Adult-FanFiction.org : Lord of the Rings

Aearlinn	By : narcolinde Category: -Multi-Age > General Views: 8915 -:- Recommendations : 1 -:- 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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Aearlinn - A Song of the Sea

"Ai Valar, it is HOT today."

Elrond smiled in whimsical bemusement as he strolled through the portico onto the veranda, seeking the source of the plaintive voice. He discovered Legolas seated on the lip of the fountain, leaning over the edge as one long arm, plunged right into the clear water up to his elbow, bore the weight of his body while the other reached out into the falling cascade. The heavy ribbons of silver fluid bounced and spilled from his upturned palm and Legolas laughed as he flickered his fingers in the water's dance. Suddenly, he dipped his head right into the stream. The fluid poured over his golden hair and turned it to bronze, flowed down his neck and shoulders, sent droplets chasing along the contours of his biceps and racing down the long sinuous curve of his back. Elrond's grin turned more wolfish as he watched, thinking he should educate the woodland warrior and tell him fountains were not meant for bathing or for playing, but Legolas wasn't wearing anything and so he truly did not mind the breach of manners.

In two strides he was on top of the silvan, one hand wrapped around the narrow waist to hold him captive as the other parted robes and unfastened leggings and undergarments with the kind of speed elven folk only display when slaying foes or claiming mates. He claimed Legolas. The initial penetration held force enough to raise an involuntary cry of alarm that in the next motion was transmuted to a sound more decadent and utterly enthralling than anything Elrond had ever heard. He could not help himself, restrain himself, or master himself. He took his pleasure with one powerful thrust after another and spent quickly with both regret and delight, for this was bliss. Legolas, he noted as he kissed the flesh of the shoulder he covered, had copied the fountain and emptied his milky stream into the basin.

Elrond shifted, pulling Legolas from the water as he settled on the ground and leaned against the marble bounds of the pool. He gathered the Wood Elf into the crook of his arms and smiled as the graceful form exhaled a contented sigh and sprawled out across his lap, the soaked head resting upon his shoulder. "Happy?" he asked, though he didn't need to, and for answer received only a glance, filled with warmth and love, from vibrant eyes veiled beneath golden lashes. Elrond bent and kissed the brow, damp with both the fountain's essence and the salty sweat wrought from their jubilant coupling, and saw that Legolas was indeed flushed all over, pink and gold and red.

He stroked silken skin where a strong heart still beat in a wild tempo, thrilling to the sensation of a tight, hard nipple pressing into his palm as it passed, breath catching when the dark red tip was revealed anew. Legolas made that sound, a soft and trilling cry that Elrond had yet to decipher, uncertain if it was speech or something much more primitive, not caring over much as it contained within it such intimate revelation of everything the Wood Elf was. All of that, he marvelled, was his and he was as the center of some wondrous world no one else could see.
Aye, this was bliss. His robes were a mess, stained with perspiration and smelling strongly of musky secretions that normally perfumed only the bedclothes, but Elrond didn't care. He was certain he had some important meeting or appointment or duty he was supposed to be attending, yet the details escaped him. It didn't matter; he would see to it later, or tomorrow, or perhaps never. Now, he would permit this primal magic to entrance him, befuddle him, bewitch and possess him. Like Thingol he would stay, forgetting his kin, his people, his lands, his very mind if need be, so long as this fey creature remained in his embrace.

Legolas was like a craving and a hunger that never ceased, a desire that reached beneath the surface of reason, a response purely of the subconscious, instinctive and vital and irresistible. Yet he was aware if it, oh indeed he was aware! The need, the addiction had a name and a face and a form; a sound and a scent and a feel. It was nearly a sickness, his desire was so strong, like sea-longing. His every sense was consumed by Legolas and being near him was not enough, never enough. He must possess him and in so doing was himself captured, heart, soul and body bound up. Aye, Legolas was the ocean and Elrond was adrift. He smiled ruefully over this comparison, for he could not deny its truth, and kissed the wet tresses, tasting how the water was different now, having touched the Wood Elf.

