Work Text:
Imrahil stretched out on the bench and crossed his arms behind his head, sighing happily. How long was it since he had seen clouds? Not the indistinct, sand-laden haze that had hung over the desert from time to time, but real, fluffy white clouds like the ones scudding across the bright sky on the seaward side of Brenhir's garden. Imrahil squinted up at them and realised that the one over the far group of palms bore a definite resemblance to the Governor's ungainly son, Farongil. He grinned to himself, then lifted his head lazily to point out the likeness to Legolas.
"You should not be cruel to poor Farongil," the elf responded mildly, but he smiled at Imrahil nonetheless. His bench and Imrahil's ran along adjacent sides of the small square alcove, almost meeting at the corner. The angle made Legolas's expression seem unexpectedly comical.
"And you should not encourage his amorous notions," Imrahil retorted, smirking back at his lover. "He is going to be utterly distraught when we leave."
"I have encouraged nothing, merely tried to be pleasant to him, and patient. In any case, he is young. Something new will come along soon, and he will forget me."
"I very much doubt that," Imrahil replied with conviction.
They lay a while in silence, and Imrahil let his gaze drift from Legolas back up to the clouds, then around the exotically scented garden. "In spite of all that has passed, I will be sorry to return to Dol Amroth," he said at last. "There are so many strange and wonderful things to be seen here."
As if in response to his words, a small dark shape passed swiftly before his eyes to hover by the scarlet-flowered bush in the far corner.
"What in Eru's name is that? It is the fattest insect I have ever seen!" Imrahil sat up and pointed.
Legolas turned onto his side to follow Imrahil’s gesture. "It is no insect, my love," he said fondly, after a moment’s consideration. "It is a bird, called a tikhiya, I believe. The gardener, Hachid, told me of them, although he said they are not usually found here until later in the season."
"It is quite astonishing." The tiny creature was darting from branch to branch, presumably searching out miniscule bugs, or perhaps drinking of the flowers. Imrahil thought he could make out its long, thin beak, but the bird's constant movement made it hard to distinguish any detail. Its sudden foray to the lower left side of the bush brought it into direct sunlight and Imrahil gasped at the flash of colour, a glorious sparkling green. "What a beautiful little thing," he said, entranced.
"Is it not? And as intriguing as it is lovely. Do you notice that it has no feet?"
"No feet?" Imrahil peered at the bird in amazement. He certainly could not see any. "How can that be?"
"Tikhiya birds have no need of them, since they spend their whole life on the wing. Hachid told me as much."
"Really? Then how do they sleep? And what about..." Imrahil paused, and narrowed his eyes at Legolas. The elf's features were set in an innocent, if somewhat superior, expression. Only one who knew him intimately would have realised that he was suppressing a smile.
"You mock me," Imrahil said.
Legolas laughed. "I would never mock you, my prince, although the urge to play with you a little is sometimes irresistible. In truth, Kallim also spoke to me of the tikhiya birds. It seems that it is traditional to entertain Haradin children with tales of their strangely footless state."
"Haradin children, and unwary visitors," Imrahil said dryly. "I should know better than to take such stories seriously. Still, if you are in the mood for playing with me..." He swung his feet to the ground and bent into a crouch at Legolas's side, reaching for the elf's middle with a teasing, tickling hand.
"If that is the sort of play you have in mind, we might be wise to retreat indoors," Legolas said, wriggling under his touch. "Besides, the sun will be upon us soon, and the afternoon too hot for comfort."
The palace was quiet as the pair headed for their chambers. Brenhir was busy in meetings with his counsellors, determined to show that the plot to kill the king would not disturb the normal run of business in Umbar. Farongil would be at his side, unless he accompanied his mother Lady Mariél on one of her formal visits. There were few servants to be seen in the cool, gloomy corridors. Palace domestic habits followed the southern pattern, with an early start and a late finish to the working day, and a rest in the heat of the afternoon.
Imrahil's own manservant Neledhen needed little persuasion to retire for a while, once he was assured that a pitcher of cool water and a flagon of crisp white wine were all that his prince desired of him.
"So," said Legolas as the door closed behind Neledhen, "What type of game did you have in mind?"
