ear, rubbing softly at the outer curve. His other hand went to the Elf's hip, easing him closer, close enough to wrap in a half embrace. "I know this will be harder on you than on me." He watched Legolas' throat move as he swallowed hard, watch the moisture gather in his eyes once more, giving those blue eyes a watery sheen that spilled over. Aragorn abandoned the ear beneath his fingers then, pulling his lover closer. "Shh. It's all right, a'mael. I may be...unpracticed, but I'm not quite as naive as you might think," he murmured, tongue flickering out to taste the salty heat of tears.
"I would not hurt you."
Aragorn had to struggle to hear that whispered protest, spoken though it was against his neck. "Legolas...a'mael..." He closed his eyes, the hand twined in that long blond hair seeking, and finding, the delicate peak of an ear. "I don't want the calm facade of Elven pride you show the rest of Middle-Earth. I want all the passion and love that lies beneath the surface, all the feelings you've pushed aside in the name of friendship and propriety." He gentled a string of soft kisses along the perfect line of jaw, beneath that pointed ear. "I won't accept anything less from you, a'mael...because I won't give less than everything I am," and he sucked Legolas' earlobe into his mouth, laving it with his tongue as he braced himself; he was ready for the Elf's sudden weight, the sharp cry of pleasure ringing through the trees and startling a few birds into flight.
Any sense, any hope of control vanished under the onslaught of heat and need and lust radiating from that sensitive bit of flesh. Legolas' body shook, each pull of Aragorn's mouth on his ear drawing an answering pulse in his groin. Mindless, he shifted, pressing his aching arousal against Aragorn's muscled thigh. His breath hitched, nostrils flaring to supply an ever-growing need for air; the scent of sweat and leather rose up as he found the tendon joining neck and shoulder with lips and teeth and tongue.
Gasping at the exquisite pain, Aragorn arched back, Legolas' ear slipping from between his lips. He felt the sharp edge of teeth set more firmly in his neck, marking him, and growled deep in his throat at the knowledge that Legolas was staking his claim so visibly.
Distantly he sensed Legolas coming back to himself, regaining control, though the hard evidence of the Elf's arousal did not diminish in the slightest.
That thought brought a flush of shame; though the feel of Legolas in his arms, even with both of them fully dressed, was beyond his wildest expectations, their kisses passionate and erotic in the extreme, his body showed no arousal at all. The discomfort, the incessant itch that had plagued him the past several days was too deeply ingrained to allow such pleasures to take hold of his body, as they had taken hold of his mind.
He swallowed hard as he felt Legolas pull back, reaching up with a trembling hand to trace the bite mark on his neck. Shifting slightly, he tried to hide his reaction, rather, the lack thereof, but Legolas would have none of it, pressing close.
"Shh, it's all right. I understand," Legolas rasped, the finger tracing the love bite now pressing against Aragorn's lips, hushing his protests. "There is time enough for comfort, and that I have provided for..." He smiled mischievously as he let his voice trail off.
"But?"
Legolas winked. "But you'll have to let me go."
Aragorn fought a bemused grin, thankful beyond belief for Legolas' understanding, and managed to sigh heavily, sounding much put-upon. "If I must." He reluctantly unwrapped himself from the archer, and took a step back.
Unable to suppress his disappointment at the loss of contact, Legolas sighed, reaching out once more to sweep aside the curtain of greenery. "After you, Sire?" The words were affectionately teasing.
Giving the Elf a sharp look, Aragorn nodded nonetheless and ducked beneath the extended arm, into the shadowed haven of the bower.

"That would never work, Pippin. We can't write in Elvish, and they'd know each other's writing anyways," Frodo protested.
Sam's brow furrowed. "He has a point, Master Frodo. We're not trying to get them to believe the other wrote the notes, we're just trying to get them to talk to each other. To wonder."
"Yeah! And telling them doesn't do it, what will?" Merry added gleefully.
"Doesn't Gandalf know how to write Elvish?" Pippin asked.
Merry didn't bother answering; he just spun around mid stride, kept on his feet only by Gimli's quick hand on his elbow. "Gandalf, you can write in Elvish, can't you?" he piped.
Gandalf laughed and shook his head in amusement. "Of course, young master Pippin."
"And just where are we going to get paper and quill and ink out here?" Gimli put in.
Merry, Pippin and Sam all frowned, while Frodo bore a look of faint relief.
"I always carry a bit with me."
Boromir's words reversed the Hobbits' expressions.

