Lord Of The Rings Fan Fiction ❯ Taming Legolas ❯ Clipping Wings ( Chapter 4 )

Chapter4-Clipping Wings

He was Aragorn's to command--indefinitely. To this he had agreed. Legolas' breath had been ripped from him by Aragorn's quiet declaration. With great shuddering breaths, he tried to force air into his starving lungs.

Aragorn held him tight-pressed against his body, the Dunédan's grip relentlessly demanding.

Stunned, Legolas could not tear his gaze from the silvered glass that hung upon the furthest wall. Imprisoned within that bit of glass was his reflection, held captive as much by the mirror as by the Aragorn's strong grasp upon slim wrists. Such large hands--dark, square and wide--folded around the imprisoned Elf's wrists making them seem delicate by comparison.

The Dunédan, though Legolas knew they were close in height--knew it had to be a trick of his own making--loomed over him, a power and a presence mantling the heir of Isildur. Breathing was incredibly difficult. Resolve and some unnamed emotion flared brightly in the depth of the storm-colored eyes that threatened to consume the Sindarin Prince as if he were tinder before a spark. Dark hair surrounded a face careworn in the way of Men. The beauty of that visage made the Elf's heart ache with breathtaking clarity.

Determination set the Man's square jaw firmly as Aragorn awaited his further protest. Dark stubble adorned his cheek and chin. Legolas murmured a quiet protest as Aragorn rubbed his face against the Elf's smooth cheek leaving red abrasions in the wake of the caress.

Older than the man by more than a century and still Legolas yet looked the part of a beardless youth, while age touched the beloved face of the Dunédan with the shadow of his Mortal doom writ large for the Elf to see.

Would mourning Aragorn's passing be any less painful for partaking of the pleasures he and Arwen offered? Or would it give him some hold upon this world until his duty was done and he could safely cross the Sundering Seas?

Uncertainty and sorrow flickered within the furtive gaze of the captive Elf that stared back at him from within the gilt-edged mirror.

He did not wish to see. But Aragorn would not let him close his eyes; a painful nip to his ear made sure to keep his attention. "What do you see, my lovely wild bird?" Spoken so deeply, the Man's voice so warm and filled with desire that it covered Legolas like a warm caress.

How terrible would it be to succumb to the promised delight? Had he not already?

He stared at the wide-eyed Elf in the mirror being held by the darker Man. The Elf's flesh seemed luminous held prisoner next to the reflection of the Dunédan. Hair brighter than sunlight, eyes like reflective pools--all the captive Elf's confused emotions seemed to glitter there for anyone who cared to read.

Legolas almost felt sorry for the captive image. Elves were supposed to be better at hiding their thoughts. They were sly, elusive creatures beyond the ken of mere mortal Men. It was Men who were easily read--not Elves--yet the fey creature in the mirror wore all its heart and thought clearly upon the changeable features of its pale face.

"Answer me, meleth." Aragorn urged with the sweet dark suggestion of the forbidden lacing his voice as it flowed over the Prince of Mirkwood, sweeping away reason and objection.

Yearning filled Legolas. It was a need so great that for a moment it felt as if he could not go on, could not breathe, that his heart would cease beating if he did not yield to it. If only the softly spoken caresses and entreaties were true.

Whether true or no, his body betrayed him to the whispered temptations that fell from the Man's lips. His heart wished to believe.

Scarlet ebbed and flowed across the knife-sharp cheekbones of the Elf's reflection. Legolas could feel the power of it heat his cheeks even as color washed the pale face of his image. His reflection gazed back at him, thick-lashed eyes wide and dark as a starless night.

The being held within the depths of that silvered glass looked debauched. His lip were swollen, bruises trailed across the long arch of the pale neck that could not be hidden by any tunic. His hair was a riotous tangle of gold and braids.

He could wish this ravished creature staring at him with hopelessness in its eyes were not him. If Aragorn would but release him, he would brush his fingers against the glass to offer comfort to the confused creature within.

"I see Sunlight and Shadow. You are without shame--and it draws me to you even though I see no future that is not dark or without sorrow." Legolas whispered achingly. "What do you see Estel that I cannot?"

"Sorrow comes along every path. It is what makes us stronger, but there is no wrong in grasping what happiness is offered, meleth-nin." Aragorn, careful to keep Legolas' pinned, grasped the Elf's chin forcing his head back until his mouth could brush the corner of Legolas' lips. "Do you wish to know what I see, my long-time friend? I see fear and hope at war. I see the thoughts of your Father mirrored in your words. But I do not see them in you. I see a wild creature that wants to be taken and tamed. And I accept that challenge."

With the ease of a predator, Aragorn swept his hand back down the length of the Elf's body and recaptured his wrist.

Captive and at Aragorn's command--shame and excitement washed through Legolas and he could not help but jerk reflexively against the tight grip that branded each wrist. Yet Aragorn did not release him. Some small part deep buried within the Elf was glad, though he could not--would not--admit to it.

Instead, the Dunédan dragged him backward until the Prince was pressed so tight against his proud nakedness that Legolas thought that they would become one. Hot and hard, Aragorn spoke, "Do not test me, little one. You are only compounding your transgressions."

Bound prisoner by his own arms held crossed against his trembling body, Legolas felt his sex throb with the portent in Aragorn's words. Desperately the Elf tried to still the too rapid beating of his heart. "You cannot be serious! I am a Prince of Greenwood and a commander in my own right! I submit to no one!"

A dark smile graced the Man's mouth, wicked and sweet. Aragorn's words were soft threat against the Prince's delicately upswept ear, "You have already, emil-neth. I do not choose to release you from your pledge."

Unconsciously Legolas tilted his head to one side inviting the exploration of his neck. His eyes fluttered half-closed and he flicked his tongue across suddenly dry lips. Aragorn nosed through the thick hair and laid tender kisses along his neck. The Elf gave a small sound, bitten too quickly back behind his lips to be called a moan. Swallowing, Legolas demanded, in a voice rough with withheld passion, "How--long--do you intend to hold me to this thing?"

Once more, Legolas found his gaze drawn to the mirror. The Elf gazed back at him with glazed eyes. Aragorn stood magnified, dark to his light. All that had come to pass had a faint tinge of unreality. If not for the near constant ache deep within his body, or the feel of his leggings abrading tender flesh, Legolas would have believed he was caught within a waking dream--much like those that tormented Neri and Nissi alike during their fenneth.

Aragorn rubbed his face against Legolas' hair, inhaling deeply. "Until you no longer hide yourself from me, pen-neth."

Trembling with desire, Legolas shook his head, closing his eyes tightly against the images in the mirror. "I do not know what you mean."

Snorting his disbelief, Aragorn demanded quietly, "What am I to you, Legolas? What do you feel for me?"

Refusing to open his eyes and meet the blaze of blue demand that the Elf was sure awaited him from the reflected image of his beloved, Legolas protested, "You cannot mean to keep this arrangement indefinitely!"

"Only for as long as you need it, meleth." Aragorn teased gently, his whisper sending small tingles of delight dancing through the captive Elf.

Legolas' eyes flashed open and there was fire burning deep within Aragorn's eyes, just as he had feared. Some other emotion also lingered there that the Elf was afraid to face just yet. Surely all of this was no more than a waking dream. He had longed to find himself at Aragorn's command since he had met the Dunédan, longed to feel the Man's arms surround him. Surely it must have been his bittersweet longing that had brought this dream to him.

Legolas shook his head in denial. He would not give into this craving. Three-ings were for the Noldor, not the Sindar. His mother would have cringed--his Father! Legolas paled at the thought of what words and deeds would fly from his Father at his son's waywardness.

Drawing himself up proudly within Aragorn's imprisoning hold, Legolas spoke with quiet dignity, his eyes flashing. "Do not challenge me, Aragorn, son of Arathorn. Should I choose to unleash my fury--you would not win."

Aragorn narrowed his eyes warningly, lips thinning in disapproval. "Yet you have chosen not to. Why is that, my Prince?"

Legolas stubbornly refused to speak. Aragorn rested his chin upon the recalcitrant Elf's shoulder, staring at his captive's face thoughtfully through the mirror. Fear haunted Legolas' eyes; fear warring with desire.

"Will you not answer me, a'maelamin?" Aragorn's voice dropped low and deep, a caress of sound that wound its way through the mad pulse in Legolas' veins. "Have I done aught that you did not desire, little Elf?"

A bolt of remembered pleasure thrust home and Legolas could not stay his answering response. Images of Aragorn's chastisement teased his mind and the Elf felt the tired flesh between his legs pulse at his thoughts. How he longed for Aragorn to upend him once more for the promised punishment. To feel the strength of the Man tested against his. To feel the heat upon his bare bottom and know that it was Aragorn touching him, bringing him both passion and pain.

