Making It Right

Part 8

Posted: April 2003
Author: Kharessa Bloodrose

*****

The Battle of The Pelennor Fields had been a frenzy of steel and blood. The Lord of the Nazgul had led the assault on Gondor, completely surrounding the proud city of Minas Tirith. The Gate of Gondor had been broken, the White City invaded by the hordes of darkness. Hope had been despaired of until the arrival of the Rohirrim, but even the mighty horsemen of Rohan were not enough to turn the tide of battle. Then the corsairs came into port, and with that the fight had turned in Gondor's favor.

There had certainly been no time to think of love, lust, or personal relationships. They had disembarked fighting, and fought they had continued to do until there was no foe left standing within the circuit of the Rammas. Legolas had loosed arrow after arrow into the massed enemy, finally drawing his twin blades to fight like an avenging angel. Blood stained his flaxen hair, and his soft lips had drawn back in a snarl of ferocity unlike the gentle expression he usually wore. There was no one to notice or comment upon it; all were enmeshed in serious matters of survival.

Anduril flashed over and over, biting into flesh with each forward thrust or slash. If Legolas was a bright angel of battle, then Aragorn was a man possessed. He fought on, feet moving in a dance of death, arms rising and falling past the point of exhaustion, past endurance. Blood and filth covered him, and every muscle sang out stridently in pained protest. It did not matter. He had vowed to Boromir that he would not let the White City fall, and it was a vow he intended to keep.

When the battle had ended, there was still no rest to be had. Eowyn, shield maid and Lady of Rohan, had dispatched the Nazgul lord, but she had been sorely wounded in the exchange. She was not alone in her wounds; many lay bleeding, mutilated and dying. Legolas watched in awe as Aragorn approached Eowyn first of all, acting on the words of the Ioreth who spoke of the ancient lore: The hands of the king are the hands of a healer. He had set his tent outside the walls of Minas Tirith, not wishing to foment discord in a city that so desperately needed unity, but he stepped forward when his strength was needed to heal.

When Aragorn at last was able to stumble towards his tent, his eyes would barely stay open and he could hardly put one foot in front of the other. He had taken a bath in the city, scrubbing away the blood and dirt of battle with fixed intensity in spite of his fatigue. He wanted to collapse in something approaching comfort, somewhere warm and clean. Somewhere that didn't immediately smell of death, though that was an odor that would haunt the lands outlying Minas Tirith's walls for yet a while to come. Still, to have that scent off of himself was a blessing.

He was not prepared to find Legolas seated cross legged upon his blankets, head tilted and a faintly expectant smile gracing his elven face. Aragorn managed a smile in return, feeling a pleasant surge of warmth at the elf's presence. Though it would figure, he thought wryly, that Legolas should decide the time is right to talk when I am too exhausted to do anything but sleep!

"I think that I have, perhaps, been unfair to you." Legolas' words were light and soft, but his eyes did not dance away from Aragorn's. "Aragorn- Estel… I have been afraid."

Aragorn nodded, unbuckling his sword belt and laying it close to his pallet. He could only look at the archer, words failing to rise in his sleep deprived mind. Legolas fidgeted, and a small smile curved Aragorn's lips. It was unusual to see the elf, any elf, fidget. The last time he had seen Legolas the elven warrior had been liberally coated in the blood of his enemies, his eyes dancing with the light of combat. Seeing him now, uncertain and nervous, was sweetly endearing.

"Estel, you made me angry, you made me feel afraid…" His tongue darted out to touch his lips. "I couldn't let go of that. But you said that actions would speak louder than words and they have."

Aragorn nodded, wondering what the elf was talking about. In the morning he would understand this so much better. Legolas was looking up at him expectantly, uncertainly. He had to say something. He tugged off his shirt and sat down beside the archer.

"Legolas." He blinked blearily at his friend. "I'm tired."

The mixture of emotions that showed on Legolas' face would have been laughable under other circumstances. Blushing, the elf bit at his lip and began to rise to his feet. A strong arm caught him around the waist, and he glanced back at the man angrily, about to twist from his hold.

"No…" Aragorn sighed, releasing the archer. He ran a hand tiredly through his dark hair and looked into angry blue eyes. "I mean, stay. Please. I don't want you to go. But I'm tired."

Legolas settled back, swallowing as he found himself face to face with the ranger who would be king. The gray eyes seemed almost drunken with exhaustion, completely open and without guile. He did not break their gaze when he raised his hands to begin undoing Legolas' braids, and the elf's eyes widened.

