Fic: Underneath It All (10/?)
Title: Underneath It All (10/?)
Author: laeglass
Pairing: Aragorn/Legolas
Rating: NC-17 overall
Disclaimer: I don’t own these characters; Tolkien does. No harm is intended and no profit made.
Feedback: Yes please!
Beta: the lovely namarie120 :)
The Houses of Healing, meant for the people of Minas Tirith, stood in the sixth circle of the city, but it was not here that the injured Prince had been brought. Inside the Citadel there was another house where the royal family was tended at times of injury and sickness, and there was Legolas now, also. The sight that met the King upon his arrival did little to calm his racing heart; Legolas, while naturally pale in complexion was very white of face where he was sitting on a low bed, and his expression was tight and serious.
The King’s eyes scanned the lithe form of the Elf, frantically looking for any injures and wounds, but at first inspection he only saw that his shoulder had been bandaged; other than that, he seemed unharmed.
“Legolas,” Aragorn said aloud, and immediately the Prince’s head turned to meet his gaze. The dark blue eyes were filled with hurt and confusion, and at the sight of his husband the Elf couldn’t help the cry that burst forth from his lips.
“Aragorn!” he said, and only a few seconds later he was gathered in a crushing embrace.
“Are you well?” Aragorn asked; of all the questions whirling inside his mind it was the first that needed to be asked. Everything else could wait. Legolas grimaced and nodded.
“I believe so, yes; ‘tis but a flesh wound, and will heal quickly,” he said. He had debated with himself on whether or not tell his husband what had happened, and now, seeing the Man’s stormy eyes and grim expression he started to believe that he shouldn’t talk too carelessly of what had taken place. “I am not seriously injured.”
“But what ever happened to you?” Aragorn asked, and he couldn’t quite stop touching his mate to make sure he was well; his hands mapped the Elf’s torso, and slid downward to rest on his hips, and then they went upward again; he cupped the beautiful face in his palm and looked at him closely. “I was told that this happened at the archery range; why on Arda were you there in the first place?”
Legolas frowned. “Why, but by your own suggestion, Aragorn; you were fairly unambiguous in your note.”
“My note?” Now it was the King’s turn to frown. It was only then that he noticed a bow lying next to Legolas on the bed; Legolas’ hand was still resting on it, as to make sure that it was safe. “What is this?” he demanded. “Legolas, where did you get this bow?”
“What is the matter?” the Elf asked, thoroughly confused now, but before he could voice any more questions the healer returned from the adjoining room with a cup in his hand.
“Your Majesty,” he cried and made a hasty half-bow, almost spilling the drink in the process. “I did not expect you to be here.” The setting upset the healer; he had left his patient to retrieve the drink, and upon his return the King himself had arrived, and was currently cradling the Elf’s head gently in his hands, his posture that of concern and worry.
“Tell me what this means,” Elessar ordered and removed his hands from Legolas.
“The Prince Consort was escorted to the Halls by one of the servants,” the healer said curtly. “The tip of the arrow pierced his shoulder muscle, but he insists that Elven healing is faster than that of Men, and I cannot help him in any other manner but bandaging the injured limb.”
“You were shot?” Aragorn exclaimed, and such was the intensity of his eyes that the healer stepped back, and even Legolas flinched.
“It was but an arrow gone astray,” Legolas insisted, adamant at not discussing this in front of a practical stranger. “Aragorn, truly, I am well,” he said more softly, and his expressive eyes bid his husband to leave the matter at rest.
“Come,” Elessar said after a few seconds of thoughtful scrutiny, “and take your bow. We will talk more back at our chambers. Healer, please bring any medicine up to our quarters,” he said, and the command was only thinly veiled.
“As you will, Sire,” the healer said, but he was talking to an empty room.
* * *
“By Elbereth,” Legolas exclaimed, and Aragorn raised a surprised eyebrow at this unusual outburst. “I could have sworn I left the note here on my desk. And now ‘tis gone!” He turned his distressed eyes to his husband and frowned at the disbelieving gaze he received from the King. “I have not gone mad, despite what you might be thinking, Aragorn! When I returned to my chambers this morning I found a gift waiting for me, and inside the wrapping was this bow.”
