One Good Turn | By : nuwing Category: -Multi-Age > Slash - Male/Male Views: 2483 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0 |
Disclaimer: I do not own the Lord of the Rings (and associated) book series, nor any of the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story. |
*Title: One Good Turn
(Written for the Slashy Santa exchange, Dec. 2005)
*Author: Minuial Nuwing
*Contact: minuial_nuwing@yahoo.com
*Website: First Light - http://geocities.com/minuial_nuwing
*Rating: NC-17
*Type: FPS
*Pairing: Elladan/Elrohir/Legolas
*Warning: Shameless PWP, non-graphic violence, implied twincest
*Archive: slashysanta.com first, then First Light, AFF.net, LoM, OEAM;
Others: I would be honored - Just let me know, please!
*Feedback: Makes me smile, and write faster…
*Summary: The Peredhil twins are ambushed by orcs at the edge of Mirkwood,
and Legolas saves the day.
*Beta: Fimbrethiel (hugs), who is also responsible for the title (smooches)
*Notes: Italics indicate mindspeak or thoughts, when not used for simple
emphasis. In plain-text, stars (**) indicate italics. One star (*blah*) for emphasis,
two stars (**blah**) for mindspeak or thoughts.
*Disclaimer: Only the quirks and perversions are mine. Everything else
belongs to the creator-god of Middle Earth, J.R.R. Tolkien. I am awed by his gifts and
humbled by his vision. I promise to clean them all up and return them with smiles on
their faces when I am done playing!
*A/N: Request:
Pairing: Elladan/Elrohir/Legolas or Legolas/Aragorn
Rating: NC-17
Request (please try to include the elements listed here):
Action/adventure with wild sex afterwards
Squicks (do NOT include any of the elements listed here): NO
Erestor/Glorfindel, NO obscure Elves, no rape, non-con, BDSM, NO
FLUFF, Hobbit, Wizard or Men unless it's Aragorn/Legolas
A/N 2: These are not my usual elves, obviously. I wasn’t even aware that
Elladan knew that word!
******************************************************
The attack had taken them by surprise. So close to the eaves of the great forest,
their thoughts had been focused more on fire, food and shelter than defense, and they had
ridden into the clever ambush as lambs to the slaughter.
Knocked from his mount by the sudden swarm of fell vermin, Elladan retreated to the
very edge of the wood, forced to trust his back to the massive trunks rather than the
keen of an elven blade. Sensing an advantage, the attackers surged toward the unseated
elf, fleeing the mithril-shod hooves of the rampaging war-horses.
Time seemed to slow to a crawl as Elrohir struggled toward his brother. The orcs
multiplied as if by magic, each foul creature he dispatched replaced by two. Bile rose
in the elf-knight’s throat as his mount trampled yet another bloody carcass. His arrows
spent, he leaped to the ground, wielding his sword in manic desperation, hacking a path
toward the embattled elder twin.
He would be too late. The advancing orc was but a few steps from Elladan, moving with
uncharacteristic stealth toward his vulnerable back. Already the monstrous arm was drawn
back, the cruel curved blade poised for a decapitating swing.
Elrohir howled in impotent fury as he hewed the axe-arm from the creature blocking his
path, his second stroke opening the monster’s belly. He stared in horror as Elladan
slipped in the black blood that covered the ground, the elder twin’s sword leaping from
his slick hand to fall ringing on the tumbled boulders that marked the forest’s edge.
“Sweet Elbereth, please...’Dan! No...no...” The elf-knight let go a keening wail
of denial, unable to tear his eyes from the nightmare unfolding before him.
Then he heard the sharp hiss of a bowstring, and two brown-fletched arrows appeared in
the orc’s neck as if in answer to his prayer. There was a flash of green and gold, and
the creature fell headless at his brother’s feet. A heartbeat later a small group of
Silvan elves burst into view, bows singing.
Elladan looked stunned into the blue-green eyes of his savior, who retrieved the
dropped blade, presenting it with a cheeky grin. “Welcome to Mirkwood,” the
golden-haired elf chuckled, then turned his attention to the battle at hand.
Elrohir cleaved a path to his twin, sparing but a moment to brush Elladan’s arm before
resuming his grim task, grateful for the familiar presence of his brother at his back.
They would not be separated again.
The Mirkwood elves had put away their bows, fighting instead with their trademark
knives, carried in pairs and lethal whether thrown or wielded by hand. Elladan’s gaze
strayed repeatedly to the elf who had come to his rescue, admiring the lithe yet strong
form and the cool, graceful efficiency with which the wood-elf dealt out death to the
besieging orcs. White knives flashed like starlight on water as he spun, his face set
in fierce concentration, his hair now streaked dark with blood.
