Resurrection 45

Resurrection

Part 45

Posted: February 9, 2007
Title: Resurrection
Author: Larien Elengasse

Summary: Legolas and Gildor take their first steps in a life journey.

*****

Gildor entered his chambers and found Legolas lying on his bed dressed in a thin silken robe. The prince lay on his side, his head propped on one hand, the other hand on his hip. Legolas had an undeniably alluring nature, one that was augmented by his recent sexual experience. The Sinda had a way of looking at him that turned his blood into liquid heat, while taking his breath away at the same time.

“Well? May I assume my father was amenable to your proposal?”

Gildor threw the latch on the door and began unbuttoning the clasps on his tunic. “Aye. It seems that he knew what would happen when we were reunited. How could he know such a thing?”

Legolas smiled sensually. “Well, I made my feelings no secret to him or to Lindir. Admittedly, they were both concerned that one of my tender years was speaking so amorously, but as time passed and my feelings did not waiver, they understood.”

“I see. So while I was gone you were pining for me?” Gildor asked, a feral grin curving his lips as he tossed his tunic on a chair and approached the bed.

Legolas lifted his chin, his darkening eyes tracking Gildor’s every move. “Aye, pine I did. I sang songs, wrote poems, had imaginary conversations with you. I had memorized the way you smell and the sound of your voice, so that I felt as though you were with me, even when you were so far away.” He slowly pulled on the silken belt that held his robe closed, and it slid open, revealing his nude body. “I was and am in love with you.”

Gildor stepped out of the remainder of his garments and mounted the bed, straddling Legolas as the prince rolled to his back.

“Now you are here,” Legolas said softly, “and I need pine no more.”

Gildor lowered himself so that their bodies touched and he gazed deeply into Legolas’ eyes. “You are not afraid of anything, are you?” he murmured.

“Only losing you,” Legolas replied, sliding his hand to the back of Gildor’s neck and drawing him down for a kiss. Legolas parted his legs, raising them high on Gildor’s hips and wrapping them around his lover. “It is time, my love, time for us to become one.”

“Are you sure, Legolas?” Gildor murmured. “You are still so young, there is so much you have yet to experience.”

“All that lies ahead of me I want to share with you. I have never been more sure of anything in all of my life.”

“I intend to give all of myself to you, the good and the bad, the pleasure and the pain. You may see and feel things that you are not ready for.”

Legolas smiled. “Can one ever be ready for such? I am not afraid; I know you, Gildor.”

“How can you? We have just begun to know one another.”

“Acts are not who you are. What you have been through has surely helped to shape you, but beneath that, there is an essential being – that is who I know; that is whom I love. But, for us to go forward, I must know it all, and you must feel what I feel, so that you can let go of your doubts. What you need, I can give, Gildor. What I need, you can teach. This is right; beneath the fear, beneath the doubt, you know I speak true.”

Gildor looked into the prince’s eyes and saw the truth in them, and he also saw the love. “Very well, my love,” he murmured against Legolas’ lips. “Have all of me.” He pressed a deep, possessive kiss to his lover’s mouth.

Their bodies moved in concert, skin sliding against skin, arms and legs entwined, mouths consuming, hands gripping, their voices filling the room as they gave voice to their mounting passion. Legolas whispered pleading words, plaintive moans floating in Gildor’s ears until he thought he would go mad. His fingers closed on a phial of oil that Legolas had brought and placed by the bed. Separating himself from his young lover long enough to prepare himself, he then lay back down and slid a slick hand between the prince’s legs. He focused his gaze on the long line of Legolas’ throat and the pulsing of a vein; his tongue laved the spot, then his teeth marked it as he slid a single, oiled digit inside his lover’s body.

Legolas gasped as his lover’s teeth marked his flesh and his body was entered for the first time. There was no pain, not yet, that would follow; there was only the overwhelming sensation of wanting and needing more. Words came without thought, he begged and pleaded, his own impassioned requests taking him by surprise. He had never wanted anything more than to be entered and possessed by Gildor, to be taken apart and changed into someone new. A second digit joined the first and a slight stinging sensation caused him to flinch, but he quickly settled, suckling the point of Gildor’s ear and causing his lover to growl with want. He cried out, his body arching of its own volition as fire roared through his body. His fingers dug into Gildor’s back and his arousal twitched against his stomach and began to weep.

Gildor turned his head, his mouth next to the prince’s ear and he murmured, “Feels good, does it not? Like somehow pleasure and pain have become one and blotted out everything else?”

Legolas could not speak. He merely nodded then cried out again as Gildor found his mark. Whimpering pleas left his lips and unshed tears stung his eyes; he did not know what he expected, but this surely was not it. Pain and pleasure, that is what he felt; it was an exquisite pain, the kind that left one weak yet wanting more, the kind that could only come from love. He was spread further, his now slick passage opened wide. As Gildor pulled his legs up past his hips, he felt his heart racing in his chest. His lover grasped his jaw and held him.

