the heck?
um. yeah. it's probably been done half a hundred times already today, but here's my one and only legolas/gimli pwp:
*****
"He's not an elf, you know."
Legolas looked up from the arrows whose perfect fletching he was inspected again. Although he knew exactly what Gimli meant, he said, "Of whom do you speak?"
Gimli harrumphed and set down the already keen-bladed axe whose edge he had been checking. "You know exactly whom I mean," he said. "Aragorn, son of Arathorn. The man of Gondor."
"I know that Aragorn is no elf," Legolas said. He picked up his quiver and pulled out another arrow, looking now along the length of the shaft. The keep seemed to echo with the voices of the Rohan, desperately arming themselves against the army which marched toward them.
"Do you?" Gimli asked. "You speak to him in Elvish when there are men about. You hold him apart from these men of Rohan."
Legolas frowned. "I honor King Théoden."
"You hold him apart from the women of Rohan," Gimli said, and Legolas leapt to his feet.
"He has promises given to Arwen Evenstar!" he cried. "Shall I bid him to forget her, to dally with this mortal woman?"
Gimli glared up at him, unmoved. "He is mortal himself. You must admit it would be a suitable match."
Angrily, Legolas shook his head and said, "I admit no such thing."
"Then you do not admit that he is a man?" Gimli stared him down. "He is a mortal man, elf. Let him go. Let him be with his own kind."
"His race is Númenorean, and the Men of Westernesse have elvish blood in their veins," Legolas protested, hearing it for the false hope it was even as he spoke. "These are Rohirrim."
"They are all men, as you and I are not," Gimli said, and Legolas bowed his head.
"I know this," he whispered. "I have seen it growing in him, this boy who spoke Elvish almost before the Common Tongue of men. He is leaving us."
"He is leaving us," Gimli said kindly. He stood and placed one strong hand on Legolas' bent shoulder. "But we are still following him. Our time is not yet done."
Legolas nodded. "The dwarves have never mingled their blood with men, have they?" he asked.
"Indeed not," Gimli said, his chin coming up. "The blood of the dwarves has never mingled with that of any other race."
"Why is that so?" Legolas asked. "Do you find all others so unlovely as that?" Gimli flushed and looked away, and Legolas remembered their leavetaking from Lórien and the Lady Galadriel, and pressed his point. "Elves and Maiar and men have joined together since before this land was settled. Even the foulest orcs and goblins have comingled to give rise to the Uruk-Hai which march toward us even now. Why do the dwarves hold apart?"
Gimli, his face as red as his beard, harrumphed and suggested, "Perhaps it is those other races which do not love the dwarves."
Legolas shook his head. "I do not believe that, fair Master Dwarf."
"Perhaps we find your lack of beards displeasing," Gimli said, his face yet redder and his voice more gruff.
Legolas put a hand to his bare chin. "It is true that elves grow no beards," he said, "and that of men, only the males do, but I still do not believe that is the reason."
"Perhaps we have no wish to be bound to mortal men who would die before half our span of life was allotted, nor yet to elves who would live on, unchanging, long after we have departed." Gimli crossed his arms over the top of his axe and glared.
Slowly, Legolas nodded. "Yes," he said. "That I believe."
To his surprise, Gimli chuckled. "Then perhaps you are too gullible," he said, "for that is not the reason either."
"Will you tell me, then?" Legolas asked, throwing up his hands in frustration.
"I have already told you," Gimli said, "it is the beards."
Elsewhere in the keep, a woman's voice began to sob, loudly and brokenly, and then by a trick of the echoing walls was cut off. With as much lightness as he could muster, Legolas said, "We grow no hair on our faces, but we elves are not entirely hairless." And he reached out and stroked the side of Gimli's braided beard with one finger. "The hair is coarse," he said, surprised.
"Aye," Gimli said. "Had you a beard of your own, you'd know that."
"But I do not," Legolas said, and dared to touch Gimli further. The hair atop his head was thick and heavy, but not so wiry as his beard.
"Is your curiosity satisfied, elf?" Gimli growled, although he did not seem displeased.
"For now, perhaps," Legolas said, lifting his hand away. "And yours?"
Gimli shrugged. "I have seen much of your hair already," he said.
"But not all of it," Legolas said, and Gimli's eyes widened. "Or have I mistaken your meaning?"