"'Twill all be tangled…"

"I'll help you with it." He brushed his fingers through the silken strands, allowing them to fall loose about Legolas' face. "I always wanted to see what you'd look like without those. You're lovely."

"You think I look like a woman."

"No, I think you look like an elf."

Legolas did not quite know what to say to that. He didn't know what to say, either, when Aragorn drew him down onto the blankets, gently pressing a kiss to his smooth brow. For a moment the man merely looked at him, and then settled in beside him. A small sigh of satisfaction met Legolas' ears, and then the ranger curved an arm around him, pulling him close.

"Is this alright?" Aragorn whispered into his hair, and Legolas nodded. His head was cushioned on the man's chest, his body pulled up close. Inanely, he muttered, "You didn't take your boots off."

"Neither did you." A sleep muzzy rumble. "Shhhhhh, love…. Time enough later…"

Eyes wide in the darkness, Legolas lay still listening to the even, deep breaths of the sleeping ranger. It had been a day to tax even elven endurance, but he did not know if he could rest. His stomach was knotting, and he felt a tightening in his chest, a pressure that made him want to scream to release it. There were no names for the emotions he felt. He wanted to run from this tent as if all the demons in hell were at his heels, and he wanted to stay in this man's arms forever. A hot core of resentment built in him at being held like a woman, held as if he were fragile, soft, prone to breakage. Another part of him wanted to nestle close, bury his face against Aragorn's chest and hold on for dear life.

With another elf it would have been different, whether that elf was male or female. There would have been a sense of equality, and there would be no memory of fright and violence to stain their affection. With Aragorn there was a need to assert himself that warred with his desire to trust; an angry need that had begun in the moment that the Ring bespelled man had wrenched him to his knees in the room in Lothlorien. Elven nature is sensitive; it is not accustomed to dealing with the brutality of human feeling, of human passions. It is not accustomed to imbalance and denial. Legolas, cradled in the arms of the man he could finally admit he loved, felt as if he were being torn apart.

*****

Morning had not yet dawned when Aragorn awakened, immediately aware of the warm body pressed against his own. He could smell the herbs Legolas used to wash his hair, and he buried his face in the silken tresses, inhaling deeply.

Allowing his eyes to accustom themselves to the gloom, he stared enrapt at his lover's features. The azure eyes were out of focus; sleep had at last claimed him and still held him in its grip. Smiling gently, Aragorn stroked the elf's pale cheek with the back of a callused hand, then leaned in to brush his lips across Legolas'. Greatly daring, he flicked his tongue out, barely touching the soft flesh. Legolas' lips tasted sweet, a bare hint of honey that left him craving more.

Sighing regretfully he drew back, settling for caressing the slumbering elf's cheek. His fingers slipped along the curve of cheek bone, glided down to the line of his jaw, moved to cup and then stroke his chin. The elf was truly lovely, and Aragorn found himself wondering about the comment Legolas had made the previous night: You think I look like a woman. He could honestly say that he had not thought about it. Legolas was… Legolas. He had never looked upon men with passion, and he knew that Legolas's beauty was of a type with Arwen's. Still, there could be no doubt of his maleness. It was in his posture, his movements. It was something that simply was, and that had nothing to do with being a warrior. Eowyn was a warrior, but she was also most certainly a woman. And Legolas was most certainly male.

Bowing his head, Aragorn allowed himself to taste those pale lips again. Legolas stirred beneath him, and he withdrew, skating his hand lightly along the elf's neck. A small smile curved his lips as Aragorn's fingers traced over the sensitive skin, then moved to run a single finger over his ear. The man's finger danced over his ear tip, and Legolas' tongue flicked out, lightly touching his upper lip. Aragorn's eyes widened as the archer tilted his head back, leaning into the touch. He could feel himself stiffening at this erotic display, and licking his own lips he began to caress the sensitive ear, running his fingers teasingly over it.

Legolas purred softly, shivering at the delightful sensation coursing through him as he moved towards wakefulness. He blinked, for the moment neither knowing nor caring where these feelings were coming from, only knowing that he didn't want them to stop. When he opened his eyes again, the world was in focus. Aragorn lay beside him, eyes intent upon him as he stroked his face lovingly, touched him, teased his vulnerable ears. For a split second panic clutched him, and he froze, almost forgetting to breathe.

"'Tis alright, love. It's just me." The words were spoken softly, comfortingly. "Do you want me to stop?"