“It certainly is solid enough an item to prove your words true,” the King said, “as is your shoulder. Now, would you like to tell me the truth of what happened? I can understand your unwillingness to talk too much with the healer present, but now ‘tis only you and I here. Will you speak with me?”
Legolas nodded warily. "You may soon wish that I never said anything," he warned. "For it seems that not all your subjects are joyed at our union."
"Speak plainly," Aragorn requested.
"In the note it said that I could use the archery range today to practise, and I did as I was bid. However, I had only emptied my quiver when I sensed another's presence, and true enough, I saw a man standing behind me. He said nothing but aimed at me and hit my shoulder with his arrow, and when I cried out he ran."
Aragorn blinked. That was a very precise explanation. "What did he look like?"
"I could not say," Legolas said. "For he was hooded and the cloth covered his brow. I would say that he was clothed like your soldiers, but then again I have little knowledge in any of that."
"Treachery," Aragorn said under his breath, and now he had paled, as well. Today's happenings had brought him back in time, to the gruesome days after his father had been assassinated. "Legolas, you must not leave these chambers unguarded again," he said. "Not until the person who attacked you has been found and convicted. I will not risk harm to come to you and our child."
But there is no child yet, Legolas thought and opened his mouth to say so, but the intense look in Aragorn's eyes caused the words to freeze on his lips.
"But then you must be careful, also," he said softly. "For if they are willing to attack me, I would say that you are in danger as well. I am sorry I must bring this news to you. I know 'tis no light matter to hear that your people are plotting against you. Or against me, as it now seems."
“You need not hide anything from me, Legolas; not ever,” Aragorn said. “In fact, I forbid it. You must always be truthful with me, no matter what.”
Despite the seriousness of the situation a smile tugged at Legolas’ lips. “You forbid it?” he repeated. “Well then, it would not be fitting for your consort to disobey you, high Lord.” He sobered then and sighed. “And of course you are right. I could not hide things from you even if I wished it. You know me too well by now.”
They both fell silent as they accepted the truth behind the Elf’s statement. During their short acquaintance they had already reached the point where they could read one another’s gestures and words as well as long time friends, or lovers; and Aragorn even more so as the Elf tended not to hide his true reactions and feelings, unlike the King himself who had grown up in an environment much more strict and forbidding. Considering how he should have been more sensitive to Legolas’ feelings the previous night, it was no wonder that guilt and shame again raised their ugly heads in Aragorn’s mind. It occurred to him that he had still yet to apologise, but for some reason the words failed to come.
“Now that we are being fully honest with each other; I am sorry you were made to marry me,” Aragorn said. “It should have been your choice who you wish to wed, and you were deprived of that right, and the blame is at least partially mine. But ‘tis my most sincere wish to learn to know you, and to -“ the word almost got stuck in his mouth but he continued regardless “- love you, as my mate and husband. If I did not know you at all at this point I would have failed already.”
“You have not,” Legolas said quietly. It was not the grand exclamation of love he perhaps wished to hear from the King, but Aragorn had said the word and spoken of his wish to learn to love him. It was more than he could have expected at this point, and it warmed him to think that perhaps he wasn’t alone in his affection for his husband. “And I am not sorry. The choice was not mine, but this union has brought me joy already; and although I would like nothing better than find fault in the actions of my Sire, I must admit that he chose my mate well.”
“Forgive me,” Aragorn said. “What I did last night was unforgivable, but I wish you would accept my apology nonetheless. I cannot say anything that would even remotely justify me attacking you, but know that seeing you in the arms of another and then your departing my company with yet another man was not easy for me.”
“But why?” Legolas asked, his brow furrowing in curiosity. “Faramir is a friend, and King Éomer was obviously drunk, and I despised his advances. Could you not see how I tried to find you with my eyes? The only reason why I ever accepted his offer was because you had already been claimed by the lady Éowyn, and it would have been insulting to refuse him a chance to dance with me."
