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“You Elves–” Aragorn’s words were interrupted by a swift kiss from his newlywed husband. Though the wedding ceremony had concluded hours before, Legolas felt the euphoria of the occasion still soaking every corner of the room. The air was tinged with new beginning, the white bed aglow with fresh desire.
And there was Aragorn before him, exuding the same otherworldly beauty in this intimate moment as he had that afternoon in front of the masses celebrating the lovers’ union. His lips still wet from the welcome interruption, the King continued his observation: “You Elves have such strange customs.”
“Decades, you’ve been raised among “us Elves” .” Legolas smiled slyly. “What could possibly still be strange to you?”
“I’ve courted you for years, my prince.” Aragorn’s hands settled on the Elf’s hips, their position comfortable and familiar yet charged with a new longing to grip, to explore, to pleasure. “Been your betrothed for twelve moons, and only now am I permitted to see your sweet body.”
“Oh, you’ve seen it,” Legolas mocked while encouraging the greedy touches, rolling his hips against Aragorn’s hands. His words spoke of sweltering laer nights when the pair had discarded their night robes and slept sweat-slicked skin to skin, and the blue dawns they’d bathed together in the rivers found along their journey with the Fellowship, the water swirling with quiet urgency. “It’s nothing special.”
“It’s undoubtedly special.” A strong hand remained on Legolas’ hip while the other caressed his sternum, a middle finger teasing through the gaps in his blouse’s thick fabric and setting Legolas’ skin alight. Aragorn tugged at the now-tousled bow keeping Legolas’ shirt closed. “May I?”
Legolas nodded demurely and allowed his husband to untie his blouse, the clumsy quiver in his fingers reminding him that Aragorn was teetering on the edge of drunkenness following the afternoon’s revelry. His shirt was then discarded entirely, the cool iavas air raising the soft hairs on his back.
Aragorn had touched his bare form before, traced his breastbone as they dozed, caressed his lower back as they bathed, but none of those moments had been entangled with the string of fiery desire that Legolas recognised now. He felt an entirely new form of nakedness, a sense of being craved .
It was only fair that he be permitted to crave Aragorn with equal vigour, so when his King directed his gaze towards his own robes, Legolas was eager to remove the barrier between his fingers and Aragorn’s skin.
The body before him glimmered just as beautifully as it had the first time he saw it. White scars puckered the tan skin that seemed to glow in the golden light; Legolas eyed the brown-grey hair growing thick upon the Man’s fit chest and abdomen — rugged and regal at the same time, his Aragorn. His body was undeniably human, and by some wild luck, was now Legolas’ to claim.
He claimed Aragorn’s mouth first, with the confident hunger he’d developed over their courtship. They’d kissed like this before, deep and craving, consuming each other’s wanton moans as their tongues danced. It’d always ended soon enough to still be described as innocent, though there’d been occasions where Legolas had had to bite his lips so hard they bled to keep them from trailing further down Aragorn’s body.
A hand caressed Legolas’ neck, thumbing his jawline and pulling him deeper into the hungry kiss. The invisible line that the pair were yet to cross seemed to be inching nearer.
Legolas pursued the line with fervour, splaying his hands on the small of Aragorn’s back and pulling their charged bodies together. Every inch of his own body shivered with knowing anticipation. Desperate moans escaped his mouth, sounds he’d never heard himself make before, his heart fluttered in his chest, and the throbbing ache between his legs was becoming harder to ignore.
“ Aragorn .” The name came out breathy and helpless; Legolas might have flushed with embarrassment if not for the ever-present blanket of trust that warmed every moment between the prince and his King. It warmed Legolas so greatly that he felt confident to ask his husband a burning question — which wasn’t really a question at all, but rather an announcement that he had reached the inevitable peak of this mountain, and was ready to ascend a new one. “Will you make love to me?”
Aragorn’s eyes fluttered. “Are you ready?
“I’ve waited thousands of years for you, mui anor,” Legolas replied softly. “I am ready.”
The Elf’s powerful ears sensed a hammering behind Aragorn’s chest. Nerves, excitement maybe. He spent a quiet moment laughing at the state of them, two hardened warriors who had ended more lives than they could count, shaking at the prospect of touching each other.