Aragorn stood silently, letting his eyes adjust to the shadowed twilight in the shelter of the bower. Blinking rapidly, he inhaled, smelling the greenery, the sharp tang of mineral salts, the honeysuckle and trumpet vines blooming vigorously out of season. His feet carried him forward numbly, stopping before his boots could crush the raised bed of velvety moss. He swallowed hard, silently measuring the breadth of what would be his--no, their--bed for the next several days.
Anxiously awaiting Aragorn's reaction, Legolas tried not to fidget as the silence lengthened, turning from mere moments to several minutes, until finally he could not stand it any more. "It is far from what I would have offered you, were we in more...civilized conditions... This should be...special..." He shut his eyes tightly against the sudden burn, turning, only to be stopped short by Aragorn's hand clamped on his arm.
"It would be perfect, even if it were just a rocky outcrop and our bedrolls, because it is you, Legolas," Aragorn rasped. "This..." and he gestured broadly at the masterpiece spread before him, "is beyond my wildest dreams, and it is thus because *you* made it. How can it not be special?"
Legolas blushed furiously, ears and cheeks turning a bright red visible even in the dim light beneath the woven vine canopy. His mouth worked silently, opening and closing like a fish before he finally snapped his jaws shut with a sharp crack of teeth at Aragorn's quiet chuckle. Regaining his composure with no small amount of effort, he stepped past Aragorn and led the way along the edge of the bower to another screen of vines.
"Here, this will help a great deal," he said, his tone stiff as he worked through his embarrassment.
Aragorn stepped through this screen, eyes widening at the hot springs. Sculpted stone steps led down into a large, steaming pool in the center of the room, while several smaller ringed the enclosure. He spun to look at Legolas in astonishment, hands coming up reflexively as he found the Elf standing much closer than he'd thought.
Legolas caught him gently by the arm, releasing him as he regained his balance. The look of confusion on the Man's face perversely served to eradicate any lingering mortification, and he hastened to explain, a tinge of smugness in his voice. "Earthspeech is not just rapport with the wood, it is a link with Middle-Earth herself." A small smile graced his lips at Aragorn's blank look. "Do you really think I'd spare any effort to grant you comfort?" Laughing quietly, he shook his head, taking Aragorn's shoulders and turning him back around. "Go on, soak. You need it. Just don't drink from the main pool." And he pointed to the smallest depression. "That's drinking water. This one has too many mineral inclusions for drinking."
Aragorn bent his head slightly to press a soft kiss to the arm resting outstretched on his shoulder, smiling at Legolas' drawn breath. "Thank you," he said, reluctantly stepping forward, hands going to the clasp on his cloak.
"You're quite welcome," Legolas replied. "I'll leave you to your bath, then. I have some preparations of my own to see to, and I think you need a bit of privacy at the moment." He bowed slightly and swept out of the bower before Aragorn could protest.

"So we just keep going and let them catch up to us?" Boromir asked Gandalf, again following behind the whispering, giggling quartet of Hobbits, the Dwarf stomping along just behind them. "I cannot say that I look forward to doing without Legolas' eyes and ears, or Aragorn's knowledge of the wilderness. Much less both."
Gandalf smiled at the Man's admission of growing dependency. "We will not leave them behind. Legolas assured me there is a stream a half day's march from here; we wait there for them." He had to chuckle at Boromir's sigh of relief. "It will be a good chance for us to get some rest, and for you and Gimli to teach the Hobbits a bit of self-defense."
There was a noncommittal grunt.
"Five days' rest we will have, Boromir, more than that would be foolhardy. And those two are well able to travel faster than the Hobbits; they will catch us should they need more time."
"If they need more time it's either because they've managed to kill each other or come to their senses," Gimli groused loudly enough to drown out everyone else.
"Here's hoping for coming to their senses!" Pippin called out from up ahead, bouncing in place.
The others just laughed, Merry reaching over to ruffle his cousin's curls.