The golden elf seemed strangely familiar, but realization danced just out of reach,
both frustrating and intriguing the elder twin. Surely he would remember one of such
beauty and skill had they met before...and yet he somehow felt certain that he did
know...
“Save your musings for your bedroll, tôren,” Elrohir barked sharply, skewering an orc
that seemed intent on removing his brother’s sword arm. “We are engaged here, if the
fact has slipped your mind.”
“It has not,” Elladan retorted without rancor, kicking aside a beheaded body to hew
the legs from beneath another. “Though the sport grows old.”
“Then let us end it,” the elf-knight growled, his eyes dark and flickering with the
lust of battle. “Agreed?”
“Aye,” the elder twin breathed, and they threw themselves on the remaining orcs as one
elf, slashing and hacking their way toward the scattered Silvan warriors. Seeing that
the tide had turned against them, a group of orcs tried to flee toward the shelter of the
mountains, their escape thwarted by the thud of elven arrows as the Mirkwood elves gave
chase.
Elladan gutted a final opponent with a triumphant cry and turned to find his brother
similarly unencumbered. “It seems the game is over,” the elder twin said with a feral
grin, wiping a splash of gore from his cheek. “And we...”
A strangled gasp interrupted the jest and Elladan whirled toward the sound, his
stomach lurching as he took in the scene. A lone orc had slipped from the cover of the
trees. One monstrous hand clutched the throat of the golden-haired elf, pinning him
against a massive trunk. The other was drawn back, the black blade already descending
toward his victim’s chest.
Instinct honed by centuries of questing came to Elladan’s aid. His mind was still
weighing the options – to sever the knife hand, and risk the beast throttling the
wood-elf, or behead the orc and risk the blade’s fall – as his sword sliced upwardly
through the creature’s forearm and continued its arc, cleaving the loathsome head in
twain.
The Mirkwood elf rubbed his neck, a smile playing at the corners of his mouth. “We
are even, then, Peredhel. What brings you back to the Wood? I have not...”
“Legolas!” A grateful cry cut through the golden elf’s words as members of the
Silvan party returned. “Praise the Valar! “ the eldest warrior said with a heartfelt
sigh. “When I saw that you were not with us, I feared...I feared...I am glad to see you
whole, ernilen.”
“Whole and near unscathed,” the woodland prince answered, clasping his friend’s arm
reassuringly. “Though things might have been quite different had Elladan not come to my
rescue. ‘Twas a grace that I saved his hide earlier, hmm?” Turning twinkling eyes on
the elder twin, Legolas was surprised to find him staring in amazement..
“Legolas? Legolas Thranduilion?”
The golden-haired elf snorted, his lips twitching in amusement. “You did not
recognize me? I am deeply offended.”
Elladan’s eyes raked over the smoothly muscled form and sharply angled face, comparing
the skilled warrior before him to the slight, fragile-appearing youngling of memory. His
battle-roused body tightening in approval, the elder twin’s glance lingered on sleekly
muscled thighs and straining laces before meeting the darkened gaze. “You have grown,
pen neth.”
“I have, indeed,” Legolas agreed, his eyes roaming in blatant appraisal over Elladan’s
body, then subjecting Elrohir to equal scrutiny. “In many ways. ’Twould be a pleasure
to renew our acquaintance.”
“’Twould be a great pleasure,” the elf-knight purred. “Shall we scout for
stragglers?”
Turning to his warriors, the woodland prince bade them start for the Halls. “You are
in charge, captain,” he said, slapping the back of his second. “We will follow shortly.
I would have a look around.”
“But, ernilen,” the appointed elf began, his eyes narrowed knowingly, “the vermin have
retreated. And ’tis likely unwise...”
“I will keep my own counsel, soldier,” Legolas snapped dismissively. “You have your
orders.”
“Very well, híren,” his captain agreed, reluctantly turning to go. “We will await you
in the first clearing.”
The last of the warriors had scarce passed from view before Legolas found himself
pinned against the selfsame tree, the elder twin’s hands burrowing in his tangled hair.
“Are there likely to be stragglers?” Elladan asked hoarsely, his leg pressing between
the prince’s thighs.
“Nay,” Legolas rasped, shifting his hips forward, increasing the friction. “If there
were, we would surely hear the horses.”
“That is well,” the dark elf growled, nipping sharply at one ear. “Because I intend
to fuck you, princeling. Now.”
One golden eyebrow arched in mock affront as the woodland prince caught Elladan’s
single heavy braid, winding it around one hand. “Without so much as a kiss? I think
not.”
Without waiting for a reply, Legolas tugged sharply on the ebony strands, pulling the
elder twin into a fiery kiss. Tongues wrestled wetly for control, teeth nipping and
clashing as though the battle still raged.
