Part 1

Posted: April 2004
Title: Twenty-Fourth Night
Author: Haleth
Type: FCS
Characters: Legolas/Gimli
Rating: R
Warning: Mild angst followed by rampant interspecies randiness.
Disclaimer: Alas, I do not own the Dwarf or the Elf, and earn no profit; making them do these sorts of things together is reward in and of itself.
Note: Takes place twenty-four days after the events of "I Wish It Often", but you don't have to have read "I Wish It Often". Unless, of course, you enjoy reading ridiculously explicit ElfDwarfSmut. In which case, I believe a perusal of "I Wish It Often" would be in order.
Summary: Take one melancholy Elf. Add a sad Dwarf. A dash of subtly meddling wizard, and a large tub of steamy hot water. Smut will ensue, I assure you.

*****

Legolas perched on the edge of a parapet on the fifth level of Minas Tirith, his long legs tucked up against his chest with his arms wrapped around them. As he stared across the Field of Pelennor, his fine features creased with disquiet.

Something was amiss with his Dwarf.

The thought, or rather fear, that he had done something to upset his Dwarf was most distressing. For in the brief twenty-three days since that wondrous night during which he and Gimli had discovered their mutual attraction, he had indeed come to think of Gimli as ‘his' Dwarf. However, Legolas was not entirely sure the sentiment was returned in full.

There was no question of his physical desire. Gimli was effusive in his praise of Legolas's body. Two nights before, Gimli had lain awake with him until dawn, touching and exploring with hands and mouths without rest, showing no sign of displeasure.

Gimli definitely favoured meeting in his own room. Gimli had purchased a potted plant to put in the window, saying the view was naught but stone and marble, and that he knew Legolas would prefer to look upon something growing. Perhaps it was because he preferred his own room's view of the comforting mass of the white city, even through the offensive greenery

The first night they spent together had been in Legolas's room, as it had been the nearest. It faced out, overlooking the field far below, and had a fairly large window. The chill night air flowed more freely into Legolas's room. So, perhaps Gimli preferred it because he found his own room warmer, especially now that the winter was almost here.

Gimli's room was also more isolated. Seven nights past, had Gimli not commented on the volume of Legolas's uncontrollable humming near the time of his climax?

Legolas truly did not know what came over him at times such as that. It was not a regular occurrence, although it happened often enough for Gimli to gently tease him. Legolas felt the music coming from deep inside, and could not stop it if he wanted. He supposed his deep feelings for the Dwarf, coupled with the indescribable physical pleasures of making love with him, brought out these untamed sounds. Most likely, Gimli preferred to meet in his own rooms because in that location Legolas's smooth alto would be less likely to carry.

Legolas's frown deepened; Gimli did not want anyone to know about them.

Legolas pulled his knees closer and sighed. They had discussed the need for discretion on more than one occasion. The reputation of the Nine Walkers should not be sullied by cheap gossip. However, the notion that Gimli might be ashamed of him in some way was unsettling. Last night, Gimli had not come to him, or invited him, but left him at dinner pleading exhaustion and an early start in the morning, and said he would see Legolas the next night at dinner.

It was possible Gimli did not want him any more.

Gimli walked up the long road from the gate of the city to his quarters. He was covered in grime from the day's work, trailing a cloud of dust behind him as he trudged homeward. He'd thrown himself into the rebuilding of the main gateway's arch with notable relish this day, and had been setting stones in the new arch since before dawn. Work on the design of the new mithril gate was coming along well, and the arch grew stronger with every stone laid, but he did not feel his usual satisfaction of a job well done.

He had not slept well last night.

The last three weeks had been a whirlwind. Hard work during the day followed by incredible nights with his Elf. Legolas was breathtakingly beautiful, and endlessly inventive. Moreover, he was strong. Gimli had not thought he would meet anyone, in this city of Men, physically able to enjoy intimate relations with a Dwarf. It was his understanding, not from personal experience but from rumour, that the Edain were not as sturdy or durable as his own kind. A warrior of Gondor might be able to withstand a night with a Dwarf, but Gimli had never even considered taking another male into his bed. Until Legolas, that is.

He could not stop the smile as he climbed a narrow stair. Legolas was not like anyone Gimli had ever met before, that was certain. His gracefulness put even other Elves to shame, yet he was as tough as steel. He could bend and twist endlessly, yet did not yield unless he wished it, and could drive into Gimli with the force of an earthquake without ever harming him. Legolas could outlast a Dwarf. He would outlast the earth Dwarves lived in. Therein lay the problem.

