Disclaimer: Legolas and Aragorn are not mine and I receive no profit from the creation of my fics other than personal pleasure at the fun it gives me to write and the reviews you give to me.
A/N 1: For la Caleigh
LOTS OF WARNINGS: Slash, het, twincest, adopted incest, sex, smut, lots of smut, Aragorn-whore-ness, threesome, BDSM… The usual. Oh, no mPreg. Which is odd for me. Don't like? Get lost and don't read.
Aragorn loved Legolas and Legolas loved him, but in the past… it was not so simple. They shared feelings for each other, feelings which Aragorn could not identify, being so young, and he had wanted to experiment. He had wanted the lessons others could teach him, and he was young, he felt limitless. He had needed the releases coupling brought and the pleasure it brought to distract him from the trials that life had presented him with, along with the inevitability of more.
Lindir was his first teacher and his first 'love'. He could remember his first kiss – with Lindir - and oh that kiss was never like Legolas', but it was the best he had received apart from his. It was nothing like how he'd imagined, the warm lips pressed against his, the tongue which, after a long moment, swirled along the row of his top teeth, ran across the roof of his mouth and caressing his own, producing light sparks of pleasure in his veins. And it was not just there, the sensation was combined with the warmth of the elf pressed against his chest, the hands on his hips… It was all so overwhelming that first time.
Of all his many lovers, Lindir was oh so tender. He wanted it long and slow and gentle. And when they were making love, Aragorn had to work a long while before he would be granted the pleasure of being entered. That first time, Lindir had talked him through what he should do, and soon Aragorn found himself finding what the elf liked and obliged gladly.
"That is it, that is right," Lindir gasped, as Aragorn swirled his tongue around the nub of the pale elf's nipple. It was interesting, the way that certain areas of a man's body could produce such fascinating effects. When he kissed him there, just on the crook of his neck, or stroked his hands there at the curve of his waist, or his hands moved down to the ultra-sensitive nerves at the inside of his thighs, Lindir would arch upwards into the touch, or a soft whimper would escape his lips.
Soon sweat had broken out across both men's skin, at the torture of each touch, the hardness of both men's erections. Each moan that escaped Lindir's lips made Aragorn harder and more desperate for a completion that he did not even understand, and he wantonly rubbed himself up against Lindir's body. "Please, please, please," he begged, after so long, and he was so hard and so desperate, gazing into those stormy grey eyes.
It seemed an eternity before Lindir broke, and he replied in a hoarse voice, "Turn around."
Every time, Lindir prepared him thoroughly, stretching him, but still Lindir's member entering him made him yelp aloud. But Lindir was gentle, thrusting into him with long oh-so-deep strokes, pausing whenever a strangled growl of pain tore from Aragorn's throat, waiting for the human to open his squeezed shut eyes before slowly starting again. And then… oh oh ah ai Elbereth. Lindir hit something that made sparks flood through him that he had never felt before. Thinking that his gasps were of pain, Lindir paused, raising one hand from Aragorn's waist to his hair.
"Are you alright, Estel?" he whispered, his hand stroking Aragorn's hair.
Aragorn's choked plea of "Please," made Lindir tentatively start to withdraw. "No!" exclaimed Aragorn, breath coming in harsh pants, as he bucked back against Lindir's toned body. A laugh came from behind, a deep rumble that vibrated through their bodies, as Lindir pushed back into him in long strokes that made Aragorn groan aloud, moans escaping his throat at each stroke of his prostate.
Before long, Aragorn's body was wracked with sensation, and he was shooting out into Lindir's hand. The convulsions of his body made Lindir come too, spilling out into Aragorn, and flopping down against his back. He did not speak, just withdrawing and pulling Aragorn down to the bed, exhausted and spent. No words were traded, Lindir just closed his eyes.
"He… he just slept, that is all. So I left, and I came here," Aragorn mumbled into Legolas' shoulder, as the elf rubbed his back.
"Calm down mellon nin," he murmured, blinking his eyes to clear them from sleep. Aragorn had an open invitation to his room, but he had not been expecting it so early on in the morning. "Most males do fall asleep after making love, I have noticed. Women prefer to stay away and cuddle up, but men… He did nothing unusual Aragorn."
Aragorn paused for a long moment, and Legolas could feel him absolutely rigid with tension, before chokingly saying, "He did not even say that he loved me."