Legolas' lips parted, but no words came. He wanted Aragorn to stop. He didn't want him to ever stop. Legolas became suddenly and embarrassingly aware that he was erect, and that there was no way that the man could have failed to notice. Then he realized that Aragorn, too, was hard; he could feel the heat and size of the man's cock pressed against his hip. When he had come to Aragorn's tent he had known this would happen, had accepted it. Had desired it. This was not the way he had planned it, though. He had intended that they would make love before sleep, and that he would be in control. Instead the man had dragged himself to bed at the point of collapse, had held him through the night as if he were a maiden, and was arousing feelings within him that he didn't understand and didn't know what to do with.

"Tell me to stop, and I will. I promise you, Legolas, I will do nothing that you do not want." The eyes that looked down into his were no longer drunk with fatigue, nor were they clouded by other worries or issues. The man was focused entirely upon him, as if there was nothing outside of him. Legolas would never have believed that the gaze of a man could be so intense, that a creature of so few years and of so little experience could reduce him to utter stillness and silence with nothing more than his eyes. King of Men, he thought giddily, Elessar, the Elfstone of the house of Elendil!

He did not blink when Aragorn slowly lowered his head, allowing their lips to touch. The man's beard was rough against his skin, but not unpleasant. He tilted his head, permitting fuller contact, feeling the texture of his lips. Smooth, like satin, a surprising contrast to the ruggedness he was accustomed to thinking of in relation to Aragorn. He gasped when he felt the ranger's tongue touch him, soft wetness licking lightly, teasingly at his own closed lips. Aragorn did not take advantage of the moment, and Legolas let his eyes close even as he opened for the ranger, allowing this gentle invasion.

Legolas had kissed and been kissed many times before, but this was something altogether new. His nerves sang as Aragorn explored him, tongue flicking at lips before meeting his own tongue in a warm, wet duel. The last time this had happened he had been unwilling, held in place by a hand fisted in his hair. The memory of that combined with the insidious warmth rising in his body left him feeling weak, unsure. Aragorn sucked at his tongue as if he would draw the elf inside of himself, and Legolas moaned in a combination of desire and denial.

He pulled back, panting, face flushed. Aragorn looked down upon him, his expression a blend of desire and patience. "I swear to you, Legolas, I will never force you to do anything you do not wish. Please trust me." He raised his hand to stroke the elf's cheek lovingly. "You know that you can stop me if you wish, that you can fight me. You've done it before." He bowed his head, nuzzling into the soft skin of Legolas' neck. "You don't need to be afraid."

The elf stiffened, and Aragorn knew he had chosen his words wrongly. It was too late to fix it; any words he said now would either reinforce his mistake or destroy the moment. Instead of speaking he lapped at the flesh beneath his mouth, licking a wet trail to the lobe of Legolas's ear. A swift inhalation of breath encouraged him, and he slowly took the lobe into his mouth, running his tongue around it in lazy circles before beginning to suck on it.

Legolas shuddered as Aragorn suckled the sensitive flesh, unable to restrain a faint moan of protest when the man ceased his ministrations. He gasped, eyes widening when a moment later Aragorn began to slowly drag his tongue along the curve of his ear, moving to the delicate tips. His tongue flicked over the point, eliciting a sharp cry from the elf. Legolas's hips strained shamelessly against the ranger as Aragorn licked the ear tip repeatedly, his tongue moving swiftly over his fair one's weak spot.

Coherent thought had ceased from the moment Aragorn's tongue had touched Legolas' ear lobe. The elf trembled, no longer heeding the part of himself that was desperately clamoring for him to take control. What Aragorn was doing was too wonderful, too exotic, too utterly delicious for him to stop…

Hands tugged at the laces of his shirt, and Legolas gazed up at Aragorn through hooded, lust glazed eyes. He did not resist when the man pulled him upright, yanking the garment over his head. Their lips met in a fiery kiss, and Legolas moaned, rubbing against the soft fur of Aragorn's chest. He could hear the ranger's low, rumbling chuckle as he insinuated a hand between them, stroking the soft curls. He wanted to rub his face against it, feel that softness against his cheek and lips. Pulling the man forward to straddle him, he pressed his face against Aragorn's chest, purring as he nuzzled there.