"I was in a foul mood yesterday," Aragorn said in bemusement. "And that was of my own doing, and yet I made you pay the price. What kind of husband am I? Not a very good one, I would say."
The Elf shook his head again. "Cease blaming yourself. I know you were not yourself last night, or yesterday, for that matter. On top of that, you were inebriated. Granted, my experience with men is very limited, but I have noticed that the more you drink the less you listen to reason. It does not make you a bad man, or a bad husband. I know I still l--" Legolas swallowed the word before it could escape. It was too early to speak about love. Wasn't it? In his heart Legolas knew what he felt, but he also sensed that Aragorn wasn't ready for such an emotional commitment yet, and so he quickly continued, "look up to you as my friend and my mate. Let us speak of this no more. I wanted an apology and I received one, and there is no need for you to blame yourself."
"You are too kind," Elessar said humbly. It was starting to dawn on him that young as Legolas was, he was mature beyond his years and experience. One of his fears prior to his marriage had been to be wed to a witless beauty, with whom he could not carry a conversation or of whom he could not ask for opinions on matters. By now it was quite clear that Legolas indeed possessed a quick mind and sharp wit. Tenderness swept over him as he looked at his mate. He was so young and so brave, and had dealt with this situation with unerring grace and maturity. Legolas indeed made a really fine spouse for a King. But more than that, Aragorn felt the first stirrings of more than fondness in his heart. How could this beautiful creature capture his heart so effortlessly?
"I am not kind," Legolas said in gentle protest, his face growing warm under the intense scrutiny. There was a very peculiar look in Aragorn's grey eyes, one Legolas hadn't seen before, and his heart fluttered in his chest as he wondered if the King was going to kiss him. He burned for his husband's touch; the previous night had kindled a flame in him, and even the ill-advised actions on Aragorn's part could not change the fact that he ached for his mate to love him, to take him, to consume him. "Aragorn," he sighed, and there was an unintentional seductive undertone to his voice which the Man could not help responding to. His palm cupped the Elf's jaw, the thumb sweeping over the plump bottom lip.
"I desire you," he said lowly. "Am I welcome?"
Legolas nodded, his eyes locked on Aragorn's as the Man leaned closer, bringing their lips to contact at long last. Aragorn's tongue found its home inside Legolas' mouth, and the Man could feel the Elf unfurling under his touch. His lips opened like petals in a summer morning, and his arms came to wind themselves around the King's more substantial form, pulling him close and closer still. Mindful of the injured shoulder Aragorn undressed his mate, greeting each inch of flawless porcelain skin with heated kisses and small, playful bites. Legolas moaned as Aragorn's lips closed around a peaked nipple, and the gentle suckling reminded him of their wedding night when Aragorn had taken his manhood into his mouth, and suddenly the Elf was overcome with desire to be taken so. His hips bucked at the mental image and his erection poked at Aragorn's chest.
"You want me to suck on you," he said, and his eyes darkened like the sky just before a storm. At Legolas' nod he non too gently divested him of his leggings, and without further ado took the already leaking cock in his mouth. The taste of Legolas was intoxicating; if one could smoke honey it would taste exactly like Legolas, he mused, but then he lost himself in the pleasure of tasting and feeling his lover. Legolas moaned his appreciation as his mate tended to the most sensitive part of his body; he nibbled, sucked and tongued the Elf's erection, bringing him closer and closer to the edge.
"Together," Legolas panted and pulled his manhood from Aragorn. "I want us to find our pleasure together." He blushed but met Aragorn's eyes bravely. "With you inside me."
Aragorn's eyes burned with barely restrained passion as he cleverly and quite unexpectedly lifted Legolas' calves to rest upon his broad shoulders, baring the Elf to his hungry gaze. The small pink pucker between the Elf's nether cheeks tightened in surprise at the sudden move, and Aragorn knew that he was not done with tasting. He bent his head and made a broad sweep across Legolas' opening with his tongue, only to find that Legolas tasted the same down here, if a bit stronger. The delightful shriek that escaped Legolas' lips only encouraged him to explore further, and he did not cease his ministrations until Legolas was moaning and whimpering incoherently, his erection rock-hard and leaking against his stomach.