Gently, Legolas sighed. Why did he have to be the one to do this? But he swallowed, and replied, "Aragorn, my friend, he has said that before to you, and often the first time will not be what you expect it to be, I warned you of this. And…" He hesitated, not wanting to hurt Aragorn anymore than he had been by Lindir, but it was his job as best friend to be the voice of reason, and Aragorn was so young, he had to understand, he had to learn. "You know that Lindir may not be your true love, not the person you will want to grow old with."
"Do not say that," Aragorn muttered, and pulled out of the hold. His face was wet with tears Legolas had not seen him shed. "I… I ought to go back. Before he wakes." He left the room.
They had to wait until they were ready and Aragorn could process all of those emotions, and was ready for a relationship with love. When he knew what he wanted, then they got together, but it… it took a lot.
They tumbled into the room, Aragorn in front, being steered by Glorfindel, his hot hardness pressing against his back. Hands fumbled at each other's clothes in the dark, as Glorfindel kicked the door closed. "Mine now, little human," the elf growled, as he ripped Aragorn's shirt from him and threw the shredded material to the floor. There was a thick bulge at Aragorn's leggings to revel how he was not in any way little, and he fought away an automatic blush as Glorfindel's eyes were drawn to it. As Glorfindel's hands hooked down into the top of Aragorn's leggings, the human tore Glorfindel's tunic away and tossed it into the same pile.
Soon they were both naked, and their lips were locked in fierce kisses, Glorfindel pressing Aragorn backwards with strength, that made his breathless. It was dark, in the room and they tripped and stumbled until Aragorn was backed into a desk. With a shaky laugh, Aragorn pushed the papers off the surface, and was forced onto his back. The cold wood made strong contrast with the burning fever in his veins and on his skin, as Glorfindel knocked his legs apart. Glorfindel leant down towards him, long curls of hair spilling over his shoulders, and Aragorn could see how the golden eyes were darkened with absolute lust.
"I am going to ride you until you cry out my name to the stars," he growled. "Legs up."
Aragorn obeyed, lifting his legs to Glorfindel's shoulders, but he had spirit, he was not about to give in. "Never," he replied challengingly.
Glorfindel's face froze and his face turned into a fierce grimace. "You will regret that," his voice was once more a snarl that raised the hairs along his arms and back. Suddenly, without the normal preparation to stretch him, Glorfindel thrust into him, all the way to the hilt. Aragorn could not stop the high pitched keen escaping, and his spine arching upwards. Stars burst in front of his eyes at the pain, but at the same moment, the elf hit his prostate and the white stars of pleasure joined them. Oh that intense pleasure, so deep inside him, where few who saw him would ever go.
A harsh, panting "Ha, ha, ha," tore from Aragorn's throat as he battled with the sensation and for a moment Glorfindel paused, and Aragorn thought it was to provide him with a moment's relief, but then he bent down to seal his lips over the human's, and drove into him, hard and fast. Aragorn cried out again, caught in a maelstrom of agony and utter bliss, writhing under Glorfindel's harsh onslaught. It was all over too soon though, Aragorn jerking with the intensity of the orgasm that hit, sending him high into the air, physically and onto a plane above the earth.
But he would not cry out Glorfindel's name, there was no chance of that. As his arched back sagged backwards, his teeth were tightly gritted together, allowing no such cry to leave his lips. Glorfindel pumped into him one last time, and then came a second after, shooting his seed deep into Aragorn, and a scream of both pleasure and triumph echoed through the room. Aragorn's eyebrows raised despite his exhaustion; he'd never thought of Glorfindel as a screamer.
Then Glorfindel drew out of him and staggered over to the bed, waving one hand to beckon the young human towards him. Aragorn obeyed and rested his head on Glorfindel's stomach, one arm looping round. Tender now, Glorfindel wrapped an arm around the young human, and closed his eyes. The two of them were breathing heavily in synchrony, exhausted by their violent love making. Except it wasn't love making, because it was not love. Aragorn's relationship with Glorfindel was fire and passion. But now the fire was fading, and the sweat that coated his body was drying. He shivered, and closed his eyes to sleep.
Legolas sighed as Aragorn entered the room. He was limping. Again. Glorfindel's cold golden eyes followed the human predatorily across the room, like a panther, surveying his prey. But it was Legolas that Aragorn sat down next to, with a wince as he bent.