Gimli paused at the top of the stairs, no longer smiling. One more level and he could be in his room, safe from prying eyes, where he could contemplate this problem in private, which is where a Dwarf always prefers to ruminate. But he did not want to sit in his room where he could smell the presence of Elf, in spite of clean sheets and a breeze from the window. It had almost driven him mad the night before, the lingering scent. Already, after only three weeks, he carried Legolas with him always. From now to the end of his days.

He could not spend even a night away from Legolas without feeling a sense of loss.

If their attachment was so strong, and seemed to grow stronger with each passing day, then however would Legolas manage when Gimli passed on? Gimli hated the idea of causing pain to his lover. He hated more, or at least more immediately, the thought that Legolas might wish to avoid that pain by not becoming any more attached than he already had. For Gimli could not understand why his ever-young Elf would want to stay with an aging Dwarf. It was safer, or so Gimli had recklessly assumed the night before, to end things before either of them was irreparably damaged.

Now he realized it was too late.

Legolas rubbed at his cheek, a smudge of dirt blossomed under his fingers. His work with Arwen in the garden had not been as rewarding today as it usually was. They'd managed to bring several ailing hedges back to life in the last few days, to strengthen them enough to withstand the coming winter. Arwen commented on how the plants responded to his touch. Twenty-two days ago, she had first mentioned it. He knew the plants could feel his joy, the wonder of discovery and the physical pleasure that coursed through his blood for hours after any contact with Gimli. For Arwen's benefit, he'd laughed and said that it was to her whom they responded. They could sense a newlywed was about. She blushed, and admitted that finally being wed to Aragorn was thrilling, and she did not doubt the plants knew her joy. Legolas wished he were free to share his joy as well.

Arwen had also commented on his subdued mood on this day. "What has happened, Legolas? You seem sad. Has something ill befallen you?"

How should he have responded? He had never divulged his relationship with Gimli to the Queen, thus he could not admit to her there was a problem with it.

Legolas had not rested the night before at all. He'd sat in front of the dead fire, strumming his long fingers on the thick rug remembering every detail of his and Gimli's first night together. He'd wondered why Gimli did not wish to spend this night together. Tired, he said he was. Tired from work, or tired from Legolas, he did not say. Legolas could reveal none of this, although Arwen could tell he was distressed. She gave him a flower from the garden, something to help him rest. He took it with thanks, and now he could feel it in his pocket.

He had no desire for sleep. He only had desire for Gimli. But Gimli did not seem to desire him any longer.

That is what Legolas was thinking of when Gandalf came across him. The Elf stared balefully out at the plain, and did not notice his presence until Gandalf was seated directly opposite, only a few feet away.

"Something troubles the Prince of Mirkwood," the Istari intoned ominously, but with a gentle smile on his face.

Legolas nodded to him politely. "I apologize, Gandalf. My mind was occupied. How fare you?"

"Well. Better than you at any rate. Is there anything I can do to ease your burdened mind?"

Gandalf looked as if he truly cared, but Legolas did not feel comfortable revealing his predicament to anyone. He tried to smile. "I am merely thinking."

Gandalf shook his head. "Do not attempt to deceive a wizard, my friend. You are not suited to it."

Legolas did smile then. "I should have known better. I am concerned about…" he wondered how much he should tell. Gandalf would not judge him rashly, but he did not entirely trust the wizard to remain quiet about the relationship. Still, Gimli was his friend. If a friend was acting strangely, one would be expected to worry. "Gimli. He is not himself the last two days. I worry that something is amiss."

Gandalf arranged his robes about himself and scrunched his eyes shut as if thinking very hard. "I saw him at the gate earlier today. He looks as if he hasn't slept very much. I don't suppose you would know why?"

Legolas looked at Gandalf with no small amount of suspicion. He knew, somehow. There was a hint of a smile about his lips, a sparkle in his blue eyes, a knowing tone to his voice. Legolas did not know how Gandalf knew, but he supposed there were many things one could not hide from a wizard. "I would not know. I have not seen him since dinner last night."

Gandalf nodded sagely. "He is distant. I tried to speak with him about the Elvish words being carved above the gate, but he didn't seem to want to discuss anything Elven."

Legolas only nodded and sighed.

"Perhaps he is simply in a bad mood. Dwarves get like that you know, when this time rolls around."

Legolas's head bounced in Gandalf's direction. "Of what ‘time' do you speak?"

"Why, his birthday, of course."

Birthday? It was Gimli's birthday?

"It seems to be a Dwarf custom to be as grumpy as possible when one is reminded of one's age." Gandalf made a comical grimace. "They are to be avoided, at all costs, when a birthday is near."

