Riding Lessons

Pairing: Legolas/Éomer
Rating: NC-17
Feedback: Always welcome at c_rhodora@hotmail.com
Setting: Post-RotK, AU
Summary: Thranduil and his family have sailed West, leaving Legolas as the new King of Greenwood. Las das decides that a horse trade with the King of Rohan is in order.
Disclaimer: Everything belongs to Tolkien and New Line Cinema. No infringement or offence is intended.
Author’s Notes: This fic was written for the excellent Waters of Cuivienen fest challenge. Many thanks and praises to my beta readers, Zasjah and Panthera. This is dedicated to Dodger for putting up with me.

Part XI. Living in the Present

Éomer lay face down on his wide bed, his right arm dangling over the bed’s side. A warm summer breeze blew through his spacious bedchamber, lightly ghosting over his skin and intertwining with another delicate touch that ran up and down his back, finally traveling lower, lingering over the cleft of his cheeks before passing to the inside of his thighs; up and down, up and down, gently encouraging the Man to spread his legs. He felt a feather of a kiss on his left shoulder blade and the silken strands of his lover’s hair as it fell on his back. The Man wondered if he was still caught within a dream, as the events of the entire day had taken on a dreamlike quality in his mind. How had he come to be in this room with this beautiful being by his side?

After his discussion with Wilhelm earlier that day, he had turned around to see Legolas waiting for him at the entrato tto the royal stables, his golden hair caught in the light of the sun, crowning the Elf in a halo of white fire. Wilhelm had walked before him, bowing his head as he had passed by the Elf. Legolas had said nothing but the weight of his gaze would have been enough to make a lesser man cower in fear. But Éomer had not been afraid as he had stood in front of the Elf’s silent wrath.

“There are matters that we need to discuss,” the Horse Lord had begun, “but first, I feel that a ride would clear my mind. What say you?”

Legolas’ face had remained impassive but he had nodded his head and within minutes tho Kio Kings had left Edoras without word or warning to their subjects about their sudden departure. The two stallions had flown over the plains, sensing that their masters were troubled and wished to be as far away from the city as possible. Though Éomer had given no hint as to their destination, it became quite clear to the Elf where they were headeon eon enough. The speed of their unhindered steeds saw that they arrived at the Éadig Fields in a third of the time of their previous journey. The horses had slowed to a trot as they had reached the fields, and Éomer had steered them towards the familiar circular pattern of trees that they had visited once before.

As soon as Legolas had dismounted, he had been pinned by the Horse Lord against a tree and caught in a bruising kiss. Though he had made no move to resist, neither did his passive response encourage the Man, but Éomer had not been deterred. The Rohan King had ended the kiss, looking straight into Legolas’ eyes as he had said:

“I understand now the value of your words. It has taken the foolish actions of an impetuous young squire, aspiring for one beyond his reach yet attempting nonetheless, to make me see. I must seize the moment. I must live for the present. Though you may think otherwise, for I have brought you to this place once again, it is only so that I may lay the past to rest and set my mind at ease. Legolas, will you share this moment with me?”

The Elf had tilted his head to the right as though judging the sincerity of the Horse Lord’s words, gripping Éomer with a sudden fear that Legolas would surely refuse him again. The Man had stepped away, releasing the Elf’s wrists that he had pinned by Legolas’ side. Once free, the Elf had immediately grasped Éomer’s left hand and pulled the Man in again, while with his other hand he had reached up to touch Éomer’s bearded cheek.

“You are also a foolish Man,” Legolas had whispered before bringing their lips together.

The kiss had burned with the intensity of unspent passion as hands had glided over their clothed bodies. Éomer had managed to slip under the Elf’s forest green jerkin and silver tunic, but Legolas’ deft fingers had immediately gone to the Man’s growing arousal, undoing the laces of Éomer’s constricting breeches and slipping his hand inside. Taking his cue from the Elf, Éomer had traveled lower, feeling the curve of Legolas’ spine as he had passed by the Elf’s lower back, finally cupping firm cheeks in his hands as he had molded their lower bodies together.

Their tongues had continued to tangle; Éomer could not get enough of Legolas’ sweet taste, but every now and then a moan would escape him as the Elf worked to bring him to complete hardness. While one hand had continued to stroke the Man’s hardening shaft, Legolas’ other hand had not remained idle; searching in the inner breast pocket of his jerkin for something he always kept there – a vial of weapons’ oil. Upon finding it the Elf had stopped his ministrations, much to the Horse Lord’s dismay, until Legolas had lifted the vial of oil for Éomer’s inspection. They had never gone so far before and Legolas was implicitly asking the Man if he was sure he wanted to continue.