"Morning," Legolas said, forcing himself to look up from his breakfast and to meet Aragorn's eyes. They were dark with fatigue. "Did you have a good evening?"
Merely shrugging in response, Aragorn helped himself to a piece of bread from Legolas' place, to a mock glare from the elf.
Legolas tried again, "Did you sleep well?"
"Like a log," Aragorn replied with a grin. It was somewhat feral, and Legolas sighed again. Glorfindel was not doing him any good, and he hated it.
Legolas had always been there, always. He was eternally there, through each relationship, and was there when they started, and there when they ended. He'd been a source of good advice all the way through, completely unbiased through he harboured feelings for Aragorn that he could not confess to until Aragorn slowed down. Legolas had had his lovers in his youth, then was Aragorn's turn.
Oh a woman's body. This was different. Sensuous lips descended on his, eyes framed by heavy lashes. Aragorn's hands were on Tamair's hips, and as they ranged up towards her narrow waist, goosebumps broke out on the pale flesh. Each limb was strong, supple yet elegant, and she was an elf, but it was different… being with a woman. Long, silky hair flowed over her shoulders as she drew back, taking her sweet mouth from his, and moving it to his ear. "Close your eyes," she instructed, her voice a husky whisper. They were both already devoid of clothes, having only woken minutes ago, yet Aragorn was surprised at how awake he was.
His hardness was poking into her thigh, he knew, but he obeyed and closed his eyes. Suddenly, everything doubled in sensation. Tamair rubbed restlessly against him, creating friction that made him want to grab her and thrust into her, but he waited obediently. For once. Her wriggling like a cat was most distracting, but she began to nibble at his neck and he had to gasp. Teasingly, she kissed, licked and bit at his neck and shoulders, he could feel her hot skin against his, and breasts started to heave. He slipped one hand in between them and cupped her full breasts. She moaned hungrily at him, and he conceded to squeeze them gently, finding the hardened nubs by touch alone.
She gave a ragged groan, and her fingers danced over his skin, tweaking his nipple as he did hers. She created a trail of kisses, working her way down to his hardness, and kissed his erection lightly. Aragorn's skin was buzzing, tingling, and he could not resist it any more. He opened his eyes and took in her flushed skin and the pleasure upon her features. He wanted her, and she wanted him. He sat up, and, in silence, Tamair lowered herself down onto his hardness, and Aragorn could not help but moan. She was tight and hot, like a man inside, and yet not. A man was like velvet, and she was slick. Moving her hands to twist in Aragorn's hair, her lips crashed into his, kissing him hard enough to bruise, and moved her body up and down over him.
Aragorn gave a gentle buck of his hips, and her eyes widened suddenly as she took in a deep breath. Her moaning had my blood racing. A fine sheen of sweat glistened on her white skin as she leaned up and back, bringing Aragorn further inside of her, and her muscles quivered. The catch of breath in his throat, and the tightness around him indicated her orgasm soon after, and her whole body shook with the passion. She rode it out, digging her nails deep into Aragorn's back, and he came a moment later.
Legolas knocked once on the door, then paused, giving Aragorn ample warning, but stepped into the room a moment later. He froze in the doorway, heart racing at the sight of two tangled bodies. A pulse of something unidentifiable stabbed through him at the sight of his Aragorn twined with… he recognised the woman as Tamair, one of the daughters of the ambassador from Lorien who was visiting. Closing his eyes in a long blink, to try and clear the thoughts in his head, he stepped out of the room and shut the door. He could feel his heart continue to pound at an unnatural rate as he walked down the corridor back towards his rooms. He had only been concerned by the human's absence at dinner, but to find that… he shook his head and leant against his door, shutting away the rest of civilization.
He knew what had cut through him at the sight of the two of them together – it was jealousy and anguish to a level more extreme than he had ever expected he could feel for a human. And if he had turned away from men… If this was not just a phase or if he liked both or… a primordial snarl was working its way up in his throat, at the thought that Aragorn's last love Glorfindel could have driven Aragorn away from that gender with his rough style. Not all men were like that, or as demanding as Lindir frequently was. It made tears flood to his eyes, uncalled for, and he angrily brushed them away.
No, he would not do this. Aragorn would come to him one day, he could see the way he looked at him. Until then, he would wait. And if Aragorn wanted women… so be it.
