Work Text:
The very air in their private, firelit room felt thick with anticipation that had been building in Aragorn since their dinner with the king in the Golden Hall.
The day’s travel and the treachery that had greeted them upon their arrival in Edoras had left Aragorn feeling more than a little wound up, and now he could scarcely remember the last time he had felt so desperate for release.
To make matters worse, Legolas had been thoroughly unable to keep his hand from moving on his lover’s knee beneath the tablecloth at dinner. His touch had eventually strayed to Aragorn’s thigh before finally alighting on that place where his trousers had been growing unbearably tight all evening. Aragorn had been forced to resort to clenching and unclenching the muscles of his arms and legs for fear of losing control and making a mess of himself in front of their gracious hosts.
The lovers had excused themselves as early as they possibly could without appearing impolite—which unfortunately meant they had felt obliged to stay for more than one glass of mead once the plates had been cleared.
The alcohol had helped. For a short time, anyway.
Aragorn’s relief had been enormous when the king’s niece finally led them to a private chamber already made up with a freshly dressed four poster bed and a merrily crackling fire. A doorway in the side of the chamber led to a private washroom with a large, stone tub that had been recently filled with steaming water.
Legolas had been the first to bathe, insisting that Aragorn give him a moment of privacy. He didn’t take long. The water was still hot when Aragorn took his turn, giving his body a quick scrub to rid himself of the dirt and grime of the road.
Aragorn was fully naked, his hair damp and curling, when he returned to their bedchamber. Legolas was on the bed, still wrapped in his towel as he shivered against the chill that the burning hearth had been unable to chase completely away. His own pale hair was as straight as ever and already mostly dry.
“Hurry up, it’s cold in here,” Legolas said, patting the place beside him on the bed.
Aragorn savored the feel of the thick, plush rug under his bare feet as he stepped over to join his lover on the ornate bed. It had been a good long while since he had been treated to such extravagant comforts. Even Rivendell had far simpler, if not less beautiful sleeping arrangements.
But where Rivendell had large, open chambers that left one feeling engulfed within the beauty of nature, the living quarters of Meduseld offered the comfort of privacy, of solid stone walls and tapestries of green, brown, and gold that seemed to come alive as shadows danced over them from the flickering of the fireplace.
Aragorn took his place beside Legolas and pulled his damp, scarcely-clad body into his arms. Legolas turned his face to him and their lips met, their movements tentative at first, but quickly growing both assured and passionate as the heat of their desire was finally allowed to flare bright and strong. The elf’s shivering ceased, and he eventually broke from Aragorn to reach down and pull the towel free from his body, tossing it to one corner of the room. He then turned onto his back, legs parting and face flushing slightly as he turned his head to the side, away from Aragorn.
Aragorn got up and positioned himself between the elf’s legs, and his hands alighted on Legolas’s knees, his thumbs gently rubbing the soft skin there. Legolas kept his head turned to the side; it seemed a new fear and trepidation had suddenly come over him as he allowed Aragorn to look upon his pale body, now stripped and bared before him.
Aragorn couldn’t help feeling a bit anxious as well. The last time he had both seen and touched the elf’s most intimate places it had been from the perspective of a healer, not a lover.
Aragorn saw that the elf’s modest length was already slightly hardened, which was rare for him where their intimate activities were concerned. Legolas was usually only half hard by the time they had both reached climax; he preferred his partner’s attention focused on his opening instead, the place where he derived the most pleasure. Still, he had allowed Aragorn to suck him off on occasion, which the man had always found an arousing and delightful challenge.
Aragorn’s focus shifted to the warm folds of the opening beneath Legolas’s manhood, and he found that even now he couldn’t shake his natural instinct to examine for injury, particularly on one whom he loved. He noted that the stitches he’d placed had already been removed, likely before Legolas had even left Lothlórien. But the skin near to his perineum, particularly the place where he had torn, still looked raw and painful.
It has only been two weeks, Aragorn reminded himself. Two weeks since Legolas had pushed their daughter from the warmth of his womb into Aragorn’s waiting hands. And the poor elf had had no choice but to travel by horseback these last nine days. Aragorn could not imagine Legolas wanting to be touched down there yet.
His decision made, Aragorn took the elf’s hardening length in hand, then bent down and slipped the tip into his mouth, sucking gently.
Legolas made a startled noise, and he was quick to lift his head and meet Aragorn’s eyes. Seeing no outright refusal there, Aragorn bent further forward, taking more of Legolas into his mouth, now getting his tongue involved. But then Legolas reached down with his hand, lightly tapping the side of Aragorn’s head—a sign that he wanted him to stop. Aragorn drew back, the elf’s length falling from his lips, still only slightly hard.
“You know I do not prefer that,” Legolas said, his tone a gentle reproach. “It has been scarcely a year. Have you already forgotten where I take my pleasure?”
“Forgive me,” Aragorn said, kicking himself for making assumptions instead of communicating with his lover. “I feared such attentions might be too painful for you.”
“We cannot know that until we try,” Legolas said, his face flushing further with desire. “It has been a year, Estel. I want you inside of me. Now.”
Aragorn glanced down and saw that the elf’s soft folds had quickly become plump and wet with slick.
“You’re certain?” he asked, weakly. He could not deny that the sight of his lover so ripe for the taking had his own member practically leaping to attention.
“Estel, please,” the elf keened with want, and it was only decades of experience that kept Aragorn from spilling himself right then at the mere sight and sound of his lover so desperate to be filled.
Breathing deeply and envisioning himself in an ice bath, Aragorn shifted his position up until they were face to face. With a grin and a soft peck on his lover’s lips, Aragorn looked down and used his hand to line himself up with the elf’s warm, wet opening.
