A Feast of the Senses

Author’s Note: This story is a PWP slash fic. If you don’t know what ‘PWP’ or ‘slash’ are, I would recommend skipping this story. That said, malicious flaming will not be tolerated.

Disclaimer: This is a work of fanfiction based upon the characters created by the legendary J.R.R. Tolkien. No claims are made to any ownership of character or place and nothing of profit comes from the tales herein (except for reviews, which I would love to receive as compensation for the efforts).

What is contained under this title, hopefully, will become a compilation of short stories featuring Elrohir, Legolas, and possibly Elladan.

Rated R for sexuality. Possibly NC-17 in later chapters.


This chapter is dedicated to Keekercat, the dear Smut-Sister of PervCon05.v2-3. She inspired the plot bunny. Though long past, congratulations on passing your Boards, and also on your pending new arrival (EL gave me the good news)!


A Feast of the Senses
Chapter One: Without Words
By Anarien

The figure paced. Such was not typical in this valley of calm and peace, and it certainly was not normal for this figure. But here he was, marching back and forth, frightening even the birds in the nearby trees.

The lean, dark elf, though becoming in appearance and finery, was cloaked in a mood of grim agitation, which was unusually suspect, for Elrohir, son of Elrond, was normally a character of poise, calm and good humor. Stepping with absent steps over polished stone, the elf noticed not the warm tones of late afternoon sun that filtered through the trees. The light and color would have normally occupied him, for elves typically paused at beauty if time allowed it, and in Imladris it was a chief occupation of the elves to make time available for such things. But not Elrohir. Not this day. Not when he stood to encounter one of the biggest moments of his life.

Instead his head was bowed, looking only at the floor, as his brow formed deep furrows of concentration. His hands were closed into tight fists, but he loosely waved them about as he paced, as if that were helping him to maintain his restless ambling.

Nearing the scene, one could make out his muttered dialogue. He seemed to be rehearsing a statement, critiquing and appraising his words as he went.

“My lord,” he exclaimed with an eager smile and bow as he pretended to be making acquaintance with the figure of his anxiety. “The thrill of finally meeting you overwhelms me. You have to know that I consider you a legend! It is a thrill, truly, to finally have the chance to meet -- !”

Elrohir stopped, his face darkening with a scowl. Gods, I am both repeating myself and gushing, he thought with disgust. How common I must sound. He must endure such slavering approaches on a regular basis. Surely I can do better! But his hands were shaking and he considered that telltale to his ability to indeed do better.

No, a different approach is definitely needed, he thought ignoring the tentative tremble of his body, if only to keep this most honored of guests from gagging. He cleared his throat, deciding to take another stab at it, only this time with a more formal tact.

“My lord,” he said beginning again with a slight bow of his head as he donned a less exuberant, more stoic expression. “It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance.”

That sounded... he weighed the words. That sounded... familiar. He considered for a moment where he had heard such phrasing before, and then it dawned on him. That sounded like the stodgy, unimaginative greeting Erestor typically gives. No, this will not do either.

He frowned then sighed deeply, pivoting on the ball of his foot as he paced in the other direction of the walkway. He had been at this for what seemed like hours now and he was getting no nearer to resolving what he might say any more than he was finding calm for his nerves. Ever since he had heard of their guest’s arrival earlier that day he had been like this. Valar, of all beings, why him?

Word had quickly followed that there was to be a formal dinner in their guest’s honor. And that led to Elrohir’s nervous practice. What did one say when meeting one of the greatest warriors in all Middle-earth?

He chewed on his lower lip, trying to think of a way to make a favorable impression without speaking. Words were not working for him this day, nor did his body. He felt incredibly clumsy, and his hands were damp in the same way they became when he was fighting a band of orcs.

He began again. “Lord Legolas, I have always admired you... I mean your skills. Many times in my life I have asked if you would do things that I would do and ... I mean I have tried to emulate your abilities. And... oh Gods!” he cried to the sky. “Why am I so unable to do this?”

“Because you are not saying what you really wish to say. I will commend you though; at least in this attempt you were being honest.”

Elrohir wheeled about to find his brother sitting on the railing of the corridor walkway. “How long have you been there?” he asked, angry at being caught unaware.

Elladan waved his hand as if dismissing the question and instead said, “Truly, brother, I think you would be better off by speaking the truth. Why not try this: ‘Legolas Thranduilion, long have I admired you from afar. How about joining me for a session of ‘Grope and Snog’ in the arbor?’”

“Elladan!” Elrohir shouted.

His brother seemed not to be put off by his humiliation. “Not that I can blame you really. I caught a glimpse of Mirkwood’s prince when he rode in today, and even I could be compelled to bed him,” the elder twin said with a lascivious grin.

“May I remind you that you have professed to prefer only the female of our species,” Elrohir said in sullen response. “You have proven it so on numerous occasions.” He was half hoping his pointed reply would take the focus away from him. Why had he ever confessed to Elladan his secret infatuation for Mirkwood’s prince? Turning a grim expression on his brother, he could at least feel glad he had not admitted to what he really knew his feelings to be.

“Oh, I have not forgotten my inclination toward the female. But after sighting Thranduil’s youngest, I cannot help but think of the possibilities a pairing with him might bring. He certainly is... delicious, would you not say?”

Curtly, Elrohir replied, “I would not know for I have not seen him. But regardless, his physical grace is not mine -- nor yours -- to comment upon. I am sure he has not come here for a sexual tryst. In fact it is my understanding that he has come for respite only. It has been a long journey for him and it is ours to show him an evening of rest and delight. I am told that by the morrow he will be gone.”

“A night can be an infinite passage of time if one makes good use of it,” Elladan said as he jumped from the railing. He took three long steps forward to face his brother. With an arched brow he coyly said, “A pleasurable evening is what I intend to give him. Or perhaps we could show him an evening to remember together?”

Elrohir’s face reddened. “Elladan, have you no couth?”

Nonchalantly the elder replied as he inspected his nails, “I think I lost mine the last time we went to Lothlorien.”

Elrohir elbowed himself past his brother and said with an air of disgust, “I will try to find you some more!” But then he bowed his head in defeat as he sighed and said, “Though I suppose it matters little. What Father taught you by means of manners will have to do. I will have to hope you can be respectful without me there to monitor you.”

