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Greenleaf & Imladris 9-Melethron: The Ancient Path	By : MPB Category: -Multi-Age > General Views: 2645 -:- 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.

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Part VI: Yielding

Legolas turned his head, his ears picking up the soft rustling sound. A figure stood in the shadows of his balcony, half hidden by the draperies. It was Elrohir.

He had doffed his robe before climbing the tree outside the window of his own chamber and using it to traverse the short distance to Legolas’ balcony. Sans the heavier outer garment his lean yet finely muscled form became more distinct.

Elrohir stepped forward then paused as he caught full sight of the prince. Legolas had risen to sit upon his bed, his long legs stretched out before him. He was clad in naught but under-tunic and hose. His hair, silvery in the moonlight, was unbraided and hung down his back like a silken curtain. He looked young and pure and almost unreal.

Chiding himself for being so easily perturbed by his friend’s appearance, he approached the bed and sat down on its edge.

“You could have used the door,” Legolas said, a smile in his voice.

“I thought it would be more discreet this way,” Elrohir replied. “I do not wish to needlessly discomfit you.” After a moment, he murmured: “I do not know if I should have come. I do not wish to force this on you.”

“I am not forced,” Legolas said. “I do this of my own free will.”

“So you say.” Moving closer to Legolas, Elrohir took a deep breath and turned slightly to face the prince. He had already decided on a course of action that would tell him whether to proceed or not. If he sensed that Legolas could not continue, he would stop and leave.

After some hesitation, he silently raised his hand and gently tucked a strand of silver gold behind the other’s ear. In doing so, he allowed his fingers to run through the soft locks. His eyes did not leave the prince’s face.

You flinched when Oreth did this to you.

Legolas heard the thought, wondered if Elrohir intended to communicate entirely through their minds. That was not surprising. The Eldar more than the other elven races practiced the art assiduously. Though he was not as adept at it as his friend, he responded in kind.

Oreth’s need was base.

And mine is not?

Nay. I know the difference.

Elrohir nodded slightly. Gently, he brushed the shining hair from the prince’s shoulder revealing the side of his neck. Slowly, taking care not to seem threatening, he leaned forward.

Legolas tried to remain calm as Elrohir pressed a kiss to his neck. Nevertheless, he was startled by the feel of it. It was different from the womanly caresses with which he was familiar. He could not explain what made it so; it simply was. He trembled a little as the Elf-lord’s lips trailed upwards to just below his ear then lower to the crook of his neck. To his surprise, it did not feel unpleasant. Indeed, it raised prickles of pleasurable sensation that made his pulse quicken slightly.

He became sharply aware of Elrohir’s scent, so different from that of a Silvan Elf. It evoked the sparkling waters of the Bruinen, crisp, clean air beneath open skies, warm sunlight on peaceful meadows and the heather and pine upon the slopes of the valley where Rivendell lay hidden. He'd always deemed it inordinately pleasing. Now he found it enticing as well.

Elrohir drew back and again their eyes met. Legolas could not quite repress a shiver. He clearly read in the twilight pools desire barely restrained, passion just waiting to be unleashed. He drew in a shaky breath as Elrohir started to undo his tunic.

With slow, deliberate movements, the warrior unlooped the lacings on the silvery garment, never looking at what he was doing, always watching the archer’s face. With sudden insight, Legolas realized that he was replicating what Oreth had done in his attempt to seduce the prince. Following on the heels of that thought was the realization that Elrohir was waiting to see if he would resist further intimacy.

Elrohir did wonder that Legolas did not recoil. He began to dare hope. Even now he felt his restraint beginning to crumble. It did not help that he was so close to the prince that he could feel the warmth of his skin, hear the soft intake of breath as he undid the last loop.

Legolas became aware of Elrohir’s hands spreading his tunic open. He lowered his eyes, his face flushing. How odd that after a lifetime of closeness he should now feel shy. Throughout the centuries of their acquaintance they had seen each other in various states of undress, even total starkness on occasion; why should it bother him now?

It came to him then that he was not baring himself before a friend but a lover. A male lover. That was reason enough to make him distinctly uncomfortable.

Can I do this?

He had not meant for this thought to reach Elrohir and so was startled when he received a reply.

Do not force yourself. I will leave.

