Title: Diplomacy pt 17
Author: Arisma
Rating: R Disclaimer: To the tune of Leslie Gore, "You don't own me"- I don't own it; don't try to claim it in any way. I don't own it; don't hunt me down 'cause I'll never pay! . Feedback: chalice_nazarene@hotmail.com -*--**--**--**--**--**--**--**--**--**--**--**--**--**--**--**--**--**--**-- **--**--*-
He felt a soft breeze flowing over his back, cooling his too-hot skin. The sensation brought a smile to his lips, and he straightened, his eyes roaming across the landscape before him. He knew the trees of Mirkwood, the smell, so cherished, filling him with a sense of deep peace.
He lifted the bow, its weight familiar and reassuring. With practiced ease he pulled the string taut, relishing the way it pressed into the pads of his fingers. He shifted his sights slightly, feeling the wind, compensating automatically. His breathing was slow, shallow, his face passive. Calmly he released the arrow, watching as it flew, straight and true.
With a dull thud it embedded into the pillar, and a long, elegant hand snaked from behind it, removing it carefully. She stepped from the shadows, and he smiled, watching her move. Slowly she walked towards him, the arrow still held in her smooth hand. Their eyes met and he felt a spark of electricity, the intensity increasing as she approached.
His eyes took in her form, the slender hips, the narrow shoulders. He watched the sunlight strike her chestnut hair, her tresses seeming to absorb the beams. A smile curved her thin lips and he felt his pulse pound in reaction to the desire he saw in her. He wanted to touch her, taste her, but waited patiently for her aquiesence.
Slowly she circled him, her muddy eyes intense. He gazed straight ahead, his body tensed as the sheer power of her proximity rushed through him. He felt something cold against his back, and tensed. He felt her fingers then, soothing, tracing small circles on his taut flesh.
His trust in her was complete and he relaxed, allowing his eyes to drift closed as the sharp point of the arrow dragged with delicious slowness across his super sensitive skin. The point dug and he tensed, the pain unexpected and hot. He began to turn to her, but he felt her lips, soft and moist, press the area where the pain bloomed.
Sudden desire quickened his blood, primal and potent. He began to turn but her hands gripped his shoulders, her long nails digging into his shoulders. He made a low growl in his throat, but remained still, unable to see her, jumping lightly as the arrow continued it slow circuit across his back, tracing muscles, feather light, occasionally pressing into the skin, drawing blood. Each time her lips would press the wound, hotter even than the pain.
Finally, she stepped to stand before him, silent, a smile playing across her lips. He raised his hands, but her brow furrowed and he dropped them quickly. Her fingers traced his throat, his collarbones. He felt sweat bead upon his brow, his desire nearly impossible to contain. Finally she stepped back, slightly, and nodded, her eyes twinkling with merriment.
With a feral moan he grasped her, pulled her towards him, crushing his mouth against hers. Roughly he grasped her skirts and tore them from her, his mouth still locked to hers. With one hand he loosened the lacings of his breeches, shoving them downward. Gripping a handful of her hair, he lowered them both to the ground.
With one hand he held her face to his, with the other he held her hips to the ground, pinning her. Without conscious thought, wanting only to end this terrible ache, he thrust into her. She hissed in breath and tried to raise her hips to meet him, matching his ferocity. Growling low in his throat he continued, his eyes squeezed shut, pounding into her as hard as possible.
He felt her teeth close on his shoulder, clamping the flesh, the pain washing over him in a delicious wave. Groaning loudly he slammed his fist against the earth beside her head, his teeth grinding close to her ear, his release slamming into him with the force of an explosion. He felt her quake beneath him and when he opened his eyes a smile curved her lips.
She smiled broadly and stroked his hair, as one would a treasured pet. "Very good, child." She said, and Legolas smiled, truly happy that he had pleased her, pleased his mistress.
***
He gasped and sat straight, his skin slick with sweat, his breath coming in short gasps. Turning he saw her sleeping, her back turned to him, her cheek cradled against her hand. With trembling fingers he touched her, to reassure himself that she was real, that she was here. The silk of her hair slid through his fingers and some of his panic vanished.
Carefully nestling the blankets around her shoulders, he looked away. He felt shame wash over him, deep and hot. Why had he dreamed that? Why her? All he had ever desired slept in his arms and he had dreamt of her, his tormenter.
My mistress. . .
He shoved the thought away, shaking his head at the absurdity. Turning he watched her slow breathing, softly traced the curve of her cheek with trembling fingers. Her eyes opened and she turned towards him, confusion and love both apparent in her expression.
"Legolas? Love, are you alright?" her voice was slightly husky from sleep, her brow furrowing with worry.
She began to sit up but he pressed her back, smiling at her, hoping she would believe it. "Yes, a'mael, I am fine. Please, go back to sleep. I didn't mean to wake you."
She appeared unconvinced and he broadened his grin convincingly, lying beside her, holding her close to him. "Are you sure?" she queried, her voice already fuzzing with sleep.
He merely nodded and pressed a kiss to her forehead, squeezing her to him. She smiled sleepily and kissed him, resting her head upon his arm. "Love you." She murmurred, her breathing slowing, deepening, even as the words left her mouth.
"I love you Rhya. You and you alone." He whispered into her dark locks. His voice sounded so sure and he felt his heart lift. But as he drifted off again, it was brown, human eyes, that chased him into the darkness.