"How do you know this, that it is Gimli's birthday?"

"I remember when he was born, of course. I was fortunate to take part in the celebrations. So, do not fret if the Dwarf is being harsh with you. He is likely jealous that your birthday does not bring you any closer to the end of your time, and is acting as Dwarves tend to act when they are reminded that an Elf has any advantage over them."

Legolas slipped down to the stone walkway, staring down at the level below. "Thank you, Gandalf. I shall not take up any more of your time. I think I shall go bathe before dinner," he said somewhat absently, and ascended to the next level.

Gandalf watched him go, and waited for Gimli to round the corner. "Gimli, my friend, how fare you?" he asked as if he had not been expecting the Dwarf.

Gimli looked up at him, startled. He'd not been expecting a wizard. He'd not been expecting anything, to be truthful. Gimli had been wandering. He was unwilling to face the emptiness of his room, but had no alternate destination in mind. Something had drawn him to this place. He even imagined he could detect the scent of his Elf in the air. He chided himself for his obsession.

He glanced over the balustrade into the courtyard of a tavern on the level below and sighed. he and Legolas had been sitting in that same courtyard when they shared their first kiss. Gimli feared that tavern would always be a source of melancholy. It was a shame. The ale was very good there.

"I am tired, Gandalf, I told you that earlier."

Gandalf smiled at him kindly, but with a twinkle in his eyes, which only served to make Gimli nervous. "Yes, I remember. A certain Elf seems concerned about that, as well."

Gimli looked at Gandalf's beard, studying the soft white hairs intently. Anything to avoid looking at those piercing eyes. How did the wizard know? He and Legolas had been very careful to be discreet. It must be that infernal humming. At times, it was loud enough to alert the entire level of their activities. Private activities, he thought to himself. Although his own vocalizations were just as loud, if he were to be honest with himself. Something about the Elf made him say the most wicked things. He was glad Legolas did not understand Kudzul.

If he were to be further honest with himself, he would admit that the humming was not only melodious and sweet, but also enchanting. The sound of it gave him a deep thrill, particularly when it vibrated around whatever part of Gimli's body Legolas happened to be holding within his mouth. The humming was more than enchanting, it was inspiring.

Gimli looked up at the wizard, who was by this time positively beaming, as if he could read every thought in Gimli's mind. "Gimli, you look as if you could use a night off. I'm on my way to the dining hall now. Why don't I ask them to send your dinner round to you? You can go have a nice hot bath, and then an early bed."

Gimli nodded gratefully. "That's an excellent idea, Gandalf. If it's no trouble, I would appreciate that very much."

"No trouble at all," the wizard assured him.

"I thank you." Gimli went up to his room to fetch a clean set of clothes.

Gandalf made his way to the dining hall, humming a little tune to himself and smiling.

Legolas lowered himself into steaming water with an appreciative moan. This tub was the tucked into a corner, mercifully hidden from prying eyes. The citizens of Minas Tirith never seemed to tire of staring openly at his naked body.

One would think the most private tub would be the most popular, but this particular one was in a mild state of disrepair, and tended toward sudden changes in temperature with no predictable pattern. As an Elf, he was not bothered by a rush of cold water, nor harmed by a little steam every now and then, so the tub suited his purposes well. The water was particularly hot this evening. Gimli would approve. Legolas sighed. He feared he would be doing little else other than sigh about his Dwarf for some time.

He had not celebrated a birthday in a long time. There did not seem to be a point to it. However, if he knew his life was destined to end after a mere two and a half centuries, he supposed he would mark the passing of those years with growing concern.

He stretched out his long limbs in the soothing water. It felt good to be clean. He doubted he would have as much need of the baths in the future. With no Gimli, he would have less reason to stay clean, and have less to clean from his body.

Legolas rubbed his sides, remembering their last night together. They'd played a game, the object of which was to make the other laugh. Gimli was ticklish in the oddest places, he'd discovered. And none of the places Elves were typically sensitive. There was one spot, just below his navel, where the hair was less dense and the slightest lick sent him into gales of laughter. Gimli easily found the spot on his ribs where Legolas had always been vulnerable. There was a reason the straps of his quiver were configured in such a way.

They'd ended up touching each other in places that did not bring forth laughter but much sweeter sounds, and their positions on Gimli's bed had resulted in Legolas's stomach and chest being completed coated in warm, sticky seed after they both spent. They'd snuck over to the baths in the middle of the night to wash up, giggling like children.

