Bronze Rusts

Part 1/1

By Minnow in the Clouds

Disclaimer: Still don't own anything, aside from a whole bunch of Strider bookmarks and the appropriately sexy figurine. I don't even own the flaming RIGHTS to these things, nor anything that spawned from the mind of their genius creator; I make no profit in this sad attempt of a story, so suing would be a foolish waste of your time.

Warning: This is an R-Rated SLASH story meaning it contains a pair of graphic relationships between two consenting MALES of DIFFERENT SPECIES. (I have put important parts in capital letters to idiot-proof that) There is also innuendo surrounding a Boromir/Aragorn relationship.

Feedback: I really appreciate feedback, including criticism. I don't have much time to reply to it within a short period of time but eventually I *do* reply to it, I promise!

Additional notes: Enjoy. As always, I wish there was something I could do to considerably improve the quality of this story for all you wonderful readers-I'm sure that if I racked my brain and thesaurus I could develop a much more noteworthy piece…A thousand apologies for the thousand imperfections. Also: I know that bronze doesn't actually rust, it oxidates, but 'Bronze Oxidates' seemed like a horribly ugly title; thus, I modified reality slightly. Sorry for other science geeks having ulcers because of this.

Legolas couldn't find the energy within himself to do more than whimper his lover's name, submissively splayed on the balcony below him. Questing hands devoured his skin with gentle sweeps, the barest of touches undoing him faster than he remembered ever having been undone. Wickedly Aragorn grinned, sliding the callused tip of his thumb around Legolas' bellybutton.

All the Elf could do was roll back his head, hair falling out of position into a ripple of glimmering, golden perfection behind his head. A series of exquisite moans fell from his lips, and for a moment Aragorn could barely keep himself from being teasingly gentle. He paused, using the heel of his hand to lower the Elf slowly back to the floor where he lay, rolling his head from side to side, quivering.

Aragorn took advantage of the vulnerability to bow forward, skillfully drawing his tongue up Legolas' exposed right ear. Beneath his weight he could feel the Elf shiver, calling hoarsely out loud enough to wake anybody in a nearby room. Ignoring the weight crushing the breath from his body, Legolas arched off the floor, running his fingertips down the beautiful chest of the man above him, merging them with the softness of the coils of hair there.

"Gods, Legoals," Aragorn breathed, shuddering immediately at the feel of such fingertips against his flesh. Legolas trembled beneath Aragorn, rolling his head back. Lips spread, he managed to breathe the syllables of Aragorn's name, both in Elvish then Westron. Aragorn nearly crumpled in passion, but instead leaned forward and melted his lips against the beautiful, unsuspecting ones of his Legolas.

Their lips moved together as they had a thousand times, yet Aragorn couldn't help but feel the painful heat that spread over his body each time their lips met; tongues swirled against lips, tentative, before moving into one mouth or the other in desperate, uncoordinated movements of dominance. Legolas hands suddenly fled behind Aragorn's head, holding him in place.

When their lips broke apart, they rested with their brows touching, both flushed and smiling, neither of them needing to speak words of endearment as it clearly resonated through their shared, close gaze. Aragorn sat up, his lips still tingling with the feel of the Elf below him, and straddled Legolas' lithe hips carefully.

He drank in the Elf's body with his eyes, memorizing each detail as he did so many lands, so many plants and animals with all the care in the world; aside from them, Legolas was the only passion in his life, the only thing he loved now far beyond his own life and the only love he knew would stay with him beyond it.

He slowly sucked on his fingers, before moving them against his Elf, preparing him with nothing but gentleness. Sweating and moaning heatedly below him, Legolas could only arch against the members, impatiently gyrating his hips in encouragement. Despite the change of scenery from the usual gardens and beds they shared, the Elf and the Man moved with searing passion, battling with sweating palms over heaving chests as Aragorn arched over top of his Elf, moving faster and faster still at the yelled begging of his Elf. On the summit of passion they yelled out, two bodies voicing as one, and fell asleep in each other's straining, desperate grasp.

There wasn't a moment in Moria where Legolas wasn't tempted to weep; a combination of the oppressive stone seemingly closing in about him, both spiritually and physically and the fierce realisation that he no longer had the arms of his Aragorn to comfort him. They had made time for each other during previous nights, but about a week ago, Aragorn let his defenses drop, and Legolas could hear both he and Boromir from afar, compromising their unmistakable rivalry for low moans, rough movements, followed by words of endearment. That night, Aragorn had fallen asleep clinging to Legolas' shoulders, but it was clear to the motionless Elf that his mind dwelt not on the submissive Golden being he could possess forever, but on earthen, Bronzed skin of a cruel, dominant man.

Legolas distanced himself from both Aragorn and Boromir, throwing longing looks over his shoulder continually during the day towards the man. Many times Aragorn had attempted to approach his Elf, make some sort of contact-whether it be with their familiar affection, or the soldierly one that Legolas thought the man had reserved for Boromir. Every time, Legolas would make excuses beneath his breath, retreat away from Aragorn and occupy himself with polishing his bow, clipping the fletching of his arrows, talking animatedly with Pippin or Sam.