Legolas smiled innocently up at Aragorn, his head tilted all the way back. He nestled his chin teasingly on the man's sternum, and then ran his hands lightly through the thick curls, lighting on Aragorn's nipples. Grasping each one gently between thumb and forefinger, he gazed up at the man with a look of feline satisfaction on his face. Aragorn shuddered, arching his back into the contact, and the elf began to slowly roll the hardened nubs in his soft grip. Legolas could feel Aragorn's throbbing erection pressed against his abdomen, and as he continued his slow torment the man began to rock against him, thrust towards him. His head was thrown back, sweat beaded his brow, and the cords stood out on his neck. Legolas' lips parted as he watched, staring upwards in lustful pleasure.

Releasing the man's nipples, his hands moved downwards over the hard, flat muscles of his stomach and settled at the waist of his breeches. He began to work the laces, but then Aragorn's hands were covering his, pulling them away.

"No, love, not like that." Aragorn's eyes were simmering with heat. "I don't want you like that, as much as I would enjoy it."

Legolas' eyes widened as Aragorn knelt up and pushed him back into the blankets. Hair tousled and face flushed, the elf looked incredibly sensual. The ranger felt as if he were kneeling over something angelic, something wild, something beyond the normal limits of his senses. Legolas' eyes were dark with lust, wide with nervousness, skittish and bold, shy and shameless. The pale, smooth chest rose and fell visibly, and Aragorn saw sweat sheening that perfect skin for the first time since he had met the elf.

"What are you doing?" The elf purred, and Aragorn grinned.

"Returning the favor." Arching over the supine body, Aragorn flicked his tongue at a stiff, pink nipple. The elf whimpered, and Aragorn smiled against Legolas' flawless skin. Circling the peaked nipple with painful slowness, he drank in the soft moans and cries, rode the rise and fall of Legolas' chest. A sharp cry escaped the archer's lips as Aragorn gently nipped at the aroused flesh, and his movements became frenzied as the ranger captured his other nipple in his fingers, squeezing lightly.

The cries became plaintive as Aragorn dipped lower, moving down Legolas's body. Legolas was nectar and honey on Aragorn's tongue, sweet and delectable. He licked a slow trail down the hard muscles of the archer's chest and stomach, pausing to dip his tongue into the cup of his navel. Legolas' hips were swiveling uncontrollably, his hard cock connecting with Aragorn's chest with every upwards thrust. The ranger moved back between the elf's legs, holding his thighs down with his forearm as he leaned forwards to lap at the flesh along the waist of Legolas' leggings. His fingers hooked the top of the garment, and Legolas raised his hips as Aragorn pulled them down. For a moment they were stymied by the elf's boots, but when those were finally kicked aside the leggings quickly followed.

Aragorn stared at the vision before him. Legolas was everything he had imagined, and more. The elf was feline in his beauty, slender, and smoothly muscled. His long blonde hair lay in a tangled riot on the rough pillow, his cheeks were pink with lust, his eyes half closed in longing desire.

"Do you like me, Estel?" He whispered, his voice thick with his need.

"I love you, my beautiful one." His eyes remained on the elf's as he haphazardly shed his own boots and unlaced his breeches. Legolas' eyes widened and his tongue nervously danced over his lips as Aragorn pushed the clothing down over his lean muscled thighs.

"Estel…"

"You have never done this before, Legolas?"

Legolas shook his head, not trusting his voice. Heat raged within him as if his body housed a bonfire, and at that moment he would have believed he could fly if only Aragorn told him he could. He met the man's gaze, pushing his fear aside.

"I want you, Estel…" A purr verging on a growl, and Aragorn needed no further encouragement. Leaning forward he covered the archer's body with his own, capturing the soft mouth in a heated kiss. Legolas trembled beneath him as his lips moved from mouth to chin, then down the smooth column of his throat.

"Please…" Legolas begged as Aragorn worked his way down his body. "I need…. Oh gods, Estel, please-" His words were cut off as Aragorn's hand drifted between his thighs, pushing them apart. Plaintive moans greeted the ranger's ears as he held the elf's legs down and apart. The cries grew more frenzied as he dipped his tongue repeatedly into the sensitive navel.

"Cease this torture! I can't - His words were cut off as Aragorn bent his head lower, licking at the head of the elf's cock. Thigh and stomach muscles strained forwards as the ranger circled the head with his tongue, and Legolas whimpered in desperation as the man took it slowly between his lips.

