Betrothal To An Elf 12

Betrothal To An Elf

Part 12

Posted: August 17, 2007
Title: Betrothal To An Elf
Author: Inwë Sáralondë

Summary: Legolas has no idea what has hit him.

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“Are you hungry?”

“It depends,” Lindir said, lying back in the boat, the sun caressing his face.

“Depends on what?” Legolas asked, withdrawing the oars from the water. Lindir opened his eyes, and the prince noted with interest the gleam in the minstrel’s eyes.

“On what ‘food’ you have to offer.”

A shiver of anticipation ran down Legolas’ spine. However, he feigned ignorance as he said, “Well, I do not know what the cook has made, but I am sure our picnic hamper has many delicacies that, hopefully, would tempt you.”

“I was not referring to what the picnic hamper might contain.” Lindir’s voice was low, seductive, and Legolas felt a certain body part begin to stand to attention.

“Then what…?” Legolas’ eyes widened as he took in the predatory look the minstrel was giving him.

“I think you know,” Lindir whispered, sitting up and drawing closer to the prince. “Surely you are no innocent?”

Legolas shook his head, his voice failing him.

“Good. For I see something before me that I am *very* hungry for, and am desperate to feast upon.”

Lindir almost laughed as Legolas re-applied himself with considerable vigour to rowing the two of them to the small island in the lake. Once they reached it, both jumped out and dragged the boat up onto the shore.

Legolas was panting, but he was not sure if it was from the exertion of rowing, or the thought of what Lindir planned to do with him. So he was unprepared for Lindir’s next words.

“Shall we have some lunch? I am sure cook has excelled herself, as always.” That said, Lindir reached into the boat and took out the hamper before walking towards a small rocky outcrop right at the shoreline.

Legolas stared at the retreating back, stunned. Then his lips curved into a slow smile, his eyes taking in the slim figure, not to mention taut buttocks encased in fitted leggings, as well as the almost sheer tunic that allowed the prince to take in the smooth back. He hardened as he thought of how he would like to run his fingers along the translucent skin, skimming down till they reached those delightful buttocks. Eyes closed, Legolas imagined himself spreading them to reveal the rosy aperture, shuddered at the thought of his tongue moving over the quivering opening. He groaned, his hands fumbling at the lacings of his leggings, his shaft so impossibly hard that he felt that one touch would make him explode.

“Let me help you.”

Legolas almost yelped in surprise; he was so lost in his fantasy that he was unaware Lindir was standing before him. Before he could even say anything, Lindir’s fingers were successfully doing what his own could not.

The minstrel dropped to his knees and eyed with considerable appreciation what was before him. “We are impatient, indeed,” he murmured, inhaling the musky scent. His tongue flicked out to catch the pre-come that was glistening on the tip.

Legolas whimpered at the touch, and then his eyes closed in ecstasy as he felt Lindir’s mouth engulf him. With hands fisted in the minstrel’s hair, Legolas allowed himself to drown in the sensations coursing through him, Lindir’s talented mouth bringing him ever closer to the brink. When the minstrel began to hum, Legolas cried out, the vibrations catapulting him over the edge and his seed erupted into the willing throat.

Lindir continued to lick the softening member, ensuring that no drop was lost before finally raising his head and gazing at the dazed face above him.

“Better?” he asked mischievously.

Legolas dropped to his knees. “Better?” he asked incredulously. “Words could not even begin to describe how I feel,” he whispered.

“Good, I hope,” Lindir said a little smugly.

“Oh, much better than ‘good’, melethen.” Legolas’ gaze had cleared, and he leaned forward and kissed the minstrel, moaning as he tasted himself in Lindir’s mouth. Incredibly, he could feel himself hardening again. “I want you,” he ground out, pressing himself against Lindir’s body.

“Then have me. There is oil in the hamper.” The minstrel’s voice was husky with desire.

Legolas needed no further invitation. He pulled his tunic over his head, not caring whether he tore anything. His leggings were disposed of, the task made easier as neither elf wore any footwear. Then he reached out towards Lindir and rent the minstrel’s tunic apart before leaning in and latching on to one of the nipples on Lindir’s chest, laving it with his tongue and biting it so that it stood in a hardened peak.

Lindir gasped when Legolas began his assault, and then whimpered as his other nipple received the same treatment. “More,” he whispered.

Legolas raised his head. “Aye, I will give you more,” he growled. “And I shall ensure that all will see that you belong to me.”

The minstrel shivered in anticipation. “Then do it,” his voice giving clear indication that he could not wait.

*****

Elvish translations:

melethen – my love

*****

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