The tension was slit smoothly when Aragorn led Legolas’s head down to rest on the plush pillows. Infinitely tender, the King brushed blond hair out of his prince’s face as he laid on top of him, one leg on either side of Legolas’ waist.
Legolas found himself comfortably confined by the weight of his husband’s body atop his. Gravity and passion urged the two bodies impossibly closer, until Legolas’ ears were completely flooded by the sounds of insistent breathing and the lovers’ hearts beating as one.
His heightened senses were inundated by newness, the coarseness of Aragorn’s chest against his, the hardness of two desperate lengths rutting against each other; every second birthed another unfamiliar yet pleasant sensation. After floating adrift in the feeling for several long moments, Legolas’ heart threatened to break when Aragorn’s lips departed from his.
“Come back,” the prince whined. Aragorn had begun to plant hungry kisses down the Elf’s bare chest, experienced hands taunting the waistline of his trousers, when he was stopped by Legolas’ protests.
“Is that all you’ve been longing for all this time, then? Clothed kisses?” He looked up at Legolas with twinkling blue eyes, mocking him and adoring every moment of it.
“Of course not.” The unignorable stiff length beneath Legolas’ robes spoke more than enough about what he had been longing for, all this time. “But you know I’m fond of your mouth. Stay here.”
“As you wish.”
Aragorn connected their lips again, his hand traversing its way down Legolas’ body in his mouth’s stead. Nary an inch of his chest was left untouched; gentle fingers traced his collarbone, his shoulders, his chest, before Aragorn grasped a nipple between his thumb and forefinger. Legolas gasped as the delicate flesh was rolled and teased by deft fingers, the unfamiliar concoction of newness and pleasure overwhelming him once more.
“Is that good?”
Words escaped Legolas; all he could muster was a shaky nod in response, until he finally choked out a “yes”. Aragorn swallowed the word as he kissed Legolas again, his fingers still kneading the pink sensitive flesh incessantly. A desperate fire was stoked in Legolas’ stomach by the hard, needy rutting of Aragorn’s cock against his clothed thighs.
Familiar desires were brought forth, the needs to touch and to be touched that had always been repressed by his vow to wait until he and Aragorn were wed. Though this was a consummation, was it not? Nothing more need be repressed. Pleasured gasps - from Aragorn, this time - filled the air when Legolas freed a hand from his husband’s back and brushed it between the thick thighs hovering over his hips.
The angle seemed off, and he wasn’t quite sure how hard to press, but Legolas’ inexperienced teasing motions appeared to be affecting Aragorn just the way he’d planned. The fingers that had been pleasuring Legolas’ nipples were now splayed loosely on his abdomen as Aragorn rolled his hips into the touch. Sure words were replaced with content murmurs of “ah” and “mm”; Legolas felt the length beneath the silken robes grow harder each time he repositioned his palm, his own cock straining in tandem.
Eventually, Legolas relented, his head too clouded by the achy buzz of desire to continue palming Aragorn. The room stood still for a moment, before Legolas whispered a quiet plea;
“Touch me, Elessar?”
Aragorn groaned. “Where?” His voice was thick with longing. Legolas guided the Man’s hand off his chest, and swore that he felt him stop breathing when he laid it between Elven thighs.
“Here.”
Divinity. That was the only word Legolas could grasp as he swam in the euphoria of Aragorn’s loving touches; their breaths had hitched in sync as the King snaked his hand down Legolas’ robes. Aragorn, warm with brilliant humanity against cool Elven skin, began by thumbing a teasing circle on the head of his leaking cock. Senseless babblings echoed in Legolas’ mind, some threatening to spill out of his mouth. Divine, divine, this is divinity, he is divinity.
An amalgamation of Sindarin curses and Common Tongue pleas tumbled out of Legolas when Aragorn’s fingers wrapped around his shaft and started pumping up and down slowly. Decades of experience guided Aragorn’s movements; the pressure was perfect, the rhythm intoxicating.
Legolas couldn’t get over the newness of it all. No one had touched this part of him, ever , and he’d certainly never experienced this type of dizzying pleasure before. Aragorn’s voice seemed to be coming from a faraway place when he asked:
“Is this what you wanted?”