A scant few minutes' lope brought Legolas to a massive weeping willow, its trailing branches nearly brushing the ground. He didn't hesitate before ducking beneath the canopy, ignoring the packs on the moss- and fern-covered earth as he stripped off his cloak, belt, cuffs, and tunics. Leaving them in a jumbled pile behind him, he knelt and unlaced his boots, silently thanking the forethought he'd had in preparing two sites and enabling this distance between them. Aragorn was still within earshot, should anything untoward happen, but the Man's rapidly changing scent was no longer playing havok with his equilibrium.
Then he was nude, and rose gracefully to his feet with a sigh. After fishing his belt from the pile of clothing and detaching a single pouch from it, he stepped to the small spring, lowering himself into the warm water. He let the warmth seep into his skin, relaxing tensed muscles, as he unbraided his hair, then ducked below the surface, shaking his head to thoroughly soak. Breaking through the surface gasping for air, he attempted to bathe quickly with the foam from the soaproot he'd planted at the edge of the pool just for that purpose.
His own body's reaction to Aragorn's condition was too far along; he still had his wits about him, still had some semblance of control, but could no longer suppress the longing and desire he'd locked away decades ago. Not now that it had been freed by far more than just Aragorn's physical need of him.
Soap-slicked hands slid down his arms, across his chest and belly, barely skimming the cocoa-colored nipples in a futile attempt to avoid furthering his own arousal. They tightened almost painfully, giving a sharp counterpoint to the throbbing in his sex, and with a whimpering moan of defeat, Legolas gave in.
One hand dropped to his needy shaft, stroking lightly, the other returning to his chest, scraping blunt nails roughly over his distended nipples.
"Elbereth, no, not like this...please..." Legolas whispered, voice rough and unsteady, after a few strokes, each firmer than the last, told him sheer physical sensation would not be enough to push him over.
Turning his attention inward, he reached for the box labeled 'Aragorn' in the back of his mind.
Guilt and remembered emotional pain stayed his hand.
'I can't do this!' he thought to himself.
There was a great echoing silence in his mind.
Legolas swallowed hard, gathering the tattered rags of his control and clutching them tightly. "I cannot use him, not like this." The words were ragged, pained.
'Can not or will not?'
Shoulders hunched, Legolas stared down into the water, nails digging into his thighs. Elrohir's voice filled that silence, as he'd known it would; his conscience always took on the twins' voices when it was Aragorn who troubled him, probably because they were the only ones he could talk to about the Man. "Does it make a difference?"
'Only that neither is acceptable.'
Legolas had no answer for that, just a mental snarl and yet another futile attempt to curb his body's arousal.
'He needs you.'
"I know that!"
'Do you? Do you think he does not know he arouses you?'
"That was painfully obvious to him." Aragorn's reactions to that arousal, and his own body's lack of same, were sharp in his memory.
'Do you think he does not do the same?'
Pain edged his vision with red, his hands leaving livid marks where they gripped his legs, the water around them stained faintly with his blood as nails broke through skin. It did nothing to quell the throbbing in his blood. "That does not matter; I locked such things away long ago."
'So your own pleasure is simply another bodily need to be seen to now.' Elladan now.
"You make it sound crude." Legolas' nostrils flared in anger.
'Isn't it though?'
"I will not disgrace him with such--!"
Elladan's voice interrupted him. 'Do you really think that he does not remember your gaze, your touch, your voice, and imagine them in other circumstances? That your friendship be love and passion and tenderness?'
"I would not willingly damage my friendship with him! I could not even meet his eyes then, after..." The Elf's slender form shook with a suppressed sob.
'And your fear does not? He needs you, he needs you relaxed and willing. He is your lover in everything but deed, and should have been decades ago! Think you he would begrudge you his memory? His image? Would you have him destroy himself for your own fear?'
"No...He would not..." The words came on a soul-deep moan.
'If you can not bring yourself to relax, he will hurt you, tear you without knowing his own actions. He was willing to torture himself with your friendship just to have you near. Do you really think causing you such pain would not destroy him?'
"He was no more willing to torture himself than I!" Legolas hissed in answer.
'And what would you do should you hurt him like that? If you were to rape him and leave him broken and bleeding?' Elrohir again.
"It...would not..." Protesting his own conscience was futile. Aragorn would see it as rape, no matter Legolas' willingness.
'Love him. Love him and be loved. So it is, so it shall be, so it was when first you met.'
Legolas inhaled raggedly; the argument was over, and he well knew it. If he were to hurt Aragorn so, even in fever dreams, he would not forgive himself. Such action would destroy him; it could be no less for Aragorn.
Trembling, he reached again for the box, the seal opening smoothly. All of his old fantasies about Aragorn lay folded inside, waiting for him, waiting for a day when such dreams would not bring more pain than pleasure.
He took a deep breath, steadying himself, hands loosening from their grip on his thighs. "I may as well do this properly, if it's to be done at all." His voice was low and steady, calmer now that he was no longer at war with his physical needs.
Images flitted through his mind until he found the one he wanted, letting it swallow him, block out his surroundings. With a sigh, Legolas slid deeper in the water, leaning back against the sloping wall.

Far away, Elladan and Elrohir carefully eased out of their friend's mind, shielding him from their presence, from their anger and pain and grief. Tears left glittering trails on their cheeks as they turned to each other, all but hiding in the other's embrace even as they watched over Legolas even now; he could not afford their neglect.
"There is so little joy in him," Elladan whispered, words muffled in his twin's robes.
Elrohir nodded agreement, pulling Elladan even closer, watching Legolas finally relax into his fantasy of Aragorn. There was none of the pleasure he normally would have had in watching, merely attentive guardianship.

//Legolas stretched a bit, feeling the pleasurable soreness that spoke so clearly of his activities the past two days; two days spent mostly in bed, deliriously happy despite the fact that his legs were never going to forgive him the ride from Mirkwood.
"You're finally awake. I was starting to wonder." Aragorn's voice rumbled from the tangled sheets on the other side of the bed.
"Hmmm." The Elf purred, covering the hand resting possessively on his abdomen with one of his own, tracing the calloused fingers. There was a tiny, blissful smile on his face.
Aragorn shifted, propping himself up on his elbow so he could watch his lover's face. "You seem very pleased with yourself this..." and he paused to glance out the window, "afternoon."
Legolas merely looked up at him, bringing that possessive hand to his mouth to press a soft kiss to the palm, nuzzling against it.
An eyebrow rose as Legolas turned Aragorn's hand, biting the knuckles before soothing the sting with his tongue. "Hungry?" The word was a rough growl of growing arousal.
Pushing their twined hands away for a moment, Legolas smirked. "Not for food."
Chuckling, Aragorn bent down and claimed his lover's mouth, finding himself swiftly pulled down until he fully blanketed the Elf with his body.
They were both gasping by the time they parted, and Legolas held fast when Aragorn made as if to move. "Stay," he whispered, skimming elegant fingers down the Man's spine.
Aragorn's answer was to burrow into the hollow of Legolas' neck and press a kiss to the throbbing pulsepoint at the base.//

Elladan's eyes widened and he raised his head from his brother's chest. "Do you get the feeling we're missing something?" he asked.
Elrohir shrugged helplessly. "It's his--"
They both gasped as the Aragorn in Legolas' mind spoke again.