Somewhere deep inside, the youthful Prince was sure that he deserved to suffer for the passion that he bore this Man. A Man promised to another and for whom Legolas himself could only be a passing flame. Bright color stained his cheeks beneath the heated regard of the Dunédan and Legolas felt his breathing quicken.

Aragorn held him so close that he could feel the heat of his body like a winter bonfire raging out of control and leaping along each individual nerve ending. The thin material of his leggings was little proof against their twinned desires.

Raggedly Legolas whispered, "You cannot stand against my full strength, Aragorn. You would have to release me."

"True." Aragorn answered almost, it seemed, with regret. "But then you would need to cause me true pain. Could you do that, Legolas? Could you hurt me?"

The Elf in the mirror parted his lips, but no sound issued forth. Legolas was torn. The Dunédan had not lied for it was abundantly apparent that Legolas could not free himself without hurting Aragorn. His heart paused in its mad beating and then ran on in a wild thundering tempest that he was sure would break from his chest. He could not answer Aragorn. Would not answer that fell question.

Surely Aragorn already knew the answer. The Elf met the Man's unwavering gaze in the mirror and found that he could not hold it. The Dunédan saw too deeply. It felt as if Aragorn stripped him with but a glance from those too-knowing eyes. Legolas dropped his eyes, his head bowed.

"I will not free you, sweet Prince. It is not in me to throw away so callously that which I have desired to hold for so long."

Anger flew through him and Legolas hugged it to him as a shield. Raising his head proudly, Legolas warned, "You cannot hold me. I will not allow it! Do not rest so assured in your fabled charms, Mortal."

Before Legolas chose to act upon his threat, Aragorn's laughter swept over him like a caress, both desired and unwanted, "You are truly beautiful when you are filled with anger and pride." Aragorn bit Legolas' neck hard and a new bruise bloomed upon the pale flesh a match to its mate of the night before. The Dunédan's eyes were dark with anger and lust for Legolas refused to see anything else hidden there. "Tell me, little Prince, is it pride that keeps you from my bed?"

Legolas yelped and squirmed as Aragorn fastened his teeth upon the lobe of his ear, his sex throbbing and alive like a wild thing with a mind of its own. No matter that the Prince tamped down on the tremors and response that rode through him, fighting for control like a rider training a horse to bit. His body willed his surrender and Legolas battled fruitlessly upon two fronts.

Aragorn continued in that soft dangerous voice that both enticed and frightened him with its promise of dark retribution and darker pleasures, "I will not let your pride stand between us, a'maelamin. I have seen the pain in you when you glance upon Arwen and I. What would you? That I allow you to creep into some dark hole and fade? I will not. I would sooner take your pride. I could rip it from you should I choose." Aragorn released one of Legolas' wrists, barring The Elf's chest with his arm, making sure to pin Legolas tightly against him. He cupped the pointed chin, his eyes studying their reflections, though Legolas refused to meet his gaze. "But then you would no longer be the Legolas I have chosen. Why do you deny this? Cannot a Prince of Elves give himself to a King of Men?"

Legolas wanted to touch the painful throbbing between his legs, but could not bring himself to do so under Aragorn's continued scrutiny. Everything about Aragorn excited him. He cursed himself for his weakness. It was folly to love a Mortal. Surely the history of the Elves had taught him that if nothing else? His voice soft and uncertain, Legolas responded, "You are not yet King."

"No, but I shall be," Aragorn promised, "if only to claim both you and Arwen as mine by right. Make no mistake, Legolas. I shall claim you both. I have claimed you both." Giving the chin a firm shake, Aragorn demanded, "Now answer me, little one, could you hurt me?"

Defeated, Legolas slumped back against the Dunédan letting the fire of the Man consume him. Legolas counted the beats of his heart. There was a clatter of chambermaids going from room to room, trading gay insults and quiet jokes. Soft songs drifted upon the currents that played about the edges of the pale curtains draping the archway. Aragorn's eyes blazed in the mirror and Legolas could not look away, the Man's hand warm and firm the roughened palm vibrant against his chin. Desperation colored Legolas' quiet capitulation, "No. No, I could not hurt you, Estel."

Gentle and loving in his triumph, approval curved the Dunédan's lips upward. Aragorn loosed his hold upon Legolas to turn him. Legolas bowed his head in abject subjugation. No resistance met the Man's efforts. Placing two fingers beneath the Elf's chin, Aragorn tilted Legolas' face up. "There is no shame in your surrender, meleth."

Aragorn had only a moment to take in the flushed face and brightly glittering eyes before Legolas gave him a tremendous push. As Aragorn stumbled back, the Prince made a dash toward the open terrace and the freedom of the gardens beyond.

The open archway beckoned but a few steps away. A vague sense of regret taunted Legolas as his escape seemed assured. Soon he would be free of Aragorn's influence and this chamber that held such a welter of confusing memories for him. Legolas' sure steps faltered and he slowed infinitesimally. Legolas resisted the impulse to glance over his shoulder to see if Aragorn followed. The knowledge that, should he succeed, this would be the last he would see of the Dunédan weighed heavily upon his heart.

Legolas could not trust himself near the Man, not even for the sake of the quest--best he appoint Galdor in his stead. Nor would he be able to trust Aragorn--what if the Dunédan came for him during the quest? Legolas feared he could not withstand further entreaty.

Sorrow colored Legolas' flight though he refused to think upon it, steadfastly pushing his confusion further down. He pushed away the thought that all he had to do was accept whatever it was that Arwen and Aragorn offered, and he could have all that his heart had desired. His heart lay like a dying thing within his chest even as he leaped across a low stool barring his way. Blood pounded in his ears, loud as the tramp of goblin feet.

Anor shone brightly through the sheer curtains. The bright daystar had climbed more than halfway across the firmament and would soon sink below the tops of the trees, though nightfall was still many hours away. Hovering at the gap in the draperies, a brightly plumaged bird darted about the archway--high and then low, as if peering in at Man and Elf. Song rang faintly through the valley of the Bruinen and the scents of winter crisp and clean wafted in small puffs to mix with the heavier sex-laden odors in Aragorn's chambers.

Never to see Aragorn again--the thought echoed hollowly within Legolas' chest as if a great hole was being carved there. Did he truly wish to flee? Had Aragorn spoken truly when he said that Legolas enjoyed submitting? Legolas took a sharp breath as his sex gave a joyous leap as images of himself bound and worshipping Aragorn's manhood flickered sharp and bright through his mind. Distracted, he stumbled.

Aragorn slammed into Legolas, sending him sprawling. Legolas lay still for a moment, gasping for breath. One thought rang paramount through the stunned maelstrom of his thoughts--Aragorn had not allowed him to escape. Relief that as much by its existence as its intensity brought shame to Legolas' cheeks wound through the Prince.

Small things were sharply apparent to Legolas in his heightened state--the sun warmed the back of his hand where it lay out flung past the curved arch, the edge of the curtain tickled him as it swept like a lover's kiss back and forth across his knuckles. Inhaling deeply, Legolas drank in the promise of spring hidden in the moist cool winter's air as it gusted past the doorway. The scent of sex was not quite so overpowering here. He could smell fresh water, dark earth and new bloom. Cool air caressed his cheek and dried dampened lashes.

Before Legolas could do more than swallow a half-dozen deep breaths, Aragorn turned him. Trepidation shuddered through the prone Elf as he gazed up at the Man. Fury and exasperation colored Aragorn's face.

Ruefully Aragorn shook his head, the dark hair flying loose about his whiskered face. With apparent ease, he pulled the dazed Elf to his feet. "I should have expected something more from you, mellon-nin. Your submission came too easily." Holding one of Legolas' arms high up against the Elf's back, Aragorn jerked Legolas against him. Tangling his free hand in Legolas' wild hair, Aragorn claimed his lips in a fierce kiss.

When Aragorn pulled away with restrained violence, Legolas was gasping for breath, his lips moving in silent protest. A thrill tingled along Legolas' spine, much as he felt when standing upon the cusp of a storm. The Man's eyes sparked dangerously and Legolas could see the Dunédan taking slow, deep breaths as if to calm himself.

Legolas wondered if that were even possible. His own heart beat so rapidly that he no longer believed it could find its normal rhythm. The Elf licked his kiss-swollen lips and trembled as Aragorn tracked the path of Legolas' tongue with burning eyes. He backed a step or two inadvertently at the predatory gleam flaring deep in his lover's eyes. Intense determination colored Aragorn's face as he approached the reluctant Elf.

"Aragorn, I--" Before Legolas could think of what he wished to say, too quick for the him to decide upon escape once more, the Dunédan locked firm grip around the thin-boned wrist. Determinedly Aragorn hauled the dazed Elf across the scattered carpets as if he were more a naughty child than a Prince of his peoples. When Legolas found voice, he began to protest vigorously.

