Lord Of The Rings Fan Fiction ❯ Penance ❯ Sweet Surrender ( Chapter 2 )
[ X - Adult: No readers under 18. Contains Graphic Adult Themes/Extreme violence. ]
By: wolfraven 
What decisions does Legolas make? BDSM, spanking, issues of consent.
Non Anime: Lord Of The Rings Fan Fiction | Genre(s): Angst / Romance / Fantasy / Hentai | Type: Alternate Universe | Uploaded On: 10.16.2003 | Pages: 3 | Words: 4.2K | Visits: 4.7K | Status: Completed
What decisions does Legolas make? BDSM, spanking, issues of consent.
Non Anime: Lord Of The Rings Fan Fiction | Genre(s): Angst / Romance / Fantasy / Hentai | Type: Alternate Universe | Uploaded On: 10.16.2003 | Pages: 3 | Words: 4.2K | Visits: 4.7K | Status: Completed
Chapter 2 - Sweetness of Surrender
With an economy of motion and a deep breath, Legolas placed himself across Aragorn's lap. Aragorn was of a height, that the Elf found he could not quite kneel fully and he squirmed uncomfortably seeking to situate himself in a less precarious position. Finally he lay still, unsure what to do. Legolas' heart thundered in his chest, crashing against his ribcage like a storm sundered oak. He could feel the firmness of Aragorn's body and his own member leapt and hardened between them.
Concentrating so hard on controlling his body's wayward impulses and the whirl of thoughts conflicting like eddies of opposing streams of water, Legolas started when Aragorn's deep voice brought him abruptly back to himself.
"Cross your wrists behind you, Legolas." The Man's voice almost seemed gentle in the wake of so much grim demand.
A slight trepidation niggled at the corner of the Elf's mind. Tossing his long hair out of his face impatiently, he supported himself upon the edge of the bed with his hands, twisting in Aragorn's lap. He almost fell to the floor in an attempt to glimpse his friend. "I... do... not... " Legolas' voice trailed off as Aragorn's eyes narrowed in suspicion, the Man's mouth thinned in disapproval.
"You have given your consent, Elf Prince. Do you choose to withdraw now?"
"No." The quiet denial felt pulled from his very depths, and turning, Legolas lay face down, once more.
He hesitantly crossed his wrists at the small of his back as if he had been bound so. He started when Aragorn grasped both wrists tightly in one large hand, pulling him back until he felt the strain in his shoulders and his back was slightly arched
Aragorn's scent filled his nostrils, heavy and musk-sweet like a stag in season. He could feel the flex of muscular thighs beneath his abdomen and the strong grasp grinding his wrists lightly together caused his nipples to peak.
The slide of silk across suddenly sensitive nipples was excruciating and a soft gasp puffed from between full lips, his eyes fluttered closed in dismay. He had thought he could do this thing--this penance that Aragorn asked of him to rebuild the trust betwixt them without betraying himself.
He was an Elf, after all, and though young for his kind, he had many more years' experience than this mortal man. He failed to take into account that he was as a youth in love, having never given his heart before and so found himself trembling like a leaf in the chill autumn winds of Mirkwood
"Aragorn?" He was unable to keep a light quaver from his voice as his body reacted to the close proximity of this mortal man who held his heart unknowing. He had thought he could control his reactions to him, yet his body did betray him. His member swelled and throbbed tellingly against the thigh he lay across and Legolas felt himself burn with humiliation.
Twisting his wrists Legolas tried Aragorn's grip and found it firm, and though easily he could break free, he knew to do so would be a second betrayal of trust from which, perhaps, there could be no forgiveness.
"Lay you still unless I give leave to move, my friend." Aragorn's command, though spoken quietly, had the effect of a shout and Legolas stilled instantly, taking small rapid breaths through his mouth.
A sense of shifting, and lifting, and he felt Aragorn's fingers lightly brush against the curve of his buttocks as he lifted the tunic to expose the round curve of his arse. A hitched breath shuddered through Legolas as he struggled to remain still and control his recalcitrant body.
Then the Elf felt the smooth soft material of his leggings slide slowly down his buttocks to mid-thigh, leaving him exposed most vulnerably. Even the tips of Legolas' ears burned, and he could not but jump when Aragorn lay his sword-callused palm against the ripe swell of his buttocks, his thumb brushing lightly along the shadowed crevice.
Unable to control an inadvertent surge for freedom, he fought to stand, only to find there was little purchase in his current position.
"It is too late, Legolas, to gainsay your word, lest you would breach trust, again."
Legolas could have sobbed his anguish and frustration, his blood rushed through him so quickly he felt dizzy and lying upended and exposed across the Man's strong thighs did him no little good either. He shifted restlessly in Aragorn's unforgiving grip, sending an entreaty to Elbereth that whatever penance the Man chose to exact that he would do so and quickly!
The heat of Aragorn's palm was like a brand, burning wildly through his body, leaving him shivering and weak in anticipation. Caught up as he was in the startling sensation of the Dunédan's thumb caressing the border betwixt the cheeks of his buttocks, Legolas was totally unprepared for the first blow.