Imrahil had not imagined any particular scenario, but he recognised the spark of challenge in his lover's eye. It took him but a moment to decide. "A game of chance," he pronounced, striding to the low table by the window and fumbling in his money pouch. Turning back to Legolas, he brandished a shiny silver piece from the Umbar mint.
"I propose that we let the coin decide the roles we are to play. He who loses the toss must do the other's will, without complaint or question, until dinnertime. Do you agree?"
Legolas gave a slow smile. "Very well. But mind that you throw the coin fairly; let me see it spin."
"Are you implying that I would do otherwise?" Imrahil replied, attempting to appear affronted. He scrutinised both sides of the unfamiliar piece and laughed. "Which will you have? Palace or two trees? I doubt that I need to ask."
"The trees for me, naturally."
"Very well." Imrahil flicked the coin into the air and watched it glinting in the filtered sunlight as it fell. He caught it on the back of his wrist and covered it with his hand for a moment before checking the result. Simply glancing at the silver disc was enough to make his heart increase its pace. Of course the game could only lead to pleasure, but this particular outcome seemed strangely appropriate to his mood.
Silently, Imrahil proffered his arm to Legolas. The elf looked briefly at the coin before meeting Imrahil's gaze in a long, smouldering stare. Then he gave a faint nod and lowered his eyes.
"I am yours to command," he said quietly.
Imrahil, already aware of his speeding pulse and rapidly building erection, took a few seconds to consider. He crossed the room and settled on the long leather couch, eyeing Legolas appreciatively.
The elf stood utterly still in the centre of the room, his hands lightly clasped before him and his attention, it would seem, fixed on the tiles at his feet. His whole attitude spoke of willing submission.
Imrahil licked his lips. "Bolt the door," he said at last, "and then take off your clothes. But slowly; give me a performance worth watching."
Legolas did not so much as glance at him as he moved to secure their privacy. Then he turned, and contrived to look at Imrahil through his lashes as he raised his hands. There were no buttons or clasps at the front of the simple Haradin tunic he wore, yet he lingered, his fingers first toying with the silver threads adorning the deeply split neckline, then gliding across the fabric over his chest and waist. Imrahil felt his mouth become quite dry as Legolas finally reached the hem of the garment, and gradually, silently, drew it upwards.
"Ah yes." The words escaped Imrahil almost unwittingly as his lover's long legs, draped in soft grey linen, were revealed, and above them his firm, slender torso. Imrahil ached to see more. As if reading the prince's mind, Legolas spun slowly on one foot and walked languidly to the window. There he paused, folding the tunic and laying it carefully on a chair, ensuring as he did so that Imrahil had a perfect view of him from the rear. As he returned to the centre of the room his steps took on a slight swaying motion, causing his hips to move most enticingly. Nor did he cease the movement once he reached his place. It was as if he danced to some lazy rhythm that only he could hear. His hands went to the ties holding the loose trousers at his hips, but Imrahil's command stopped him.
"Your hair, first."
Since their trip to the Sea of Sand Legolas had taken to wearing his hair in a single, thick braid. It was more comfortable in the heat, he said, and easier to tuck out of sight when donning the cotton head covering. It was a style that showed the exquisite bones of his face to full advantage, but Imrahil missed the fall of pale gold around his lover's features.
In a moment Legolas had removed and discarded the leather thong binding his pigtail, and began unravelling its length with both hands raised behind his head. Imrahil silently admired the taut muscles of the elf's chest and the slight movements beneath the skin of his arms. Only when the hair was loose and Legolas shook his head to send it cascading about his shoulders did Imrahil sigh once more.
"Yes, that is better."
Legolas's hair, usually so straight and smooth, had developed a slight kink as a result of the tight braiding. It shone, even in the subdued light of the chamber, and Imrahil itched to touch it. But Legolas had already dropped his hands and had started to unfasten his trousers; this was part of the show that Imrahil had no intention of interrupting.
