A timid knock sounded on the door to Aragorn’s study and the man looked up from his work, calling out an “Enter!” to the person on the other side. He knew that it was Halgon even before the boy opened the door and walked the few steps inside the room. He was barely fourteen, a son of one of the kitchen maids, and Aragorn used him to run errands for him. Usually, the boy could be seen hurrying to and fro in the royal quarters, carrying letters and messages.
“What is it, Halgon?” Aragorn asked in the most encouraging voice he could muster after four hours of council meetings and three hours of lonesome paperwork. He knew the boy was too shy for his own good and if he did not manage to boost his self-confidence soon he would have to find another use for him.
“My King, I bring a message from the Prince Consort,” Halgon started, but then fell silent, obviously not quite sure how to continue.
“And?” Aragorn pried gently. Both he and Legolas had full schedules, each working hard to make Gondor prosper and sometimes they did not see each other until deep into the night. At times Legolas sent him written messages, little scraps of paper reminding him that they meant to take lunch together, that he was supposed to meet Eowyn in the afternoon, that he should not work so late. At other times, the paper would be filled in Legolas’ neat Sindarin script so that none but Aragorn would understand what was being said. And then the content would be a lot less innocent.
It seemed there was no written message now, though. Halgon looked to the ground, clearly embarassed and Aragorn had to admit that he was losing his patience with the boy. “What was the message?”
The slightly annoyed undertone worked wonders. Halgon mumbled something under his breath and Aragorn had to strain his hearing to understand the boy’s words.
“The Prince Consort demands that the King sees him at once?” he clarified. Of course that would embarass pour Halgon. To him it must seem highly improper that anyone dared to demand anything of the King. Elessar of the Reunited Kingdom of Gondor and Arnor was not one to be ordered around. Not even by his most beloved Prince Consort.
At least not in Halgon’s eyes. Aragorn instead did not mind in the least to be summoned by his elf. It would save him from the small hill of unfinished paperwork that had taken up residence on his desk.
“Very well,” he said for Halgon’s benefit and started to pile the letters he had been working on into a neat formation. “If the Prince Consort demands my presence I had better comply,” he added with a wink whose irony was totally lost on Halgon. The boy’s eyes widened in horror and he shuffled his feet, hoping to be dismissed soon. Aragorn took pity on him.
“I will not need you anymore today. Have a good night, Halgon.” He really needed to find another purpose for the boy.
Aragorn took his sweet time finishing up. He gently blew on the still wet ink on his last letter while he reread what he had written so far. He pushed his finished paperwork to the right and the unfinished to the left of his desk and tried to decide which pile was higher. He stashed his writing tools away and generally brought some order into the chaos that was his desk. “An unorderly mess unworthy of a King,” Legolas had called it once and then had made matters worse by jumping on it and laying himself out on display, clearly inviting Aragorn to join in and make the mess even messier. Aragorn smiled at the memory, absent-mindedly stroking the smooth surface of the desk with his hand. He wondered what could have prompted Legolas’ request today.
When he had made his way back to their chambers and opened the door to their bedroom he was met with a sight that felt like water for the thirsting. Legolas stood in front of the four-poster bed, clad only in loose fitting leggings and a silken robe in the green shades of his homeland. Aragorn could see that the elf was naked underneath, because the garment was partially undone, inviting the man to look his fill of the elf’s smooth chest and belly. Legolas’ hair was free of the braids that usually held it in place, his locks untamed and wild. He looked nothing like the perfectly-mannered and well-behaved Prince Consort their subjects had come to know and respect. However, he looked every inch the passionate lover Aragorn had known for years.
“How long have we known each other, Aragorn?” The question was clearly leading up to something, just to what Aragorn was not at all sure. The elf’s mood was hard to determine. He seemed a bit amused, but also tense as if anticipating something. Just what that might be Aragorn could guess as little as the purpose of Legolas’ question.