Long fingers lingered across his smooth stomach. How many times had Gimli spilled onto his belly or in his mouth in the last twenty-three nights? Twice on their memorable first night. Then there was the one night the new delegation of Dwarves arrived, and Gimli had been obliged to spend a night of drunken carousing with them. Legolas had taken the opportunity to ride out to the nearest forest and spend the night under the stars and leaves, singing to the trees of his new love. Legolas smiled ruefully.

The count was twenty-three, he thought.

Gimli muttered to himself about the public nature of the baths in Minas Tirith. These Gondorians considered it a fine luxury to have hot water available. They were nowhere near as advanced as Dwarves in the area of plumbing. Gimli saw no reason, however, to have to bare himself in front of a crowd, especially not a crowd decidedly unused to Dwarven anatomy. The stares were unnerving. He washed under the shower quickly and headed for his favourite tub, the one in the corner. The pipes were in need of fixing and the temperature varied wildly at times, so it was rarely used. These feeble Edain were unable to withstand even the mildest shock.

Legolas heard footsteps approaching. They were heading in his direction, and he could not bear the thought of sharing time or space with anyone. An Elf wishes to be alone with his sorrows. He rose to exit the tub.

Gimli flung the curtain open, only to see Legolas standing in the centre of the tub. The water reached his mid thigh, and the rest of him was gloriously naked, glistening with the water that streamed down from his wet hair. Gimli stood transfixed for a moment, following the wet trails over smooth, pale skin. One particularly attractive water drop flowed over the hairless chest, down the centre of the flat stomach, curved gracefully around the shallow navel and ended its journey by stretching itself out along the length of Legolas's semi-hard penis.

Gimli whipped the curtain closed behind him. He hoped no one had seen. He did not like the idea of any of these coarse Men seeing his Elf like that, so naked. And glorious.

Legolas, uncharacteristically, froze on the spot. He wasn't sure what to do. He gaped at Gimli for a moment, and then groped for a towel. "My apologies, Master Dwarf. I will be out of your way in a moment," he stammered.

Gimli's cock, already waking from the sight of the naked Elf, began to fill in earnest at the sound of his voice, low and soft as if he did not wish to disturb anyone. It was the same way Legolas spoke to him when they were in public and Legolas wanted them to move to a more private space immediately, urgent and husky.

"No, you are not in my way, I assure you." Gimli stepped closer to the tub. It pained him to remember one particular day when they'd agreed to meet in the baths, in this very place. A Gondorian sentry had chosen this tub for his own, and Gimli had to keep his hands to himself while the lout took his time, lounging about as if he had nothing better to do. Legolas sat opposite Gimli with an amused expression. He kept stretching his arms and arching out of the water, as if he was working the kinks out of his muscles. With every stretch he revealed more and more of his marble torso, and the lazy smile on his face grew ever more wicked. Naughty Elf, Gimli had thought to himself.

Later that night, to reward him for his teasing, Gimli had held Legolas down on the bed and rubbed his beard over his cock for what felt like hours, never enough to give satisfaction but more than enough to send the Elf into a breathless frenzy. Gimli felt an overwhelming sadness at the thought that he might never play games like that again.

Legolas sat back down on the bench in the water. Gimli felt the loss keenly. No one could have ever predicted that he, Gimli son of Gloin, would ever desire such a creature, with those long, trim legs and almost total lack of hair. How he already missed running his tongue along the juncture between leg and hip, taking those delicate balls into his hot mouth and stroking that slender cock until he tasted the richness of Legolas's essence. He dropped his robe to the floor and clamoured into the tub.

Legolas bit his lip with frustration. To see those thickly muscled limbs and all that lustrous hair, yet not be allowed to touch, was a torture worthy of Mordor. He could not let this be. There had to be some way to convince Gimli of his worth. After all, hadn't Gandalf said Dwarves were sensitive when it was their birthday? If this was merely a matter of a day or so each year, surely they could overcome the obstacle. He sidled along the bench until he was only a foot away from the body he so desired.

"How fare you today, Gimli?" he asked, a little too casually.

Gimli shrugged, even more casually. "I'm well. And you?"

Legolas wanted to say he was horrible, that he couldn't stand to not touch Gimli and could they please end this tension. Instead, he gave a graceful shrug of his slim shoulders.

Gimli eyed the elegant curve of collarbone. The smallest amount of water pooled in the hollow there, begging to be licked.

"So," Legolas said, his voice fairly husky, which couldn't be helped under the circumstances; he had a luscious naked Dwarf beside him. "I suppose congratulations are in order."

