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The canvas of the gray ship rippled, illusion like, in the haze of the burning sun. The sea continued her ceaseless murmur. She whispered of tales only the very ancient and the very wise could still remember. Tales of hardship, of wars with great epic battles and of bravery,… of warriors who had suffered and lost. She beckoned them to come to her. The Siren's call. She whispered in all languages but only those who's time had come could hear and understand.
He sighed. It was a silent painful sound. He tried to turn away but the sounds of the sea wound their way into his heart, pinning him to this fateful spot on the sandy beach. An innocently beautiful stretch of white sand, which should have been a friendly place, and probably was for any… but an Elf. This Elf.
Turn away, he told himself. But the sea and the gulls conspired to overtake his spirit. As surely as if great chains were thrown aroundhim, he could not move. They murmured of times past… quiet periods when the earth slept…tales of lovers entwined in the grass…. But his ancient mind knew what the sea spoke was true: all loves ended. Even great ones. Time crashed in upon the shores of men's lives and robbed even the greatest men of their vitality. One day it would come for Aragorn.
He sighed again but this time it came out like a moan. Lost. He felt so lost and only the white sails could rescue him from the madness that was slowly creeping within his mind, threatening to overtake him. He could hear her, the Sea, whispering to him like an enchantress. She could rescue him. She whispered tales of loss and death, life and rebirth. It was inevitable, she said in a whisper that was meant to be comforting. Death was inevitable. The cycle was insensate to the moods of men or elves. It only knew its ceaseless rhythm. Beginnings and endings wrapped around each other like mermaids in heat. The inevitable would come. Time could not be stopped and his heart longed for escape.
Escape, escape before it happened. Death. He was one of the ancients. He had seen death. Dealt death. And in all his years the face of it never made him quail. A sound came from behind him and he stiffened. Death had one more card to deal and this one would be his end. Distant sails puffed with the cool breeze, promising escape. The Sea beckoned to him. The watching Elf inhaled, tasting the strange bitter salt flavor on the wind. It promised him escape.
Another sound. He steeled himself for what was to come.
"You can't go."
The voice of the Man was strained as if ready to break. Legolas stiffened but did not turn back. He could not, lest he weaken. Too often now, he had been enticed back into the Human's arms. Too often, he had denied the call that grew like brittle glass, day by day carving its gouges deeper into his soul. But the Human's voice was strained beyond anything he had ever heard before, even in the most dire of days when the Shadow loomed large. And Legolas's heart twisted in his chest at the sound.
Rough Human hands grabbed his shoulders and spun him around to face the determined steel eyes.
"You can't." But the voice cracked and Legolas feared for him.
The Elf remained impassive as large hands cupped his face, fingers curling underneath his hair to pull him into a desperate kiss. The King's mouth was hot as the practiced tongue sought entrance into the enchanted cathedral past cool unyielding lips. He was seeking ablution, renewal…the Elf always did that for him. No matter howdemanding, rough, even cruel, he could at times be. Legolas always forgave him, understood him, cared for him…in a way no one else ever could. He could not let the Elf go. Not now, not ever.
But the kiss did not save him this time. Aragorn's stomach lurched and he clutched at the tender flesh even tighter, knowing it would hurt. She had gotten to him this time, that Bitch! She had surely gotten her claws in deep this time and bit by bit, she was taking his Elf away from him.
He wanted to scream in rage and frustration! He wanted to wage war the likes of which had not been seen since the legendary fall of Sauron. He wanted to bring down the very foundations of the Earth! He was a King! The King of all Men. The King of the Western World. Yet he was impotent…
The Sea had won. That fucking, fucking Bitch!
A strange dizziness came over him at the realization. The Man's knees began to buckle and a shameless whimper escaped his mouth as he slowly came off those cold heartless lips.
Slowly, white hands came up to cover his own, which now cupped the perfect face in a desperate, vice-like grip. They gently melded against his bruising fingers and tears began to fall down the King's ragged face. The white digits slowly pried his hands away. Red lines stood out upon the Elf's milky skin and as Aragorn watched in sickening fascination they began to fade, restoring the pearlescent moon like face once more to unblemished perfection.
