Gimli lay in his tent, teeth chattering. He was furious with himself. He knew well it wasn't a natural cold that was assailing him; it was the fear of the Dead.
Perhaps this is why Legolas and the Peredhil do not fear the Dead, he thought, clutching his inadequate blanket closer. They do not feel the cold; so they cannot feel the dread that comes with it.
Gimli tried to get himself angry at Legolas, for being unafraid. To be angry, or resentful, or envious--it would be something to take his mind away from this cold chill, the unnatural silence. The people who lived in this place had fled at their coming, and Gimli could not blame them. In the hidden corners of his heart, he wished he could do the same.
He shifted irritably, turning onto his side. What in Mahal's name was wrong with him? The Dunedain could get even their beasts to walk the path, albeit reluctantly, and could walk it themselves with no visible sign of fear. Why was he, Gimli, so affected?
He heard a rustle at the flap of his tent. Instantly he rose to a crouching position, axe in his hand. But the lightness of his visitor's hair gave him away as a shadowy figure passed inside, and Gimli dropped his axe again, unalarmed.
Legolas crossed quietly to him and lay down next to him. Gimli raised the corner of his blanket, wordlessly offering to share. Legolas obligingly spread the blanket out over both of them, readjusting the pillow (Gimli's travelling pack) so that they could share it as well.
It was some time before either of them spoke. Gimli occupied himself by noting without really feeling much about it his lack of surprise or discomfort at the Elf's presumed familiarity, coming into Gimli's tent and lying next to him without so much as a by-your-leave. Since Helm's Deep their relationship has changed somewhat. Certainly they were still friends, but there was an added something, a layer Gimli could not quite define. The Elf was in constant physical proximity, often bestowing a touch that was gentler or more lingering than it might have been before, and Gimli was quite comfortable with it. That was all he could tell of the matter; he had had other things on his mind.
Finally Legolas spoke, his tone quiet. "I feared you were not asleep."
"I will find no sleep tonight," Gimli replied, his tone also subdued.
"You must," Legolas said firmly. "There are many weary marches to many futile battles ahead of us; and many nights when the opportunity for sleep may not come."
"Nevertheless, I cannot sleep." Gimli almost went on but stopped himself, ashamed.
The silence hung heavy between them. Gimli got the sense that Legolas was listening--and that he would continue to listen, whether the Dwarf spoke or not. It was disconcerting, lying there and imagining what Legolas could be learning from his silence. So Gimli went on.
"I am not accustomed to feeling this way," he said in a low tone. "I have always considered myself to be brave, a warrior of the highest caliber. But I am laid low by this. I would sooner return to Moria and face the horror within than take one more step on the Path of the Dead."
Legolas remained quiet for a moment, and Gimli feared he had shamed himself with his confession. But then Legolas spoke. "I have been thinking," he said quietly. "There must be something we can do to protect you from this."
Gimli felt worse at Legolas' words. "I should not need your protection. What is it about this that lays me low?"
He had spoken the question mostly to himself, but to his surprise Legolas answered. "I have been thinking about that too. It seems to me that these creatures are of the earth. That the fear of them is also of the earth. And it may be that you, being a Dwarf, are more connected to the earth than any of the rest of us.
"This is the only explanation I can find for it affecting you as it does," Legolas added quietly. "For you are a warrior of the highest caliber, Gimli."
Gimli was silent. Legolas' words were small comfort, but they were comfort offered nonetheless, and he knew he should thank the Elf for them. But the fear of the dead, the knowledge that they waited outside the door, dried up anything he might have said.
Legolas' slim fingers ran through Gimli's sweat-soaked hair, offering further comfort. Gimli let his head rest on Legolas' shoulder, wishing with all his might that the sound of the Elf's breathing or of his heartbeat would drown out the silence; that his warmth would chase away the cold. Even trying to concentrate on the Elf he couldn't ignore the deathly silence that pressed against the walls of the tent.
He was so intent on it that the first kiss came as a surprise.
Legolas' lips brushed against his, warm and unhurried. Gimli suddenly found it much easier to keep his mind on what was happening inside the tent. Legolas kissed him again, more firmly. Gimli could not help but stiffen slightly when he felt the muscle of Legolas' tongue dart out, licking curiously at his own lips.
Legolas had not kissed him since Helm's Deep, and that had felt platonic, which this most definitely was not. A moment between friends, a bond before the battle, nothing more. Yet their relationship had changed somehow--
Legolas pulled back and looked at Gimli solemnly. Gimli returned the gaze, unsure what to do, how to react. Legolas must have taken his silence as permission because the next thing Gimli knew the Elf was kissing him forcefully, pushing Gimli onto his back and flowing with Elven grace to perch atop Gimli, straddling his legs with ease.
Gimli managed to tear his mouth away. "What is this, Elf?" he gasped.
Legolas looked back at him with dark eyes. "I know not," he said solemnly. "I know not what it is that is growing between us. But you are dear to me, and death is outside the door, and that is all the reason we need."
Legolas' mouth closed over his again, warm and insistent, and Gimli found himself yielding with a small moan, opening his mouth to welcome Legolas in. What their kiss lacked in finesse it made up for in love and passion as they quickly started to explore one another's mouths, tongues bumping awkwardly and then tangling greedily with each other. Gimli was overwhelmed with the sensations of his Elf - his smell, his taste, his warmth pressing down on Gimli. When Legolas' fingers began to move over his chest, finding fastenings to armor and clothing, Gimli did nothing to stop him.