"And now," Elessar said, "we will find our pleasure."
* * *
“What is this?” Boromir asked, stopping the young man who was about to pass him in the corridor. The youth took an involuntary step backwards. The Steward had an intimidating presence about him, and it was clear for all to see that he was not in good mood. “Speak! You are about to enter the chambers of the King; what is your business here?”
“The Prince Consort,” the man said and swallowed, the chalice in his hands shaking. “I was asked by the healer to bring medicine for the Prince.”
“What ails him?” the Steward asked, narrowing his eyes. The last he had seen of Legolas had been the day before at the dinner.
“A shoulder injury, my Lord,” the youth said nervously. “This is for the pain.”
Boromir’s eyebrows shot up. “A shoulder injury,” he repeated drolly. “How did this shoulder injury come to be?” A sudden thought of Aragorn leaving the festivities the night before, drunken and jealous came to his mind, but he mentally shook his head. Aragorn would never harm anyone like that. Especially not his precious little Elf.
“I know not, my Lord,” the man said, his eyes flickering to left and right. He swallowed again as Boromir took the chalice from him.
“I will take this to the Prince,” he said firmly. “I need to speak with the King and was just on my way to see him.”
“Very well,” the youth said and bowed a bit stiffly.
Boromir looked at his retreating back with a slight frown on his face. That servant had acted a bit oddly.
A knock on the door got no answer, and cautiously Boromir opened the door. There was no-one in the sitting room, or in the King’s bedchamber - the door was left open and it was simple enough to peek in at the door. The door to Legolas’ bedroom, however, was firmly closed, and Boromir raised his hand to knock when he heard the unmistakable moan of pleasure coming from behind it. Heat rose to his cheeks when he recognised Aragorn’s voice telling the Elf how desirable he was, how much he wanted him and how he couldn’t wait to be buried inside his tightness.
A sense of betrayal, so strong it almost made his knees weaken assaulted Boromir then, and he gripped the doorframe tightly with his free hand. Those were not the words of a man forced to enter an arranged marriage; those were the words of an enamoured lover. The corners of his mouth tightened in hurt and anger, and Boromir turned away. He placed the chalice on one of the tables and left. He was not needed here, and Aragorn would be otherwise occupied for the next half hour, at least. Boromir knew that Aragorn was thorough in his love-making.
Inside the smaller bedchamber the two lovers were oblivious to the outside world. Aragorn took Legolas’ mouth with ardour, revelling in the small soft moans and whimpers coming from the beauteous Elf. The Prince’s long slender legs wrapped themselves around the Man’s waist, pulling him deeper inside to touch all the secret spots inside the tight passage.
“By the Stars above, I have never felt such pleasure,” Aragorn swore huskily, his eyes never leaving Legolas’ gaze. “What magic do you have in you, Elf?” Legolas’ clenching opening kept him captive and massaged his rigid manhood in the most pleasurable manner possible, forcing him closer and closer to climax with each thrust. Legolas smiled breathlessly, moaning when Aragorn stimulated his sweet spot again, and crying out when the Man’s mouth closed around the sensitive tip of his ear.
“Elbereth!”
“Come with me, Legolas,” Aragorn growled, his hips working overtime in pushing his cock deeper, always deeper inside his Elf, seeking completion. “Come, Legolas.”
A strong nudge against his prostate finally hurled the Prince over the edge, and he came with a hoarse shout, spilling his essence on his belly, his body contracting and squeezing around Aragorn’s, forcing his climax out of him.
“Meleth-nîn,” Legolas cried out, reverting back to his mother tongue without even noticing it, and he could have sworn that Aragorn whispered words of love in his ear. With a small smile on his lips Legolas dozed off, and Aragorn did so as well a while later, placing a last kiss on the tip of Legolas’ nose before disentangling from their embrace and coming to lie beside his mate.
In his sleep, Legolas’ hand came to rest on top of his belly, a secret little smile gracing his lips.