He glanced up again and looked at his friend. Elrohir had pulled back his hands; his face was impassive. But he did not guard his eyes quickly enough, could not hide the disappointment and the hurt of rejection. The effort to clamp down on the desire, to bank the fires of passion was all too visible in those pools of twilight. Lest Legolas read more in them, Elrohir averted his eyes. He began to rise but Legolas grasped his wrist. He looked back warily.

Legolas stared at the lean wrist he held and marked its barely tamed power. Whatever he chose to do now, it would be irrevocable. I made this offer, he reminded himself. It was my choice.

“Dartho,” Legolas whispered. Stay.

It was enough and too much.

Restraint snapped, resolve broke. Elrohir leaned forward and captured his lips. The prince forced his mind to go blank. Better not to think, just feel. But he was not prepared for the deeper kiss that Elrohir drew him into and could not quite suppress a gasp of apprehension. It was different even from the kiss in the woods. That had been so brief that he'd hardly had time to register it beyond its bruising force. But this!

He became acutely aware that there was a world of difference between the kiss of an Elf-maid and of a male Elf. Not so much the feel or taste of it—for Elrohir’s lips were soft and warm and amazingly sweet—but the power, however restrained, behind it.

Feeling Elrohir’s hands on his arms, holding them with startling strength, he reflexively gripped Elrohir's arms in turn in a defensive gesture. The motion only brought the warrior's might into sharper relief for he could feel the ripple of muscles beneath the fine fabric of his sleeves. So disturbed was he that he drew in a shuddering breath when Elrohir finally broke the kiss. But then he was eased down upon the bed and he found himself fighting to still his suddenly racing heart.

For the longest moment he panicked for the feeling of power and hardness upon him was wholly unfamiliar, as were the hands that held him down—the hands of a peerless warrior.

Elrohir's lips were upon his neck and throat, edacious and seeking. Legolas felt his breath coming in short spurts. Try as he might he could not stay his alarm and it took all the discipline he could muster not to recoil from his imminent submission. He closed his eyes and tried to calm himself, tried to think past his fear. His grip upon Elrohir's arms tightened though he strove not to actively resist.

Elrohir sensed his friend’s discomfort, felt the trembling of his body, was aware that Legolas was finding it difficult to shift from a more familiar mode of intimacy to one he had no experience of. He also knew that all the skill he possessed would be of no avail if his friend failed to subdue his fear of this manner of coupling. But he could no longer rein in his passion. Things had gone too far.

The mere sight of Legolas with his shining hair spread on the pillows and fair skin flushing was simply too much for him to resist. Even the prince’s scent was intoxicating. Of tree and leaf and flowers on the forest floor did he think and hidden streams, wild berries and herb scented breezes. With fingers that slightly shook, he tenderly brushed stray strands of silver gold from the prince’s cheek.

It is beyond my strength to stop now. Forgive me, my Greenleaf, his thoughts reached out entreatingly.

Legolas felt the racing of his heart slow down. His eyes opened and he stared at the Elf above him. In his fear he had forgotten. This was Elrohir and the Elf-knight loved him. He would do nothing that would hurt him. He peered at the countenance above him and centered all his thoughts and feelings on its breathtaking comeliness. His fears started to diminish, his resistance faded.

“Elyë nar ve vanima tambë i-undomë, Eldaroquen," he murmured. Thou art as beautiful as the twilight, Elf-knight.

Elrohir’s eyes widened both at the return of his earlier praise of the prince’s beauty and the similar intent behind his use of the High Speech. The argent pools glittered with appreciation.

The archer relaxed beneath him, his grip loosened and his arms slowly slid around him, not to oppose but to reassure and convey his willingness to continue.

There is nothing to forgive, Legolas assured him silently.

Elrohir’s lips closed upon his once more, kissing him so tenderly, so sweetly, it all but took his breath away. He opened himself to the experience, allowing pure sensation to wash over him.

Once past the initial shock, Legolas found Elrohir’s kisses and the touch of his knowing hands more potent than he’d ever expected or imagined. He could not suppress the tremors that passed through his body or the soft moans that escaped his lips. The countless tales of Elrohir’s skills as a lover did not do him justice if he could arouse so many turbulent feelings in Legolas this easily.