Éomer had nodded his head and before he knew it, Legolas had swept him into another kiss, distracting him as the Elf easily stripped him to his waist, tugging the Man’s loosened breeches until they had fallen to Éomer’s knees. Then Legolas had uncapped the vial and had poured a healthy amount of the liquid onto his hands, rubbing them together before resuming his ministrations on the Man’s aching shaft.

Éomer had sighed and had let his head rest on Legolas’ shoulder, inhaling the fresh pine scent of the Elf’s that he had come to miss. He had been aware at that point that Legolas was still wearing too much clothing and he had set about unfastening the buckles of the straps of the Elf’s long, white knives. The weapons had fallen to the ground, followed by the Elf’s forest green leggings. Legolas had already conveniently kicked off his light, leather boots. Éomer’s hand had traced over the Elf’s hip before trailing into the soft pubic hair and reaching the base of the Elf’s neglected shaft. But Legolas’ had stilled the Man’s actions and through his eyes had asked Éomer to wait. Then he had poured more oil onto his hand and had run it down his own back, disappearing into a place where Éomer had never been, and the Horse Lord had realized with mixed feelings of excitement and horror, that the Elf was preparing himself. By now the Man’s member was thoroughly coated and aching to be touched again, but Éomer had not relieved himself, rooted to the spot by the intensity of Legolas’ eyes that had turned indigo with desire.

After a few moments, Legolas had gently pushed the Man away, walking past the Horse Lord to a patch of particularly lush green grass surrounded by the encircling trees, removing any other items of clothing that he still wore. Then the Elven King had settled on the grass, supporting himself on his hands and knees as he waited for the Man to take his place.

Éomer had stood beside the tree, slightly dumbfounded. He had known what he was expected to do and yet could not bring himself to do it. There was something about the sight of the Elf, pure and ethereal in a position so enticing, that both sed aed and further aroused him. He had walked towards the Elven King with uncertain steps, his breathing ragged.

“You wish for me to ride you like some kind of beast?” Éomer had said incredulously.

The Elf had looked back at him with a sly smile and had replied, “No, Éomer. I wish for you to ride me like a man.”

It was all the encouragement that the Rohan King had needed to slip off his boots and slide down the rest of his breeches. Then he had bent down to run his hand along the curve of the Elf’s back, tracing the side of Legolas’ smooth buttock as though he were caressing the flank of his most beloved steed. He had settled behind the Elf, slowly stretching his wider body over Legolas’ more slender form, until his hands were beside the Elf’s on the grass. Legolas could feel the head of the Man’s pulsing arousal between his cheeks but Éomer made no further move to enter him.

“Come inside me,” Legolas had whispered, his voice swirling around the Man as though it were carried by the wind. “I am not made of glass.”

Sensing that his words of reassurance had not been enough for his partner, Legolas had grasped Éomer’s right wrist and had placed the Man’s hand firmly on his hip to give Éomer more leverage. Slowly, the Horse Lord had begun to push himself inside, almost overwhelmed by the tight heat that surrounded him. The Elf’s passage did not give like the soft folds of a woman’s body, and though Legolas had prepared them both, the channel had been drier than he was accustomed to. Nor could he have imagined the amount of pain and discomfort he must have been causing the Elf by this intrusion.

Legolas had sucked in his breath, willing himself to relax as Éomer had filled him. The Man was truly well endowed. But when Éomer was fully sheathed, he had stilled his actions once more, afraid of causing his partner more pain. What Legolas had neglected to mention to his new lover was that stillness caused him more discomfort than the feeling of the Man moving inside him. Believing in the effectiveness of action, the Elf had elected to show the Horse Lord instead by moving forwards and then driving back, impaling himself on the Man’s shaft. The sudden movement had almost undone the Man and he had let out an involuntary cry, his grip on the Elf’s hip hard enough to mar the silken skin. His inhibitions stripped, Éomer had begun to thrust, establishing the easy rhythm of a canter over rolling fields, a pace that the Elf had matched. But before Éomer could lose himself in that sweet tightness, Legolas had grasped his wrist again and had brought the Man’s hand to his member. Éomer had felt the throbbing shaft in his hand as Legolas had guided his strokes, mirroring the pace of the Man’s thrusts. Confident that Éomer would maintain the synchronized rhythm on his own, Legolas had released the Man’s hand to support both their weight. The Elf’s breaths wereged ged now and he had hung his head so that his sweat-soaked hair fell over his face like a dampened curtain. He would come soon.