"Aearen," he whispered reverently, passionately and kissed the lips that parted so readily for him.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ The Next Day, Late in the Afternoon ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

"You are cold?" Elrond asked, mildly alarmed though little about life with Legolas was anything other than surprising.

After nearly three Ages of existence during which he had seen and experienced all manner of catastrophes, fought too many battles, killed too few enemies, suffered grief and loss enough to break lesser Elves, raised a family, fostered his brother's progeny for countless generations of Men, and accumulated a vast store of wisdom and knowledge, Elrond was finally a revered Elven Lord. The Keeper of the most powerful of the three Elven Rings of Power, the noble, unflappable, charismatic leader of the White Council, Elrond was a magnet for people of all races seeking advice and aid for every type of problem, from territorial disputes to medicinal cures. One would think such an individual was no longer capable of producing an emotional response such as astonishment. Elrond certainly had come to that conclusion over an Age ago, convinced there was truly nothing new under the heavens.

Clearly, he had neglected to consider the effect one sylvan Elf could have upon him, indeed, upon the population of Imladris at large. Elrond now proceeded through each successive day in a perpetual state of perplexity. This modification to his staid, even austere, persona had begun upon finding Legolas, just over ten years ago, and not only had the befuddlement not abated, it had in fact worsened. He found it impossible to accurately predict what Legolas might do, say, think, or feel while participating in even the most mundane scenarios of life, such as eating dinner or dressing for the day.

Thus, Elrond could only stare, a minute kernel of trepidation germinating in his gut, as the slender Elf rummaged through his clothes press and brought forth a heavy fur cloak. He watched Legolas wrap this around his lithe frame, which was already encased in an excessive number of garments: woollen, silken, and leather, the Elven Lord's atop his own. The Lore Master took a cautious step forward.

"Cold? You feel cold?" he repeated, enunciating the term forcefully just to be sure Legolas had not said something else entirely in that obscure Nandorin dialect he reverted to whenever he was a bit distracted.

"Thenin," Legolas replied quietly, his brow slightly creased and a hint of a shadow gathered around his comely features.

Vivid eyes flickered up to Elrond's just for an instant and then away as he turned to pull open the bureau drawers, drawing forth a third pair of hose? No, wait; Elrond's brows arched high, kidskin gloves! He had never seen the archer cover his fingertips, yet that was precisely what was happening. Legolas pulled them on, easing those elegant and lethal digits into the smooth, tanned hide, and still it was not enough. He hastened to the hearth and knelt, sweeping up ash into the bin, laying in straw and kindling and logs, striking flint and steel for a fire; all this done with hands that trembled and teeth clenched to stay them from chattering.

"Man le presta, Aearen?" Elrond murmured, hurrying over with opened arms into which the Wood Elf fairly dived. The revered Lord pressed him to his heart, disturbed by the shivering detectable even through all those layers of clothing. His fright increased immediately, sensing the desperation with which Legolas burrowed close to absorb warmth, hid his face, and uttered a nearly imperceptible sigh of discomfort tinged with fear. Elrond knew now; this was not some peculiar trait common to all Elves of sylvan descent.

"Alnad, alnad, Nín'ódhel," Legolas answered belatedly, the attempt at nonchalance spoiled by his uncertainty. He raised liquid eyes to unfathomable grey, imploring aid he could not voice.

Elrond sat him down before the grate but did not let go. Half kneeling, half sitting, listening to the roar and snap as the flames leaped high into the chimney, he added more wood with one hand as the other pulled up the cloak's deep hood to cover the golden hair. Most of the body's heat was lost from the crown of the head, the healer knew, and he was gratified to feel the tremors lessen a little almost instantly. He breathed a sigh and rubbed the rigid back vigourously, hoping to promote circulation through lanky limbs awkwardly drawn up against the Wood Elf's folded frame. "Advae?" he asked, sitting back some to tilt up the lowered face so to judge the answer. When it came, in the form of a half-hearted and one-sided shoulder shrug, Elrond's concern grew.

