Late

 

 

Author:  kevswitchau

Pairing:  Aragorn/Legolas

Genre:  slash, TTT

Rating:  NC-17

Warnings:: Slash and Sex...all the good stuff

Disclaimer:  I do not own the characters or the names or the situations (except the raunchy ones) Those belong to Mr Tolkien’s estate, and anyone lucky enough to own the Intellectual Property Rights. 

 

 

 

“You’re late,” he uttered in Elvish, surprised that his throat would allow any words to escape. 

 

He did an admirable job of keeping the tremor from his voice.  He wondered what Aragorn was seeing in his face, because it felt to him as though he wore a mask of calm, while his insides were churning.  Surely his eyes betrayed him.

 

Legolas felt Aragorn’s glance flicker over him.  He could see the Ranger’s exhaustion.  His pain.  The torn and bloodied clothes and the battered body.  Legolas felt the pain as if it were his own, and reached out with his mind.  The touch was gentle.  Soothing.

 

“You look awful.”  A whisper.

 

He was rewarded with a tired smile as Aragorn grasped his shoulder, the gesture held an intimacy that the gathered people of Rohan didn’t see, and Legolas felt the lump spring to his throat again.  Legolas felt...he felt...

 

I almost lost you.

 

“You need rest.”

 

“There is no time.” Aragorn’s voice was like rocks being crushed.  “They’re coming.”

 

Legolas felt the Ranger sway and stumble against him.  He reached out a steadying hand and felt the beaten body sag against his.

 

“You’ll be of no use like this,” he insisted, steering Aragorn towards the entrance to the network of caves that ran into the cliff face.  “You need to rest...Aragorn...please.”

 

Aragorn resisted for a moment, struggling against Legolas’ grasp, and his own exhaustion, but he soon relinquished control to the Elf, allowing himself to be led away from the gathered crowd of warriors.

 

“Only for a few moments,” he breathed.  “We have but four hours at the most.”

 

Legolas nodded.  “Alright.  A few moments.”

 

The Elf led him past the crowds of women and children to the caverns at the back of the cave system.  There were rooms there, hewn from rock, but cool and quiet, away from the crowd.  Away from eyes and ears. 

 

The noise of the gathered people of Rohan became a muted murmur and Legolas helped Aragorn over to the crude bed, fashioned from straw-filled hessian sacks and rough blankets.  Not exactly luxury accommodation, but it would have to do.  He knew that Aragorn had slept on rougher things over his long years in the wilderness.

 

Aragorn sank to his knees amidst the dusty bedding, and drew Legolas down beside him.  The arm thrown around Legolas’ shoulders for support softened, the touch becoming something else entirely.  He raised his eyes to meet the unwavering gaze of the elf, and saw the concern that had been there earlier...and beyond the concern he saw...

 

“You should rest,” whispered Legolas, feeling Aragorn’s fingers lightly stroke the stray strands of hair from his cheek.  Aragorn nodded, not dropping his eyes.  Not stilling his hands. 

 

“Stay.”

 

“Aragorn.  You need to rest.”  He reached to gently grasp the Ranger’s arm, but felt him flinch and cringe briefly.  Legolas looked down at the blood on his fingers.

 

“Let me see that.” 

 

“It’s nothing.”

 

“Aragorn, you’re bleeding.  Let me see.”

 

Nimble fingers removed the torn shirt.  Blood oozed wetly from the jagged wound in Aragorn’s bicep.  Legolas found a cleaner piece of blanket and tore it into strips, dipping a wad into the nearby water bucket and cleaning the wound. 

 

“You’ll live,” he announced wryly, binding Aragorn’s arm firmly.

 

“I know.”  The reply was gentle.  Sad.  Legolas looked up into Aragorn’s face and saw there the weight of years.  The certainty of loss.  They both knew that this was a battle they would probably loose. 