Though of itsElf, the blow was not unduly painful, still the stinging slap of Aragorn's hand across his unprotected backside elicited a startled yelp. Biting his lip, to prevent any further shaming of himself, Legolas had little time to gather his scattered composure.
Aragorn swiftly followed the first blow with several more heavy-handed slaps in the exact spot, until Legolas thought his arse must needs be bruised. Without warning, Aragorn changed the pattern of blows, raining sharp, quick smacks about Legolas' buttocks. He moved lower, peppering the Elf's upper thighs until Legolas thought his entire backside from the tops of his legs up were a matching blaze for the raging emotions roiling through him like a forest fire.
Small gasps were beginning to escape him at each branding impact of hand against tender flesh. He could not contain a small cry as his flesh heated beneath the assault. Aragorn surrounded him. The musk-filled woods scent of the ranger assailed his nostrils, the Man's thighs flexed beneath Legolas' weak struggles.
Aragorn kept his arms pulled taut, leaving him arched painfully and unable to wiggle away from the worst of the blows. Legolas was sure the burning of his face must match in color the heat of his buttocks and he twisted his head away, letting fall a curtain of silken hair to hide his dismayed features from the man's scrutiny.
The very force of Aragorn's mastery sung through him, sending his sex rigid and weeping with need. A small mewling sound of dismay mixed pleasure forced its way past his lips as his body betrayed him. How could he have lived two centuries without knowing this about himself?
How could the fierceness of Aragorn's commands sing through him like wildfire, sending every nerve ablaze and quivering for the next fall of his hand? Did he truly enjoy being hurt and humiliated thusly? How could this be? How could he have not known how he would quake and quiver before the power and beauty of Isildur's heir? How could he know that his wayward body sought such pleasures even in pain? Or were it pain in such pleasure?
Was it merely that it was Aragorn commanding his obedience? Demanding his surrender and submission, touching him, finally, if only in this way?
He writhed upon the man's lap, the pulse of his cock like the beating of his blood, rushing like the Falls of Rauros. A small whimper led to another cry and then he could no longer hold back the soft sighs and moans and pleading sobs.
Legolas body betrayed him fully, his hips rose towards each blow begging for the next. And would fall to grind his needy organ against the man's thigh as if the Elf were a wild animal in heat. His body thrummed with his need and shame washed through him. Tears began to accumulate and trail down his cheeks unchecked. Surely the man would know now that Legolas could not be trusted. For the Elf had kept all of this from him, willfully.
It was then, deep in his fear and dismay, that Legolas' sharp ears caught the hint of a whisper of spidersilk against the polished wood. That sound, small as it was, struck him as an arrow through the heart of a deer. The thought that there was an observer to his humiliation and disgrace blazed through him.
His thoughts flew like birds before the hunt, surely Aragorn would not disgrace him so. He could not allow anyone to see him, a Prince of the Greenwood, the son of Thranduil reduced to such straits. He had brought Aragorn to this. His pride had brought himself to this.
And whence now the betrayal, he of Aragorn or Aragorn of him? Didst the man invite a guest to view his shame? Who did watch the Prince of Mirkwood as he lay willing victim to a mere Man of Numénor? The specter of his Father's displeasure rose before him.
Even as Legolas made to rise, he felt the grip about his wrists tighten, grinding the small bones painfully together and eliciting a small, uncontrolled gasp of discomfort. He struggled as the wildfire of passion and fear consumed him. Aragorn's legs shifted beneath him so that one of the Man's legs imprisoned those of the Elf before Legolas could gain purchase on the floor for his escape.
Aragorn's voice thrummed through him. The man's voice was low and dark with some unnamed emotion, "I have not done with you yet, melethron-ne."
Legolas fell limp and helpless across the Man's knees, surrendering entirely. There would be no escape until Aragorn freed him. He allowed each harsh smack to roil through him, the only focus in his confusion. He sobbed his frustration and fear. His body was no longer his own, but commanded by the man he loved. He was helpless in this mix of ecstasy and pain. His body drawn tight and quivering like the string of a drawn bow--needing--desiring release.
At Legolas' surrender, Aragorn gave his burning backside a few more harsh blows, but in his neediness, he did not notice when they became more of a caress. He was unable to stop the small abortive movements of his hips as he wantonly sought the pleasure of fuller contact with the Man's body.
Aragorn released his arms and Legolas allowed them to fall limply, the stinging sensation of blood flowing once more unimpeded through shoulders a much smaller misery in the plethora of sensation surrounding him. His body quivered like a too tightly strung bow, small pleading sounds wavered in the air.
Heat suffused Legolas as Aragorn slid one hand between his legs, fondling the Elf's iron-hot erection.
"Please..." had that small begging sound been him? He gave a convulsive sob. Aragorn tightened his grip around the throbbing pulse of Legolas' sex and stroked firmly.
Fingers flicked across his lips and he opened his mouth, sucking on them avidly, needing to take a part of Aragorn into him, wanting to please him, and needing him so badly.
A dark chuckle wove its way through the heat coursing like wildsong through his flesh, "This is how I like to see you, my prince. Beautiful and needy. Wet with passion and desire. Willing to do aught for me. Who owns you, lirimaer?"