"I think you have mistaken it," Gimli said. "What meaning is this?"
"Dwarves are mortal, truly," Legolas said. "Yet they are of the Elder Races still. It would seem that you and I have much in common, Master Dwarf, as we are both caught up in this war upon men."
"And unless these men produce a miracle the likes of which Aulë himself would envy, it seems we may perish with them this night, although we take down a thousand orcs each." Gimli's voice was low and troubled.
"Then it would behoove us," Legolas said firmly, "to satisfy our curiosities fully while we wait for the sun to set." He bent one knee before Gimli to bring their eyes on a level and, placing both his hands on Gimli's shoulders, he leaned forward to press his mouth to Gimli's in a kiss. Strong hands closed about his arms and pulled him closer; he discovered that to kiss through a dwarven beard required more force and aggression that he had thought to use until certain of his welcome, but fortunately Gimli was prepared, and held him close.
Gimli's mouth seemed as hot as a forge, and Legolas found himself afire with sudden desperation. His fingers found the ties of Gimli's leggings and unfastened them rapidly. He put his hand inside Gimli's clothing then, and found bare hot skin before reaching the hair which grew thick between Gimli's thighs. Pulling his mouth away for an instant, he said, "It feels not at all like your beard, in fact," and laughed in delight as Gimli hauled him close in again and guided his hand further down. The groan that he drew from the dwarf when he closed his hand around the phallic shaft to which Gimli's guidance led him felt as though it might shake the foundations of the Keep itself; Legolas felt unsteady himself, and held the tighter to Gimli as he stroked.
"Master Legolas," Gimli gasped, "do more of that!" Legolas pressed his face into Gimli's beard and did so, pulling Gimli down onto the floor to lie atop him as Gimli leaned heavily into him. Faster and faster he moved his hand, conscious of the waning sunlight outside which would draw their time to a close all too soon. With a deep and delighted bellow, Gimli spilled over into Legolas' hand, as warm and thick as the blood in his veins which had never mingled with elves before, and lay groaning across Legolas' body.
When Gimli moved at last, it was only to raise himself far enough off of Legolas to remove Legolas' trousers. "So there is hair," he rumbled, tracing lightly with one finger from just below Legolas' stomach to the desperate jut of his phallus. Legolas lifted his hips to meet the tickling touch of Gimli's hand and was rewarded with a firmer grip, and then with the wonder and delight that was Gimli's mouth, bent down to hold the crown of his phallus hotly against his tongue. "Hmm," Gimli said, and Legolas felt the tremor in his shaft and in the soft skin of his thighs and belly where Gimli's beard rested. Fingers traced lower still, caressing tender areas. One finger pressed firmly inside of him, and Legolas threw his head back with a cry of delight. He did not know if this were a reflection of the handiness of all dwarves, even warriors, with fine crafting tools or some particular skill of Gimli's own, but he praised it with all the words he could find in the Common Tongue of men, which was the common language between elves and dwarves as well.
The time before his entire body convulsed with delight seemed no time at all, and afterward he lay stunned and grateful below Gimli. He labored for air as Gimli had labored during their long pursuit of the Uruk-Hai across the plains of Rohan, and Gimli smiled smugly, seemingly pleased to have laid him out breathless at last. "I feel younger than the least of these boys of Rohan," Legolas said, "and invincible."
"Do not be too hasty in the battle tonight," Gimli said. "I find my curiosity about elves has only been whetted, and I shall be most displeased if you are killed by the orcs tonight."
"I do not believe that that is our fate," Legolas said. "You and I shall follow Aragorn to the very throne of Gondor itself and see him crowned its king, and that shall be only the beginning of our adventures together; I am certain of it."
"In that case," Gimli said, sitting up and refastening his clothing, "we have some thousands of orcs to kill, I believe."
"Indeed we do," Legolas said. He rolled to his feet, closed his trousers, and wiped clean his hands. "I shall go inform Aragorn that we will aid him and his men, while I suggest that you see what these men have in the way of armor. I am also loathe to see you injured this night."
"Come down here," Gimli growled, and when Legolas, startled, leaned his head down towards the dwarf, Gimli grasped the front of his tunic and held him low enough to kiss one final time, his lips warm and his beard rough. "Good," he said when he let Legolas go. "Now come on," he said. "Let's fight."