//"I want to know you," Aragorn whispered.
Legolas went impossibly still beneath him, disbelieving his ears. "Aragorn?"
"I want to know you," the Man repeated, lending enough weight to his words to let Legolas know he knew what he was asking.
Legolas closed his eyes, heart thundering in his breast. A pink tongue swiped nervously at pale lips. "You would...you would have me that...?" He swallowed hard, unable to finish.
"Vulnerable? Yes, I know," Aragorn answered softly, tracing the outer curve of an ear, feeling the answering shudder rip through the slender body beneath him. "It's probably too much to ask, too soon..."
"Aragorn..." Legolas' hands glided up the broad shoulders, tangling in the long hair to tug his head up. "The first time I looked at you, my heart knew. My soul met its other half. There would be no one else for me, no other I would have know me." He raised his head enough to kiss his lover gently, softly, just a press of mouth to mouth.//

"I'm not watching this," Elladan said. "It's too personal."
"And being his conscience isn't? Elladan, we can't afford for him to get cold feet. Aragorn can't afford it," Elrohir answered, grip tightening as Elladan shifted against him.
Elladan glared at his twin. "If you think any Elf would stop in the middle of *that* fantasy with their own chosen mate, you are out of your mind," he hissed. He had no hope of keeping Elrohir from following Legolas' fantasy to its obvious conclusion, but he had to try and distract him enough to keep some things sacred.
Glaring furiously, Elrohir rolled his brother beneath him, catching both wrists, fingers digging into the tendons. "In cast you didn't notice, Legolas is already out of his mind. And there's no telling what he might do in response if we don't keep it under control."
Elladan didn't bother struggling. "It's just a fantasy, Elrohir, it won't--"
"Legolas has no chosen grounds within a hundred leagues; he is not centered; there is no other Earthspeaker to give him barriers. He can and will do *something* if we don't keep it from happening," Elrohir interrupted. "Ada had to shield me under better circumstances than Legolas is in now. And you know that Legolas is stronger than any other Earthspeaker on these shores!"
Wide eyes stared up at Elrohir. "Why didn't you say anything?" he whispered after a long moment, puzzling over what he'd just heard.
"You weren't ready to ask, and I wasn't about to push you. Now," Elrohir said firmly, "are you going to help me or do I get the others to?"
[Don't ask me, I have my hands full keeping--Aragorn under control.] Arwen's voice was strained; they could see her kneeling, back to them, in the gardens below their balcony as they sat up.
Elrohir's eyes narrowed as her hesitation made him suspicious, but Elladan answered before he could address it.
[Enjoying the view, dear sister?]
Her back stiffened just before an insulted snarl hit them both, making them wince. [He's my *brother*!] Then her presence vanished as she slammed up shields, both around herself, and distantly, around Aragorn.
"That went well," Elladan said drily.
Elrohir had no answer for him, still mulling over Arwen's hesitation.
"Elrohir?"
"Mm?" The reply was distracted.
"Are we going to block Legolas or are we going to let the old turtledoves do it?"
"I wouldn't let Thranduil deal with it if he were the last Earthspeaker in Middle-Earth," Elrohir snapped, eyes flashing as he turned. He could still sense Elrond arguing with the Mirkwood king, still feel the rage, the determination, the regret.
Regret. Right.
"Well, then," Elladan said, inhaling deeply as he folded himself once more on the floor, mentally reaching across the leagues for his friend's mind.
"Just how deep is he going?" Elrohir whispered, fear and awe in his voice.
"Don't know, but he could destroy Mordor with half a thought if it occurred to him."
"And take half of Gondor with it," Elrohir added.
"I don't think Aragorn would be pleased if his consort-to-be destroyed half his kingdom..."
"And it would make destroying the ring rather difficult."
Elladan chanced a sideways look at his twin, eyes slitted. "But would it have to be? Wouldn't Sauron be destroyed in such a--"
"Do we take that chance? We thought he was destroyed last time."
"And we don't know if it would just be half of Gondor," Elladan said, sighing.
Elrohir didn't answer, just took Elladan's hand, twining their fingers together.