TBC
Author: laeglass
Pairing: Aragorn/Legolas
Rating: NC-17 overall
Disclaimer: I don’t own these characters; Tolkien does. No harm is intended and no profit made.
Feedback: Yes please!
Beta: the lovely namarie120 :)
The Houses of Healing, meant for the people of Minas Tirith, stood in the sixth circle of the city, but it was not here that the injured Prince had been brought. Inside the Citadel there was another house where the royal family was tended at times of injury and sickness, and there was Legolas now, also. The sight that met the King upon his arrival did little to calm his racing heart; Legolas, while naturally pale in complexion was very white of face where he was sitting on a low bed, and his expression was tight and serious.
The King’s eyes scanned the lithe form of the Elf, frantically looking for any injures and wounds, but at first inspection he only saw that his shoulder had been bandaged; other than that, he seemed unharmed.
“Legolas,” Aragorn said aloud, and immediately the Prince’s head turned to meet his gaze. The dark blue eyes were filled with hurt and confusion, and at the sight of his husband the Elf couldn’t help the cry that burst forth from his lips.
“Aragorn!” he said, and only a few seconds later he was gathered in a crushing embrace.
“Are you well?” Aragorn asked; of all the questions whirling inside his mind it was the first that needed to be asked. Everything else could wait. Legolas grimaced and nodded.
“I believe so, yes; ‘tis but a flesh wound, and will heal quickly,” he said. He had debated with himself on whether or not tell his husband what had happened, and now, seeing the Man’s stormy eyes and grim expression he started to believe that he shouldn’t talk too carelessly of what had taken place. “I am not seriously injured.”
“But what ever happened to you?” Aragorn asked, and he couldn’t quite stop touching his mate to make sure he was well; his hands mapped the Elf’s torso, and slid downward to rest on his hips, and then they went upward again; he cupped the beautiful face in his palm and looked at him closely. “I was told that this happened at the archery range; why on Arda were you there in the first place?”
Legolas frowned. “Why, but by your own suggestion, Aragorn; you were fairly unambiguous in your note.”
“My note?” Now it was the King’s turn to frown. It was only then that he noticed a bow lying next to Legolas on the bed; Legolas’ hand was still resting on it, as to make sure that it was safe. “What is this?” he demanded. “Legolas, where did you get this bow?”
“What is the matter?” the Elf asked, thoroughly confused now, but before he could voice any more questions the healer returned from the adjoining room with a cup in his hand.
“Your Majesty,” he cried and made a hasty half-bow, almost spilling the drink in the process. “I did not expect you to be here.” The setting upset the healer; he had left his patient to retrieve the drink, and upon his return the King himself had arrived, and was currently cradling the Elf’s head gently in his hands, his posture that of concern and worry.
“Tell me what this means,” Elessar ordered and removed his hands from Legolas.
“The Prince Consort was escorted to the Halls by one of the servants,” the healer said curtly. “The tip of the arrow pierced his shoulder muscle, but he insists that Elven healing is faster than that of Men, and I cannot help him in any other manner but bandaging the injured limb.”
“You were shot?” Aragorn exclaimed, and such was the intensity of his eyes that the healer stepped back, and even Legolas flinched.
“It was but an arrow gone astray,” Legolas insisted, adamant at not discussing this in front of a practical stranger. “Aragorn, truly, I am well,” he said more softly, and his expressive eyes bid his husband to leave the matter at rest.
“Come,” Elessar said after a few seconds of thoughtful scrutiny, “and take your bow. We will talk more back at our chambers. Healer, please bring any medicine up to our quarters,” he said, and the command was only thinly veiled.
“As you will, Sire,” the healer said, but he was talking to an empty room.
* * *
“By Elbereth,” Legolas exclaimed, and Aragorn raised a surprised eyebrow at this unusual outburst. “I could have sworn I left the note here on my desk. And now ‘tis gone!” He turned his distressed eyes to his husband and frowned at the disbelieving gaze he received from the King. “I have not gone mad, despite what you might be thinking, Aragorn! When I returned to my chambers this morning I found a gift waiting for me, and inside the wrapping was this bow.”