Aragorn's other hand tickled along the shadowed valley between his buttocks and Legolas felt the star-fire of Eärendil gathering in his loins. The Man's dampened fingers pushed gently into his body. But Legolas was so lost, he would have none of it and reared like a stag in heat back against the hand, shoving himself brutally onto the questing fingers.
When Aragorn crooked his fingers and stroked that sweet spot hidden deep within the secret recesses of Legolas' body, it was as if windswept flames leapt and danced across his flesh. The star-fire pulsed in one bright great flash, rushing through his body, heat, as of a fever flushed his aching flesh, a river of molten liquid, like mithril, in its purest form flooded through his body. He rose up and pushed desperately into the hand holding him, pushing backwards against the hand inside him, no longer knowing what he wished for, what he needed only knowing that he needed, mewling his helpless appeal. "Amin mela lle! Saes! Saes! Im-boe le-si!"
Aragorn twisted his fingers within the Elf's vulnerable body, ruthlessly massaging the Elf's pleasure spot. Legolas' entire body reacted as if a wildfire licked at the great roots of the trees of Mirkwood. The Elf's breath came in short panting gasps. A mewling protest twisted anxiously through the air.
The Elf went rigid, arching up on shaky arms and pushing back against the fingers impaling him.
Surely that small voice had not been his? "Elbereth! I burn! I burn! Estel...!" The wailing cry was ripped from him in the pulsing tide as his body shook helplessly, his orgasm exploding from him in a series of waves, leaving him spent and trembling.
Unable to support himself in such an awkward position any longer, Legolas slid to the floor at Aragorn's feet, his hair hung in damp tendrils about his face hiding it from the Man and he rested his head against Aragorn's knee. Soft keening gasps brought air into his starved lungs.
"On the bed, Legolas."
He felt Aragorn stroking his hair, dim in his understanding, he sought to obey the command of his beloved's voice. With Aragorn's aid, he struggled to his feet, near collapsing across the bed.
"I wish to check you for damage, a'maelamin in the center... on all fours."
Hazy thoughts fought to get through the mist sundering his mind as he complied with his only anchor to reality. He positioned himself upon the green silk coverlet as Aragorn decreed. Bringing himself to kneel on all fours, his body still shivering in the aftermath of his pleasure.
He felt the bed dip and move, and Aragorn came up behind him, resting one broad callused palm against the curve of his arse. It branded him as Aragorn's as surely as this night had made him willing slave to the Man.
Aragorn leaned over his back, the heat from the Man's body surging through Legolas. "This will ease the pain, my prince." So saying, Aragorn smoothed a cool healing gel over Legolas' upraised buttocks, causing the Elf to jump and tremble yet again. Then with a surety that left Legolas gasping for air, Aragorn pushed the gel into the dark opening of his cleft.
Sudden fear reared its head within the Elf, as Legolas remembered why this was wrong on so many levels and he tried to twist away. "Arwen?"
The Man grasped Legolas' right hip in a bruising grip. "Do not pull away from me, Legolas." Aragorn growled deep in his chest and pulled the struggling Elf backward into his lap.
When had Aragorn disrobed? He had no memory of this! Legolas' panicked thoughts scattered at the touch of Aragorn's heated shaft against the entrance to his body.
Legolas felt Aragorn's hardness pushing at the opening to his body and reared up, clawing at the air in front of him. And then, suddenly, Aragorn was within him and he was being transfixed upon the throbbing hardness of the man, being owned by him in all thoroughness. "No!"
It hurt. It burned as Aragorn's manhood entered him, ruthlessly refusing withdrawal, conquering inch by inch of the new territory. Legolas felt his entire body quake and mold to fit the Man within himself. Each small push of Aragorn's hips impaled the Elf further. He felt as if he were on the plains of Mordor, all ready, the air burning his lungs as he tried to draw in air.
Aragorn looped one arm in front of Legolas and began to finger, tickle and stroke the flesh between the Elf's thighs to renewed arousal. His breath was hot and moist as it teased against one pointed ear and Legolas cried out in the ecstasy and shame of his need. So filled was he, he writhed against the twining sensations of the man inside of him and without, he almost missed the whispered words against his ear.
Aragorn blew tendrils of hair away from Legolas' nape and whispered in soft kisses against his unprotected neck, "Be at ease, Legolas, I think the Lady may fancy a three-ing." Aragorn nipped the delectable column of Legolas' throat causing the Elf to shudder as if wind-wracked. "Arwen is very fond of you."
With a small movement of his hips, Aragorn forced his cock deep within the Elf's body. Holding Legolas tight against him, he began to thrust slowly and gently, angling his entry so that his cock hit the mysterious center of pleasure with each forward motion, dragging back against the hidden nub causing Legolas to shudder with each withdrawal.
He licked along the column of the Elf's neck, tasting the sweet salt tang of elven sweat, he bit against Legolas' ear, sending lightning flashes of quicksilver racing rapidly through the dazed Elf's blood. Legolas reared in reaction, crying out helplessly as Aragorn pulled him down again into his lap.