//"Aragorn, please," Legolas whimpered, twisting the sheets in clenched fists.
Aragorn chuckled softly, the vibrations sending the Elf arching off the bed with a sharp cry.
"Saes, Estel!" Even the faint breeze from the window was torture to his oversensitized skin, each toss of his head sending a jolt through him as a pointed ear brushed against the pillow.
"Elbereth," Aragorn breathed, nuzzling the pale curls, the alabaster column of flesh that throbbed between the Elf's legs. He raised himself on one arm, committing the image of his writhing lover to memory. "You're beautiful like this, all wanton and needy..."
With great effort, Legolas met Aragorn's awestruck gaze, tremors ripping through him. "A'mael...saes...[I need you]..." A strangled whimper escaped him as his shaft was wrapped in a calloused fist, the thumb rubbing over the tip to gather the beads of fluid. "Please, no more, I beg you," he whispered, shuddering with the effort not to come as Aragorn released him, tasting his seed with a swipe of his tongue.
Closing his eyes, Aragorn savored the taste of his lover, licking his thumb clean. With a low growl, he bent and took the very tip of Legolas' shaft between his lips, probing the slit with his tongue.
Legolas bucked, only the Man's grip on his hips keeping him from doing his lover harm. His hands found their way to Aragorn's head, fingers twining in the long hair. "Saes, Aragorn, a'mael," he pleaded, the words blurring to incoherency, then to a high scream as Aragorn took him all the way in, sucking hard.
With all the foreplay, all the effort he'd put into driving Legolas mad with need, Aragorn knew it wouldn't take much. He swallowed once, twice, one hand creeping around to tease the crease in the taut buttocks, and then his lover was shuddering beneath him, salt-sweet fluid flowing down his throat in thick spurts.
"Aragorn...mela lle...love you..." Legolas panted, dazedly lapsing into other languages. He dimly sensed Aragorn's amusement as the Man coaxed the last few aftershocks from him.//

Legolas gasped, shivering in the warm water, one hand wrapped around his spent shaft, the other clawing the lip of the pool behind him. Pleasure swamped him, drove him beneath the surface to try and clear his head.
Letting the warm water ease the last of the tension from him, Legolas stayed submerged until his lungs threatened to burst. Panting for breath, he thrust himself up and out of the water, turning to heave himself onto the mossy earth, and lay there, muscles quivering.
"Aragorn..." The name was whispered reverently, but this time, unlike so many others that had come before, it held a note of hope.

Even knowing what to expect, Elladan and Elrohir were more than a little surprised at the power in Legolas' rapport.
"This is gonna hurt," Elladan whispered, wide-eyed, just before Legolas' orgasm hit, the undirected power washing over him and leaving no room for thought or reaction, just instinct borne of centuries' training.
Lust, need, desire, love, guilt, despair, sorrow...it was all there, all intertwined and all but indistinguishable. And just a tinge, a bare hint, of hope threaded throughout.
Then it was gone, leaving them in a tangled heap of robes on the tiled floor, the roiling energy grounded, dissipated.
Elrohir blinked, raising his head to puzzle over the sudden silence, the stillness. He rolled, trying to get to his feet, and winced as his body registered the backlash.
And the silence mocked him.
Elrond and Thranduil, watching, waiting, in case they needed help with Legolas.
Rage beat a tattoo behind his eyes, counterpoint to the throbbing hunger in his groin, and he bent to pull Elladan upright. Anger seethed in his twin's eyes, answering his own, and Elrohir spun and crossed the room to keep himself from giving into temptation.
'Ada, if you ever want Mirkwood to take you again, you deal with him. Otherwise he'll be missing a few pertinent bodyparts,' he hissed; the floor trembled, Middle-Earth still hyper-aware of him, and he still flush with Legolas' power. Turning back to face Elladan, Elrohir could read the satisfaction at Elrond's shock, Thranduil's regret and indignation on his face, knew it was reflected on his own. Then he built his own walls, thick, impenitrable, layering them, feeling Elladan add his own strength, until they were locked within a veritable fortress.
Elrohir bent his head, shut his eyes as he tried to rein in his fury. "I have wanted to do that since--"
"I know," Elladan answered softly when his brother could not continue. "I do not know if I can forgive him, either." His gaze held a sullen hunger before he turned and swept through the gauzy curtains.
"Forgiveness?!" Elrohir snarled, striding after his twin, catching him by the shoulder and spinning him around. "He broke Legolas, Elladan, or don't you remember? Aragorn--" He broke off, too pained by the memories of his brother, his friend as they had been more than half a century before, when fate had made a mockery of their love.
"And those wounds are healing now," Elladan whispered on a shuddering breath, pain shooting through him from Elrohir's grip on his shoulders, heightening his arousal.
'Only if...' The knowledge flashed in Elrohir's eyes, went unspoken but acknowledged in Elladan's, and then the backlash blurred their mutual grief and rage.
Elladan was slammed backwards into the wall, mouth savaged, hands shredding silken robes in their haste to get to bare skin. He pushed back, one hand tangling in his twin's hair to pull him closer, the other searching out the ties to his robe and leaving them in a pool around their feet with a bit of help.
A forceful shove tumbled both of them onto the bed in a tangle of limbs, the last of their clothing falling in tatters around them. Elrohir reached behind him, blindly groping for the bottle of oil. Elladan tried to help fumble it open, eyes wild, breath coming in faint gasps, and then their hands were covered in the slick, sweet smelling fluid, a pool spreading across Elrohir's abdomen and down his thighs.
"Enough!" Elladan flung the bottle and stopper away, paying no heed as they fell to the carpeted floor with a dull thud. Then he screamed, a high pitched wail, as an oil-covered hand closed around his aching shaft and stroked upward once, distracting him. Teeth sank into his throat as he was wrestled around, flung to the mattress, his hands grasping at Elrohir's shoulders and unable to grip.
Elrohir held on, sucking a deep purple mark on his twin's neck; it wasn't often he took his lover like this, wasn't often they needed it, but now...Now it was as necessary as air. Twisting his hips, he nestled himself between Elladan's legs, their shafts slipping deliciously against each other.
"Please!" Elladan hissed, clacking his teeth together sharply as Elrohir released his throat.
Elrohir forcibly slowed his breathing, raising his head to stare possessively as one hand burrowed between Elladan's buttocks. Finding the puckered entrance, he wasted no time in plunging two fingers past the ring of muscle, wriggling deeper and curving perfectly to find the tiny bulge that gave so much pleasure.
Caught by his brother's gaze, Elladan could hide nothing as he cried out in pleasurable pain, then again in naught but pleasure. His body bucked and heaved as of its own accord, his hands scrabbling for a grip on something, anything, too slick to be of use, then twisted the sheets instead as Elrohir's fingers stroked unceasingly over his pleasure center, too much to let him find his wits, too little to allow him climax.
Entranced by the sight and sound of his brother, his lover, his other half coming undone beneath him, Elrohir listened as Elladan's pleading spiralled down into incoherence, moans and gasps punctuated with a string of garbled words.
Elladan whimpered as Elrohir removed his fingers to position himself, wrapping his twin's legs around his own waist. "Now, please, now..." he chanted over and over, the litany broken only when Elrohir thrust deep, pinning him to the mattress.
"You like it like this, don't you," Elrohir hissed, driving into Elladan in short jabs that hit his pleasure center with every stroke.
"Yes!" Elladan wailed, arching up, nails digging into his lover's back and leaving red stripes. "Harder!"
"Mine," Elrohir growled, bending to the purplish bruise he'd left earlier, circling it with his tongue. One hand went to his twin's shaft, stroking in time with his thrusts.
"Yours," Elladan confirmed, then, tangling one hand in the curtains of dark hair curtaining them, yanked his brother's head down and sank his teeth into Elrohir's throat in a reciprical claim.
Elrohir's eyes widened in pained pleasure, losing his rhythm and his grip; he slid over Elladan's body with the help of the spilled oil. A few rough thrusts pushed them both into a blinding, shuddering climax, Elrohir's scream echoing off the walls before he collapsed in a boneless heap.
It was a quivering, panting while later before either of them had the strength to speak.
"Enough?" Elrohir asked breathlessly, unable to move from his sprawl atop his twin.
"To take the edge off, yes. Just let my heart stop trying to bash its way out of my chest," Elladan answered, the words muffled.