Once, Boromir awoke Legolas for his watch with the cruelest grin that Legolas thought he had ever witnessed. Rubbing his temple, he asked in a murmur if Boromir had not been awoken early and opened his eyes to Aragorn redressing quickly, blushing and averting his eyes from Legolas. Boromir slunk off to his bedroll, while Aragorn came, barechested, over to Legolas.

The Elf leapt to his feet, retreating against one of the rock walls. "Aragorn," he said with a quivering voice, wincing at the pathetic noise coming from his own lips. Tears weighted his eyes, but the blonde didn't even have the resolve to battle them down. Brow furrowed, he glared at Aragorn with heat he remembered, though this fiery gaze based on a more primal emotion; hate. Though Legolas' heart wished him to embrace the man, kiss his neck as he had loved at tell him that as long as he was happy, Legolas was too.

But he couldn't; the rest of his form was completely overwhelmed by paralyzing jealousy. Legolas longed to strike the man in the gut, at least give the man a taste of the pain the Elf felt. It was as though some parasite ate away at Legolas stomach and heart, unstoppable and deep within. Legolas closed his eyes over the flaming hatred, and allowed the moisture that welled within to stream down his high cheekbones, collect at his chin.

"Gods, Legolas, I-" Aragorn said quickly, his voice choked. He reached forward, his entire being set on comforting this vulnerable creature, cupping the cheek that housed these hideously beautiful tears and kissing them away from the shuddering eyelids. Suddenly, a crushing weight grabbed about his wrist, and on impulse the man called out briefly in pain. He could feel his bones grind together beneath the untrembling grasp of the Elf he formerly possessed, and winced.

"Don't touch me," Legolas hissed with complete hostility. He had opened his eyes again, but lost the hatred and the sweltering anger; instead, his emotions had been replaced by a broken sense of betrayal, absolute despair that he had wasted so much of his love on a being so brazenly unfaithful.

"Legolas! I never meant for-I mean, he approached me, I-"

"Don't you understand, Aragorn? I don't care about you. You broke our oath; years ago you bound yourself to me, by body and heart! Don't you get it? I will never love another; you denied me that!" He sobbed softly, crumpling to the ground, and quickly hugging his legs against his chest, shaking his head vehemently in denial. "I can't! There's only you! You-you slime!"

Aragorn closed his eyes, sighing deeply, though his voice wavered. "Legolas, I know, I know…but it would have happened anyway…" Aragorn trailed, his voice catching in his throat. Something tangible was eating away at his will-he had been determined to approach the Elf and tell him, cruel as he might sound, that he removed the elf from his bounds; but the Elf had spoken first, and a mad guilt descended over Isildur's heir.

"For you," the Elf continued dully. He had lost the edge in his voice, as though he had been sharpening a blade so fiercely it had broken clear off. His gaze fell onto the rocky ground, closing his eyes over the menacing tears obstructing his view. "You would have moved on-I was just another toy…But I did love you. I do," Legolas pressed, practically begging for the Man's affections, if even just in the brotherly way they had once known.

Aragorn shook his head slowly, whispering Legolas name as naturally as though it came with his breath. Once, they had been able to undo the other with the simple utterance of their title, in no matter what nickname or language they spoke it. Now, Legolas' speak of Aragorn's name cut him as a material weapon and Aragorn's desperate whisper of the Elf's title came as a mournful sob from so deep in his chest the man felt that the word was spoken from his very heart. "Legolas, saes," the man pleaded.

Legolas pressed his forehead into the curve between his knees, shoulders twitching with his unsteady breaths. He hit his brow repeatedly against one of his kneecaps, wincing and sobbing quietly with each movement. "No, no, no, Aragorn," he pleaded. "I need you, please! Don't do this, he doesn't love you! He's using you! Please! I give you everything…Do you know what's that like, being on the receiving end of everything you do, pain, pleasure, happiness, sadness… When you despair at night does he hold you, give himself to you?" Legolas rested his chin on his knee, rocking back and forth in an indescribably infantile way. "He doesn't need you! He just needs somebody!"

"Gold is not always fairer than bronze," said Aragorn sturdily, glancing towards Boromir's bedroll. Legolas shook his head as though his life depended on it, a jerky, continuous movement that made Aragorn believe if the Elf stopped he would die. Strider twisted on heel, and walked back towards the bedspread he had lain next to Boromir's. He hesitated, casting a glance over his shoulder. Cruelty and malice were so sharply twined into his word that for a moment, Legolas' senses deceived him and he believed it was Boromir who spoke; "Compose yourself, Elf. It is your watch."

That night, Aragorn's dreams were wrenched with guilt, and a slideshow of memories that somehow his brain had placed in a chronological order. The brotherly companionship he had shared with an elf, escalating into a shy relationship initiated by Aragorn, weaving itself into a tapestry stronger than steel built strictly on passion and love, two beings bound and resplendent in their togetherness.