“It certainly is solid enough an item to prove your words true,” the King said, “as is your shoulder. Now, would you like to tell me the truth of what happened? I can understand your unwillingness to talk too much with the healer present, but now ‘tis only you and I here. Will you speak with me?”
Legolas nodded warily. "You may soon wish that I never said anything," he warned. "For it seems that not all your subjects are joyed at our union."
"Speak plainly," Aragorn requested.
"In the note it said that I could use the archery range today to practise, and I did as I was bid. However, I had only emptied my quiver when I sensed another's presence, and true enough, I saw a man standing behind me. He said nothing but aimed at me and hit my shoulder with his arrow, and when I cried out he ran."
Aragorn blinked. That was a very precise explanation. "What did he look like?"
"I could not say," Legolas said. "For he was hooded and the cloth covered his brow. I would say that he was clothed like your soldiers, but then again I have little knowledge in any of that."
"Treachery," Aragorn said under his breath, and now he had paled, as well. Today's happenings had brought him back in time, to the gruesome days after his father had been assassinated. "Legolas, you must not leave these chambers unguarded again," he said. "Not until the person who attacked you has been found and convicted. I will not risk harm to come to you and our child."
But there is no child yet, Legolas thought and opened his mouth to say so, but the intense look in Aragorn's eyes caused the words to freeze on his lips.
"But then you must be careful, also," he said softly. "For if they are willing to attack me, I would say that you are in danger as well. I am sorry I must bring this news to you. I know 'tis no light matter to hear that your people are plotting against you. Or against me, as it now seems."
“You need not hide anything from me, Legolas; not ever,” Aragorn said. “In fact, I forbid it. You must always be truthful with me, no matter what.”
Despite the seriousness of the situation a smile tugged at Legolas’ lips. “You forbid it?” he repeated. “Well then, it would not be fitting for your consort to disobey you, high Lord.” He sobered then and sighed. “And of course you are right. I could not hide things from you even if I wished it. You know me too well by now.”
They both fell silent as they accepted the truth behind the Elf’s statement. During their short acquaintance they had already reached the point where they could read one another’s gestures and words as well as long time friends, or lovers; and Aragorn even more so as the Elf tended not to hide his true reactions and feelings, unlike the King himself who had grown up in an environment much more strict and forbidding. Considering how he should have been more sensitive to Legolas’ feelings the previous night, it was no wonder that guilt and shame again raised their ugly heads in Aragorn’s mind. It occurred to him that he had still yet to apologise, but for some reason the words failed to come.
“Now that we are being fully honest with each other; I am sorry you were made to marry me,” Aragorn said. “It should have been your choice who you wish to wed, and you were deprived of that right, and the blame is at least partially mine. But ‘tis my most sincere wish to learn to know you, and to -“ the word almost got stuck in his mouth but he continued regardless “- love you, as my mate and husband. If I did not know you at all at this point I would have failed already.”
“You have not,” Legolas said quietly. It was not the grand exclamation of love he perhaps wished to hear from the King, but Aragorn had said the word and spoken of his wish to learn to love him. It was more than he could have expected at this point, and it warmed him to think that perhaps he wasn’t alone in his affection for his husband. “And I am not sorry. The choice was not mine, but this union has brought me joy already; and although I would like nothing better than find fault in the actions of my Sire, I must admit that he chose my mate well.”
“Forgive me,” Aragorn said. “What I did last night was unforgivable, but I wish you would accept my apology nonetheless. I cannot say anything that would even remotely justify me attacking you, but know that seeing you in the arms of another and then your departing my company with yet another man was not easy for me.”
“But why?” Legolas asked, his brow furrowing in curiosity. “Faramir is a friend, and King Éomer was obviously drunk, and I despised his advances. Could you not see how I tried to find you with my eyes? The only reason why I ever accepted his offer was because you had already been claimed by the lady Éowyn, and it would have been insulting to refuse him a chance to dance with me."