In dark honeyed tones, Aragorn whispered against Legolas' ear, sending him into a paroxysm of shudders. Sweet promises and wanton suggestions twined seductively into the Elf's heart and Thranduil's youngest twisted in pleasure sated regard. "Who do you belong to, a'maelamin?"
With each slow, torturous piercing of his flesh, Aragorn demanded an answer. The man's hand swept up and down Legolas' chest, rubbing at his nipples until they were drawn so tight that Legolas thought he would surely fly apart into ecstasy from that touch alone. He let his head fall back onto Aragorn's shoulder, trembling with passion's fire anew as Aragorn claimed his body. His cock throbbed with re-awakened enthusiasm, dancing against his belly and thighs with each sharp stab of Aragorn's manhood deep within his body.
"Will you leave me no dignity?" Legolas barely managed to gasp.
Aragorn punctuated his demand with a savage thrust of his hips, plundering, claiming, branding Legolas as surely as if he burned his name into the Elf's flesh. "Who... do... you... belong... to!"
A soft sob accompanied his capitulation. "You... I am yours... Ai! Saes! Estel... "
At these words, Aragorn's thrusts became more powerful, he pushed Legolas down onto all fours, following him down to lean over the Elf, Aragorn's muscled body covering the Elf's slighter form. Legolas felt the Man grab a shank of his hair and twist, pulling his head back at a painful angle.
Aragorn rode him mercilessly, slamming into him and Legolas gave himself over to the tide of passion. Letting the wash of heat and power surround him and carry him on waves of passion, he felt himself lifted and lifted and lifted... He was flying... flying and mid-flight--the Man bit him, drawing blood. Legolas was poised on the pinnacle... danced along a precipice of sensations, pleasure and pain intertwined until one was the other and both sent him crashing like wild mountain waters over a precipice tumbling head over heels onto the rocks below. And he was lost.
He wailed his own release as Aragorn stiffened, the Man's yell twining with his as the pulse of Aragorn's seed seemed to scald its way deep into his body. Legolas fell, flat, exhausted--a broken child's toy among the disarray of silks and linens covering the bed.
Aragorn's weight rested upon him fully. Legolas drifted between the here and now. His perceptions muddled. So easy to just drift... to let go...
Aragorn drew the Elf into his arms, and Legolas cuddled there, needing the solace and reassurance of his love's strong arms. Legolas shifted restlessly in the Man's arms, looking up at him, questions and fears brimming upon his lips, "Aragorn?"
"Rest now. Do not worry melme... Time enough on the morrow."
From the look upon the ranger's face, Legolas knew that he would get no more from the man, now. Content to wander into the halls of dreaming, he laid his head upon the man's shoulder, thinking--nay hoping--that the morrow would, indeed, sort out this confusing conundrum.
It was long before Legolas' breathing slowed and steadied, the Elf's eyes slowly taking on the empty look of Reverie. Aragorn strummed his fingers through the long, luxurious locks; wiping sweat dampened tendrils tenderly back from Legolas' smooth face.
Aragorn looked up as the bed shifted. Arwen settled herself on Legolas' other side, and a smile of greeting and love quirked his lips.
"Thank you for this gift, melme."
Speaking softly, her voice threaded with her love, "I would not sunder you from that which you love for my own selfish needs. My heart is great enough to give this to you. Nor would I have our happiness cause despair in one so lovely." Arwen smiled at Aragorn, caressing his cheek with two fingers. "And truly, it will be no great sacrifice on my part, he is very beautiful, beloved." The raven-haired beauty reached down to stroke through the soft gold of Legolas' hair. "A Three-ing. Do you think he will agree?"
"I know not, my Lady. You know elven hearts and desires better than I, what do you feel?"
"It is you he loves. It is only a question whether he will follow his heart or the dictates of his Father." Smiling sweetly, Arwen bent to brush a soft kiss upon Legolas' tear-stained cheek. "I think he will join with us. He will accept me only so he may be with you. But I do not think he will begrudge us our joy."
"Among elves, a three-ing, though rare, is not unheard of. The elves will accept him. And in time, his Father will forgive him, for Legolas is full-grown." Aragorn's expression grew grim. "But men? Will he hold the courage to face his doom among the bitterness of men?"
Sighing, Arwen shook her head; "I do not understand Men. Some small role would needs be found for him within the White City's halls, to protect him from the angry tongues that would harm him."
"Does he hear us?" Aragorn took Arwen's hand, still tangled in Legolas' hair and kissed the back of her knuckles reverently.
Arwen touched the Man's stubbled face with a slender fingered hand, cupping his jaw. "I do not know, Estel. It is a matter of whither he walks while in Reverie--how far and how deep. He is aware of us, I think. And most likely will know what we speak."
With an inherent regal grace, Arwen rose from the bed, a teasing smile playing about her lips. "If I did not know that you loved us both, I would be jealous. Yet, I think it best you tarry here, tonight. It would be meet for you to be here when he becomes aware again. I think that he will wish to bolt, like a wild colt from the horse-tamer's corral. Do not lose him, for us, Estel."
