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Unearned Privilege	By : MorierBlackleaf Category: +Third Age > Slash - Male/Male Views: 3015 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own the Lord of the Rings nor any of the related characters. I make no money from writing about them.

Chapter List
- 1-Unearned Privilege
- 1
Unearned Privilege
Pulling his sweat soaked tunic over his head, Aragorn tossed the offensive smelling cloth to the floor of his chambers, leaving it there for a servant to clean up. The Ranger was in a hurry; he had promised Arwen he would meet her before the evening meal and Estel fully intended to keep this promise to his beloved. At the moment, though, the Adan thought, I smell like a swamp rat. He had no time to bathe and so would only change his clothing and hope that Arwen would not notice. She is sure to notice, the Adan mused, for her nose could pick out the smell of an individual blade of grass in the forest. His thoughts were interrupted when the door to his chamber was shut with a barely audible click.
Unclothed, the Ranger whirled to find a robe to cover himself, even before he saw who had entered his room, but upon turning, Aragorn found himself face to face with a smirking, unusually smudged and disorderly Wood-Elf.
“Estel,” Legolas intoned with amusement, watching as the Ranger grabbed his discarded tunic from the ground, unintentionally exposing himself even more than he had intended when bending over to reach the shirt.
Wrapping his tunic around his waist in a useless attempt to cover his nudity, the Ranger glared at his Elven friend, spitting, “Have you forgotten to knock, Legolas?”
“Not forgotten…” the Elf replied, walking to where Aragorn stood at the head of the bed. Crossing one arm over his chest, the Prince used his second to push back his wayward hair, loose from its braids because of the scuffle he and the Ranger had engaged in earlier, and then added that arm to his other over his chest. “I just did not care to knock.”
Aragorn waited a moment, expecting the Elf to apologize, or at least for Legolas to turn away so that the Ranger could dress, but the Prince did neither. “I am coated in sweat and I should like to change clothing before the evening meal,” the human explained, gesturing with his eyes – as his hands were currently busy holding the tunic at his waist – towards the clean clothing lying across the room.
“I prefer you like this,” Legolas teased with a shy smile, taking another step closer to the Ranger.
The increasing proximity of his Elven friend would not normally discomfit Aragorn, but after sparring with the Mirkwood Prince all day, the human was confused at the change in his friend’s behavior. The Ranger had the distinct impression that every tumble they had made across the ground was a mockery of some carnal act, that the entanglement of their limbs had meant something other than practice to the Prince. From the licentious grin the Elf gave him, Aragorn’s observations had been right.
“It took me a long time to get you sweaty this afternoon, human. Let me enjoy it.”
“I do not have time for your antics,” he told the Elf sternly, trying desperately to infuse as much determination into his statement as possible.
Aragorn stepped away from Legolas, pushing past the Wood-Elf so that he could reach the clean clothing lying in a chair across the way. However, the Prince seized the Ranger’s arm, his greater strength no match for Estel, such that the human did not bother to attempt removing his bicep from the Wood-Elf’s grasp.
“Legolas,” he began, tugging meaningfully against the Prince’s hold as he continued, “What do you want? Arwen is…”
“Arwen is in the hall of fire, with her brothers, laughing and sharing stories of old. She will not notice your absence and you are not so rushed for time,” the Elf interrupted, his grin turning feral when he let his gaze wander down the Adan’s body. Aragorn promptly blushed at the attention. “You will not be late, I promise.”
“It is you who are late, Legolas,” the human whispered, shutting his eyes in misery when the Elf placed a single long-fingered hand on the Ranger’s chest.
He could tell the Prince no, he could deny the one person in his life who had immeasurable hold over him. Why does he do this now? Why now when I am past my infatuation with him?
Aloud he told the Wood-Elf, “Stop, my friend. I am betrothed to Arwen.”
“In words, Estel,” the Elf argued, letting his hand slide over the sweat-dampened muscles of the Ranger’s abdomen, grabbing the tunic there and wrenching it from Aragorn’s hands, only to toss the shirt back to the floor to leave the Ranger entirely nude before the Elf. If he’d any doubt about Legolas’ intentions, they were now clear to the Ranger. “You have given your heart in words to Arwen. But where does your heart truly lie?”