He did not even have to think about his answer, though. “Ninety-eight years, five months and 26 days,” he answered with a smile, even if he knew that he could not impress Legolas with his accurate knowledge. The elf would have been able to answer just as correctly.
“And how often have you managed to keep secrets from me?”
What was Legolas trying to achieve? He knew the answers to his questions quite well, he did not need Aragorn to answer them for him. The man played along, of course, intrigued at what his lover was planning.
“Well, once. I managed to keep my gift for our wedding a secret from you.” He had to smile at the memory, a reaction that was mirrored by Legolas.
“Yes, you did. I treasure the memory.” There was a moment of silence when they both thought back to their wedding night, but soon Legolas drew away from the recollection and pursued his original train of thought.
“And did you hope to keep secret from me what happened yesterday?”
“Yesterday?” Aragorn repeated, feverishly thinking what could have happened yesterday that Legolas meant to discuss with him.
“Yes, yesterday. In the council meeting,” Legolas prompted.
Aragorn could not remember a thing except for the fact that one of Faramir’s men from Emyn Arnen had bored them all to death with his monotonous voice.
“Your eyes strayed, Aragorn,” Legolas tried to help Aragorn’s memory along, but the man’s confusion only grew with the minute.
“They did,” confirmed the elf with a decisive nod.
“You are asking me?” Legolas feigned surprise, but answered nonetheless. “To Faramir, of course. Did you believe I would not notice the way you look at him?”
Of course he had looked at Faramir, but he had not looked at him. There was a definite difference between the two and he was certain Legolas was well aware of that fact. Legolas was not prone to jealousy. Or, if Aragorn looked at it from his point of view, he had never given his lover any reason to be so. He had known the elf for nigh one hundred years, had loved him nearly just as long. There was no other in his heart or mind, never had been. There simply was no room for his eyes to stray.
Either Legolas had misunderstood or the elf was pursuing quite a different agenda. And Aragorn was determined to find out.
“I would never...” he humoured Legolas’ accusations to see where this discussion would take them.
“Be careful, Aragorn,” Legolas advised. “Never can be a long time, even for a human.” And the elf walked over to him with a visible sway in his hips, his eyes a smoldering blue.
Legolas did not act like one who felt betrayed, quite the contrary. He was exuding desire with every breath and Aragorn was sure the temperature in the room had gone up a few degrees since he had entered. He saw then where this would lead and was hoping to speed things along.
“You and Faramir have always been close. I should have known,” Legolas took up their conversation once more, producing one of his rare pouts. Together with his lowered eyes he gave the impression of submitting completely to Aragorn. The man found the sight arousing and longed to hold Legolas close, taste the lucious lips. Kiss the pout away.
“Faramir is a married man, my love!” he answered in a wavering voice.
“As are you,” Legolas replied and looked up, a challenge in his eyes. Come and take me, they seemed to say and Aragorn was more than willing to comply.
He grinned, a mischievous grin he had never grown out of since his youth. “You know what they say in Harad....”
“That the hasty hand will catch frogs for fish?” Legolas asked, bewildered.
“No, that you can work up your appetite whereever you want. But dinner is eaten at home.” Aragorn closed the remaining distance between them. He cupped Legolas’ cheek with his hand, savouring the feel of the elf’s skin. “It was only a look, love.”
“How can I believe you?” Legolas asked and stepped even closer, his open robe brushing against Aragorn’s more formal clothing.
“I will convince you. You will see.” And he steered them back to the bed, his intentions clear.
With a gentle shove he pushed Legolas back and the elf reclined gracefully upon the blanket. His robe fell open at last, exposing his upper body. Aragorn drank down the sight while he worked on the knots and laces and buttons that held his own clothes together. There were way too many of them, but after some fumbling and some colourful words that made the elf on the bed chuckle, he prevailed and stood naked in front of Legolas.
“Why should my eyes stray to Faramir,” Aragorn asked, his voice husky, “when only you look so tempting sprawled on a bed?”