Elladan laughed slightly as he followed his brother’s movements, not truly certain what the younger was saying. “Ah, but that is what I count on you for. You always do your part to make me come into line.”

Elrohir would have laughed at the truth of Elladan’s words were he in better spirits. But he was still smarting from the humiliation of recognizing his own fears. “All the same, you will be left to your own devices, for I will not be attending this evening’s feast. You may have Prince Legolas all to yourself if that is really your pursuit.”

Elladan’s shock was apparent, but the expression immediately faded as he laughed and fraternally shoved his twin’s shoulders, knocking Elrohir back a step. “You jest! And you know I do as well! I would never think of impinging on your desires.”

“I do not jest, brother,” Elrohir shrugged then turned away to retreat to his room.

But Elladan would not let him flee with such ease. A hand grabbed his wrist and Elladan pulled him back around. “But you have to go!” his twin insisted.

“Must I?” Elrohir grimly answered.

“Of course! You cannot let all your salutatory practice go to waste,” the older twin said, waving his hand as if the evidence of Elrohir’s horrible greetings lay on the floor before them.

And at that moment Elrohir felt the need to confess his worries. “Ai, Elladan, it is so hard!” Elrohir lamented, waving his hand as if to scatter his failure away. “How can I go about meeting him when the thought frightens me more than facing an Orcish skirmish?”

The elder impishly smiled and shrugged. “You do not fear Orcish skirmishes, Brother.”

“Bad example,” Elrohir said with a roll of his eyes. He frowned as he tried to think of a better comparison. “A Warg den then,” he said knowing Elladan would not contradict him on that point; his brother hated Wargs. And then to elucidate on his fear he said, “I just know I will say the wrong words, Elladan.”

The older twin approached, wrapping an arm about his shoulder. His tone was kindly and he seemed to truly understand as he said, “Brother, he is an elf, like any other elf. He puts on his leggings one leg at a time. You have nothing to fear of him.”

“If I make a fool of myself he will think me an oaf,” Elrohir said while conjuring the image in his mind. He did not enjoy being thought oafish, as if anyone did. In fact, he did not enjoy any of these feelings of trepidation. They were foreign to him and he was not certain how to deal with them.

Under normal circumstances, he would never be affected in such a way. His father had done well to teach him courtly manners and he could hold his own with kings, princes and courtiers alike. Speechlessness was not like him. He was not an introvert ... or even shy for that matter, though certainly, between he and Elladan, he was the more reserved one. Still, he was not withdrawn. In fact, he could be quite charming when he set his mind to it. And yet today, ever since he had learned that Legolas of Mirkwood had come to pass into their lands, he had been overwhelmed by feelings of anxiety and ineptitude. His usual cool confidence resembled crumbled lembas wafers.

If only he could make Legolas, in his mind, like any other elf. Then, Elrohir was sure, he could be a brilliant at anything put before him, including the simple act of making conversation. But unfortunately, even just the mention of Legolas’ name was enough to make his stomach drop.

It was all because of those pictures.

Yes, those pictures.

It was the sketches he had seen in his last visit to Lothlorien that were the cause of this. Despite his nonsensical abilities at the moment, Elrohir knew himself enough to say that had he never known the appearance of Legolas he would not be in this situation. Though he had long admired the repute of Thranduil’s son as an archer of great deed, he had not truly come to think more of him until he had seen the pictures. Gods, the drawings making him an equal to the Valar.

Blame it on the watch warden. The guard truly had an artist’s eye. That skill combined with an appreciation of Iluvatar’s gifts brought such images to reality. Of course it helped that this particular soldier had made the journey to Mirkwood in accompaniment with Celeborn once. He had sighted the young prince then. And so taken was he by the beauty of that reclusive prince that the guard had filled page after page with depictions of Legolas. Legolas did not know of it. He had not posed for these sketches. Instead, the watch warden had drawn them from memory and Legolas had stood in both his archery stance as well as in reflective recline.

For a time, Elrohir had believed the drawings to be the product of the guard’s wishful thoughts. No elf was so handsome as to what was depicted there. But at the same time, Elrohir almost hoped them true, for if realistic, the drawings were testament to the beauty of Thranduil’s son. Regardless, after a time Elrohir found himself yearning for just that face and body, real or not.

“Now, now, Little Brother. You are making this much more difficult than you need to.”

Shaken back to reality and his attempt to flee, Elrohir doubtfully asked, “Am I?”

“Absolutely!” Elladan said with flourish. “You must relax! Go, make your greetings, ask him to pass the mashed turnips and make small talk about his fletchings over the roast.”

“I wish it were so easy.”

“It is easy! And honestly, the chances are great that he has been so praised over the years that his ego will make up for any lack on your part. Likely he can carry whole conversations by himself. But even if not, I will be on his other side, taking up where you might not. I would venture even that he is as tiresome a character as is his father is reported to be. So see, does that not make him easier to face?”

“I suppose,” Elrohir hesitantly agreed though he really did not wish the Legolas of his dreams to be dashed and replaced by someone so predictable and self-absorbed.

With a sly smile Elladan added, “And if you are lucky, somewhere during the evening you or I may be able to counter with a remark or two about our own blades. Who knows, given all, you may even be able to have a real conversation before the evening done.”

“That is all I wish,” Elrohir confessed though it really was not what he wished.

“Of course it is. And I will be there to help. Morgoth’s breath, Brother, before you know it, pudding will have been served. And if Legolas is anything like I expect he is, pudding will be our salvation. I will even come to venture that by the time the evening is done and you will be wondering what ever so concerned you.”

But Elrohir frowned at that. He could not imagine Legolas as such a prat. He would rather think Legolas too good for him than to think of him as less. Such consideration did not fit with his imagining, for secretly, he had dreamt of meeting the fair Legolas of Mirkwood many times over. In truth, his desires had become much more than spending an evening making small talk over turnips. Elladan’s joke about ‘Snog and Grope’ was not so very far off the mark. Yet faced with what he wanted and the truth of reality, such a thing seemed impossible. Dreams simply did not come true.

Still, he had to wonder. Shyly he asked, “And what if I do not want pudding to be the end of the evening?”

Elladan smiled knowingly, “Then you invite him back to your room for... second dessert.”