He would not answer this question. He would not admit that the Lady Arwen had not been his first choice, had not been his first love. He would not give Legolas the opportunity to wreck the fledgling relationship Aragorn had so carefully constructed with the Evenstar. The Prince released the Adan’s arm, allowing the human to flee should he choose; however, Aragorn did not move, he did not try to stop the Wood-Elf when Legolas’ hand swept around the Ranger’s side to the small of his back, nor when the other hand joined it, pulling Estel closer to the Prince by the waist.
“Do not speak the words, then, Estel,” the disappointed Prince said softly, taking the final step left between the Elf and Ranger until the only distance between them was the cloth of Legolas’ breeches and tunic. Pressing himself tightly against the Ranger, Legolas’ hands glided up Aragorn’s back, slipping under the Adan’s unresisting arms until he had his own limbs wrapped around the human’s chest, hugging the Ranger to him. As he laid his head on Estel’s shoulder, his face turned into the human’s neck so that his every breath ghosted across the Ranger’s bare chest, Legolas implored of the Adan simply, all teasing and amusement absent now from his voice, “Do not go to her. Stay with me.”
Aragorn sighed contentedly, though he only stood there, his arms hanging lax at his sides while Legolas embraced him. How long had he desired this Elf? How long had he suffered in silence, certain that the Prince did not long for the same? And now, with the Wood-Elf here, offering what Aragorn yearned to possess, could he leave Legolas after the Elf pled with him to stay? Could he continue his well-intentioned sham of loving Arwen, when the one he loved stood before him now?
Finally, the Ranger pulled away from the Wood-Elf, causing Legolas to drop his embrace and remove his head from Aragorn’s shoulder. He sensed the Prince’s immediate sorrow at this action; however, Aragorn could do nothing for it – there was something else he had to do. Sidling around the Elf, Estel took a few steps toward the door before he glanced over his shoulder at the Prince.
Legolas did not turn to look at him, but had folded his arms around his own waist, his back turned to the Ranger, and thus the human’s actions. Leaving his clean clothing lying where it was on the chair, ignoring the bells sounding in the Last Homely House indicating it was the hour for the evening meal, and walking swiftly to the entrance to his room, Aragorn turned the lock on his chamber door. If this were his only chance, he would not have it disturbed.
The Wood-Elf turned forthwith at the unexpected sound of the door being locked, his azure eyes wide with surprise to find that the Ranger was still undressed and still there.
This is a mistake, he decided, or this is the best decision I have ever made.
“What words do you wish me to say, Legolas?” he asked the Wood-Elf, standing before him nude but no longer ashamed.
Smiling faintly, the Prince’s amusement returned and he challenged lovingly, happily, “No words are necessary.”
“How do I make clear to you where my heart truly lies?”
When Aragorn rested his forehead against the Wood-Elf’s, draping his arms around the lithe Prince’s body, Legolas exhaled raggedly, afraid that whatever he asked of Aragorn, the human would not be able to give. “Show me.”
Aragorn smiled. He would do just that.
All the Elf’s coyness was gone. Aragorn’s mouth sought Legolas’ instinctively, their lips and teeth clashing violently as their passion, too long pent up and ignored, was finally given free reign. His hands gripped and caressed, both needy and loving as they sought to fill themselves of the Elf’s firm flesh, his toned back, the supple rear, and the long, flaxen hair that even mussed and dirty now, somehow still smelled of cleanliness.
Just the friction of their bodies as they moved into each other, wanting to feel as much of the other as they could, caused Aragorn’s length to stiffen in anticipation that went beyond mere sexual desire. He pulled at every button and lacing of the Prince’s clothing, wanting to feel the pale skin, already soiled with dirt and the human’s sweat from their earlier rounds of physical combat. Eager to be free of his tunic and leggings as well, Legolas quickly grew tired of Aragorn’s inept attempts to divest him of his clothing and pushed the Ranger into sitting on the bed. Stepping back, the Wood-Elf removed the last of his garments; completely nude, he once more pushed the human, though this time, he forced the man into lying back on the bed.
