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Greenleaf & Imladris 24 - Degrees of Comfort	By : MPB Category: -Multi-Age > Slash - Male/Male Views: 5583 -:- 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.

Chapter List
- 1-Part 1
- 2-Part 2
- 1
- 2
Part II

Some six days later, Legolas awoke to find himself alone in bed. Disconcerted at first, he then remembered it was the day the delegation from Dale was scheduled to arrive. It was obvious Elrohir was already up and about, preparing for their advent.

He sighed and rose from the bed. He could not fault his spouse for his devotion to his duties. It came with the territory if you were brother to Gondor’s king. And anyway, he comforted himself, Elrohir had been attentive this past week if a little distracted at times by his various responsibilities. Until Aragorn released the twins from this particular service, he could expect things to continue as they were.

He walked to the bathing chamber and entered it. And stopped and stared.

The bathing tub was filled with steaming water. And it was fragrant with herbs and spices, this particular combination one of Legolas’ favorites because of its soothing effects. Upon the marble bench by the tub, neatly folded, were a fresh towel and bathing-robe.

Elrohir obviously knew him very well indeed for him to have predicted when he would awaken and prepare this luxurious bath before he did. A lovely sense of belonging suffused the archer’s being as he slipped into the water. He found himself humming a cheerful tune as he bathed.

He came out of the chamber and again stopped and stared in wonder.

The balcony doors had been thrown open and there on the small table where he and Elrohir occasionally breakfasted was a veritable feast of hot rolls nestled in a small basket, a platter of succulent ham and sharp cheese, small pots of sweet butter and golden honey, a bowl of juicy peaches and a pitcher of heady mead.

And there on the bed, a shirt and a pair of long breeches had been laid out along with a pair of his light shoes on the floor just below.

Feeling ever more loved, Legolas dressed swiftly then sat down to the mouthwatering meal. He wondered with some regret why Elrohir had chosen not to share it with him. He had just plucked a roll from the basket when he saw the sheet of parchment tucked into one side. It was a message instructing him to go to the summerhouse at the edge of the gardens. Legolas suddenly found his appetite healthier than usual this morning.

He had to keep himself from racing to the summerhouse afterwards. Reluctant to betray his eagerness to anyone, he forced himself to walk at a measured pace to his rendezvous. Yet by the time he reached it his heart was beating as briskly as if he had sprinted across the whole of Middle-earth. Taking a deep, calming breath, he entered the delicately wrought structure.

He had not visited the summerhouse since before Celebrian left for the West. It had been Elrond’s gift to her after she gave birth to their twins. But in the wake of her departure, her family had seldom used it. Certainly, Elrond had never entered it again, pained as he was by how the memories it evoked reminded him of his loss. Someone, however, had visited it very recently. And altered its interior.

What had once been a feminine retreat was now a notably masculine haven. Gone were the white lounging chair and its dainty pastel colored cushions. That had been replaced with a wide and cozy divan graced by two oversized pillows. In place of the floral-patterned curtains were gauzy beige draperies. And a thick deep green rug now occupied the center of the main room where once there had been several thin mats in varying shades of pink and yellow. The only thing that had not been changed was the table by the largest window. A table that bore a thin stack of large sheets of artists’ parchment.

Curious, Legolas went to the table and picked up the pile. His eyes softened as he looked upon the topmost sheet. It bore a detailed sketch portraying him and Elrohir at the dinner table, his own eyes oddly cast down while the Elf-knight appeared to be paying attention to something else. The following illustration was just as wonderfully rendered and also unusual as it showed them riding astride the same horse, with Elrohir behind him.

The third drawing was a shade more intimate. It recalled to him the time when Elrohir had given him a relaxing massage while they were in the baths the evening they’d arrived from Mirkwood soon after his mother’s passing. Legolas found himself wondering what might have happened then had he and Elrohir been lovers at the time.

Smiling, he went on to the next illustration. And gasped in shock. Color stained his cheeks and his hands trembled. There, in graphic detail, was he in naught but his open shirt, half sprawled on a couch, one thigh draped over the chair arm. And between his legs, bent over his groin was Elrohir using his mouth and hand to... Legolas drew in a ragged breath. Elbereth! What had gotten into Elrohir to commit such an image to paper?

Now quaking, from what emotion he was not sure he wished to know, he peeked at the next sketch. And nearly dropped the whole pile. By the Valar, it was even more wicked!

The remaining sketches were seen through a haze, each as lubricious or even more so than its predecessor. He dropped the stack on the table as if it scalded his hands. One sheet fell to the floor and he retrieved it. It was the picture depicting him with Elrohir down between... He swallowed hard and made to return the parchment to the pile. But for some reason, he could not take his eyes off it. Cheeks now scarlet, he stared at it as if mesmerized.

“And is that the service you desire of me, Calenlass?”

Legolas whirled around almost guiltily. He gaped at his first sight of Elrohir. The warrior was shirtless and barefooted and his form-fitting long breeches left little to the imagination. And he had bound his hair into a single thick plait, a style that pointed up the impressive breadth of his Half-elven shoulders and chest.