Elrohir sighed not feeling the least appeased of his worries. “Every other elf in the valley will be wanting the same thing.”

His twin smiled and put his finger aside his nose, “Ah, but there you have the advantage, Brother, for you have a place at the main table, and not all can claim as much. Rank does have its privileges. And it will be all that much easier because I will not be trying -- just as a courtesy to you, mind you -- to steal him away.”

“Kind of you,” Elrohir muttered sarcastically thought his confidence was not returned and his fears were not overcome. “Yet someone else will have to take advantage of the situation for I will not be there.”

“But I am making it so easy for you.”

“Ha! As if you stood half a chance,” Elrohir smartly replied with brotherly affection.

“You have to go,” Elladan definitively announced.

“Who says I must?”

“Adar for one! Glorfindel as well! He will take your head if he finds you missing! You know how those two are about holding up traditional courtesies. And ... and Erestor ...” The elf shuddered. “Think what you will suffer then. You have to go to the dinner, Brother.”

Elrohir squeezed his arms across his chest, chilled by the thought of what Erestor might do. He sighed, defeated. “I know you are right. But the idea of it still makes me feel ill. I know I will say something idiotic.”

“Then say nothing at all.”

“That is even worse!”

“Is it? Think, Little One. You are an elf with a reputation as well. It is possible, despite the remoteness of those in that far away land, that Legolas of Mirkwood has heard your name spoken as well. The tales of our adventures must have reached his beautiful ears by now, and if they have not you do have something to tell him,” Elladan said as he pressed his index finger into Elrohir’s chest.

The younger elf scoffed. “That would be bragging.”

“Child, the elf grew up in Thranduil’s household! Do you think he has not heard his fair share of bragging? You would be reciting statistical facts in comparison to what he must be accustomed in his father’s presence. Besides, there is also the chance that he might be as thrilled to meet you as you are to meet him.”

“Doubtful,” Elrohir wryly said, wishing it were true but refusing to believe it given his present bout of low self-esteem. How could anyone find him intriguing, especially now? But he found himself agreeing at least with the notion that he might have a thing or two to say on his own behalf. He was still anxious -- that feeling had not gone away -- but he also knew he had to face his fear if he was to overcome it. Is that not what he did when in the midst of Orcish skirmishes?

“You will be fine, Baby Brother. Now go, get yourself dressed. Dinner is within the hour,” Elladan said as he began to lead Elrohir to his room.

“If I do this, you must make me a promise, Brother,” the younger elf said glancing at his twin out of the corner of his eye as he allowed himself to be led.

”And what is that?” Elladan asked.

“Do not call me ‘Baby Brother’ in Legolas’ presence.”

“But you’re the younger between us,” his twin replied with an expression that was all innocence.

Elrohir scowled, but he was amused. It had been a constant argument between them for many long years. Elladan had never let Elrohir forget his place in the birth order. “By two minutes. Two minutes! That hardly counts.” But the joke was really not over the cessation of the term. He had asked this favor many times over, and Elladan had never once agreed to comply. Elrohir did not expect to win the favor this time, but the request put a note of familiarity on the scene, and Elrohir, at that moment, felt he needed something consistent to reassure him all would be as it normally was.

Tonight, however, was to prove to be the exception. “I will give you that,” Elladan said, shocking Elrohir with his reply, and then countered it with a wink. “Just this one time though. And only because Legolas is to be here for this one night alone. Otherwise…” The older elf nodded at his twin as if saying he was doing him a very special favor.

But it was not a gift Elrohir had anticipated, or for that matter, truly wanted. The elf’s apprehensions suddenly doubled. It might have been better had Elladan said nothing at all, for suddenly Elrohir realized just how extraordinary Legolas of Mirkwood must be. If his brother was doling out ‘special favors’ to his brother, the other elf must indeed be fine. And knowing that, all Elrohir’s dread immediately returned as his mind resumed its prior bout of self-doubt.

#######

Dressed in a raw silk tunic of royal blue and an elegant robe of silver upon silver damask, Elrohir looked every inch a prince. Thinking again on his brother’s favor and the hint therein of how elegant Legolas would be, he was doubtful he was attractive enough to draw the eye of Mirkwood’s fair son, be he was at least certain his appearance would be enough to please his father. A mithril circlet, a symbol that proved he too was of noble blood, adorned Elrohir’s ebony hair. The silken strands flowed freely over his shoulders, drifting with the air of his breeze. His steps were graceful as he walked through the hall while his air conveyed a cool aloofness.

Yet his feelings did not mirror his stately appearance. From his place on the upper corridor he had caught a glimpse of the Mirkwood visitor strolling the gardens. The sheen of golden hair stood out amongst the flora of the adjoining wood, and the descending sun touched it with fingers of crimson and coppery bronze. Even from a distance, the son of Elrond felt his heart charge a stuttering beat.

And that image is what floated through Elrohir’s head as he stopped in the middle of the hall. He let his eyes fall to the stone floor at his feet finding he was incapable of remaining calm. He was going to fail. He could see it clearly, and his own failure was not a vision he faced often.

There was a truth here that Elladan had only hinted at but that Elrohir knew he must admit. How could he pretend to meet Legolas under the guise of stately court appearance, when the fact was he had taken a fantasy Legolas to his bed and ravaged his lean, well-defined body on countless nights?

He tried to push the thought away. This would not do. None knew his dreams or his thoughts. All he need do is make his greeting and engage the prince in small-talk, just as Elladan had said. And then the night would pass and all would be back where it was supposed to be, with Elrohir worshipping from afar and none being the wiser for it.

Except for him. Elrohir would be the wiser for it for he would know that he had failed to fulfill his greatest dream.

Yet how could he dare dream to attain something that was so unattainable? Legolas had never been his except in the yearning desires unleashed in sleep. How could he desire someone he had never really met?

No, anything he thought Legolas to be was better left as a fantasy. His desires were about to be dashed, and he knew that was what made this situation grim. His Legolas, his fantasy-lover, was about to be debased by a very real and present Legolas. Reality, he knew, could never measure up.

He turned on his heal and started back to his room. He could not do this. Just the act of dreaming such things proved him unworthy.