 

Three hundred men, most of them old, the rest barely of age.  Three hundred men against an army of Uruk-Hai ten thousand strong.  It was not going to be a battle.  It was going to be a massacre.

 

Legolas started to rise, aware that Aragorn would need every bit of sleep he could get if he was going to be able to fight.  As hopeless as it was, he knew Aragorn.  Aragorn would fight.  He would go down fighting.  And he would take as many with him as he could.  He would not go gently.

 

Aragorn’s hand on his leg stopped him.

 

“Legolas.  Stay.  Please.”

 

“But you need sleep.”

 

“I don’t need sleep.  I need...” Aragorn raised his head and smiled wearily at Legolas.  He reached out his hand and brushed it over the Elf’s smooth cheek, so in contrast with his own craggy visage, before leaning in and brushing Legolas’ lips with his own.  The kiss was fleeting.  Ghost-like.  As if Aragorn expected Legolas to jerk away.

 

He didn’t.

 

“I thought you were lost,” whispered Legolas, his eyes on the stone floor so Aragorn couldn’t see the tears brimming there.

 

“I may be yet.”

 

Legolas snapped his eyes back to the drawn, haggard face, and shook his head.

 

“No.”

 

“Legolas.  We both know what’s out there.”

 

This time it was Legolas’ hand tracing the bearded cheek.  He leaned his head forward so his forehead rested against Aragorn’s.  He felt the warm breath on his cheek.

 

“No,” he croaked, his voice failing him.

 

Aragorn’s finger slid beneath Legolas’ chin and lifted his head.  The second kiss was not so brief. 

 

Aragorn pressed his mouth forward, finding Legolas, his tongue opening the Elf’s lips and tasting him.  Legolas responded, pushing himself forward against Aragorn’s chest, his mouth opening, his cheek feeling the roughness of the Ranger’s beard.

 

When the kiss broke, both were gasping.  Trembling.

 

“Lie back,” Legolas whispered, his hands on Aragorn’s bare chest. “Lie back and let me...”

 

Aragorn allowed himself to be pushed backwards into the rough sacking.  He was tired. He was so tired.  He closed his eyes and felt the feather light whisper of Legolas’ hair against his skin, as the elf bent over him and gently massaged his aching shoulders and chest.  Aragorn felt himself drifting away, until there came another touch.  Tentative.  Fluttering.  He felt lips brush the pulse point at the bast of his throat.  Felt warm breath tickle the hair on his chest.

 

Aragorn waited silently, and it came again.  Lower this time.  He felt Legolas’ tongue flick over his nipple. His  lips close gently over it.  Felt his nipples stiffen in response, and heard, almost from a distance, a groan vibrate from his throat as Legolas sucked on the sensitive skin.

 

“Legolas...”

 

“Shhhhhh,” Legolas whispered.  Quietening him with a finger as his tongue flicked to the other side of the broad chest, and his lips closed over the other hard nipple.  Aragorn groaned again, but this time he felt it reverberate from deep within.  He was no longer distanced from what was happening to his body.  He was right there.

 

Eyes still closed, he felt Legolas move away, leaving warm, wet spots on his body from lips and tongue and hands.  He was about to open his eyes, when he felt gentle, strong hands tugging at his boots.

 

Aragorn lay back and let Legolas undress him, removing his boots, then his trousers.  The hessian felt itchy against his skin, and it rustled whenever one of them moved, releasing a musty smell of hay which reminded Aragorn of sunny days and gentler times.

 

Aragorn dozed, exhaustion overtaking him, until his skin became aware of a contrast to the scratch of hessian beneath him. He felt it on his thighs, his stomach, he felt it in his arms as they reached for the silken warmth that hovered over him, and he realised that it was Legolas.  Soft.  Warm.  Naked.  He marvelled briefly that any man should have skin so smooth, but then he remembered that Legolas was not a man.  He was so much more than a man.  He inhaled the musky scent of elven arousal and opened his eyes.