“Service?” Legolas repeated, his voice close to a squeak.

“Aye, melethron”—lover—the Elf-knight replied with a dangerous smile as he came up to his discomfited mate. “As atonement for my egregious forgetfulness of your begetting day. As penance for my unconscionable neglect of your needs these past many months.”

“But I – what do you mean—?” The archer found himself backing away before the warrior’s steady charge. “What of the delegates from Dale? You—”

“Elladan will take care of welcoming them,” Elrohir drawled. “‘Tis time I took care of you, ernilen.”—my prince.

Something about the way Elrohir spoke and regarded him made Legolas back away even more. He had not seen Elrohir this predatory since he seduced the archer in his own bedchamber in Ithilien. Before he knew it, he had retreated all the way to the divan. Its edge caught the back of his knees and he fell, half-sprawled, upon the plump pillows.

Before he could speak or move, Elrohir bent over and kissed him so thoroughly, he almost forgot to breath. Deft fingers undid his shirt and unlaced his breeches while he was kept too occupied to protest. And then the twin was kissing his way down his exposed torso even as he hauled down Legolas’ trousers and yanked off his shoes in one fluid motion.

Legolas nearly howled his pleasure when Elrohir proceeded to make true the image he had sketched. Hips bucking wildly into that all too talented mouth, he clawed at the pillows, desperate for something to anchor him to reality. And then, just when he thought he could take no more, he felt his leg lifted to rest upon one of the divan arms. Elrohir thus completed the picture by sliding his fingers repeatedly into him, stroking him from within. It was too much. With a helpless keen, Legolas came all undone.

Spent, he lay back panting, wondering if he would find his way back to sentience again. He was vaguely aware of Elrohir rising to his feet, faintly heard the rustle of paper. And then Elrohir was beside him, gathering his still unwound body into his arms. They remained thus in comfortable silence until Legolas regained some of his composure.

He caught his breath when Elrohir softly sang an ancient Noldorin love song to him in the High Speech. The use of Quenya in any declaration of love or lust between them always brought Legolas back to the time when Elrohir had first confessed his desire for him. It never failed to evoke the same feeling of awe he’d experienced then that the Elf-knight should have so deep and abiding a regard for him. He snuggled happily against his spouse thinking nothing could be more perfect than this moment.

When the song was done, Elrohir treated him to a loving spate of kisses. Legolas felt something placed on his lap. He glanced down and found the sheaf of illustrations resting on his thighs.

“This is my offering to you, Legolas,” the Elf-knight crooned. “Twelve ways in as many days by which to bring you naught but pleasure.” He indicated the top drawing, which he had just performed most shatteringly on his mate. “This is but the first of them. Select if you will the service that would be of comfort to you for each of the remaining days.”

Legolas blinked then stared at him. “What? You want me to – to choose from—?” His eyes fell upon the sheets. Color flooded his face again. “I do not think I can—”

“For my sake, melethen”—my love—Elrohir murmured, pausing to run the tip of his tongue along the sensitive ridge of Legolas’ ear, making the prince shiver. “Would you deny me this chance to make amends to you?”

Legolas’ mouth went dry. The very thought of arranging for his own daily pleasuring was rattling to say the least. Hands shaking once more, he took up the sheets. He hurried through the more risqué sketches, conscious of Elrohir’s knowing gaze. Suddenly bashful, he started with what he considered the most innocent of the lot. The sketch of him having dinner with the twin followed by the ride upon a shared steed. The others he hastily arranged without much thought, so discomposed was he by such graphic imagery. He returned the sheets to Elrohir.

“As you desire,” the twin whispered. He set aside the stack then, to Legolas’ befuddlement, slid down once more between his legs.

“You’re not – you’re not going to – again—?” the prince stammered, eyes wide with disbelief.

A rakish smile caused his insides to flip-flop. “I said I would perform the service you desired of me,” Elrohir grinned. “I did not say I would do it only once.”

In later years, Legolas would oft wonder how his lucidity managed to survive those twelve days of Elrohir’s self-appointed penance.

As it was, that seemingly innocuous dinner turned out to be far from innocent. During the meal, with the Dale delegates sitting just across from them, Elrohir audaciously reached for his thigh and, under cover of the table and, to Legolas’ shock, clutched his way to his groin, loosened his breech-laces and slipped his hand in to fondle him to imminent explosion. All these while Legolas had to guard his expression lest the merest sign of his impending release mark his oddly frozen countenance.

Near to erupting, unable to endure such unexpressed rapture any longer, Legolas hastily swatted his mischievous spouse’s hand away, laced up his breeches just enough to keep them up and on him and lurched to his feet. Making some ridiculous excuse to the surprised diners of which he had no memory whatsoever, he hurried out of the dining hall, oblivious of any pursuer. He had hardly gained the privacy of their bedchamber when he was summarily spun around by Elrohir, thrust against the wall and his breeches hauled down brusquely. Whereupon Elrohir swiftly and spectacularly finished him off.

