Eomer paused for the barest second but did not relinquish his grip. For two moments there was no sound but their breath shuddering into the night. Eomer suddenly felt a sincerity and a determination of which at that moment there could never be a doubt.
"Legolas," he whispered directly into his ear. "I can think of no words that can tell you of what I am feeling at this time, but I can say with total certainty that there is no force upon Middle Earth that would make me want to part from you at this moment."
There was another pregnant pause in time and reality. Legolas pulled his head back so that he could look into Eomer's face. Eomer saw something that made his heart seemingly glow with the warmth of the summer sun. A smile was upon the beautiful and ageless lips of the Prince of Mirkwood. Eomer felt a smile of his own creep across his face. He was sure it looked clumsy and cumbersome in comparison but it felt wonderful. And then Legolas's lips were once more upon his and speech was no longer needed for communication. Legolas's wiry body pressed full length against his, strength and warmth with the barest suggestion of dreams breathed into the embrace.
Eomer tilted his head in order to get a better purchase on the elf's delicious mouth but Legolas pulled his lips away. Eomer bemoaned the loss but soon forgot as he felt the selfsame mouth brush along his chin. With a tenderness and a insistent heat Legolas kissed at the responsive skin of Eomer's neck. One deft hand worked at the ties of Eomer's collar whilst the other ran over the knotted and tense muscles in the warrior's back. Eomer felt his own breathing catch and was sure his flesh was melting in the heat. He fought for control at the wondrous sensation of the elf's mouth and hands upon him. He felt Legolas getting insistent, trying, rather successfully, to reduce Eomer to senselessness.
With a mischievous smile Eomer leant forward once more. Whilst he a let a hand wander over the smoothness of the elf's clothed body he tilted his head and gently took alluring top of the elf's pointed ear into his mouth. Legolas all but collapsed into him. There was no mistaking the choked whimper that gasped in Legolas's throat. The elf's hands froze upon him. Eomer caressed at the skin with his tongue with a greater urgency whilst working his hands up between their bodies. He could feel both their heartbeats hammering against his fingers. Without ceasing his pursuit of the Elf's ear he found the delicate but complex fastening of Legolas's tunic. Legolas didn't seem to notice as Eomer dexterously worked away the constraining ties. With tremendous anticipation, he pushed the soft fabric off the elf's right shoulder. He let his fingers brush this new, exciting exposure. His head was spinning with the scent of millennia-old forests and the taste of honey and earth that seemed to be abundant in the elf's skin.
He left Legolas's ear. He felt Legolas shiver, as if cold from the sudden loss of contact. He held the elf closer and slowly bent to brush his lips along the elf's collarbone. The texture of the strong flesh and bone all bound in the ethereal skin was unlike anything Eomer had ever experienced before. He was not a naive man in the ways of love, with women or men, but he could honestly declare to himself that this experience stood upon it own as nothing like and something more than other such seemingly hurried and meaningless events.
"Such heat, Eomer," Legolas breathed. "There is such heat in your touch."
Eomer smiled against the skin whilst slowly working the elf's other shoulder free of his clothing. "You found my blood as tinder wood, my Prince," he murmured, his voice finding fuel from the multitude of sensations coursing through him. "And you've sparked the keenest fire along my veins." His words emboldened him further. He slipped a hand into Legolas's tunic. The elf gasped slightly and murmured something breathy in elvish and Eomer felt his heart jolt with excitement for it sounded almost like a prayer.
His hands marvelled at the texture of the cool flesh and the pure sylphlike movement of the elven body that had previously been secreted away behind layers of fabric. The elf pulled Eomer's head up for another searing and unearthly kiss. The Rider of Rohan felt his body flare anew.
He finally freed the fey prince's torso from his tunic and it fell to the ground, forgotten and superfluous as an autumn leaf. Eomer felt he would never tire of the feel of this creature's skin. He gently ran his admiring hand down the smooth contours of Legolas's back, completely flawless and without blemish, cool with age, toned with a warrior's prowess. The combination of power and vulnerability that was conveyed in the feel of the prince's naked back was overwhelming Eomer's senses. He traced his hand forward over the sensitive area across the elf's side only to sigh into their still fervent kiss as he felt his palm drift over the perfect chest and stomach. Eomer never believed that such a beauty could be contained within the physical world.
But he found he still wanted more. He pressed the elf close to him and would not let his hands break contact with skin. He deepened their kiss still further and found Legolas responding to his urgency. All thought of reason were swiftly fleeing Theodon's nephew as he found himself slipping his right hand into the waistband of Legolas, Elf Prince of Mirkwood's breeches.
Legolas gasped, breaking their kiss. "You would seek to undo me,"
"I would seek to know you, Legolas," Eomer murmured, sincerity lapping at his soul. "All of you," he pulled back a moment to look Legolas directly in the eyes. "As a lover would."
Legolas's breathing was heavy. His eyes were deeper than ever, dark and mysterious but burning with life. "You would know me, Eomer? You truly wish to shatter all illusions forever and discover me for what I am?"
Eomer nodded.