Aragorn cut him off with another breath-stealing kiss. If the Ranger kept this up, Legolas thought hazily, he would swoon from lack of air.

Without quite knowing how it happened, Legolas found himself once more pressed back against the leaf and vine-carved column. Before he could ask any of the questions fleeting through his mind Aragorn quelled all thought with a forceful claiming of the his lips.

Aragorn's hands were relentless in their exploration of the Elf's body as Legolas twisted and moaned into the kiss. Feeling all desire to resist melt away, Legolas wrapped his arms around Aragorn's back, twisting his fists through the long dark locks and jerking Aragorn's head back. Warnings and fears disappeared in the raging inferno that only Aragorn seemed capable of invoking. All that mattered was that Aragorn wanted him. Their bodies so close together that the heat of the conflagration threatened to burst into flame.

Legolas pressed a kiss as demanding as Aragorn's against the Dunédan's lips. The stubble adorning Aragorn's chin abraded soft Elven flesh and flashes of heat sang through Elven blood.

Aragorn opened his mouth in apparent surrender. He allowed Legolas to feed greedily upon his mouth, their tongues dueling for mastery. Legolas gave a small choked sound as Aragorn snaked one hand between them and cupped the rampant flesh between the Elf's legs. Smirking, Aragorn took control of the kiss once again as Legolas' head fell back against the column. The Dunédan spoke against the Prince's captive lips just as Legolas thought his legs must surely fail him. How could Aragorn not know what havoc he wreaked within him?

Sweet words teased against Legolas' lips. "I know how to make rebellious princes more malleable. You have shown me this, meleth."

Legolas could not keep back a quiet whimper at the dark promise in Aragorn's words. Aragorn robbed him of all reason. The Prince thrust without conscious volition against the powerful hand that crept between his legs and molded to his sex as it throbbed, hot and hard.

Without giving Legolas time to inquire as to his meaning, Aragorn spun him face first against the pillar. Pressing his body the length of Legolas' squirming figure, Aragorn whispered harshly against the pointed tip of his ear, taking great joy in the shudder that wracked the Elven frame. "Stay--or your punishment shall be so much the worse, my sweet Prince."

His words made little sense to Legolas as he fought a desperate battle against his overwhelmed senses and the desires of heart and body. Leaning his forehead against the column, the Elf could feel the hard edge of a carved leaf as it furled outward from the vine that was carved the length of the pillar.

Elbereth. What Legolas was entreating, what aid he desired, he was unsure. That he needed guidance in a land suddenly gone strange, he was certain. Tremors shook his slender Elven body and Legolas felt as if he were aflame, standing at the heart of Anor for all to see, heat radiating from his very center.

So caught in his inner turmoil Legolas paid little heed as Aragorn grasped one wrist and pulled it round the wide carved support. Something soft enfolded his wrist and Legolas drifted upon the conflicting currents of emotion and need. It was not until he felt a like embrace upon his other wrist and a slight levering of his arms upward that a warning rang sharp and clear through his passion-muddled mind.

Legolas gave an experimental tug and found that he was bound fast against the post with little room for movement. His arms embraced the support column and he was pressed flush against the cool, hard wood, the various carvings digging into his body uncomfortably. A curl of fear licked through the Elf and wrapped itself about his root, seeming only to excite his passion rather than cause its abatement.

"Aragorn?" Legolas hated the unsure note that crept into his voice as the soft threats the Man had made replayed through his mind. The Elf's sex gave an eager jump against the unforgiving wood.

"You like to play, do you, little Elf? Well, you should know that I do not play to lose. I think that you need to know that your punishments will be swift and not all are pleasurable."

Yanking against the softness that bound him, Legolas twisted his head in a vain attempt to glimpse what Aragorn was about. "You would not dare--!"

Aragorn pressed himself against Legolas back, grinding his hips against the Elf. With a sharp warning nip to Legolas' ear, Aragorn promised, "I would dare much to keep you with me always." With quick steps Aragorn abandoned the bound Elf as he squirmed anxiously against his restraints.

Light footsteps returned and Legolas lay his cheek against the cool wood. "What are you going to do?"

No answer was forthcoming. Though Legolas turned, he could not catch sight of Aragorn. Cool metal touched the base of his neck and Legolas shivered as a dagger brushed his hair over one arm. "Arago--Estel!" Legolas yelped as the dagger sliced through his thin tunic. Cool air teased against his back.

Aragorn kissed the exposed nape as he tossed the dagger carelessly upon his bed. Heat washed through Man and Elf and Legolas trembled at the faintest touch of Mortal fingers as Aragorn traced the Elf's spine. Legolas could sense Aragorn's gaze as a tingle of heat scouring his flesh from nape to the round globes of his backside, and he clenched his buttocks tight as if touched.

Laughing softly, Aragorn cupped the firm curve in one hand. "Not yet, emil-neth. You have not earned that." Squeezing the captive flesh firmly he drew a soft moan from Legolas' mouth. "You are so pretty when you are bound. Do you like being helpless, Legolas? Without choices? Do you wish me to command you?"

"No!" Legolas shook his head in stubborn denial.

Frowning, Aragorn walked to his dresser. Legolas could hear the Ranger rifling through the various drawers and items of his chest. Too soon for the stubborn Elf's overheated imagination, the Man returned to displaying what he held.

Legolas stared at the ornate hairbrush in Aragorn's hand, uncertain what the Man wanted. Aragorn smiled grimly. "You have lied to me one time too many, emil-neth. Your pride stands between us yet. This I will not allow. It seems to me that only in pain and exhaustion do you come close to speaking truth. I would see the sweet Elf that surrendered to me last evening still."

Dawning realization worked its way arrow sharp through the bound Elf and Legolas found his breath coming quicker. He cursed himself for allowing himself to be caught off-guard again though he knew that he had courted it. He had wooed this punishment as surely as some fickle bard a maiden's hand. Legolas blushed brightly. How easily did Aragorn read his needs. "Do not do this, Estel." He could not keep his voice from cracking.

Aragorn stroked the bare back with the tips of his fingers. Legolas could feel the rough flesh gliding over his back like a brand burning his flesh. The Elf arched like a kitten under the caress, his body playing him traitor. Tension fluttered in his belly like a moth breaking free of its cocoon.

Aragorn watched the Elf's useless struggles, speaking softly, as if his words were promises of sweet tenderness. "Do you not wish to bend over my knee and present your lovely backside to my view? Does it not thrill you to be helpless?" Aragorn strummed the brush's bristles along Legolas' back, watching hotly as the flesh rippled at the touch.

Legolas shook his head rapidly, his hair falling about him. "You are wrong!"

Angrily, Aragorn pulled Legolas' head back by a hank of the long hair. "Why do you deny these things when your body says so loudly that this is what you desire?"

Pulling futilely at his bonds, a quaver betrayed Legolas' voice as he commanded, "I do not wish to be punished."

Aragorn kissed the upturned face, smiling against the full mouth. "Sweet Prince, you have no choice in this matter." So saying, Aragorn kicked Legolas' feet apart, so that he was all but spread-eagled against the post. Legolas felt his heart beat faster; his breathing hitched. Heat touched his cheeks and he closed his eyes as he felt Aragorn's fingers at the waist of his leggings. Teasingly, the Dunédan bared Legolas' buttocks, pushing the filmy material down just below his hips. With casual command, the Dunédan grasped the slim hips and angled Legolas' lower body away from the column as much as his bondage would allow.

Legolas' arousal burned. Cool air kissed the curve of the Elf's naked bottom. Pink tinted the tips of the Elven ears, just barely visible as the Prince sought to bury his face against the post. Somehow, Aragorn's words had been a comfort. He no longer had a choice. He had given that up long ago though he had fought that knowledge. He hung trembling, his erection a powerful reminder of his desire.

The first blow was not as great a surprise as the one of last evening, yet still it burned, and Legolas gave a yelp before biting his lip firmly to keep from crying out anew. A smattering of blows followed the first, each increasing in intensity until Legolas cried out again. He squirmed and wriggled trying to escape the blows though there was nowhere he could go.

He felt his buttocks redden quickly from Aragorn's firm treatment so soon after last night. His breath started to come in quick gasps. Each blow built upon the one before--too rapidly for Legolas to become inured to the pain--until his entire backside felt as if it were aflame. A sobbing breath took the Elf by surprise.

Pausing in the punishment Aragorn stepped up next to the Elf, his hand resting proprietarily along one fleshy flank. With studied movement, Aragorn arranged the reluctant Elf to his satisfaction once again before resuming the chastisement.

Quickly now, Aragorn peppered the Elf's buttocks, the back of the brush striking the curve of the firm cheeks again and again. Moving the brush over the vulnerable backside as if he were an artist upon an empty canvas, Aragorn struck the tops of the cloth-covered thighs. Legolas jumped and moaned, spreading his legs wider.