After that he discovered that there were no limits as to where, when or how Elrohir could pleasure him. He learned among other things that, so long as they shared one horse, he could be stroked to completion by the end of a morning’s ride. That the hayloft above the stables, the elegant armchair in the Hall of Fire, a bathful of steaming water, a level boulder by the Bruinen, any surgical table in the healing chambers and even a sturdy wall were as suitable for coupling as any bed. He found out that letting Elrohir read to him a bedtime story of the twin’s choosing was hazardous to one’s peace of mind and groin unless it was followed up by a good and rousing tumble. And that there were occasions where being taken entailed taking the more active role particularly if one was called upon to do the riding.

The twelfth day dawned upon a thoroughly flustered woodland prince. Only one “service” remained to be performed by his mate. But for the life of him, he could not recall what it was.

However, he began to calm down as the day passed quietly. Elrohir spent most of it closeted with Elladan and Lindir and a messenger newly arrived from Gondor. Aragorn was nearly done in his preliminary negotiations with the Haradrim. He was now requesting that the twins come south soon and help him hammer out the finer points of the treaty. The request indicated that the brethren would soon be freed of their obligations as Aragorn’s regents in the north.

He and Nimeithel cheerfully agreed that that was good news indeed if it meant their respective spouses would finally be able to return to their normal and, therefore, less hectic schedules and duties. In the meantime, he whiled away his leisure hours playing with his small nephews, amazed as always at their startling likeness. He wondered along with his sister what it must have been like for Elrond and Celebrian during their mates’ infancies.

When evening fell and dinner was served and still Elrohir had done nothing out of the ordinary, Legolas began to think that perhaps the twin had forgotten about his avowed comforting for the last day. And when they all gathered in the Hall of Fire for an evening of song and poetry, he came to believe there would be no special activity this night. He did not know whether to be relieved or disappointed.

It was then that the mild sleeping draught Elrohir had slipped into his wine during dinner took effect. Needless to say, he did not make it to their bedroom on his own two feet.

He awoke to find himself bare as a newborn upon their bed and Elrohir looking down at him with fearsome edaciousness. He started to sit up only to find, to his alarm, that his wrists had been bound together above his head to the headboard with a soft but strong cord. And he had been gently but efficiently gagged with one of Nimeithel’s silken kerchiefs. In a flash, he remembered what the last sketch had depicted and his own quavering reaction upon seeing it. Molten sensation surged through him at that recollection.

He stared at his spouse with apprehensive eyes. Elrohir grinned wickedly at him.

“You once told me you cherished every intimate encounter we ever shared before our binding,” he said huskily. “Even that one incident when I nearly took you by force.” He ran his hand suggestively down one trembling thigh. “I have since wondered what it would be like to ravish you, my golden prince. Shall we find out together?”

Legolas later admitted to the wisdom of his mate’s precautionary measures. It was fortunate that Elrohir gagged him else he would have screamed the house down from the sheer ferocity of his several culminations. Prudent of him to bind him else he would have thrashed himself into injury.

Lying helpless while Elrohir did as he pleased with him perversely heightened every single sensation. And as if things needed to be spiced up further, Elrohir took him in whatever position struck his fancy, pounding into him with unprecedented force, which only served to drive Legolas near insane with bliss. Only when he was reduced to moaning sobs and tears of almost excruciating pleasure streamed down his cheeks did his Elf-knight remove the gag and cut the cord. He clung tightly to Elrohir, crying out his release, as he was taken deep and hard one last time.

Afterwards, as he lay trembling in the warrior’s balming arms, he wondered how he had survived such voracious comforting. Elbereth! If this was his spouse’s way of atoning for his failings, he might very well be the first Elf in Arda to enter the Halls of Awaiting by way of too much loving!

He felt Elrohir’s lips against his temple. He glanced up fuzzily. The twin’s eyes were dancing with mingled affection and mischief.

“I trust my debt to you is paid, melethron?” he said with a smile.

Legolas had to laugh albeit weakly. “Overpaid is closer to the mark, Aduial,” he chuckled faintly. “Ai, the Valar spare me from any more acts of penance. At least, by you!”

Elrohir snickered. “But I so enjoyed making amends to you, my Greenleaf. Indeed, I am looking forward to committing more transgressions against you if by doing so, I may have the pleasure of making up to you for my sins afterwards.”

Legolas stared at him, so obviously torn between horror and delight, that Elrohir dissolved into a bout of shoulder-shaking mirth that only ended when the archer pouted in embarrassment and punched him hard. The warrior wasted no time making up for this latest offense either.

It was nigh three days before Legolas was deemed fit to go riding again.

********************

Glossary:

Calenlass - Greenleaf (Elrohir’s pet name for Legolas)

Aduial - Twilight (Legolas’ pet name for Elrohir)

The End
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Greenleaf & Imladris 24 - Degrees of Comfort