"I was in a foul mood yesterday," Aragorn said in bemusement. "And that was of my own doing, and yet I made you pay the price. What kind of husband am I? Not a very good one, I would say."
The Elf shook his head again. "Cease blaming yourself. I know you were not yourself last night, or yesterday, for that matter. On top of that, you were inebriated. Granted, my experience with men is very limited, but I have noticed that the more you drink the less you listen to reason. It does not make you a bad man, or a bad husband. I know I still l--" Legolas swallowed the word before it could escape. It was too early to speak about love. Wasn't it? In his heart Legolas knew what he felt, but he also sensed that Aragorn wasn't ready for such an emotional commitment yet, and so he quickly continued, "look up to you as my friend and my mate. Let us speak of this no more. I wanted an apology and I received one, and there is no need for you to blame yourself."
"You are too kind," Elessar said humbly. It was starting to dawn on him that young as Legolas was, he was mature beyond his years and experience. One of his fears prior to his marriage had been to be wed to a witless beauty, with whom he could not carry a conversation or of whom he could not ask for opinions on matters. By now it was quite clear that Legolas indeed possessed a quick mind and sharp wit. Tenderness swept over him as he looked at his mate. He was so young and so brave, and had dealt with this situation with unerring grace and maturity. Legolas indeed made a really fine spouse for a King. But more than that, Aragorn felt the first stirrings of more than fondness in his heart. How could this beautiful creature capture his heart so effortlessly?
"I am not kind," Legolas said in gentle protest, his face growing warm under the intense scrutiny. There was a very peculiar look in Aragorn's grey eyes, one Legolas hadn't seen before, and his heart fluttered in his chest as he wondered if the King was going to kiss him. He burned for his husband's touch; the previous night had kindled a flame in him, and even the ill-advised actions on Aragorn's part could not change the fact that he ached for his mate to love him, to take him, to consume him. "Aragorn," he sighed, and there was an unintentional seductive undertone to his voice which the Man could not help responding to. His palm cupped the Elf's jaw, the thumb sweeping over the plump bottom lip.
"I desire you," he said lowly. "Am I welcome?"
Legolas nodded, his eyes locked on Aragorn's as the Man leaned closer, bringing their lips to contact at long last. Aragorn's tongue found its home inside Legolas' mouth, and the Man could feel the Elf unfurling under his touch. His lips opened like petals in a summer morning, and his arms came to wind themselves around the King's more substantial form, pulling him close and closer still. Mindful of the injured shoulder Aragorn undressed his mate, greeting each inch of flawless porcelain skin with heated kisses and small, playful bites. Legolas moaned as Aragorn's lips closed around a peaked nipple, and the gentle suckling reminded him of their wedding night when Aragorn had taken his manhood into his mouth, and suddenly the Elf was overcome with desire to be taken so. His hips bucked at the mental image and his erection poked at Aragorn's chest.
"You want me to suck on you," he said, and his eyes darkened like the sky just before a storm. At Legolas' nod he non too gently divested him of his leggings, and without further ado took the already leaking cock in his mouth. The taste of Legolas was intoxicating; if one could smoke honey it would taste exactly like Legolas, he mused, but then he lost himself in the pleasure of tasting and feeling his lover. Legolas moaned his appreciation as his mate tended to the most sensitive part of his body; he nibbled, sucked and tongued the Elf's erection, bringing him closer and closer to the edge.
"Together," Legolas panted and pulled his manhood from Aragorn. "I want us to find our pleasure together." He blushed but met Aragorn's eyes bravely. "With you inside me."
Aragorn's eyes burned with barely restrained passion as he cleverly and quite unexpectedly lifted Legolas' calves to rest upon his broad shoulders, baring the Elf to his hungry gaze. The small pink pucker between the Elf's nether cheeks tightened in surprise at the sudden move, and Aragorn knew that he was not done with tasting. He bent his head and made a broad sweep across Legolas' opening with his tongue, only to find that Legolas tasted the same down here, if a bit stronger. The delightful shriek that escaped Legolas' lips only encouraged him to explore further, and he did not cease his ministrations until Legolas was moaning and whimpering incoherently, his erection rock-hard and leaking against his stomach.