Somewhere between the bloom of one warming swat and the next the pain had transmuted, turning to fire, feeding through him. Each strike upon unprotected flesh flamed along his nerve endings and settled in a relentless conflagration of heat and desire burning in his loins. He rode each blow as though it were the crest of a wave, higher and higher he rose until pain and pleasure so mingled he could not have said where one began and the other ended. He was simply a channel--his flesh the means to carry this unspeakable pleasure through him until all that mattered was the falling of one blow, then the next.

His blood sang. His flesh burned. Surrender and submission danced through him to the powerful drumming of desire--wild and free.

Legolas' helplessness spurred his excitement and need. Passion swept along his flesh as if he were no more than a conduit along which magical energies surged and flared. No longer could the Elf deny to himself that this was something he desired. His hips moved in rhythm and though his lashes felt damp and his throat hoarse, he could remember neither weeping nor crying out.

His blood thrummed so loud in his ears that he heard naught but the sharp crack that heralded the onslaught of new pain--new pleasure. Tremors ran the length of the slender frame and Legolas whimpered his need. His flesh ached to be touched and he could feel the storm roiling in his loins as his hips made small abortive movements. His mouth had fallen open and he panted for breath. It seemed that he could not drag air enough into his lungs to still the raging fire in his blood.

He did not know when Aragorn paused, only that he was merely the vibration upon a bowstring, taut and ready to be used.

"Legolas, do not move again or you shall remain here for all to find."

Legolas heart did a rapid jump as if it would fly from his chest. His eyes widened and he turned his head to and fro trying to catch glimpse of the Man. "You would not--!"

"Do not tempt me, pen-neth. You already know that there is very little I would not do." Aragorn slid his palm over the reddened buttocks, squeezing enough to draw a hiss from Legolas' lips. Moving his hand lower, Aragorn felt for the heavy tumescence pulsing wickedly between the Elf's legs. Legolas thrust against the Man's hand, a tiny whimper fleeing him. Though he squirmed in Aragorn's grip, he moved not from his widespread position.

Aragorn smiled at this proof of Legolas' need.

"Ai... Estel, please... I burn..."

Dropping his voice to a husky whisper that skittered soft and sweet against Legolas' neck, Aragorn asked, "Do you not know what a delightful picture you make? Should I leave you like this, emil-neth? Hard and needing attention--bound here for any and all to find? I wonder if Galdor is seeking you yet? What words would your Father's seneschal have for you to find you so displayed?"

Legolas let his head hang, his long hair sliding over his arm in a tantalizing sweep that teased against the curve of his back. A quiet gasp escaped him as Aragorn painted the picture of the bound Prince. An answering pulse of pleasure hurtled heedlessly through the Elf's veins to lodge writhing in his loins. "Please--"

Aragorn smiled, pulling on the heated flesh in his hand until he felt a telltale throb. With a single digit, the Man traced the shadowed valley between the taut globes of Legolas' buttocks. Legolas twitched and arched his hips wantonly. Aragorn continued in his whiskey-soft voice, "Would you like that, little Elf? Shall I leave you like this? Do you like being helpless?"

"No!" Legolas cried out both denial and plea, though the flesh held tight in Aragorn's grasp gave a sudden surge. Legolas could not withstand another whimper when Aragorn gripped his hot needy flesh harder, sliding his thumb in teasing caress over the leaking tip.

When it seemed to the Dunédan that Legolas had no choice but to spend his seed with one more good stroke, Aragorn removed his hand. "You will not lie to me, Legolas," Aragorn spoke darkly, anger making his words seem harsh, "If you cannot speak truth, then remain silent. I would hear your whimpers and pleas but never an untruth from your lips."

Legolas leaned his head against the post. His long golden hair lay in a tangled, sweat-damp mass, hiding his face. Twisting his hands in their bonds, his long slender fingers clutched the silken material. His body shook with the strength of his desire and he could feel the leakage from his weeping sex drooling against his widespread thighs. What twist of fate made him susceptible to such treatment, the Elf wondered bewilderedly. How could he have not known this about himself?

He felt Aragorn walk about him, and he waited with pent breath and fast-beating heart for another blow to fall with dread and anticipation. Heat washed his face and he was sure that he would forevermore be unable to look Aragorn in the eye. He flexed his buttocks, all but inviting another blow--another touch--anything from the Dunédan.

Aragorn stroked his hand along Legolas' back. It was a caress of ownership and pride, both soothing and claiming as the Man's hand spanned the Prince's spine, cajoling Legolas as if he were a high-strung stallion.

The Elf could feel each callus upon the Man's hand as though it were a fiery brand. Stretching beneath the hand like a cat to its master, Legolas encouraged Aragorn to continue rubbing him. Aragorn chuckled softly. "I think I like you like this, Legolas. Obedient and willing. What will you do for me, my lovely Elf?"

Letting his hand drift lower, Aragorn stroked the reddened buttocks, noting with satisfaction that there were neither bruise nor broken skin. Legolas hissed but remained obediently still. "Spread your legs wider for me, a'maelamin." Aragorn watched the brightly-colored tip of Legolas' ear but the Elf did not gainsay him. Rather, Legolas obediently spread his legs until his chest met the post at an awkward angle and his back was arched in such a way as to clearly display the abused rear, the opening to Legolas' body unprotected from Aragorn's desirous gaze.

Aragorn slipped his fingers along the crevice between the taut globes. Legolas whimpered. "Will you admit that you want this, my Prince?" Aragorn pushed the tip of his finger against the tight puckered opening.

Almost imperceptibly Legolas shook his head, golden hair dancing about his shoulders.

Sighing, Aragorn began the slow process of opening Legolas up. He pushed his finger deep into Legolas' body drawing a quiet cry from the entrapped Elf. "Melui emil-neth, my beautiful proud Elf. Do you even know what you are getting into?"

Legolas clenched on the intruding digit. His eyes fluttered closed and he allowed his head to lean back caught in a net of pleasure so tight that escape no longer hovered in the shadows of his thought.

Aragorn's breath caught at the glimpse of the Elf's beautiful profile. Damp lashes curled darkly against pale knife-sharp cheeks and the bow-shaped lips were set in a tight line as if to deny the pleasure that Legolas sought as his hips moved on the fingers invading his body.

"Answer me, pen-rhovan." Aragorn crooked his finger, rubbing the hot passage, and Legolas cried out, his lips parted as he panted for breath.

"You do not know what you ask!" he ground out between harsh gasps.

Aragorn sent a second finger questing into the tight passage, twisting and teasing as far as he could reach. Legolas strained against the fingers, crying out for release. The Elf's fingers were clutched so tightly upon the bit of silk that Aragorn had used to bind his wrists that the knuckles shone whitely.

With quiet determination, Aragorn spoke, "Ah, but I do, my proud prince. I most certainly do. Everyone learns from someone. Did you think I had plucked this knowledge full-blown from the air?"

"Please! Estel!" Legolas called out, his face creased with fraught passion. "Grant me release!"

"No, vanima-anim naud galca. Should you desire release you must find it upon what I offer to you."

He rode as Aragorn bade him--a willing slave to pleasure. There was no purchase for Legolas to do aught else but try to ride the fingers within him, his hips rotating in a lascivious manner. It came to him; the lewd picture he must make and he flushed hotly at his own wantonness. Yet he knew he would do this and much more at Aragorn's bidding. He would be willing to do much, much more than this taking of pleasure at the hands of this Man and the shame of that near rose up and choked him.

Lost in the pleasure that thrashed through his bound body, Legolas gave voice to quiet cries and soft sounds of desperation. He thrust his hips upon the invading digits, clenching the muscles within the tight passage of his body. His mewling entreaties enflamed the Dunédan's desires.

Aragorn stepped so close to the Elf that Legolas could feel the heat radiating from the Man like the rays of Anor on a summer's day. He gave a voiceless plea that the Man ignored. The Dunédan's free hand felt between the column and Legolas' chest, pinching the tight rucked nipples mercilessly. Legolas yelped and jumped, the pain flashed through him in a rough counterpoint to the pleasure that arced through him in erratic leaps. Twisting helplessly, he was as much a prisoner of his own desire and passions as of the soft material that bound him.

Plunging his fingers in and out of the Legolas' vulnerable body, Aragorn watched the contorted face of his friend. The Man's desire flared, dancing like lightning and thunder across a night sky. Gritting his teeth, Aragorn determined to ride out Legolas' struggle for completion. The Man's breath was a painful rasp scouring his throat. He was not untouched by the beautiful Prince's struggles. Resolve lit Aragorn's eyes and he swept his free hand from Legolas' chest to the Elf's tempting mouth. Lightly, Aragorn stroked two fingers along the full lower lip. "Do you trust me, Legolas?"