The endless nights of shy, gentle lovemaking and violent passion where neither could control themselves or the other, hands brutal and lips bruising yet still, in a way Aragorn couldn't hope to understand, devotedly loving. Whispers under moonlight in gardens, promises of altars and flowers and forever, or screams initiated by a seamless fuse of unconditional pain and excruciating pleasure inaugurated by fierce lips and fingers.

It was the culmination of everything beautiful in the world; it was Gold and perfection that blended with the untamed tan of mortality and yet the two couldn't be distinguished in more than appearance. They were of one spirit, and Aragorn forsook that for a petty chance at bronze, a glimpse at his species and his humanly nobility when everything noble was already under his hands, submissive and unlimited in his love.

The following night Aragorn drew away from his bedroll, gracefully lying himself against the Elf he knew so well. Even in his sleep, Legolas recognised the body he had so easily spooned with endless nights, stomach to back, and arched against the russet fur and warm muscles of the man's chest and abdomen. Aragorn draped an arm over Legolas' lithe shoulders, waking him with a slow touch of lips along the line of his cheekbone, a gentle swirl of his tongue against the tip of the Elf's ear.

Legolas started, his eyes no longer unseeing and his body no longer relaxed in Aragorn's mindful embrace. Without looking back, he knew whom it was that held him; the dull scent of sweat and clay was as clear an identification of the man as looking him flat out in the face. No matter how much he battled with himself in his mind, Legolas couldn't bring his body to arch away from the warmth of the arms that held him. How he'd missed this! How he had longed to be trapped by this man to assure him that there would still be trees beyond these bitter mines, still be life.

"Legolas," Aragorn began, cautiously moving one hand to blindly sculpt Legolas' collarbone with his palm, hand trembling atop the well-known flesh. Legolas dropped his eyes closed, listening as Aragorn slowly undid the first clasp of the tunic he slept in, immediately stroking at the exposed flesh. "I'm sorry. Boromir, and me-we're nothing more than a fling,"

"You wanted him forever," Legolas breathed, his will melting as Aragorn touched him like he used to. His tunic undone, Aragorn carefully tugged Legolas' slender arm from the obstructive sleeves. The Elf broke contact with the man long enough for Aragorn to pull the clothing from the Elf's chest, before nestling against his man's chest once again. Wasting no time, Aragorn stroked the Elf's chest, toying with the Elf's nipples between his finger and thumb, relentlessly until the Elf gasped and rolled his head back onto Aragorn's shoulder.

"No, I wanted common grounds," Aragorn breathed. It was impossible to keep his concentration when he was allowed to caress this Elf, when some heavenly force allowed his eyes to look over the quaking body as he manipulated it without reserve. Eyelids fluttering, Legolas was the definition of sensual, rubbing himself backwards against Aragorn's bare flesh.

Aragorn's hand strayed to the muscular plane of Legolas' stomach, rubbing soft circles into the flesh as he learned Legolas loved. "You no longer crave familiarity?" Legolas questioned softly, rolling his head erotically in the crook of Aragorn's neck, slender fingers grappling back to take hold of Aragorn's other hand, squeezing it for grounding. Aragorn's tongue dabbled with Legolas' ear, preceding hungrily taking the peak of the flesh in to his lips, rubbing it with the tender flesh before sucking brutally on it.

"You are familiar to me."

"Aragorn!" spluttered the Elf, unintentionally more loudly than he meant. He settled against Aragorn's movements, arching appropriately when the man's fingers asked it, shifting his weight or rotating his hips, drawing his legs up as Aragorn's fingers found his entrance below his bedroll, massaging the furrowed hole before tenderly edging within it.

"I wanted a chance with Bronze," repeated Aragorn, closing his eyes at the insatiable feel of Legolas' warmth on his hand, sliding another finger within the Elf and earning himself a pleased shudder from the creature. "But I discovered something in my thoughts, Legolas," he breathed, touching the Elf's chin with his lips, kissing the closed eyelids, and then the dazzling smile that creased over Legolas' jaw, drawing tears to Aragorn's eyes.

"What?" breathed the Elf, voice choked with emotion and his wavering self-control, as Aragorn slowly began to spiral his fingers. "What did you discover, mela?"

Aragorn slid a third finger within his elf, and the creature jerked unsteadily. A heavy, emotional moan spouted from his lips, overcome a moment by tremors. Aragorn nuzzled the creases from his Elf's brow, and slowly the Elf opened his eyes as if on cue. Like so many times before, the two stared eye to eye, but this time Aragorn did speak; slowly, meaningfully. "I discovered that Bronze rusts; my lust for Bronze disappears while Bronze becomes no longer appealing, but just as every other metal. But Gold," Aragorn said, touching the Elf from within in a way that made the Elf curl up only more, piercing himself backwards on Aragorn's fingers. "Gold, my love, is eternal."

Author's Notes 2: Hope you enjoyed that (wrinkles her nose) though I don't really see the possibility…Again, I apologize for the scientific irregularity there, and hope that the story did justice to what I did…

~ Christ, you know it's not easy, you know how hard it can be; the way things are going, they're gonna crucify me.~