Legolas wrenched away from the punishing kiss and slid one leg around the dark elf’s
thigh, his eyes fluttering closed as their swollen shafts rubbed together, still trapped
beneath leather leggings. Meeting Elladan’s obsidian dark gaze, he lowered his leg and
reached for the stretched lacings. “You made a promise, Peredhel. Keep it.”
“With pleasure,” the elder twin rasped, stepping away from the tree as Legolas tugged
open his own leggings, then turned and raised his arms to brace himself against the
massive trunk.
“And what would you have of me, ernilen?” Elrohir murmured, slipping between the
prince’s outstretched arms. “I am at your service. For the moment.”
“Your mouth,” Legolas breathed, his words turning to a guttural moan as Elrohir’s hand
closed around his throbbing cock. “Put your mouth on me.”
The elf-knight dropped to his knees, jerking the scuffed leather leggings to the
ground. Catching Legolas’ hips firmly he opened his mouth and engulfed the wood-elf in
one smooth glide.
A wordless howl ripped through the still air of the forest as the prince struggled
against the restraining grip, desperate to push further in to the wet heat. His fingers
curling into the rough bark, Legolas let his head fall forward and spread his legs
further in eager invitation, straining against the leather leggings that were pooled
around his ankles.
Elladan watched in silence for a moment, one hand moving over his leaking arousal,
spreading the slick fluid. Moving behind the golden elf, he ran a hand lightly from nape
to bottom, then quickly pressed two fingers inside in a cursory preparation. Positioning
himself at the puckered entrance, the elder twin gripped the slim hips, covering
Elrohir’s hands with his own. “Are you ready, princeling?”
“Do it,” Legolas spat out hoarsely, his legs trembling from both the strain of
his position and the magic of the elf-knight’s mouth. A split second later he let go a
sharp yelp, his teeth drawing blood from his own lower lip as his body was breached and
filled with one powerful thrust.
A deep growl sounded in the dark elf’s chest as he stood motionless, fighting the urge
to move until the near painful tightness eased. Pulling back, he slammed forward again,
burying himself completely in the silken passage. Legolas answered with an eager moan,
his body arching even in the elf-knight’s strong grip, and the last of Elladan’s control
slipped away. Bracing himself against the tree with one hand, he twined the other in the
fall of golden braids and began pounding savagely into the prince’s body.
Legolas bucked wildly, caught between the swirling warmth of Elrohir’s skilled tongue
and the pain-edged pleasure of the hard shaft moving inside him. “Gods, yes...”
he gasped as the beginnings of a fierce climax coiled in his belly,
“harder...unh...coming...coming...”
Elrohir pulled away and quickly pinched the base of the wood-elf’s arousal, stemming
the threatened orgasm. “Not yet, maethoren vain,” the elf-knight chided, a wicked smile
curling the corners of his mouth as he slowly stroked his own cock. “Not yet.”
Elladan hissed as the already snug sheath tightened, the rippling muscles squeezing
him almost painfully. Pushing aside the prince’s hair, he sank his teeth into the
revealed neck and rammed home once more, letting go a hoarse groan as his release flooded
the clenching passage.
The elder twin sagged against Legolas and lapped soothingly at the bite he had
inflicted, his body still trembling with the aftershocks of his climax.
A moment later he was shoved unceremoniously aside as Elrohir took his place, pushing
into the seed-slick channel with a feral growl. Wrapping one hand firmly around the
prince’s arousal, the elf-knight moved in slow, deep thrusts, matching each with a quick
twist of his fist. “Now you may come, princeling,” he rasped, pulling Legolas’
head back to catch his mouth in a pillaging kiss.
The woodland prince shuddered as he spilled copiously over Elrohir’s hand, his knees
so weak that he would have fallen had Elladan not thrown out a supporting arm. The hot
rush of the elf-knight’s release set him trembling again, and Legolas clung gratefully to
the elder twin, pulling him into a loose embrace as Elrohir withdrew carefully.
A long silence followed, broken only by harsh breathing and the faint squeak and rub
of leather on leather. Extricating himself from the cradle of the twins’ bodies, Legolas
looked himself and his companions over soberly. Half-dressed, skin and clothing smeared
with both blood and the leavings of their rutting, hair tangled and splattered with
gore...
“Are you well, ernilen?” Elladan asked cautiously, suddenly aware anew of the woodland
prince’s relative youth, and his own less than gentle approach. There was a moment of
unease as all three tugged at stiff leggings and damp laces, then Legolas raised his head
to meet the concerned grey gazes, a broad grin spreading across his face.
“We are alive, are we not?” the wood-elf replied, his eyes twinkling. “All of us.”
Elvish Translations:
tôren – my brother
ernilen – my prince
pen neth - young one
híren – my lord
maethoren vain – my beautiful warrior
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