But then Erestor passed in the corridor before him, nodding in greeting as he wordlessly walked toward the back entrance of the hall. No doubt he was going to supervise the kitchen elves in their final preparations.

So he had been seen. By Erestor. He could not get out of this if he were to live without suffering the seneschal’s wrath. He now had to go.

Pivoting again on his toe, he turned back into his original direction toward the reception court. But that was all he seemed able to do as his feet refused to take the needed steps to get him there. And he knew it was his mind preventing his motion, for appearing would not be enough. He had to perform.

He rallied himself, convincing himself that he must move forward. Oh, but to get his feet to move! Disappointment lay ahead, and he knew he must steel himself for it as he forced his feet on.

I can do this, he told himself. I am confident and strong. And for a fleeting second he actually believed it.

Standing outside the hall he awaited the gathering, standing mutely while his brother made idle conversation with some of his father’s advisors. He felt the looming dread of what was to come.

And then in the next minute the world stood still. Legolas had arrived.

Suddenly he found that, even if he had words to say, they would have been impossible to utter. The Prince of Mirkwood came into his sight and he was struck silent by the overwhelming vision. Was there sound in the room? He heard nothing except his own gasp of awe. This elf was beyond the defining beauty of the one in his dreams. In person and up close, Legolas was more incredible to behold than he had ever imagined. He found himself beyond even breathing another breath as he stood transfixed by the vision.

Golden and fair beyond words, Legolas was the complete opposite of Elrohir in appearance. He wore a silver undertunic and midnight colored overrobe that was completed with a sash that was just a shade removed from the hue of cornflowers. Elrohir realized with astonishment that that color matched the fair-haired elf’s eyes.

Suddenly feeling at a loss for air, he gulped a quick breath. It was all he could take in. He could not pull his gaze away. Further, he felt his face flushing with his gaping awe. This elf was not just greater than he, he was the most exquisite elf in all Middle-earth! And to think, Elrohir would be required to speak to him! There was not the slightest possibility that he could measure up to the task.

As if he realized he was being looked upon, Legolas’ eyes turned in the direction of Elrohir, seeking out the one whose stare he felt. The son of Elrond quickly turned his head away as if he had been caught doing something horribly wicked. But then a moment later he found himself looking up to find the prince again. Scanning the gathering, Legolas passed his eyes over Elrohir again, and this time their eyes locked.

With horror, Elrohir seemed to perceive that Legolas recognized he and his brother. And then the elf turned. He glided forward. And with startling realization, Elrohir shockingly saw Legolas was approaching! Rosy lips smiled as the elf drew near the brothers.

He is coming! To meet us. He is about to speak to us. To me!

Elrohir could not bear it. His heart beat erratically within the confining cage of his chest. He could not breathe. He thought he might lose conscious for the dizzying lightness in his head. He was sick. He felt weak. No Orc skirmish or Warg den was equal to this moment. He felt as if he were the object of an attack.

With horror, he could see what was to come just as clearly as he could see the face moving toward him. Words were not to come. They would remain stuck in his throat, lodged there by his ineptitude! He was about to fulfill his worst fears. He would not speak. Likely he would faint! He could not remain for this! He had to escape this fate!

And then he was saved from this inevitable inadequacy. Legolas drew near, and yet a stableman also approached, and it seemed the latter came to him out of nowhere like a guardian Maia.

“My lord, I am sorry to interrupt you,” the stableman said, “but I am afraid it is time.”

Time? Time for what?

Stonily, as if drawn from a trance, Elrohir blinked once, twice. “What?” he inquired. But then suddenly he recognized the one who stood before him. This elf was one of those he had entrusted his mare to a few days before. She was in her last days before foaling and Elrohir had left strict instructions that he was to be informed the moment she showed signs of laboring.

“Your mare, my lord. It is time,” the elf said.

With a smile and silent thanks given to the gods, Elrohir knew he did not need to be told a third time. Here was his escape.

But was this right? Taking flight just at the point when Prince Legolas was approaching to make their acquaintence?
He quickly reasoned it in his mind. He could have easily assigned the task to the horsemaster, but he told himself he had a strong interest in this birth. It had nothing to do with the horrible humiliation he was about to face. Of course not! It was for the sake of his horse that he would go. The mare was more important than a silly diplomatic feast.

“I am coming,” he said as he removed the circlet from his head and handed it to his brother.

“What? Where are you going?” Elladan asked as Legolas approached, his gaze quizzical.

Defensively, fearfully, Elrohir turned his head. He hoped more than anything else that Legolas might not see him. If he did not look in the prince’s direction, then perhaps ... He felt he might shrink up in humiliation should he be seen and actually perceived. No, do not think this, he told his withering soul. His horse needed him. Yes, that was why he had to leave. That was why he had to leave now. It was important.

Better this way, he thought in a more reasonable mind as he raced away. Suddenly his panic had no part in his thoughts and it was a logical voice that told him that for the sake of what would have happened that it was better that they had never really spoken.


######

Elrohir had long discarded his robe and tunic and walked back to his room bare-chested with them draped over his arm. His leggings were in ruin, but they had been made of coarse linen and their quality was not as great as the other garments he had worn earlier. His boots had also suffered the rigors of his hours, but they could be buffed and polished out and so he did not fret about wearing them for his barnyard task.

A colt had been born shortly after midnight. He could rejoice for that at least. A beautiful foal with a blue-black coat was now a new part of this world. The animal’s breeding was fine and he was certain in a few years he would have a prize stallion benefiting the Imladris stables.

But as much as he desired to think only of this, his mind was not really on the foal. Now that he had concluded his task his mind kept visiting the horribly botched meeting from earlier in the evening. He felt the fool, ashamed of his previous fears and with retrospect he could see the immaturity of his actions. He wished now he had not let his anxieties get the better of him. Surely he could have spared a few moments to make his introduction and apologies. He saw his poor behavior now for what it truly was, a show of great disrespect.

He would have to do something to remedy that. In the morning, before the prince left, he would swallow his fears and make a concerted effort to offer his apologies to Legolas of Mirkwood. And if Thranduil’s son thought him rude, then Elrohir decided he deserved no less, for he had been.

His steps slowed as he reached his bedchamber, and then he turned the handle to the intricately carved door and stepped in. He did not bother to light candles. He was too exhausted for that. Instead he opened the draperies and allowed Ithil to shine his light into the room. Greater illumination was not needed; he knew his way well enough about to carry out his nightly routine without any extra light.