When Éomer had felt the Elf’s seed spill into his hand, he had released Legolas’ softening member and had returned his grip to the Elf’s hip, now loosened by the slickness of the substance on his hand. He had closed his eyes and concentrated on achieving his own climax, feeling the intensity of a white fire burning behind his eyes until it exploded in a myriad of stars. He had fallen on top of the Elf’s body, hardly able to support himself and had rested his head on Legolas’ now glistening back. Legolas had smiled to himself contentedly, his breathing slowing down and returning to normal as he had gently lowered them to the ground, allowing the Man on top of him to slide off his back and lay beside him on the grass.

Éomer had never known such bliss as he had stretched himself on the grassy floor and he had turned his head to look at his lover. Legolas’ head was propped in his left hand as he traced the Man’s brow with his right, following the contour of Éomer’s bearded cheek. The Horse Lord had kissed the pads of the Elf’s fingertips as they had brushed by his lips, finally leaning forward to capture the Elf’s lips in a kiss filled with gratitude and thanks. He had drowsed off soon afterwards aouldould have been content to stay in the Éadig Fields with the Elf by his side if Legolas had not urged him to rise, reminding the Man that they had left abruptly and without word, no doubt causing their subjects much undue distress. Éomer had reluctantly agreed and half an hour later both Kings were properly dressed and on their steeds, heading back to Edoras. Indeed, so concerned had Heardred been by his liege’s unusual disappearance that he had sent out several small scouting parties to look for the King, one of which Éomer and Legolas encountered on their return journey.

Éomer had given no explanation for his mysterious behavior – for a King does not need to give excuses – but all could see that he was in high spirits, and the evening meal was a good-humored affair. Nevertheless Éomer had found himself in his study afterwards to attend to the work he had neglected during the day. It was then that he had remembered what he had originally wished to speak to Legolas about before the incident with Lossendir and Wilhelm had sidetracked him.

As if on cue there had been a knock at his door and the Elven King had stepped inside, another playful smile on his face. Éomer had only maintained his stoic visage for a few seconds before shaking his head. It had become quite clear to him that Legolas was going to be a terrible distraction. And that was how he had ended up in his bed, spent and sated after another session of lovemaking, with the Elf still teasingly rubbing his inner thighs, willing the Man to spread his legs, which Éomer did. He moaned as the Elf cupped his tender sacs before proceeding to his still soft member.

“So soon?” Éomer murmured, despite feeling himself already responding to the Elf’s touch.

“Is the King of Riddermark not fabled for his stamina?” Legolas asked.

The challenge roused the Horse Lord and Éomer quickly turned around, dislodging the Elf from his position, so that both lovers lay side by side facing each other.

“Do you dare question my stamina?” Éomer replied in mock offense.

“Shall you prove your worth?” the Elf countered.

Éomer laughed. If he allowed himself to be goaded by Legolas at every turn he would indeed be testing the boundaries of his stamina.

“A King’s worth may be proven in many ways,” Éomer answered enigmatically.

“You shall have to enlighten me,” Legolas said lightly, “since ruling a kingdom is one of the few avenues where your experience outweighs mine.”

“It has not been that long,” Éomer said, thinking back upon his history with the Elf. “Do you remember how we first met?” he asked, suddenly changing the subject.

“As I recall,” Legolas answered, “you practically accused me of being a spy.”

“So I did,” Éomer replied bemused. “And you threatened to kill me.”

“You were being exceedingly obnoxious to the Dwarf,” Legolas added. “Though in hindsight . . .” he trailed off, eyes twinkling in the moonlight that filtered into the darkened room, making the Man chuckle at his insinuation. “Do you still think me a spy?” Legolas asked after a while.

“The most insidious kind,” Éomer said gravely. “One who persistently invades my thoughts to tease and tantalize me, thoroughly distracting me from much more important affairs.”

“Such as?”

“Such as the matter I came to speak with you about today, before that incident with Wilhelm and Lossendir.”

“Yes,” the Elf sighed, rolling onto his back and clasping his hands over his stomach. “What were you going to tell me?”

“I have good news,” Éomer said, propping his head up in his right hand. “I received Caedmon’s reply and he has agreed to allow Wilhelm to enter my service.”

“That is good news,” Legolas agreed absently.

“Yet you do not sound pleased.”

Legolas turned his head to look at the Man. “I am pleased,” he assured him. “But we have also not discussed what to do about Wilhelm and Lossendir.”

“According to Wilhelm,” Éomer began, “he instigated the whole affair. He seemed quite eager today to take most of the blame.”

“Even if that were true,” the Elf said grimly, “an affair requires reciprocation. I am shocked by how poorly Lossendir has handled the matter. What are your laws regarding situations such as these?”