Though thought was far from his passion-hazed mind, Legolas struggled to understand what Aragorn sought from him. The Dunédan's words spiked through him with tantalizing lust. Gasping, Legolas replied what was only the truth that shone bright within his heart and mind. "With my life."

"And your heart?" Aragorn continued to trace the delectable mouth, his fingers stilling within the Elf's body, much to Legolas' dismay.

"Estel! Why must you torment me?"

Twisting his fingers, the Dunédan massaged along the canal, seeking Legolas' pleasure spot until the Elf shouted. Quiet and beguiling, Aragorn whispered, his voice scraping across Legolas' like fur upon overheated flesh, "I think it is the only way to make you answer and answer truly, pen-neth."

Again Aragorn stilled his fingers, watching the Elf's twisted face as Legolas struggled with desire and passion. When the Elf spoke, his words were thick and clumsy, as if dragged from him reluctantly. "I--have always--been told by my Father that such--desires--are not for the Firstborn. That they are--twisted--"

Aragorn began sliding his fingers in and out of Legolas' body as reward for his small truth. Legolas near sobbed with entreaty, the cloth about his thighs all but cutting into tender flesh as he sought to spread himself wider.

Legolas flicked his tongue needfully against Aragorn's fingers--the desire to touch, to stroke, to return each soft caress and tender tease railing through him.

Aragorn took pity upon the frantic Elf and slid his fingers within the parted lips, mimicking the motion of the fingers buried deep within the Prince's slender body. "Suckle, my friend. Suckle, and be filled."

Hungrily, Legolas attacked the fingers he was offered, sucking them deep into his mouth and hollowing his cheeks as if he drank at Aragorn's manhood. A loud gasp from behind Legolas echoed within the chamber, announcing Arwen's return.

Awareness of his helplessness, the wicked image he must present--the Prince of Greenwood with his legs open, Aragorn's fingers working deep inside him even as he sucked frantically upon the digits filling his mouth--raced through Legolas leaving him moaning and shaken as a windblown tree. Aragorn was all but plastered against Legolas' side, the Man's erection a hard spear of desire and need as great as Legolas' own.

All these thoughts exploded through him with a final punishing thrust of Aragorn's fingers, and Legolas arched his spine impossibly. He threw his head back, tossing his hair like the wind-kissed mane of an untamed stallion. A scream of purest pleasure was ripped from him--all grace and dignity long torn from him as passion surged through him without control. His seed spilled from him in pulses almost too sharp to be pleasurable.

The arc of Legolas' release splashed against his thighs, the carved column that had held him prisoner and hidden his entreaty but poorly, and puddled beneath him upon the floor. His legs too weak to hold him steady, Legolas sagged against the post. Wooden leaves and traceries of vines pricked him, but he voiced no complaint.

At that moment, if Aragorn asked it of him, Legolas would have gifted it to him--his feä, his troth, the confession of his love.

Arwen's voice drifted past the dazed Elf. "You could not wait for me to join you?"

Pulling his fingers free of Legolas' limp body, Aragorn wiped them casually against his thigh. He stroked the near unconscious Elf's hair, smiling softly. "He was reluctant to accept the hospitality of my bathing chambers."

Alone and bound, Legolas felt bereft when Aragorn stepped away from him to meet Arwen.

Weary, Legolas lay his head upon one of his bound arms. Not yet willing to trust himself to his feet, he hung limply against what little support the column gave. Drifting in the languorous aftermath of his completion, Legolas watched the two--Man and Nís.

He was unused, as yet, to being observed in so intimate an act and wondered at her calm assurance.

Arwen was draped in deep green velvet and cream lace, her pale bosoms round and full beneath a tight bodice. Legolas could see her quick breaths from here and blushed to know that he had played a part in her titillation. Her dark hair hung like silk about the perfection of her face, red lips full and parted, tongue flicking quickly over their generous curves, her eyes were deep and mysterious as the night.

Aragorn brushed Arwen's hair back from her pale face. The smile that Aragorn gave her was as a sacred pledge filled with tenderness and love. The pain of that shared look turned Legolas' heart, and the Elf yearned to see such softness directed at himself. Aragorn's voice was deep and coaxing, almost apologetic. "I thought some persuasion was in order."

Returning Aragorn's smile with one so bright that Legolas found his tired gaze riveted whether he would or no, Arwen teased, "Did you?" She walked past Aragorn, her soft skirts whispering against the floor as she stood in front of Legolas. "And you, my young Prince, were you convinced?"

Legolas remained quiet, indulging in the lassitude of worn muscle and satiated flesh. He bit his lip to keep from answering even as Arwen stroked his hair back from his heated face much as she would the fur of a favorite cat.

Aragorn spoke for him. "We have reached an understanding, Legolas and I."

Interested, Arwen looked from Legolas to Aragorn before gliding into Aragorn's beckoning embrace. "Have you now, beloved? And, pray tell, what is that?"

"He may only speak truth to us or not at all."

Arwen's laugh filled the room with brightness and joy. Her joy tugged at his confusion and his shame. He wondered how Arwen saw him--or if she saw him at all as anything outside of a means to keep Aragorn happy. He would have turned from her then if he could, yet his eyes remained fastened upon her--upon the way Aragorn submitted to her gentle advances. The way the Man responded to her joy and shameless behavior.

One slender-fingered hand curled behind Aragorn's neck as she tugged the Dunédan's head down. As their lips met, stubbled tawny flesh next to luminous pearl, Arwen whispered, her voice deep and rich and vibrant with hidden meaning and lush desire, "I do not know if I am jealous of you or filled with envy, meleth-nin."

Unable to tear his gaze away Legolas drank in the sight of the man he loved--fully naked, Aragorn's erection proud and glistening--and the beautiful Elven maid--full of light and grace.

Aragorn surrendered to Arwen's proffered kiss. The Evenstar pressed her lips against Aragorn's in a gesture filled with passions both gentle and deep, as if supping from a cup of wine. Her tongue delicately traced the Man's lips, and when Aragorn groaned, his hands moving to frame her face as he opened to her, she gently entered his mouth, kissing him deeply, claiming Aragorn even as Aragorn had claimed Legolas.

When Aragorn would have closed the distance between their bodies, Arwen pulled away, her eyes alight with desire and mischief. A smile played about her sensuous mouth, "No, my love. You and our pretty Prince have had delight aplenty." She traced one long slim finger down the center of Aragorn's chest, playing with the soft damp curls that decorated the Man there. "I think I no longer have it in me to bide my time."

Aragorn's voice was near strangled as he clasped his hands over hers. "You have but to name your desire."

A smile--as beautiful and remote as Eärendil--curled Arwen's lips. She dropped her free hand down the length of Aragorn's body to toy with his sex, her fingertips dancing lightly from tip to root of his rigid organ. "It is time the Prince learned to share." Arwen gave the flesh in her hand a remonstrating squeeze, at Aragorn's hiss, she added, her eyes flashing in warning. "As should you, meleth-nin."

Closing his eyes as Arwen touched him, Aragorn strove to answer, his very words seemed to shake with forced restraint. "He is yet ready. It has only been a single day."

Slowly, as if hearing from a long distance, the meaning of what both Man and Nís discussed seeped past the lassitude that held Legolas in thrall. The Elf's eyes widened and he drew a sharp in drawn breath preparatory to protest but a warning look from Aragorn kept him from speaking.

Arwen moved away, the velvet skirts swirling about her hips. "A night and a day, beloved." Aragorn followed her. Kneeling at her feet, he lay his head against her cloth-covered thigh. Arwen gracefully feathered her fingers through the dark tangled locks. She tilted her head inquisitively, addressing her words to the bound Prince, "You cannot have him to yourself, Legolas. Nor he you. This you know." Once more her glance slid to Aragorn before returning to the lovely spectacle suspended before her. "I have been more than generous, I think. Will you not serve me as you have so faithfully served Estel?"

"I can do nothing else, it would seem, my Lady." Legolas could not quite bring himself to look fully upon either of them. How much further would he go, what more would they ask of him before this strange game they played would be over? Softly, with as much quiet dignity as he could muster in a voice still hoary with passion's cries, he replied, "It seems I was foolish and gave up my freedom in a moment of blind impetuosity."

Gently teasing, she addressed Aragorn once more, "I do not think you have tamed our wild bird yet, my love. Unbind him and bring him to me."

The Dunédan bowed his head in acknowledgement, before rising to his feet and approaching the bound Prince. Aragorn turned to Legolas, brushing fingers tenderly against his cheek before releasing his arms from their gentle imprisonment.

Legolas near fell into Aragorn's embrace, limbs as ungainly as a newborn foal's.

Aragorn circled Legolas' waist with his arm, guiding the Sindarin Elf to one of the soft scattered rugs at Arwen's feet. Legolas sank gratefully to the ground as Arwen smiled her approval. It was almost without surprise that he noted Aragorn sink to his knees beside him.

