A Gift fic for Cheekybeak based on the characters in her story Fire Dancing Upon Our Souls. Set in that same timeframe, as Legolas recovers. The idea for the story came from the October 2017 Teitho prompt Senses. My thanks to Cheekybeak for her amazing stories and for making me adore Legolas/Elrohir.
Categories: Fiction Characters:
November 21, 2017 Updated:
March 01, 2018
So here is a short bit of sensual fluff for these boys.
My thanks to Cheekybeak for the inspiration, for her wonderful stories and for letting me play in her bit of the Tolkien universe.
Minas Tirith by NelyafinweFeanorion
Senses Over Time
Elrohir found him outside, as he expected, seated on the stone balustrade. His arms were wrapped around his bent knees and the golden head was pillowed on them.
Elrohir had not expected to be the one to search for Legolas. He had wanted to, oh how he had wanted to be the one to find him. But he had deferred first to Maewen and then to Gimli, when she demurred.
Both had shaken their heads at him, remarkably similar expressions on their faces; he would have labelled them fond, if he didn't know better.
Enough, he admonished himself. He had found the missing Legolas. It was in moments like this that the hardened warrior that Legolas most surely was faded to the background and the lost, lonely child of the forest surfaced.
Elrohir moved on silent feet, breathing out "Legolas" to alert the other to his approach. Troubled green eyes lifted to meet his and Elrohir's heart lurched at the blonde Elf's precarious position on the wall. Centuries of life among the Silvan Elves of Lothlorien had still not prepared him for Legolas' questionable proclivity for finding the highest and most treacherous of perches.
The unblinking green eyes locked on his and Elrohir could see Legolas' chest heave with his rapid, uneven breathing. He crossed the space between them swiftly, ever mindful of the height where they found themselves. He hesitated momentarily then resolutely put his hand on the other's shoulder, feeling the fine bone structure and rigid muscle under the tunic.
"Breathe in," Elrohir whispered. The latest argument with Aragorn had taken it's toll, it was plain to see. His hand rested gently on Legolas, feeling the quivering of his frame.
A long ago memory surfaced as he watched Legolas struggle to control his breathing. Arwen, still a small Elfling, had fallen from a tree and landed flat on her stomach, the wind completely knocked out of her. He remembered his father, hand on her shoulder just as his own was on Legolas', murmuring words to calm her down enough to let her draw a true breath.
The words returned to him now. "Legolas, what do you see? You don't have to speak, just look around you," he instructed.
The green eyes darted around. "Stone wall," came the strained reply.
"Good," Elrohir said, moving his arm to Legolas' back and gently rubbing soothing circles. "What do you hear?"
The golden head tilted, then stilled. "Music," he whispered. "From below."
"Yes, I hear it too," Elrohir agreed. He continued rubbing circles, feeling the rigidity diminish slightly in the other. "Now, what do you smell?"
That perfect nose wrinkled and then the nostrils flared. "Jasmine."
Elrohir nodded in agreement. The jasmine grew all around these walls, wild and untrammeled. Arwen did not allow the gardeners to force it out or into submission. The scent lingered in the air around them.
Elrohir stepped even closer, bringing his arm around Legolas' shoulders and gently guiding him down off the wall, to lean against his own taller frame. "What do you feel?"
Legolas' head dipped to rest against Elrohir's shoulder. HIs breathing was more regular, slower, deeper. "What do you feel?" Elrohir repeated.
"You. Warm," Legolas murmured, turning in his arms. His hands slid around Elrohir's waist, Elrohir's arms coming around Legolas' shoulders. A small smile crossed Elrohir's face as he rested his cheek against the silky, golden head. "You smell like Gimli's pipeweed," Legolas continued, a barely audible snort accompanying his words.
It was Elrohir's turn to wrinkle his nose. "You were the one sitting next to the dwarf," he complained. "Why must I smell like him?"
Legolas tilted his head to look up at him. "Maybe it's me that smells of it."
Elrohir kissed his forehead. "It's definitely you," he agreed, smiling down at the other Elf. He ran his hands down Legolas' arms. "Now what do you taste?"
Legolas licked his lips and took in a deep breath. "The salt of the sea."
They stood in silence, foreheads pressed together, their breathing matched now. Elrohir broke the quiet, opening his eyes to meet Legolas' own. "Are you ready to come back down? I'm sure Aragorn and Gimli are both smoking by now."
Elrohir stroked the hair back off Legolas' face and let his fingers drift to brush his cheekbone.
"I have learned, the hard way, not to let words between friends or family fester through the night. You will both regret it if you do not put this to rest between you." His lips skimmed over Legolas' temple. "Come?"
Perhaps it was the aftermath of the argument with Aragorn, the taste of the salt that lingered on his lips, or the sea-breeze that had blown inland as they stood on the ramparts earlier in the night. Or all three-but the sea-longing had flared in Legolas this night.
Elrohir could see it in his eyes-storm clouds reflected in the green, dimmed by the longing. He slid into bed, fingertips ghosting over the silky surfaces of Legolas' bare skin. He could feel the quivering of muscles, the rapid breathing. "What do you see, Legolas?" he whispered, cupping his hands around Legolas' face.
"You," the blonde haired Elf breathed, his own hands sliding up to Elrohir's chest, making their way to his shoulders. The hands rested there for a moment, as Elrohir pulled him closer, then made their way down again, achingly slow.
Cool fingertips traced skin, muscles, circled Elrohir's nipples slowly, sending shivers through him. Elrohir swallowed, his throat dry, the words feeling thick in his mouth. "What do you hear?" he asked.
"Your voice," Legolas replied, turning his face to press his lips to Elrohir's palm.
Elrohir drew his breath in sharply, another involuntary shiver running through him. He kept his voice steady as he asked the next question. "What do you smell?"
Legolas dropped his head to Elrohir's shoulder, the stray strands of his hair tickling Elrohir's exposed chest. He could feel Legolas' lips tracing down his jawline, to his neck, to the hollow above his collarbone. "You," Legolas breathed into his skin, the heat of his mouth, his breath, arousing Elrohir even more.
Elrohir closed his eyes. His mouth was so dry. His fingers shifted to sink into those golden strands of hair, alternately gliding through it and tightening his grip as Legolas continued to explore his body with his mouth and hands.
Moments passed before he could speak again. He licked his parched lips. "What do you feel?" Elrohir asked, his voice husky with desire.
Those slender, calloused, archer's fingers had drifted lower. Legolas' breath was in his ear as Elrohir's own breath caught and came up short. "You," Legolas said again, his hands not slowing, making Elrohir breathe even faster, his body melting into the bed.
The lips drifted down, pausing to tease a nipple, further down to slide over the taut planes of Elrohir's abdomen, down lower still.
Just one more question, Elrohir told himself. "What . . . " He swallowed hard and took a deep breath before speaking again. "What do you taste?" he asked, his words barely audible, even to himself.
"You," Legolas said, his voice strong and steady and then Elrohir was lost in sensation.
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