Disclaimer: I don't own anybody. I'm just ruining their lives for them.

A/N: Any letters in underlined italics are a result of the author sticking her nose in where she really doesn't belong.

The author wishes to inform the Honoréd Reader that this story is in extremely bad taste and not for the naïve. However, she wishes to express the desire that you read it anyway and review. Unless you're naïve or hate bad taste.

The author wishes to thank EggoWaffles for providing inspiration for the title.

Fun With Slash

Aragorn and Legolas were kicking orc butt. They tended to do this a lot. And they were doing it now. The orcs were really getting their butts kicked this time.

"Nice backhand chop," said Legolas, stabbing an orc with an arrow.

"Thanks, Legolas. That means a lot to me." Aragorn decapitated an orc, sending the head flying in Legolas's direction. Legolas ducked and kicked orc butt. Very literally, in this case.

"Oh, Aragorn," said Legolas. "Do you really mean what I think you mean?"

"I don't know," said Aragorn. "Do I?" An orc screamed a battle cry in the background. Or something that was supposed to be a battle cry, anyway. It actually sounded sort of like the death wish of a cat.

"I don't know. That's why I was asking you." Legolas shot an orc falling out of a tree and yelled a battle cry that sounded somewhat like, "For hygiene!"

"Well, what do you think I mean?" Aragorn stabbed an orc through the intestines. He could tell from the smell. Legolas wrinkled his perfect nose.

"For hygiene!" he yelled again.

"What I hope you mean, because I feel the same way," said Legolas, adding more romance into the statement than was strictly necessary. Aragorn blushed. Did he really?

"Oh, Legolas, do you really mean what I think you mean?"

"I don't know. Do I?"

"Why," asked Aragorn, "do I have this strange feeling of déjà vu?" He yelled a really foul curse in Rohirric at the nearest orc. Everyone's ears shriveled. Éomer could be useful for some things.

"I have no idea," said Legolas, straightening out his ears. Whether they were pointy or not is a matter to be discussed by experts. Let us just say that they were perfect, pink and shell-like. The Honoréd Reader may read in "pointy, perfect, pink and shell-like," if he/she/it so desires.

At this point, the orcs ran away screaming like little girls, and Aragorn and Legolas were free to continue their conversation without battle cries. Whatever they sounded like.

At that point, it began to rain. The water fell from the sky like rain. Which it was. Ahem. It muddied the ground up something awful, too. Legolas's fancy leather boots were getting wet, so he suggested that the pair go inside a conveniently placed cave.

It was indeed very conveniently placed. The caverns were long and winding and not particularly damp, either. Soon Aragorn had a cheerful fire going with his Rangerly skills. Legolas watched admiringly. He pulled some Lembas Marshmallows™ out of his pack and stuck them on a carefully sanitised stick that he carried with him everywhere.

"Are those Lembas Marshmallows™?" asked Aragorn. "How did you get them? You're from Mirkwood, and Lembas Marshmallows™ are an exclusive delicacy of Lórien. I know. I tried to get my hands on some, but Galadriel caught me sneaking them out of Lórien and," his face took on a contorted expression, "punished me severely."

"I have my ways," said Legolas in what Aragorn considered to be a very sexy and mysterious tone.

They sat around the campfire, toasting and eating their Lembas Marshmallows™. It was very peaceful and romantic. It reminded Aragorn of his best date with Arwen, the one where she'd kissed him. Many, many, many, many Many, many, many, etc. more "many's" were omitted to keep the story flowing at its oh-so-quick pace times. This made Aragorn a bit uncomfortable. Was he going to fall for every hot elf that happened to cross his path?

"Aragorn…" murmured Legolas in a husky and seductive voice.

Oh, Valar. Apparently, yes.

"We've always been friends, Aragorn," said Legolas, echoing every bad Aragorn/Legolas slash fanfic the author has ever read. "Do you think we could be something more?"

Legolas suddenly remembered that Aragorn was involved with another Elf.

"What about Arwen?" he asked.

"Screw Arwen," said Aragorn. Legolas's lower lip began to tremble.

"If you didn't want me, you could have just—"

"Not literally," Aragorn hastily amended. He began to murmur some really nauseating sweet nothings into the possibly-pointed ear of the Elf.


They kissed, a kiss full of passion and romance and trumpets and joy and beauty and True Love® and promises and tongues. They had big mouths.

Still locked onto each other's lips, partially because those trumpets were getting in the way, Aragorn and Legolas sank onto the bed. This bed had been placed there for the purposes of furthering the story by the author.

They proceeded to do some things that have been censored so this story can remain at a T rating. In fact, said actions so disgusted the bed that it quit and left the story to go console poor Tolkein in his grave. Aragorn and Legolas didn't notice.

It wasn't until morning when Legolas had woken up, disentangled the trumpet from his mouth, kissed Aragorn's snoring lips, and used one of the pregnancy testers a Mary Sue had accidentally dropped into his bag that he noticed the absence of the bed. And his manly Elf-dress. And, for that matter, all of his clothing and Aragorn's.

The bed blew a raspberry at him from inside a bathtub that had not been there last night. It scrubbed itself one more time for good measure, shuddered with disgust, and then left the cave.

Aragorn opened sleepy eyes, looked questioningly at Legolas, and hopped into the tub. Legolas followed.

The bathtub groaned.

Another A/N: This may become a series of slash parodies, depending on interest and reviews. So if you like the idea, writing, or humour, review and tell the author, who will probably not speak in third person in future instalments because it's annoying. Constructive criticism will be used to improve the story. Flames will be used to heat bathwater.