“Yes,” Legolas replied reflexively, though a vague craving for more swirled in the back of his mind. More, more, I want you inside, I want you to fill me up, make me whole and only, undoubtedly yours. Weakened by the increasingly faster fingers working his cock, “yes” was all that the prince could manage for now.
He managed it once more when Aragorn asked, “May I use my mouth now?” – for what other answer dare he provide? The word was really only a breathy sound that implied affirmation, but Aragorn seemed to understand.
The King repositioned himself further down Legolas’ body, the movement of his hands onto Legolas’ thighs giving the prince a moment’s reprieve from the overwhelming waves of pleasure. He exhaled a grateful sigh; he felt far too close to the edge already, having barely been touched and already feeling as if he were ready to spill out.
Time slowed again. Aragorn’s head was between his legs, his fingers kneading the tight flesh of Legolas’ outer thighs now that he had pulled his robes down to his knees. Blue eyes glanced up at him in the moonlight ( moonlight, now, had they really been in bed for that long?), asking for approval, which was quickly given.
Shuddering, Legolas arched his hips upwards when Aragorn trailed his tongue along the base of Legolas’ length. He’d made a mess of himself, and Aragorn was more than willing to clean him up, sucking the precome off every inch of his cock and thighs.
Aragorn’s tongue was wise, and definitely not unfamiliar with the art of sucking cock. Each teasing drag of his tongue elicited a needier moan from the Elf, who wanted nothing more than to bury his throbbing length between the pink lips he’d tasted countless times. Finally, Legolas felt those marvellous lips wrap around his tip, and prepared himself for the melting golden sensation of his cock enveloped by Aragorn’s mouth. He whined when Aragorn pulled back, his ears swimming with want and barely making out the Man’s words.
“You can fuck it into my mouth, if you want,” he heard his husband offer from down the bed.
The sudden vulgarity pushed Legolas to an early release. He barely had time to process the image of Aragorn’s tight throat being fucked before warm, white come spurted from his tip, dribbling down his cock and thighs.
He rode the wave of pleasure, once again new, unspeakably new, whimpering and writhing and trying as hard as he could to keep his eyes on the Man who lay between his legs. Surprise flitted briefly across the face of his lover, and a hue of shame tinged the ecstasy that radiated from Legolas’ cock through his whole body.
“Ah, f’rgive me,” he choked out. He’d made a dreadful mess, and Aragorn had barely even touched him.
“No need, my love. It’s normal,” replied his husband with all his gorgeous compassion. Legolas watched Aragorn eye the still-hard length in front of him. He longed desperately to see Aragorn’s.
“I know, but I didn’t intend…” Legolas gestured downwards, still catching his breath. “So quickly…”
“It’s alright.” Aragorn placed gentle kisses on the inside of Legolas’ legs, the softness of his hair against sticky skin erasing the vulgar images he’d conjured before. After working his way up both thighs, Aragorn took his time to ensure his husband’s length was clean, expertly licking up and swallowing every drop of the white seed that had spurted out of him.
He glanced up at Legolas every few seconds, marvelling at his cock’s sensitivity; it twitched every time his tongue neared it again. Satisfied with his handiwork, Aragorn began kissing back up the way he came, starting by wetting Legolas’ abdomen.
A miserable sense of “ over” set in. Legolas was worn out, humiliatingly so; his breath was still running away from him and sensitive tears threatened to leak out of his eyes, but that didn’t mean that the night’s consummations had to cease. He had planned to end this night with Aragorn’s seed inside of him, and in order to fulfil his oath, he cupped his lover’s cheek and commanded him softly:
“I didn’t say I wished for you to stop.”
Still riding the high of his unexpected climax, Legolas nodded fervently when Aragorn asked, “Are you certain?”
The prince’s cock stiffened again when he recalled the brutish words that had brought him to release. “ Fuck it into my mouth if you want .” The phrase had conjured obscene images of two warriors sweaty and writhing in the darkness, greedily burying themselves into each other. Legolas chased the feeling, teasingly confident and finally clear-headed enough to profess his desires aloud.