Eomer felt the stones around held their breath in the silence. But then, slowly, a honey smile spread across Legolas's face once more. He said no words. They were no longer needed, unnecessary, forgotten, ashes on the west wind. Their mouths met as the ocean and the land, natural, insistent, powerful.
Legolas's hands were deft and strong. Eomer felt them burn a trail across his back, down to his waist. They took a gentle and insistent grip on the Rider's tunic. Eomer was loath to break the heated and delicious contact with the elfin mouth but pulled away momentarily so that Legolas might pull his tunic up over his head. The prince did so slowly, reverently.
There was a pause like a spirit's sigh as Legolas's eyes slowly and darkly took in the Rider's torso, the shirt lying forgotten in his slender fingers. Eomer could not tell what was happening in this moment, only that it was important, glorious. He felt his heart weeping with joy as watched Legolas drinking in his body with his eyes.
Legolas laid a hand on Eomer's chest, tracing the scars with wonderment. Eomer gasped slightly at the touch. The skin against skin felt so good that it was all he could do not to clasp the elf to him, tight, fiery, and never let go. Legolas met his eyes and there was awe in them. He leant and kissed with the utmost tenderness a ragged, pale scar that slashed across Eomer's chest. Eomer closed his eyes and the world was swirling behind them.
Legolas's fingers stroked at ever scar and mark on Eomer's exposed flesh, the cool and smooth fingertips worshipping each angry reminder of an old wound.
"Such beauty," Legolas whispered against his skin.
All reason and rationality had fled Eomer and his need was burning him alive inside. Every second he did not have his hands against that flawless, elvish skin was a second he felt growing colder. He took Legolas's chin in his hand and pulled his face up. He captured the Prince's lips with such a needy passion that Legolas mewled slightly deep in his throat. The sound of it almost tipped Eomer over the edge of a glittering cliff, into a stormy sea. He wanted to hear it again.
Gently, easily and with movements that seem to be born from the very nature of his flesh, Eomer lowered himself onto soft, gentle grassy patch next to the cool stone of the well. He brought Legolas with him, holding him with a kiss. Legolas seemed to float down beside him, like the smoke from a candle.
Eomer felt the slow fire grow hotter as he pressed himself to that lithe, flawless chest. He found he could not break the contact of the kiss even if he had wanted to. The elf's mouth was intoxicating, alive. He felt that his eyes were useless now. His hands read everything, feeling the elf's breathing, fast and deep. The smell of his hair, skin and heat made his head swim with a golden fog.
How could he have ever feared this creature? This warm, beautiful, tender and passionate being, all blazing flame and cooling water. He could not imagine any time that he was not like this, arms around this Prince, their mouths alive with the taste of each other.
But it was still not enough.
"Legolas," he whispered directly into his ear. "I can think of no words that can tell you of what I am feeling at this time, but I can say with total certainty that there is no force upon Middle Earth that would make me want to part from you at this moment."
There was another pregnant pause in time and reality. Legolas pulled his head back so that he could look into Eomer's face. Eomer saw something that made his heart seemingly glow with the warmth of the summer sun. A smile was upon the beautiful and ageless lips of the Prince of Mirkwood. Eomer felt a smile of his own creep across his face. He was sure it looked clumsy and cumbersome in comparison but it felt wonderful. And then Legolas's lips were once more upon his and speech was no longer needed for communication. Legolas's wiry body pressed full length against his, strength and warmth with the barest suggestion of dreams breathed into the embrace.
Eomer tilted his head in order to get a better purchase on the elf's delicious mouth but Legolas pulled his lips away. Eomer bemoaned the loss but soon forgot as he felt the selfsame mouth brush along his chin. With a tenderness and a insistent heat Legolas kissed at the responsive skin of Eomer's neck. One deft hand worked at the ties of Eomer's collar whilst the other ran over the knotted and tense muscles in the warrior's back. Eomer felt his own breathing catch and was sure his flesh was melting in the heat. He fought for control at the wondrous sensation of the elf's mouth and hands upon him. He felt Legolas getting insistent, trying, rather successfully, to reduce Eomer to senselessness.
With a mischievous smile Eomer leant forward once more. Whilst he a let a hand wander over the smoothness of the elf's clothed body he tilted his head and gently took alluring top of the elf's pointed ear into his mouth. Legolas all but collapsed into him. There was no mistaking the choked whimper that gasped in Legolas's throat. The elf's hands froze upon him. Eomer caressed at the skin with his tongue with a greater urgency whilst working his hands up between their bodies. He could feel both their heartbeats hammering against his fingers. Without ceasing his pursuit of the Elf's ear he found the delicate but complex fastening of Legolas's tunic. Legolas didn't seem to notice as Eomer dexterously worked away the constraining ties. With tremendous anticipation, he pushed the soft fabric off the elf's right shoulder. He let his fingers brush this new, exciting exposure. His head was spinning with the scent of millennia-old forests and the taste of honey and earth that seemed to be abundant in the elf's skin.