And in the end, he did, and the rest, as they say, was history. After finding himself in bed with his brothers, wondering what on middle earth had possessed him, Aragorn knew that he had to sort himself out. He had to find someone to settle with before his body became too old or he was left all alone in the wilderness, or with no one to return to at the end of the day.
So young, so very innocent looking, and yet that tongue could do wicked, wicked things. Jotok's more delicate touches were like experiments; testing the taste and analysing which spots would bring Aragorn the most pleasure, but there was no time for that, not really, not with the rest of the Dúnedain just feet away. The trees and one tent dividing them was little shelter. And Jotok knew it.
"Well my Lord?" he asked, and Aragorn nodded his head. He would not ask for it, and Jotok was only too pleased to grant this pleasure to the man he regarded as his King, years before his time would come. Silently, Jotok lowered his spectacular red head of hair further, and slipped Aragorn's member into his mouth. He let his tongue massage the underside and swallowed tentatively the increase the pressure. A low, rumbling moan of pleasure tried to escape Aragorn, but he swallowed it. No one should find him like this, and they should probably speed it up. He bucked his hips, and Jotok obediently sucked harder, hollowing his cheeks with the pulling.
Aragorn lost all thought, just clamped his hand over his mouth to stop the groans which were desperate to escape. He had been amazed by the young Dúnedan's sensitivity, and his ability to tell what Aragorn really needed. Now he was amazed at his talent. It was all over too soon though, Jotok milking every last drop from him until Aragorn sagged down with his back against a tree. So tired, he had been so tired for so long, and now maybe he could sleep. He hadn't been able to sleep before, but this had exhausted him. He wanted to reach out and pleasure Jotok back, but he would never let him. The younger man was too proud.
Sighing, the afterglow fading, he got to his feet, pulling his breeches back up, and then offered a hand to Jotok, who refused it. Rolling his eyes, Aragorn muttered, "Thank you," and walked away.
Legolas feigned sleep as Aragorn entered the tent, curled tightly into a protective ball. How was he supposed to even find a chance to make Aragorn his with the amount of people he had fawning after him? It seemed impossible.
And now, curled up on a sofa as King, Legolas' arms wrapped around him as they watch the fire, it seemed a far cry from all those winters ago when he would take whatever came to him. Now he was feeling his age, 150, and he could look back at his youth and laugh at the things he got up to. He would never do that now, though he could and would still give pleasure to Legolas. Legolas would find someone else to give him pleasure after Aragorn was gone, he knew, and he wondered if he should repay the courtesy Legolas had given him by letting him have other lovers. Because Legolas had not aged in all these years, eternally youthful, eternally captivating, and yet, for Aragorn's eternity, always there. They could still laugh over his foolishness.
Aragorn did not know how he had found himself in this situation. Actually he didn't know how he managed to get into most of the situations he did these days. There was a painful crick in his back, not helped in the slightest by the wall-at-his-nose thing, or the hanging-from-his-wrists thing. His back was bare to the cold, winter air streaming through from the open window. And the soft fronds of the leather whip against his naked skin, brushing its way down his shoulders, slithering down by the small of his back and finally curled against buttocks, teasing him and sensitising his skin.
Every brush made him quiver, half in fear and half in expectation. He knew what was going to happen. Suddenly, the leather struck him, without warning, and he yelped in surprise. Desperately, each time this happened, he wanted to bite down the pain, his competitive nature meant that he didn't want to give Erestor the satisfaction. But from experience, he knew that there would be no end to it, and nothing for him, until Erestor was sufficiently aroused by the noises he made.
Violently, he winced at the next strike, it was more vicious than it was normally, and he arched his back away from it. Had something annoyed the outwardly so demure elf? Then again, how many people would look at the advisor , so quiet and outspoken most of the time, and yet in the bedroom… another lash struck him, across the agonisingly sensitive skin at the very base of his buttocks. Though Aragorn knew every whimper and cry would give Erestor only more fuel for his sadism, but soon enough, at the repetitive motion of freezing cold leather against his rapidly heating up flesh, it gave him pleasure as well as pain. Amazingly powerful pleasure.
He remembered; this was why he did not mind he was in this situation. But it went on and on, lash after lash on his back. Until the pleasure was fading and… Elbereth it hurt. He gasped as the whip suddenly broke his skin, and trickles of blood began to run down his legs. "Erestor," he panted, but there was no reply. "Erestor?" He repeated, louder this time, and the lashes paused. The elf was normally so careful, delicate, always making sure that the skin was never broken. Four months this relationship had been going on, and he had never hurt him like this. "Stop! Please."
