They reached Luin-Aglar that night and rested. There was a magic upon the place and Legolas thought it must be that they were within the bounds of Imladris perhaps and clearly some great magic protected Imladris. He thought of the great Song he had been caught up in, the swirling air and wind.
He was still a little nervous about sleeping because he knew the dreams of Rhawion were vivid and strong and the Elf’s voice called out to him, but Erestor and Glorfindel were on their way so he risked it. Legolas dreamed of another... steel grey eyes fixed upon him with breath-taking lust, hot as iron from the forge, molten with lust and passion that melted him and he felt himself swell.. He awoke to find himself hard as a rock and Aragorn slept too lightly for him to find any relief and in Imladris, it was so different...more buttoned down and tight lipped than he was comfortable with so he thought Aragorn, or even the two Elves, might view any suggestion about mutual relief with horror.
So he bit his lip and tried to think of something else... so lust was a good way of relieving his fear. His hand strayed to caress himself and he let his head fall back onto the roll of his clothes that served as a pillow... he thought Elrohir furious and hot with anger and remembered how Elrohir had stood over him shouting obscenities and his fists clenched so hard that Legolas really thought he might draw a weapon...and for a moment, Legolas had almost been concerned, but now there was distance, he thought Elrohir had been magnificent and thought how great an enemy he would be but how great an ally, friend...how magnificent he would be as a lover...
Then he shook his head at himself and grinned. What was he thinking? It was unlikely he would ever see Elrohir again...He stifled a moan and closed his eyes. His rod hurt it was so full. A drop leaked and slid down his hot bulging cock and he had to touch himself, bit his lip.
‘The poison has that effect too,’ a dry voice spoke nearby and Legolas’ eyes flew open and founds the cool, amused Man watching. He screwed up his face in embarrassment and then opened one eye, cocked his gaze at Aragorn.
‘I don’t suppose you...’
‘No! Whatever it is.’
The Man’s reply was almost insulting in the speed of his response thought Legolas, almost offended but amused at the same time. ‘I was going to ask if you would mind...’
‘If I went beyond the camp to relieve myself,’ Legolas finished in spite if the interruption.
‘Oh.’ The relief on Aragorn’s face was almost comical and Legolas glanced down at his own rigid cock that tented the thin blanket. ‘I do not think you should go out there on your own.’
Legolas smiled mischievously and threw it back unashamed and unmistakably hard as iron. ‘Are you coming with me then?’
He noticed that Aragorn turned away but he did not blush. He filed that away for later perusal because he was interested in the Man, liked him in spite of his harsh words and wanted to redeem himself in Aragorn’s eyes. Of course this would not help, he told himself, but he could hardly help it if the poison had this unexpected side effect... he wondered briefly if this could be a use for it.
Outside the air was very cold. Snow lay thinly over the hard ground and he quickly put his hand to work. He conjured up an image of Berensul but found that a sterile image now though the Elf had been skilled and inventive. Legolas had learned several things he had not known before...he sighed in frustration.
Glorfindel then... the image of Glorfindel still wet from the river, long hair dark gold, streaming down his strong, broad back, muscles flexing as he threw his shirt over the branches...but he felt horribly voyeuristic and knew then that he could never lose his awe of Glorfindel... he sighed. Well, Elrond then...no. That was like imagining his father! Erestor though...Erestor was nothing like anyone he had ever met...predatory, unashamedly sexual, but reserved and aloof. He would enjoy seeing Erestor lose himself....quickly he moved his hand and focused on the long black hair, broad swordsman’s shoulders, hands that would grip and clench hover his own biceps, grip him hard, lips that would press against his, forcing his mouth open, standing above him, cock hard and needy and demanding, grey eyes furious, passionate, lustful...
There was a churning in his balls, tightening and his muscles clenched. He came in a sudden rush of hot liquid spurting over his hand and rigid...He breathed and saw how he had melted a little pool of snow. He stooped and wiped his hand in snow and let the images pay a little in his mind and let each one go one by one...
Aragorn barely lifted his head to acknowledged him when he returned. He was dreaming of Arwen.