"Am I wrong, Legolas? Will you not flee the moment strength returns to you?" Arwen inquired gently running the tip of one finger along the side of Legolas' face.

Legolas stared up at her, unsure what path was the safe road. "I am too tired to see my way clearly through the brambles and thickets that you and Aragorn have surrounded me with, my Lady."

"Honesty. And beauty." Arwen sighed, her hands drifting over her body. "I am on fire from watching you. You were so lovely in your wildness, my sweet Prince. I think any who saw your passion would wish to taste of your fruits." With a regal gesture, Arwen summoned Aragorn to his feet. "As do I."

Rising at the Lady's bidding, his attention apparently now solely focused upon his betrothed Aragorn gave Legolas an encouraging pat. Legolas felt alone and abandoned, unable to rise. Amazement kept him kneeling at the Lady's feet as Aragorn answered to her command as any common Elf would to Thranduil.

Aragorn graced the beauteous Evenstar with a kiss upon her outstretched hand.

"Disrobe me, my love." Arwen turned presenting her back to both Legolas and the Dunédan, her thick hair cascading in soft waves to her waist. Aragorn tenderly brushed aside the soft dark mass, kissing her exposed neck with all the gentleness that Legolas desired. Aragorn's nimble fingers undid the complex fastenings with an ease born of long practice.

When Arwen turned again so that Legolas could see her face Aragorn slid one shoulder free of the soft material. Slowly Aragorn exposed her flesh, brushing a tender caress of lips against the newly revealed expanse.

Legolas could see the rapid beating of Arwen's heart in the pulse at her throat. She watched him, a smile curving her lips, her eyes veiled beneath a fringe of dark lashes.

Aragorn gradually lay bare Arwen's loveliness, slipping the dress down over her firm, round breasts, her slender waist and ample hips.

Arwen licked at her full lips, her gaze bold and filled with need. Her fingers wandered idly upon Aragorn's body, touching his cheek, his throat, a nipple, fondling his manhood as if he were more a pet than her soon-to-be husband.

The Dunédan accepted all with steadfast desire, kissing her fingertips, his love shining bright as stars held in his eyes. Finally, Aragorn allowed the heavy folds of cloth to slip from his fingers and pool about her ankles.

The maid stood revealed in all her glory and her wickedness caused Legolas to blush scarlet. She had worn no garments beneath that confection of velvet and lace.

Standing to one side, Aragorn let his hand drift over Arwen's newly exposed beauty, encouraging a sweet longing moan from her ripe lips. Gently the Dunédan stroked his hand along the length of her throat, to lie but a moment upon her heaving bosom. Tenderly, the Man took her lips in another kiss, his naked longing pulsating wetly against his thigh. He molded his hands to her breasts and Arwen gave a quick inhale that sounded loud to Legolas' ears.

Legolas watched wide-eyed, unable to tear his eyes from this display of love and carnality. Truly, if he had not just had such deep release, the very sight of their abandoned display would make him hard and needful. He wondered if Arwen had been so affected when she had come upon him and Aragorn wrapped in deep embrace.

Sighing with her pleasure, Arwen tilted her neck, inviting the caress of Aragorn's lips down the long column of her throat. Aragorn attended to her desires with obvious joy. The Man moved closer, his lips trailing along throat and shoulder as he coaxed the Elven maid to turn to him.

Uncomfortable, Legolas squirmed. He was as near between as made no difference, the intimate places of both Arwen and Aragorn within lips' reach, if he chose but to rise upon his knees fully. Awareness flooded him, he was sure that if he had not been drained by the two that he would be unable to keep himself from joining.

That knowledge was painful to him. He had not considered himself overly weak nor given to undue passion until he had tread this dangerous path.

Strange emotions played within him. Though he did not yet feel love, she had said that love could grow.

His Father had said much the same thing to his older brother, Mírion, when a marriage had been arranged to benefit both Greenwood the Great and the wild Elves of Rhovanion. That Thranduil had chosen to ally with Wilderland rather than Lothlórien or Imladris was no great surprise. His feelings for the Noldor were well known. Now his youngest son had fallen to this--a plaything for Arwen, princess of Imladris, and Aragorn, foster-son to his Father's most loathed rival.

If his Father knew of this--of Legolas kneeling at their feet as a supplicant, helpless with exhaustion and confused love--he would no doubt lock him away in the deepest cavern within his fortress realm until the Prince should find his senses. His Father would not stand to see his son a tawdry bauble for some human King and his Noldor bride. Was this not how his Father would see him--a pitiful catamite, kept and petted at the whim of a human court?

He could not think this. Would not. Aragorn would never so betray him. Legolas held that thought close to his heart.

Could he make Thranduil understand? How could he when he was not sure he did himself? His Father would expect better of him. Mírion had bowed to their Father's wishes and had married as he was bid, both for the sake of the Greenwood and for peace within their family. Yet his brother's heart had not already been given.

What of himself, Legolas questioned in the depths of his mind. He loved deeply and he had thought hopelessly, yet Arwen said not. Could he trust the Elven maid in this? Her ways were strange to him, as were those of her people. Yet, Aragorn himself had said that he would that Legolas join with them.

Legolas' heart hammered terribly. The thought dearest and most urgent to him banged like a poorly held shutter against the barrier of his heart; did Aragorn love him in return? He had given no thought--no hope--to that, yet, why then did Aragorn fight so valiantly to draw Legolas ever deeper into his seductive web?

As Legolas knelt, lone supplicant to their testimony of love, bewildered sorrow tugged at him. Watching them, Legolas did not see how there was room for him. He could acknowledge the yearning deep within him for belonging, now. It seared him, marked him, owned him, as did Aragorn. If Aragorn asked it of him, he would not be able to deny him.

Their upper bodies were entwined and Aragorn stroked along her gracefully arched spine with fingers both caring and tender. Arwen had her hands tangled in the dark twisted locks of Aragorn's hair; her head leaned back so far that it seemed impossible she would not break. The Man cupped her buttocks, and Legolas could see the powerful ripple of passion shake her fair body at Aragorn's touch. The Dunédan touched lip to her breast, licking enticingly and then drawing the swollen tip into his mouth to suckle, taking her other breast in his free hand, rubbing and squeezing.

Arwen accepted Aragorn's homage to her body, her gaze hazy with her desire, a smile curving her full lips.

Arwen was pale. Paler than Aragorn with his honey-kissed flesh, yet not so pale as the Silvan Elves that Legolas had known. More like the petal of a lotus, her flesh creamy and luminous. Her lips were bright as blood upon new-fallen snow, generous in shape and loving in their smile. Sooty lashes guarded eyes as deep a blue as a storm-tossed sky. Dark hair like the wing of night swept across fair shoulders, braids twisted into the length naming her of the House of Elrond and a princess by right--even if she chose not to use such title. She carried herself with a pride and power that was both frightening and intriguing.

It was no wonder in Legolas' mind that Aragorn did love her. Legolas could not tear his eyes from them. Did he find Arwen desirable? Was she not one of the most beautiful of Elven women that he had ever seen? Cloaked in power, mystery and husky voiced seduction, could he not find pleasure in such a maid? Were it only that she belonged to Aragorn and Aragorn to her that kept him from surrendering completely?

Hesitantly, almost of a will of its own, his hand smoothed against the silken texture of Arwen's leg. Her flesh was firm yet soft as fine-spun silk to his fingers. He raised himself upon his knees, his other hand caressing the strength of Aragorn's thighs and seeking the curve of the Man's buttocks. He swallowed a pained breath, almost afraid to draw their attention to himself, but unwilling to be left and cast aside by indifference. Unknowing of Aragorn's passion, Legolas had had nothing to lose by accepting Aragorn's betrothal and withdrawing. Yet now--now he could not imagine being without the Dunédan's touch.

He rubbed his face against Aragorn's thigh. The hair upon the Dunédan's legs was thicker and more wiry here. His musk was strong. Legolas wondered if it were addictive, that after so short a time he could no longer imagine being without. Rumors among his people often told of scent attracting and holding one loyal to one's mate. Legolas could almost believe those tales now.

First kissing Aragorn's thigh, the tickle of hair tingled against his lips as he moved over thigh and then to the smooth flesh of the Dunédan's hips. Legolas then nuzzled Aragorn's groin. The tip of the Dunédan's manhood placed a wet kiss upon the Prince's cheek. Legolas then allowed his fingers to tease across Aragorn's buttocks as his other hand wandered secretively further upward along the Lady's thigh to slide between her legs and graze the soft, dark fur that he had seen shadowing her cleft.