Then he bit down on his lip to stop another yell of pain, and struggled against the bonds around his wrists. They were only a soft leather, but he found himself unable to free himself. However, his movements made Erestor stop his assault, and the whip fell to the floor with a clatter.
"Ai, Elbereth, Aragorn are you alright?" There were footsteps and a moment later, Erestor's cold body was pressed against his burning back as he reached up and unfastened the handcuffs. "I am sorry, I am so sorry," he murmured, turning Aragorn around and wrapping his arms around him and pressing him up against his chest. The arms wound carefully around his shoulders, avoiding the worst of his wounds, yet Aragorn could not help but notice the raging erection pressed up against his stomach, as Erestor pleaded, "I am so sorry, I got distracted, carried away. This should never have happened to you. I am supposed to protect you."
Aragorn could not bear the self pity and drew away from the hold, back up against the wall. Horrified. "I was scared, entering into this relationship, you knew that I was. You said I would not get hurt, yet here I am, bleeding on your white stone floor. What am I doing here? I do not enjoy this as you do, and you do not care for me. It was never a matter of love." He did not have a hold over his voice, it was just… all he had been feeling, for so long, flooding out in one big outpour. That crack of a whip, that tearing of the skin, had been it. This wasn't what he wanted. He wanted someone who would love him, not use and abuse him. He wanted to be somebody to someone, not just… some body to someone.
"What… what are you saying?" Erestor gasped out, as Aragorn reached over to the chair to pick up his robe. He slung it up around his shoulders – it would do – and met Erestor's eyes.
"Erestor, you do not love me, and that is all I want right now. Not to be used, not to be your plaything, it was fun at first, exciting, different, but now…" As Aragorn spoke, Erestor's eyes flicked towards the whip, and Aragorn took a step back. "Find someone who can give you what you want, someone who can find more pleasure in pain that I possibly could, please." He backed out of the room, and fled.
He paused, his fist about to knock on Legolas' door, and took a deep breath. No, it would not do to bring Legolas into this as well, he would only scold Aragorn for ruining his chances, or for letting it get that far, or just look at him for a long moment with those blue eyes which could get so incredibly sad sometimes. And why did he always run to Legolas? What was it that had the elf pulling him so strongly… he had seen the looks people gave him and Legolas when they were just resting, curled up against each other, but he had ignored them. Though he knew what the people thought, it was not true, it was just that… they cared for each other so deeply, if he was honest. It did not matter what the others thought. It seemed only natural for them to hold each other when they were upset or to comfort the other…
But Aragorn did not know why, it just… was. There was something about Legolas that drew him towards him, when he knew that he should not. And he heard the word "unnatural" hissed towards him at the way, though he was only 14 years old, he had found himself wound around Legolas' form, sleeping in the sunshine, the both of them dressed in only breeches from where they had been swimming. But he had been so comfortable and so content that he would not move for anyone. At that age, he should have been interested in the girls and boys of his own age, but he had not had any. There had only ever been Legolas. He wondered, if, perhaps, there only ever should be Legolas.
Frowning to himself, he decided to find somewhere else. Though Erestor would know where to find him in his own room, he would not except him to seek refuge outside, that was an elvish thing to do. But out there he could find a stream to clean the blood from his body, make a fire to warm his skin, and certainly find somewhere warm enough to sleep comfortably in. It would do, for now.
Sometimes, Aragorn did not want to think about his past, as he did not want to think about Legolas' future, after he was gone. But the past was important, because it made him who he was, and he shouldn't forget himself, what made him, and he would not forget. They were not bad memories, indeed, if Aragorn remembered correctly they were very pleasurable memories and had enabled him to have the optimum pleasure with Legolas each time. And the diversity was surprising.
The walls were spinning slightly as he stumbled into his brothers' room. Elladan closed the door behind him, as Elrohir took his hand, and began to lead him towards the bed. Aragorn frowned as he sagged down; this bed was softer than his. How was that in any way fair? But it meant that he could roll onto his front and breathe in deeply the scent of his two brothers. They had moved away slightly, but they had always been there for him, protecting him, a little like Legolas was. It made him feel safe, this room, the smell, the very feel of it. He heard two familiar chuckles behind him and then felt the bed dip as one of the twins sat down next to him. Hands moved to tug playfully at his hair.