Yesterday Legolas complained of the heat and went naked all the day, yet this afternoon he could not bear the temperate climate of Imladris' early spring? This was not right. The healer's analytical mind ran through the catalogue of symptoms caused by various toxins but nothing fit. Foremost in the diagnosis was the lack of any injury, from poisoned weapons or otherwise. As every meal served to Legolas was created for Elrond's table, the condition could not have arisen from ingesting something tainted. Of course, Wood Elves did not have the same refined palate as Noldorin folk and Legolas never ate much of what was prepared in the Last Homely House. Thus the possibility loomed that he had eaten something Elrond wouldn't consider food.

He would never forget the moonlit night when he had spied Legolas grazing among the garden shrubberies, singing softly to himself. Smiling at this quaint, endearingly primitive behaviour, Elrond had sauntered across the lawn to observe, magnanimously asking to share in the humble repast, willing to taste a leaf or a flower. Legolas had smiled shyly, daintily plucking two hugely fat slugs from the greenery. The largest he had hesitantly held out to the Noldorin Lord and the other slimy, wriggling gastropod he had popped in his mouth as one would a ripe, succulent blackberry. Then he had chewed it, swallowed it, and eaten the second one, Elrond having refused the delicacy.

It had not been possible to kiss Legolas for quite a while after that, which had wounded Legolas' feelings almost beyond repair, resulting in his retreat to the woods covering the northern corner of Imladris, and thus termination of sexual intercourse between them. He had returned eventually for he couldn't stay away, but it had taken a long time to repair the wound. Bringing up the subject of food was still a difficult undertaking, but poison was the most likely answer for the bizarre sensitivity to temperature, and Elrond was too frightened of loosing Legolas permanently to hesitate. He drew a breath and sat back enough to meet the Wood Elf's eyes.

"What have you eaten recently?"

"Nothing."

"Nothing? There must be something. Tell me everything your have eaten, Legolas." A quick shake of the hooded head was the only reply and Elrond frowned. "Can you not think of anything out of the ordinary? An insect? Some kind of fungus, perhaps? Think, Legolas!" Elrond shook him a bit for emphasis and then felt his heart freeze at the look of sorrow and pain that flashed across Legolas' face. "Nay, nay! Don't, Legolas; I didn't mean it unkindly. I know you understand what is safe to eat in your world, but this is a different climate with different flora and fauna."

Elrond knew it was the wrong thing to say for Legolas wasn't looking at him anymore and only shook his head listlessly. The shivering increased but he tried to break free. Elrond went on, tightening his hold. "Nay, don't go! We must discuss this frankly. As a healer, I must seek the cause and since you have not been injured…" his voice faltered and stopped and Elrond actually gasped as the sylvan's eyes once more met his.

The anger in them was just the sort of wrath that caused a father to check himself before chastising a child, a paternalistic disappointment combined with real rage, more than sufficient in magnitude to bring about destruction and devastation. So strange, for this young thing, so very much younger than even his youngest child, to tender him such a stare, a look that said no dissembling would help, all lies were known, and only abject apology and contrition could salvage the day. Elrond swallowed, for the truth Legolas knew was less than flattering.

Noble and dignified, dauntless and brave, wise and learned, Elrond Peredhel was all these things. His lineage was superlative, combining the best qualities of the Noldorin, Sindarin, and Vanyarin Eldar with the exalted powers of the Maiar and the sturdy tenacity of Humans. Throughout every realm on Arda, he was revered for his tolerance and respect for the diverse beliefs and customs of those who found their way to his protected realm. Elrond was proud of his unique heritage and esteemed reputation.