Then Aragorn pressed his hips forward and pushed in slowly, gently. Legolas gave a soft grunt that could have been either pain or pleasure if not for the subtle tightening of his jaw. Aragorn frowned, sensing the sudden tension in the elf’s body.
“Is this all right?” he asked.
“I—maybe,” Legolas said, shifting his hips slightly. “Try moving—slowly, please.”
Aragorn pulled back very slightly and then gently rocked forward. Legolas tensed again, and this time a soft cry escaped his lips. One of his hands fisted in the sheets while the other came between them, suddenly pushing back against Aragorn’s chest.
Aragorn froze, still partway inside.
“Too much?” he asked.
Legolas’s face was tight with pain as he gave a reluctant nod.
“Too soon,” he said. “I’m sorry. I thought I had healed enough. No, I hoped I had healed enough.”
“No need to apologize,” Aragorn said, carefully pulling out and shifting onto his side next to him. He reached out and combed his fingers through silky hair, then closed in for a kiss. There was wetness on the elf’s cheeks. He pulled back, only now seeing the tears trailing from Legolas’s eyes.
“I’ve hurt you,” Aragorn said, his brows knit with concern and guilt.
“No!” Legolas said, reaching out and grabbing his hand. “I’m all right. I’ve just been looking forward to this moment, and now I feel both foolish and cruel for leading you on all evening, then leaving you unsatisfied.”
“Perhaps our fun does not have to end so abruptly. I can use softer, gentler means, and I can avoid your most tender places in favor of other, more pleasurable ones.” He was already lowering his head to the elf’s smooth chest, taking in one soft nipple and swirling his tongue around it.
The grunt Legolas gave this time was unmistakably of pleasure, his hands reaching up and burying themselves in his lover’s dark hair. After a few minutes of these ministrations, Legolas was squirming, using one hand to gently nudge Aragorn's head downward.
Aragorn raised his head, meeting pale eyes that had pupils blown wide and bright with need.
“I take it you want me to try your preferred place with my mouth instead?” Aragorn asked.
“Yes. Yes, please,” Legolas said in a way that had Aragorn's diminished heat blooming all over again. “Just…if you could keep your attentions to the fore—”
“Rather than the aft?” Aragorn supplied with a lewd grin, his chin now resting on the elf’s chest as he looked up at him. He laughed at Legolas’s soft swat to his shoulder.
“Compare my most intimate parts to a ship again and you may lose your next invitation to sail aboard,” Legolas warned.
“Forgive me, my love,” Aragorn said, still grinning as he raised himself up and leaned forward for another kiss. His lips connected with one perfect, pointed ear when Legolas turned his head, denying Aragorn his mouth.
"Estel, please.”
Aragorn paused at the sincerity in the elf’s voice.
“To the fore, if you will. Please,” Legolas implored, turning his head back to him. “You know the place.”
“Of course,” Aragorn said, his tone more serious despite the hungry glint in his eye. “I know the place.”
Legolas’s face relaxed, and he raised his chin, offering back the kiss that he had denied his lover moments before. Aragorn took it as if it were a breath of air to a drowning man, his lips closing hungrily over the elf's. He eventually broke away and retreated downward, lips lightly grazing the pale skin of Legolas’s belly, nearly flat and smooth again now that his womb had ceased its bleeding several days earlier.
Aragorn found "the place" quickly, but he only gave it a light caress with his lips, almost like a greeting, before using his tongue to go to work around and near to it. He was well aware that overworking his lover’s most sensitive spot with too much attention too quickly could bring the opposite of what he was trying to achieve.
Legolas was grateful for Aragorn’s careful ministrations, if the sounds he was making were any indication. It only took a few minutes for Legolas’s sounds to increase in volume and desperation, his fingers beginning to curl themselves into Aragorn’s hair as he pressed him harder into the warm dampness of his flushed opening. Aragorn did his best to meet the wordless demand, catching a deep breath before plunging back in, his tongue no longer teasing around that special place, but now directly nudging and caressing it.
When Legolas began to roll his hips Aragorn knew that the end was near. He ignored the growing ache in his mouth as he rose to the occasion, meeting the peaks of the elf’s thrusts with the heavy press of his tongue directly into that most sensitive bundle of nerves.
They went at it harder and faster until Legolas finally cried out, more wetness spilling between his legs. Sensing that his partner was far from done, Aragorn kept up his same motions in perfect time with Legolas’s shorter, faster thrusts, allowing the grateful elf to ride out the full span of the most extended and intense climax Aragorn had ever given him.
Eventually Legolas’s hips slowed and stilled, his chest rising and falling as his breaths came hot and heavy in the aftershocks of his orgasm.
Aragorn broke away gasping the moment Legolas fell still, his lungs burning for the air he had been denying himself for the past minute.
“Oh, Eru,” Legolas said toward the ceiling. His expression was dazed as he lay there panting on his back, and Aragorn moved to lie down at his side again.
“No need to call me that,” Aragorn teased. Truth be told, he was immensely satisfied and more than a little proud of how successfully he had pleasured his lover.
“I only wish I could give you what you just gave me,” Legolas said, ignoring Aragorn's comment as he lay there in the foggy haze of pure satisfaction. "But I'm not certain it's possible."
"Your pleasure is my pleasure," Aragorn assured him. "We could go straight to sleep now and I would count myself more than satisfied with our time together."
Legolas reached a hand down, smirking at Aragorn as he palmed the man's painfully hard erection.
"Are you certain of that?" Legolas asked.
"All right," Aragorn admitted with a soft moan of arousal. "I suppose stopping right now might leave me perhaps a little disappointed."
"Well now, we certainly can't have that," Legolas said, already beginning to move his hand in a slow, pumping motion. "Let's see how long I can draw out your pleasure."