Her thick pelt was soft, lustrous like rabbit's fur and most pleasing to touch. Very different from his own people and the few lovers he had taken, neri or nissi. He wondered if it was a token of her mixed blood or if all Noldor had such thick, rich hair and wondrous curls betwixt their legs. He slipped his fingers between the soft folds of fur-covered flesh and felt an answering pulse against his sensitive fingertips.

The Lady had not lied. She was wet with her desire and Legolas touched his fingers curiously to his lips tasting of her essence.

Sweet and bitter at once like a rare fruit. A quiet gasp from above froze him and he glanced up from his innocent explorations to catch Arwen's eyes upon him. He had thought there was no room left him for shame, yet the hot gaze of both Arwen and Aragorn were locked upon him and sent heat flaming against his pale cheeks and his blood racing.

He would have looked away then, if they had not sensed his embarrassment and each tangled a hand in his hair, holding him half-risen like a playful pup against their legs.

Knowingly, Arwen met his shamed gaze. "It is surprising your Father allowed you to wander from his borders, my Prince. I would never have let such innocence go abroad." Her cheeks dimpled with her pleasure at his surprise. "I would have kept you under lock and key. As perhaps we may now."

Legolas glanced away. Though Arwen and he were of an age, she made him feel unbearably young and gauche. He wondered if all the Elves of his Father's realm were so much less bold than those of Elrond's court. Although he had taken lovers a handful of times, none had ever seemed so forward nor so wickedly inventive.

"Will he behave, do you think?" Arwen asked, her voice wrapped with sweet desire.

Settling hands that seemed overlarge about her slender waist, Aragorn answered huskily, "He does not have it in him to fight yet again, although I would not trust it to remain so. He is yet weary from his long journey. And that works in our favor." Aragorn dropped one hand to finger through the long blond locks caressing a pointed ear-tip. Legolas leaned his head against Aragorn's thigh as if it were too heavy for him to hold upright. "He is confused, as well. He finds it difficult to face what he has buried deep within his breast."

"I am in this room, still." Legolas spoke a bit peevishly. He shifted, uncomfortable being discussed as if he were not in the room. If he should choose to leave, he wondered just how far he would get before either Arwen or Aragorn brought him to bay.

Arwen gave him a gentle smile, both soothing and condescending at once, and Legolas felt himself rebuked.

"What do you desire, my Lady?" Aragorn's voice was deep, steel touched with passion. It swept over Arwen in such a way that Legolas could see her tremble, and he sympathized fully, for he knew how he did react when the heat of that gaze and Aragorn's full attention dwelt solely upon him.

"Fill him, my love, ride him. Tire him so he cannot be free of the feel of you. Let him feel it as he sits to table with my Father and the Lords of the realm. I want him to remember us both as he wanders the Hall of Flames lest he forget his place and seek to elude us." Arwen touched her fingers to Aragorn's mouth, her gaze deepening as he touched tongue-tip to their flesh and drew them slowly within his mouth. "And as you fill him, I wish for our little wild bird to pleasure me with his fingers," her voice dropped lower, husky with need and burning desire, "his lips and his tongue."

Legolas' eyes grew wide and he felt a wildness rushing through him demanding an action he was too stunned to accomplish. That Aragorn was pushed by her words and Legolas' deeds nearly beyond human endurance was apparent by the sudden clenching of his hand in Legolas' hair. Sharp, shooting pain shot through the Elven Prince and mixed with his lethargy with a rich lusciousness that twined the pain inextricably with the remnants of pleasured lassitude.

He should flee. He should surrender. Both choices were not his. He had neither the strength nor the resolve to fly. Confusion and exhaustion weighed him down. And desire, not that of passion, but rather that of love too long ignored--he wanted--needed--to please Aragorn. It burned as hot within him as the passions that both Arwen and Aragorn sought to continually ignite within him.

Aragorn's voice rubbed across him like sand against tender flesh, "Thank you, beloved."

"Aragorn--"

The Dunédan placed his hand across Legolas' mouth, shaking his head as he knelt by the Prince's side. "Do not resist Legolas. It is folly, meleth. You cannot win." As he spoke, Aragorn pushed Legolas back upon the soft carpeting. The Prince's head rested upon the folds of Arwen's dress, his hair a tangled snarl of sunlight bright against the deep green. Arwen's scent, light and fresh like new blooms and honey, clung to the thick material.

Legolas knew not from whence Arwen had brought the small jar of unguent. It appeared as if by magic and she handed it to Aragorn who knelt between his legs. Her very appearance was one of unconcealed anticipation. Aragorn stroked Legolas chest soothingly, looking direct into the dismayed Elf's eyes. "Part your thighs for me, edhel-neth."

At the Prince's seeming reluctance, Arwen knelt by his head, running her fingers gently along his face. "We know of your love, Legolas. You cannot hide it. And now look, you have left Aragorn in pain and he has delighted you so. Do you not wish to please your beloved, my Prince?"

He took a deep breath and would have closed his eyes, save for a sharp flick of Arwen's fingers upon his cheek. "Should you fail him, Legolas, his punishment will be as swift as yours for I hold him responsible for you."

That Arwen would hurt Aragorn--punish the Dunédan even as Legolas had been punished--was a new thought. It startled the Prince and he stared between them for some few moments as he thought upon this. Coming to a decision, Legolas turned his head brushing tender caress of lips against the soft fleshy part of Arwen's open thighs. She hissed her pleasure and answered his caress with a soft touch of fingers against his cheek, her approval shining in the depth of her ocean-colored eyes.

With a slight flush, Legolas locked his gaze with Aragorn's and spread his legs. He tasted salt, sweat and blood upon his lip where he had bitten it some unknowing time earlier. Hesitantly, but with an obvious invitation that left him feeling wickedly licentious, Legolas canted his hips.

He could not believe he was being so docile yet it seemed foolish to struggle. That he had little choice in what was to happen was more than apparent. They were two to his one, and already he had acknowledged that he could not find it within him to harm Aragorn. Awareness that he had agreed to submit taunted him.

Legolas tried to concentrate solely on what Aragorn wanted of him. Though his own blood rushed and his heart pounded like the fabled ocean upon a rocky shore, no amount of persuasion could make his sex do more than twitch in painful wistfulness as the Man's fingers entered his body anew and checked for Legolas' readiness.

"Do it, Estel. Do it now. I cannot wait longer." Arwen's voice was soft and trembled with ardor. The sound of it lashed Legolas' awareness.

Answering her command as if bred to it Aragorn tilted Legolas' hips even more, his shaking hand guiding his hard and aching flesh to the opening of the slender Elf's body. Legolas groaned as he felt himself breached. Aragorn was large, and though Legolas had had the pleasure of the Man within him twice before now, he did not think he would ever become inured to the breadth of the Dunédan.

Arwen stroked his cheek tenderly. Swallowing hard, Legolas tore his gaze from Aragorn to seek out the Lady.

Her eyes were bright as starlight and as tumultuous as the oceans and Legolas felt as if they would swallow him whole. She made quiet, soothing noises and Legolas felt himself relax trustingly between them regardless of whatever warning clamor rang through his Silvan-bred mind.

Legolas made a sound deep in his chest rather like a purr and turned to kiss her gentling fingers with gratitude.

Aragorn adjusted his angle, pulling Legolas' legs about his waist so that he could probe deeper still into the Prince's supine body. Legolas twisted on the edge of desire, his spirit raging and his flesh desirous of more than he could do. Every square inch of Legolas' body sang with an awareness beyond anything he had ever known. He kept his eyes glued to Aragorn watching as the Man plundered his body. Legolas' thighs trembled from exhaustion, his back aching at his prolonged use.

Arwen watched only for a few moments before her words whispered over Legolas' flesh like mountain air, sending chills dancing along his back and tugging at his recalcitrant flesh, making the tight buds of his nipples ache. "Now, while you are so thoroughly owned by his touch would I have pleasure of you, my Prince."

Remembering Arwen's warning that Aragorn stood to be punished in his stead, Legolas waited. Aragorn's voice drifted over him, "Do this for me, a'maelamin. Show for me the love you cannot speak."

For Aragorn to speak so left Legolas weak. He had no strength to stand against the Man and his words of love. Though he might wish it. Yet, would surrender be so dear a thing? Would it not be dearer still to lose what he had tasted? To stand upon the doorway of paradise and be refused admittance, could he truly walk from this room, this chamber, ever again the same Legolas as when he had entered?

That he was willing to do this thing for Aragorn shook Legolas to his root. He watched Arwen through partially lowered eyes. Her face seemed all bright starlit eyes and lush red lips; dark hair framed her figure. Her breasts moved with rapid breaths and the deep rose tips were flushed for wont of a touch. Her flesh was smooth and unblemished, her smile kind and loving.

Arwen parted her legs and knelt over him, the bloom of her femininity damp with her desires. Her scent was as sweet as that which clung to the gown and Legolas felt no disgust, though desire did not burn hot.