Gimli raised a thick eyebrow. "Eh?"

"Your birthday."

His birthday, of course he'd been so busy with work and Legolas, he'd almost forgotten. Legolas was looking at him with exaggerated politeness. How had the Elf known? He was about to ask, but then he remembered Gandalf. Gloin often told the story of how the Grey Pilgrim had appeared on the night of Gimli's birth, as if by fate. It was an omen of an illustrious future for the baby, to have an Istari turn up on one's doorstep on the night of such an occurrence. Gandalf must have told Legolas it was his birthday.

Gandalf had also suggested he take a bath.

Now Gimli knew he had not been imagining the scent of the Elf on that terrace. Legolas must have been speaking with Gandalf moments before Gimli's arrival. He narrowed his eyes. "Just what did Gandalf say to you?"

Legolas smiled nervously. "Only that it was your birthday, and perhaps that you might be feeling a bit… grumpy about it."

"Nonsense. Why would my birthday make me feel grumpy? Dwarves love their birthdays!"

Legolas's eyes widened. "But Gandalf said…" His eyes narrowed again. "Dwarves do not regret the passing of the years?" he asked suspiciously.

"Of course not. We had rich, long lives. We view all stages of life as necessary, and believe that when our time comes to an end…" Gimli snarled. "Gandalf told you that?"

Legolas nodded.

"Sneaky wizards, you can't trust them," Gimli muttered.

Legolas sat still. He wanted so much to touch Gimli, to trace his finger over the runes inked on his bicep, or to run his fingers through the damp end of his beard where it floated in the water.

Gimli took a deep breath. In spite of the steam in the air, and the fact that the Elf had just washed, Gimli could smell him. He could taste him, too.

"Legolas, I… I wonder why you… I fear you might…" Gimli sputtered and waved his hand in the air ineffectually. Or not so ineffectually. Fresh water droplets splayed across the smooth chest, and one drop landed on the tip of a hard nipple. It was quite an effect, Gimli had to admit. His tongue itched to lick it off. "Do you really want to be involved with someone doomed to die?" There, he'd said it.

Legolas frowned. "Gimli, I realise a birthday is a reminder of one's mortality, but you are a young Dwarf, really. You have at least another one hundred, perhaps one hundred and fifty years before you must worry about such things." He did not like to think that far ahead.

"Yes, but that is a mere blink of an eye for an Elf, is it not?"

"No!" Legolas shook his head violently. "No, it is not. It is a long time for anyone. And I will not give up whatever happiness we can find together because it must end some day far in the future. I could do that, I could protect myself from harm by avoiding any potential for pain, but I would not experience much joy if I did that, would I?"

Gimli could understand this line of reasoning, but he was still concerned about the future.

"Gimli, I love you."

Gimli thought that perhaps he was not hearing correctly.

"I thought you might love me."

Gimli heard himself speak before he could think, and as soon as he hear the words he knew they were true. "I love you as well, Legolas. And I do not want to cause you any pain."

Legolas slid off the bench and turned to face Gimli, squatting in the water so they were eye to eye. "Gimli, you could only cause me pain if you rejected me. Do you fear the future so much you would turn your back on our happiness?"

Gimli looked into the wide blue eyes before him. When he first met Legolas, the colour had disturbed him. So clear and bright, yet they would darken when Legolas grew angry or distressed or, he later discovered, aroused. They were noticeably dark now, a midnight blue. Legolas showed no movement above the waterline, but the fingers of one hand crept steadily up Gimli's thigh, and the others caressed his calf.

"I thought I could," Gimli said. "Apparently, I was wrong."

Legolas shivered, and ripples spread out from him across the water. "I want to hear your voice speak your own language," he whispered.

"Very well," Gimli said, and repeated what he said in Kudzul.

Legolas smiled at him, shyly. Gimli was amazed someone could look shy while squatting naked in a tub with his fingers closing around a Dwarf's cock. He supposed his Elf would always be able to surprise him. However, the shyness, the innocence of expression, fell away at once when Legolas leaned forward. "That wasn't exactly what I had in mind," he purred. The Elf floated up and forward to straddle Gimli's thighs without letting go of the rapidly hardening cock.

Gimli's head swivelled around frantically. Someone was bound to see or hear this display. He almost wanted them to. "Legolas, you do realize we're in a public place?"

The response was a low hum.

"Do you think we should, perhaps, retire to my room for the night?" The way Gimli's voice cracked at the end of the sentence made Legolas shiver once more.

"I think that would be the most appropriate place for me to give you your birthday present," he answered.

*****

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