There are many storerooms at Helm's Deep. Half are empty, like this one,
the stone floor thick with dust. There is nothing of use in here, but
Aragorn had not come here for supplies.
Legolas, trailing close at his shoulder, watches him calmly, with an air of questioning. Trailing closer than usual. Since Aragorn's arrival Legolas is at his side every spare second, a cool, still presence amid the anthill- bustle of men.
Aragorn turns and regards the Elf, Legolas looks back, eyes deep and unreadable. So unlike the look in them when he had stopped Aragorn in the hall, they had been bright there, filled with relief and delight. This place makes him uncomfortable Aragorn knows, this squat heavy building of stone, and the men, panic and hopelessness boiling under their skin.
A small frown creases Legolas's face when Aragorn neither drops his gaze nor speaks, "Aragorn-"
The question cuts off when Aragorn moves, stepping forward, flattening his palms against the Elf's chest and pressing lightly. Legolas's brow furrows but he allows it, stepping back, barely shifting the dust that billows around Aragorn's feet. Aragorn steps closer, pressing Legolas between stone and himself, an illusion of dominance.
They have not broken their gaze, Legolas's pupils are dilated, the ring of blue still visible around them is dark with too many things. The soft leather of the Elven tunic soothes Aragorn's palms as he slides them up Legolas's chest, up behind his neck, where the skin is hot and soft under golden hair. The pale throat works, Legolas is near to panting and Aragorn brushes his thumbs against Legolas's jaw, pressing brief and hard against the slow thrum of his pulse.
Aragorn means to speak, but words will not come. He breaks their gaze, brushing his mouth lightly against Legolas's. The hot cold of breath against Aragorn's mouth tempts him, but he will not rush this. There has been enough roughness and rush of late. Legolas's lips part beneath his, a silent plea, and Aragorn licks lightly across the Elf's mouth. Legolas makes a soft, frustrated noise and leans forward, sealing their mouths together. Aragorn's clothing is torn and stained, he smells of river and horse but Legolas doesn't care and his hands are greedy on the Ranger. His hands settle on Aragorn's hips, rumpling cloth and bruising skin as Legolas grips, pulling Aragorn tighter against him.
Aragorn's mouth opens on a low moan and Legolas licks into his mouth, sliding his tongue against Aragorn's then drawing back and nipping the Ranger's lip with quick white teeth. The burn of the bite quickens Aragorn's blood and he presses his mouth to the elf's, running his tongue across the lower lip, demanding entry that Legolas gives readily. Aragorn's hands still clutch Legolas's face and the elf is still pressed between Aragorn and dusty stone but the Ranger feels unmade by the fierceness of Legolas's kiss.
He does not know how long they stand there, long enough for Legolas's hands to release his hips to explore more thoroughly, long enough for the ache of arousal to settle in his groin, to feel an answering hardness from Legolas. Legolas's body starts against his and they break apart, Legolas's head swiveling towards the door where he stares for long moments. When he speaks, his voice is tinged with amusement.
"Gimli approaches, grumbling impolite things about Elves who think time serves them, and foolish Men who think they are foolish Elves. We must go, the Rohirrim await."
Aragorn pulls away reluctantly, body protesting the loss. His hands linger, smoothing one of Legolas's narrow braids back into place. Legolas smiles at the gesture, and, though Gimli's footsteps were now audible to Aragorn's ears, placed his hand over the Ranger's heart and spoke before turning to greet Gimli.
"Epesse."
Afterwards.
Legolas, trailing close at his shoulder, watches him calmly, with an air of questioning. Trailing closer than usual. Since Aragorn's arrival Legolas is at his side every spare second, a cool, still presence amid the anthill- bustle of men.
Aragorn turns and regards the Elf, Legolas looks back, eyes deep and unreadable. So unlike the look in them when he had stopped Aragorn in the hall, they had been bright there, filled with relief and delight. This place makes him uncomfortable Aragorn knows, this squat heavy building of stone, and the men, panic and hopelessness boiling under their skin.
A small frown creases Legolas's face when Aragorn neither drops his gaze nor speaks, "Aragorn-"
The question cuts off when Aragorn moves, stepping forward, flattening his palms against the Elf's chest and pressing lightly. Legolas's brow furrows but he allows it, stepping back, barely shifting the dust that billows around Aragorn's feet. Aragorn steps closer, pressing Legolas between stone and himself, an illusion of dominance.
They have not broken their gaze, Legolas's pupils are dilated, the ring of blue still visible around them is dark with too many things. The soft leather of the Elven tunic soothes Aragorn's palms as he slides them up Legolas's chest, up behind his neck, where the skin is hot and soft under golden hair. The pale throat works, Legolas is near to panting and Aragorn brushes his thumbs against Legolas's jaw, pressing brief and hard against the slow thrum of his pulse.
Aragorn means to speak, but words will not come. He breaks their gaze, brushing his mouth lightly against Legolas's. The hot cold of breath against Aragorn's mouth tempts him, but he will not rush this. There has been enough roughness and rush of late. Legolas's lips part beneath his, a silent plea, and Aragorn licks lightly across the Elf's mouth. Legolas makes a soft, frustrated noise and leans forward, sealing their mouths together. Aragorn's clothing is torn and stained, he smells of river and horse but Legolas doesn't care and his hands are greedy on the Ranger. His hands settle on Aragorn's hips, rumpling cloth and bruising skin as Legolas grips, pulling Aragorn tighter against him.
Aragorn's mouth opens on a low moan and Legolas licks into his mouth, sliding his tongue against Aragorn's then drawing back and nipping the Ranger's lip with quick white teeth. The burn of the bite quickens Aragorn's blood and he presses his mouth to the elf's, running his tongue across the lower lip, demanding entry that Legolas gives readily. Aragorn's hands still clutch Legolas's face and the elf is still pressed between Aragorn and dusty stone but the Ranger feels unmade by the fierceness of Legolas's kiss.
He does not know how long they stand there, long enough for Legolas's hands to release his hips to explore more thoroughly, long enough for the ache of arousal to settle in his groin, to feel an answering hardness from Legolas. Legolas's body starts against his and they break apart, Legolas's head swiveling towards the door where he stares for long moments. When he speaks, his voice is tinged with amusement.
"Gimli approaches, grumbling impolite things about Elves who think time serves them, and foolish Men who think they are foolish Elves. We must go, the Rohirrim await."
Aragorn pulls away reluctantly, body protesting the loss. His hands linger, smoothing one of Legolas's narrow braids back into place. Legolas smiles at the gesture, and, though Gimli's footsteps were now audible to Aragorn's ears, placed his hand over the Ranger's heart and spoke before turning to greet Gimli.
"Epesse."
Afterwards.