Hovering above the Ranger’s body for only a moment, the Elf soon laid his own lighter form over it, their skin meeting for the first time in any context outside the platonic touches of two friends. They were now lovers and Aragorn’s flesh reacted to the feeling of Legolas’ skin against his with the heightening of his desire. Legolas began to lave his mouth over the Ranger’s neck, nipping at the tense cords of muscles there. Their growing arousals lay flush with each other: the two thick, dense columns rubbed languidly together as Legolas moved to nibble and lick along the human’s chest. Aragorn groaned his approval, his hands still seeking to touch as much of the Wood-Elf as he could. And for a short time, the simple pleasures of touching and tasting were enough for them both; however, neither was willing to stop short of full consummation, and it was Legolas who initiated what the Ranger so desperately desired.
“May I?” the Elf asked, lifting one delicate eyebrow and giving the Ranger a sprightly grin. Aragorn nodded eagerly, understanding for what Legolas was asking permission.
With nothing to ease his entrance into the human’s body, the Elf made do with what was available – Legolas leapt from the bed, leaving Aragorn sprawled across it, unable to move or think, so great was his need. He watched as Legolas sprinted to the washbasin, where located thereon sat a small jar of soapberry oil that the Ranger normally used when washing up. Grinning at his ingenuity, the Prince crawled back onto the bed, the jar still in hand.
Although he knew what would come next, for he was no stranger to the pleasures of the body, Aragorn lay virginally on the bed, if only in his heart. He allowed the Elf to do with him as the Prince desired, for he wanted the Wood-Elf in whatever way Legolas was willing to have him. It was Estel who would be had, however, for the Elda propped each of the Ranger’s legs apart and bent at the knee, spreading his lover’s body for the Prince’s preparations.
The Prince dipped his fingers into the oil, rubbing them together and warming the lathery liquid. The Elf grinned gently and then reached between the Ranger’s spread legs, his fingers seeking the small opening between the round globes of the human’s rear. Aragorn only watched Legolas’ face, unable to help himself but to return the Elda’s merry, loving smile as the Elf’s fingers found his entrance. Neither of them spoke – there was little Aragorn could say that would rival his handing his body over to the Elf that would evince to Legolas the depths of his devotion. He would show the Wood-Elf who held his heart, even if his showing was done in passivity.
Teasing the clenched opening by swirling his oiled fingertips over the sensitive flesh, lightly pressing Aragorn’s entrance with the blunt end of his thumb, the Wood-Elf took his time in preparing the Ranger’s body, unhurried in gliding his finger upwards, rubbing against the sensitive skin under Aragorn’s velvety sacs, which were drawn tightly to his body with desire. Legolas used his other hand to caress the Ranger’s long length, his fingers stroking lightly, barely touching the hard flesh as he coaxed one finger into the human’s body. Immediately, Aragorn wanted another and he pushed down on the Elf’s hand greedily. Legolas responded by pushing his digit deeper and curling his finger to reach the deep-seated source of pleasure within the human.
“Legolas,” the man moaned, his hand fumbling down to take the Elf’s arm in his grasp, though he did not stop the Prince from his ministrations. He needed more than this. He needed more than just touching. He needed Legolas inside him, all over him.
The human’s urgency spurred the Prince into adding another finger to the first, stretching Estel’s opening – but the Ranger, accustomed to such sensations and longing to feel more, did not wish to wait until Legolas was satisfied that Aragorn was ready. “Inside,” the human muttered, arching his head back into the pillow under it when Legolas’ fingers again struck the pleasurable spot within him. “I need you inside of me.”
The Elf did not wish to comply; this much was clear from the way his smile fell from his face, even before he said, “Not yet, Estel. You are not –“
“Now,” the human ordered, trying his best to glare at the once more smiling Wood-Elf.
Legolas nodded and then removed his fingers from Aragorn’s body. Picking up the jar of soapberry oil from the bed, the Elf drizzled some onto his palm before sitting the oil on the floor. Slicking his hand over his arousal, the Prince settled more comfortably between the Ranger’s thighs, lifting Estel’s hips and by doing so prompting the human into wrapping his legs around the Elda’s waist. With his shaft in hand, the Prince stopped: he stared down at the human, his gaze momentarily sad and unsure before his confident, loving smile returned. Legolas tilted his lower body forward; his arousal chafed between Aragorn’s spread rear, causing the human to tighten his legs around the Elf in hopes of drawing the Elda nearer and into him.
