Ficlet: "Tipsy" 1/1 Eomer/Legolas
Title: “Tipsy” 1/1
Author: Brenda
Website: Broadwriting
Pairing: Eomer/Legolas
Rating: PG
Summary: Legolas is feeling the effects. (ROTK:EE spoilers)
Feedback: Love it.
Disclaimer: Never happened. All rights belong to Tolkien, New Line and Peter Jackson, not me.
Notes: Written for thegodsthemselves yahoolist “12 Days of Christmas” challenge. My day was ’12 drummers drumming’.
“The Elf can’t hold his liquor.”
-- Gimli, Return of the King
"This is the most curious sensation," Legolas muses, focusing bleary eyes on his waving fingers.
Eomer watches in ill-concealed amusement as he takes another long draught from his mug. The ale -- hearty and strong on this night -- courses through him with sluggish heat. "Thought Elves didn't feel the effect of drink the way humans do."
"Is that what this is?" Legolas frowns, and even the slight wrinkles between his eyebrows are elegant. Eomer's long since given up on understanding how even mundane aspects can seem other-wordly when Legolas is doing them.
"Tell me how you feel," he encourages, doing his level best to ignore Gimli's deep snores and the revelry around them. The Hobbits are dancing and drinking all of the men under the table, earning the respect of every warrior. The laughter and joy serve as a reminder that all is not lost.
"I'm not sure." Legolas sounds more than a little confused, and Eomer smiles once again. For such ancient beings, Elves could be remarkably innocent at times.
"Come," he says, and sets down his mug. "A walk will do you some good."
"Will it stop the war drums beating in my head?" Legolas asks as he obediently follows Eomer out of the Great Hall and outside.
"Drums?"
"A dozen, at least."
"A dozen drummers drumming in your head..." Eomer winces in sympathy, and slings a companionable arm around slender shoulders. "You'll feel that in the morning."
Guileless, pale eyes stare back at him. The light from the waning moon turns blond braids into strands of silver, casting perfect, pale features into shadow and mist. "You truly are a lovely creature," Eomer murmurs, barely aware he's speaking aloud.
"Am I?"
There's a gentle brush of lips along Eomer's jaw. His lashes flutter at the touch, and he tilts his chin, seeking more. The kiss pressed upon waiting lips is lighter than air. "Legolas, I do not think..."
"So do not think." The next instant, Eomer's back is roughly scraping the stone wall as his lips are devoured in a hard, thorough kiss. Legolas tastes sweet and addictive, like honeyed wine, and Eomer opens his mouth, tongue twisting with Legolas' in an age-old dance.
"Thought...you were drunk," Eomer gasps, and moans again when Legolas takes advantage by taking his mouth in another wet, open-mouthed kiss.
"I'm an Elf. I could drink you and everyone in the Hall into a stupor and not feel it." Normally light eyes are dark with some indefinable emotion. Eomer shivers when he feels them caress over his skin.
"Then why..." Another gasp as sinfully soft lips trail along Eomer's jaw. Legolas presses against him in one long, fluid movement, all sinuous grace and silken fingers on eager flesh.
"To lure you into a private corner," Legolas replies. His next kiss is just as sharp, just as sweet, and finally Eomer stops asking questions.
***
Author: Brenda
Website: Broadwriting
Pairing: Eomer/Legolas
Rating: PG
Summary: Legolas is feeling the effects. (ROTK:EE spoilers)
Feedback: Love it.
Disclaimer: Never happened. All rights belong to Tolkien, New Line and Peter Jackson, not me.
Notes: Written for thegodsthemselves yahoolist “12 Days of Christmas” challenge. My day was ’12 drummers drumming’.
“The Elf can’t hold his liquor.”
-- Gimli, Return of the King
"This is the most curious sensation," Legolas muses, focusing bleary eyes on his waving fingers.
Eomer watches in ill-concealed amusement as he takes another long draught from his mug. The ale -- hearty and strong on this night -- courses through him with sluggish heat. "Thought Elves didn't feel the effect of drink the way humans do."
"Is that what this is?" Legolas frowns, and even the slight wrinkles between his eyebrows are elegant. Eomer's long since given up on understanding how even mundane aspects can seem other-wordly when Legolas is doing them.
"Tell me how you feel," he encourages, doing his level best to ignore Gimli's deep snores and the revelry around them. The Hobbits are dancing and drinking all of the men under the table, earning the respect of every warrior. The laughter and joy serve as a reminder that all is not lost.
"I'm not sure." Legolas sounds more than a little confused, and Eomer smiles once again. For such ancient beings, Elves could be remarkably innocent at times.
"Come," he says, and sets down his mug. "A walk will do you some good."
"Will it stop the war drums beating in my head?" Legolas asks as he obediently follows Eomer out of the Great Hall and outside.
"Drums?"
"A dozen, at least."
"A dozen drummers drumming in your head..." Eomer winces in sympathy, and slings a companionable arm around slender shoulders. "You'll feel that in the morning."
Guileless, pale eyes stare back at him. The light from the waning moon turns blond braids into strands of silver, casting perfect, pale features into shadow and mist. "You truly are a lovely creature," Eomer murmurs, barely aware he's speaking aloud.
"Am I?"
There's a gentle brush of lips along Eomer's jaw. His lashes flutter at the touch, and he tilts his chin, seeking more. The kiss pressed upon waiting lips is lighter than air. "Legolas, I do not think..."
"So do not think." The next instant, Eomer's back is roughly scraping the stone wall as his lips are devoured in a hard, thorough kiss. Legolas tastes sweet and addictive, like honeyed wine, and Eomer opens his mouth, tongue twisting with Legolas' in an age-old dance.
"Thought...you were drunk," Eomer gasps, and moans again when Legolas takes advantage by taking his mouth in another wet, open-mouthed kiss.
"I'm an Elf. I could drink you and everyone in the Hall into a stupor and not feel it." Normally light eyes are dark with some indefinable emotion. Eomer shivers when he feels them caress over his skin.
"Then why..." Another gasp as sinfully soft lips trail along Eomer's jaw. Legolas presses against him in one long, fluid movement, all sinuous grace and silken fingers on eager flesh.
"To lure you into a private corner," Legolas replies. His next kiss is just as sharp, just as sweet, and finally Eomer stops asking questions.
***