He left Legolas's ear. He felt Legolas shiver, as if cold from the sudden loss of contact. He held the elf closer and slowly bent to brush his lips along the elf's collarbone. The texture of the strong flesh and bone all bound in the ethereal skin was unlike anything Eomer had ever experienced before. He was not a naive man in the ways of love, with women or men, but he could honestly declare to himself that this experience stood upon it own as nothing like and something more than other such seemingly hurried and meaningless events.
"Such heat, Eomer," Legolas breathed. "There is such heat in your touch."
Eomer smiled against the skin whilst slowly working the elf's other shoulder free of his clothing. "You found my blood as tinder wood, my Prince," he murmured, his voice finding fuel from the multitude of sensations coursing through him. "And you've sparked the keenest fire along my veins." His words emboldened him further. He slipped a hand into Legolas's tunic. The elf gasped slightly and murmured something breathy in elvish and Eomer felt his heart jolt with excitement for it sounded almost like a prayer.
His hands marvelled at the texture of the cool flesh and the pure sylphlike movement of the elven body that had previously been secreted away behind layers of fabric. The elf pulled Eomer's head up for another searing and unearthly kiss. The Rider of Rohan felt his body flare anew.
He finally freed the fey prince's torso from his tunic and it fell to the ground, forgotten and superfluous as an autumn leaf. Eomer felt he would never tire of the feel of this creature's skin. He gently ran his admiring hand down the smooth contours of Legolas's back, completely flawless and without blemish, cool with age, toned with a warrior's prowess. The combination of power and vulnerability that was conveyed in the feel of the prince's naked back was overwhelming Eomer's senses. He traced his hand forward over the sensitive area across the elf's side only to sigh into their still fervent kiss as he felt his palm drift over the perfect chest and stomach. Eomer never believed that such a beauty could be contained within the physical world.
But he found he still wanted more. He pressed the elf close to him and would not let his hands break contact with skin. He deepened their kiss still further and found Legolas responding to his urgency. All thought of reason were swiftly fleeing Theodon's nephew as he found himself slipping his right hand into the waistband of Legolas, Elf Prince of Mirkwood's breeches.
Legolas gasped, breaking their kiss. "You would seek to undo me,"
"I would seek to know you, Legolas," Eomer murmured, sincerity lapping at his soul. "All of you," he pulled back a moment to look Legolas directly in the eyes. "As a lover would."
Legolas's breathing was heavy. His eyes were deeper than ever, dark and mysterious but burning with life. "You would know me, Eomer? You truly wish to shatter all illusions forever and discover me for what I am?"
Eomer nodded.
Eomer felt the stones around held their breath in the silence. But then, slowly, a honey smile spread across Legolas's face once more. He said no words. They were no longer needed, unnecessary, forgotten, ashes on the west wind. Their mouths met as the ocean and the land, natural, insistent, powerful.
Legolas's hands were deft and strong. Eomer felt them burn a trail across his back, down to his waist. They took a gentle and insistent grip on the Rider's tunic. Eomer was loath to break the heated and delicious contact with the elfin mouth but pulled away momentarily so that Legolas might pull his tunic up over his head. The prince did so slowly, reverently.
There was a pause like a spirit's sigh as Legolas's eyes slowly and darkly took in the Rider's torso, the shirt lying forgotten in his slender fingers. Eomer could not tell what was happening in this moment, only that it was important, glorious. He felt his heart weeping with joy as watched Legolas drinking in his body with his eyes.
Legolas laid a hand on Eomer's chest, tracing the scars with wonderment. Eomer gasped slightly at the touch. The skin against skin felt so good that it was all he could do not to clasp the elf to him, tight, fiery, and never let go. Legolas met his eyes and there was awe in them. He leant and kissed with the utmost tenderness a ragged, pale scar that slashed across Eomer's chest. Eomer closed his eyes and the world was swirling behind them.
Legolas's fingers stroked at ever scar and mark on Eomer's exposed flesh, the cool and smooth fingertips worshipping each angry reminder of an old wound.
"Such beauty," Legolas whispered against his skin.
All reason and rationality had fled Eomer and his need was burning him alive inside. Every second he did not have his hands against that flawless, elvish skin was a second he felt growing colder. He took Legolas's chin in his hand and pulled his face up. He captured the Prince's lips with such a needy passion that Legolas mewled slightly deep in his throat. The sound of it almost tipped Eomer over the edge of a glittering cliff, into a stormy sea. He wanted to hear it again.
Gently, easily and with movements that seem to be born from the very nature of his flesh, Eomer lowered himself onto soft, gentle grassy patch next to the cool stone of the well. He brought Legolas with him, holding him with a kiss. Legolas seemed to float down beside him, like the smoke from a candle.
Eomer felt the slow fire grow hotter as he pressed himself to that lithe, flawless chest. He found he could not break the contact of the kiss even if he had wanted to. The elf's mouth was intoxicating, alive. He felt that his eyes were useless now. His hands read everything, feeling the elf's breathing, fast and deep. The smell of his hair, skin and heat made his head swim with a golden fog.
How could he have ever feared this creature? This warm, beautiful, tender and passionate being, all blazing flame and cooling water. He could not imagine any time that he was not like this, arms around this Prince, their mouths alive with the taste of each other.
But it was still not enough.