He cleansed his face and hands at the washbasin, then unbraided and finger-combed back his hair. He removed his leggings and climbed into his bed, letting the satiny feel of the sheets smooth over his limbs.

He had little more than allowed his eyes to glaze over when he sensed a shadow falling over the moon’s light.

And then there was a sound.

He gazed up and he realized a figure was at the window. Suddenly alarmed, he sat up. “Who goes there?”

The shadow moved. His eyes focused. A whisper of wind lifted a thread of hair and he saw it shine silvery-white against the deep blue of the sky. A halo seemed to shimmer about the form.

“Who --?” he began again.

In two steps, the figure was gone from the open window and was moving toward the bed. Elrohir gasped, pushing himself up and away toward the head of his bed. Where are my knives? he thought. But the figure was upon him before he could leap to his feet or make an attempt to protect himself.

“No, please! Do not --!“ a velvety voice said.

“What -- what do you want?” Elrohir cried, readying his fists to strike.

“Hush, please! Do not cry out! It is I, Legolas.”

Legolas? Elrohir thought as he relaxed his fist. “Legolas,” he whispered, stunned into immobility by the name. “Legolas?”

His brow furrowed deeply as he tried to make out the features of the elf before him. Though the light was no longer directly upon him, Ithil still shown from behind and indeed, he did recognize the fair elf outlined in its ghostly glow. What was Legolas doing in his room? He began to speak when the long fingers of the other’s hand reached out and lightly pressed upon his lips.

“Please, do not speak. Do not fear--“

Elrohir shifted his head. “Why--“

“Please, Lord, … I do not mean to frighten you. I only meant to… I mean… I had to -- I’ve been watching for your return. I saw you leave the stables.”

Eyes widened, Elrohir asked, “You followed me?”

Legolas ducked his head. “It is not like me to do such a thing. I was drawn here as if by no will of my own. My feet walked the path, pulled by …I cannot name what came over me. Please, my lord Elrohir, forgive me.”

Elrohir shook his head. “I do not--“

Legolas raised his hand again, his fingers motioning a sign of silence. The move was elegant, but Elrohir could not help noticing the strength in the hand. “Please, my lord, do not speak. Please.” Legolas’ voice was gentle and pleading. “I have so longed for this, but if you speak, I think all will be ruined. Allow me…”

And then he paused, taking in a deep breath as if trying to collect himself. But Elrohir could not help noticing the elf’s hands trembled as he spoke.

“I have long wished to meet you. I cannot even tell you how many nights my reverie has been filled with what I imagined it would be like to be in the same room as you,” Legolas said. The elf paused a moment, sighing and smiling as he gazed at Elrohir. “Ai, the Valar smile upon you, for you are fair -- fairer than my imagination would have had you. Forgive me if my affections do not flatter. I know there are some elves who are not drawn to the company of other males. Somehow, I always thought you might be. And today has been the fulfillment of my greatest dreams. I came to Imladris specifically that I might meet you.” Elrohir could not help that his lips turned up slightly with the compliment. Such words from one he had long admired and desired were flattering to say the least.

“Yes, yes, that smile,” Legolas went on. “I knew such a thing would move me but never like this. Oh, my lord--“ The elf ran a tentative hand across his cheek.

But Elrohir pulled his head back, still frightened by the strangeness of this encounter. He could not guess the reason behind these words. This was beyond anything he might have dreamed. “What would--?” but then he stopped, reading the prince’s face. Legolas wished his silence.

“Thank you,” the Mirkwood elf said with a grateful smile. “I know it is odd, but in my reveries -- my dreams -- you say nothing to me. You only -- Ai, but I am a fool! Forgive me, I should not be here. Forgive me please! I should never have thought--“ Legolas pushed away from the bed.

“Thought what?” Elrohir asked, moving forward and grabbing the other’s arm before he could flee. He decided then this could be nothing else but a dream. There was no other explanation, for reality did not work this way. It was a surprise indeed, but as a dream, he was moved that Legolas too had thoughts that centered on the other.

“-- I thought that I might sneak in here and be allowed the privilege of … meeting you … touching you,” Legolas quickly said.

This time Elrohir did not speak, but he knew his eyes conveyed his surprise given the other’s response.

“I agree!” Legolas nodded fervently. “It sounds preposterous. But as I said, my body was acting without my mind and I find myself obeying its whims.”

Elrohir desperately wanted to speak, to question what the other elf’s intent might be, but then he realized this was exactly what he had not wanted to do just a few short hours earlier. And if Legolas were requesting his silence, could he not offer that now? Especially since none of this was real. So long as the elf showed no signs of being dangerous, he thought to go along with that appeal. And in fact, few elves were dangerous to their own kind, and who could find one so attractive as Prince Legolas, with his high cheekbones and strong jaw, to be dangerous? He cocked his head, encouraging with his glance that Legolas should go on.

And go on Legolas did.

“Thank you, my lord.”

“Elrohir,” the Imladris elf interjected, hoping the single word would not disappoint Legolas in his wishes.

“Elrohir,” Legolas repeated smiling broadly. He sat on the bed then and seemed to reach for Elrohir’s arm, but then hesitated and pulled his hand back. Instead, he dropped his hands into his lap. “You see, I have seen images of you and your brother. They were shown to me by one of the Lothlorien marchwardens when he was sent to Mirkwood at the bequest of his lady. You are admired by many of the elves of Lothlorien,” Legolas said as he glanced up at the elf.

Elrohir cocked a brow suddenly certain that this was the same guard who had shared his images of Legolas with Elrohir.

“The drawings are beautiful. They set my heart afire. I have had nothing but dreams of meeting you ever since.”

Elrohir blushed and smiled slightly. So it seemed they shared the same fantasy. How could he not be flattered? But then a question came into his eyes and Legolas read it.

“But you must wonder why I ask you not to speak. My fears get the better of me. Although in my dreams, you are forceful and commanding, I have had tremendous worries that should you speak I would be shamed. I know that the beauty of your words will make me seem small. It is almost better, I think, that you say nothing. For then I cannot know how little you think of me.”