Control vanished when Aragorn licked teasingly at the slit. Hands that had been fisted in the blankets flew to grip the ranger's head, and Aragorn chuckled before abruptly taking Legolas' entire length. The elf bucked under him, and he gagged as the archer's cock touched the back of his throat. Regaining control, he released Legolas' thighs, allowing the elf to fuck his mouth. Long fingered hands gripped his hair, thighs held his head in place, and Aragorn sucked in a steady, fierce rhythm. The sensation of the elf's body moving under him, swaying, thrusting, bucking was almost enough to bring the ranger to the edge. He sucked on Legolas' cock as if it were as necessary to him as air or water, abandoned himself to the hands steadying him, the thighs and hips thrusting up into him. Sliding his hands beneath the archer, he cupped the rounded globes of flesh and pulled him up harder, opening, sucking, letting Legolas have all of him.

The elf's movements grew more frenzied, and Aragorn began a low, rumbling purr. Legolas stiffened beneath him, crying out in elvish as he pumped into the ranger's mouth a final time, filling him with his seed. Azure eyes closed as he lay back against the damp blankets, body shuddering as Aragorn continued to gently suck and lap at him, swallowing every drop of his essence. The elf's hands ruffled shakily through Aragorn's hair as the man let his cock slip from his mouth.

Kneeling up, Aragorn gazed down upon the satiated elf. Legolas looked back at him through long, dark lashes, and the ranger shuddered with his need.

"I am not nearly done with you, fair elf." He whispered, tracing his fingers over Legolas' satin skinned abdomen. His touch was answered by a low moan, and the archer gasped, blinking, when Aragorn slid his hands lower. Again he pressed his hands against hard inner thigh muscles, pushing them apart. Color stained Legolas' cheeks as the man parted him yet further, bending his knees and pressing his legs gently yet firmly back, spreading them into butterfly wings.

"Estel…" Nervousness tinged his voice, coloring the afterglow of passion with discomfort. Aragorn laid a comforting hand on Legolas' stomach, rubbing lightly.

"I promise to take care of you, lovely one." He purred, meeting the elf's frightened eyes. "I promise that I will give you pleasure in this. Do you trust me, Legolas?"

"Yes…" Legolas answered, his voice barely audible. He closed his eyes and tilted his head back, trying to separate himself from his warring feelings, trying to go to a place where he could feel nothing but Aragorn's touch. He could not help his body's stiffening as fingers moved upwards along his thighs, couldn't quite blot out the remembered voice - you'll be covered in sweat and filth, my seed dripping from your body.

He tensed as he felt Aragorn warm breath tickling the delicate skin of his thighs, and then the wetness of his tongue lapping at his balls. A strangled cry made it's way past his lips as that tongue dipped lower, lashing over his perineum in a rhythmic dance. Aragorn grasped Legolas' newly stiffening length, and the elf trembled deliciously between desire and denial as the mans lips slipped further down, his beard scraping against pale flesh.

He flinched at the first soft breath against his most secret opening, jerking upwards into Aragorn's fist. Legolas moaned as the man tightened the grip on his cock, pumping it until the elf felt as if he were about to fly to pieces. Again he felt a puff of breath, and then Aragorn's tongue was touching him, circling him, pressing teasingly at the ring of defensive muscle. Legolas moved uncontrollably between hand and tongue. Elvish words flowed liquidly as Aragorn breached him, but at the same time he felt as if he were floating somewhere above this, watching in dismay. The pleasure was more intense than anything he had ever felt in his long life, his body responded with hedonistic abandon, but he could not bring himself to totally surrender to it.

An almost pained moan met Aragorn's ears as he moved away from the elf, releasing rock hard, alabaster legs. Legolas's hips pumped in a slow circle of need, and the ranger found it nearly impossible to turn his eyes away. His belt pouch lay near the blankets, and he rummaged through it with careless impatience. Finding the small bottle of salve, he ripped the cork out with his teeth and poured a generous amount into his hand.

Callused fingers moved gently, coating Legolas' pink opening with the soothing substance. His cock was still rock hard, but the elf's body had become perfectly still. Slowly, carefully, Aragorn began to press inward.

"Relax, love." He whispered softly, reaching to stroke the sweat covered brow. Legolas' lips had tightened, and Aragorn could feel muscles clenching around his invading finger. "I promise this will be good." He soothed, and as the archer slowly untensed he pushed in further.

Legolas' eyes were closed, and his breathing had become irregular. There was slight pain, but the feeling was more one of discomfort. He struggled inwardly to relax, to allow Aragorn access to him. The sensation of Aragorn's finger moving in him was obscene, delicious, shameful, exciting. He bit his lip as another finger was added, and whimpered in a mixture of pleasure and pain

"Are you alright, fair one?"