Aragorn eased back down onto the bed, pulling Legolas tightly against him. "No fear of that, my lady. Now that we have him, I have no intention of letting him go."
Finis
***********
A'maelamin - beloved
Amin mela lle - I love you
Havo dad - Sit down
Im-boe le-si - I need you now (courtesy of AC)
Lirimaer - lovely one (courtesy AJ Matthews)
Melethron-ne - my love
Saes - please
Sindarin Dictionary Project: http://www.geocities.com/almacq.geo/sindar/index.html
With an economy of motion and a deep breath, Legolas placed himself across Aragorn's lap. Aragorn was of a height, that the Elf found he could not quite kneel fully and he squirmed uncomfortably seeking to situate himself in a less precarious position. Finally he lay still, unsure what to do. Legolas' heart thundered in his chest, crashing against his ribcage like a storm sundered oak. He could feel the firmness of Aragorn's body and his own member leapt and hardened between them.
Concentrating so hard on controlling his body's wayward impulses and the whirl of thoughts conflicting like eddies of opposing streams of water, Legolas started when Aragorn's deep voice brought him abruptly back to himself.
"Cross your wrists behind you, Legolas." The Man's voice almost seemed gentle in the wake of so much grim demand.
A slight trepidation niggled at the corner of the Elf's mind. Tossing his long hair out of his face impatiently, he supported himself upon the edge of the bed with his hands, twisting in Aragorn's lap. He almost fell to the floor in an attempt to glimpse his friend. "I... do... not... " Legolas' voice trailed off as Aragorn's eyes narrowed in suspicion, the Man's mouth thinned in disapproval.
"You have given your consent, Elf Prince. Do you choose to withdraw now?"
"No." The quiet denial felt pulled from his very depths, and turning, Legolas lay face down, once more.
He hesitantly crossed his wrists at the small of his back as if he had been bound so. He started when Aragorn grasped both wrists tightly in one large hand, pulling him back until he felt the strain in his shoulders and his back was slightly arched
Aragorn's scent filled his nostrils, heavy and musk-sweet like a stag in season. He could feel the flex of muscular thighs beneath his abdomen and the strong grasp grinding his wrists lightly together caused his nipples to peak.
The slide of silk across suddenly sensitive nipples was excruciating and a soft gasp puffed from between full lips, his eyes fluttered closed in dismay. He had thought he could do this thing--this penance that Aragorn asked of him to rebuild the trust betwixt them without betraying himself.
He was an Elf, after all, and though young for his kind, he had many more years' experience than this mortal man. He failed to take into account that he was as a youth in love, having never given his heart before and so found himself trembling like a leaf in the chill autumn winds of Mirkwood
"Aragorn?" He was unable to keep a light quaver from his voice as his body reacted to the close proximity of this mortal man who held his heart unknowing. He had thought he could control his reactions to him, yet his body did betray him. His member swelled and throbbed tellingly against the thigh he lay across and Legolas felt himself burn with humiliation.
Twisting his wrists Legolas tried Aragorn's grip and found it firm, and though easily he could break free, he knew to do so would be a second betrayal of trust from which, perhaps, there could be no forgiveness.
"Lay you still unless I give leave to move, my friend." Aragorn's command, though spoken quietly, had the effect of a shout and Legolas stilled instantly, taking small rapid breaths through his mouth.
A sense of shifting, and lifting, and he felt Aragorn's fingers lightly brush against the curve of his buttocks as he lifted the tunic to expose the round curve of his arse. A hitched breath shuddered through Legolas as he struggled to remain still and control his recalcitrant body.
Then the Elf felt the smooth soft material of his leggings slide slowly down his buttocks to mid-thigh, leaving him exposed most vulnerably. Even the tips of Legolas' ears burned, and he could not but jump when Aragorn lay his sword-callused palm against the ripe swell of his buttocks, his thumb brushing lightly along the shadowed crevice.
Unable to control an inadvertent surge for freedom, he fought to stand, only to find there was little purchase in his current position.
"It is too late, Legolas, to gainsay your word, lest you would breach trust, again."
Legolas could have sobbed his anguish and frustration, his blood rushed through him so quickly he felt dizzy and lying upended and exposed across the Man's strong thighs did him no little good either. He shifted restlessly in Aragorn's unforgiving grip, sending an entreaty to Elbereth that whatever penance the Man chose to exact that he would do so and quickly!
The heat of Aragorn's palm was like a brand, burning wildly through his body, leaving him shivering and weak in anticipation. Caught up as he was in the startling sensation of the Dunédan's thumb caressing the border betwixt the cheeks of his buttocks, Legolas was totally unprepared for the first blow.
Though of itsElf, the blow was not unduly painful, still the stinging slap of Aragorn's hand across his unprotected backside elicited a startled yelp. Biting his lip, to prevent any further shaming of himself, Legolas had little time to gather his scattered composure.
Aragorn swiftly followed the first blow with several more heavy-handed slaps in the exact spot, until Legolas thought his arse must needs be bruised. Without warning, Aragorn changed the pattern of blows, raining sharp, quick smacks about Legolas' buttocks. He moved lower, peppering the Elf's upper thighs until Legolas thought his entire backside from the tops of his legs up were a matching blaze for the raging emotions roiling through him like a forest fire.
