Senses Over Time by NelyafinweFeanorion
Summary: 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: Elrohir, Legolas
Content: Gen, Slash
Challenges: None
Series: Darkness
Chapters: 2 Completed: Yes Word count: 2934 Read: 287 Published: November 21, 2017 Updated: December 03, 2017
Story Notes:
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.

1. Minas Tirith by NelyafinweFeanorion

2. In the Woodland Realm by NelyafinweFeanorion

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."

"Must I?"

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.
In the Woodland Realm by NelyafinweFeanorion
Author's Notes:
Follow up gift fic for Cheekybeak. A second chapter for her lovely Elrohir/Legolas. This scene is based on cheekybeak's fic All of You--Legolas and Elrohir in the Woodland Realm.
In the Woodland Realm

The press of lips was still imprinted on Elrohir even though Legolas had leaned back to smile down at him.

It was hard to get the words out but once they started they came in a torrent. “Incandescent? That is not a word I ever thought to hear in reference to me.” Grey eyes met the green ones, steady and warm above him. “It has always seemed a burden—fiery tempered, hot headed, impulsive, volatile—those are words I’ve heard to describe me. It has been a challenge to subdue it and control it, as you know.”

“I would never want or expect you to subdue it, Elrohir. It is you—that fire is the light that blazes forth and leads me to you. I can sense it when you are not near me and when I am close the heat of it burns away the sea, the shadow, everything but you.” Legolas fingers gently traced the planes of Elrohir’s face. “You are so many things, my Elrohir. Warrior, scholar, healer, mentor. All facets of you, that make you who you are, unique and perfect,” Legolas said.

Elrohir shook his head. “I am a warrior yes, but not the other things you mentioned, Legolas. Not scholar nor mentor and certainly not a healer. Those skills did not manifest in me.”

The green eyes moved closer as Legolas leaned over him, strands of his golden hair falling on Elrohir’s face and neck, the scent of him—green and crisp like the forest after rainfall, musk and spice, leather and wood, layering to his own unique fragrance—a scent Elrohir would recognize anywhere. “You are my healer, Elrohir. Deny it if you will but I know you make me whole.”

His lips found Elrohir’s again with an intensity that flushed heat through every part of him, all his focus coming down to the glide of their mouths and tongues against each other, the forest around them fading to just the green of Legolas’ eyes.

Fingers gripped Elrohir’s shoulders and he felt the weight of his companion on his body as Legolas moved to straddle his hips, the heat now moving to his groin at the contact.

His own hands slid into the golden hair, his mouth pulling away to mumble. “Not here.”

Legolas pulled back, his hair still tickling Elrohir’s face, to regard him with amusement. “The trees are but silent witnesses. They will not speak of what they see.”

Elrohir flushed. “But this is a glade. You have patrols—we are not that far from the fortress.”

The laughter from Legolas made him blush even more, much as he loved the sound of it. A fingertip traced Elrohir’s lips. “My very proper Noldo. Have you never taken pleasure under a canopy of trees? Under the light of the stars?” His face grew more serious as he contemplated, moving off Elrohir to sit by his side. “But you have not, have you, my love? We are of this world. What greater place to celebrate our bond than with the trees, the sun, the stars to witness it?”

“It is not that . . .” Elrohir stumbled over his words. “It is not the location. It is just that there are others near. . . it is not what I am used to.”

There was an uncharacteristic gentleness to Legolas’ expression as he lightly placed his outstretched hand on Elrohir’s chest. “No, I suppose not.” A fond smile softened his features even further. “I have much to share with you then, in your time here.” He grasped Elrohir’s hand and pulled, rising effortlessly to his feet. “If this is too exposed we shall find another place to initiate you to love under the trees.”

Elrohir stumbled after him, Legolas’ hold on his hand steadying him. “It’s not like I’ve never . . .”

“I know that,” Legolas retorted. “But it is easy to see you prefer being indoors, sheltered and screened.”

“I would think most people would,” Elrohir muttered.

His companion’s laugh rang out again at his words. “You will make me work to find that spark of Sindar that I know lies within you, won’t you?”

“The Sindar are not Silvan,” Elrohir said primly.

“True but they are far closer to our ancestors in Cuiviénen than their Noldor counterparts. Let me have some hope, Elrohir, of reaching that part of you.” He tugged on Elrohir’s hand again. "Come. There is a flet nearby if the glade is not to your liking."

Elrohir gave him an incredulous look. "Legolas. These woods are crawling with your father’s guards and scouts. You can't be serious."

Legolas raised an eyebrow and proceeded to chirrup out an unfamiliar birdcall. Elrohir narrowed his eyes. Bird calls were not typically supposed to sound so amused. 

