Work Text:
The nights had grown cold by this leg of the journey, so that we were obliged to bed down in twos and threes for warmth. This night, I was paired with Aragorn.
Such an arrangement would usually be no hardship— we were fast friends of many years. Indeed, we’d spent the hour before bed romping through the forest like youths, our herb-gathering having evolved into a competition.
The sharp night air had whistled in our ears and whipped color into our cheeks, filling us with giddy delight as we darted through pools of moonlight and blackness. It had been many months since I’d heard Aragorn laugh as he did when he swooped under me to seize the cluster of leaves I’d been reaching for.
His joy was even more refreshing than the chill moving air, the glow of stars untouched by our terrestrial war. But perhaps it was all a bit too invigorating—for when, still laughing, we stowed our foraging and climbed under our blankets, I found that my blood refused to cool and be still.
I shut my eyes, as men do, and tried to enter into my meditation. But the moon was too round, too jaunty, and Aragorn too bright and alive and close, when we’d come through so much death. I had slipped sideways into the current of stubborn, vital joy that propels seedlings to spring up in ashes— and this somehow awakened a more…. particular excitement. Awakened my member. This was not an appropriate condition for one sharing a bed with a comrade, I told this to my member, quite sternly. It was undeterred. There was nothing for it but to lie still and steady my breathing and wait for it to calm.
Unfortunately, Aragorn, having known me many years, and being much more attuned than most Men, perceived something amiss.
“Legolas?” he whispered. “You do not rest?”
“It is nothing,” I whispered back. “I am wound up from our run, that is all.”
“How—oh!” He had picked the very worst place to brush against with his leg as he shifted. “That kind of wound up.”
I blushed furiously, hearing his grin in is his voice. “I am sorry,” I said, “I don’t know why it’s… it will, ah... it will go down soon.”
He gave a little huff of laughter. “It will if you take care of it.”
“Aragorn!” I hissed, scandalized.
“What?”
“I can’t just…! We are sharing a bed!”
“Why not?" he said mildly, "I don’t mind.”
“It’s...!" I let out a tightly controlled breath. Aragorn was perfectly aware of the customs of Mirkwood, perfectly aware that sex was not something that we casually tumbled into in front of others. "You are being deliberately obtuse," I said through clenched teeth. Even as I spoke, I felt my indignation begin to go brittle and crack. Whispered into the vast night on this doomed quest, my words rung prim and dissonant— the deluded once-prince clutching the trappings of his fallen empire. I rubbed my hands over my face, feeling absurd.
Aragorn propped himself on his elbows to scoot closer to my ear. “I would," he said, goading me.
“Well you are not the one afflicted," I muttered into my palms.
In a wicked tone, Aragorn countered, “Don’t be so sure.”
“Aragorn!” I instinctively elbowed him in the ribs in reprimand, but soon found myself beginning to smile-- at the absurdity of it all, at the relief of this shift in focus, at the airing of his mischievous streak— so familiar from years past, yet so elusive in these shadowed times. Between my legs, I throbbed, spurred on by the thought of his aroused body so close to mine.
“It’s your fault,” he teased, “Yours gave mine ideas.”
I did not know what to make of that comment— though admittedly, my cock pulsed and jumped— so I stepped around it to point out, somewhat reluctantly now, “The others are not ten yards away.”
“And sound asleep,” he said, “As you are well aware. Why deny yourself a little release, when... after all we’ve been through?” When we'll likely die within the week, he would have said. He didn't need to— I knew.
“I...” I faltered. What to say, when 'I can't' had gone hollow?
“So let me help,” Aragorn offered easily, like it was nothing.
His hand alit on my hipbone. My own automatically moved to catch it—not to stop it, but to touch it, as if to confirm it was really there. He laced his fingers through mine. Being pressed close against Aragorn, so warm and secure in the cold night— feeling his restraint and guardedness shed like clothes—sharing this moment, whatever tomorrow might bring, with only the moon and stars to watch— I could not deny the thrill it sent through me.
“Do you wish me to stop?” he asked, gently this time.
“I….” I released a breath I hadn't realized I was holding, and felt my whole body loosen. “No.”
He gave my hand a squeeze and went straight to work on the laces of my leggings. Seconds later, his familiar, callused hand closed around my naked cock. I had to press my mouth his shoulder to stifle my gasp.
He spent some moments just feeling it, mapping the particularities of my intimate parts. Then he began to stroke.
“Does that feel good?” he asked.
“Ahh. Yes,” I bit out. I had to squeeze my hands and flex my feet to diffuse the waves of pleasure.
A strangled chirp of a moan escaped Aragorn as he rubbed me. I felt his body jerking, and— oh god. He was pleasuring himself as well. At this revelation, my cock began to dribble helplessly in his grasp.
“Ohh. Can you feel that?” he breathed, petting my tip with the pads of his fingers. “It’s getting wet.”
I whimpered through my clenched jaw, my face burning in the dark. I had never felt so keyed up, so taught with arousal. Would he come in his pants? Or had he tugged them down, as he had mine, and exposed himself under the blankets? If I peeked beneath them, would I see it? Moving my hand closer, I felt the heat radiating off his skin, and knew he had indeed bared himself. It was mere inches away from me. Suppose he touched it to my body— rubbed it on my hipbone, say. My penis pulsed and twitched in his palm, the thought of his silky-hard erection against my skin having pushed me almost to the edge.