"Not falling asleep on us already are you, little brother? I fear we were planning to play with you a little more before you do that." The voice had a higher, more teasing lilt, and Aragorn knew from that that it was Elrohir who was speaking to him. He grinned, and turned onto his back again, obediently. The dark haired elf scanned his features critically, yet with a soft smile on his lips, and Aragorn's insides, warmed already by the alcohol he had consumed, heated up a little. "It is not every day we get to play with such a delightful specimen as you, little Estel."
"I am not little," Aragorn protested, sitting up. What was it with elves and their arrogance, thinking that they were more important than him, just because he was younger? He would always be younger than them! There was no way that he could change that, and he had been called little before. It was foolish of them to think that, because of his age, he was inexperienced. He was anything but.
Chuckling, Elladan moved forwards and his arms slipped under Elrohir's. He rested his chin on the younger twin's shoulder and began to undo the buttons on his shirt. Aragorn's eyes fixed onto the pale white hands twisting the buttons open against the dark silk. As the hands made their way down, Elrohir turned his head and buried his nose into Elladan's neck, breathing the scent of his twin in deeply. The younger twin's eyes shut blissfully as Elladan's fingers caressed his skin, and the silk slid from his body. Aragorn was transfixed watching the mirror images and the small touches and the tiny twitches that they resulted in. They knew each other's bodies as intimately as they knew their own – that thought made Aragorn snort – they were, after all identical.
A long, slow moment later, Elrohir turned, shifting, and began to same process with his twin. But Elladan stopped him before he could move onto his leggings. "We are abandoning someone toron nin," he said, significantly, and glanced over at Aragorn, who had been watching in a daze.
"So we have, and we do not want to do that. It is not every night we have such a guest in our room," Elrohir conceded, and crawled somewhat predatorily towards the human. "You will have a good time tonight, I assure you, Estel."
"I expected nothing less," Aragorn told him, and suddenly Elrohir had pushed him down onto his back, pinning him down, and had begun to undo his buttons. Elladan started on his leggings, and before Aragorn knew it, he was naked on the linen, and Elrohir and Elladan were locked deeply in a kiss. It was one of the most arousing things Aragorn had seen, the white, muscled chests, the strong arms holding each other tightly, and the mouths battling for dominance. It was Elladan who won, pushing Elrohir down onto his back under the force of his attack, until Elladan rolled away from him and moved onto kissing Aragorn instead. The assault was heady and more than stirring, and Aragorn was sure he could taste the alcohol on his breath. He knew this was the only reason they were doing this, but that was fine, right now. Maybe in the morning… no not the morning, he would not think of it. He would just enjoy this moment.
And the moment was indeed something to enjoy, the sensation of Elladan inside him, coupled with Elrohir's sucking… Elbereth it was indescribable. Aragorn's head lolled up to the ceiling, and thinking was impossible. He could do nothing but moan, groan and cry out incoherent words under the double pleasure, and when he came, it was as an eruption and flashes of lightening in front of his eyes. And the first time wasn't the last time he came that night.
Legolas pulled Aragorn's hair away from his face with cold hands which soothed his hot skin, as Aragorn threw up violently again and again in the bowl, Legolas murmuring nonsense words, just sounds aimed to soothe, all the while. He glanced back into the room and made a mental note to remember to close the curtains tight and blow out the light. All Aragorn wanted to do the morning after a night of drinking was to curl up in the dark and the warm, Legolas knew; they had done this before. To be frank, Legolas did not know what a hangover felt like, as elves did not suffer from them, but the way Aragorn griped about them, he presumed they were fairly bad.
Eventually, Aragorn stopped retching and collapsed back onto Legolas, trembling. Silent, not letting a word of reproach cross his lips, Legolas passed him the glass of water he had ready, and slipped his arm around Aragorn's waist, to rub light, soothing circles to the tortured flesh there. Aragorn sighed his relief and his gratefulness, and held the glass between two hands, trying to hide the shakiness of his limbs though he knew his friend would not think any less of him because of it. Legolas was like that; he looked past all of Aragorn's faults.
"Well I admit, that was not the morning greeting I was expecting," Legolas chortled in the human's ear after a long moment of silence, just trying to inject some humour into the situation.