Gimli was afraid for a moment that Legolas would be repulsed by the heavy pelt on his chest. But when it was revealed Legolas sucked his breath in, eyes sparkling, and immediately began running his fingers through it.
"Ah--ah," Gimli hissed, trying and failing to keep his body from arching under Legolas' hands. Clearly Legolas had no idea how sensitive that part of a Dwarf was.
Then Gimli wondered through the haze of his lust whether Elves were similarly sensitive. It seemed very natural to slip his hands under Legolas' tunic to find out. The resulting shudder and quiet moan left him smugly convinced that yes, they were just as sensitive.
Then more clothes went flying--and the next thing Gimli knew, Legolas was naked astride him.
Gimli forgot to breathe. The elf glowed quietly, like his own small sun was located somewhere inside him. Gimli had noticed the glow before; all Elves had it, a subtle lingering of grace and light about them, though Gimli had always seen Legolas' strongest. Now, without any clothing to mute it, Legolas glowed like moonlight was trapped inside his skin, soft and ethereal. His body was finely chiseled with lean muscles defining his arms and legs, and yet his chest and waist were narrow, somehow increasing his beauty.
Legolas was watching Gimli inquisitively, waiting for his reaction. Gimli let out a long, trembling breath. "Oh, Legolas," he said softly, reverently. "Are you sure that I am fit to behold you like this?"
Legolas' answer was another deep kiss. Gimli gave up all thought of resistance, and the majority of thought in general, as Legolas leaned forward to rub their chests lightly together, breathing into his ear. He shuddered as Legolas set up a gentle rocking motion against him, slowly rubbing the hardnesses between their legs together. Long fingers traced the waistband of his trousers; but they went no further.
Odd. After Legolas had seen them through the rest of it so quickly, and with such assurance, why did he linger now? Did he doubt?
Gimli did not doubt. With quiet confidence he undid his own belt and slid the remainder of his clothing off. Legolas gave a muted moan. He lifted himself off of Gimli just long enough for Gimli to kick his trousers into a far corner of the tent, and the lowered himself again.
Gimli cried out when their naked flesh touched. Legolas bent forward hastily and covered Gimli's mouth with his own to muffle the sound, sucking on the Dwarf's lower lip. "Quiet," he murmured when he released Gimli. "We must not be heard. I am not ashamed, but we must not disturb the others' rest."
Gimli nodded, swallowing heavily. And when Legolas rocked against him again, harder this time, and he felt like he had to scream, he grabbed a handful of the silken hair trailing across his chest and pulled the Elf down for another searing kiss. He couldn't stand to see Legolas as he was now; he couldn't watch, or he would be overcome.
But Legolas forced him to watch. Smiling in a way that told Gimli he knew exactly what he was doing, Legolas moved back until he was sitting upright. He let Gimli see the entirety of his naked body, let him stare at the place where Legolas' legs were spread wide to straddle him.
He made Gimli watch while he rocked with agonizing slowness against the Dwarf, hands trailing lightly across Gimli's chest for balance as his skin began to flush a rosy shade of pink. And his smile was positively wicked when he produced a small bottle of oil--Gimli could not fathom where he had found it--and began to prepare himself, not allowing Gimli to help. His body contorted in suggestive ways as he reached for that intimate part of himself, and Gimli nearly bit his lip bloody trying to keep quiet. Legolas offered his other hand to Gimli, looking almost indulgent as he did so; Gimli sucked desperately on his fingers, occasionally biting on accident as he caught a new mouth-watering view of the impossible Elf astride him.
But there was no teasing when Legolas finally lowered himself onto Gimli; they stared into each other's eyes, breathing shallowly, and Gimli felt the Elf's grasping heat slowly surround him. Legolas' eyes were wide; he watched Gimli carefully, as if afraid that Gimli, not he, could somehow be hurt by this joining.
Gimli could do nothing but lie still, his chest heaving, making a quiet moaning sound he hadn't known he was capable of producing. Legolas leaned forward and sweat dripped from his brow to Gimli's - when had it gotten so warm? Then Legolas began to move.
Gimli grasped the Elf's hips and helped him to raise and lower himself onto Gimli's shaft. Legolas' face was flushed and strained and almost dazed. Gimli couldn't help feeling like what was happening to him was surreal. Except for their labored breathing, they were both silent as Legolas gently but insistently rocked back and forth atop him, taking Gimli deeper and deeper inside himself. Maybe it wasn't real - maybe Gimli had fallen into a sleep filled with fantastical dreams. But the Elf atop him was too warm and real to be a vision.
All too soon, Legolas' lips descended on Gimli's to catch his cry as he came, driving himself up into Legolas, and he felt a wet warmth spread across his stomach. Then Legolas collapsed against his chest, breathing heavily, and for a moment all was still.
Just as Gimli regained enough thought to wonder what Legolas was thinking, his lover stirred. Legolas gave a soft, un-elflike grunt and lifted himself slightly, unjoining them and rolling away. Gimli felt the absence of contact keenly, but Legolas was soon back, holding a strip of bandaging cloth from his travel pack and gently cleaning them both off with it. Then he moved onto his back, resting his head against their shared pillow, and held his arms out for Gimli.
Gimli went into them contentedly, enjoying the warmth and smoothness and the scent of his Elf as they nestled together. His arms fit perfectly around Legolas' slim waist. "Sleep now," Legolas murmured, stroking his fingers through Gimli's hair.