Still quivering slightly from his release, Legolas struggled to all fours and dragged himself to the pile of discarded clothing, clumsily seeking out something he'd been carrying constantly for far too long: A slender wooden case, the edges worn smooth with long years of handling, the royal seal of Mirkwood unbroken on the clasp.

//"Legolas."
Legolas' mouth tightened into a thin white line at hearing that voice. It was the voice that had meant comfort and home to him since the day he was born, the voice that had supported him in all things...except that which was most important to him. Thus it was the voice he least wanted to hear. "Yes, Adar?"
Thranduil sighed softly, knowing better than to call his youngest son to task for his sullen tone. He well knew whose feet the blame for that could be laid at, and it certainly wasn't Legolas'. "I have something for you, if you would come with me to my office, please."
Staring at him balefully, Legolas hesitated, debating inwardly as to whether or not such a gift would be welcome.
"Legolas," Thranduil sighed.
"Yes, Adar," Legolas replied, bowing slightly, then following as Thranduil turned towards his office.
Thranduil took his seat at the desk, leaning heavily on his elbow. "Please come in and close the door," he said, watching the way Legolas stood in the doorway, stiff and cold, face blank except the ice in his eyes.
Wordlessly following instructions, Legolas stepped further into the room, keeping his distance. His fingertips idly traced the hilt of the knife on his hip. "Well?"
Eyes narrowed, Thranduil frowned. "You know, you aren't making this any easier for me."
That got a quick quirk of lips, less than a smirk, far from a smile, and so swiftly erased it might never have been. "I could have refused," Legolas replied drily.
"I suppose I should be grateful you didn't."
Legolas tilted his head slightly in a nod, just once.
It was a gesture that clearly was not his own, Thranduil knew. Near three millenia of knowing his son, and he knew enough to know that it was not his. Not his, because his son was in love, and had absorbed certain characteristics of his beloved.
That meant it was Aragorn's, and nothing could have spoken more clearly of Legolas' attachment to the young Man.
Thranduil's gaze fell to the wooden case lying accusingly on the desk and reluctantly reached for it. He'd spent so much time and effort on it, and Legolas might never... "Here, this is for you, if and when you and yo--Aragorn ever come to an understanding." And he held out the case, all his hopes, all his love for his youngest, and, admitted only somewhere buried out of the light of day, his favorite son tied up in it.
Legolas hadn't thought he could feel more bitterness towards his father. He'd been wrong. Back straight, lips thin and white in a moon-pale face, he reached out and took the slim case, turning it over in his hands. "You wait until now, until he's out of my reach, to give me this?" The words came in a harsh whisper. Legolas stared at his father as the king of Mirkwood struggled to find words, an apology, anything, and failed. "Don't burden yourself, Adar. I'm sure I'll see this put to good use."
And he turned and strode from the room, not bothering to slam the door behind him.
It would be the last time he refered to the king as his father.//