"And now," Elessar said, "we will find our pleasure."
* * *
“What is this?” Boromir asked, stopping the young man who was about to pass him in the corridor. The youth took an involuntary step backwards. The Steward had an intimidating presence about him, and it was clear for all to see that he was not in good mood. “Speak! You are about to enter the chambers of the King; what is your business here?”
“The Prince Consort,” the man said and swallowed, the chalice in his hands shaking. “I was asked by the healer to bring medicine for the Prince.”
“What ails him?” the Steward asked, narrowing his eyes. The last he had seen of Legolas had been the day before at the dinner.
“A shoulder injury, my Lord,” the youth said nervously. “This is for the pain.”
Boromir’s eyebrows shot up. “A shoulder injury,” he repeated drolly. “How did this shoulder injury come to be?” A sudden thought of Aragorn leaving the festivities the night before, drunken and jealous came to his mind, but he mentally shook his head. Aragorn would never harm anyone like that. Especially not his precious little Elf.
“I know not, my Lord,” the man said, his eyes flickering to left and right. He swallowed again as Boromir took the chalice from him.
“I will take this to the Prince,” he said firmly. “I need to speak with the King and was just on my way to see him.”
“Very well,” the youth said and bowed a bit stiffly.
Boromir looked at his retreating back with a slight frown on his face. That servant had acted a bit oddly.
A knock on the door got no answer, and cautiously Boromir opened the door. There was no-one in the sitting room, or in the King’s bedchamber - the door was left open and it was simple enough to peek in at the door. The door to Legolas’ bedroom, however, was firmly closed, and Boromir raised his hand to knock when he heard the unmistakable moan of pleasure coming from behind it. Heat rose to his cheeks when he recognised Aragorn’s voice telling the Elf how desirable he was, how much he wanted him and how he couldn’t wait to be buried inside his tightness.
A sense of betrayal, so strong it almost made his knees weaken assaulted Boromir then, and he gripped the doorframe tightly with his free hand. Those were not the words of a man forced to enter an arranged marriage; those were the words of an enamoured lover. The corners of his mouth tightened in hurt and anger, and Boromir turned away. He placed the chalice on one of the tables and left. He was not needed here, and Aragorn would be otherwise occupied for the next half hour, at least. Boromir knew that Aragorn was thorough in his love-making.
Inside the smaller bedchamber the two lovers were oblivious to the outside world. Aragorn took Legolas’ mouth with ardour, revelling in the small soft moans and whimpers coming from the beauteous Elf. The Prince’s long slender legs wrapped themselves around the Man’s waist, pulling him deeper inside to touch all the secret spots inside the tight passage.
“By the Stars above, I have never felt such pleasure,” Aragorn swore huskily, his eyes never leaving Legolas’ gaze. “What magic do you have in you, Elf?” Legolas’ clenching opening kept him captive and massaged his rigid manhood in the most pleasurable manner possible, forcing him closer and closer to climax with each thrust. Legolas smiled breathlessly, moaning when Aragorn stimulated his sweet spot again, and crying out when the Man’s mouth closed around the sensitive tip of his ear.
“Elbereth!”
“Come with me, Legolas,” Aragorn growled, his hips working overtime in pushing his cock deeper, always deeper inside his Elf, seeking completion. “Come, Legolas.”
A strong nudge against his prostate finally hurled the Prince over the edge, and he came with a hoarse shout, spilling his essence on his belly, his body contracting and squeezing around Aragorn’s, forcing his climax out of him.
“Meleth-nîn,” Legolas cried out, reverting back to his mother tongue without even noticing it, and he could have sworn that Aragorn whispered words of love in his ear. With a small smile on his lips Legolas dozed off, and Aragorn did so as well a while later, placing a last kiss on the tip of Legolas’ nose before disentangling from their embrace and coming to lie beside his mate.
In his sleep, Legolas’ hand came to rest on top of his belly, a secret little smile gracing his lips.
TBC