Small gasps were beginning to escape him at each branding impact of hand against tender flesh. He could not contain a small cry as his flesh heated beneath the assault. Aragorn surrounded him. The musk-filled woods scent of the ranger assailed his nostrils, the Man's thighs flexed beneath Legolas' weak struggles.
Aragorn kept his arms pulled taut, leaving him arched painfully and unable to wiggle away from the worst of the blows. Legolas was sure the burning of his face must match in color the heat of his buttocks and he twisted his head away, letting fall a curtain of silken hair to hide his dismayed features from the man's scrutiny.
The very force of Aragorn's mastery sung through him, sending his sex rigid and weeping with need. A small mewling sound of dismay mixed pleasure forced its way past his lips as his body betrayed him. How could he have lived two centuries without knowing this about himself?
How could the fierceness of Aragorn's commands sing through him like wildfire, sending every nerve ablaze and quivering for the next fall of his hand? Did he truly enjoy being hurt and humiliated thusly? How could this be? How could he have not known how he would quake and quiver before the power and beauty of Isildur's heir? How could he know that his wayward body sought such pleasures even in pain? Or were it pain in such pleasure?
Was it merely that it was Aragorn commanding his obedience? Demanding his surrender and submission, touching him, finally, if only in this way?
He writhed upon the man's lap, the pulse of his cock like the beating of his blood, rushing like the Falls of Rauros. A small whimper led to another cry and then he could no longer hold back the soft sighs and moans and pleading sobs.
Legolas body betrayed him fully, his hips rose towards each blow begging for the next. And would fall to grind his needy organ against the man's thigh as if the Elf were a wild animal in heat. His body thrummed with his need and shame washed through him. Tears began to accumulate and trail down his cheeks unchecked. Surely the man would know now that Legolas could not be trusted. For the Elf had kept all of this from him, willfully.
It was then, deep in his fear and dismay, that Legolas' sharp ears caught the hint of a whisper of spidersilk against the polished wood. That sound, small as it was, struck him as an arrow through the heart of a deer. The thought that there was an observer to his humiliation and disgrace blazed through him.
His thoughts flew like birds before the hunt, surely Aragorn would not disgrace him so. He could not allow anyone to see him, a Prince of the Greenwood, the son of Thranduil reduced to such straits. He had brought Aragorn to this. His pride had brought himself to this.
And whence now the betrayal, he of Aragorn or Aragorn of him? Didst the man invite a guest to view his shame? Who did watch the Prince of Mirkwood as he lay willing victim to a mere Man of Numénor? The specter of his Father's displeasure rose before him.
Even as Legolas made to rise, he felt the grip about his wrists tighten, grinding the small bones painfully together and eliciting a small, uncontrolled gasp of discomfort. He struggled as the wildfire of passion and fear consumed him. Aragorn's legs shifted beneath him so that one of the Man's legs imprisoned those of the Elf before Legolas could gain purchase on the floor for his escape.
Aragorn's voice thrummed through him. The man's voice was low and dark with some unnamed emotion, "I have not done with you yet, melethron-ne."
Legolas fell limp and helpless across the Man's knees, surrendering entirely. There would be no escape until Aragorn freed him. He allowed each harsh smack to roil through him, the only focus in his confusion. He sobbed his frustration and fear. His body was no longer his own, but commanded by the man he loved. He was helpless in this mix of ecstasy and pain. His body drawn tight and quivering like the string of a drawn bow--needing--desiring release.
At Legolas' surrender, Aragorn gave his burning backside a few more harsh blows, but in his neediness, he did not notice when they became more of a caress. He was unable to stop the small abortive movements of his hips as he wantonly sought the pleasure of fuller contact with the Man's body.
Aragorn released his arms and Legolas allowed them to fall limply, the stinging sensation of blood flowing once more unimpeded through shoulders a much smaller misery in the plethora of sensation surrounding him. His body quivered like a too tightly strung bow, small pleading sounds wavered in the air.
Heat suffused Legolas as Aragorn slid one hand between his legs, fondling the Elf's iron-hot erection.
"Please..." had that small begging sound been him? He gave a convulsive sob. Aragorn tightened his grip around the throbbing pulse of Legolas' sex and stroked firmly.
Fingers flicked across his lips and he opened his mouth, sucking on them avidly, needing to take a part of Aragorn into him, wanting to please him, and needing him so badly.
A dark chuckle wove its way through the heat coursing like wildsong through his flesh, "This is how I like to see you, my prince. Beautiful and needy. Wet with passion and desire. Willing to do aught for me. Who owns you, lirimaer?"
Aragorn's other hand tickled along the shadowed valley between his buttocks and Legolas felt the star-fire of Eärendil gathering in his loins. The Man's dampened fingers pushed gently into his body. But Legolas was so lost, he would have none of it and reared like a stag in heat back against the hand, shoving himself brutally onto the questing fingers.