“You asked me what I’ve been longing for all this time.” Legolas pulled his pants further down and discarded them, Aragorn following suit with his own robes, the pair working in tandem to achieve that sublime, exalted nakedness. “I’ve been longing for you…” The Elf let his words trail off as he hooked Aragorn’s body with his legs and drew him closer. His breath hitched when he felt Aragorn’s long, hard cock make contact with his own for the first time, almost forgetting to finish his needy sentence. “Longing for you to fuck me.”
Aragorn appeared as if he’d just gotten the wind knocked out of him. Whimpering groans filled Legolas’ ears; this time the King was the desperate one. Legolas pushed further: “Will you?”
“Yes,” Aragorn affirmed, always but a servant to Legolas’ every desire. He groped the fine curve of Legolas’ arse, teased his nipples some more – with his wet mouth this time, and tugged at the silken blonde hair atop of the Elf’s head, setting fires all over his body before leaving it. “Wait a moment.”
Legolas bitched when Aragorn left his side, unashamedly spoilt. He became a half-willing voyeur of his husband’s body ( half, only because he’d prefer to have it pressed against his again) as Aragorn ventured across the room to rummage in a chest of drawers.
The muted light illuminated the King’s form perfectly; Legolas admired the sullen dimples of his lower back, superior to a tight arse that sat atop thick, warrior’s legs. His brown hair partially covered a scar that rippled through his right shoulder; the Elf promised to kiss it when his lover returned to the bed.
Aragorn returned bearing a small bottle containing a smooth clear gel. He explained that it would make it easier, though Legolas barely comprehended the words, his mind zeroing in on the fact that Aragorn would be inside of him soon. Still throbbing from the earlier release, his cock grew impossibly harder when Aragorn set the vial down bedside and resumed caressing his body.
Every inch of them touched; the Elf was overcome by a deathly desire to consume Aragorn whole – this closeness wasn’t enough. Their hips, their stomachs, their cocks, every instrument of their bodies played in harmony. Legolas kept his promise by gifting loving kisses to Aragorn’s scar while the Man buried his fingers in Elven hair.
It was as if Aragorn were determined to continue the dance of riling Legolas up completely, filling him with excitement and hunger, before abandoning him in the empty space of their large bed. This time, Aragorn's hands had left Legolas’ skin in order to open the bottle and smear his fingers with the transparent liquid inside.
“It would be easier were I a lady, would it not?” Legolas verbalised a twinge of insecurity brought on by seeing how much of the gel Aragorn needed to fit comfortably inside him.
“Yet you know I do not desire a lady, Legolas.” Aragorn placed the bottle back bedside. “I desire you.”
He used his dry hand to pull Legolas in for a salty kiss, who yelped when he felt cold, sticky fingers between his thighs. The same fingers teased his cock one last time, before moving behind his testes to circle his hole. Chilly, deft, invigorating; Aragorn’s experienced fingers would be the death of him.
“It may feel strange,” his husband warned. Legolas exhaled and readied himself, still crying out in surprise when he felt a thick fingertip enter him slowly. He instinctively clenched his muscles and felt his knees try to lock together, prompting Aragorn to run a calming hand through his hair. “Relax, my love.”
A nod from the prince permitted the King to bury his finger further inside Legolas, who breathed as deeply as he could to swallow the completely foreign sensation of another being inside of him, another’s flesh, another’s blood. Despite the millennia of years between them, the feeling provided Legolas a sense of delightful inferiority. In this moment, he was Aragorn’s baby, and Aragorn was going to teach him how to take him, gently.
The comfort didn’t remove the pain entirely. Fighting the urge to clench his muscles again and reject the foreign appendage altogether, Legolas wondered if this really was what it was supposed to feel like. The liquid helped with the awkward fit, but pain still seared through his entrance as Aragorn watched on. A brief daydream flitted across Legolas’ mind, of Aragorn in his position, many, many years ago. He pondered how his husband would have taken it, his first time.
Wild pleasure split through the pain like an arrow, sudden and searing. Aragorn had curled his finger slightly, pressing it against a sensitive spot inside Legolas. The Elf squirmed and cried out; this was unlike the vulgar rush he’d felt before, it was pulsing and radiant, it consumed him.
