Aragorn looked at himself in the floor length mirror in Arwen's chamber.
The mirror had a delicate metalwork border which, like the décor of the whole room, spoke of graceful, natural femininity.
Aragorn had waited until he knew Arwen would be out of the way for several hours, in a meeting with her father.
Then he had crept into her room, where he was admiring the beautiful elven craftwork and general good taste.
But mostly, he was admiring himself in the mirror.
He had finally taken the bath everyone had been on at him to take for so long, so his hair was no longer tangled and dirty, but instead it was clean and shiny.
He turned his head to the side to admire his strong jaw and masculine profile. He parted his lips and moistened them with his tongue.
Then he stood squarely, looking himself up and down, and smoothed the dress around his hips.
It was made from a light silk, coloured deep purple except for the lilac lace around the neck and the ends of the sleeves, and a delicate silver chain around the waist. It was quite low cut, and Aragorn rubbed his palm against his chest with a satisfied smile on his face.
He put is hands on his hips to enjoy the way the flaring bell sleeves fell to below his knees. He then put one leg out in front of him and pointed his toes (he had not been able to find any shoes to fit him).
He was just running his hand through the newly clean hair when he heard a noise. He turned to the source of it, and saw Arwen standing in the doorway. His mouth was full of half-formed explanations and apologies as she closed the door gently behind her and approached him. The expression on her face was unreadable as she placed one finger to his lips and with her other hand gently closed his eyes.
Aragorn stood there motionless, eyes closed. He didn't know what she was doing - she could have been going to fetch Elrond that very minute.
He heard nothing for a few moments, and then he felt her right in front of him, kissing him, arms everywhere.
As she stepped back, Aragorn opened his eyes.
He was thrown for a moment, wondering who the pretty elf-boy in front of him was. Then he realised it was Arwen - she had tied her hair back, put on a loose-fitting white shirt, boots and tight, tight breeches.
Aragorn looked at her, a thousand questions on his lips . . .but he got time to utter none of them as he returned her kiss, gently at first but with increasing force.
Arwen tangled her fingers in his hair and kissed him aggressively and possessively.
His thoughts were in turmoil - why was he finding all this gender-bending so arousing?! He held on to Arwen waist with one hand, moving the other up inside her shirt. He had to check himself when he found he was cupping a soft breast - he had to remind himself that this was a woman he was kissing.
He slipped both hands under shirt round to her back and held her to him. He began to kiss her neck in a gentle, loving fashion.
Any spectators (although there were none) would, for all the world, have seen a woman resting her head on the shoulder of her lover.
Arwen had become passive, but soon remembered her ferocity as she pushed him down onto the bed, straddling him and half scratching, half massaging his chest were it was bared by the low cut dress. In all the time he had known her, Aragorn had never seen such passion in her eyes.
She flipped him over and began to undo the buttons on the purple dress. Aragorn found he liked the sensation of lying with his face buried in a pillow while someone else did all the work.
Arwen pulled off the dress and dropped it on the floor, oblivious to everything but her newly rediscovered passion for Aragorn.
* * *
After about an hour and a half (the best hour and a half of Aragorn's life, but one in which he had to constantly remind himself he was NOT fucking a pretty elf-boy, but an elf-maid), Arwen suddenly pulled away, remembering the council they were both meant to attend that afternoon, about the fate of the ring.
They both dressed swiftly in clothes of the socially acceptable gender and raced to the council of Elrond.
And all the time that he was there, debating how the ring was to be dealt with, Aragorn felt his gaze inexplicably drawn towards a pretty elf-boy called Legolas.
The mirror had a delicate metalwork border which, like the décor of the whole room, spoke of graceful, natural femininity.
Aragorn had waited until he knew Arwen would be out of the way for several hours, in a meeting with her father.
Then he had crept into her room, where he was admiring the beautiful elven craftwork and general good taste.
But mostly, he was admiring himself in the mirror.
He had finally taken the bath everyone had been on at him to take for so long, so his hair was no longer tangled and dirty, but instead it was clean and shiny.
He turned his head to the side to admire his strong jaw and masculine profile. He parted his lips and moistened them with his tongue.
Then he stood squarely, looking himself up and down, and smoothed the dress around his hips.
It was made from a light silk, coloured deep purple except for the lilac lace around the neck and the ends of the sleeves, and a delicate silver chain around the waist. It was quite low cut, and Aragorn rubbed his palm against his chest with a satisfied smile on his face.
He put is hands on his hips to enjoy the way the flaring bell sleeves fell to below his knees. He then put one leg out in front of him and pointed his toes (he had not been able to find any shoes to fit him).
He was just running his hand through the newly clean hair when he heard a noise. He turned to the source of it, and saw Arwen standing in the doorway. His mouth was full of half-formed explanations and apologies as she closed the door gently behind her and approached him. The expression on her face was unreadable as she placed one finger to his lips and with her other hand gently closed his eyes.
Aragorn stood there motionless, eyes closed. He didn't know what she was doing - she could have been going to fetch Elrond that very minute.
He heard nothing for a few moments, and then he felt her right in front of him, kissing him, arms everywhere.
As she stepped back, Aragorn opened his eyes.
He was thrown for a moment, wondering who the pretty elf-boy in front of him was. Then he realised it was Arwen - she had tied her hair back, put on a loose-fitting white shirt, boots and tight, tight breeches.
Aragorn looked at her, a thousand questions on his lips . . .but he got time to utter none of them as he returned her kiss, gently at first but with increasing force.
Arwen tangled her fingers in his hair and kissed him aggressively and possessively.
His thoughts were in turmoil - why was he finding all this gender-bending so arousing?! He held on to Arwen waist with one hand, moving the other up inside her shirt. He had to check himself when he found he was cupping a soft breast - he had to remind himself that this was a woman he was kissing.
He slipped both hands under shirt round to her back and held her to him. He began to kiss her neck in a gentle, loving fashion.
Any spectators (although there were none) would, for all the world, have seen a woman resting her head on the shoulder of her lover.
Arwen had become passive, but soon remembered her ferocity as she pushed him down onto the bed, straddling him and half scratching, half massaging his chest were it was bared by the low cut dress. In all the time he had known her, Aragorn had never seen such passion in her eyes.
She flipped him over and began to undo the buttons on the purple dress. Aragorn found he liked the sensation of lying with his face buried in a pillow while someone else did all the work.
Arwen pulled off the dress and dropped it on the floor, oblivious to everything but her newly rediscovered passion for Aragorn.
* * *
After about an hour and a half (the best hour and a half of Aragorn's life, but one in which he had to constantly remind himself he was NOT fucking a pretty elf-boy, but an elf-maid), Arwen suddenly pulled away, remembering the council they were both meant to attend that afternoon, about the fate of the ring.
They both dressed swiftly in clothes of the socially acceptable gender and raced to the council of Elrond.
And all the time that he was there, debating how the ring was to be dealt with, Aragorn felt his gaze inexplicably drawn towards a pretty elf-boy called Legolas.