Yet beneath this façade of responsible and compassionate authority, he was not so very different from anyone else and like everyone else had his personal prejudices. It was no secret that the Lord of Imladris summarily excluded the sylvan Elves from his agenda, dismissing them as a lesser people, incapable of contributing to the struggle against the encroaching Shadow. Imladris had closer ties to the Rangers inhabiting Eriador than to the wild Elves of Rhovanion. Why, Dwarves had visited the hidden valley more frequently than the folk of the Woodland Realm. Shocking? Perhaps, but even the Valar chose favourites among Iluvatar's Children.
Oh yes, it was easy to point to Wood Elves with a sneer and a snicker. They'd been hiding in their Greenwood so long they didn't even speak the same language, if it even was language, as their Sindarin and Noldorin kin. Not even the Galadhrim could understand them anymore. There was no proof positive that any of them could reproduce their archaic tongue in written form. It was rumoured they couldn't read and write Sindarin either and didn't see any reason to learn such skills. Until the arrival of Oropher's refugees early in the Second Age, sylvan culture had relied upon stone for arrowheads, knives, and tools. The Second Age! Most of the great deeds of elf-kind were ancient history before the Wood Elves even learned of them. They hadn't fought in any of the great battles of the First Age and the one war in which they had participated, the Last Alliance, hadn't shown them to be very effective, for they had been slaughtered nearly to extinction. Indeed, being sylvan was equated with being stupid, ignorant, incompetent, and stubborn.

That was the general consensus among the citizens of the other Elven realms, including Imladris, and Legolas knew it. The Lord of Imladris had been known to laugh at such jibes and jests himself, and Legolas knew that, too. Truthfully, this low opinion of the wild Elves hadn't bothered Elrond before. Now, though, oh, it bothered him now, for now there was Legolas. Legolas, who was everything, absolutely everything! The breath he inhaled was no less vital to his existence than this enchanting, intoxicating, exasperating, intriguing Wood Elf, and Elrond could not pretend anymore.

"Aearen, forgive my arrogance. I should not presume to greater knowledge of what in the natural world is safe to consume, not greater than yours, at least. Be patient with me; I am old and slow to learn new things. I'm worried and want an answer, a solution. I can't bear for you to suffer discomfort of any sort." Elrond meant every word of it, for he loved the Wood Elf dearly, and that is the truth he would have Legolas know.

Absolution was instantaneous. Legolas murmured something in sarcastic Nandorin but Elrond only caught the words 'ancient' and 'dirt'. The icy fire cooled in the pools of blue and Legolas relaxed, moving back into Elrond's arms with a sigh. "I haven't been hungry enough to forage or hunt," he said in faintly accented Sindarin.

"For how long?" Elrond wrapped his arms around the shivering body with a silent prayer of thanks to the Valar and squeezed Legolas for all he was worth. Yet his expression became grim when the only response was another shrug and a small shake of the head. "When did you last eat, Legolas?" In truth, Elrond was upset that he could not remember this himself, but he had become accustomed to the sylvan's refusals at table and had decided it was best not to inquire too closely about when, or what, Legolas ate.

"You fed me honey spiced with cinnamon just yesterday," Legolas said and smiled as a soft blush stole over his cheeks and ears. A shudder worked through him that had naught to do with being cold.

"Ah, yes." A slow smile curled Elrond's lips into a distinctly lecherous curve as the event replayed. His body tingled in recollection; gladly would he repeat the experiment, designed to broaden his love's appreciation for new 'tastes', considering the pleasure experienced as Legolas had licked and sucked the sticky substance from some exceedingly sensitive areas. Enlightenment blossomed. The previous day's claim of being too warm had been but a game, an excuse for Legolas to wander naked through the garden, offering a tempting invitation too beguiling to ignore. He had kept Legolas in a state of arousal the whole day, or perhaps it was the other way round, but in any case they had enjoyed one another for hours. Mayhap Legolas merely wished to play.