“Oh, mmhm , yes,” Legolas groaned, his eyes shut tightly. He heard his heart beating rapidly alongside his husbands, as well as a catch in Aragorn’s breath when he asked:
“Yes? Do you like it?”
Legolas nodded, libertine desires once again flooding his mind, the concepts too out-of-reach for him to verbalise. Yes, yes, I like it, if you wanted to sink your entire body into mine, your hands, your cock, your hips, not stopping until I was entirely yours, I’d permit you.
As if Aragorn had read his mind, another cold finger, smaller this time, teased around Legolas’ hole, asking to be let in. The one inside was pressing and twisting tirelessly, wisely preparing Legolas for more. After taking a few more breathless moments to adjust to the finger inside of him, the prince opened his eyes to meet the desperately sincere ones of his husband.
“More,” Legolas pleaded.
“Yes?” The smaller finger pulsed against his entrance, still waiting for permission to enter.
“Yes, yes.” Legolas tensed when Aragorn’s finger accompanied the one already inside, stretching his walls beyond what he thought he could take. Aragorn’s expert manoeuvres doubled the exhilarating pleasure that Legolas was losing himself in, concurrently doubling the burning pressure and pain. The Elf’s ears found his lover’s heartbeat in the midst of the maddening sounds and sensations. Rhythmic and easy, the sound calmed Legolas enough to split the pain and pleasure, focusing solely on the latter.
And what a joyous pleasure it was. This part of his body that had never been touched, not in the almost three millennia he’d been roaming Middle-Earth, suddenly under the expert control of the King of Gondor – his King. Legolas nuzzled his head into Aragorn’s soothing hand, arching his hips upwards. He gasped when he felt a thumb brush against his parted lips, before obediently taking it into his mouth and sucking on it.
In that moment, every inch of his writhing body belonged to the King. His mouth and his hole were stuffed with Aragorn’s skilled fingers, his mind a melted mess that couldn’t produce a coherent thought if he tried. The ownership and the all-consuming pleasure of being fucked was pushing Legolas closer to yet another early climax. He mustered just enough clarity to pull his mouth away from Aragorn’s thumb and utter a breathy: “Stop, stop.”
“Are you alright?” Concern overwhelmed Aragorn’s face, who had pulled his fingers out of Legolas as quickly as he could, provoking a whine and a shudder.
“Yes, no, I’m lovely,” Legolas panted. He instantly pined for the sensation of being full again, yet was reminded of what he truly wanted when his gaze flitted down to what lay hard between Aragorn’s legs. “I just don’t want to finish without you inside me.”
Aragorn’s eyes widened. “So eager, my prince.”
Blush filled Legolas’ cheeks. How am I not to be eager when you’ve spent an age undoing me?, he thought. He smiled bashfully and nodded.
“Alright,” Aragorn relented. “But allow me to stretch you a little more.”
Legolas accepted the compromise, trusting his husband’s judgement. The intrusion of Aragorn’s fingers was easier to take this time, the gel still aiding their journey inside. Legolas' movements were infused with a burst of confidence as he rocked himself into the touches, his movements much less erratic; he timed them with every second beat of Aragorn’s heart.
He welcomed thick fingers eagerly back into his mouth, sucking on two this time, moaning around them when he heard his lover sing his praises: “You’re doing so well, Legolas.” Legolas felt his body threatening to release again, and once more removed Aragorn’s fingers from his mouth to speak.
“I’m ready, Aragorn.” The King’s name tasted holy coming out of his mouth. Aragorn’s eyes bore into his, and seemed to deduce that his prince was speaking the truth. Legolas’ hole was empty once more when Aragorn slid his fingers out and retrieved the lubricant bottle from their bedside table.
Legolas propped himself up on his elbows to observe Aragorn’s deft movements. The Man smeared his cock with the clear liquid until it was slick and dripping, the gel combining with the precome secreting from his tip. Biting his lip, Legolas wondered how the long, hard cock before him would even fit inside, let alone how he was to be fucked with it.
Aragorn assuaged his fears with tender words: “I’ll be gentle.”