When Aragorn crooked his fingers and stroked that sweet spot hidden deep within the secret recesses of Legolas' body, it was as if windswept flames leapt and danced across his flesh. The star-fire pulsed in one bright great flash, rushing through his body, heat, as of a fever flushed his aching flesh, a river of molten liquid, like mithril, in its purest form flooded through his body. He rose up and pushed desperately into the hand holding him, pushing backwards against the hand inside him, no longer knowing what he wished for, what he needed only knowing that he needed, mewling his helpless appeal. "Amin mela lle! Saes! Saes! Im-boe le-si!"
Aragorn twisted his fingers within the Elf's vulnerable body, ruthlessly massaging the Elf's pleasure spot. Legolas' entire body reacted as if a wildfire licked at the great roots of the trees of Mirkwood. The Elf's breath came in short panting gasps. A mewling protest twisted anxiously through the air.
The Elf went rigid, arching up on shaky arms and pushing back against the fingers impaling him.
Surely that small voice had not been his? "Elbereth! I burn! I burn! Estel...!" The wailing cry was ripped from him in the pulsing tide as his body shook helplessly, his orgasm exploding from him in a series of waves, leaving him spent and trembling.
Unable to support himself in such an awkward position any longer, Legolas slid to the floor at Aragorn's feet, his hair hung in damp tendrils about his face hiding it from the Man and he rested his head against Aragorn's knee. Soft keening gasps brought air into his starved lungs.
"On the bed, Legolas."
He felt Aragorn stroking his hair, dim in his understanding, he sought to obey the command of his beloved's voice. With Aragorn's aid, he struggled to his feet, near collapsing across the bed.
"I wish to check you for damage, a'maelamin in the center... on all fours."
Hazy thoughts fought to get through the mist sundering his mind as he complied with his only anchor to reality. He positioned himself upon the green silk coverlet as Aragorn decreed. Bringing himself to kneel on all fours, his body still shivering in the aftermath of his pleasure.
He felt the bed dip and move, and Aragorn came up behind him, resting one broad callused palm against the curve of his arse. It branded him as Aragorn's as surely as this night had made him willing slave to the Man.
Aragorn leaned over his back, the heat from the Man's body surging through Legolas. "This will ease the pain, my prince." So saying, Aragorn smoothed a cool healing gel over Legolas' upraised buttocks, causing the Elf to jump and tremble yet again. Then with a surety that left Legolas gasping for air, Aragorn pushed the gel into the dark opening of his cleft.
Sudden fear reared its head within the Elf, as Legolas remembered why this was wrong on so many levels and he tried to twist away. "Arwen?"
The Man grasped Legolas' right hip in a bruising grip. "Do not pull away from me, Legolas." Aragorn growled deep in his chest and pulled the struggling Elf backward into his lap.
When had Aragorn disrobed? He had no memory of this! Legolas' panicked thoughts scattered at the touch of Aragorn's heated shaft against the entrance to his body.
Legolas felt Aragorn's hardness pushing at the opening to his body and reared up, clawing at the air in front of him. And then, suddenly, Aragorn was within him and he was being transfixed upon the throbbing hardness of the man, being owned by him in all thoroughness. "No!"
It hurt. It burned as Aragorn's manhood entered him, ruthlessly refusing withdrawal, conquering inch by inch of the new territory. Legolas felt his entire body quake and mold to fit the Man within himself. Each small push of Aragorn's hips impaled the Elf further. He felt as if he were on the plains of Mordor, all ready, the air burning his lungs as he tried to draw in air.
Aragorn looped one arm in front of Legolas and began to finger, tickle and stroke the flesh between the Elf's thighs to renewed arousal. His breath was hot and moist as it teased against one pointed ear and Legolas cried out in the ecstasy and shame of his need. So filled was he, he writhed against the twining sensations of the man inside of him and without, he almost missed the whispered words against his ear.
Aragorn blew tendrils of hair away from Legolas' nape and whispered in soft kisses against his unprotected neck, "Be at ease, Legolas, I think the Lady may fancy a three-ing." Aragorn nipped the delectable column of Legolas' throat causing the Elf to shudder as if wind-wracked. "Arwen is very fond of you."
With a small movement of his hips, Aragorn forced his cock deep within the Elf's body. Holding Legolas tight against him, he began to thrust slowly and gently, angling his entry so that his cock hit the mysterious center of pleasure with each forward motion, dragging back against the hidden nub causing Legolas to shudder with each withdrawal.
He licked along the column of the Elf's neck, tasting the sweet salt tang of elven sweat, he bit against Legolas' ear, sending lightning flashes of quicksilver racing rapidly through the dazed Elf's blood. Legolas reared in reaction, crying out helplessly as Aragorn pulled him down again into his lap.
In dark honeyed tones, Aragorn whispered against Legolas' ear, sending him into a paroxysm of shudders. Sweet promises and wanton suggestions twined seductively into the Elf's heart and Thranduil's youngest twisted in pleasure sated regard. "Who do you belong to, a'maelamin?"