Aragorn chose that moment to catch up my hand and guide it to his cock. The moment I felt it, I lost myself. I just managed to groan a fragmented warning— “Aragorn, it’s, ohhh god, it’s coming out!”— and then I was clapping my free hand to my mouth to smother my high broken moan. He moaned along with me as I spurted wildly into his waiting palm. The last thing I saw, before my vision faded, was his face, beatific with wonder against the backdrop of the stars.
When I returned to myself, Aragorn was giving little grunts, humping his cock against my hand. So desperate, so animal, my closest friend— it shouldn’t have aroused me as it did. I began to masturbate him, doing what felt good when I touched myself.
“Here,” he whispered—and, withdrawing his semen-filled hand from between my thighs, he smeared it over his own erection. The wave of shocked arousal that sent through me was too intense in my over-sensitized cock. I whimpered and swore as I felt my spend slick my strokes on him.
In moments, he was clutching at my clothes, gasping, “Ahh, ahh, Legolas, it's going to—“
“Let it,” I urged—and he threw his head back, moaning, “Ohhhhh, yes!” as it began.
He at first went rigid— then his stiff limbs began to tremble, a voiceless scraping sound escaping his throat. Even when he fell limp, aftershocks rippled through his slack body, leaving him whimpering. I rode through it all with him, as a sea captain guides his vessel through a storm. I rubbed him hard and fast while his pleasure first peaked, and then, when it seemed almost to torture him, tapered off to hold his cock steady in my palm. When I judged he could stand it, I worked his swollen tip between my thumb and forefinger, coaxing out his last dribbles while I hushed his whimpers with a soothing hand on his chest. Finally, he lay slack and still.
I had never felt so fully spent, nor seen such complete release in a another. There came a moment in which I felt as though I were gazing, with a serenity both removed and tender, on the raw, disassembled pieces of ourselves. Souls, bodies, reason and desire— his and mine— lay separate and at rest like the component pieces of a clock, fondly laid out in order where the workman set them aside at close of day. The war, all we had lost and had still to lose, all loomed unchanged— and yet I felt we had awoken, one clear morning, in bright, easy readiness to be remade.
It was a strange place from which to behave. When Aragorn first opened his eyes and met mine, I reached for words and found none. The whole business of speaking was something I had to become reacquainted with. Aragorn seemed similarly caught out— he opened his mouth, but no words came forth. I watched his gaze, at first achingly bare and open, begin to seal with composure. After a moment he gave a little shake and reached up to rummage in the pack on which his head rested.
My hands were still where I’d left them: one on his hip, one loosely cupping his cock. It was a strange thing, feeling another person’s penis go soft in my palm. His went through quite the same motions as my own, had similar shape and dimensions— yet somehow felt overwhelmingly particular to Aragorn. It was as though by feeling it, I had gained a vital piece of insight into his person, and could now, in whatever time we had left together, feel a more precise and complete love for him. What revelations from a fumble for release!
“Legolas.”
I started. Aragorn was offering me something: a piece of cloth.
“Pardon me,” he whispered. He sounded embarrassed, almost prim. When I did not react, he carefully extracted my hand from his cock to wipe his semen off of me, then himself. Ah—that was why the “pardon”— he’d gotten me sticky.
“Oh, that’s… quite alright” I said belatedly.
“Do you need—?” He waved the cloth in the general direction of my privates.
“Ah, no, you already—” Collected my cum to smear over your cock as I pleasured you.
He gave a pained half-laugh, rubbing his face.“Oh. Yes.”
“But!” I whispered more urgently than I’d meant to. I could not bear if we went to sleep in this tension—not when we’d just shared that unexpected raw intimacy, when it had felt, for a moment, like a new arrival. “I’m still all— unlaced," I said. "Would you mind…?”
Before I had time to regret my shamelessness, he smiled, warm and relieved, and my tension melted away. He settled back against his pack, posture easy again, and—oh!-- fondly touched my cheek!— before feeling beneath the blankets for the open front of my leggings.
He did not shy away from touching my intimate parts as he laced me back up. When I hummed contentedly at his touch, he cupped my soft cock a moment, making me shiver and sigh, before tying the final knot. I felt to see if I could help him in kind. He was buttoned up already, but he rewarded my touch with a familiar crooked smile. I returned it.
“I cannot believe we did that,” I said with wonder.
His smile became a grin. “I cannot believe you did that either.”
I whacked him in the chest, .
“You don’t— regret it, do you?” he asked earnestly.
“Do I seem to regret it?”
He shook his head fondly. “No. You are full of surprises.”
“It seems I am,” I mused, prompting him to laugh at my earnest tone. “Well, it never would have occurred to me! But it… yes.”
“Yes,” he agreed. I did so like it when he smiled at me with that fond glint in his eye.
“You’ll sleep well after all that,” I remarked. “For a minute I was afraid you’d shatter.”
“I could say the same of you. Do you know your eyes rolled back for a moment? Yes, they did. When I started, ah, humping your hand—” he smiled bashfully, shaking his head at himself— “that was… what you’d done.”
My stomach fluttered at the implication—unless I misunderstood? Did he mean that watching me excited him? Well. Best not to think about it too hard. “We’ll both rest well, then,” I concluded.
“Goodnight, mellon nin. ”
"Goodnight, Estel."
He leaned his head against my shoulder, and we drifted off together—he into sleep, and I into reverie.
-------------------------