Swimming in anticipatory darkness behind tightly shut eyes, Legolas waited while Aragorn readied both of their bodies. He let the King position him with strong hands, laying him down, shifting his hips, widening his knees. Desperation clouded his thoughts when he felt fingertips teasing his hole; it felt wonderful, of course, but that wasn’t what he had begged for.
“ Den aníron, Aragorn, please. I want all of it.” Legolas’ voice was high and whiny with desire.
His breath was stolen from him when the thick, sticky head of Aragorn’s cock probed at his entrance. It was harder, wider, much more intense than the fine fingers that had entered him before. Legolas exhaled deeply and relinquished control of his muscles, letting Aragorn captain his movements. His legs were pushed out wider, and Aragorn’s large hands grabbed one cheek each, spreading his hole so his cock could immerse itself further inside Legolas.
He felt as if he was being split in two. The piercing pain of Aragorn’s fingers filling his entrance was nothing compared to the burn he felt now, the too-big cock stretching his walls as wide as they could go. The process took a dizzying eternity, a groaning Aragorn stopping every few moments to allow Legolas’ body time to adjust. Finally, his entire cock was buried inside Legolas’ tight hole, the hairy base rough against smooth Elven skin. Legolas’ knuckles whitened as he fisted soft sheets with an iron grip.
“All right, mui aenil?” Aragorn’s affectionate words prompted Legolas to realise that he hadn't opened his eyes since Aragorn’s tip began its entry. When he did, he was met with the breathtaking sight of his husband with a heaving chest, soft moans escaping his mouth.
For the first time, Legolas witnessed Aragorn succumbing to the same sensual pleasure he’d been giving to the prince all night. Any vulnerability permeating Legolas’ mind was washed away as he examined his husband’s face, equally as lost in the ocean of sensation as he was. Though the vulnerability was gone, the needling pain remained, and Legolas imparted this knowledge to his understanding lover.
“ ‘M all right. Just a moment,” Legolas said lowly. “It hurts, but…”
Aragorn nodded upon hearing Legolas’ confession, thumbing compassionate circles on the soft skin of his hips. There was a desperate shake in his voice as he comforted Legolas. “I know, I’m sorry. Take your time.”
Legolas obeyed, inhaling and exhaling slowly while he acclimated to the strange, throbbing sensation. He recalled the craze of pleasure Aragorn’s fingers had provided before, once they were fully inside Legolas’ entrance and had started working him.
“I want… press up…” Legolas was aware that his hazy speech was bordering on senseless. “I want it like before… can you fuck me like that again?”
“Mm-hm,” Aragorn replied sweetly. Legolas felt the steady hands on his hips grope him tighter, holding him in place. Once again, the confinement was a comfort to Legolas; he found bliss in his ability to let go and allow Aragorn to govern his body. Aragorn fucked his cock upwards a little, still not getting the reaction either of them desired. “Breathe, my darling. Move with me.”
The drag of Aragorn’s cock back out through his channel was torturous; Legolas was grateful again for the cool ease of the lubricant, though it still didn’t ease the pain entirely. He braced himself for Aragorn to soothe his cock inside him again. When he finally did, Legolas was nearly blinded by pleasure.
“Ah, yes-yes-there ,” Legolas mindlessly released the words in a single breath. Pushing and pressing against each other, the lovers had finally achieved the perfect angle that had brought Legolas to his knees before. Aragorn groaned and gasped each time he slid his cock in and out, the sounds equally as mindless and needy as Legolas’.
The pain was still there, but the pleasure muted it like a dark stormcloud obscuring the laer sun. This was the impossible closeness that Legolas had longed for, the fierce burn of Aragorn’s cock inside of him, fat with blood, splitting him open, pulsing against that divine place. He managed to loosen his grip on the sheets and take hold of Aragorn’s broad body; shaky hands palmed the King’s shoulders, flirting with the scar Legolas had kissed, then slid over the small of his back, finally groping the firm arse and hips that were rocking into him.