“This will be painful, my love,” Gildor murmured, “that I cannot prevent. But I promise you, it will be well worth it in the end.”

Legolas nodded. “Take me, I need you to take me.”

“You are mine, Legolas Thranduilion, now and forever more.” Gildor focused on Legolas’ deep blue eyes as he entered his lover’s tight body, watching as those eyes grew wide and brimmed with tears. His prince gasped and dug his nails into his back, but Gildor did not stop until he was buried to the hilt. “Breathe, my love,” he murmured.

Legolas drew a deep, hitching breath, and then let it out in a ragged wave.

“It hurts,” the prince murmured, “but I do not want you to stop.”

“Peace, my prince,” Gildor whispered as he teased his lover’s lips with his own. “It is beginning…”

Legolas felt heavy, as if he could not move or speak. His eyelids fluttered closed and he felt his body begin to grow limp, then without warning, the first images raced through his mind. Caves . . . Nargothrond, Gildor’s family, a great battle, Lindon, Dwarves, Glorfindel, Gil-galad, Elrond, Eregion… He squeezed his eyes shut and gasped. Annatar, the deceiver. So much death, so much pain. Then Imladris, laughter, woods and fields and sunshine, sleeping under the stars, music, dancing, Erestor. So much love, so much joy, then more pain. It was then that he felt as well as saw – felt that first fearful moment when Gildor realized he loved him; felt the longing all the while that Gildor was away, then the joy when they reunited. ‘He loves me,’ Legolas thought, ‘he loves me as much as I love him.’

Gildor saw Legolas’ life as well, the joy of his childhood, the love of his mother and father, Oropher doting on him and bouncing him on his knee, his grandmother showing him how to pick ripe blackberries. He felt the fear and sadness when Thranduil and Oropher left for war, and the joy upon seeing his father again, mingled with the sorrow that came when he realized his grandfather would not return. He then saw the truth, that what Legolas told him so long ago was not a youth’s fanciful crush, that the prince really did love him, even before he could express that love in full.

It was then that their shared physical sensations began; Gildor felt what Legolas felt, and Legolas felt him. They were both being entered and entering, giving and taking, their hearts, minds and fëa were becoming one. As he began to move inside his beloved prince, he heard Legolas’ thoughts in his mind, he felt the love, the passion, and the overwhelming sense of becoming one. He knew Legolas felt the same thing, heard his thoughts and saw the depth of what was in his heart. Never again would anything be unsaid between them, never again would there ever be any doubt.

Legolas moved with him, his deep, rich voice moaning his passion, whispering his love, his hands holding, gripping, caressing, his body squeezing him and consuming him. The end was coming, quicker than either of them wanted, but their bodies could only bear so much. Legolas cried out and arched against him, his warm essence spilling between their sweat-slicked bodies. The prince’s tightening passage milked his own climax from him, his seed flooding his lover’s body as he growled deep.

He could feel the near uncontrollable shaking of the prince’s arms and legs as they lie pressed together. Indeed, he was shaking too, his body trembling as he blinked through tears. He had never gone this far, never given this much, not even to Erestor. He had given Legolas everything he had; there was nothing left to guard or hide now. He felt Legolas’ shaking hands slide into his hair.

“Thank you,” the prince whispered. “I am yours and you are mine. There is nothing that I could want more than this.”

“I love you,” Gildor murmured. “I have loved you from the beginning, and I will love you forever more.”

“Be my mate,” Legolas whispered. “Let us declare our love before my family and the Valar.”

Gildor raised his head and looked into Legolas’ eyes. It was madness, this headlong rush they were in, but then, their entire relationship had been mad in a way. “I will,” he answered, “I will.”

Legolas smiled and drew him into a kiss, and he surrendered to it.

* * * *

“What is this?” Lindir asked, one pale eyebrow raised as he stared at a small box sitting on the foot of their bed.

“I wonder how that got there?” Thranduil asked, one corner of his mouth quirked into a grin.

“What mischief are you up to now, Thranduil Oropherion?”

Thranduil straightened the crown upon his head as he looked in the mirror. “Mischief? Why say you mischief?”

“Because mischief is what you are best at, my wicked king.”

Thranduil grinned. “Well there might be one or two other things I am good at as well.”

Lindir chuckled.

“Are you going to open it?”

Lindir sat on the side of the bed and picked up the box. “Should I?”

Thranduil turned and looked at his lover. “Aye, I think you should.”

Lindir turned the small box over in his hands. “Very well, then.” He smiled at his lover and began untying the ribbon.

*****

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