 

“We have little time, Legolas...” he protested weakly.

 

“Then let’s not waste it.”

 

Aragorn sighed as Legolas’ lips again traced a path down his throat and to his chest.  His hands roamed over the elf’s white skin which was smooth.  Flawless.  He gasped as Legolas nipped at the flesh on his stomach and traced his navel with a quick tongue.  Aragorn found his fingers in soft, blonde hair. 

 

And Legolas inched lower.

 

The pressure of hands on his thighs, urging them apart, brought Aragorn almost upright.  He propped on his elbows and watched as Legolas softly tickled he sensitive skin with his tongue, before looking up, along Aragorn’s body, and meeting his eyes with a smile.

 

There had always been an unspoken affection between them.  This Elf and this Man.  The Evenstar may have Aragorn’s heart, but there had always been something behind Legolas’ eyes that he responded to.  That he was drawn to.  Aragorn had thought before now that it was nothing other than firm friendship.  He had thought that the love he felt for the elf had amounted to little more than brotherhood.  It was not until this moment, when he felt Legolas open his mouth and draw him inside, that he realised...

 

How wrong he had been.

 

“Legolas...?” he gasped, voicing the name again.

 

Legolas answered him by moaning gently, a tiny sound in answer to Aragorn’s whisper, but one which sent delicious vibrations from lips to flesh.  Aragorn gasped again, wordlessly this time, and fell backwards, his body humming, the aches and pains forgotten as Legolas sucked firmly.

 

For the moment, Aragorn remained unaware of his surroundings.  He forgot the men, women and children gathered in the deep.  He forgot the army of Uruk-Hai that advanced upon them.  All he was aware of was the feeling of Legolas; his lips, his tongue.  The feeling of firm hands on his thighs, the silken sift of hair between his fingers.

 

Aragorn felt himself begin to drift towards the edge. Felt control being taken from him, as his body began to shudder towards climax...but then Legolas was gone.  There was a coolness of air on wet skin as he felt himself slip from the heat of Legolas’ mouth, and he felt an odd jolt inside him as his body halted itself in its tumble to completion.  Aragorn’s eyes opened and he heaved in a breath.

 

Legolas was bent over him. Watching him.  Smiling.

 

“Not yet,” he whispered.  “We have time.”

 

The elf bent forward and kissed him.  Aragorn tasted himself in the kiss, and drew Legolas into his arms, pressed him against his body, eager to feel connected.  Needing to feel part of someone, even if just for this moment.  He brushed his hand down, over the white skin, his fingers tracing the sharp contours of Legolas’ hip, and moving closer to the heat that he felt pressed between them.

 

Legolas was hard when Aragorn caressed him, wrapping his fingers around the elf’s cock, drawing a muffled groan that he felt through his whole body.  He began to slowly stroke his hand over the swollen flesh, his fingers feeling every ridge, rubbing every inch.  Legolas pulled out of the kiss, and gasped, open mouthed against Aragorn’s neck, as the Ranger’s hand worked firmly.

 

Aragorn slipped gently from beneath Legolas, one hand maintaining the rhythm of his touch, the other steady against the floor, as he positioned himself over the elf, who was whimpering and gasping in his grasp.  Aragorn pressed his hand against Legolas’ hard, white stomach and, for a moment, marvelled at the contrast, dark skin against light...rough on smooth.  He watched himself stroking...stroking...heard the elf mewl beneath his fingers...

 

Slipping himself between Legolas’ knees, he gently took hold of the slender ankles, and placed them over his shoulders.  Legolas opened his eyes, heavy-lidded and darkened.  He opened his mouth to say something...anything...but the feeling of Aragorn’s beard on his inner thigh, and the feeling of a thumb which had started firmly stroking him, stroking him, urging him open...made words unimportant.