Naked as he was, he sat on the bed between Legolas’ feet and began to drag the elf’s leggings off of him. His mate was more than willing to comply, lifting his hips to make Aragorn’s job easier. When the offensive garment was gone, Aragorn took up Legolas’ left foot, reverently cupping it in his hands.
“Only you have toes so delicate,” the man stated and lifted the foot to his lips, first kissing the big toe and then starting to suck on it. Aragorn’s hand was not idle either, massaging the foot in his hands while his eyes looked up, trying to catch the gaze of his beloved elf.
Legolas enjoyed both the sight of his mate lavishing attention on his toes as well as the sensation itself. Aragorn could tell that Legolas found his kisses sensual by the way the elf’s eyes seemed to darken with desire. He set the left foot down and went to repeat the process on the right. This time, though, his hands started to travel upwards. Aragorn stroked the elf’s calf lovingly, still kissing his toes. And then he brushed over the insides of Legolas’ knee making his leg shake from the tickling sensation.
“Only you are so wonderfully ticklish in this spot,” and he repeated the touch, making the elf squirm helplessly from the conflicting feelings of passion and titillation. Aragorn set the right foot down as well and changed his position, so that he could better reach and touch Legolas. His hands mapped the other’s thighs now, feather-light touches that caused Legolas to react instantly.
A contented sigh left the elf’s mouth, drawn out and made to catch Aragorn’s attention. Legolas opened his legs wider, exposing himself to give Aragorn better access. The man knew exactly what his mate wanted and started to suck on the sensitive skin of Legolas’ inner thigh. He let his teeth scrape lightly over the shivering leg and bit down gently, only to soothe the bite moments later with a lap of his tongue. He worked his way upwards and saw that Legolas was fully aroused, his beautiful cock hard and begging for attention, but Aragorn passed by this temptation and kissed his way up Legolas’ hipbone instead, causing the elf to moan in frustration.
His head fell backwards, exposing his throat and Aragorn could see the vein there throb mercilessly as Legolas’ pulse quickened. Sweat was now glistening on much of Legolas’ skin and Aragorn tasted it with his next kiss, savouring the elf’s unique aroma – salty and fresh, like the sea.
“Only you grow unintelligible when I do this.” He dipped his tongue into Legolas’ belly-button and let it swirl around. There was a surprised intake of breath from Legolas and Aragorn felt his stomach quiver from the sensation. He teased his mate a little more, making him hiss with pleasure and then he looked his fill. He loved to see how Legolas fell apart from his touches, how his hands could affect him, his kisses make him moan. It was always wondrous to him, seeing the elf at his disposal like this, drawing the man with his inner light.
Again he worked his way upwards, licking the aureolas of Legolas’ nipples and feeling them harden from the attention. Legolas’ chest was heaving, heavy breaths leaving his mouth in quick succesion. It spurned Aragorn on, sucking one nipple, then the other. Twirling them between his teeth, gently only, and seeing how Legolas came apart from the sensation his touch caused.
“Only you are so receptive to my touch,” he said once he had finished with Legolas’ nipples and moved upwards again, leaving kisses on Legolas’ shoulderblades, his clavicle, his earlobes, his throat. There was a constant murmur from Legolas. Some of it was words, encouragement or a simple articulation of his pleasure. But most were sounds, breath turned whisper, murmur turned music. Those sounds Aragorn liked best, they were their own little language, something no one else would understand.
Aragorn’s hands were never still, roaming the elf’s body, touching, stroking, caressing. He knew Legolas’ body by heart, the hidden spots that always elicited a reaction in the other, the way his nipples hardened, how the skin on his throat tasted. It gave Aragorn comfort to give himself over to their lovemaking, these well-known sensations that never lost their thrill. So he took his time until he had worked his way up to Legolas’ mouth to finally share a kiss with him.