The King of Rohan grimaced. The laws would have the offenders publicly flogged and humiliated, and then exiled by society.

“I do not think it necessary to go by the letter of the law,” Éomer said after a moment’s pause. “There is a certain amount of hypocrisy in condemning them for their actions when we enjoy each other’s company in my bed,” he couldn’t help but add.

“True,” Legolas conceded. “But at the same time, our situations are quite different.” He could tell that Éomer was about to disagree, so he quickly covered the Man’s mouth with his hand before Éomer could speak. “Let us not debate this now,” he said. “Rather, let us decide how to handle the matter.”

Éomer nodded as he lifted the Elf’s hand from his mouth, unable to resist kissing the ridges of Legolas’ knuckles. “I shall leave Lossendir’s punishment to you,” he said. “There will be no trial and no one in Rohan shall know of his offence. If word of this got out, it would irreparably damage the achievements of our joint training program. Of course, how you handle the matter in Greenwood is your discretion.”

“Discretion is key,” the Elven King agreed. “Although it pains me to do so, I must demote him to the lowest rank among my captains, short of stripping him of the actual rank, and he shall be reassigned once we return to Eryn Lasgalen. Perhaps in time he will manage to work his way through the ranks once more. And what of Wulf?”

“Wulf,” Éomer repeated with a slight smile. “The boy has certainly earned that nickname. He’s something of a predator, isn’t he?”

“Especially for one so young,” Legolas said, wondering to himself whether he had misjudged the boy’s character. Unlikely. Echuir would not have chosen a rider that he did not trust and the stallion’s instinct was more fine-tuned than his own.

“Truthfully,” Éomer began, “I am somewhat at a loss as to how to punish him. Perhaps it would be prudent to wait until the Rhovanion is finished.”

“That is still in two months time,” the Elf pointed out.

Éomeddeddded thoughtfully.

“I do not doubt your decision,” Legolas continued, “but in the meantime, you could give the boy additional duties. For example, he could be in charge of cleaning out the royal stables.”

“Turn him into a stable boy?” Éomer laughed.

“These are duties he is already familiar with,” the Elf said. “You would merely be expanding their capacity. Menial chores are necessary but tedious. He will find no joy in them.”

“Very well,” Éomer said, “additional chores will be the start of his punishment.”

“Since this appears to be settled,” Legolas said, his tone changing in cadence to match the inquisitiveness of his hand that moved over Éomer’s body, “there is the final issue of stamina that you have skillfully managed to evade.”

“Ah, yes,” the Horse Lord said, as though the topic had completely slipped his mind. He lay on his back as he felt the Elf move over him. Legolas straddled his waist, elegantly draping his slender form over the Man and placing his chin on top of his clasped hands on the Man’s broad chest.

Éomer enjoyed the feel of another body on top of him, of the lean, sinuous muscles on the Elf’s back as he held Legolas close. There was no womanly softness about the Elven King. Éomer preferred to lead, to dictate, especially in matters of the bedroom but with Legolas he often found himself willing to submit, to follow. The Elf had cleverly made it seem as though the Man had been in the position of power during their lovemaking but Éomer realized now that Legolas had merely been setting up the boundaries and limitations of what he believed the Man could endure. Stamina, the Man thought, indeed comes in many forms, and there was still one kind of submission that Éomer had not yet made. He contemplated this as the Elf leaned over to his kiss him and when the kiss ended, Éomer whispered into a pointed ear, “I wish for you to be inside me.”

Legolas drew away, watching the Man with a keen eye. “Are you sure about this?” he asked, dipping down to plant a kiss at the base of the hollow of the Man’s neck. “There is no need to rush.”

“I am not rushing,” Éomer replied. “I am living in the present; a moment that may be prolonged and sustained in and of itself, to be enjoyed and cherished in my memory for ever more.”

Legolas chuckled softly as he heard his words repeated and he shook his head with a slight smile. He would not be able to refuse this Man, and he wondered yet again why mortality was such a weakness for him. Leaning over the Horse Lord, he reached for the small bottle of oil that he had left on top of the bedside table. They had upgraded from weapons’ oil to Legolas’ own personal stash of scented body oil, a lavender and jojoba mixture that Éomer found pleasing.

“It is best if you turn around,” the Elf instructed him, lifting himself off the Man so that Éomer could roll over onto his stomach.

Éomer did as he was told, suddenly not so sure about his brave proclamation but knowing in his heart that he trusted the Elf. He could feel Legolas lying on his side next to him. They had resumed their former positions when Éomer had first awoken from his pleasant dreams, and the Elf was once again running his hand soothingly up and down the Man’s back, dipping lower to caress the Man’s firm buttocks. This time Éomer spread his legs without any further encouragement and the Elf stopped his actions only to start them again a moment later, his hand now slicked with oil.