Author: Arisma
Rating: R Disclaimer: To the tune of Leslie Gore, "You don't own me"- I don't own it; don't try to claim it in any way. I don't own it; don't hunt me down 'cause I'll never pay! . Feedback: chalice_nazarene@hotmail.com -*--**--**--**--**--**--**--**--**--**--**--**--**--**--**--**--**--**--**-- **--**--*-
He felt a soft breeze flowing over his back, cooling his too-hot skin. The sensation brought a smile to his lips, and he straightened, his eyes roaming across the landscape before him. He knew the trees of Mirkwood, the smell, so cherished, filling him with a sense of deep peace.
He lifted the bow, its weight familiar and reassuring. With practiced ease he pulled the string taut, relishing the way it pressed into the pads of his fingers. He shifted his sights slightly, feeling the wind, compensating automatically. His breathing was slow, shallow, his face passive. Calmly he released the arrow, watching as it flew, straight and true.
With a dull thud it embedded into the pillar, and a long, elegant hand snaked from behind it, removing it carefully. She stepped from the shadows, and he smiled, watching her move. Slowly she walked towards him, the arrow still held in her smooth hand. Their eyes met and he felt a spark of electricity, the intensity increasing as she approached.
His eyes took in her form, the slender hips, the narrow shoulders. He watched the sunlight strike her chestnut hair, her tresses seeming to absorb the beams. A smile curved her thin lips and he felt his pulse pound in reaction to the desire he saw in her. He wanted to touch her, taste her, but waited patiently for her aquiesence.
Slowly she circled him, her muddy eyes intense. He gazed straight ahead, his body tensed as the sheer power of her proximity rushed through him. He felt something cold against his back, and tensed. He felt her fingers then, soothing, tracing small circles on his taut flesh.
His trust in her was complete and he relaxed, allowing his eyes to drift closed as the sharp point of the arrow dragged with delicious slowness across his super sensitive skin. The point dug and he tensed, the pain unexpected and hot. He began to turn to her, but he felt her lips, soft and moist, press the area where the pain bloomed.
Sudden desire quickened his blood, primal and potent. He began to turn but her hands gripped his shoulders, her long nails digging into his shoulders. He made a low growl in his throat, but remained still, unable to see her, jumping lightly as the arrow continued it slow circuit across his back, tracing muscles, feather light, occasionally pressing into the skin, drawing blood. Each time her lips would press the wound, hotter even than the pain.
Finally, she stepped to stand before him, silent, a smile playing across her lips. He raised his hands, but her brow furrowed and he dropped them quickly. Her fingers traced his throat, his collarbones. He felt sweat bead upon his brow, his desire nearly impossible to contain. Finally she stepped back, slightly, and nodded, her eyes twinkling with merriment.
With a feral moan he grasped her, pulled her towards him, crushing his mouth against hers. Roughly he grasped her skirts and tore them from her, his mouth still locked to hers. With one hand he loosened the lacings of his breeches, shoving them downward. Gripping a handful of her hair, he lowered them both to the ground.
With one hand he held her face to his, with the other he held her hips to the ground, pinning her. Without conscious thought, wanting only to end this terrible ache, he thrust into her. She hissed in breath and tried to raise her hips to meet him, matching his ferocity. Growling low in his throat he continued, his eyes squeezed shut, pounding into her as hard as possible.
He felt her teeth close on his shoulder, clamping the flesh, the pain washing over him in a delicious wave. Groaning loudly he slammed his fist against the earth beside her head, his teeth grinding close to her ear, his release slamming into him with the force of an explosion. He felt her quake beneath him and when he opened his eyes a smile curved her lips.
She smiled broadly and stroked his hair, as one would a treasured pet. "Very good, child." She said, and Legolas smiled, truly happy that he had pleased her, pleased his mistress.
***
He gasped and sat straight, his skin slick with sweat, his breath coming in short gasps. Turning he saw her sleeping, her back turned to him, her cheek cradled against her hand. With trembling fingers he touched her, to reassure himself that she was real, that she was here. The silk of her hair slid through his fingers and some of his panic vanished.
Carefully nestling the blankets around her shoulders, he looked away. He felt shame wash over him, deep and hot. Why had he dreamed that? Why her? All he had ever desired slept in his arms and he had dreamt of her, his tormenter.
My mistress. . .
He shoved the thought away, shaking his head at the absurdity. Turning he watched her slow breathing, softly traced the curve of her cheek with trembling fingers. Her eyes opened and she turned towards him, confusion and love both apparent in her expression.
"Legolas? Love, are you alright?" her voice was slightly husky from sleep, her brow furrowing with worry.
She began to sit up but he pressed her back, smiling at her, hoping she would believe it. "Yes, a'mael, I am fine. Please, go back to sleep. I didn't mean to wake you."
She appeared unconvinced and he broadened his grin convincingly, lying beside her, holding her close to him. "Are you sure?" she queried, her voice already fuzzing with sleep.
He merely nodded and pressed a kiss to her forehead, squeezing her to him. She smiled sleepily and kissed him, resting her head upon his arm. "Love you." She murmurred, her breathing slowing, deepening, even as the words left her mouth.
"I love you Rhya. You and you alone." He whispered into her dark locks. His voice sounded so sure and he felt his heart lift. But as he drifted off again, it was brown, human eyes, that chased him into the darkness.