“Only your mouth tastes so sweet,” he said and kissed the elf with ardour. Legolas was breathing hard beneath him and one of his hands had somehow become tangled in Aragorn’s hair, massaging his head. It urged him to deepen the kiss, tasting what Legolas had to offer. His mouth was welcoming him and Aragorn plunged right into this inciting and slick heat. His own arousal was a steady presence in the back of his mind, reminding him that he needed to move this to the next level soon, but he liked to linger in Legolas’ mouth.
Legolas met each stroke of Aragorn’s tongue with one of his own, but at the same time he lifted his hips, causing their arousals to brush against one another. The fire of passion took hold of Aragorn and the sudden painful need to join with Legolas caused him to lose the rhythm of their kiss. He broke their connection and let his head fall forwards, cheek to cheek with Legolas, lips brushing the elf’s pulse point.
“Only you can undo me so easily,” Aragorn forced out between one hard intake of breath and the next and then his hands went downwards, probing, making way, slipping in. Legolas writhed on their bed, his body never still, always trying to further their lovemaking and heighten the sensation. They were both desperate now for Aragorn to simply push in and take what was his, but the man still took his time, slicking his hands with oil and preparing the elf with care.
When he was satisfied, he positioned his cock at Legolas’ opening and stilled for a moment, seeking Legolas’ eyes. Their was a breath of absolute motionlessness and the sharing of souls until Aragorn took up the thread again and pushed forwards.
“Only you...” he forced out and it seemed as if he wanted to say more, but all the words had left him. All sense was taking leave and only sensation remained: Him above Legolas’ glowing sweating body, feeling the to and fro of their rocking motion, him inside Legolas, Legolas all around him, Legolas whispering something in his ear, Legolas’ lips on his cheek.
“Legolas,” he called in a ragged and cracked voice and their passion increased evermore. His hand closed around the elf’s cock and only a moment later Legolas’ hand joined his own. Together, they stroked the elf’s silken hardness while Aragorn worked to bring them both to their peak.
“Only you,” Legolas’ clear voice repeated Aragorn’s earlier words when his seed spilled over both their hands, slickening the grasp they had on the elf’s cock, binding them to one another. Aragorn followed moments later, losing his rhythm and then pushing into Legolas’ boneless body for a last time in his climax.
He simply collapsed on top of Legolas, but the elf never minded, and instead enveloped him in his strong arms. They lay like this for a while, both trying to get their breath back and enjoying the feeling of closeness that always was at its height after they had made love and lay tangled on the bed.
Aragorn was about to drift off to sleep when Legolas’ voice roused him to wakefulness again.
“I was about to say I am sorry, but somehow I think in this case the end justified the means.”
“What are you talking about, my love? Your mind seems to work a bit too fast for me today.” Aragorn’s brow furrowed in thought.
“Well, as you should know,” Legolas enlightened Aragorn with humour in his voice, “I have no reason to be jealous. But I am glad my false accusation worked just like I hoped it would. It heightened your passion and mine.”
The man had to chuckle. “My eyes never stray, meleth. Others may have to work up their appetite elsewhere to be able to enjoy what is offered at home. I do not need to be convinced thus, I already know you are the most enticing delicacy I will ever taste.”
Aragorn was far from being angry with his elf. He had seen the playful glint in his love’s eyes as soon as he had entered their bedchamber and had known that something was up. Legolas had always been full of surprises. His need to keep up with Legolas and match him in his moods and passions was what kept him young, he was sure of it.
“To be convincing you should have picked someone else than Faramir, though,” he teased, turning the joke around and for once confusing Legolas instead.
“Why is that?” Legolas was puzzled.
“Faramir is much too young for me. I like my lovers older,” Aragorn stated in a serious voice, emphasising the word older. There was a moment of silence as Legolas processed this and when he had obviously decided how to react to Aragorn’s statement he pushed the man onto his back and reversed their positions.
“I think I will have to punish you for calling me old. I will have you know, I am at least young and agile enough to do this.” And he dove down, kissing and touching and stroking the man.
Legolas proved his point, to the joy of them both.
- The End
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