"Problem solved, my Noldo. Come. Trust me no one will disturb us now."

A horrified realisation came upon Elrohir. "You didn't."

"I didn't what?" Legolas looked perplexed. He pulled on Elrohir's arm again but the larger Noldor didn't budge.

"You didn't just alert all the guards that. . . that . . . You know!" Elrohir spluttered.

"Really, Elrohir. First you worry about them stumbling upon us, then when I warn them not to disturb us that is not to your liking either?"

"Valar above, Legolas! I did not intend for you to alert them all about our private affairs!" Elrohir exclaimed.

Legolas sighed. "There is very little that is private among the Silvan, Elrohir. I warned them to stay away but to keep me informed of any unusual activity. The flet has screens and none will venture close. It will be just the two of us, I promise you."

"Can we not go back to your rooms in your father's Halls, Legolas?" Elrohir asked.

Legolas expression changed, the bright look faltering as his eyes met Elrohir's. "If that is what you prefer, we can," he said slowly. "But. . ."

Elrohir inhaled sharply at the change in Legolas’ features and inwardly cursed himself. "But what, Legolas? What did you want to say?" His voice was softer and he drew closer to Legolas as he spoke, intertwining their fingers and sweeping a strand of Legolas’ hair back as he did so.

"It is no matter, really. It is just that I had imagined this, us, in my woods--under the canopy of the trees--sharing our love in the Silvan way, in the forest."

Elrohir moved closer still, bending down to touch his lips to Legolas’. “Take me where you will, Legolas. This is your home. Teach me your ways,” he whispered.

The flet was not far and Legolas led him to it swiftly. Elrohir’s years of visiting Lothlorien stood him in good stead as he clambered up, his hands reaching from branch to branch as there was no ladder here. His progress was far slower than his counterpart’s; when he looked up he glimpsed Legolas’ grinning face above.

“You are more limber than I expected, my Elrohir. You do much better in the garb of the Greenwood than in your stiff leathers.”

Elrohir, having finally reached the flet itself, drew near Legolas; he was still ill at ease though, peering at the trees surrounding them suspiciously.

Legolas bright laughter rang out again, unconsciously relaxing Elrohir’s expression. “Even your sharp eyes will not see them. The scouts of the Greenwood are difficult even for one of their own to see. Trust me, they will stay away from this tree and the ones surrounding it.” He stood and moved to the far side of the tree, yanking at a previously unseen rope.

A fabric, as finely woven as those of Lothlorien Elrohir noted, drifted down around them. It was dappled in appearance, a grey that seemed to shift in color as it rippled in the gentle wind—shifting from green to gold and back to grey. Elrohir reached out to touch it. It slipped through his fingers like gossamer, smooth and silky to touch. But it did not keep his attention long as hands slid around him from behind.

He turned to meet Legolas, his arms going around his companion, bringing his body flush to his own. Mouths met and fingers ran through his hair as Elrohir’s grip on Legolas tightened further.

Legolas’ hands drifted down to his shoulders, his chest, lingered at the lacings of his tunic. He made quick work of opening them to slide his hands against Elrohir’s bare chest, causing him to draw his breath in sharply at the touch.

Elrohir’s own hands did the same, Legolas impatiently pulling the tunic over his head when Elrohir did not move quickly enough.

“You are impatient,” Elrohir murmured against his lips.

“When it concerns you, I most certainly am,” Legolas replied, tugging at Elrohir’s breeches, the fastenings already rapidly undone by his clever fingers. “You are slow, Noldo. Come. You cannot be shy with me anymore.”

“I am not shy with you,” Elrohir growled, stripping his tunic off and dropping it down carelessly. His fingers followed the planes of the muscles on Legolas’ torso, lingering over his abdomen before he moved them further down.

In moments, all their clothing lay strewn about them on the flet and Legolas pushed Elrohir until his back was against the great trunk of the tree, the bark scraping at his back. The tree, the forest, the nearby fortress and guards—all were forgotten as the heat of Legolas pressed against him and the answering desire in his body overcame his senses. He threw his head back, overcome with what Legolas was doing to him, his unfocused eyes seeing only the green and gold canopy of leaves above him.

As green and gold as the Elf before him. The light breeze wafted over Elrohir’s face, the buzz of insects and the cry of a hawk above him. His heart beat thrummed through him, faster and faster as the sensations coursed through his body until he was shuddering, the world blurring around him as he finally closed his eyes.

Green eyes met his own as Legolas stood and leaned into him. “Next time under the stars. I want to see their light reflected in your eyes, my love.”
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