Elrohir most certainly wanted to quell Legolas’ worries then, and so he went against the elf’s wishes and did speak. “I could never think little of you. In fact, I admire you as well!”

Now Legolas blushed, and Elrohir could not help but be moved by the overwhelming beauty of the elf.

Shyly Legolas said, “That does much to appease my trepidations. Thank you.”

Elrohir felt a great sense of relief. This dream was doing much to ease him as well. The task of apologizing to the real Legolas in the morning seemed less daunting.

It was then that he decided to take advantage of this dream. With a cheeky grin Elrohir said, “Did you not say you had desire to both meet me and to touch me?”

Again Legolas blushed a deep crimson as he dipped his eyes. “I should not have been so forward. I could never think--“

“I would allow it,” Elrohir interrupted. In fact he longed for Legolas’ touch. He only wished this moment were real. But then the beauty of elven dreams was that they were very much like reality. And knowing that, Elrohir chose to truly enjoy this dream.

Legolas studied Elrohir’s face in the gentle light of the moon. He seemed to hesitate, but then his hand reached up to gently stroke Elrohir’s cheek. Elrohir leaned into the touch feeling it feathery light against his skin. And then he gave into his own desire and touched Legolas in the same way. Oh that his dreams could always be this lovely.

And then their eyes met, and Elrohir found himself hypnotized by the great beauty held in the depths of the fair one’s gaze.

This seemed to answer any question Legolas might have fretted over Elrohir’s liking for those of his sex. Legolas too seemed to read how taken he was. His lips parted and he tilted his head slightly. And then Elrohir felt the hand on his cheek feather around to the back of his head and gently pull Elrohir nearer. He did not resist. He hungered to taste Legolas’ lips. And then their lips met and a fire was lit in Elrohir’s body.

Tenderly their lips kissed. But Elrohir was not satisfied with just this gentle exploration of Legolas’ mouth. He leaned in to the other, mouth parting enough for his tongue to slip past. And then he pressed Legolas for a deeper kiss. The elf eagerly complied. It was clear he wanted this as much as Elrohir.

A throaty sigh was drawn from Legolas as Elrohir meshed his mouth with Legolas’. Hungrily they tasted. Neither led. Neither followed. They simply devoured as if the action of these kisses was as natural to their lips as breathing was to their lungs. Like a sensual caress, the fleshy heat of one mouth rode smoothly over the other, feasting on the pleasures most availed to them there and passions grew as the pressure of their mouths increased. The sensations provoked an impromptu twining, their tongues rolling over each other, and then Elrohir realized their bodies began a dance of similar kind.

Touches of other sorts began, and without thinking or realizing it, Elrohir found his hands running over Legolas’ body, his caresses imitating the hungry consumption of his mouth. Fleetingly Elrohir thought he would die for the sensations electrifying his body. He had never felt so invigorated by a touch. And this was just a fantasy!

He could not pull away even if he had wanted to. The touch of Legolas’ body enslaved him. The sensation of firm, smooth skin beneath his fingertips was beyond words for description. “Like velvet,” Elrohir whispered.

Rubbing his hands over Legolas’ chest, he made out the tight pull of muscle beneath the fiber of his clothes. And then his fingers trailed up to the throat and there the excited pulse of Legolas’ heart thrummed away. He marveled at the detail of this fantasy. It seemed so real as he slid his hand down the long, arcing neck. His fingers rounded to the back of Legolas’ head, tangling in the feathery soft hair. He loved the sensation of drawing the other to him, bringing their mouths again into contact.

And then in his mind he praised Irmo, Vala of dreams, for Legolas seemed equally as moved. He was panting, aroused by their kisses and touches. Heated breath spilled from the elf’s flaring nostrils and Elrohir felt his own breath come quickly in answer. Experimentally, he opened his eyes, taking in the perfection of Legolas’ face as he broke his mouth away. He watched the fair elf sigh a small gasp with the broken contact, but then his lover’s lips resumed their search for the missed contact, acting on need, not sight to guide him. Like a nuzzling whelp, Legolas’ mouth sought and quickly found its lost fortune. And Elrohir was pleased as Legolas pushed his head into that place at the crook of Elrohir’s neck and began plying sweet kisses there. He sighed, his body alive, for in that brief moment, the look of desperation and wanton yearning he had seen on the other’s face had made Legolas incredibly desirable.

His body was alive then. He felt his hardened yearning pressing against the body of this lithe fantasy creature and he knew it would not take much for him to spend himself.

But he could not allow such a dream to come so quickly to an end. When might he ever be gifted with such a dream as this again? Given his earlier shame, he was surprised he was being so devotedly tended by the Vala of sleep, but he would not question that. No, he had to prolong this. He had to make it last.

And then he decided to change the dynamics of this scene. Heretofore Legolas had been the instigator, the dominant yet gentle pursuer. But that was not Elrohir’s nature. In love, the younger son of Elrond was usually the one who initiated. Not that Elrohir did not mind taking a more submissive role on occasion, but if this was his dream, he might as well live it the way he enjoyed best.

And so he pulled away, dragging himself off the bed and coming to stand beside it. His nakedness was fully revealed then, bedding no longer hiding his arousal. His body stood at rigid attention, and he could see Legolas’ eyes gaze at his taut flesh before glancing up with the question as to why Elrohir had pulled away.

“Have I done something to offend?” Legolas asked.

But Elrohir cut into his question with a single word, “Hush.”

“My lord--“

“No more words. It is what I desire of you just now,” Elrohir said in a voice that was both commanding and seductive.

Legolas gazed at him quizzically at first, but then a moment later he smiled knowingly and laid back in the bed. His eyes did not leave Elrohir as his head rolled back and his mouth parted slightly. Elrohir read the invitation to take what he wanted and he was pleased to find the elf compliant to his whims.

“Undress yourself,” Elrohir commanded, and he watched as Legolas’ fingers stroked over his chest, lingering at the subtle shadow of a peaked nipple beneath the fabric before trailing down to reach the hem of his silvery tunic. The elf then sat up, slowly rising as if to stress the taut ripple of muscle beneath the garments. The defined shadow and highlight of a strong, lean torso became visible. Languidly he pulled it away, as if lingering over the removal of such a thing was a tease for what other pleasures might be consumed. And it worked. Elrohir had to swallow his desire in the shudder of a breath. He did want what Legolas was offering.