He managed to hold himself steady while Elrohir slowly undressed him though he shivered at the covetous gleam in the twin’s eyes when they beheld his bared body. Appreciative, too, and greatly so, particularly when the silvery pools alighted on the vicinity of his groin. He could not help blushing then. He was quite used to that gleam in Elf-women's eyes. And lately he had come to recognize it in the furtive gazes of the few males bold enough to flout the inexorably though slowly waning Mirkwood prejudice against such passions. But never had he reacted as he now did to Elrohir’s desirous regard. He wondered if it was because the Elf-knight was his dear friend or due to something far more complex than he was ready to unravel at the moment.

The warrior shed his own clothing and Legolas caught himself keenly admiring the flawless symmetry of his friend’s form. Elrohir was more than beautiful by any standard; he was magnificent. He also found himself staring in fearful fascination at the Elf-knight’s undeniably formidable length. It was the first time he’d ever seen Elrohir naked while the latter was in a state of arousal. Elbereth, it was a veritable sword!

Confusion clouded his mind at his unaccountable attraction to his friend’s body. It was an unfamiliar feeling. He had experienced physical attraction to other males before but had been taught to consider such feelings as admiration for beauty or appreciation of worth. Not that the feelings had ever evolved into anything recognizedly carnal in nature, not even remotely. But this was different. The twin educed an acute visceral response that the archer had not previously known even with the most comely of other ellyn, or male Elves. Or ellith—Elf-maids—for that matter he realized with a jolt. He could not deny it; Elrohir had awakened something deep within him and even now that something was making him feel sensations and emotions he’d once considered next to impossible.

Elrohir saw the bewilderment in Legolas’ eyes and comprehended the permutations that were taking place within his friend’s heart and soul. Mindful of the other Elf’s inexperience and innocence in being loved by another male, he took his cues from the prince’s reactions. Much as he ached to seek his own release, the need to pleasure the archer was paramount if the entire experience was to be as memorable as he intended it to be.

“Trust me, Legolas,” he murmured as he slowly covered the prince’s visibly trembling body with his own.

Legolas shivered as bared flesh touched bared flesh. Caught his breath when their lengths touched. He shakily whispered: “I trust you. Do as you will.”

Elrohir silently took exception to his friend’s words. This coupling would not be for his pleasure alone. He would ensure his Greenleaf knew complete satisfaction before the night was over. Any other outcome was unacceptable.

Gently, slowly, he trailed kisses over Legolas’ face, up to the delicate tips of his ears, down his throat to the sensitive hollow at its base; smiled secretly as he felt his friend quiver in the first throes of burgeoning passion. He put the knowledge of secrets Legolas had confided to good use now. He knew what the prince enjoyed, the places that were responsive to pleasure.

As he moved down the length of Legolas’ frame, he listened keenly to the prince’s responses, stayed alert to the changes in the latter’s body. He teased the roseate nubs gracing the archer’s chest and was pleased to hear the sounds Legolas could not stifle. Lavished warm kisses and heated caresses upon the taut belly and slim hips and was gratified to feel the withy body thrum with steadily growing pleasurable tension. Taking his time, he steadily moved lower, paying homage to the slender thighs and the silken lines that joined them to groin, his own passion barely kept at a simmer. He clamped down firmly on the urge to ravage the lissome form beneath him.

Legolas bit his lip as yet another moan escaped him. He had not thought it possible for him to enjoy Elrohir’s attentions but it was and he did. A part of him was dismayed that he could respond this way to his friend but another was filled with wonder and curiosity. Further musings were abruptly cut off when the Elvenlord shifted his position.

With a start, Legolas realized Elrohir’s face now hovered directly over his groin, felt his warm breath upon his damp skin. Before he could even guess what might happen next, the warrior’s tongue flicked over his shaft, once, twice. He sucked in his breath in shock and stared down just in time to see himself disappear between Elrohir’s lips.

“Elrohir!”

The twin glanced up at his gasped cry, his eyes lust-darkened. “Has no maid ever done this for you, malthernil?”—golden prince?—he asked huskily, a corner of his mouth quirking upwards.

“Nay,” Legolas managed to reply. “At least, not that way!”

The twilight eyes darkened even further. “It should not matter,” Elrohir said, his smile rakish, “but it gladdens me that I am the first.”

Legolas fell back with a stifled groan as Elrohir resumed his sensual task. The prince clawed at the bed sheet as he was repeatedly enveloped in the moist warmth of the twin’s mouth and skillfully brought to peaks of pleasure he'd never previously experienced. He could barely summon enough lucidity to wonder where the Elf-knight had learned his lessons and learned them oh so well.