Legolas had nimble fingers, as Imrahil well knew. He could have had the garment off within seconds, but he had taken Imrahil's instruction to heart and was making the spectacle last. His palms skimmed across fine fabric, his hips still swayed minutely and his eyes were fixed on Imrahil all the while. As the ties finally became loose and Legolas held them out before him, Imrahil realised he was having difficulty swallowing. He stopped even trying once the linen slid to the floor.
How could it be that the sight of his naked lover, familiar to Imrahil in every tiny detail, should make him feel so overexcited, like a desperate virgin, every single time? It was a well worn phrase, but no less true for that: each occasion with Legolas was like the first. Imrahil stared mutely as the elf folded his trousers and placed them with his tunic on the chair, imagining the feel of that deliciously curved backside beneath his fingers, his tongue, or better yet against his belly. The throbbing in his groin intensified, and he forced himself to keep both hands on his thighs. Why deal with the ache himself, when he had such a willing servant to do it for him?
Legolas had returned to his position in the centre of the room, and stood once more with his eyes downcast. Imrahil gazed at him ravenously. The elf was holding himself very still, and no pounding heart or labouring lungs could be detected beneath his softly gleaming skin. He could not hide his enjoyment of the game completely, however. There, heavy between his lean and muscular thighs, his building excitement was plainly visible.
Imrahil licked his lips once more, and found them to be quite unpleasantly dry. "Bring me some wine, please," he said, his voice rough.
Legolas turned to do his bidding without so much as a murmur. Even in his aroused state he moved with perfect grace to the table, bent to pour, and brought the goblet to Imrahil unhurriedly.
"Here," Imrahil indicated the space between his parted legs with a tilt of his head.
"Yes, Master." Legolas dropped to his knees so smoothly, the surface of the wine was barely disturbed.
Master? Imrahil felt his eyebrows raise even as his pulse increased its rate even further. In all the games they had played, Legolas had never used such a word. The effect it had on Imrahil was remarkable. He had thought himself hard before; now he was painfully so. He took the wine from his lover, brushing his fingers against the elf's as he did so, and shifted his legs a little wider apart. Legolas glanced briefly towards their juncture, and Imrahil nodded his assent.
"While you are there," he said.
He sipped the tart, refreshing wine, working to retain his air of authority while Legolas delicately rolled the fabric of his tunic up to his waist and reached for the fastenings thus exposed. The game, he supposed, required him to remain calm; he struggled to do so as gentle yet sure hands burrowed inside his clothing and brought his cock to light. He found himself clutching the goblet perilously tightly while he immersed the fingers of his other hand in the elf's shining, silky hair. He began to comb through its length, spreading its waves across his thighs as Legolas bent his head and paused as if contemplating his next move.
"What do you wish of me, Master?" the elf asked softly.
He could surely be in no doubt, but perhaps hearing the words aloud would make the game more enjoyable for him. Imrahil readily obliged. "Your mouth, of course," he said somewhat shakily. "Your mouth upon me. Ah ..."
At the first stroke of Legolas's tongue across his hot flesh Imrahil gasped and dug his fingers into his thigh. He would have to control himself if he was to make this last long enough to enjoy it to the full. Judging by the effect of his lover's lips, mouthing gently at the head of his cock, it was not going to be an easy task.
But Imrahil's years of experience as soldier, leader and diplomat were not for nothing. He maintained his composure as Legolas softly licked, kissed and nibbled up and down, allowing himself the barest of sighs and the occasional word of encouragement in the manliest of tones. Only when Legolas opened his mouth wide and took the whole length of him in, so slowly and smoothly, right to the back of his throat, did Imrahil concede defeat. The hand that had been stroking through fine gold hair moved to the back of the elf's head and clutched helplessly, and there was nothing even remotely regal about the groans that soon filled the room. Legolas's fingers had crept up between the prince's legs and were stroking his tight, aching balls through the linen of his trousers. The combination of sensations would surely have been sufficient to undo a far stronger man.
"God's teeth, but that's good, Legolas! How in Eru's name do you - ahh!" Having relinquished his self control, Imrahil gave full voice to his enthusiasm, shouting out as his body tensed and the seed burst forth, and waves of tingling bliss overtook him.