Elrond's eyes dropped down to admire a mouth made to allure, parted just enough to be teasingly provocative, the scent of the breath leaving them still evocative of cinnamon and honey, but even as he contemplated sampling the supple lips, Legolas' control slipped. His incisors rattled briefly before he clamped his jaws together and ducked his head in embarrassment, the luscious smile vanished.

The Noldorin Lord sighed, judging the Wood Elf truly was suffering, and lifted the lowered face he loved so. The expression returned imparted the deep and abiding trust Legolas harboured, so much that Elrond's soul wrenched to see it, for it had not always been like this. The thought ran through his mind that he was living a wondrous dream from which he never wished to wake. He touched the high, fair cheek, his fingertips brushing against a softness that was real and warm and present and his alone.

Warm. Legolas' skin was warm to the touch. Despite the normal temperature Elrond detected, Legolas shivered again and huddled even closer, burying his nose into ebony locks, tucking gloved hands into the folds of thick velvet robes. "Ringe," he muttered and shuddered in misery.

"I am truly concerned," Elrond stated. "It may be that the cinnamon acts as a sort toxin for sylvan folk. You did say you hadn't tasted it before."

"Aye, that's so; though I didn't eat very much," the blush deepened as Legolas' heart leaped, "of the spice."

Elrond laughed lightly, pleased to have the sickness defined. "True enough, and its virulence must be mild for it has been several hours since you consumed any. I will give you a purging tea and that should cause it to dissipate more quickly. As long as you do not partake of cinnamon again, I doubt there will be any lasting effects."

Legolas' features contorted in appalled disgust upon hearing this. He watched in dread as Elrond rose and collected the necessary herbs and filled the kettle with water. "Ai! I am only cold; no need for medicine," he protested. "What I need is for you to come and warm me."

"Nay," Elrond shook his head seriously and resumed his seat. "We have no means to determine if the symptoms will worsen. It is best to rid your body of this bane before it has time to do you real injury." He encircled the shivering Elf with his arms and smiled faintly to hear the woebegone sigh that escaped the archer's lips. He gently swayed, humming and stroking the shaking back until the water boiled.

The lovers shared a couple of peaceful hours by the fire, wound around each other in a snug embrace, silent in the comfort of their mutual dependence, before the tonic worked and Legolas had to make a hasty dash to the privy. The Elven Lord waited patiently yet it was nearly an hour before Legolas returned. His hair was wet as if he had just washed it, which he had, but he had re-wrapped himself in all the previous garments and added a thick woollen blanket as well.

"You are still chilled," Elrond remarked, settling the quaking Elf onto his lap. "Did you bathe in cold water? I should have followed and made sure you heated the bath first," he scolded. He knew Legolas had washed from head to toe after the purgative flushed his bowels, for the sylvan held to a very fastidious definition of the word clean. "Let me warm you. Undress; we need to lie skin to skin and share our bodies' heat.

He whisked away the fur cloak with a flourish that made Legolas' eyes sparkle, only to find a green velvet formal robe. That he removed as well, uncovering two brocade waistcoats. There were many buttons and it took a while to dispense with those. Beneath them, Elrond revealed a leather cuirass and stripped that off, followed by vambraces, the gloves, two tunics, three silk shirts, and a linen undershirt. At last Elrond uncovered the svelte torso's gloriously erotic veneer of apricot skin. He ran hungry eyes and eager hands over the exposed chest, pinching taut ruby nipples, devouring garnet lips. The kiss ended and he met Legolas' hopefully wanton look with a smile. "Aye, once you stop shivering. Get those things off." Elrond pointed to the boots and leggings as he set Legolas aside and started to disrobe.

Legolas groaned, desire and misery mingled, as he separated from his lover and endured the touch of the room's air. He tugged off the boots, thick wool socks, three sets of hose, two pair of leggings, and a soft silk breechclout. Knees pulled up to his chest, he folded sinewy arms around them and set to rocking while he waited. A more dejected and pathetic mass of quivering flesh could not be imagined.