His breath hitched when a finger slipped in behind to probe him, slick with what he did not know. It was not painful but dauntingly intrusive. He trembled when yet another finger made its way in; drew unsteady breaths as tendrils of delicious sensation radiated from his lower body where Elrohir stroked him from within. He had not known about the sensitiveness of that part of his body. Apprehension assailed him then.

He’d done this for many an anxious virgin elleth to accustom them to the sensation of first penetration but he’d never expected it to be done for him. It was ironic, really, considering that it was Elrohir who had taught him all those centuries ago to always handle inexperienced partners with extra care. Not even in his wildest dreams had he ever imagined his friend would one day perform the same service for him. But then again, who would have thought Elrohir would also be his bed-teacher in this?

But soon it became impossible to think of anything at all beyond what the twin’s talented mouth and fingers were wreaking upon him. It distracted him quite effectively from thinking about Elrohir's intent; only sensation registered. He could do nothing other than to obey the instinct to rear into the molten source of his rapture, push onto the gently stroking fingers, forgot everything but the maddeningly enjoyable feelings that forced sounds from him he’d never heard before. He suddenly panicked at the unfamiliarity of such mindless joy and tried to pull away from the mouth that so adeptly drew upon him.

But Elrohir caught him fast, held him down and refused to let go. Discerning the reason behind Legolas’ attempt to escape, he decided to bring his friend to completion soonest. His suckling turned aggressive, his probing fingers more persistent. For the first time, the archer knew the twin’s full lust and mastery as the latter let go of all restraint.

Voraciously sucked, tenaciously stroked—Legolas sobbed Elrohir’s name out loud, pleaded for an end to the exquisite torture. Was it possible to know too much pleasure? He felt he would go insane from it.

Release came in a tumultuous wave, overwhelming him in its fury, leaving him gasping for breath in its wake. He shuddered helplessly as Elrohir practically drank him down. He lay back limply, breathing unevenly, utterly drained.

The bed shifted beneath him as the darkling Elf altered his position. Opening his eyes, he saw Elrohir looking down at him, his dusky eyes blacker than he’d ever seen them before. “I’ve wanted to do this for so long,” the warrior murmured. “I’m glad you enjoyed it.”

“I...I did not know such pleasure existed,” the prince admitted, blushing at his friend’s admission. “What you just did is...is amazing.”

A low chuckle was his reply and a thrill snaked its way through his nerves at the sound of it.

“Thank you, Calenlass, but ‘tis only the beginning,” Elrohir murmured.

Legolas’ eyes widened at the thought of more to come. He wondered if he could survive another round of such intense pleasuring. Elrohir smiled at his reaction then leaned down and kissed him; the prince tasted himself on the other’s lips. Fascination supplanted some of his anxiety and he wondered what would follow.

Hands wrapped around both their lengths and stroked them in unison, inexorably bringing him to renewed arousal. Once more his breath quickened with the pleasure; he was as much undone by the sheer intimacy of the act as by the sensations wrought by it. He closed his eyes trying to cling to whatever strands of sentience he still possessed. Fingers purposely brushed across the tip of his shaft and he opened his eyes in time to see Elrohir coat his own length with their mingled seed. So that’s what he used on his fingers earlier, he thought with amazement.

He tensed as his hips were raised, his legs gently lifted to snake around the other’s waist. A pillow was slipped beneath his slightly upraised back. He could not quite stifle a shuddery breath as he realized what that portended. He'd never felt so vulnerable in his entire life. Not to mention confused.

Only once had he ever witnessed a joining between two males when he had stumbled upon the Imladrin warriors, Daurin and Enedrion, coupling in a concealed glen in the hills around Rivendell. He had vivid memories of Enedrion on his hands and knees and Daurin taking him from behind. That was how he’d expected Elrohir to take him as well. But looking up at the Elf-knight, seeing the grey eyes gleaming with mingled lust and concern, he realized he preferred to face his friend. He could seek courage in his reassuring gaze, knew that if he experienced any distress, Elrohir would see it at once and assuage it or, conversely, heighten his pleasure as soon as he felt it. And he knew then that Elrohir had anticipated all of these things and intended to make his first yielding an exceptional and joyful one.