For a while they remained motionless, Imrahil breathing in great gulps, and Legolas carefully keeping the prince's cock in his mouth as it began to soften. Eventually Imrahil let his hand slide down to the elf's neck and Legolas, taking the cue, pulled away gently to sit back on his heels. He reached for the fluted glass that Imrahil had forgotten he was holding. It was a good thing the goblet was a sturdy affair, Imrahil realised. Anything finer would have shattered in his hand rather than leaving deep crimson ridges across the flesh of his palm. Legolas set the glass down safely, then gazed up at him in silence, his expression solemn.
Imrahil remembered the game. "You did well," he said somewhat hoarsely. "Very well."
Legolas smiled slightly. "Thank you, Master," he murmured. "My only desire is to serve you."
"And I would see that desire brought to its fulfilment," said Imrahil, with a pointed glance downwards at the elf's substantial erection. "Touch yourself. Have a care, however; do not hurry your completion."
The look Legolas gave him was almost coy, but he wasted no time in following Imrahil's instruction. He must, after all, have been eager for some relief. So Imrahil watched as one slim hand slid down across the elf's belly to encircle his long, pale cock, while the other first stroked deliberately over his thighs before delving between them. It was a mesmerising display. For all the intensity of the orgasm that had overwhelmed him mere minutes before, Imrahil could feel the pressure building in his loins once more as he drank in the sight.
"Let me hear you."
Moist lips parted, and Legolas let out a shuddering sigh, closely followed by a series of musical moans. His chest was rising and falling more rapidly now, and Imrahil could see the tension in the muscles of his thighs. Although his hand was moving at a moderate and steady pace, his end could not be far away.
"Wait," Imrahil said suddenly. Legolas stilled his hand, and stared at Imrahil with an expression that managed to convey both query and plea. Imrahil grinned down at him and paused to enjoy the effect before explaining, "Once you have spent yourself, I intend to take you, hard, for my own enjoyment. Perhaps you should prepare yourself now."
Legolas blinked up at him, and nodded almost imperceptibly. He drew a deep breath and got to his feet with something close to his usual elegance. His cock jutted out most delightfully, its tip taut and glistening, and Imrahil consciously suppressed the urge to reach for it. There would be time for that later; he would continue with the game for now. He leaned back into the couch and folded his arms behind his head as Legolas padded across the room to retrieve a jar from the cluster on the night table. At the bedside the elf hesitated.
"No, back over here in front of me," Imrahil confirmed, and Legolas returned to his place at the prince's feet. He removed the cork from the decorative glass jar and set it beside him. It was the spicy rose-scented oil, Imrahil's favourite.
"And now I will see you spend as you make yourself ready for me."
Legolas made a small sound that could have indicated pain, but he did as he was told without question. This time, as his right hand once again slid down to grasp his cock, the left, with fingers liberally coated in fragrant fluid, reached behind him. He shifted a little, adjusting the position of his arm, then opened his eyes wide and said, "Oh..."
Imrahil forgot about remaining detached, and leaned forward, breathing fast. "Your finger," he said.
"Fingers -"
"Your fingers are... are inside?"
"Yes, Master." Legolas was gyrating his hips very slightly as the hand on his cock moved back and forth briskly. His face was beautifully flushed, and tendrils of golden hair clung to a chest that looked distinctly damp. Imrahil could sense his tightly strung excitement like a vibration in the air, and knew the elf was holding himself back.
"How does it feel?" he demanded harshly.
"Good, ah, it feels good, but not as good as you, My Lord."
Suddenly impatient, Imrahil dragged his own tunic over his head and threw it to one side, then grabbed at his cock. It was utterly hard and ready, as if he had not known release for a month. "You want this inside you?" he panted, stroking himself decisively.
Legolas nodded, and made a noise of assent.
"Does imagining it make you want to come?"
"Ai, ai yes," Legolas gasped, slowing his hand and grimacing.
"Then do it, do it now. Show me how much you want me."
It was enough. Legolas arched backwards and gave a long anguished cry as his hand moved frantically then stopped, holding his shaft firmly as it erupted in long strands of silvery fluid. Imrahil thought that he had never seen a sight more lovely. Forgetting the game completely, he slid off the couch to kneel beside Legolas, and covered that sticky hand with his own as he leaned forward to kiss his lover hungrily.