A slow sob, heavy, deep and threatening to turn shamelessly into a wail, crawled its way up from the depths within him, and the Man slowly, slowly sank to his knees. The Elf's cool hands were on his shoulders, guiding him, as he crumbled like a lifeless heap upon the hard packed sand of the beach. He hated this. He hated this place. His fist clenched impotently around a handful of sand. Gods, he hated her. He hated her and he turned his burning, tear stained eyes to the Sea so that she might feel his wrath. If he could but curse her,… blight her; …if he could have the magic of wizard, he'd dry her up into less than a puddle. She never again be heard by any living thing. The hateful roar of the crashing waves would be as a distant memory.
Aragorn breathed in ragged breaths, desperate to restore his fragile control. He was a King, for God's sake! He looked up at the still standing Elf, now crowned in the burning rays of the sun, and the sea-foam eyes stared back at him, …unseeing. The Sea had won. He moaned aloud, then, and for the first time in his life Aragorn prayed for death.
The Elf was leaving. And he would be doomed to live out his long existence, an empty shell, the Monarch of a heartless land that offered no comfort to him.
"Please," he gasped, unashamed to beg. "Please…Legolas, I'll do anything."
His thick velvet robe swelled in the wind and began to swirl around him. He jerked at the gold ties at his neck and the dark burgundy material fell from his shoulders to pool on the ground at the Elf's feet. The immoveable gaze flickered, a tiny movement of dark amethyst lashes, as the Elf's eyes lowered to follow the velvet cloak which caught on the breeze. The emblem of the Tree of Gondor, richly embroidered upon the King's robes, fluttered forgotten around his ankles.
The King held his breath. Did his words reach past that cold sapphire stare to touch something in his Elf? The note left in the Elf's crisp script was brief, rushed and with no explanation. Had he not returned unexpectedly to their state rooms he would never had found it until it was too late. Aragorn shuddered at the memory of the horrifying memory and the mad galloping run to this place. Always the same place.
The white hands tightened on his shoulders but the eyes of his lover looked vacantly out to Sea. The white sails glistened on the horizon. The Gray Ship.
Rare were its visits to these shores. So few of the Elves remained. And because of what it meant, Aragorn began to shake. This was death. The Man could feel it now.
"Anything?" asked the quiet voice pulling him out of the blackness just a little.
Aragorn clutched at a flawless hand and pressed it desperately to his mouth, kissing the white digits feverishly. "Anything!"
Fathomless blue eyes pulled off the undulating motion of the waves, and blinked as if slowly waking from a dream to gaze upon the strange vision of the Man on his knees. Slowly a white hand drifted to the crown, which sat upon the Man's brow and gently lifted the weighty thing from his head. The circle of gold hit the hot sand with a thud.
The Elf said nothing but the Man, cautious to not make any wrong moves, slowly brought the hand he still held back to his lips. This kiss was more restrained, more gentle. He knew his rough Human ways could be abrasive at times. The white fingers moved against his lips and obediently the Man's mouth opened to accept a slender digit. Aragorn lowered his gaze deferentially as he licked at the finger that slid in and out of his mouth. He longed to reach out and grasp the Elf by the hips, but he dared not. Every bone in his body seemed to creak under the strain of not moving as he pleased. He schooled himself to passivity.
The finger lengthened its strides, teasing him almost to the point of screaming and then abruptly was gone. Aragorn kept his eyeslowered, and held his breath, until the familiar cool heat of the Elf's body was kneeling beside him. They were inches apart and he longed to reach out and touch the smooth skin of the collarbone, to snake his arms around the waist and pull the slim figure to him. But he did not move.
"Lay down," commanded the Elf in strangely detached voice.
Aragorn swallowed and did as he was told. Anything. He'd do anything to please his lover and keep the Elf by his side one more day.
The sand was hot and the warmth seeped into his bones as he lay prone. The Elf stood and after an eternity of several minutes began to slowly remove his leather jerkin. Aragorn nearly moaned again as he watched a snow white shoulder appear, and then the other. Smooth muscles, long and supple rippled in the Archer's arms. Tender pink buds on the gentle slope of almost boyish pectorals adorned the chest. The King licked his lips for the Elf was taking a slow surveillance of himself. White hands skimmed down his chest, as if noting the smooth unblemished skin for the first time. The long fingers trailed over the length of his neck and into his hair, loosening the tight braids. The silken strands fell from their confinement to fan over the down turned face, so that only a corner of the mouth and one eye peeked out from behind the seductive curtain.
Aragorn groaned at the sight. But Legolas did not look up from his intent perusal of himself as long fingered hands skimmed at his waist band and nudged the leggings slowly over flared hip bones. The navel still sported the golden ring Aragorn had wondered about back in the days of the Fellowship, before they had become lovers. It was to become a source of great teasing and pleasuring for them both on the eve of their first coupling, on the day Middle-earth was saved and the dark tower fell.
