Disclaimer:All Lord of the Rings characters and circumstances truly belong to the Tolkien estate. This little romp in frivolity is a mindless little exercise that yields nothing to me but a moment's titillation. No profit is generated from this endeavor, and no harm or permanent damage has been rendered to these characters. Enjoy the fun!
Legolas caught his breath, the gasp of air rising in his throat. The subtle stiffening in his spine lifted him, catching him off-guard as he tried to choke back the sudden yield of breath for which his body demanded. It was involuntary, this sensation-driven yearning for release, and it was sudden for how unexpectedly it arose in him. In review of his circumstances, he knew it should not come as a surprise, for it was building desire. Had he not noticed all the earlier symptoms of this need? And now realizing what was to come, he had little choice but to either fight it off, or give in. He immediately opted for the latter, for he had felt this way before, and he knew there was no satisfaction in repressing it. To give in . . . . it was ticklishly enticing, though he was surprised at himself for how easily he had concluded he might do such. It was the past that made him comply. Few times had he known it, and yet somehow, when the urge came to him, desire came at him with a fervor that sent his heart racing. Experience told him he could predict the outcome full well. It would relinquish the itch that had been nagging him relentlessly all the morn, for the feeling after was . . . so cleansing. So freeing. So invigorating.
The anticipation pulled him, it drew him. He could hardly resist the gulp of air it forced into his body, the quiver of stimulation moving him. He knew it would last but the length of a moment's hesitation, thus he might find the harmless pleasure of it a reprieve to the tedious tasks yet before him. He recognized too that he might luxuriate in the joy of its relinquishment, and so he allowed his mouth to fall open, his lips to part. He would not choke it back. He would give in to it. And then it reached him, yanked him, caressed him, calling him into the delicious expulsion of need gone unchecked. "Ahh . . ." he cried out loudly as the moment arrived. His arms jerked back, almost reaching, grasping to hold in the momentum. ". . . choo" he sighed, releasing it, feeling the bliss coming to him in the aftermath of the sneeze.
"Eru bless you," came Aragorn's automatic response as he absently handed the Elf the kerchief he normally kept in his inside tunic pocket. He had barely bothered to look up from the dusty papers he perused.
Legolas quickly wiped the remains of his containment away, the evidence of his bodily urge gone in but a motion. Yet he smiled. Mortals took such pleasures for granted. If they but knew the bodily fulfillment such as these wrought on an Elf, he wondered that they might not regard their own abilities with higher esteem.
He leaned his head back to the chair as he relished the residual joys his body yet felt. It seemed now that this had passed, he found another urge yet haunting him in the slow tingling of the twilight sensations. For some inexplicable reason, he felt the desire to partake in some pipeweed, though for the immortality in him, he could not register why.