"Beautiful, you are so beautiful," he mumbled into the elf's mouth some time later.
"Only for you, my Master," Legolas whispered, reminding Imrahil of his role.
The prince drew back and regarded Legolas closely. The elf's meekly submissive act could not conceal his eagerness for the next stage of the game. His vivid blue eyes were shining with it. Imrahil grinned, and raised their clasped hands slowly to Legolas's perfect mouth. "You know what to do," he stated.
Indeed, Legolas seemed to have no doubt what was expected of him. His agile tongue worked swiftly and efficiently, cleaning first Imrahil's hand and then his own, as the prince held his wrist in a steady grip. Imrahil found it necessary to breathe deeply and concentrate on the patterns of the floor tiles for a moment. This was all too good; if he did not take care he would last no more than five seconds once he had Legolas’s sleek and supple body beneath him.
He slid his free hand around Legolas’s neck and urged the elf towards him for another kiss. The taste of Legolas’s own seed in his mouth was strangely thrilling, and Imrahil sought it out relentlessly. By the time he pulled away, he was once again in danger of ruining his own plans.
“Bring some more wine,” he said quickly, by way of distraction.
Legolas stood, and swiftly went to the table. As he watched the elf turning with the brimming goblet in his hand, Imrahil got to his feet and gestured towards the bed. He took the glass with a nod of thanks, saying, “Lie back against the pillows, and let me look at you.”
It was a sight he would never tire of, he was certain. He took a swallow of the wine and regarded Legolas thoughtfully, then felt a brief stab of guilt. The afternoon was powerfully hot; surely his lover was in need of refreshment, too.
“Are you thirsty?” he enquired, settling on the edge of the bed at Legolas’s side.
“It is not the most pressing of my needs,” replied the elf softly, his eyes sparkling, “but if My Lord would be so gracious...”
Imrahil suppressed a laugh and took a great mouthful of wine, then set the goblet aside. Bending down, he brought his lips to Legolas’s, and let the cool, sharp liquid trickle into his lover’s mouth. Before long they were locked in another deep kiss, and Imrahil, sensing his lover’s pleasure even as he succumbed to his own, decided that he had waited long enough. He shifted on the bed to lie against Legolas, throwing a leg across the elf’s thighs and rubbing against his hip. Legolas gasped, and Imrahil groaned in response. It would be all too easy to lose himself like this, but he would not wish to see Legolas’s skilful preparations go to waste.
With some difficulty, Imrahil drew back and propped himself up on one elbow. “Turn onto your front,” he said.
He spared a few moments to pay homage to the elf’s beautiful form, stretched out so willingly before him. Kneeling astride his lover, he dipped his head to taste the line of Legolas’s spine, licking his way down then shuffling backwards to nibble gently first at one rounded buttock, then the other. Legolas squirmed a little, and audibly exhaled.
After their first encounters, Imrahil had believed Legolas’s skin to be quite flawless, and had not thought to question how a warrior might reach such an age with never a scar. Later, with careful study, he had discovered that this was not the case. Scars there were, but such fine, closely knit lines, white upon white, that the casual observer would miss them altogether. He traced one of these lines with his tongue, a long, faint mark on the elf’s outer thigh where he had taken a spear several centuries before.
Legolas shivered beneath him and murmured something wordless, which Imrahil understood very well nonetheless.
”Patience,” he said, pushing himself up on his arms and allowing the tip of his cock to brush against the elf’s backside. “You would do well to remember who is in charge here.”
“Forgive me, Master, I forgot myself.” Legolas managed to sound contrite, even as he wriggled from side to side.
“If you acquit yourself well, I shall overlook your transgression," Imrahil said. "Now, up on your knees, and you may have what you so obviously desire.” He added a light slap to the delectable rear for good measure.
Legolas obeyed him with a haste that was almost unseemly for an elf. Resting on his elbows, he shifted his legs apart as Imrahil clambered between them, presenting himself quite shamelessly to the prince's gaze. Imrahil ran his hands over his lover's buttocks, parting them further with his thumbs. The heavy oil clung to the elf's skin, and its scent was rich and tantalising. Imrahil inched closer and rubbed his shaft in the slippery cleft, noting with delight how Legolas pressed back against him.