Despite the harsh words he'd flung at his father all those years ago, words meant to hurt, he'd nevertheless carried that gift with him everywhere, guarding it above anything else to the point even Aragorn had called him on it, asked him its meaning. A meaning he could not admit to, other than to say it was a gift from Thranduil. He was slightly ashamed at the risks he'd taken time and again to protect it.
And now he could truthfully see what that gift was, find out whether it was hope or fear or something deeper...
Hands shaking, Legolas broke the seal, pieces of enchanted wax cumbling beneath his fingers.

The moment Legolas was gone, discomfort descended on Aragorn, a vulture on a spent battlefield. His hands grappled at his clothing, and he fought to shed them without doing damage. Skin prickled, burned, itched; he wanted nothing more than to crawl out of it, free himself from the torment.
High, thin noises echoed over the water, small animal sounds, and he only belatedly realized they were coming from him when they stopped, the itch eased by the long, slow slide into steaming water.
'My friend, my beloved, you always know...' Aragorn inhaled the steam deeply, held his breath, ducked below the surface and shook his hair out, soaking himself thoroughly. Clouds of tiny bubbles were forced through clenched teeth by his tongue, scouring his face before he surfaced.
Reaching back, his hands found a ledge at the right height, and he sent up another wordless thanks to Legolas' thoughtfulness as he settled himself on it to soak. One hand snagged one of the waterskins, and he emptied it without hesitation.
Knowing Legolas would give him some time, Aragorn shut his eyes and let his mind drift, content to let the aches and cramps he'd been unaware of soak.

~~~

Legolas' fingers trembled as they undid the latch, the hinges' silence betraying the case's craftsmanship after decades of disuse. A thin sheaf of paper lay within, crisp and bright as the day it had been sealed.
Carefully lifting it out, Legolas spared the glint of metal hidden beneath nary a glance as he unfolded the sheets of parchment and began to read.

My dearest son -
If you are reading this, you have, somehow, come to an understanding with your beloved Aragorn, and I could not be happier for you both.
No, don't look away, I know by word and action I have given little reason for you to believe me, believe that, yet it is true.

Thranduil's voice rang clear in Legolas' mind, quiet and deep, reciting the message he'd written more than half a century previous.

I owe you an apology and an explanation, and can only hope that in time you might come to understand, and perhaps forgive the fool you call your Ada. Know this--I have never been more sorry, or more ashamed, for any word or deed I have ever committed in my life, as I am for breaking your heart. For standing between you and your future, between you and happiness. So, too, do I apologize for doing the same to Aragorn, a Man I do not know, but wish to, and hope to, get to know well as my son-in-law in the near future.
Know that I love you, Legolas, and through your words, the passion in your voice, in your eyes, I know I will love your chosen mate as my son, come the time we should meet in person. May that time come swiftly, for I cannot bear to see the pain that I placed in your eyes.

Legolas' gaze blurred, and he fought against the ache in his chest. Shoulders heaving, Legolas dropped the paper as tears spilled down his cheeks, lest he crush the fragile sheets. His temporary blindness did not seem to matter; Thranduil's voice continued on. Legolas was too stricken to notice or care, and merely wrapped himself in it.

You are the youngest of my children, and yet, as the only Earthspeaker among you, you are also my heir. We have never disagreed on anything of any real import, and while the father in me rejoices that you and I could be so close, the King of Mirkwood worried that you would not be able to keep the throne. It took some number of centuries before you brought anything I could let you convince me of, and while the sea does not call me yet, we both know my days on these shores are numbered. I did not think I had another two millenia to wait for you to debate with me on something. I admit to horrifyingly poor judgement on my part; it was merely bad timing on Aragorn's.

The words did not end, but Legolas' comprehension of more than tone vasnished beneath the force of his grief. Sobs bled decades of anger, bitterness and want, and Legolas let it all wash through him, let the weight of denied emotion erode bit by bit. Finally, free at last of that terrible burden, the tears waned, and, with trembling fingers, Legolas carefully refolded the parchments and placed them back in their case.
"I'm sorry, Ada," he whispered, wiping the last of the tears from his face before he turned his attention back to his own preparations.

