a/n: So, if you have constructive comments, feel free to review. Also if you have blatant praise. If you wish to comment on the slashiness and how it violates whatever moral code you favor, I guess I can't stop you, but it's your own damn fault for reading this in the first place. I don't own any of these characters, nor do I make any money from this.
...as Legolas closed his eyes in longing, the other Man's arms came around him, strong and possessive. Aragorn's lips brushed his own softly, and as Legolas pressed himself against Aragorn, who was already hard with desire, the Man moved one hand to push between them, finding the hardness between the other's legs. He began to stroke, and so tense was Legolas with arousal that he came after only a few of Aragorn's rough strokes, spilling himself over Aragorn's hand, and down both their legs...
Legolas started, and sat up with a sigh, glancing around to see if he had been noticed. Thankfully, he remembered that Merry and Pippin had the second watch together that night, and Legolas suspected that the two young Hobbits would be absorbed in quiet conversation. Pippin was always full of questions, but also rather intimidated by the others in the Fellowship, so the task of satisfying his curiosity usually fell to Merry.
Legolas saw the two Hobbits sitting near the fire, with heads bent together in discussion. He reached for his pack, and drew out a bit of cloth, which he used to clean himself as best he could. The Elf laid back down, and tried to still his mind, but the remaining stickiness between his legs combined with the tension in his mind, and made him unbearably restless. He rose, wrapping a blanket around himself to conceal his difficulties, and made for the stream they had camped near, passing a few words with the Hobbits on his way.
As he walked toward the stream, Legolas felt inexplicably relieved to be away from the camp, from Aragorn. Legolas admitted to himself that he had been driven nearly mad with desire for Aragorn since he had seen him at the Council, but he had not acknowledged it to Aragorn, or to Gimli who had questioned him about it. He had wanted him, wanted him with a desperation he had very rarely experienced in his long life, but he had not chosen to be truthful, to confront Aragorn with the fact and let him make his own decision. He had said nothing, betrayed no emotion, taken no action; he had defaulted, and the inevitable consequence had come. If one said nothing, if one refused to offer oneself, Legolas reflected, then one had no grounds for complaint when one was ignored.
Aragorn had made his choice, had selected his companion from among the Fellowship, and Legolas had forced himself to accept the decision. And to all appearances he *had* accepted it, except that the Man still haunted Legolas, still occupied his mind all night, still caused these humiliating incidents. Legolas had felt desire before, and even love, but never had it invaded his mind and soul in this way. Never had he been unable to tear himself away from the fantasy of being held and taken...
*****
... taken... pushed down
swiftly onto his knees, as Aragorn grabbed his long blond hair and
pulled Legolas' head back. 'Well, little Elf?' Aragorn's
voice was husky and low, intoxicating. Legolas reached up with
trembling fingers to unfasten the Man's belt and pants, and when
Aragorn's erection sprang free, the Elf looked up at him with
large, uncertain eyes. 'Now,' Aragorn commanded, and without
waiting for Legolas to respond, he pushed himself against the Elf's
delicate lips, which immediately parted for him. As Aragorn,
desperate for release, thrust roughly, unheeding, into Legolas'
soft mouth, the Elf felt himself becoming hard again; the Man came
after just a few more thrusts, and as Legolas swallowed frantically
he felt himself spilling down his own thighs. Even before Legolas'
desperate thrusts had ceased, Aragorn had already pulled back from
Legolas and was striding away, leaving Legolas trembling on the
ground...
"What is this insanity?" Legolas questioned, looking down at himself in exasperation. He was becoming lost in this fantasy, forgetting himself and his actions; he had not even noticed that he was stroking himself until... well, until it was too late. He would have to start exercising more caution around the others; it would not do to let his state of mind be discovered by the Fellowship. As he reached the river, he removed his clothes, now somewhat soiled themselves, and plunged into the icy water. The shock to his senses overwhelmed him for a moment, and when he recovered himself, he was gratified to find that Aragorn had retreated to the back of his mind, for the time.
Legolas rinsed himself carefully, washing away every trace of what had occurred. He felt that the tension he had been carrying was temporarily lightened, and after he had dried himself and dressed, he felt able to return to the camp in peace. He greeted the Hobbits, and made for his bedding area, but he was arrested by the sight of Aragorn, sleeping peacefully, an expression of contentment on his face. The Elf's eyes wandered over Aragorn's body, his arms, his hand where it lay, just barely touching another darker, harder hand. Legolas looked at Aragorn's face, his hair, taking in the dark strands mingled with brighter, burnished blond hair.
He reflected that perhaps this was right, perhaps this was logical, that a Man such as Aragorn, if he were to find pleasure in another male at all, would choose someone like this, someone hard, rugged, unbending, ungiving. Perhaps Aragorn would never have been satisfied with Legolas' desperate and total surrender, his adoration. Perhaps Men, with their passionate souls, their violent blood and short lives, could belong only with each other.