This was no time for self restraint. Imrahil held Legolas's hip with one hand and steadied himself with the other, then pushed steadily forward, entering his lover in one long, slow glide. "Is this," he grunted, holding himself still for a moment to allow Legolas time to adjust, "what you wanted?"
"Yes, My Lord, ah, yes!" Legolas gasped. Imrahil smiled and flexed his hips as a wonderful sense of power coursed through him. Game or no game, the elf's fervent assertion was nothing more than the truth.
There was little chance of Imrahil taking things slowly, had he even wished to do so. As it was, such strategy was far from his mind. With all that had gone before, and with Legolas so tight and hot around him, he could only follow his instinct and thrust for all he was worth.
It seemed that Legolas approved. The noises he was making might be open to interpretation, but he tilted his hips to meet each stroke, and of his thoughts Imrahil could sense nothing but joyous enthusiasm. The prince paused for an instant to catch his breath, then lunged once more with renewed vigour.
It did not take long. Half aware of the sticky heat, of the slap of his thighs against the elf's flesh, Imrahil laboured on. Well before he had the chance to tire, he felt the swelling tide of sensation engulf him. He submitted to it wholeheartedly and let it carry him along in one last jubilant surge.
His climax was both lengthy and powerful, leaving him draped uselessly across Legolas's back, drawing rapid breaths of the hot, humid air. Some time passed before he realised that his lover was tensed beneath him; another dozen seconds went by before he understood why. Playing his role to the end, the elf had neither touched himself nor asked for Imrahil's aid. He waited silently, no doubt desperate for his own release.
Imrahil summoned his last shreds of energy and sat back on his heels, pulling Legolas with him by means of an arm around his waist until the elf leaned back into him, sitting astride his thighs. "Do not fear," Imrahil muttered in the pointed ear. "I have not forgotten the reward I owe you for serving me so well."
Legolas sighed and allowed his head to rest against Imrahil's as the prince began to tease his nipples with one hand, while caressing his cock purposefully with the other. Through a tangle of blond hair Imrahil murmured words of encouragement, but it seemed they were hardly necessary. Mere moments passed before the glorious body ceased its writhing and became rigid in his arms. As Legolas cried out at his culmination, pulsing in Imrahil's hand, the prince sensed an inkling of the elf’s pleasure and experienced that all too familiar feeling: the overwhelming knowledge of his own good fortune, coupled with a love so intense it was almost painful. And when Legolas, sated at last, turned to kiss his forehead and whisper, "Thank you, Master," Imrahil had no clever words with which to reply; it was all he could do to embrace his lover fiercely.
********************
Later, as Imrahil and Legolas washed and dressed themselves for the evening meal, the game was, by unspoken consent, abandoned. A sense of levity pervaded the chamber and they laughed and talked of inconsequential matters. Imrahil sat on the bed to pull on his boots, watching Legolas standing before the mirror to adjust the neck of his tunic and braid his hair. The neat pigtail revealed a length of smooth white neck, and Imrahil could not resist moving behind his lover in order to kiss it. He rested his hands on Legolas's hipbones and rubbed himself playfully against the decorously clad rear.
"If you ever tire of your life in Ithilien," he said, looking up to meet the elf's gaze in the mirror and matching his warm smile, "You should consider joining a band of travelling players. Your future would be assured, since you deliver your part with such conviction."
Legolas laughed, and shifted against him suggestively. "It is an easy role to assume, when I have to do no more than follow my own desires," he replied. "Perhaps you will discover the fact for yourself, next time we play the game of chance."
With that, the elf spun around in Imrahil's arms and kissed him in a manner that was anything but submissive.
Chance be damned, thought Imrahil as he responded with enthusiasm. He had no need to wait for some fickle piece of silver to tell him whether or when to surrender to his lover's will. He could do so any time he chose, certain that Legolas would not fail to astonish him.
Tonight, after dinner, would be a very good time to start.