He watched as Legolas bent over to pull first one, then the other boot from his feet, eyes never straying from Elrohir as he did so. His legs were long and his feet were narrow and beautifully angled as they slid over the bedsheets. As the elf dropped the boots to the ground, they barely made a whisper of sound, belying the fineness of their elven craft, but Elrohir’s eyes followed the hands as they came up and gently lit upon Legolas’ groin. The elf then laid back, and his hands worked the ties of his breeches.

The anticipation was overwhelming. Elrohir could see the defined bulge beneath the ties. Legolas loosed it and sighed with the release of his pent passion. In a quick sweep, as if he could no longer stand the tease, the elf pulled the leggings free and tossed them aside. And then Elrohir was feasting only upon the naked beauty of Legolas’ body. He was laying bare and open on the rumpled bedsheets, and gazing at him, Elrohir’s body felt afire with desire.

And still, he wished to prolong this.

“Show me what you want,” he commanded, and the elf before him smiled coyly before closing his eyes. He then sighed as he ran his fingertips over his chest, down his thighs, brushing his arousal lightly but with what was clearly growing pressure. The sigh of contentment elicited from the fair-haired elf was truly enticing, and Elrohir found he was licking his lips in anticipation. He stepped forward and pulled Legolas’ hand away, not willing to let the elf find pleasure in any way but one.

Startled by the breech, Legolas opened his eyes and Elrohir saw the hunger there. “You…I want you--“ Legolas began but Elrohir cut him off, dropping Legolas’ hand and placing his own over the elf’s mouth.

He smiled as he whispered, “No words.”

There was a glimpse of panic in Legolas’ eyes, but then he seemed to remember the request and nodded. His eyes then traced down the form of Elrohir’s body and the hunger was back. The elf’s hands then reached up and began to delicately brush over Elrohir’s skin.

Now it was Elrohir’s turn to smile as he took in the eager sensations being elicited in his body. He allowed Legolas to stroke his body, and in turn to do the same to that ever-so-becoming form beneath him. His hands rode over the plains of the elf’s chest. His lips traveled across the velvety flesh, kissing and then suckling as they went. Elrohir elicited a gasp from Legolas as he drew his tongue over the sensitive rosy nub of a nipple that had become peaked. And then pressing his advantage, he ran his hands downward, away from the chest and into regions he knew would set the fairer elf afire.

“You want this, do you not?” he said gruffly as he pulled his mouth away but did not stray from the actions of his hands.

Legolas was panting now, and his answer was made clear with the soft moan he made.

Elrohir suddenly pulled away, surprising Legolas with the abruptness of his departure. Elrohir wanted to pursue, but he also knew their pleasure would be heightened if he established some boundaries in their play. His need was visible, but with astounding will he sat up and stared down at Legolas.

“No,” he said. “No noise. No noise of any kind. Do you understand?” And Elrohir could see this would be a feat of greatness for the Mirkwood elf. Somehow he knew Legolas was an elf who freely gave sound to his passions.

It was a risk, for Elrohir did not know how far sexual games could be played with this elf, but he also decided that if this was a dream, he might as well enjoy himself in the manner that he liked best.

And he was rewarded, for although Legolas could have stalked away leaving Elrohir alone with his want, he reacted by breathing in a shuddering breath instead. And then he smiled seductively, as if he knew the challenge would be great but wanting it all the same. The expression was all that much more alluring and Elrohir had difficulty in containing himself.

He went on and said, “Should you make a noise of any sort without my permission, I will remove myself from you. Do you understand?”

Legolas nodded his affirmative eagerly as his panting increased.

“Give me your hands,” Elrohir demanded and Legolas complied.

Elrohir pushed the elf’s hands and wrists to the headboard commanding of him, “You will keep your hands there, and no where else lest I remove myself from you for disobeying.”

Legolas was squirming now in his eagerness, clearly excited by this game of dominance and submission. Elrohir smiled at him, caressing his cheek as if in praise. Legolas pressed his face into the hand, as if in longing for the contact and Elrohir nearly spent himself with his own excitement.

“You are in my control now,” Elrohir purred as he bent down to Legolas once again. “You will do as I wish.”

And to this, Legolas sighed a shuddering breath. Elrohir could not punish the elf for this, for the purely wanton expression displayed was intoxicating.

“You crave my touch, do you not?” he asked, and Legolas’ body arched up in reply though the elf’s hands stayed where he had been told to leave them. The golden-haired one writhed on the coverlet, his mouth half-open and eyes half-closed in salacious desire.

And Elrohir could not resist giving some of what Legolas wanted in turn. He skimmed his fingers over the elf’s chest, focusing on the pert nipples and the heaving chest. Legolas sucked in a gasp as his eyes closed in ecstasy.

“Oh yes, you do like that,” Elrohir whispered and he watched Legolas’ hips buck in response.

Elrohir’s body was electric. His mouth watered and he realized he was panting as much as Legolas. His groin ached at the sight and he knew he could resist his own bodily need no more. Slowly he stroked his hands up and down Legolas’ torso as he climbed onto the bed and mounted the prostate elf again. His heated organ rose in anticipation and he pressed it into Legolas’ thighs, his flesh tingling as he made contact with his dream-lover’s straining member. The beautiful, fair elf gasped with the contact as he craned up, rolling his head back and bucking his hips in obvious desire for more. Elrohir studied the face beneath him and saw the elf’s features screwed up in a build of passionate longing. For a moment it looked as if Legolas was going to peak through touch alone.

Elrohir pulled away though he remained straddled over the elf. He scolded, “No, you shall not spend yourself until I say you do.” Legolas moaned, but then bit back the sound, his eyes opening in panic as if fearful that he might be punished for this latest infraction. Elrohir truly knew he was in control now.

He smiled down at the elf and teased, “I see that you have wished this for a very long time. Pray watch your reactions. You came very close to uttering sound and you would not wish to disobey me.”

Legolas breathed a quivering sigh, but he shook his head as if to say he would never wish to disappoint Elrohir.