A need to please Aragorn wormed its way behind his half-shuttered eyes. Suddenly, he desired fervently to please both his love and the Lady. As she slowly sank above him, he kissed and licked at her thighs, his hands going up willingly to caress tender flesh. When Arwen settled her mound above his face Legolas raised tired arms to grasp her smooth thighs and nosed through the soft dark fur that hid her nether lips.

Arwen arched and relaxed above him, a cry winging softly from her throat. Legolas could no longer see Aragorn, his vision filled with creamy thighs and dark-furred mound. But he could feel the Dunédan, as a spike of pleasure all along his spine with each penetrating thrust into his body. A pleasure that was more of mind than body stole over Legolas as Aragorn filled him and re-filled him, owning him in a way the Silvan Elf had never thought possible.

With a barely audible sigh Legolas parted his lips and tasted of the Lady Arwen. One long, slow stroke of his tongue brought another cry from her and a murmur of approval from Aragorn. Arwen's thighs tightened beneath his fingers.

Legolas bit at the furry lip that hid the flower of her maidenhood from him. With soft nips and teasing licks, Legolas suckled and tugged at the small nub that throbbed and filled with blood at his urging.

Arwen undulated above him, her hips rotating as she sought her pleasure. A thrill of knowledge danced through him as the Lady cried out again and again, her cries like that of a wild bird, high and sweet. Though he could not refuse what was happening, in his own way he had power. He had power over them both.

Aragorn's thrusts became more determined and less rhythmic. Growls escaped the Dunédan's throat giving proof of Aragorn's desire and his need of Legolas as much as Legolas needed him. Arwen's softer, birdlike cries grew more shrill as Legolas laved her sex. Surely, if he were not needed, neither Aragorn nor Arwen would strive so hard to keep him close.

He exulted in this hope.

Legolas alternated his tongue strokes, licking and biting at her mound. He could feel the swell of her sex and smell the intoxicating scents of her arousal. Arwen undulated her hips, riding his face, smearing her juices across his nose and chin.

Licking his lips, Legolas slid his tongue teasingly beneath the soft folds. Arwen gave a surprised shout, arching above him so that Legolas slid his hands around her thighs stroking and tugging gently until she settled once more upon his face. Again, he slipped his tongue into her sweet, hidden recesses and found the seat of her pleasure. A small hard nodule throbbed and seemed swollen with need.

He worried at the nub of flesh that seemed to pulsate beneath his tongue much as Aragorn's hard length pulsed within him. Arwen's cries grew wilder, freer, resounding in the chambers and mixing with Aragorn's passion-filled shouts.

Legolas moaned and thrashed beneath them, feeling both helpless and reveling in his capture.

A sudden flash of heat seared him as he was filled with Aragorn's release, the Man shouting so loud that Legolas dimly wondered if it would bring a curious guardian or chambermaid to check that all was well. The young Prince buried his face deeply into her mound. Urgently, Legolas bit the tender flesh. Sucking the small tight nub into his mouth and worried it with his tongue, suckling like a lamb at a teat.

Arwen screamed her pleasure, her body rippling above Legolas. He felt his mouth fill with a sweet-tasting fluid, the Elven maid gasped and shook uncontrollably. Legolas released the small protrusion slowly, giving it several encouraging licks. It must have delighted Arwen greatly for she rubbed herself over him, purring softly in her pleasure.

He felt her lean forward, angle her body towards Aragorn's where he was slumped against Legolas' splayed legs. Movement let Legolas know that Aragorn was taking her into his arms even as the Man remained buried within him and Arwen complacent upon his face. He heard the wet sounds of tender kisses and his fingers clenched jealously upon the pale thighs.

Sleepily, he wondered if he had pleased them both. More importantly--though why that was so, Legolas refused to acknowledge--if Aragorn was well pleased and if the Man would hold him as tenderly. He let his thoughts wander aimlessly as the sounds of Arwen's passionate longing increased once again.

Legolas felt like a toy, an object, something with which Arwen could satiate her lusts. Something about the abjectness of his situation both excited and appalled him.

He suckled and licked as bid against the Lady's soft furred lips. Long, loving strokes of tongue tasting delicate flesh and calling forth erratic movement of thigh and hip.

She cried out almost continuously and he heard his name uttered alongside Aragorn's and shame did not fill him so very greatly. As he sought with his fingers to brush along the crevice of her buttocks, he felt one of Aragorn's hands brush against his cheek. The Dunédan carefully inserted his fingers into the opening of her body and rubbed Legolas' lips with his thumb before he began mimicking the motion of love-play with forceful thrusts of his hand and Legolas sucked avidly at the flesh where Aragorn's hand entered her body.

The salt of Aragorn's flesh and the tang of Arwen's sweet juices were ripe and enticing upon his lips. He moaned and rooted between her legs, tasting of Aragorn, tasting of Arwen--somehow their flavors becoming inextricably entwined.

Arwen went rigid with her pleasure, her body arched impossibly tight. Turning his head, he delivered a love-bite to the fleshy thigh and licked the join between her leg and pubis. Wild, abandoned cries and soft, enticing moans heated desire between Maid and Man. Arwen rode Legolas as if he were a wild pony attempting to throw her rather than willing in his submission. He felt the quaking of her body as her release flew through her.

"Shhh. Melethril. Shhh. I have you." Aragorn spoke in a deep, reassuring voice and gathered Arwen into his arms. Regretfully, Legolas felt Aragorn's sex slowly withdraw from his tired body. He gave a parting squeeze as the softened flesh pulled from his with a soft, wet sound.

Arwen allowed herself to be pulled against Aragorn. The two lovers embraced across Legolas' lax body. The drowsy Elf watched them wistfully as they exchanged tender kisses, soft reassuring touches and loving caress. He stroked their thighs with his fingertips.

That Arwen was pleased soon became apparent. With Aragorn's arms wrapped protectively around her waist she leaned over, tasting herself upon Legolas' lips. Legolas needed no urging this time to open his mouth and allow her entry. He drifted indolently somewhere between the here and now and the waking dream world that he so desperately courted.

Arwen walked her fingers along his damp brow, wiped her juices delicately from his lips and supped upon her fingers. Legolas could not be bothered to let her amusement worry him. He drifted muscles sore and satiated, the feeling of being well and thoroughly used not so repugnant as he lay sprawled loose and lax limbed. When she offered him her fingers, he kissed them as he had seen Aragorn do, licking delicately at their tips.

"I think you have chosen well, beloved. He is beautiful and innocent. Exciting as the Bruinen and as wondrous as a newborn colt." Arwen combed her fingers through Legolas' wildly tangled hair.

Legolas blinked sleepily. He felt like a cat he had once seen, resting in the summer sun, too lazy to even give chase to a small mouse that had dared to play with its whiskers.

Aragorn helped Arwen rise to her feet. Legolas stretched and arched beneath their twin stares but felt no shame. That Aragorn was pleased with him he held tight to his heart.

When the Man reached for him, his hand open and waiting, Legolas obediently placed his fingers in the strong grasp allowing Aragorn to pull him to his feet. Legolas wavered and would mayhap have fallen if not for Aragorn's strong grasp.

Arwen laughed softly, triumphantly, her hair dishevelled most deliciously about her lovely features. Her lips were swollen from Aragorn's kisses and Legolas wondered idly if he would be able to taste the Dunédan upon her.

Arwen took his other hand, speaking soothingly, as if afraid anything she said might wake him from his placidity. "Come, my little wild bird, let us bathe you and ready you for my Father's celebration."

TBC

**************

A'maelamin - beloved

Emil-neth - princeling or little prince

Meleth - love

Melethril - female lover

Melethron-ne - my love

Melethron-nin - loved one

Mellon-nin - my friend

Melme - love

Mírion - mír meaning to 'sparkle like a jewel' and ion, male suffix. I figured Thranduil would probably name at least one of his children after his passion for Gold and Jewels. ^_^

Nér - male elf

Neri - male elves

Nís - female Elf, Elven woman/maid, singular

Níssi - she-elves, female elves

Pen-rhovan - wild one

Saes - please (AJ Matthews)

Vanima-anim naud galca - my beautiful bound captive

Translations and Elvish were compiled from these website resources:

Ardalmbion - http://www.uib.no/People/hnohf/

The Grey Company: http://Grey-Company.org

Sindarin Dictionary Project: http://www.geocities.com/almacq.geo/sindar/index.html

Other Resources:

"Screw the Roses, Send Me the Thorns: The Romance and Sexual Sorcery of Sadomasochism" by Miller & Devon

"The Topping Book" by Easton & Lizt

"The Bottoming Book" by Easton & Lizt

"The Initiation of PB 500" by Kyle Stone (Fiction)

Extensive use of the mirror was inspired and encouraged by Irena.