“Elessar, Elessar,” Legolas babbled nonsensically, feeling his body hurry closer towards another climax, not fighting the feeling this time but melting into it. Aragorn’s eyes were shut tightly, and Legolas peered through his love-drunk haze at the picturesque face before him; he’d never seen the Man look so beautiful. His own eyes were forced closed when Aragorn doubled his pleasure by stroking the Elven cock that lay flat against Legolas’ belly. “ Ah , Aragorn, I–”
Legolas wasn’t able to finish his sentence before the sublime force of release slammed his mouth shut. His climax rippled through his entire body; his hips bucked forward ferociously as ropes of white come spilled out of his cock. He felt it everywhere, a thousand times more extraordinary than the last, his legs shaking, his eyes squeezing painfully tight, his voice high and helpless as he exclaimed into Aragorn’s shoulders.
“That’s it, mui tinu ,” Aragorn’s praises were muffled by a ringing in Legolas’ ears, but the prince consumed them greedily nonetheless. Legolas remained buried in the warm solace of his husband’s shoulders as he rode the high out to its end, feeling Aragorn’s cock still working slowly inside of him.
“No, no, continue,” Legolas used the little breath he had left in his lungs to whine in agony once he felt the rocking motions cease. “I want… need you to finish inside me…”
Aragorn heeded his lover’s commands without question, knowing by now that Legolas was certain of what he desired. Legolas groaned and tightened his grip around Aragorn’s shoulders as the Man bucked into him, his strokes brutish and passionate as he neared his own release.
“So, so tight,” he heard Aragorn whisper under his breath.
“ Mm , for you.” Legolas looked up at his lover with desperate eyes, pitching up his voice in a way he knew would only egg Aragorn on. His playful flirtations worked rapidly, and finally, finally, Legolas was filled with the warm, wet seed of his wedded husband.
Aragorn came with a shudder, jolting his hips forward and laying still for a moment as a long, low whine escaped his mouth. The husbands lay entwined with each other, gulping down shaky breaths as Aragorn’s come pooled inside of Legolas. Eventually, Aragorn pulled himself out of Legolas’ entrance, dexterous hands covering their naked bodies with cool sheets as he nestled by the prince’s side.
The only sounds Legolas heard for a while were the heavy breaths of the exhausted lovers, carried by a lower undercurrent of two synced heartbeats. Legolas occasionally let out soft, satisfied murmurs; the King responded with gentle touches, tucking tousled hair behind pointed ears or grazing a shoulder with his thumb. The Elf settled calmly into Aragorn’s embrace, nudging the Man’s chin with his head.
“How do you feel?” Aragorn’s voice was the first to pierce the silence, serene and genuine.
“Wonderful,” Legolas answered dreamily. “Quite sore. But wonderful.”
“Mm, forgive me. I went as gently as I could.” Aragorn’s words carried a hint of shame. Dread pitted in Legolas’ stomach; the last thing he desired was for Aragorn, infinitely sweet, to believe he’d harmed him.
He used a finger to direct Aragorn’s face toward his, locking his gaze with uncertain blue eyes to be sure that his husband heard him. “Nothing to forgive. I know you did.” Then he paused, pondering a thought that had reached out to him a considerable amount of times during the night. “What was it like for you, your first time?”
“That was a long, long time ago,” smiled Aragorn, who never allowed his older age to slip Legolas’ mind, despite the fact that he remained several thousand years the Elf’s junior. “I can hardly recall it.”
“Who was it with?” A fuzzy image of a young, drunken ranger on his knees began to form in Legolas’ mind.
“Is that of importance?”
“If it was an Elf, then yes.” The easy, familiar banter warmed Legolas. He could never feel unsafe like this, swaddled in Aragorn’s arms.
Aragorn chuckled. “It wasn’t.”
“Very well,” Legolas played with Aragorn’s hair teasingly. “Yet you have made love to Elves before, have you not?”
“None so lovely as you, my prince.” Aragorn kissed Legolas matter-of-factly. He possessed the skill of infusing every statement with a brilliant sense of truth, no matter how sappy or hyperbolic.
Legolas fiddled with the Evenstar that twinkled gorgeously in the moonlight. His eyes were beginning to grow heavy, and he entangled his naked legs comfortably with Aragorn’s, exhaling a loving statement of finality: “Gi melin, Elessar.”
“Gi melin, Legolas.”