“Relax,” Legolas whispered, even as Éomer could feel himself involuntarily clenching in anticipation.

A slender finger slid into the cleft between the Man’s cheeks, circling the puckered opening before pushing inside. Éomer sucked in his breath and exhaled slowly as the finger continued its journey. This *was* uncomfortable. Soft lips grazed his shoulder blade, distracting him somewhat from the unfamiliar intrusion, but the finger probed deeper causing the Man’s brow to furrow in discomfort.

“Are you looking for something?” Éomer asked at last through gritted teeth.

“You will know when I find it,” Legolas replied, licking a bead of sweat that had broken on the Man’s back, the salty taste triggering memories of lovers past, of the smef thf the earth itself. He continued his probing until his finger brushed a tiny nub in its path, the Elf immediately recording its position and location.

“Oh!” the Man gasped, his body jerking in response. So this was what Legolas had been looking for.

“It makes the invasion more bearable, does it not?” the Elf laughed, his licks now turning into gentle nips.

“More than just bearable,” Éomer moaned, as the Elf brushed past the nub again, sending another shock of pleasure through his body.

But the Elf was not through with his preparation, and as the jolt of pleasure faded the discomfort grew as Legolas inserted another digit into the tight passage. Éomer concentrated on his breathing once more, willing himself to relax since his mind had prepared itself for the pleasure that was in store. And the pleasure came in rolling waves as the two fingers undulated against his core, his lower body moving wantonly to accommodate their assault. A third finger was inserted and then a fourth, the pain and discomfort increasing in sensation to counterpoint the bliss, so that the Man was sure he was going mad.

“Enough!” he cried. “You will undo me.”

The Elf merely let out a musical laugh, indicating that more would take place before his partner would be ‘undone.’ The fingers disappeared and in their place the weight of the Elf covered him, lighter than he remembered. Legolas brushed away the remainder of the Man’s hair from his back and placed a kiss on Éomer’s shoulder before whispering into the Man’s ear, “There will be pain and great discomfort. You will feel as if your body is being split in two but these feelings shall subside. Nay,” the Elf corrected himself, “they shall be overtaken by the pleasure I shall give you and your senses will be overridden by ecstasy. I trust,” Legolas said, lips curving into a small smile, “that the King of the Mark has the stamina to endure this task?”

“We shall see,” Éomer said, his half-erect member hardening at the Elf’s words.

With one final kiss, Legolas poured more oil onto his hand and then guided himself to the entrance of the Man’s tight opening, thoroughly coating himself in the process. He breached the entrance with the tip of his member and then withdrew, repeating the action several times until he was fully sheathed. Éomer grimaced at each attempt. He did not know whether he preferred Legolas’ considerate actions, which seemed excruciatingly long to him, or for the Elf to simply drive himself inside in one motion. All he was certain of during that time was that his lover was longer and broader than he remembered from taking the Elf into his mouth or from feeling the Elf’s member in his hand. If Legolas had been less well endowed, the pain might also have been less.

But the Man soon changed his mind when his partner began to move, hitting his pleasure center with his first thrust and he let out a cry of approval. The pain receded as Éomer had expected it to, surpassedthe the waves of pleasure that he had felt before, only now they crashed into him with greater intensity. His mouth fell open as incoherent moans slipped from his lips; he was dimly aware of the Elf biting his flesh, no doubt leaving his mark upon the Horse Lord. Then Legolas wrapped a strong arm around his waist, lifting the Man off the bed to roll him onto his side, his body now spooned against the Elf’s, not once breaking his rhythm. Éomer’s head rolled back and with his free arm he groped behind him, finally grabbing hold of Legolas’ buttock. He gripped it painfully, feeling it rise and fall with the Elf’s thrusts, as he urged Legolas on. His breathing was quick and shallow and just when he was certain he could take no more, a hand closed upon his aching member moving in time to the shaft inside him.

Éomer came first, his body wracked by the spasms of his own release as Legolas continued to move to his own internal rhythm. With one final thrust, the Elf came and Éomer felt the warm seed spill into his passage. He hissed as the substance burned his sore walls, but as with all their activities that night, the feeling subsided into one of pleasure and contentment. The hand that had urged the Elf on now traveled up Legolas’ back to curl itself in the Elf’s sweat-soaked hair as Éomer turned around to pull his lover down for a kiss. Legolas obliged, tasting the wind and the earth that belonged only to the King of Rohan.