~~~

Legolas would insist, later, that he'd gasped, moaned, choked, made some sort of noise to catch Aragorn's attention. It was the only explanation he could offer for interrupting the beauty before him: Aragorn's tanned form breaking through the surface of the pool, muscled arms lifting to sweep soaked hair back from his face, water streaming over broad shoulders, down his back...
But instead of completing the motion, Aragorn froze, tilted his head to one side before slowly turning. The discomfort was gone from the Man's eyes, which widened upon seeing Legolas, then narrowing at his appearance.
Blood rushed to his ears and Legolas swallowed hard. He'd not bothered to put his tunics back on, but his bracers had refused to be wedged into his pack, so they were laced to his bare wrists, and somehow, Aragorn's gaze sweeping over him hungrily made him feel more than naked.
"I see - you're feeling better," Legolas managed, throat tight.
Aragorn nodded once, sideways, an odd half-smile on his lips. Then he was moving, two steps taking him to the side, hand on the ledge, one strong push up and he stood naked, water sheeting off him, raining down on the smooth granite.
It took every bit of willpower Legolas had not to take a step back, not to retreat as Aragorn approached, slowly lifted one hand to press it to his chest, bronze against moon-white, and stared at it.
"I have seen you thus...in my dreams..." The words came as if Aragorn were unaware he'd said them. He blinked, shook his head, wet hair clinging to his shoulders sliding along the muscle. "I never thought, never-" and he could not finish.
More at ease, feeling less a hunted animal in the face of Aragorn's confused embarrassment, Legolas took Aragorn's wrist, pulled gently, pressing a kiss to the calloused palm before twining their fingers together. "I would give you my thoughts on the matter...however--" and he drew closer, whispering in his lover's ear. The sudden heat against his cheek made him laugh softly and pull back, only to swallow Aragorn's response in a kiss.
The kiss ended as Aragorn lifted his head to gaze at Legolas almost solemnly, then began again, free hand brushing the Elf's jaw, the other squeezing once, twice, then loosing to trace the graceful curve of spine. "You feel...mm...so good," he murmured, nipping at Legolas' lower lip.
Legolas kissed him softly, twice, then stopped. "You haven't felt anything yet..." and he twisted his hips, arching so that the hot velvet of Aragorn's sex brushed leggings and skin, leaving a damp trail below his navel. Then, laughing, he vanished beneath the vine curtain separating the two chambers.
Aragorn gasped, steadied himself against the sparks of pleasure skittering up and down his spine, making his knees weak, then moved with slow deliberation towards the screening vines. Finding a sapling to lean against, he parted the vines, stood - posing almost - in the doorway.
And looked.
Eyes hooded in concentration, Legolas sat on the edge of the moss bed, left wrist to his mouth as he pulled at the bracer's laces with his teeth. The opposite hand was unlacing his boot, his foot pulled awkwardly behind him.
"Let me," Aragorn said, voice thick and raspy.
Legolas paused, looked up with the bracer still pressed to his lips. As Aragorn came closer and knelt before him, he held out his hand. And blinked, then smirked when Aragorn re-laced the bracer. "Going to make me keep the boots on, too?" he asked, leaning back and straightening his leg so Aragorn could get to the bootlaces.
"That would make taking your leggings off rather impossible, and I imagine you'd get quite...uncomfortable in them, eventually." There was mischief in Aragorn's eyes despite the blush staining his cheeks.
"And what's to keep you from putting them back on after?"
"I was hoping I'd be too distracted-" and he yanked the boot off, letting it fall to the ground and reaching for the other offered foot, "to care by then."
Breathless, delighted laughter rang through the enclosure. "Good point."
A brief silence fell between them, comfortable and weighted with anticipation, and then the other boot was carelessly tossed aside. Aragorn slid up and over Legolas' body, ignoring the still-laced leggings to steal a kiss.
There was a startled grunt, and amused laughter as Aragorn lost his balance, and then they were tussling over the mossy earth in a tangle of limbs, hands drinking in skin smooth and scarred, seeking and finding those spots that would bring a gasp, a shudder, a moan of pleasure from the other.
Somehow they managed to remove Legolas' leggings, and then Aragorn found himself on his back, fighting to regain control, slow breathing and heartbeat. Nearly impossible to do with Legolas astride him, kneeling over his thighs, naked save his bracers. A slow grin spread across Aragorn's face, and he had to laugh as Legolas raised an eyebrow at the expression.
"What? Am I that amusing?"
Aragorn chuckled, one hand on Legolas' knee, the other tracing Legolas' lips. "No, it's just...you look so...so..."
Legolas merely waited, darting his tongue out to swipe at his lover's fingers as they passed, felt Aragorn shudder beneath him.
"Smug."
Even as he snorted delicately in denial, Legolas's expression softened, his entire body curving gently as he bent to kiss Aragorn. The fingers that had been tracing his lips slid down his side to cup one hip, and he shifted, opening himself further in blatant invitation.

Aragorn tensed, breath catching in his throat, before he could quell the reaction; Legolas stilled above him as his grip tightened on the Elf's hip.
There would be bruises come morning in the shape of Aragorn's fingers, Legolas knew; they would be the least of such markings left behind. It mattered little, and he could only wish he could take such time as would make Aragorn comfortable with this, make them comfortable with one another. Time they could not spare, and he turned a kiss into a nuzzle at the jaw rough with stubble. "It's all right, touch me, please. It's been so *long*," he whispered.
And so Aragorn did.

End Part 8