END
*****
"He's not an elf, you know."
Legolas looked up from the arrows whose perfect fletching he was inspected again. Although he knew exactly what Gimli meant, he said, "Of whom do you speak?"
Gimli harrumphed and set down the already keen-bladed axe whose edge he had been checking. "You know exactly whom I mean," he said. "Aragorn, son of Arathorn. The man of Gondor."
"I know that Aragorn is no elf," Legolas said. He picked up his quiver and pulled out another arrow, looking now along the length of the shaft. The keep seemed to echo with the voices of the Rohan, desperately arming themselves against the army which marched toward them.
"Do you?" Gimli asked. "You speak to him in Elvish when there are men about. You hold him apart from these men of Rohan."
Legolas frowned. "I honor King Théoden."
"You hold him apart from the women of Rohan," Gimli said, and Legolas leapt to his feet.
"He has promises given to Arwen Evenstar!" he cried. "Shall I bid him to forget her, to dally with this mortal woman?"
Gimli glared up at him, unmoved. "He is mortal himself. You must admit it would be a suitable match."
Angrily, Legolas shook his head and said, "I admit no such thing."
"Then you do not admit that he is a man?" Gimli stared him down. "He is a mortal man, elf. Let him go. Let him be with his own kind."
"His race is Númenorean, and the Men of Westernesse have elvish blood in their veins," Legolas protested, hearing it for the false hope it was even as he spoke. "These are Rohirrim."
"They are all men, as you and I are not," Gimli said, and Legolas bowed his head.
"I know this," he whispered. "I have seen it growing in him, this boy who spoke Elvish almost before the Common Tongue of men. He is leaving us."
"He is leaving us," Gimli said kindly. He stood and placed one strong hand on Legolas' bent shoulder. "But we are still following him. Our time is not yet done."
Legolas nodded. "The dwarves have never mingled their blood with men, have they?" he asked.
"Indeed not," Gimli said, his chin coming up. "The blood of the dwarves has never mingled with that of any other race."
"Why is that so?" Legolas asked. "Do you find all others so unlovely as that?" Gimli flushed and looked away, and Legolas remembered their leavetaking from Lórien and the Lady Galadriel, and pressed his point. "Elves and Maiar and men have joined together since before this land was settled. Even the foulest orcs and goblins have comingled to give rise to the Uruk-Hai which march toward us even now. Why do the dwarves hold apart?"
Gimli, his face as red as his beard, harrumphed and suggested, "Perhaps it is those other races which do not love the dwarves."
Legolas shook his head. "I do not believe that, fair Master Dwarf."
"Perhaps we find your lack of beards displeasing," Gimli said, his face yet redder and his voice more gruff.
Legolas put a hand to his bare chin. "It is true that elves grow no beards," he said, "and that of men, only the males do, but I still do not believe that is the reason."
"Perhaps we have no wish to be bound to mortal men who would die before half our span of life was allotted, nor yet to elves who would live on, unchanging, long after we have departed." Gimli crossed his arms over the top of his axe and glared.
Slowly, Legolas nodded. "Yes," he said. "That I believe."
To his surprise, Gimli chuckled. "Then perhaps you are too gullible," he said, "for that is not the reason either."
"Will you tell me, then?" Legolas asked, throwing up his hands in frustration.
"I have already told you," Gimli said, "it is the beards."
Elsewhere in the keep, a woman's voice began to sob, loudly and brokenly, and then by a trick of the echoing walls was cut off. With as much lightness as he could muster, Legolas said, "We grow no hair on our faces, but we elves are not entirely hairless." And he reached out and stroked the side of Gimli's braided beard with one finger. "The hair is coarse," he said, surprised.
"Aye," Gimli said. "Had you a beard of your own, you'd know that."
"But I do not," Legolas said, and dared to touch Gimli further. The hair atop his head was thick and heavy, but not so wiry as his beard.
"Is your curiosity satisfied, elf?" Gimli growled, although he did not seem displeased.
"For now, perhaps," Legolas said, lifting his hand away. "And yours?"
Gimli shrugged. "I have seen much of your hair already," he said.
"But not all of it," Legolas said, and Gimli's eyes widened. "Or have I mistaken your meaning?"