 

As Aragorn’s thumb pushed inside, Legolas hitched his breath.  He felt the Ranger moving slowly, so as not to hurt...not to tear...as he gently worked the tight muscles, stretching the tender skin, while the other hand once more closed around his cock and began to massage slowly.  Deliberately.  Each stroke of the thumb, each squeeze of the fist, drawing tiny, animal sounds from the elf, carried to his ears on shuddering breaths...

 

After what seemed like an eternity, Aragorn shuffled closer, bending over Legolas.  Liquid fire flashed through preternaturally blue eyes as Aragorn leaned forward and kissed him, while at the same time pressing his cock against Legolas’ entrance... and he pushed.  Muscle resisted for a moment as Legolas tensed, but Aragorn deepened his kiss, drawing the elf forward with his tongue and his mouth.  He felt the body beneath him relax, and he slid inside.

 

Legolas groaned deeply, feeling himself penetrated.  It was as if he were suddenly joined to Aragorn...as if they were a part of each other.  He tightened his grip on Aragorn’s shoulders, as the Ranger gently pushed inside.  He opened his eyes once more.  Aragorn had a frown of concentration on his face as he willed himself to go slowly...ignoring his body screaming at him to plunge deeply...to fuck hard...

 

Shoulders quaking with the effort, Aragorn pulled out slightly, and pushed himself forward again, a rough sound forming inside his throat.  His hands had moved down to grasp Legolas’ hips, and he pulled the elf closer with each thrust.  His upper body strained forward, hovering above Legolas, his grey eyes fixed on the ethereal face, watching for any hint of discomfort or pain, but seeing neither, as the Elf licked his lips and whispered something in Elvish that Aragorn didn’t quite hear.

 

Legolas muttered the words again as Aragorn thrust inside him once more, and this time the Ranger heard and understood, chuckling softly as his rhythm increased.

 

“Your mother never taught you to speak like that,” he growled, pushing solidly until he had buried himself completely.

 

“No,” quipped the elf, gasping.  “You did.”

 

Aragorn grinned, withdrew and thrust harder, eliciting a loud moan, and another barrage of elven profanity.  Legolas dug his fingers into Aragorn’s shoulders, and flexed his knees which were now around Aragorn’s waist, pulling the sweating body closer, feeling the muscles bunch with each long, solid stroke.

 

And suddenly, Legolas knew he was going to come.  Everything in him tightened like a bow-string.  His nerves began to sing and his head started pounding in time with the dull sound of body on body as Aragorn fucked him...

 

“Arag...” was all he managed before he convulsed, and he felt the hot spurt against his stomach.  For a moment, his vision blurred, all he could see, all he could feel, was Aragorn...Aragorn over him.  Aragorn inside him. The world began and ended with the man who was kissing him and filling him and growling his name.  Legolas wasn’t sure if he shouted, but he must have, because he heard a voice echo inside the chamber, and saw Aragorn smile as he continued to move over and under and inside, making tiny broken sounds at the base of his throat, hands gripping, pelvis grinding against shuddering flesh...

 

Legolas felt heat, a wash of heat that seemed to touch a finger of flame deep inside him, and it was Aragorn who was crying out and quaking, his muscles twitching as he fell forward, into Legolas’s arms.

 

They lay there like that.  Silent.  Their breathing slowing, until they drew breath in time with each other.  Hands stroked reddened skin, and lips gently caressed lips. 

 

They had but a moment, but they dozed.

 

***

 

“Legolas.”

 

Legolas reached out a hand and felt only rough hessian.  He opened his eyes.  Aragorn was gazing down at him.  Sitting up, he reached for the tangle of clothes on the floor and began to dress.  Pulling his tunic over his head, he froze.

 

The ground shook with the tread of ten thousand feet.  Legolas hitched in a breath.  His eyes widened and he looked up at Aragorn who nodded grimly.

 

“Get dressed quickly my friend,” Aragorn whispered, reaching to briefly touch Legolas’s cheek.

 

“It is time.”

 

 

Kevswitchau 2003

 

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