“I do not wish to hurt you,” Elrohir said softly, seeing his friend’s anxiety. “Try to relax, Legolas. It will be easier for you if you do not resist me.”

Legolas softly breathed, “I know,” and willed himself to calm down.

With one sure thrust, Elrohir mounted him. Legolas gave a muffled cry. He trembled in shock at the sensation of being invaded then completely filled. Not quite painful as he had expected save for a slight burning sensation that swiftly subsided. But it was unfamiliar, not something he’d ever expected to happen to him. Alien.

And yet not. Astoundingly, his body accepted the intrusion as naturally as any female's would though it experienced the normal discomfort that came with being untried. This discovery following on the heels of his body’s enthusiastic approval of Elrohir’s earlier attentions brought home to him even more clearly how right the twins had been in their discourse on elven duality. They were made for either kind of coupling. The duality was in him though he'd been conditioned from birth to suppress it all unknowingly.

The thoughts swirled around in his mind with lightning swiftness while his body adjusted to the novel sensation. He gazed at Elrohir with wide-eyed wonder. It was the signal Elrohir awaited and he began to move, driving shallowly into Legolas at first, seeking something… The prince hissed at the burst of pleasure a thrust fetched him. As he had done with his fingers, Elrohir focused on stroking the same place that brought on such toe-curling sensation. Guttural groans slipped past Legolas' lips as he tried to corral his wits and retain some semblance of control.

“Enjoy it, Greenleaf,” the Elf-knight’s dulcet voice breached his rapture-fogged mind. “Do not fight it.”

Elrohir's eyes never left his face, the dark pools all aglow with hungry elation. His thrusts became harder, deeper, always angled to pleasure the archer from within. Legolas' already erratic breathing turned into sobbing pants when Elrohir’s hand enveloped his reawakened length, rhythmically caressing it even as he rode him. The sensations heightened until he was writhing with need, moaning incoherently. He reached out blindly, grasping desperately at the twin’s thighs.

“Elrohir, please,” he heard himself begging. “ I cannot...ai, you will drive me mad!”

He unraveled further when Elrohir bent over him to kiss the sensitive spot at the crook of his neck. He was so close to exploding now and the almost unbearable feeling of pleasure coming from three different directions all at the same time drove him over the edge, shattering whatever control he might still have possessed. Acting purely on instinct, he acquiesced to his body’s demand to heighten the incredible feeling of being filled and delved and he clenched his muscles around Elrohir’s shaft. He completely came undone a split second later. In that bliss-drenched instant, he tightly sobbed the twin’s name.

The sound of his name intonated in just that way coupled with the spasmodic tightening around his length crushed Elrohir’s heretofore rigid hold on himself and he joined the archer in the rapturous storm of their joining. Legolas felt a thrill race through his very veins as he heard his name uttered with profound, rough-voiced felicity. He trembled in the wake of his second release. Somehow, Elrohir had done the unthinkable.

I have never come to completion twice in succession in so short a span of time, he dazedly admitted to himself. And both times with such torturous, explosive joy.

Elrohir thoughtfully removed the pillow from under him before gently withdrawing; so gently, Legolas hardly winced. The Elf-knight planted a last lingering kiss upon his lips and he sighed at the tenderness of it. Legolas opened his eyes and watched Elrohir draw the covers up over their bodies before lying down close beside him. He lay quietly for a moment, sorting out his thoughts and feelings, waiting for his body to calm down. Elrohir slipped a protective arm around him. He turned his head and gazed at the warrior.

Elrohir was on his side, his cheeks rosy from his own release. He was looking at him intently. “Did I hurt you?” the twin asked in a hushed voice.

Legolas shook his head. “Not at all,” he whispered.

“That is good.” Elrohir wondered at the way the prince regarded him. He began to feel concern about what had just passed between them. Was his friend now regretting his choice? “Legolas, I—”

The prince placed his fingers against his lips and said with a small smile. “Sleep, mellonen.”—my friend. “I think we both need the rest,” he murmured.

Elrohir hesitated then nodded and relaxed into the pillow. His concerns could be left until the morrow. For now, Legolas was right. They both needed to rest.

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

Glossary:

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

To be continued...
- 5
- 6
- 7
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Greenleaf & Imladris 9-Melethron: The Ancient Path