As if reading the Man's thoughts the long fingers gave the ring a little experimental tug before they made their journey southward. Two moans mingled on the sensations this evoked. The Man who lay prone on the sand began to squirm uncomfortably.
"Legolas!" he gasped, but quickly clenched his teeth shut as a warning flicker of a dark brow shot through him. He must not speak, not move, not do anything, without being told.
The Elf took firm hold of his leggings and nudged them down all the way, exposing two well muscled legs, long and lean. He stepped out of his clothing and traveled his hands in gentle sweeps down his ribs to the dip at his waist and around the curve of his firm backside. The Man on the ground grabbed onto the sand for support as he watched with rapt attention. His own clothing had become an uncomfortable restriction but he would wait, an eternity if need be. And then the smooth hand traveled toward the stiffening column of flesh which lifted smoothly from its blond nest. Aragorn almost groaned aloud again, as a long finger ran a slow trail down thelength of that succulent flesh.
The Elf hissed at the sensation, ignoring the Man who now grasped the beach by handfuls and twisted uncomfortably within his pants. But he could feel the eyes of the Human burning trails of heat over his body. It was strangely intoxicating. The incessant murmur of the sea had faded to a distant point in his consciousness. The Man's burning gaze had replaced all fears about tomorrow, and tomorrow, and tomorrow. There was only now. There was only Aragorn.
The Elf suddenly dropped to the ground, knees coming up on either side of the Man's hips, and the flaming kiss that descended upon him almost made Aragorn scream in rapture.
He did not need to be told this time. His arms came up around the shaking Elf as he plunged his tongue into the demanding mouth. Legolas clawed at his clothes, gasping and sucking at the Man's tongue. Aragorn grabbed at the pliant flesh that now pressed against him in abandoned frenzy. He pulled the Elf tightly to him, as if to blend them together, to become one.
The Elf pried his lips and teeth away from the Man's neck long enough to whisper, "More!" Tears leaked out of the blue orbs and rolled in a stream down the Elf's face.
Aragorn knew he needed to act fast. No time for gentleness now. He pulled at his clothing, as the Elf clung to him in desperate need. "Now! Aragorn, now!"
The roar of the sea almost drowned out the Elf's demanding whispers.
The Man flipped them over, unceremoniously, and pushed the Elf legs up to reveal the tender pink starburst opening. He stifled a moan, he would have so wanted to lick and taste and cajole sweet sounds from his lover. But not here. Not with her watching. He had to take the Elf, claim him yet again, make it clear where Legolas belonged one more time.
"Please Aragorn!" whispered the Elf with tears sliding down his face. Aragorn placed his weeping cock to the tender opening, regretting the injury this might cause, and plunged in with one violent thrust.
Legolas screamed, and clutched the Man's shoulders. Aragorn's strong arms came around him, and pulled him onto his lap, embedding his rod deeply inside his lover's body. They clung together, breaths ragged and harsh, drowning out the sound of the sea. The jealous Bitch thundered and crashed upon the shore, sending spray around the two entwined bodies. Aragorn smiled bitterly. Then he began to thrust. Hard and strong. He took the Elf and Legolas clutched him desperately, melding their bodies together, making them one.
The crashing waves thundered and the gulls screeched but the mounting climax of the bonded lovers fixed them only to each other.They came, in a roaring spiral of shuddering life. Their souls heaved and brightened in the new light that flooded them. The clung to one another, relief washing through them in undulating waves. The Man anchored the pale body to him with a strong grip that said plainly, `I'm never letting go.' Legolas sighed.
Finally the blond head stirred from the tan shoulder and clear blue eyes looked up at the steel gray gaze of the King. A pale hand drifted up to sweep soft brown curls, flecked with gray, out of the Man's eyes.
"Yes, my love," whispered the Man.
"You said you would do anything…?"
Aragorn swallowed and nodded. He tightened his arms around the slim figure still wrapped around him. "Anything. Anything you want, I will do. Just tell me, what can I do for you, my heart."
Legolas smiled tiredly and laid his head back upon the strong shoulder of his lover. "Please, take me home."
He smiled to feel the King place a tender kiss upon his brow. Aragorn sighed and did not try to stop his tears which flowed down his face to fall upon his lover's hair.
"Immediately, My Prince," he whispered happily. " Your wish is my command."