“Good! Good! Now I wish for you to look at me. I need you to look at me and to listen to my words.” And Legolas easily complied with his wish, his eyes showing his eagerness to fulfill anything that would extend this sexual pleasure. “I am going to touch you now, but I am going to do it slowly. You will not spend yourself until I tell you to, and you will do so by looking into my eyes and nowhere else. Do you understand?” Legolas nodded, but he looked desperate in this, as if he was unsure his ability to accomplish such a thing. He was breathing hard.

“You will look only into my eyes…only into my eyes.”

Legolas did as he was commanded, his pale blue eyes gazing wantonly into Elrohir’s grey. Elrohir lowered himself again, leaning forward over the elf as their bodies came together. Legolas hissed as hot flesh met with hot flesh and Elrohir brought his hand down to delicately fist the elf’s organ along with his own. Glancing down, he saw a bead of clear fluid wept from the joined members, and Elrohir bit his lip as he ran his thumb over both heads in a circular pattern.

Gazing again at Legolas’ face, Elrohir saw the elf was mimicking his restraint, the lower lip being bitten as the elf tried to keep his climax back. Legolas was staring at him, as if afraid to move his eyes anywhere but on his lover, but his gaze was becoming glassy, as if his mind were locked on the sensations of his body.

Elrohir quickly drew him back as he whispered. “Yes, that is correct. Keep watching me. Do not turn your eyes away. Your pleasure is coming with my word. It is coming soon.”

Legolas’ body was rigid in anticipation, his hips pressing up and his legs pushing into the bed, despite Elrohir’s weight upon him. Elrohir could see Legolas’ hands still held above his head, compliantly remaining where they were supposed to be held, but the elf’s fingers clutched at the sheets, as if that was all that kept him from falling into the depths of his ecstasy.

And then Elrohir began stroking their joined flesh with one hand while the other held his body aloft over his tense lover. A dull moan crooned from Legolas’ throat, but the elf’s mouth remained tightly sealed. Short breaths were being snorted through flaring nostrils, and Elrohir felt himself coming undone by Legolas’ eyes. They were clearly lost in a trance of rapturous yearning.

Elrohir admired Legolas’ stamina, for he was finding his own to be lost under the strain of his growing excitement. In an effort to keep Legolas unspilled, he had schooled his features so as not to give away his own physical thrill, but he was finding it hard to contain further, partly due to the unbridled want he read in the other.

With a few more swift strokes of the hand, Elrohir caved in to his wants. Hoarsely he commanded through gritted teeth, “Now, Legolas. Release yourself. Do it now…now.”

And at that moment Elrohir’s climax came. It was fire. It was the earth rocking. He moaned, crying out his fulfillment. It was like a physical pain, ratcheting his body in a spasm of ecstatic hurt and joy.

And yet, as much as the suspense had spent in him, he could not turn his eyes away from Legolas. The mere idea of watching the other’s peak was enough to send wave upon wave of unbending pleasure through Elrohir’s body. Stars shimmered in the corners of his eyes, obscuring his vision somewhat, but he would not seal them shut. Through the haze, he still could see Legolas’s strained face twist up and simultaneously relax with the pleasures drawn by the orgasm.

A throaty moan fell from Legolas’ mouth as his member erupted in a pearly spill over that lean and muscular chest. It joined Elrohir’s seed.

“Ai! Ai!” Legolas gasped in whispered moans. “Ai, El--Elrohir!” he sighed as he came to completion. And then his eyes closed as he gulped on air, panting heavily as if he had run a great distance.

Elrohir watched Legolas. There was a light sheen over his skin and his hair was slightly mussed from his motions within the bed. The dark-haired elf smiled as he watched his fair-haired lover catch his breath and finally slow to a steady and even breathing. Then Legolas opened his eyes and saw the other looking at him.

He frowned and appeared to blush slightly. “You think I am forward to have done such a thing.”

Elrohir laughed. Self-doubt was the last thing he would expect of Legolas. “Nay, I am thinking that perhaps I was wrong in believing this moment was a dream.”

“If this is a dream, then I must find a way to sleep more often, for this reverie is better than any lover I have taken before,” Legolas said on a last gasp.

“As it has been for me.”

Legolas smiled shyly with the compliment but then asked, “Why would you believe this moment a dream?”

Now it was Elrohir’s turn to blush. “Why would you come see me if this were not a dream? I will confess, I have longed for your company, but after my behavior this evening I did not think such a thing possible except in reverie.”

“Your departure was odd, but I thought it was my doing that sent you away. I did not dally in making way to your side. I thought surely you could sense my rash eagerness.”

Elrohir laughed. “If only we might have known each other’s thoughts…” And then he leaned into Legolas and gently kissed his perfect lips.

Legolas smiled into the kiss. “We know them now. Perhaps we should speak them.”

“Aye,” Elrohir said with a sigh, “But you will be parting our company in the morrow. That leaves us little time to get to know one another.”

Legolas nodded, “I leave only because the seasons change, and it is not wise to travel the passes in the winter months.”

“I wish I might convince you to stay a little longer, if for no other reason than that we might better grow acquainted ... and ‘talk,’” Elrohir said as he caressed Legolas’ high cheek bones and ran his fingers through silken hair and up to the rim of the elf’s ears.

Legolas shuddered as he closed his eyes and said, “I could be convinced to stay a few days more, I think. I have heard that Imladris can be a feast to the senses, and I feel I have only begun to sample its bounty.”

“Oh yes,” Elrohir chuckled as he kissed Legolas’ sweet lips, “It is a veritable delight. If you stayed, I would be happy to introduce a world of new tastes to you. We could start tomorrow with a picnic. I can think of many a treat to ply you with. It would be a feast.”

Legolas pressed his lips firmly into Elrohir’s and his tongue danced between them, joining briefly with Elrohir’s. And then he pulled away gently and whispered, “I can think of nothing so satisfying as that.”

Elrohir smiled as he thought of what lay ahead. Coyly he said, “We have some very tempting dishes...”

Legolas laughed softly as he said, “If any dish you serve is like what I have sampled here tonight, I would be eager to try it.” And then he ran his hands down Elrohir’s thighs and said, “I still hunger...”

Elrohir chuckled. “For words?” he asked though he already knew the answer.

“Nay, no more words. I want you,” Legolas replied and through the night they feasted again, tasting each other in ways that satisfied every sense.

A/N: Prepare yourself. The next installment will include a Noldor sandwich.