"I think you have mistaken it," Gimli said. "What meaning is this?"
"Dwarves are mortal, truly," Legolas said. "Yet they are of the Elder Races still. It would seem that you and I have much in common, Master Dwarf, as we are both caught up in this war upon men."
"And unless these men produce a miracle the likes of which Aulë himself would envy, it seems we may perish with them this night, although we take down a thousand orcs each." Gimli's voice was low and troubled.
"Then it would behoove us," Legolas said firmly, "to satisfy our curiosities fully while we wait for the sun to set." He bent one knee before Gimli to bring their eyes on a level and, placing both his hands on Gimli's shoulders, he leaned forward to press his mouth to Gimli's in a kiss. Strong hands closed about his arms and pulled him closer; he discovered that to kiss through a dwarven beard required more force and aggression that he had thought to use until certain of his welcome, but fortunately Gimli was prepared, and held him close.
Gimli's mouth seemed as hot as a forge, and Legolas found himself afire with sudden desperation. His fingers found the ties of Gimli's leggings and unfastened them rapidly. He put his hand inside Gimli's clothing then, and found bare hot skin before reaching the hair which grew thick between Gimli's thighs. Pulling his mouth away for an instant, he said, "It feels not at all like your beard, in fact," and laughed in delight as Gimli hauled him close in again and guided his hand further down. The groan that he drew from the dwarf when he closed his hand around the phallic shaft to which Gimli's guidance led him felt as though it might shake the foundations of the Keep itself; Legolas felt unsteady himself, and held the tighter to Gimli as he stroked.
"Master Legolas," Gimli gasped, "do more of that!" Legolas pressed his face into Gimli's beard and did so, pulling Gimli down onto the floor to lie atop him as Gimli leaned heavily into him. Faster and faster he moved his hand, conscious of the waning sunlight outside which would draw their time to a close all too soon. With a deep and delighted bellow, Gimli spilled over into Legolas' hand, as warm and thick as the blood in his veins which had never mingled with elves before, and lay groaning across Legolas' body.
When Gimli moved at last, it was only to raise himself far enough off of Legolas to remove Legolas' trousers. "So there is hair," he rumbled, tracing lightly with one finger from just below Legolas' stomach to the desperate jut of his phallus. Legolas lifted his hips to meet the tickling touch of Gimli's hand and was rewarded with a firmer grip, and then with the wonder and delight that was Gimli's mouth, bent down to hold the crown of his phallus hotly against his tongue. "Hmm," Gimli said, and Legolas felt the tremor in his shaft and in the soft skin of his thighs and belly where Gimli's beard rested. Fingers traced lower still, caressing tender areas. One finger pressed firmly inside of him, and Legolas threw his head back with a cry of delight. He did not know if this were a reflection of the handiness of all dwarves, even warriors, with fine crafting tools or some particular skill of Gimli's own, but he praised it with all the words he could find in the Common Tongue of men, which was the common language between elves and dwarves as well.
The time before his entire body convulsed with delight seemed no time at all, and afterward he lay stunned and grateful below Gimli. He labored for air as Gimli had labored during their long pursuit of the Uruk-Hai across the plains of Rohan, and Gimli smiled smugly, seemingly pleased to have laid him out breathless at last. "I feel younger than the least of these boys of Rohan," Legolas said, "and invincible."
"Do not be too hasty in the battle tonight," Gimli said. "I find my curiosity about elves has only been whetted, and I shall be most displeased if you are killed by the orcs tonight."
"I do not believe that that is our fate," Legolas said. "You and I shall follow Aragorn to the very throne of Gondor itself and see him crowned its king, and that shall be only the beginning of our adventures together; I am certain of it."
"In that case," Gimli said, sitting up and refastening his clothing, "we have some thousands of orcs to kill, I believe."
"Indeed we do," Legolas said. He rolled to his feet, closed his trousers, and wiped clean his hands. "I shall go inform Aragorn that we will aid him and his men, while I suggest that you see what these men have in the way of armor. I am also loathe to see you injured this night."
"Come down here," Gimli growled, and when Legolas, startled, leaned his head down towards the dwarf, Gimli grasped the front of his tunic and held him low enough to kiss one final time, his lips warm and his beard rough. "Good," he said when he let Legolas go. "Now come on," he said. "Let's fight."
END