In mere minutes Elrond was divested of his elaborate, lordly garb and tossed aside the last of his small clothes, adding them to the heap of fabric and leather already deposited on the floor. With exuberant gusto he pushed aside an armchair and its side table to make room, spread out the blanket, pleased Legolas had thought to bring it along, and reached for the naked archer, laying him down before the hearth. Elrond stretched out atop him, a chord of joy thrumming through his veins, grateful that the sensation of cold was an internal perception for Legolas only and not truly a lack of heat. The body beneath him was inviting and responsive, Legolas' penis flexing and just starting to fill. Elrond settled the fur cloak over them both and then delved into the lavish mane, tangling the golden hair and planting small kisses upon the becomingly flushed cheeks. He claimed inviting lips that lifted to meet his and felt himself grow hard. He shifted to let Legolas feel him, thick and hot and rigid, pressing against his belly, enhancing the arousal, enjoying the friction.

Then Legolas abruptly retreated from the kiss to draw his legs close, seeking to curl up, and voiced a small complaint, disappointment and frustration evident. Elrond realised their feet were still exposed and couldn't repress a light chuckle to be interrupted so. The cloak was not meant to be a blanket and while Legolas was not as tall as Elrond, even he was not fully covered by the fur. Elrond had to prop himself up to grab the heavy velvet outer robes, draping this over their ankles and toes. That done he laid back down and gathered Legolas to him.

"Advae?"

"Advae."
Legolas sighed and closed his eyes, safe and protected beside the Noldorin Lord, and soon the chill began to dissipate. The shivers became more like searing jolts of liquid fire as Elrond's hands and lips ravished him. A swift caress of a tongue across his ear preceded the hushed whisper of his name while fingers teased the tip of his penis. He squirmed under the delicious assault.

"Ai, Nín'ódhel, the things you do to me!"

"You like it, Aearen; you know you do."

Elrond rubbed his palm over Legolas' lean abdomen and down to the lovely erection, relishing the way the organ stood out at nearly right angles to the flat, hard stomach. He curled his fingers around it and smiled; the length of the slender shaft was almost exactly the width of his hand and the fit was perfect. He squeezed and Legolas gasped, twitching all over, and Elrond met his lover's pleading eyes with playful mischief. He stroked and watched, leaning low to nibble on firm little nipples and the tender rosy skin surrounding them, feeling the accelerated pulse beneath his mouth. Legolas' respiration was harsh and desperate as he pushed against Elrond's grip, but otherwise he was quiet in his passion.

Slowly Elrond worked his tongue over Legolas, determined to taste every bit of naked flesh before he reached his peak. It was a goal he had yet to achieve, for by the time his lips reached the archer's navel the Elven Lord was too close to release to restrain himself. No matter how often they coupled, Elrond never managed more than a brief period of intense foreplay before he gave in, thrusting inside the slick, tight confines of his lover's body. Ecstasy overtook him shortly after penetration and Legolas was usually spent by then, lost, adrift in crashing waves of delight. Perhaps if Legolas would not pump him quite so well he could complete his feast this time. Elrond seized the wrist and arrested the tantalising motion, pulled the other hand off his arse, and drew both up and away, high above the archer's head. Legolas giggled and wriggled under him.

"You don't want me to touch you?"

"Aye, no more of that. There are things I want to do to you and your talented fingers are too distracting."

"Ah, but you can't continue if your hands are occupied thus."

"I wasn't planning on using my hands."