He nodded, not daring to speak, not daring to open his eyes. Thick digits scissored within him, gentling him, stretching him, opening him. His cock twitched, and again he felt Aragorn's hand on him. Lines furrowed his brow as he moved with the slow strokes, barely wincing when a third finger slipped inside of him. An image of himself rose behind his closed eyelids – naked, legs spread, shamelessly riding Aragorn's invading fingers while the man stroked his hardened member. He forced the image away, focusing on the intensity of his confused need.

Then the man's fingers brushed against something within him, and all thought fled. His eyes flew open, and he stifled a scream as Aragorn repeated the motion. Stroking, probing, thrusting within him, and Legolas saw shooting stars, saw fireworks, saw angel fire. He pumped into the man's thrusts, head tossing back and forth on the pillow.

He whimpered in disappointment when the ranger pulled his fingers from his body, but disappointment was swiftly replaced by wanton anticipation as Aragorn lifted his hips and positioned his cock at the opening of Legolas' body. Legolas pushed desperately against that thickness, pleading softly in elvish as he tried to rock forward.

"Slowly, Legolas, slowly." Aragorn growled thickly through a haze of passion. "I would not hurt you more than can be avoided." Staring at the pale, writhing body, Aragorn did not know how he was going to be able to maintain control. The elf was at once angel and demon, innocent and debauched. Listening to his soft cries, moans, and lilting elven supplications was almost more than he could bear. The elf bit his lower lip between small, even white teeth, and Aragorn could wait no longer.

He had known there would be pain, but he had not expected this burning, this feeling of being stretched beyond his limits. Legolas' body stilled, his face twisting in pain instead of passion.

"Estel… this hurts…" He whispered, and Aragorn cupped his cheek tenderly in his hand.

"It will get better, Legolas, I swear it." He stopped his movements, gazing down at the trembling elf. "Try to relax."

He felt the protesting muscles slowly loosen their grip, saw the body beneath him begin to calm. As he resumed his inward slide, Aragorn took Legolas' cock in hand, stroking it, pumping it, coaxing a gleam of pre-cum from the slit. The archer's body shook as he rubbed his thumb lightly over the head, covering it in glistening wetness. He moaned, jerking his hips forward into Aragorn's grip, and then the ranger was buried in him to the hilt.

Legolas was incredibly hot, incredibly tight. Sweat glistened on Aragorn's body as he struggled to remain still within that warm sheathe, feeling the dance of muscles around his straining cock. The elf groaned softly, his body beginning to move under him, and Aragorn began his own slow movements. He began fisting the archer's cock faster, stroking his thumb over the head with each upstroke, and Legolas released a strangled cry.

"Please, Estel… faster." He gasped, and Aragorn thrust into him, angling for his sweet spot. Legolas' body stiffened under him, but this time it was not in fear or pain, but in pure ecstasy. Aragorn fought to maintain a steady, sedate pace, but the elf would have none of it.

Again and again, the ranger buried himself in the elf's tight body, his own low moans of pleasure mingling with Legolas'. He rode the waves of the archer's body, rising and falling, the hand on Legolas' rigid, dripping cock matching the rhythm of their bodies. The elf screamed as he reached the pinnacle, and Aragorn felt muscles clenching and tightening frenetically about his length. Plunging deeply within that pristine body, he gritted his teeth around a feral cry as he reached his own release.

Aragorn slumped forward on Legolas, listening to the rush of blood in his ears. The elf's skin was slick with sweat, and the ranger could hear the runaway beat of his racing heart. He turned his head to press a kiss to the smooth chest, and felt a responsive trembling.

"Are you alright?" He asked hesitantly, reaching to brush back strands of wet and tangled blonde hair.
"Yes, I'm fine, Estel. A little sore." His eyes were still closed.

"I should have been more gentle."

Legolas smiled, eyelids lifting to half mast. "You were fine. I have no complaints." He snuggled back into the blanket, sighing. "Is there time for a bit more rest?"

"A little while. Not long, I regret to say." The man moved to lie beside the elf, and Legolas curled his body around him. Aragorn chuckled softly, enclosing him in his arms.

"What's so funny?"

"'Twould be difficult to explain… I had despaired of ever having you so."

A small frown marred the beauty of Legolas's face for a moment, and then it was gone. "Now you do have me."

Something about the way Legolas had spoken seemed wrong to Aragorn, but he could not quite put his finger on what it was that was bothering him. He nestled back into the blankets, his elf in his arms, deciding to give it no further thought.

*****

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