His opening was not as prepared as either of them might have liked; however, the sting of Legolas entering the Ranger’s body did not register in Aragorn’s mind, for the pleasure of having the Wood-Elf inside him – the one whom he had longed for since first he had met the Prince, the one to whom he had given his heart in secret – was all that the human knew. Legolas paused when he had sheathed himself fully within the Adan’s searing, tight channel. Holding himself up with his hands, which were palm-down against the bed’s surface, the Wood-Elf gasped for air, his gaze ever on Aragorn when he finally shifted himself forward, bumping his lower body into the human’s.
Deliberate in each thrust, Legolas barely moved inside the Ranger’s opening, his angle of entry awkward in how they were joined. Yet, each thrust brought Aragorn pleasure until he was panting in time with Legolas’ movements. When the Ranger’s aching manhood began to flag from the other, more intense pleasure that the Elf gave him, Legolas took Aragorn’s shaft in hand to squeeze the Ranger’s length every time he pushed inside of the human.
He tightened his legs’ grip around Legolas’ waist even further, sure that he would leave bruises, but just as sure that the Wood-Elf would not mind, for both Elf and Ranger were far too lost in the carnal rhythm of their imminent climax. The Elf began to heave his hips forward in hard, jolting motions, pounding his shaft into Aragorn’s body, who returned each thrust with his own, his breath finally ceasing altogether as the familiar upsurge of pleasure finally overcame him and his innermost muscles began to clasp around the Elf’s shaft. He could take it no more – the Ranger spilled across his stomach, his orgasm whelming him beneath the waves of its sensual, wanton debauchery in feeling Legolas fill his body with the Elf’s blistering seed.
Legolas withdrew himself from the Ranger’s body slowly, as if he loathed leaving such an intimate embrace. However, the Prince sat back on his heels with his knees bent, his hands running along Aragorn’s muscled calves. For his part, the human could barely breathe once he had resumed trying – he had certainly had lovers previously, but none had ever brought him such satisfaction before and none had ever looked as beautiful, gazing down at the Ranger with adoration afterward.
Suddenly, the Elf leant over, his hands grazing up the tops of Estel’s thighs, past the sensitive junction where they met Aragorn’s torso, and to the human’s sides. While the Wood-Elf fondled the Ranger’s sweaty and heaving chest teasingly, Legolas gave the speechless human a quick grin, before he bent to lick the splatter of seed covering the Ranger’s stomach. Legolas then took the human’s spent manhood in his mouth, lapping every drop there until Aragorn began to writhe as his passion began to rise again.
“I cannot seem to exhaust you,” the Elf teased. Walking on his knees until he straddled the Ranger’s hips, Legolas bent down once more to claim Aragorn’s mouth. He could taste himself on the Elf’s soft lips.
I am a fool, the human denigrated himself, his sweet enjoyment souring at the thought of Arwen waiting for him in the dining hall below. I am a fool to think I could have loved her. She was only a replacement for what I could not have.
“What are you thinking, Estel?” the Wood-Elf asked. Aragorn opened his eyes to stare into the worried, bottomless blue orbs of his lover.
“I am thinking that I wish I had shown you how much I loved you a long time ago.”
“Because I am too late?” the Elf queried, his fair, unblemished face tainted with concern. “Because you have given yourself to Arwen?”
Reaching up to caress the worry lines from the Prince’s brow, the human told the Elf, “Because I have wasted many days that could have been spent with you.”
Legolas merely smiled and then laid down beside the Ranger, slipping one arm under Aragorn’s shoulders to pull the human to him.
His love of the Wood-Elf had never ceased, Aragorn realized; sliding himself further down the bed so that he could lay his head on Legolas’ smooth, wiry chest, the Ranger thought, And I intend never to be less infatuated with him than at this moment. Pressing a kiss to the contented Prince’s belly, Estel closed his eyes, listening to the bells signaling the last call for latecomers to the evening meal, while thinking of how he might admit to Arwen that the oaths he had spoken to her were truly meant for another.
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Unearned Privilege