"I'm sorry," mumbled Aragorn, squeezing his eyes shut as he savoured the sensation of Legolas' hands massaged his muscles, aching from the spasms of his stomach.
"It is alright, you are alright, come on now," Legolas murmured, and his hands hooked under Aragorn's arms to help him to his feet. They made their way towards the bed, and Aragorn collapsed down into it with a groan of self pity, as Legolas went to shut the curtains. The thick, heavy material blocked out all the light from outside, and the room was soon plunged into darkness. But when he moved to leave, Aragorn's moan summoned him back, and he patted the bed beside him as a summons, which Legolas was not about to decline.
Aragorn was able to sink back into Legolas' tight hold, though the elf brought the blankets up around them with one hand to surround them in warmth. As if he needed it with Legolas there… but it was very, very pleasant all the same. No one else he had ever been held by had ever matched up to Legolas in that area, no one could make him feel so safe, so wanted, almost needed when he was the one who needed the comfort. It did not make sense, but it did not need to. It was perfection just like this.
Moving one hand up to Aragorn's thick, slightly damp hair, Legolas began to thread his fingers through it, knowing exactly how much the human liked having his hair played with, which exact spots he wanted to be massaged, where he should pull the hair just a little… Aragorn was already melting at the touches, tension melting out of his limbs as he snuggled backwards against Legolas' chest. He knew that this was where he wanted to be, there was no one else for him.
Abruptly, he blurted out, "Elladan and Elrohir made love to me last night."
Legolas stiffened, his hand freezing, and suddenly Aragorn was regretting his words. Not because the hand in his hair stopped moving, but because he had upset Legolas. In a choked voice, Legolas asked, "Why did you tell me this? I do not want to know… but… how could you think…" He paused, swallowed, and then continued, "Are you going back to them? Because they probably would not appreciate my being in the same bed as you. And… they are your brothers Aragorn, I can not say that I think it the most… the wisest course of action."
"I just… I do not… No I am not going back to them, it was just the one night, and I was drunk and did not know what I was doing. And all I wanted to do was to come here, Legolas. This is where I come when I am feeling upset or ill or… because you make me feel better. No one else does," Aragorn could not control the words, did not know where they were coming from, but every one of them was true. And it felt so good to have them out in the open. "You are always there for me, and you loved me. And I love you."
Sighing, Legolas knew that the human meant as friends, and he wanted to close his eyes in surrender. But he would not, damnation. "Yes I love you, and that is why I worry about you. You do not know how much I love you." His last sentence was a whisper, but he knew full well that Aragorn would hear every one of his words. Even if he was not sure he wanted him to.
Aragorn snorted, "No, you don't know how much I love you, Legolas." The words were barely a breath on the wind, but Legolas heard him. Of course he heard him. Tears were rising to the human's eyes at the silence behind him, and he was hurting and maybe he ought to just go back to sleep. Then he could forget, and everything would be gone, just for a little while.
But Legolas' arms tightened suddenly around him, and Aragorn was turned onto his back. And Legolas' lips were against his, and then his weight was on top of him, and fever took over Aragorn, as he pressed upwards into Legolas' kiss, as though terrified Legolas would pull away and leave him. And then the elf's lips parted and a wonderfully sweet tongue twined with Aragorn's, only Legolas slid away too quickly. Aragorn moaned, and it only made Legolas grin. "How long have you felt like this?" he asked.
"So long and yet not long enough," Aragorn confessed, "What about you?"
"For even longer than you, eternally it feels like. And I expect to love you for a whole lot longer," Legolas whispered.
No one else now, though, just the two of them. There would be no heirs for Gondor, because they had been selfish. And that was alright. Sometimes it was good to be, sometimes they needed to be, and after all that the couple had done for the rest of their world, they deserved the chance. They were in a place where they wanted to be forever, in love, with each other, and their love was eternal, far more than love-making could ever be. That was what counted.
A/N: Well that was a fun journey, wasn't it boys and girls? Sorry for all those who have been waiting for updates for the other fics I have going, whether it be Torchwood, Harry Potter or LOTR, I will try and get back to them as soon as I can, but I have a ton of school work on, and then actual work and then on top of that all the family stuff I'm trying to deal with. Ask Lauren, she'll back me up at how busy I am at the moment. She has to put up with me and my rants each night, and she is forever loved for it. Among other things. Anyway, let me know what you thought! Please?