To prove it, Elrond licked slowly around the outer rim of Legolas' left ear until he reached the point, inflamed to a fiery red, and sucked it hard. That did raise a soft cry from his lover and a great deal of squirming. He released the ear and repeated the manoeuvre on the right. Legolas sighed out his name and something indecipherable in Nandorin which Elrond silenced with a blistering kiss. Needing to breathe, he sampled the tender skin on the long, elegant throat Legolas offered with a beckoning tilt of his head, practically begging to be marked. Elrond was pleased to oblige, but to his chagrin he discovered Legolas was right; he couldn't venture any lower if he continued to pinion the archer's hands with his own. He looked down into half-lidded, smirking blue eyes and converted that smug triumph into shocked disbelief by stating:

"I can always tie you down; that would make things much easier."

Putting thought to action, he sat up and shimmied over to the pile of discarded clothes, sifting through until he found what he wanted. Elrond turned back to spy Legolas propped on his elbows watching, brow slightly furrowed but eyes dilated and bright with excitement to see what he was doing. The Elven Lord held up his find: a long narrow strip of soft white silk, his breechclout, and laughed as Legolas mouth gaped and he shook his head.

"Nay." He edged backwards but at once his shoulder brushed the brick stoop of the hearth.

"Aye." Elrond pounced.

They wrestled, cursing, grunting, laughing; a table went over and something on it shattered with the ringing note only leaded crystal makes. The blanket and cloak became hopelessly tangled but the heap of clothing proved useful in soaking up whatever had been in the decanter. The struggle ended with Elrond straddling the slim sylvan warrior's waist, victorious, swiftly binding submissive hands to the leg of the mahogany settee with fabric that had just minutes earlier secured the genitals resting on the golden Elf's middle.

The silken cloth carried the intimate, musky odour of the Noldo Lord's unique scent. Elrond took the breechclout's trailing end and used it to wipe the sweat from Legolas' forehead, scrubbed it gently over his nose and mouth, entranced as it billowed out under the wind of the archer's straining lungs. He jerked it away and kissed Legolas, a devouring kiss, a claiming kiss that left them both dizzy and elated.

Elrond didn't spare either of them a moment to regain equilibrium, feverishly licking and nipping shoulders and biceps, exposed underarms, corrugated sides where ribs heaved to try and keep up with the need for oxygen. The navel, ever his nemesis before, he deliberately ignored, rolling Legolas over to rub his cock forcefully against taut buttocks, not stopping the rutting action until he could see a red weal forming there in the enticing divide. Tracing the long groove of the spine with his tongue, he imprinted his teeth on the nape of the archer's neck. This caused the scarlet head of his engorged penis to bump against Legolas' arse; a scintillating flare of bright delight tore through him. Before proximity to culmination proved too great a temptation, Elrond backed away, gratified to hear a plaintive whimper when he lifted his weight from the sylvan and transferred attention to the Wood Elf's legs.

Legolas was trembling again but not from cold. Elrond discovered to his wicked glee that his young lover was very sensitive around the crease of the knees and tickled him there, laying down a wet streak and then blowing it dry, until Legolas begged mercy. The noble lord granted it, moving on to partake of the quivering skin covering the powerful thighs, parting the legs and pushing them wide as he moved between them, biting left to right as he worked upward. And then he was there, once more at the crux of their mutual desire, Legolas' scent staggering to senses already overwhelmed, and he pushed his tongue against the small pink pucker. He felt a tremor ripple through the body sprawled out before him and sat back to take in the full effect of Legolas, bound, subdued, and receptive. Another shudder wracked the sylvan and he spread himself open, panting in anticipation.

Elrond crowded forward and pressed his forefinger into the constricted anus, softly exhorting Legolas to be at peace, smiling when he was in deep enough to at last wring a lustful groan from his lover. Immediately he removed the digit and eased it lower toward the scrotum and slid two fingers into the slippery heat of the second opening. Gently he probed, exploring, gathering the slick secretions, intending to use the fluid to lubricate his cock before penetration, but the scent emitted when he withdrew his coated fingers was staggering and he greedily sucked it all off instead. Elrond bowed low and dipped his tongue into the narrow invagination, savouring the taste, moaning as the aroma enveloped him, and simultaneously shoved his finger back into the rectum, stimulating Legolas' prostate vigourously.