With each slow, torturous piercing of his flesh, Aragorn demanded an answer. The man's hand swept up and down Legolas' chest, rubbing at his nipples until they were drawn so tight that Legolas thought he would surely fly apart into ecstasy from that touch alone. He let his head fall back onto Aragorn's shoulder, trembling with passion's fire anew as Aragorn claimed his body. His cock throbbed with re-awakened enthusiasm, dancing against his belly and thighs with each sharp stab of Aragorn's manhood deep within his body.
"Will you leave me no dignity?" Legolas barely managed to gasp.
Aragorn punctuated his demand with a savage thrust of his hips, plundering, claiming, branding Legolas as surely as if he burned his name into the Elf's flesh. "Who... do... you... belong... to!"
A soft sob accompanied his capitulation. "You... I am yours... Ai! Saes! Estel... "
At these words, Aragorn's thrusts became more powerful, he pushed Legolas down onto all fours, following him down to lean over the Elf, Aragorn's muscled body covering the Elf's slighter form. Legolas felt the Man grab a shank of his hair and twist, pulling his head back at a painful angle.
Aragorn rode him mercilessly, slamming into him and Legolas gave himself over to the tide of passion. Letting the wash of heat and power surround him and carry him on waves of passion, he felt himself lifted and lifted and lifted... He was flying... flying and mid-flight--the Man bit him, drawing blood. Legolas was poised on the pinnacle... danced along a precipice of sensations, pleasure and pain intertwined until one was the other and both sent him crashing like wild mountain waters over a precipice tumbling head over heels onto the rocks below. And he was lost.
He wailed his own release as Aragorn stiffened, the Man's yell twining with his as the pulse of Aragorn's seed seemed to scald its way deep into his body. Legolas fell, flat, exhausted--a broken child's toy among the disarray of silks and linens covering the bed.
Aragorn's weight rested upon him fully. Legolas drifted between the here and now. His perceptions muddled. So easy to just drift... to let go...
Aragorn drew the Elf into his arms, and Legolas cuddled there, needing the solace and reassurance of his love's strong arms. Legolas shifted restlessly in the Man's arms, looking up at him, questions and fears brimming upon his lips, "Aragorn?"
"Rest now. Do not worry melme... Time enough on the morrow."
From the look upon the ranger's face, Legolas knew that he would get no more from the man, now. Content to wander into the halls of dreaming, he laid his head upon the man's shoulder, thinking--nay hoping--that the morrow would, indeed, sort out this confusing conundrum.
It was long before Legolas' breathing slowed and steadied, the Elf's eyes slowly taking on the empty look of Reverie. Aragorn strummed his fingers through the long, luxurious locks; wiping sweat dampened tendrils tenderly back from Legolas' smooth face.
Aragorn looked up as the bed shifted. Arwen settled herself on Legolas' other side, and a smile of greeting and love quirked his lips.
"Thank you for this gift, melme."
Speaking softly, her voice threaded with her love, "I would not sunder you from that which you love for my own selfish needs. My heart is great enough to give this to you. Nor would I have our happiness cause despair in one so lovely." Arwen smiled at Aragorn, caressing his cheek with two fingers. "And truly, it will be no great sacrifice on my part, he is very beautiful, beloved." The raven-haired beauty reached down to stroke through the soft gold of Legolas' hair. "A Three-ing. Do you think he will agree?"
"I know not, my Lady. You know elven hearts and desires better than I, what do you feel?"
"It is you he loves. It is only a question whether he will follow his heart or the dictates of his Father." Smiling sweetly, Arwen bent to brush a soft kiss upon Legolas' tear-stained cheek. "I think he will join with us. He will accept me only so he may be with you. But I do not think he will begrudge us our joy."
"Among elves, a three-ing, though rare, is not unheard of. The elves will accept him. And in time, his Father will forgive him, for Legolas is full-grown." Aragorn's expression grew grim. "But men? Will he hold the courage to face his doom among the bitterness of men?"
Sighing, Arwen shook her head; "I do not understand Men. Some small role would needs be found for him within the White City's halls, to protect him from the angry tongues that would harm him."
"Does he hear us?" Aragorn took Arwen's hand, still tangled in Legolas' hair and kissed the back of her knuckles reverently.
Arwen touched the Man's stubbled face with a slender fingered hand, cupping his jaw. "I do not know, Estel. It is a matter of whither he walks while in Reverie--how far and how deep. He is aware of us, I think. And most likely will know what we speak."
With an inherent regal grace, Arwen rose from the bed, a teasing smile playing about her lips. "If I did not know that you loved us both, I would be jealous. Yet, I think it best you tarry here, tonight. It would be meet for you to be here when he becomes aware again. I think that he will wish to bolt, like a wild colt from the horse-tamer's corral. Do not lose him, for us, Estel."
Aragorn eased back down onto the bed, pulling Legolas tightly against him. "No fear of that, my lady. Now that we have him, I have no intention of letting him go."
Finis
***********
A'maelamin - beloved
Amin mela lle - I love you
Havo dad - Sit down
Im-boe le-si - I need you now (courtesy of AC)
Lirimaer - lovely one (courtesy AJ Matthews)
Melethron-ne - my love
Saes - please
Sindarin Dictionary Project: http://www.geocities.com/almacq.geo/sindar/index.html