"Saes!" Dimly Elrond heard the whispered entreaty but he was not about to stop. This, this is what he had fantasised practically every other hour of the day and night for the last ten years. Always his need for Legolas overruled him and though he was the dominant partner he always felt that Legolas was the one in control. Now, he would take him at his leisure, as he pleased, any way he wished. He shoved the right leg out further and wormed his hand between the rug and Legolas to find the archer's penis, pleased when the sylvan lifted up to give him better access.

The distended cock was hot and seeping and Elrond knew if he squeezed even once he would feel the quick spurt of ejaculate flow over his knuckles. The inclination to do so was strong, but a sound stopped him, a garbled cry that was close to a sob. "Saes!" The second plea came out in an undignified hiccup, a panicky note of desperation within it, and Elrond did stop, lifting his head to make sure Legolas was all right, resting his cheek against a hip, fondling the balls carefully and cupping the soft backside with the other hand.

"Pan vae?" he whispered but there was no answer.

He sat back on his heels intending to untie his love and gather him close but the sight was more than he could bear: Legolas vulnerable and exposed, clinging to the leg of the sofa where his wrists were secured, elbows digging into the rug beneath him, head bowed and face hidden, shoulders shaking with the torment of the tantalising invasion. Elrond scooted to his knees and crouched over his lover's back, questing with the tip of his cock, teasing the stretched anus before brushing the second, wet opening and entering him there with a long slow thrust. He held himself thus, motionless, exultant, petting the damp and matted yellow mane, kissing the rigid shoulder, whispering endearments and licking at the ear into which he spoke them. Legolas calmed also, completed and filled, listening, just his heaving suspiration accompanying the promises and vows.

Elrond withdrew halfway and then pushed back inside, repeating the move and establishing a steady rocking pace that was exquisitely erotic. Every thrust forward and back stroked the glans of his penis and, though he had taken his pleasure thus with Legolas before, the sensation was brand new, an entirely different element of sensual excitement building within him. Legolas tossed his head and the tip of an ear was revealed; Elrond bit it and Legolas came, abruptly and with a cry almost like regret, quivering and muttering in Nandorin, curses or endearments Elrond could not tell for certain.

With a growl he pulled out, repositioned his cock and shoved inside the anus. His deep, satisfied groan was joined by Legolas' yelp of surprise. Now he did not hold back but drove into the writhing body relentlessly, working to strike the sylvan's sensitive core with every lunge. Legolas struggled beneath him, pushing back, trying to get his knees under him for support, but Elrond would not allow even that minute level of control, bearing down on him with all his weight.

On the next retreat he again withdrew entirely, gripped the archer's hips and pulled him up a bit, re-entered the extra cavity, and pumped as he reached around slender hips. Elrond found Legolas' cock stiff enough to be stroked in concert with his thrusts; a great swell of exhilaration swept over him as the flesh in his hands twitched in dry orgasm and Legolas exhaled a stuttering moan. Now Elrond was ready; now he would come. The powerful surge tightened in his loins and he didn't struggle against the onslaught, permitting the wave to crest and break upon him, dragging him away, drowning thought and reason with vibrant delight. Elrond collapsed atop Legolas, spent, sweaty, exhausted, and deliriously happy.

Aearen: my ocean

Nín'ódhel: my Deep Elf

Thenin: True. (Yes.)

Man le presta, Aearen?: What troubles you, My Ocean?

Alnad, alnad, Nín'ódhel: Nothing, nothing, My Deep Elf.

Advae?: Better? (Well again?)

Ringe: cold

Pan vae: All right
© 04/16/2007 Ellen Robey
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Aearlinn

Aearlinn - A Song of the Sea

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ The Next Day, Late in the Afternoon ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~